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nininikki · 1 year

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𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘, 𝐌𝐑. 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 | eren jaeger x black fem!reader

I. delightful little laughs and golf excursions

✧ summary! — upon meeting one another, you and governor eren jaeger struggle to deal with the onslaught of mutual attraction that inevitably follows.

✧ warnings! — mentions and consumptions of alcohol, adultery (eren is an aspiring cheater), golfing (🏌🏽), an arranged-ish marriage, age gap—reader is 29 and eren is 40, smut—handjob, heavy petting, making out.

✧ author’s note! — this part is the first of what is hopefully many. updates will be sporadic but hopefully still very entertaining. & i already know what you’re thinking, eren can’t be potus bc he’s german blah blah yeah well eren can’t do much of anything bc he died so let’s just be delulu together. lmk if i missed anything in the warnings.

✧ word count! — 4.7k

14 MAY, SIX MONTHS AFTER THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION

the wings of a baby red bird whispered clumsily through the brisk noon air. without thinking, almost reflexively, you blew the bird a bout of kisses. good luck, you’d thought to yourself, hoping to quell the sick feeling curling in your stomach. though, it was only lunch with mikasa, so how much luck would you need?

a secret service agent escorted you to your table, where mikasa was already sitting. her lips, stained with crimson, stretched into a smile so wide her face could’ve cramped. “(y/n), i’m so glad you could make it!”

mikasa stood and enveloped you in a hug, the flowery scent of her perfume nearly making you vomit where you stood. “oh, don’t even mention it. the pleasure was mine.” pulling away from her embrace, you smiled to ebb the sick feeling. “besides, it’s been forever since we had lunch. y’know, with the election and all.”

“well, yes, being the first lady is quite the job.” mikasa…almost giggled. a childish, giddy, schoolgirl giggle that felt out of place coming from her thirty-nine year old mouth. that coupled with the way the diamonds in her glimmering wedding band caught the sunlight and nearly blinded you when she pushed a short lock of hair away from her face. if only she knew how greatly she tormented you without even knowing it.

swallowing the saliva that had pooled at the sides of your tongue, you smile again. “i can only imagine.” and god, if you hadn’t spent a considerable amount of time doing just that.

the moment you both slid back into your seats, a waiter made his way across the lawn and next to your table, a bottle of wine in his hands and ready to be poured into your respective glasses.

“no wine for me, actually.” mikasa said to the waiter, despite keeping her gaze trained on you the entire time. “a sparkling water will do.”

and when he turned to you, “i’ll have what she’s having—the sparkling water. and can you add a lemon slice?”

“of course, ma’am. it’ll be right out.”

“not drinking, huh? that’s…new. i like it.” mikasa joked just as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.

you let the words fall gracefully, naturally off your tongue. not rehearsed or practiced at all. “don’t get your hopes up. i’m trying out the whole method acting thing. fuckin’ sucks, i tell you.”

the waiter was back, setting two glasses of sparkling water on the table. “well, if anyone can do it, it’s you.” you both raised your glasses in a silent toast before taking the first few sips.

it definitely quelled the nausea you were feeling, so you drank and drank and drank until you looked down at the cup and saw there was only ice and dripping condensation left to show for it. “sorry. i haven’t eaten, i guess.” you explained, humiliatingly breathless.

“trust me, i know the feeling. can you get her a refill?” mikasa requested, and the waiter quickly obeyed, taking your glass and heading off again.

for a moment, there was only the sound of leaves whistling through the wind, an occasional singsong of birds, and the fizzing of mikasa’s drink across from you. until she cleared her throat, a loud ahem slicing through the false sense of tranquility you’d trapped yourself in.

“let’s not beat around the bush, (y/n). you know and i know that i didn’t just invite you here for nothing. so let me just be straight with you.” it was all happening too quickly for you. all the words coming from her mouth, all the feelings you were supposed to be feeling—all delayed to make way for numbness more painful than anything. because you knew what she was about to say. it was just a matter of whether or not you could control what would happen after she did. “i know you’re fucking my husband, and i want you to stop.”

***

7 JULY, FOUR MONTHS BEFORE THE PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION

look a man straight in the eye when you shake his hand. your mother had always told you that, but you’d never understood the importance of it. up until now.

until you were shaking hands with the governor of california and trying not to crumble under the intensity of his gaze. a gaze so fervent and piercing it was en route to perforating whatever it was that shielded your soul.

“lovely to meet you.” his voice was syrup. soft and smooth and saccharine and dripping into your ears with every word he spoke. “you’re even more beautiful in person.”

so are you, you wanted to say. and it was true. he’d been at the forefront of every news channel and magazine for the past year or so. and up there, he was all pretty eyes and luscious hair and ivy league-educated words. up close…up close, he was different.

as your gaze slid down the thick, almost shiny locks of his hair, you felt your hand—the one currently in the snug grasp of his shake—twitch with the urge to reach out and touch it. to slide the pad of your thumb down a strand, or perhaps thread all of your fingers through the dark mass of waves and revel in that sensation alone.

could he feel the pulse in your wrist begin to pick up speed when you let your eyes roll over the prominent bridge of his nose? or the full, pillowy curves of his lips? of course, you couldn’t stare there for too long. or you’d run the risk of wanting to kiss him, and god only knows what that could lead to.

and did he notice the skin of your palms become sticky with sweat when you finally let yourself look into his eyes? they were a haze of blue-green darkness. hypnotic, oceanic irises growing thinner and thinner as they stretched around the steadily dilating expanse of inky black that were his pupils, making for a sight that—for lack of a better phrase, and because you could actually feel your airways being blocked with unadulterated awe—took your breath away.

if anyone was more beautiful in person, it couldn’t not be him. however, you’d bitten your tongue, settling for, “you’re too sweet, mr. governor.” your voice, a soft peal of laughter that you assured only indicated the utmost professionalism.

“un-unh.” he released your hand from his grip, and you weren’t prepared for the onslaught of goose flesh spreading over your arms when his palms settled over the skin there. “it’s eren. call me eren.” you sure as hell weren’t prepared for him to embrace you in a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek.

you laughed a delightful little laugh. one that surely couldn’t be conveyed as anything but amiable. “only if you call me (y/n).”

“well, (y/n), my wife and i are big fans of your work.”

at the mention of your friend, you took your guilty eyes off him, and let yourself be flung back into reality. back to the party you were currently attending, with its nearly blinding beams of camera flash, sweet drips of champagne spilling past your lips, and wispy tendrils of smoke curling through the air.

the party where you’d originally come to just look pretty and stuff your face with hors d'œuvres, but were interrupted by a tap on the shoulder and a face all too familiar and smiling to be any perfect stranger.

mikasa ackerman—the laidback teacher’s assistant you’d sparked a friendship with your entire senior year at harvard. the girl you considered a very close friend and mentor from the week you met up until the day you graduated, soon after which the two of you lost all contact. but you hadn’t sweated it. you were too busy pursuing your acting career, she was too busy becoming a lawyer. and the governor’s wife, apparently.

“god, i haven’t seen you in ages.” her cheeks were tinted in a cheery blush, mouth turned up in a lopsided grin, an empty champagne flute balanced clumsily between her fingers. “well, not in person at least.” her wide, megawatt smile was the last thing you saw before she hugged you as if you had never stopped being friends. “but you’re in all those big movies, y’know. it’s like every time i turn on the TV, there you are.”

you blinked bashfully down at your feet, a gentle smile playing at your lips. “don’t make me blush.”

“oh, nonsense.” she rocked back and forth on her feet, running her fingers through her dark pixie cut. “y’know, my husband never believes me when i say we used to know each other.”

“when’d you get married?” your mouth picked up in a delighted smile, recalling distant, collegiate memories of mikasa wanting, ‘partnership and a powerful husband, in that order.’

she stood on her tiptoes, beckoning someone over with a fervent wave of her arm. “uh, close to four years ago, maybe. don’t quote me, though. i’ve had one or two.” what you weren’t expecting was for the governor of california to stroll over, a little tipsy and equally disoriented from the crowd he’d just emerged from, his gaze alight with something you couldn’t quite place when it landed on the two of you. mikasa interlocked your arms, her voice an ecstatic slur. “see, baby! i told you i knew her!”

***

you’d stumbled into your home that night with remnants of the party still stuck to your skin and an invite to lunch at the jaeger’s country club the following week.

***

14 JULY

“i always knew you were bad at sports, but golf? really?” mikasa chimed, her lips pulled apart in uncontrollable laughter as your golf ball swerved clumsily around the course.

when eren’s husky laugh floated into your ears, you could feel them toasting with embarrassment and shame. because your eyes had taken to feasting themselves upon him at the most inappropriate times.

because just as you were about to swing your club, there your eyes were, trailing over his towering figure. his hair, usually parted and coiffed to perfection, sat a little messier today, perfectly curtaining the gently chiseled edges of his face. his bottom lip, plush and pink, confined between busy teeth, making for a sight that sent a blush down your neck.

all that went without mentioning the sleeves of his oxford tee—rolled neatly up at the elbows and showcasing the perfect definition of his forearm as he leaned over on the handle of his golf club.

you swiped your tongue across your bottom lip in misplaced concentration. the expensive watch glinting around his wrist sending your lips up in a tiny smirk. because he was just your type. so handsome and so kind and so…

a tangible rope of guilt strung itself around your neck as your eyes traced over the gold wedding band on his finger. a symbol of perpetual love and unity that you were practically defacing as you continued to drool over him in the presence of his wife.

so, when it was time for you to swing your club, you’d spooled yourself in a web of distraction and ended up missing horribly.

“must be the wind.” you said, hoping that the bursts of laughter that followed would be enough to distract you from the guilt.

***

“here, let me help you.” eren offered, purely out of the kindness of his heart. not because of the way you stood there, the golf club perched sweetly in your grip with not a clue in the world how to use it. not because of how pretty you looked today—the delightful hem of your opaque-shaded skirt coming to a halt in the middle of your thighs and contrasting perfectly with the smooth darkness of your black top.

not because of the smile stretching across your face—so beautiful, pearly, and white that it nearly took one of his eyes out. not because of his budding attraction that had sprouted the moment you caught his notice on a silver screen and had only gotten worse when he’d laid eyes on you in the flesh. and certainly not because mikasa, his wife, for god’s sake, had stepped back inside for one reason or another—to powder her nose or something—and inadvertently granted him a moment alone with you for the very first time.

“listen, mr. governor—”

“—eren.”

“eren. listen. i may not golf every weekend like you weirdos,” you joked, and he couldn’t help the grin gracing his face. “but i know my way around a club, alright.”

“yeah, sure looked like it.”

you went silent for a moment, tongue clicking around in your mouth while your gaze wandered elsewhere. “fine.” you sighed out, faux exaggerating an eye roll and pout. “show me the reins, or whatever.”

***

that was how you had gotten here. the callused palms of governor eren jaeger pressed up against the backs of your hands under the guise of helping you swing a golf club. except there was no guise, and the feeling of having his hands on yours again had your mind nestled in delusion.

“okay, now, hit it.” he said, the words lowered an octave and trickling with honey as he uttered them into your ear. “aht, aht. remember,” his grip grew a bit tighter on your hands just as you were about to swing. “softly, just like i said. don’t think you’re advanced enough to do it any other way.” a teasing lilt colored his tone.

“i think you’re just holding me back, governor.” at that, you stole your eyes away from the union of your hands and blinked them shyly in his direction.

“eren, please.” if he was saying please, his eyes certainly didn’t convey it. “or i’ll have to start calling you esteemed actress, (y/n) (l/n).”

“you think i’m esteemed? don’t flatter me.”

“you don’t wanna know what i think about you.”

delighted heaps of air passed through your nose and mouth a couple times before you realized you were giggling. giggling like a blushing virgin on her first date over a few simple words. what was he doing to you?

your teeth dug deep into your bottom lip. “are you implying something, eren?”

eren neglected to answer, only staring at you whilst smoothing the pad of his thumb over the back of your hand. “now, on my count, you’re gonna putt it, alright.”

“mhm,” you hummed, forcing yourself to look back down at the ball.

“one, two,” you kept your eye strained on the ball. despite the heady scent of his cologne burning through your nostrils more prominently than ever. despite the very foreign, yet also very very welcome, feeling of his hands on you. “three.”

on his count, you putted the ball just as he’d instructed. was it an exaggeration to say you could feel your pupils dilating? reducing your irises to mere rings of color as they followed the movements of the ball?

it rolled into its intended hole with a satisfactory thunk, and you could feel eren shoot you an i told you so gaze so prominent it felt as though it had grown legs and crawled over your back.

you pursed your lacquered lips. “i could’ve done that in my sleep. just distracted, that’s all.”

as the words left your mouth, you became acutely aware of the distance—or lack thereof—between you and this very married man. sucking a sobering breath through your nose, you detangled your hands from his with as little awkwardness to spare as possible.

***

“what the hell are you doing in my house?”

peeling your boots off, you padded into the conversation pit where your manager was sitting. chowing down at a subway sandwich with hardly enough time to breathe between bites.

“i’m your manager.” they said, voice muffled with bread and meat and sauce. “what kinda manager would i be if i didn’t make arbitrary visits?”

“the kind that respects my privacy.” you made a seat for yourself beside them, examining the bag to see what they’d gotten you. “and besides, these visits are never arbitrary. you’ve always got a reason.” meaty, cheesy delight filled your nostrils as you pulled your sandwich from the bag. they had delivered your favorite, and that was enough to hear them out. even if… “usually a bad one.”

“i guess i do.” hange sighed, shaking the ice around in their cup of mountain dew. “so, i’m assuming you know why i’m here.”

chewing like a woman starved, you shook your head. “i’ve got no idea. been on my best behavior.”

“oh, really? well, allow me.” hange gingerly wiped their fingers of sandwich remnants and pulled something from their nearby briefcase.

a magazine. one that had your face on it, which wasn’t anything foreign. although for whatever reason your face was on it must’ve been what had hange in this frenzy.

the headline read, HOLLYWOOD HARLOT MOVES ON TO POLITICIANS accompanied by a photo snapped of you and eren meeting for the first time. locked in what page six would probably call, a steamy gaze. although, what other way was there to describe it? if you hadn’t known any better, you looked like a pair of star crossed lovers separated by war. or something.

“eren jaeger? him? him?” hange’s face was more angry than disappointed, which was good enough in its own right. “out of all the politicians, you sleep with the married one who’s running for president?”

you steadfastly defended, “i didn’t sleep with anybody.” although what you actually did wasn’t much better.

“look at this, (y/n)!” hange jabbed a finger at the image before pushing deep breaths through their nose. “he’s looking at you like he’s never seen a woman before.”

you denied, taking a sip of their mountain dew. “he was starstruck, hange.”

“that’s not what they think.” per usual, hange didn't waste a breath dismissing you. “they think you’ve moved on from sleeping with movie producers to politicians. which is really, really bad.”

“yeah, i’m aware, but still. it’s not true.”

“these people don’t know this. don’t care, either.” hange threw the magazine hazardlessly over your coffee table, pushing their glasses over their hairline. a usual indication of their utmost seriousness. “look, with a little threatening—”

“—threatening?”

“yeah. slander, defamation, whatever charges i could think of. not the point. i got them to scrap the story.”

your head fell atop their shoulder in unimaginable relief, arms releasing tension you didn’t even know was there. “thank—”

“—but, i don’t always know how well that’ll work, so please.”

“please?”

hange took your hands in a vice grip, probably hoping to squeeze some sense into them. “stop making politicians fall in love with you.”

***

21 JULY

did you have him under a spell? there was no way to exactly prove that. but eren exhibited all the signs of a man charmed. yes, charmed. there wasn’t a more perfect way to put it than that. you had charmed him. with your dazzling laugh and your perfect hair and all those funny things you said that made him completely forgo the fact he was running for the highest office in the land.

every day following your little golf excursion, you had made dutiful work at setting up shop in the confines of his head. occupying his every passing thought with the sound of your laugh, embedding his psyche with the memory of your hands in his, rendering him completely oblivious to the wedding band on his finger with just a twinkle of your eye.

no, that last part was on him and him alone.

now, he’d be the first to admit that his marriage to mikasa was a strange one. her parents knew his, and when he met her, he could already kind of tell he was going to marry her. and not in the phony, sappy, hallmark greeting card way, no.

but in the way that meant he was thirty-three, still unmarried, and could see this as his parents’ way of throwing a bride at him. the idea wasn’t all that unappealing. mikasa was beautiful, smart, and quick-witted, and eren could see himself falling in love with her. hell, parts of him had. the little naive ones, but still.

but the little spark was gone. y’know the one that ignited in his belly whenever she kissed him on the cheek? or took his hand in hers? or whispered sweet nothings in his ear? it was gone. he guessed that was a side effect of marrying someone you didn’t really like all that much.

they eventually managed to become two people that lived together and occasionally had sex. some of which was pretty good, all of it in an attempt to get mikasa pregnant at some point later in the year. only five presidents had been childless throughout their term, and eren was unlikely to be the sixth. but he couldn’t speak too soon. his approval ratings told a different story.

still, regardless of whether he loved mikasa or not, eren had a respectable amount of resolve. he wouldn’t step out on his wife because a twenty-something-year old looked at him with eyes that were bespeckled with midas’ touch. no matter how beautiful or funny she was.

so, why was he standing here? here being the middle of his bedroom, staring into his eighty inch TV screen as if it contained the cure for cancer or something.

“do you like it when i touch you here?”

oh. that was why. he’d mindlessly turned on the television as he toweled himself off, not even noticing one of your films had been playing until his ears caught the familiar tone of your laugh. given the recent state of his mind, (and how frequently you occupied it) even a simple laugh was enough to have his neck snapping in the direction of the screen. but it wasn’t any simple laugh.

it was nearly identical to the way you’d laughed during your golfing stint the other way. identical in its coquettish cadence. identical in the way it spilled easily out of your lips.

“mmm, yeah.”

except you weren’t playing golf with the man on screen. you were letting him slide his palm up the expanse of your inner thigh until the skirt of your dress began to crumple and bunch around your upper legs.

you were spreading your legs around the movements of his hand and parting your lips so he could slip his tongue into your mouth. you were pulling him forward by the meat of his biceps, and at the same time, he was taking you into his lap and sliding the straps of your dress down your shoulders.

the camera then cut to a single shot of your face, crumpled with unbridled, purely pornographic pleasure. it wasn’t long before eren found himself enraptured with the sight: your lacquered lips parted to make way for an outpouring of contented sighs. the translucent and nearly invisible pearl of sweat beading at your hairline. the unfocused picture of your hands carding through your companion’s hair.

one could nearly call it a vision.

nearly.

because the next scene was of you again. face sated with contentedness as you stumbled through the throes of slumber, some sort of dream premiering beneath the lids of your eyes.

that was the real vision. a fact eren and his slowly hardening cock could get attested to.

then, mikasa was walking into the room. she glanced at the TV. “isn’t she amazing in this?” she asked, a happy tone accompanying her smile.

“i haven’t really seen it.” eren admitted. he actually had seen a number of your films (three to be exact), but you did have quite a few of them. that wasn’t even including the new one set to premiere in just a couple of weeks. at that thought, eren considered the possibility of calling and congratulating you. an option that was as outlandish as it was stupid.

call you. so he could do…what, exactly? make a fool of himself just for the sake of hearing your voice? though, he wouldn’t consider himself too above that. he had unabashedly flirted with you with his wife less than a mile away. not to mention the erection dimpling the meat of his inner thigh.

and what was more? he was running for president! he wasn’t in his twenties anymore. the days of newborn love and hopeful courting were long behind him and if he planned on being elected, surely it should stay that way.

mikasa slid into bed, her lithe body sheathed in the creamy silk of a nightgown and stretching under the cover of the sheets. “well, you should. it’s some of her best work.”

you’re telling me.

***

eren had ventured back into the bathroom to change into his pajamas. as well as rinse the horniness from his system via splashes of brisk water, an attempt so futile he couldn’t help but scoff at himself.

“we should call her.” mikasa suggested upon eren’s return to their bedroom. “y’know, congratulate her on the movie. maybe have her over for dinner after the primary.”

but eren could tell by the spectacles sitting gingerly over mikasa’s nose and the tell-tale scrawling of her pen in her planner that it was no longer a suggestion. the plan had seeded itself within her mind, and therefore bloomed to fruition in reality. “i’ll have floch set it up, yeah?”

“‘m all for it, honey.” eren murmured, stamping her temple with a kiss as he slid into bed next to her.

***

it was only a few moments later when mikasa set aside her planner and glasses.

“i know how stressful it’s been.” the cold and soft palms of her hands found themselves on eren’s neck, scaling down the planes of his clothed chest and just whispering at the hem of his pants. “with the election and all.”

eren slid a tentative hand around her wrist, head shrouded in rapidly blooming feelings of guilt. “mikasa, what’re you doin’?”

“just wanna help.” she breached past the soft flannel, fingers threading through the soft mount of curls at his base. “will you let me do that, honey?”

mikasa’s fingertips kissed the skin of his inner thigh, and the strangled moan that bubbled from eren’s throat seemed to be affirmative enough for her.

she wrapped her digits around him, breathing out, “see, you’re already so hard. just let me…” a delighted exhale tunneled through her nostrils, eyes brimming with contented triumph as she dealt him that first stroke. “let me make you feel good.”

it had only been a short while when eren let his eyes flutter to a close, and an even shorter while when you began to blanket every thought in his head. he really had no business thinking of you. in fact, that was probably the last thing he needed to do. but god, how he wanted you.

how he wanted you here, sitting above him and handling him just the way he needed. he distantly recalled the way your hands looked the other day—soft and small and barren of any jewelry. how they felt in his hands and how they’d feel around his dick. a hiss whistled through his teeth and the grip he had on mikasa’s hand spasmed.

“tell me how good it feels.” mikasa cooed, taking her other hand and swiftly maneuvering that same grip over to her breast. and eren wasted no time letting the doughy flesh spill between his fingers, feeling her nipple harden beneath the pad of his thumb as hazily kneaded it.

eren just had to screw his eyes a little shut tighter, and it was you. laying above him, holding him in your hands, whispering all those sweet nothings in his ear as you brought him closer and closer to his peak.

and, oh, was he close. so close that all he had to do was think of the way your mouth formed around your laugh, or how good it felt to touch your hands, or the way your lips formed around the words, “mr. governor.”

sparks bursted behind his eyes as he came. shaky breaths wracking his chest and uncharacteristic noises flying from his lips as he rode out his high. all while holding back the urge to call out your name.

while still trying to feasibly pump breaths through his lungs, mikasa took him in a messy kiss. so messy that it would’ve bordered on lazy if she hadn’t mounted herself atop his dampened lap almost immediately after.

“c’mon, honey.” an ecstatic grin broke across her face as she pulled her tank top over her head. “i think tonight may be the night.”