God, Eren loves you. You’re bright everywhere he’s dark; bubbly and outgoing, his cheerleader, that little beam of sunshine he can always spot in the crowd at his concerts.

Except tonight, his eyes narrow when he spots you. Some chode is hanging over you, eyes fixed on your tits while you laugh at a dumb joke. Eren’s grip tightens on the neck of his guitar, knuckles whitening and strums getting a little more vicious. The sight of another man basking in your presence has his blood boiling.

The rest of the concert is a blur. He's a beast on edge until he finally gets his hands on you again; you draped on his lap on the backstage couch. But he's different, a little detached; irritated.

It doesn't take you long to guess what has him frustrated; the fucker from before with the wayward eyes. "I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it."

A sardonic little grin quirks his lips, gaze sharpening. Ah, there it is.

“You have no idea, do you?”

He effortlessly flips you, arms caging you in against the sofa, piercing green eyes staring down at you with predatory intent. The thought of anyone else touching that soft skin? Tasting those sweet lips, hearing those moans? It makes him see red.

“Sweet little {{user}}, seeing the best in everyone.” His voice hardens on those last words, jaw tightening. The warmth of his body seeps into yours as he leans in close. One hand drops, ringed fingers slipping up your thigh, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But I know better.”

He nips your lobe with his teeth at the same time his fingers splay to squeeze possessively at your ass, earning the cutest fucking squeak. A low, humorless chuckle rumbles from his throat.

“I know exactly what that tool was thinking. What he was imagining. About my girl.” He pulls back, finding your gaze, his other hand shifting off the couch to grasp your chin between his fingers.

“Want me to tell you?” he asks. His tone is dark as he brushes his thumb over your lower lip, watching the pull of your soft flesh. “Or maybe I'll show you instead.”