𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | eren jaegar
warnings . . . fem reader ( she / her prns ), established relationship, black reader!, eren has a dick piercing & he likes bein’ called god :3, he also spits in your mouth, lotsa praise, squirting, oral sex ( f -> m), reader’s a bit of a brat but ‘s okie !
word count . . . approx. 6.4k
maisie's note ! . . . dis is da song mentioned at d beginning ! i had it playing almost da entire time i spent writing this fic + ariana’s song is basically . . . da reason for dis entire thing !
RINI’s oceane plays gently from the white, pill shaped, jbl speaker resting on the black, quartz countertop inside of the bathroom. nibbling on the long, acrylic layered, tapered square nail of your thumb, you watch your boyfriend’s tatted, muscled back flex and strain as he brushes his teeth in front of the sink from your position in bed. you feel as though your words are literally stuck in your throat — pointy ends sinking into the structure of your esophagus as the rounded letters block your airway which have you opening your mouth then snapping it back closed to take in a deep inhale and blow it back out slowly, time over and time again. you’re nervous … and you’re not exactly sure why. you have no reason to be, you think. it’s just a simple question you want to ask the man currently stepping out from the bathroom to walk towards the foot of the bed and yet, you feel an urge to dart into traffic at the imaginary outcomes your brain’s conjuring up if he happened to say that two-lettered word you despise most — ‘no.’
“hey,” you try out, your voice soft and delicate from literal hours of disuse. “g’mornin’.”
you catch eren’s attention though. you make him lift his eyes so they meet yours, gorgeous teal to sleepy brown, as he drops the towel swathed around his waist to snatch up the pair of ethika briefs thrown on the ottoman beside black, straight legged jeans and a balenciaga hoodie. “did i wake you?” he asks, thick eyebrows gathering close as he slips them up the firm muscles of his thighs.
you shake your head, “no, i woke up while you were in the shower.”
here’s the thing about eren, — he is strict on routine. monday through thursdays he’s up at six am come the twinkling chimes of his phone alarm. twenty minute shower is immediately after, no if-ands-or-buts, then he brushes his teeth, gets dressed in a usual outfit of hoodie and jeans (occasionally he swaps out the hoodie for a short sleeved v neck or maybe the jeans for sweat-shorts), has breakfast, and he’s out of the door by seven fifteen. he gets to his job — a tattoo and piercing parlor entitled paradis at seven fifty which allows him a ten minute interval to open up shop and get his station ready for his first client of the day.
you’re not exactly sure how you’re going to somehow force your boyfriend to ram a dent into his periodic, run-of-the-mill schedule . . and on a tuesday at that, but, if anything, you’re determined to. you need to. “so . .” you watch him pull his hoodie over his head, obscuring sharp, black ink printed over his pecs, collarbones, and arms from view. “what are you doin’ tomorrow?”
eren’s combing his tousled, shoulder length locks up with his fingers to gather it all in a bun which he ties somewhat securely with the band he keeps on his wrist at all times near the back of his head. he gives you a look — one that makes the corner of his lips pull down in a lour. “tomorrow’s tuesday, i’m working, baby.”
god, this is going to be harder than you thought.
you kiss your teeth with a slick ‘mmcht’ sound, “well,” you scratch the back of your neck. “i was thinking that . . maybe you could take off tomorrow.”
he makes a small, gruff sound of slight interest. you can hear him walking over to the dresser where he keeps his jewelry. “hm — and why should i do that?”
“because i’m your girlfriend and you love me.”
his smile is pretty. there’s really no other word to truly describe it. it makes his usual, handsome-although-deadpanned face brighten and gleam as the straight, pearly whites reveal themselves between two, soft, bronze-toned lips. he’s grinning at you as he tosses a gold, rope chain around his neck and clips his favorite rolex over his wrist. “as much as that’s true,” he’s trailing over to your side of the bed, bringing along with him the scent of fresh, clean soap and expensive cologne. “you’ve been begging me for a new, diamond anklet for a month now and how do you think i manage to buy those for you, huh?”
he tilts your chin up high with a knuckle so that you can look up at his towering frame. you pout at his question. “but . . but baby, i hit two million subscribers on youtube and i had this whole, cute video idea of you doing my makeup ‘cause everyone wants to see you now and if you say no, i’m going to cry, and throw a fit and you’re gonna be a mean, horrible boyfriend and i know you don’t want to be that, do you?” you’re standing up on your knees now, tugging on the pocket of his hoodie with the cutest frown on your face.
god, if you weren’t the most spoiled fucking thing on planet earth.
in a way, eren knows he should blame himself for your self-centered, brattish behavior. he grants you any and everything you ask for because it’s simply hard not to. sometimes, a pout isn’t what breaks him but a smile. the dreamy, drop-dead gorgeous beam that spreads across your face when you see him holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand, when he swipes his card at the make up outlets you drag him to, and at five-star, tower-revolving restaurants has his heart inside of a vice-grip and you know this. “mm,” he groans through his nose, closes his eyes, and pinches his nose bridge. he’s contemplating.
“eren, please?” you’re whispering sweetly, trying your best time sway him over to ‘yes, fine.’ “please? just one video?”
he blinks his eyes back open slowly, “clients,” he says as if just realizing — as if broken out of the puppy-eyed trance you subjected him to. “i have clients, i can’t cancel on them.”
it’s rare that you have to whip out the big guns. big guns being a dramatic façade of bubbling tears and sniffles as you plop back down on your butt. and in response, he’s giving you this bored, catatonic expression that shows he’s used to it. “you’re not being fair, you know that?”
you fold your arms over your chest, “i’m the one not being fair?”
eren rolls his eyes and snatches up his vans to shove his feet into and lace up beside the door. “just for that, now you can wait. i’ll make up my mind later.”
“eren!”
he ignores your little wails while grabbing his phone and keys from off of the nightstand and walking out of the room with a simple, “i love you. come lock the door after i leave.”
you should know just as much as you adore teasing and putting up a bit of a fight when provoked to, eren does the same. you had expected to wallow and pout and sob all day in bed until your malignant, execrable of a boyfriend got home, per contra, your phone dings with a text message as you’re locking the front door. in the company of a jutted bottom lip, you’re using facial identification to unlock the device and open the new message from ‘baby<3’ that reads:
fine.
your love for make up, skin care and, basically, all things beauty began at the budding age of five years old. the palettes of chalky eyeshadow, pulverized blush, and lipgloss composed of more wax and glitter than anything, you received on christmas and birthdays filled your little heart up with so much joy that it was indescribable. thankfully, your parents saw just how much you enjoyed painting your face with the cosmetics and when you hit ten, you were already roping your dad into drugstores to buy you the real deal.
the excitement and happiness makeup brought you never dulled. you uploaded your first tutorial on youtube at eighteen, around the time you first met eren, and now at twenty two you’re hitting your two million milestone.
your subscribers’ infatuation with eren began about a year ago when he reached a tatted arm across your vanity while you were doing your makeup to pluck a fast food cup from it and take a swig of your strawberry lemonade. you decided to leave the clip in — surmising that the domesticity of him grumbling about you ‘drinking it all and barely leaving any for him’ and your responding giggles as you looked up at him was too cute to trim out. there had also been another occurrence of you answering his facetime call while color correcting that made him chuckle over the receiver at how silly you looked that trended over twitter for a few days and caught a lot of attention.
you have never been the type to hide your relationship neither. you continuously boast about how fine eren was, how he won an award for tattoo’ing last year, about the many dates he takes you on — you suppose that maybe you were a tease. and, to put simply, your subscribers couldn’t take it anymore. they were curious. they needed to know who this man was.
“i’m craving a fuckin’ bacon double-cheeseburger,” eren sniffs while lounging back in the white, swirling chair you loaned him.
your fujifilm x-s10 camera is recording, your ring lights are on, and so is your fairy lights that drape prettily over the white shelves of books, plants, and trinkets you use for a backdrop behind you. humming, you make sure your butterfly locs are hanging right before flicking one over your shoulder, “do i look okay?” you turn your stool to face eren who gives you a long look from the ass-length locs on your head to the white prada sandals on your feet.
when he drags his eyes back up, a lazy smile slides across his lips prior to him licking them, “yeah,” he utters softly, peering at you through his lashes. “you look good, baby.”
a grin of startlement lights up your face as your heart skips a beat at that look. you hold your hand up with your palm facing him and shake your head, looking towards the camera, “i am not playing with you today, eren.”
“i just answered your question?—“
“—no need for an intro. welcome back to my channel, if you’re new here my name is ( ♡ ) and this pretty man right here is my boyfriend eren,” you bring him in close by the face to kiss the skin of his cheek as he hums as a greeting. “and today he’s going to be doing my make up. you think you’re up for it, mr. jaeger?”
he’s already thumbing with tubes of lipgloss and opening palettes when he shoots back coolly, “i don’t know. we’ll have to see, mrs. jaeger.”
you fluster with bashfulness, as much as you try to fight it, and kicks his shin underneath the table. “alright, so start,” you straighten your spine. “you can’t ask me what anything is, okay? you have to do it all on your own.”
eren inhales some air through his teeth as he combs his hair back with his fingers. “mm, okay,” he mumbles underneath his breath. he wracks his brain for the small glances he’d take of you doing your make up while he walked in and out of the room all these days before. it seems to him you’re always trying out a new product aside from . . “you always start with this shit.” he grabs hold of a pink and white ombré squeeze tube bottle with ‘too faced hangoverx’ printed across it. it’s a staple for you. after opening it, instead of simply applying some of the product upon the tips of his fingers and rubbing it in, the way that you do it, eren angles the opening of the bottle upon peaks of your face which he squeezes the primer onto before doing so.
“oh, god,” you’re giggling at the foreign touch of his fingers tapping over your face which makes him have to roll his chair in closer.
he fixes you with a bored stare, “stop movin’. what’s so funny?”
not wanting to disturb his flow, you shake your head, “nothing. keep going.”
he’s popping the cap back on the container while pulling the iridescent pink mason jar you keep your go-to make up brushes in towards the edge of the vanity before picking the first one he sees — the flat brush you normally use for concealer. “don’t be laughing at me. i’ll pull your little ass over my lap and s—“
“—i’m going to have to edit that out now, eren!” you whine. you absolutely hate editing and you try your best to keep it at a minimal. however, knowing eren and his apathetic impudence, you know this video is going to be cut-and-paste central.
he lifts your chin by a knuckle so he can start blending the primer a little bit more into your skin. “don’t edit it,” he utters in reply as if that was an unexacting solution. you blink up into the moss-green of his eyes, unable to keep from noticing just how long and delicate his eyelashes are that frame them. when he blinks, they touch the apples of his cheeks and spring back up near his brow bone. you strangely want to comb mascara through them. “there.” he plops the brush back inside the jar and nibbles upon the flesh of his bottom lip in consideration.
“what now?”
he gives you a sideways glance, “. . uh, f-foundation? that shit.” he snatches the bottle of your fenty beauty foundation and shakes it a bit before angling the applicator over your face and pumping it all over. “then you use this brush, right?” he grabs a tapered, buffing brush with dense bristles which makes you lift your eyebrows in slight surprise. you didn’t know he paid that much attention. so far, all of the products he’s been using have been correct, aside from him wielding your concealer brush to pat in your primer.
while he’s brushing the full-coverage product over the canvas of your face, you can’t help but fist the fabric of his sweats in your fist. no reason to, honestly, just wanted to touch him. “maybe we can tell them how we met while we do this, baby?”
he’s concentrating, eyebrows linked close and tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “yeah, sure,” he mumbles. “tell them how you acted like a smart, know-it-all just ‘cause you wanted my attention, huh?”
you swat his chest with a huff, “i did not,” you pout. “we met through our mutual friend, sasha, at a restaurant to celebrate her birthday. i was eighteen, eren was nineteen and — wait, no, my first impression of you was—“
“—he’s sexy as fuck and i’m going to try my absolute best to get on his nerves, because that’s exactly what your smart ass did—“
“—oh, fuck you.”
“yeah?” he smiles and you feel his fingers drop from your chin to wrap around the column of your throat. he tugs you in roughly to smack his lips into yours for two, three, four? pecks before pulling away and going back to blending your foundation up into your ears. the action is so swift and quick that you’re sure you almost catch whiplash. “watch your tone.”
“anyways,” you roll your eyes, fighting to keep your smile in. something in you likes switching the button of your ‘brat mode’ on and off because you like how easy it is for eren to snap you back in place with a simple look, or phrase of, ‘keep playing with me and watch what i’ll do.’ of course, you’ve never told him this and you doubt you ever will, but something inside of you knows eren has picked up on it and that’s why he doesn’t really spare you a glance when you catch a sudden attitude out of no where. you like his attention, no, love it actually and when you got it, you were happiest. however, eren has been trying to teach you lately that not everything will go your way just because you want it to. you have to earn what you want.
and most of the time that includes his dick and attention, whether you like it or not.
“i thought eren was this stuck up, snobby, rich boy when i met him because he came to the restaurant dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie,” you close your eyes when he grabs the tube of concealer to draw a line over the lids then little triangles beneath your eyes followed by a line dragging upwards on the outer part towards your temple.
“like that, right?”
you shrug at his question and he clicks his jaw in frustration. “anyways, upon sitting down, we’re all talking and stuff and i catch him looking at the menu when our waitress comes by to take our order, then he asks her if he can have the crudité as his whore-derv.”
eren shakes his head and caps the concealer back up after drawing a dick on your nose and putting some on your chin and forehead. “i didn’t say it like that.”
you giggle and punch his shoulder, “yes, you did! and i corrected you and told you it’s pronounced hors d'oeuvre and you gave me this . . look.” it’s always hard to explain. every time you think about that day, you think about the certain look he gave you. a bright glint in his eye that made it seem like he wanted to kiss, kill, and marry you at the same while. “and then he was pussy-whipped from there on out. literally hounded me for my number while i walked to my car when we were all leaving.”
“you gave it to me the first time i asked and i walked you to your car, don’t play with me,” he pulls you in close by the throat again while smiling and you hum playfully while looking up at him. “maybe so, maybe not. i don’t remember it happening like that.”
he clicks his tongue and lazily lines contour over your forehead and jawline. “do that stupid fish face.” you suck in your cheeks to make your lips pucker cutely as he outlines the contour to bring out your cheekbones. “there you go,” he whispers underneath his breath. “good fuckin’ girl.”
he lets you go when he’s done and caps it. “now i get to use that sponge, i think. where is it?” he shuffles around the vanity and drawers for a moment before he sees it buried in the jar with your brushes. he shoves his huge hand inside of it, almost breaking the glass, prior to retrieving the sponge shaped like a mushroom in honor of colour pop’s collaboration with mario kart as a promotion package you received last year. with the sponge, eren starts to pat the cream products all in and you take the time to grow quiet again and close your eyes, melting into the comfort of having him so near.
his face was only inches away from yours so you can smell the spearmint of the gum he was chewing on his breath that occasionally brushes over your face. you can tell he also washed his hair too … and with your shampoo which doesn’t comes as a surprise since he claims the brand you buy makes his hair feel softer. you blink your eyes back open daintily to find him already staring at you too and you can’t help but smile and go a bit shy, “u-uhm . . what was your first impression when you first saw me?”
he bounces the sponge over your chin then smirks, “i don’t know, man,” he mumbles. “thought you were pretty as fuck, if you really want me to be honest. had on this . . tight ass, light blue dress with your hair and make up all done …“ his mind takes him back to the day. takes him back to sitting there at the table in the corner of a dimly, lit restaurant, staring at you without an ounce of shame in his body. you’d sometimes glimpse over and catch him, however, he never looked away. “cute ass.”
you giggle and throw your arms over his shoulders, blown away dumbfounded that he actually remembered what you wore. “then the second time we met,” he blends in the concealer under your eyes which leaves the products all melded and fused smoothly, then drops the brush on the vanity. “uh, i took you on a date . . we went to the fair.”
you gasp at the memory, “you won me this gigantic, pink, panda bear at the stall games! and . . and we ate like four funnel cakes together and you almost threw up on the ferris wheel. awe, baby,” you peck his lips and brush more of his hair back to get a better look at his handsome face. “one of my favorite dates we’ve been on.”
“i’m glad,” suddenly, as if a spring had been faulted in his seat, eren brings you in by your chair to align his lips upon yours and kisses you. his tatted hand holds your face firmly in place as your lips began to move slowly with light, clicking sounds and small smacks. you breathe him in completely, pulling him closer and closer until you felt yourself climbing his lap which doesn’t take neither of you by surprise. you end up with your knees caged around his hips and your hands tangled in the tufts of sorrel-brown waves as his tongue skims the seam of your lips before prying them open. neither of you can really help yourself at this point.
his large hands are sliding up the back of your thighs, bare due to you wearing a pair of tiny, denim shorts today. then they find your ass cheeks which he squeezes, right before pulling the palm of his right hand back an inch and slamming it back down to make you give a cute sound between a squeak and moan. eren’s been trying to control his urges this entire time if he wants to be entirely candid with himself. it’s hard having your face right in front of his and not doing anything about it. there’s been more than a few instances where it hadn’t took much — just him fucking staring at you while you talked has got him bricked up within seconds. this right here . . he considers it torture.
“w-wait, baby, no,” you’re whining and pulling and pouting — everything eren does not want, to free yourself from his embrace and he groans in irritation, tilting his head back against the chair he’s seated in. “we have to finish.” you take your seat again and adjust your locs, feeling as though two million people just saw you blatantly make out with your boyfriend. “i have to edit that out, too.”
eren tilts his head back forward and blows out a breath. his hand grabs your favorite setting powder. “we set this shit now, right?”
from there on out, it’s almost like he’s whizzing through the process. he ends up actually making your eyeliner sharp and crisp just because of how fast he flicked his fingers and drew it on. “wait, c’mere,” he pulls your face in really close until your noses are almost touching. “i like when you do that inner corner shit.” he tries his best to draw the tiny triangle and . . it looks somewhat good. it’s not bad, but it’s not as small and precise as you do it. eren doesn’t care that much. he’s dusting blush over your cheeks and nose bridge with a brush which makes you sneeze and he chuckles. “you can do your eyebrows and eyelashes and shit,” he utters while grabbing a tube of white and pink eyeliner. “i want to draw.”
“on my face, eren?”
he shushes you, “i’ll make it look nice, daddy promises.” he ends up dotting tiny stars over your cheeks and nose bridge with the two colors . . almost like freckles. “then . . i like that dark outline and clear lipgloss shit on your lips.” he drops the eyeliner to pick up a random, dark pencil which is an eyebrow product and lines your lips with smooth, exact lines that follow the shape of them. he makes you rub them together when he’s done to blend the harsh contours then lets you apply the lipgloss yourself. from there on, he grabs a random setting spray and spritzes your face with it all over to complete it.
he’s smiling at the finished product, teasingly keeping your hello kitty shaped, handheld mirror hidden behind his back before showing you. “ready?” he asks.
you tap your feet, anxiously. “yes! lemme see already.”
“you sure?”
“eren!”
he holds up the mirror and your eyebrows instantly raise in a state of startlement. your reflection staring back at you through the mirror looks actually . . good. you find that he, if truth be told, blended in your foundation and contour quite nicely, and although the blush was a bit misplaced, you adore the star-freckles he added. “i’m . . i’m really surprised, eren. woah,” you tilt your face this way and that, admiring the liner and choice of lip.
eren tchs, staring at you as if just realizing something, “i forgot that shiny shit.”
you hum quizzically.
“the stuff you put on your cheeks.”
“. . oh, highlighter.” you nod. “no, no. i feel like this is good on its own, this is amazing actually. you did way better than i thought. the only product you misused was the eyebrow pencil on my lips, i’m proud of you.”
eren sets the mirror down and hums, tilting his head when he leans in to softly peck your lips. it’s a sweet sign of affection since he doesn’t make any other move than that and you smile cutely, “. . i think i’ll leave this part in.”
“good.”
you stand and decide to take a seat on his lap to film the outro. “and this is the finished look. i think my baby did well, ten out of ten for me.” you squeeze his face between your hands. “now when i hit three million subscribers the two of us will be back so that i can do eren’s make up!—“
he lifts his eyebrows. “—really?”
“please remember to like and subscribe and all that cool stuff. i’ll see you guys on friday with a new video. muah!” you blow a big kiss to the camera before turning to eren. “you gotta blow one, too.”
he groans and bury his face into your neck. you roll your eyes and give a final wave for him before grabbing the tiny remote off of your vanity to press a button and end the recording.
if eren’s honest, he isn’t quite sure what ensues after — it all kind of happens in a whirl. all he really knows is that one minute you’re sitting on his lap and the next, you’re squirming out of his arms, knees hitting the floor and you’re tugging his sweats down to wrap your small hand around his half-hard cock. he bucks up into your fist at the first touch, “woah,” pleasantly surprised. “what …”
you press a kiss right upon the silver barbell that pricks through a thin patch of skin right underneath the fat, mushroom head of his cock. “i just . . wanted it. ‘s this okay?” you’re looking up at him with big, pretty eyes that makes his heart thud just a little bit harder against the cage of his ribs. is this okay? what kind of question was that?
“yeah, baby,” he rasps. “it’s okay.”
you wiggle your hips and hold him upright with your thumb and middle finger as your tongue drags a thick stripe up the underside. he tastes a bit like sweat and soap — you’re borderline drooling when your tongue dips a bit lower to lave over the smooth skin of his heavy balls. eren doesn’t know where the hell women like you come from.
one moment so smart mouthed and slick, giving him rolled eyes, middle fingers, and pouts then the next, all docile and compliant, fluttered eyelashes, glassy eyed, and sweet.
he watches you gather a sloppy mass of spit to drip on his cock and smoothly follow its path with your tongue to ease him into the back of your throat. “awe, fuck,” he tilts his head off onto the seat as his eyes swing back within his skull at the tight warmth your little mouth brings. he adores you, very much so. he doesn’t think anyone else can keep him on his toes the way you do. “god, i fuckin’ love you,” he chuckles softly.
you give a small snicker at his sudden confession and pushes his hoodie up with your other hand, wanting to see the way his abs tauten and stretch each time his piercing hits your gag reflex. you start to attend to a rhythmic, even pattern — keeping your cheeks sucked in to provide a snug grip as you let your drool froth and foam thick bubbles at his base.
eren’s mouth is slightly agape as he watches you through hooded lids, eyes significantly darker than they were five minutes ago. what was once a brilliant teal, now a murky sage.
you lift your eyes up to meet his, establishing steady and solid eye contact and makes sure he keeps looking when you pop off with a pretty gasp, lips swollen and tongue bridged to his tip by a bubbly line of thick saliva. eren shakes his head, “nah, nah,” he’s mumbling lowly, feeling his brain wandering dimly into a darker, more sinister sector where he’s convinced the only two people left on this planet is you and him.
you like to call the sudden stance change a bit scary. you can see his brain practically forming itself around a more assertive, domineering slant by the way his hand presses into the back of your head and forces you back down until your nose is touching the bare skin above his shaft. “there you fuckin’ go,” he grunts lowly, ignoring your coughs and splutters as you jab the edges of your acrylics into the strong meat of his thighs. he forces you off again, just to watch you gasp for air and then shoves you back down a second later. “still not all the way there, doll. want you to drop for me.”
it doesn’t occur to you what drop exactly means until it happens — until you feel your mind go a bit cloudy and dull as your eyes tear and nose start to leak at the rough treatment your throat’s receiving. you drop when your nails stop digging into his skin and you stop holding back which leaves you limp and able to relax your throat to take his cock inside of it fully. then eren pulls you off.
there’s a stifled ringing in your ears as you blink up at him, watching him lean in close while smiling and grabbing you roughly by the face to make your lips pucker. “there you fuckin’ go. this is my good girl,” he gives two firm pats to your face, making you smile and hum, wonderfully dumb and gormless. he pulls you back up onto his lap by your arms, practically snatching off your shorts and popping open the buttons of your body-suit that clipped securely at your crotch. “mmm,” he’s looking up at you while tapping his wet, long cock upon the fat of your dripping pussy.
you mewl and circle your hips slow, trying your best to just sink down on it but eren’s holding you with one tatted hand by the hip, keeping you from doing so. you’re weak, already sniffling and crying, whimpering out tiny ‘eren, please’s’ as he smiles and ignores you. “fuckin’ filthy, aren’t you?” he dips two of his fingers past your lips to touch your throat when he pushes you down. he feels the way you choke and the way your little throat spasms as your tiny pussy gets split open by the fat of his cock the more he raises his hips to meet you halfway. “fuuuuuck.”
eren pulls his fingers out to grab you by the soft flesh of your ass and starts to rock up and down slowly, wanting you both to savor it for a minute.
you’re moaning, already a pile of weak goo as you hold onto the hem of his hoodie, staring into his eyes. “feels good?” he asks you quietly. you nod, too dumb to realize that you should probably vocalize it though you can’t. you couldn’t, even if you tried and thankfully, eren understands. “yeah?”
you nod again, this time giving a sweet, “mhm.”
he starts to rock you just a little bit faster and your mouth drops open. eren groans and pushes you faster . . and faster until ultimately you both realize that you’re starting to bounce on your own. the thick meat of your ass is clapping down on his thighs with each rebound and you can hear the slick of your juices mixing in with his as the chair squeaks underneath both of your weight. “just like that,” eren drags his nails down the arch of your back to smack your ass and make you whine. “shit!”
the thread of self-control is shedding into nothing between you both when you trade the bounces to take a firm seat on his thighs and push yourself back and forth, brushing that fucking piercing against that tender tissue of sensitive nerves nestled inside of you that makes drool start to trickle down your chin. eren’s moans are loud as he meets you thrust for thrust. he watches the way your tits move inside your shirt, nipples hard and straining against the cotton.
your hands slip from his shoulders to tangle inside of his hair. “g-gonna make me cum,” you sniff, voice quiet and small. “e-eren, you’re . . y-y’gonna make me cum.”
“gonna make me cum, too, baby.”
there isn’t a word to describe how it feels.
you both go quiet for a moment, working desperately towards your highs with him lifting his hips and you bouncing and it hits like a truck.
you’re loud and eren’s gasping, pulling you in close with both his arms wrapped around your back as if he were hugging you. his cum is seeping past your cervix it feels like . . shooting and gathering into the small crevice of your womb as yours seeps out of you like a waterfall — running and slipping down his balls and to the chair. you’re pulling at his hair, involuntarily tugging honestly, as your body twitches and trembles on the come down. “h-holy shit,” you’re crying you realize, little sobs pushing from your throat. “oh my god.”
you’re both breathing hard and eren groans upon realizing that he isn’t finished. there’s still a buzzing warmth coursing through his veins that makes him run his hands up your sides to your neck to grab your face and pull it from his neck to kiss you. he mumbles something on your lips.
“h-huh?”
he looks up at you, “don’t stop,” he repeats lowly and you let out a yelp of surprise when he grabs you by the hips to start to move you again. “don’t fuckin’ stop.”
“eren.”
you’re positive that you can’t take anymore. your cunt’s already bruised and sensitive, cervix tender and weak . . you can’t take it. you soon realize that you’re babbling this and dragging your nails across his wrists and he’s shaking his head, pupils blown as he stares into your eyes. “you can,” he tells you.
suddenly you feel the world tipping on its axis for a second prior to your back touching the white, faux rabbit-fur rug that lays underneath your vanity as he looms up above you on his spread knees with your calves thrown over his strong shoulders. “you can take it for me.” he pins your hips down when he starts to fuck you. it seems like it’s even faster this time. he’s fucking you like he’s sure in the fact you won’t break. no matter how hard his thrusts are, no matter how far he bends your legs back, no matter how brutal … you won’t break. “ ‘cause you’re my good girl, huh?”
his hair provides a cloak and shields your faces from the rest of the world when he leans down and kisses you. you nod at his question, moaning and hiccuping inside the heat of his mouth. “so fuckin’ good.” it’s so messy . . there’s loud squelches as he fucks the mix of cum in and out of you and it drips over the clefts of your ass and past the silver of skin that separates your pussy from your taint. but it feels unworldly. your eyes cross with each plunge of his cock into the barrier of your cervix. “ohhh god,” you cry through a whimper. “god, eren — god!”
he bites his bottom lip, watching you lose all sense of the world underneath him. “mhm,” he mumbles, swinging his hips harder into yours. “mm, ‘m your god, baby? is that right?”
your answer is immediate, “y-yessss.”
he grabs your face again, squeezing your cheeks until your tongue is forced out of your mouth by the pressure. and when the cushion of pink is placed on display, he gathers a wad of spit on his own to shoot it down into yours. “swallow it.”
you do so with a shiver of bliss and he groans, trembling along with you. “f-fuck, gonna make me cum again, doll.”
you’re begging him to give it to you with your feet dangling in the air above his head. his pounds are focused and hell-bent on doing so. you feel yourself nearing that edge of ecstasy once again — this time with a sharp twinge that makes you clamp your shaking legs at the knees as your face twists up in what looks like pain. eren goes to pull out, growing concerned but then it happens. your cum is splashing and raining out of you in a spew, drenching his hips and the pockets of his hoodie as you gasp and wheeze.
the sight is just enough for his eyes to roll back as his own cum sows your insides — painting creamy white over pretty, bubblegum pink.
you both don’t dare to speak nor move.
you want to bask in the aftermath of this deeply-out-of-fucking-body experience for as long as you possibly can.
but, when it ultimately passes around three minutes later, eren slumps forward with languor and groans, body feeling heavy. you run your fingers through his hair and hold him close, of course.
“i love you,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, a soft kiss following the words which makes you smile. “mm,” you hum in content. “i love you so much more.”
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