Can we end up with both Connie and Eren like two twin boyfriends? I'm greedy 😭 I love your writes btw 🩷🩷
rich! connie x reader x producer! eren
↳ ❝ [why have one when you can have both? two boys who are so obsessed with you and would anything to make sure you keep a smile on that pretty face. connie loves to spoil you and eren. you and connie are eren’s muses. connie and eren are your precious boys. ] ¡! ❞
Connie books a private getaway for the three of you. It’s a sleek glass house in the hills with infinity pools and Bluetooth speakers in every room. There’s champagne chilling. Custom robes with your initials. A chef on call.
He flies Eren and you out first-class. Of course.
Eren’s a little awkward at first in this kind of wealth, but you ease him into it—letting him wrap his arms around you in the back of the jet, making him laugh when you sneak desserts off Connie’s plate just to feed it to Eren.
Connie watches like he’s proud. Like you both belong to him.
The sun’s already dipped below the skyline, casting golden light across the water. Barcelona hums with music, clinking wine glasses, and your laughter as you strut out of the boutique hotel between two of the finest men you’ve ever known.
You’re in a silky low-back red dress, legs glistening, gold anklet catching the streetlights. Your hair’s laid. Your lip gloss is popping.
Eren’s in a white open-linen shirt, tattoos peeking through his collarbone. Connie’s in tailored trousers, Cuban link resting on his chest and a Rolex peeking from under his sleeve. His buzzcut’s fresh with the signature design—your initials tucked into the fade this time.
They’ve got their hands on you all night.
Eren keeps whispering in your ear in that gravelly low tone, “You look so fucking good, baby…”
Connie’s sliding his palm down the small of your back every time you stop to pose for a pic, muttering, “Mami, you really tryna give me a heart attack, huh?”
Dinner is on a private rooftop terrace—candles lit, wine flowing, and the ocean breeze playing with your dress while you feed them bites of seafood paella off your fork.
You don’t pay for a thing. You barely even touch the door.
They pull your chair out. Fix your necklace. Let you lean against either one of them like you’re the only thing that matters tonight.
And they make sure everyone sees it.
You’re their girl. No confusion.
Back at the suite that overlooks the city—floor-to-ceiling windows, mood lighting, and smooth music playing from the speaker Eren connected the second you walked in.
You’re tipsy, giggling as Connie pops champagne again while Eren pulls you onto the bed, letting your body collapse into his like a plush pillow. His shirt’s off. Your heels are still on.
You murmur, “I had so much fun tonight…”
Eren kisses your collarbone. “Night’s not over.”
Connie appears with the glasses. “Not even close, princesa.”
He slides in behind you, champagne in one hand, the other sneaking up your thigh while Eren presses slow, teasing kisses across your chest. You’re wrapped between them again—Connie trailing lazy circles into your skin while Eren pulls the strings of your dress just enough to slip it off your shoulders.
Soft giggles melt into warm sighs.
Every touch feels like they’re savoring you—like you’re a dessert they’ve been craving since the sun went down.
They take turns kissing you slowly.
Hands tracing the outline of your body.
Eren whispering how good you feel.
Connie telling you to relax, let them take care of everything.
Because tonight, you’re not just spoiled…
Afterwards, you’re tucked between their bare chests, in nothing but one of Eren’s tees, legs tangled under the covers. Connie plays with your hair while scrolling through the photos from tonight. Eren hums quietly against your neck, already half-asleep but still holding you close like he’s scared you’ll disappear.
They both murmur soft goodnights.
You smile. Sleepy. Satisfied.
Back in the city, you keep everything balanced.
If you’re at Connie’s place in the hills, soaking in marble tubs and lounging in Versace robes—you make sure to FaceTime Eren, cheeks warm, telling him you miss him.
If you’re curled up in Eren’s studio apartment, hoodie too big and eating cereal for dinner, you text Connie a mirror pic and remind him how soft you are for him, too.
Equal attention. Equal love.
And they both know it. Even if they’ll never admit how deep it goes.
Sometimes, petty arguments break out over dumb things.
“Why does Eren get morning cuddles first?”
“You kissed Connie longer when you said bye.”
“She gave you the last kiss.”
And you’ll roll your eyes, palms on your hips. “Both of you—shut the fuck up. I’m not doing this today.”
They fall silent. Stewing like punished little boys on opposite ends of the couch. But still glaring at each other.
You end up kissing them both in the end. Straddling one while holding the other’s hand. Letting them both know they’re yours—and you’re theirs.
It started as chaos. But somehow, it works.
Eren’s in the studio, hoodie off, sweats hanging low, completely in the zone—head bobbing, fingers flying over his new MPC Live II. It’s still got the wrapper on the screen protector, a gift from Connie that Eren tried to act too cool about but secretly never lets anyone else touch.
He’s working through a melody, headphones on, blunt lit in the ashtray beside him, bass humming through the walls.
You and Connie walk in with iced coffees and takeout. Connie’s in designer slides, white tank, and Cartier frames with his chain dancing over his chest. He sets the food down like he owns the place—because technically, he helped renovate the damn studio.
“You eat today, bebé?” Connie asks, already side-eyeing Eren like he knows the answer.
Eren peeks up, smirks. “Was getting to it.”
“Uh huh.” Connie walks over, grabs the blunt without asking, takes a drag. “Make me a beat next time I feed you.”
You laugh as you set the food up and ignoring the minor stare-off between them. You kiss Eren’s cheek and wrap your arms around his neck while Connie leans against the desk, watching like he’s got nothing but time.
“You two fighting again?” you murmur, sitting on Eren’s lap and nuzzling Eren’s neck.
He shrugs. “Not fighting. He just tryna act like he ain’t jealous.”
“I bought you $3,000 worth of equipment,” Connie says flatly. “If anyone jealous, it’s him—of the fact I make you moan more.”
You groan and roll your eyes. “You’re both lucky I love y’all. Eat before I start gettin on both of yall asses.”
You feed Eren fries from your own box. Connie snatches one, kisses your forehead, and you give them each a small smile as you lean back against Eren’s chest.
The lights in Eren’s studio are low—warm red hue from the LED strips across the ceiling, smoke dancing in the corners of the room. The scent of weed, cologne, and you lingers in the air. Heavy bass thumps slow in the background—Eren’s latest beat looped while he tweaks drums one-handed, the other resting on your thigh.
You’re on his lap, facing the screen. Connie lounges behind you on the couch, shirt off, fingers absentmindedly swirling the iced Hennessy in his glass as his eyes roam your body.
“You gon’ just sit there all night, princesa?” Connie murmurs, low and Dominican-slick. “He touchin’ you like he need somethin’.”
You tilt your head just a little, that bratty smirk dancing on your glossed lips.
“I’m focused,” you lie, shifting slightly in Eren’s lap—grinding slow, barely-there, making his breath catch.
Eren’s jaw flexes. “She tryna play,” he mutters, voice husky as his grip tightens on your thigh. “Always acting like we won’t ruin her.”
Connie sets his glass down. His rings clink on the table.
He stands and pulls the chair you and Eren sit in back, saunters over you—slow, confident, always in control.
Eren lets the beat play on loop while you’re sandwiched between them now—Connie in front of you, Eren below, both warm and ready.
Connie slides the sleeveless bodycon dress that hugs you so well off you slowly, deliberately. The cold air kisses your bare chest.
Eren watches like he’s starving.
“You so perfect,” Eren says, hands rising to cup your breasts, thumbs dragging over your nipples. “She always this soft when you have her first?”
Connie chuckles. “Nah, she warms up more with you… but I finish her better.”
You moan as both their hands trail lower—Eren’s fingers circling your clit under your barely there panties, teasing slow; Connie’s hand around your throat, gentle but firm.
“Abre esa boca, mami.” Connie says, you slowly open your mouth and stick your tongue out. He smirks and leans closer— and lets it drip, slow and deliberate, straight from his mouth into yours.
The string of spit was warm, intimate—filthy in the sweetest way.
The mix loops in the background like a soundtrack built for this moment.
Eren kisses your jaw, your shoulder, your collarbone. “Let us record you,” he whispers. “Sound so pretty when you whine.”
Connie pulls you out of Erens lap and bends you over so your top half hangs off Eren’s shoulder, holding onto the top of his chair—Eren holding you steady by your waist while Connie slides down your panties, slow like he’s unwrapping a gift he already knows is his while his fingers graze your two back dermals that glint under the red light.
He runs two fingers through your slick folds and hums, pleased.
“She already drippin’,” Connie says, smirking at Eren. “Better than anything you ever sampled.”
Eren locks eyes with him. “That a challenge?”
And then—Connie’s tongue is on you.
From behind. Deep, slow licks, groaning into your pussy while Eren holds your hips and pulls your cheeks apart, keeping you spread open.
You arch, cry out—Eren grabs your face with one hand and muffles it with a kiss, tongue sliding past your lips while Connie eats you like he hasn’t tasted you in weeks. It’s wet, noisy, delicious. You’re shaking already.
“Let her come,” Eren whispers. “She’ll beg for more.”
And you do. With their names on your tongue. Slurred, needy. A wreck in both their hands.
But they don’t stop there.
Eren rubs your back while admiring the red ink koi fish that sits in the center of your back, letting you catch your breath before shoving two fingers into you, curling deep.
“Still so tight,” he growls. “You miss this dick, baby?”
Connie unzips his pants, dick already thick and leaking.
“She miss both,” he grits, slapping your ass. “Don’t you?”
You gasp, breathless. “Yes. Both of you.”
And then they trade off—Connie slides into you from behind, deep and slow, hands gripping your hips while Eren stays close, lips sucking your nipples.
“You take us so well,” Eren whispers against your hard, perky buds. “Look at you. So fucked you can’t even speak.”
You’re moaning between them, helpless and overstimulated—Connie pounding from behind, Eren teasing your clit with his fingers, kissing your tears when it gets too much.
When you come again, it’s messy and loud. Eren records it. Just for you. Just for them.
Connie finishes first, groaning low and holding your waist tight, whispering “That’s it, baby,” while Eren strokes himself, painting your thighs with the last of his need.
The beat’s still playing.
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