PERSIAN RUGS. ft. 𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷 𝓳𝓮𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓻.
৻ꪆ synopsis. partnering with your ex was doomed from the start yet, eren proves your favorite dildo was never competition.
৻ꪆ tags. hobo!eren, camgirl!reader. college au. exes w benefits. sixty-nining. oral. sex toys. overstimulation. jealousy. toxic dynamics. perversion. subtle flirting. squirting. use of pet names. mention of drugs. impact play. praise kink.
everybody knows professor levi doesn’t tolerate disruptions in his lecture, least of all someone like you waltzing in late. your bag falls half an inch off your shoulder, tresses cascading into a curl over an eye. the pastry-sweet scent of your victoria’s secret perfume wafts across the rows of students, coaxing a few heads to glance your way, though their attention veers back to the professor.
“late, as usual, young lady.”
tucking a stray strand behind your ear, you clear your throat, eyes flitting down to the floorboards. your fingers skim the single strap of your tote, the iridescent floral embroidery imprinted on the front. you mumble a humble apology, lifting your feet just so as your heels click against the wooden tiles.
levi exhales through his nose, “tch.” murky brows subtly furrowing to show his distaste as the vertical planes of his back swivel to switch the projector on. “like i was saying—,” and resumes class. your wandering gaze glides across the room in search of a free seat, and then . . it lands right on him.
he’s slouched in one of the back seats, wearing a patterned red-and-blue flannel over a diaphanous, pristine man-beater, a cartier necklace sitting low at the hollow of his throat as his hair loosely frames his facial features. he’s got his usual languid, dead-eyed look as his chin rests on his palm, his scruffy stubble adorning along his pretty jawline—partially bleached, thanks to how much time he spent burying his mouth in pussy.
how convenient—the last face you wanted to encounter, and if that isn’t already bad enough, the only open seat’s right next to him. the second you pick up your feet again, the ball in his throat bobs in mirrored recognition.
the porcelain halter crop rests snug amid your breasts, the tiny ‘v’ at the neckline dipping just enough to kiss the top of your cleavage as your tits recoil with every footfall. the frilly drape of your mini skirt curves along your hips as you weave through the slim aisle of bags and jutting knees. wispy strands of your styled ponytail fall loose against your cheekbones, framing the oversized, clear glasses cutely perched on your nose. at last, you slide into the seat beside him, catching the sidelong glance he gives, acknowledging how your thighs double in size when you sit.
you return the glance, tugging the hemline of your skirt down and resting your purse across your bare thighs, obscuring his view. automatically, eren adjusts his posture too, manspreading wider in the cramped lecture hall with a deep sigh, presumably dissatisfied. he doesn’t apologize when his knee imprudently knocks against yours either, carelessly hogging the small space you’re stuck sharing. you both spent half a semester spent avoiding each other for one particular reason, especially when your phone used to buzz with payments you ignored around the same hour every night.
before the whole mess, he wasn’t just some hobo you found hot in your class—he was your top subscriber. because of the mutual attraction, you eventually met up to fuck, and pretty soon, you two were a thing. emphasis on were—because that blew up just as fast as it started. your ex had a mouth for jealousy but not for basic communication, and when it came to your relationship, he was nowhere near emotionally present. on top of that, he had a manipulative streak toward your onlyfans, even while being the first one funding huge amounts and perving on you. yet, even with all that, part of you still yearns for this deadbeat of a man.
“today, we’re covering freudian defense mechanisms. turn to page six in your syllabus.” levi states flatly, “some of you don’t even have a pencil in hand, get your notes out from last class,” he proceeds to complain, gaze cavorting the filled in seats with nothing more than a slight displeased scowl on his face.
you’re seated next to each other for the first time and while it’s awkward, it kind of makes you feel clammy as your ex-boyfriend does a bad job pretending not to acknowledge you or the ridiculous cuteness of the sanrio characters on your keychain when you tug your bag open while eren shoves his backpack under the seat, the rustle of papers skittering across the lecture hall as you thumb the elastic aside and peel back the faded red hardcover.
“defense mechanisms are unconscious strategies our psyche uses to reduce anxiety,” professor levi continues in his usual boring monotone, “freud identified repression, projection, displacement—”
“. . hey,” eren hums, “can i see y’r notes real quick?”
for a second, it doesn’t even register. your vision tilts to him, shifting back toward the front and bouncing back to him in realization that he’s speaking directly to you, because did he really just—? you glance at his space with nothing on it, not even the decency of holding a pencil to make him look less useless. . to which, sure, maybe you’re a slut, but at least you don’t show up to class just so your ass can keep the chair warm while spending the whole of last weeks lecture doing jack shit.
your brow does that arch when you give a look of disbelief, you’re just trying to get through levi’s lecture, and eren decides now is the time to talk, as if the last time he saw you wasn’t with his cock in hand. yesterday evening he legitimately tipped you fifty bucks on a burner to watch you ride a dildo, all while pretending he’s not obsessed with you. presently, he’s sitting next to you like nothing happened. . . like you’re not the face of his last orgasm.
by the time you respond, it’s with a brief eye-roll, unaware of the previous nights events. “. . sure.”
he tips forward to take a glimpse at your notes, cocoa wisps falling loose over his shoulders. you catch the familiar whiff of his náutica voyage cologne, and fuck—you didn’t mean to summon the memories it drags along. you stare straight ahead, trying not to picture the way your ex used to snap at your mouth when he’d complain, “c’mon princess, i ain’t got all day—,” and you swoon before you can even reprimand yourself, struggling to gather what little composure you have left.
your handwriting’s always been too difficult to browse through. its slanted, swirling epistles that loop together in one jumble, and eren’s brain practically shorts trying to make sense of it, head tilted as he squints at the page like it’s written in hieroglyphics. except, before he can even process what he’s looking at, his pencil slides from his digits and clatters against the floor. you watch it roll past his foot, and eren awkwardly hesitating to make eye contact with you again, as if like he’s about to ask you to lend him a kidney or something equally foolish.
his jaw hangs open, lime eyes slowly climbing back up from the ground to meet your dumbfounded gaze. "uh, mind grabbing that for me?" he rasps.
a lump lodges in your throat, and you blink at him, stumped. with a small nod, you just get it over with as you bend down, fingers stretching toward the pencil. your arm brushes his calf, your face hovering just centimeters from his thigh, and when you sit back up to hand it to him, eren’s adam’s apple leaps, “thanks—,” except his sentence gets abruptly cut off by a sudden feigned cough from the front that interferes with your small talk.
“you,” the professor calls, squinted, oyster-clouded irises landing on you. “since this is the second time you’ve disrupted me, explain to the class how freud would make sense of someone repressing a memory they insist they remember vividly.”
your eyes cluelessly dart around, brain stalling mid-thought by the sudden address of your name. “uhm . . projection? because,” you mumble, somewhat prepared with a random answer, collecting your thoughts prior to continuing, c’mon. focus. “um . . they’re putting their feelings on someone else but . . yeah, that’s it?”
“that’s incorrect,” levi deadpans. “jeager,” levi moves on, “care to redeem her answer?”
as if on sync, you two exchange a fleeting glance. except, you don’t say anything, and neither does eren’s dumbass. his plush lips purse in faux contemplation, fingernails dragging down his neck as he pretends to examine the useless scraps of messy handwriting he didn’t even finish copying, leaving levi’s question adjourned as if you both hadn’t just decimated yourselves in front of the whole class.
an elongated lull holds until he lets out a gruff sigh, “right, remind me why either of you are in this class?”
for the remainder of the lecture, time passes as you awkwardly sit side by side. you chew on the back of your stylus, while eren’s leg bounces rhythmically beside you, and it’s a little distracting in a way too. not the movement itself—but the familiarity. . the memory of that same knee pressing up behind your thighs when he’d fuck you from the back, muttering under his breath, “you’re takin’ me so good, princess, fuck—”
“for your midterm, you’ll pick a public figure or celebrity and apply freud’s defense mechanisms to analyze their behavior. the goal is to create a detailed profile, citing examples and backing your observations with research—details are in the syllabus. you’ll work with the person sitting next to you as your grade depends on how well both parts of the project preform.”
the professor’s words slip through one ear and out the other as your mind drifts into your own messy, raunchy flashbacks, teeth nibbling on your cerise-pink lip until the scrape of chairs yanking snaps you back into reality. your lashes flutter against the apples of your cheeks, your head jerks forward in confusion when everyone starts conversing as levi pairs them up—your name being called right alongside eren’s.
you scan the room for literally anyone else, but hesitate watching armin—sweet, reliable, hopeless armin—pairing off with someone else. all those countless nights spent whining eren’s name into your pillowcase, and now here you are, stuck beside him for the next couple of weeks working on some stupid psych case study.
you exhale through your nose, rolling your eyes. you’ve been jotting down notes, organizing the ones you already had except you haven’t seen eren writing anything at all, which means eren’s clearly not prepared for the assignment he’s supposed to collaborate in.
knowing your ex, he’ll probably leave majority of the work up to you since hes shabby like that. plus, if you don’t finish it in class, you’ll have to meet up outside of school. which. . isn’t exactly great, but the alternative is failing, and asking to switch partners is non-negotiable when levi would most definitely hit you with some bullshit about, “learning to work with people you don’t like,” and, let’s be real, you’ll be doing for the rest of your life anyway—so you might as well get used to it.
“. . eren,” you mumble, the name sitting weird on the tip of your tongue.
oblivious with what’s happening around him, his name is heard but isn’t retained as he doesn’t budge. you assume he must’ve racked a line before class or something with the way he’s sitting there absent-minded—chin resting on his hand but doesn’t look up. officially losing your patience, you bark his name again.
his green eyes shift toward you, “hm?”
you force a closed-lip smile. “. . did you write anything?”
erens shoulders relax the slightest bit as he leans back, flipping his notebook over. it’s blank. just one thing squiggled at the top of the page and that’s just his name and today’s date.
your mouth parts for a second as you both stare at it in silence. “. .that’s it?”
he lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug like you’re the unreasonable one. “what? figured we’d, y’know, work on it together.”
“together?” you scoff, “like you’ve been so helpful so far by writing nothing?” your nails sink and create small moon crescents in your palm. you already know how this’ll play out, “i’m not doing the project all by myself, eren.” you add, mind begrudgingly flipping through the calculations, it’ll probably be awkward, it’s forced teamwork, a few weeks of his presence, but part of you doesn’t feel entirely screwed.
“relax, who said you were doin’ it all by yourself?” eren hums, verdant irises flicking downwards towards your ajar lips without being discrete. “‘m not gonna ghost you for being partners, dollface.”
your chest gives an involuntary lurch at the pet name, and suddenly you have the urge to shove his handsome face down and muffle all the sweet talk he’s got to charm you with while he eats your—
“. . right. well, when it doesn’t work out, guess who’s the one pulling an all-nighter while you’re off getting high?”
“said relax.” eren scoffs, narrowing his eyes, almost offended by your input, “ain’t g’nna leave it all on you. that’s not the point of pairin’ up, dummy.”
your thighs tighten a fraction, tummy doing a tiny somersault, and you hate yourself for it. the concept seeps in—there’s something in the rhythm of his words that coaxes you into thinking maybe he isn’t going to leave all the work on you. maybe this is going to be. . normal. maybe, just maybe, being stuck with your ex for a project isn’t the most unfavorable thing in the world. your teeth gnaw at the inside of your lip while convincing yourself you’re still annoyed, even as a subtle clench of warmth coils inside you—a tiny, imperceptible squeeze of your cunt catching you off guard.
does it really matter, though, if you know you’ll cave anyway before the day’s over? not that it’s because you want to—well, maybe a teeny bit, since you’re not exactly furious at the idea, you grudgingly admit to yourself. but you’re not about to admit that the mere excuse of pretending you’re only stuck with him for a project is something you sort of looked forward to.
the room starts to empty as your cohorts pack up, people beginning to shuffle out the classroom. a scrap of paper swishes near your foot, and a laugh echoes down the hall, far too loud along with the rowdy noise of papers crumbling. surrender weighs on your shoulders until you mutter your loathed decision, “hmph. . alright, my place at seven.”
a loud rap on the door has a weary spin of your eyes rolling toward the ceiling, a string of curses flowing through your varnished lips as you move to answer.
you reach for the knob, and eren’s leaning against the frame when you pull it open, posture slightly slouched. he’s got his arms folded across his chest as his entire torso leans away to ensure not a single cell touches you when the door completely opens. you don’t speak to each other as you step aside with a sweep of your arm for him to slip past, his shoulder subtly grazing yours on the way in. he smells. . fresh.
his flannel drapes over the same white tank and lanky frame, sleeves shoved up to his forearms, and you eye the dense muscles beneath the fabric—veins ridging with the casual flex of his hands. eren’s hair shabbily curtains his jaw, and while you’re busy dissecting your ex’s half-assed effort toward his appearance, his jordans scuff off the dirt by your entrance.
“still have my number blocked, huh?” eren implies, shoulders slumping with the weight of his sigh, “says a lot that you couldn’t even unblock me just to work on this project.” the door clicks shut behind him as his footsteps follow.
you initially intend to ignore him, to clamp your mouth shut and not give him an opening for another argument, but his last words elicit a retort out of you anyway. “you didn’t get blocked for no reason. if you’re going to bitch about it, at least remember why it happened in the first place.”
“i mean, i wasn’t the one selling myself while cuffed.”
the nerve of this chump—walking into your apartment complex, planting himself against the wall of a modernized place that looks way more put-together than his, and acting like he can just stand in your space and try to humble you. like he wasn’t the reason you slammed the block button in the first place. it almost makes you laugh, the way he postures—perpetual two-faced bitch.
“but you were the one throwing money at me, so what’s that make you, ‘ren?” you hum in response, eyes narrowing at him.
his lips unseal a portion but before he could swiftly come up with a quick quip, you cut him off. “just drop it, eren.” you spew, “i’m not doing this with you, you can either walk out the door or work.”
he hesitates, lips pressing into a thin line. his shoulders shift as he pushes off the wall, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling like the plaster’s suddenly fascinating. “fine, then.”
you let out a slow breath through your nose, tilting your head just enough to catch his gaze before it drops again. “good. now, can we actually do this without me having to babysit you?”
under protest, he doesn’t return a response. instead, eren lowers himself atop the white tufted persian rug, joints splaying as he flops down, long limbs settling into place as his knees spread out before he finally stretches one leg forward, the other bent close. his elbows braces on his thigh. you pad after, setting your notebook down, then crouching onto the rug across from him.
for a second or three, you watch eren get comfortable, sprawling onto his stomach and flipping his laptop open on the floor. at least you finally got your idiot ex to shut up—and that small victory feels sweeter than it should. notebooks and pens scatter messily across your limbs as you both try to focus, though he won’t stop fidgeting beside you.
“so,” he mutters, awkwardly initiating small talk like he’s not beside the girl he honorably raw-dogged in every imaginable way. “what part you wan’ do?”
your fond irises lazily dart onto him, shrugging. “hm, i’ll take the. . intro, i suppose.” you mumble, hand propping up your chin as you scroll through an article.
he gives a curt nod, except eren forgets to look away as his attention fixates on the way your freshly waxed brows knit when you read. caught for an interval too long by the image of your general appeal, and your rosy cheekbones lit up from the photochromic uv light of your screen. his jade eyes trace the fall of your hair streaming down and over your shoulders, lingering on the subtle pillowy pout of your lips.
you give out a tiny sigh when you don’t find what you’re looking for, your shoulders slumping with the breath you let out. you’re still so stupidly gorgeous it’s hard to focus, really. he can’t look at you without remembering how you used to taste, how you used to sound. he pushes his indeceny away with the excuse that you’re just. . distracting.
distracting in the kind of way the greek gods supposedly crafted divinity—or whatever bullshit. he can’t tear his gaze from you, not when your shirt slips just enough to reveal the slope of your collarbone. it gnaws at him, knowing you’re inches away, and yet there’s an invisible boundary where eren used to have you, used to touch you, used to hear you laugh at him—for him. presently, he’s lying here with a notebook, unsure what to do with it, and a seraphic vision of a woman beside him.
letting out a breath, you both reach forward for the same pencil that you forgot was initially on his side of the floor. burly digits accidently cup the back of your palm and it sparks static between your ribs, discontinuing your thoughts. in a jiffy you retract your hand first while eren slows a hemisphere of an eternity to let go. his gaze flicks up from the brief collision, lazy emerald eyes catching the way your eyes immediately divert, and only ‘till then does he have the courtesy to roll it forward, allowing it come to a stop against your knuckles.
without a word you clear your throat, the aftershock prickling at the back of your neck as you pretend like that didn’t just make you feel like an electric current. you force yourself back at phoning the outline, jotting a bare summary just to get this stupid project over with.
eren watches the sloppy haste of your stylus grate against paper—the way you’re scratching too fast, like you’re trying to force the assignment into completion at the sheer speed. his brow arches, cheek hollowing with the slow drag of his tongue, perched on the edge of calling you out.
“. . y’realize you jus’ skipped the entire point of the theory, right?”
it’s bold of him to call attention to it, especially considering he’s careless with everything and literally never does his work, so who is he to critique the way you’re rushing through the assignment, as though he’s actually invested enough to give a shit?
it tumbles out of you as a scoff, “half the stuff you wrote doesn’t correlate with it either.”
his mouth opens to say something—neither does yours? okay, well, you’re skipping ahead too? but he swallows the things he want to say with, “it will once we’re done.”
you shut your notebook closed with a sigh, “y’know what? i’ll just get a snack.”
pushing up a little too fast, you trip over the corner of the rug in your rush to escape. your skirt flares upward with the stumble, cool air whooshing against the exposed skin on the backs of your thighs, and from eren’s vantage point on the floor, his gaze lands on the delicate press of lace, the supple curve of your backside straining over the thin band.
it’s obscene in its simplicity, the kind of image that shouldn’t knock the breath out of a man who’s seen your ass a handful amount of times, and yet still manages to leave his throat dryer than sand as he suddenly goes mute.
still sprawled on his front, eren’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth while he tries swallowing, blood rushing downwards—cock grinding against the floor beneath the weight of his body. his jeans shift with the way he tenses, that telltale press straining where the denim sits low on his hips while he’s too busy perverting over the view you just gave him.
your cheeks go scarlet as you awkwardly shuffle out, practically bolting toward the kitchen, yanking the hem of your skirt back down in embarrassment. the only reason eren didn’t finish running his mouth like usual is that he was too busy cataloguing every frame of the glimpse you just gave him, the vision stamped against the back of his eyelids. he hauls himself off the floor, prominent hard-on on display, and for some reason, like it’s been since he showed up, he pads after you.
eren’s feet carry him down the hall, his half-lidded gaze sweeping over your back profile. his lips part like he’s about to say something, but the words stall as his eyes catch on a painting hanging against the otherwise blank wall. he hardly notices the frame before his attention hooks on your bedroom door—cracked open just enough to veil the daylight spilling through the windowpanes and covering the antique farmhouse dresser. that’s when his stare darts toward on the overly familiar, rigid, glossy silicone propped near your bed.
eren pauses by the doorframe, eyes fixated on what’s inside your bedroom. his chest rises with a slow inhale, eyes glued to the exact toy you recorded yourself bouncing on a night before—head thrown back, pretty vocal cords emitting breathless cacophonies while he beat his cock into his fist, leaning back in his chair, watching you please yourself. add to that the split-second flash he caught just now, skirt flipping, lace cutting across the curvature of your ass. sure. it’s enough to make his cock swell against his zipper and twitch.
“you use that yourself. . or does someone else do it for you?” the words lance between his lips just as you lean on your tippy toes, reaching for the top cabinet in search of a snack.
. . the irony of him asking, as if he doesn’t already know the answer to the question.
you glance over your shoulder, your clumsy fingers fumbling with the chip bag, its foil crinkling too loud in your panicked grip. a flare of heat heightens up your neck, racing across your ears, and the second the revelation hits—that you forgot you left the door wide open, you damn near combust. spinning around, your movements come to a halt. eren’s gaze isn’t focused on you at all, but by something in your bedroom that enthralls his attention as he stands half-past the door.
a zap shocks your gut, and you hold back the urge to shift awkwardly. the weight of his stare coils in your tummy, feigning nonchalance, you tilt the bag just so, crunching a single chip between your teeth as though you hadn’t forgotten the wide-open door or the lace erens already seen. your doe eyes roll behind your lids as you wave the bag in the air, a dry laugh quirking your lip. “why do you care?”
you’ve barely finished the single chip before eren’s hand clamps around your wrist, the veins in his hands beginning to bulge. your breath hitches, chest jolting forward from the sudden force.
“i’m asking a question, aren’t i?” his gaze briefly drops onto your succulent agape lips, his thumb squeezing right into the soft veins on your wrist.
you scoff, though it comes out weaker than you meant. “what if i do?” you snap at him anyway, even as his grip makes your tongue stumble. “what if someone’s already fucking me?”
the edge of the counter digs against your thigh when you stumble back, your skirt hitching up along with the motion. his eyes instinctively flick down, and you swear his pupils dilate at the sight of your thighs bulging, plushy tits spilling out of your too-tight top as your body braces against the corner.
for a fraction of an interval, his lashes lower, his warm breath tipping against the apple of your cheek. “then he’s not fucking you good enough if you’ve still got this much of an intolerable attitude.”
your free hand comes up fast, palm flat against his hard pecs about to shove at him, because you’d want to feel that mouth that never knew when to stop, pressed anywhere but talking—but instead, your fist curls into his tank-top as he leans in when you’re mid-retort, chest pressing into the hand you meant to push him with as fabric stretches tight over the solid beat of his heart.
without thinking, his nose nudges yours, and your lips collide with his like you’re trying to shut him up before he can even get a word out. though successful, the counter presses into your tailbone and you wobble a little from where you’re balanced. your lower abdomen flutters as eren groans right into your mouth. his hand trails up the back of your thigh, fingertips feeling the warm flesh, until he cups over the soft pudge of your ass, the other hand tangling in your hair, tugging just enough to make your scalp sting.
his knee slots between your thighs before you can catch a breath, and your tongues clash messily, teeth clacking when he bites your lip. you’re too busy yanking at his belt when his laugh is muffled against your mouth as you tug at it, then abandon it to shove his shirt up instead, palms gliding up his chest, nails scratching down on the way back.
your kissable pout glazes like the tint of dew on rose petals, and his calloused digits brush up the side of your skirt, and god—you missed this. missed the way eren’s height hovers over you, how you naturally succumb beneath him, how easily he manhandles your petiteness. just one quick kiss rewires your entire body to him whenever he got his way with you, because fuck, it turned you on whenever he touched you.
you should’ve redirected him with an elbow to his chest, but all you can think about is the same grip that held you down and wrung you out until your ears rang. you know better than to indulge the mistake, eren’s toxic. . but it’s what made you fall in love with him in the first place. he milked so many orgasms out of you that your body confused it for love, too many hook-ups warped into feelings for the wrong man, and you hate how you’re gullible the second his mouth is back on yours, because your chest aches with affection.
he pulls back just enough, pillowy lips caressing your cheek as his warm breath fans your skin, and your pulse riotous in your throat. “still want me to leave?” eren murmurs, fingers tugging at the hem of your panties, the corners of his mouth curling into that infamous, lopsided grin you know all too well. your head sways on its own, hands fumbling at his belt again, yanking the metal clasp loose while your clit throbs.
eren takes the lead like he always does, french kissing you with experienced pressure until your jaw slacks. he laps at your wet muscle, low groans rumbling past his throat, saliva threading between you both in messy, sticky strands, pooling along the crevices of your lips. when he finally pulls back, a fine web of sheen stretches from his mouth to yours, spit varnishing your chins while your windpipes cave inward, craving another desperate inhale.
thick digits knot in your hair, tugging your head back until he finally tears himself away, mouth slipping down to the knob in your throat with a sweet, boyish grin plastering his lips, pearly white triangular canines peeking from under his smile before being shrouded as his sharp teeth sink into your tender pulse, his tongue darting out after to soothe the sensitive flesh. the insolence of you both—words ricocheting in hypocrisy, every back-handed syllable chewed up and spat right back onto the same tongue that once called you a slut.
you barely notice the shift in location until his spine sinks into your plush mattress, your knees bracketing his hips as your acrylic digits claw at his pants. the two of you settle into the familiar space of your bedroom, where all your prerecorded onlyfans tapes are shot. you tug his cerulean low-rise jeans down to the stop around his defined thighs, knuckles brushing against the prominent ‘v’-shaped curves along his pelvis as you take his cock into your hand, bringing it close to your mouth.
his soft chuckle makes your heart palpitate as you leer up at him through your lashes, your lips encircle his enlarged tip, throating his fat length like a prize winner, from all those hours you gagged yourself pretty on camera. he tips his head back against the wooden headboard, dark lashes flitting low as his hand loops in your hair while his free hand strokes down the chub in your cheek. “shit—missed this. nghh. . always such a good eater with that pretty little mouth.”
your irises roll at his view, throat still stuffed full as you pull off with a huff, lips glossed in spit. “yeah? talk all that shit, then still wanna fuck my throat open,” you mumble, though you hate that your stomach flutters at the praise, and how your stupid pussy leaks arousal just because it’s him. your hand pumps his spit-slicked length in tight, twisting strokes, squeezing at eren’s base while your tongue drags over the slit just to be petty.
then, both your hands work the thick base, twisting in opposite motions, slippery with drool running down your wrists as spit slings every time you bob for air. with a noisy gulp, you push further, forcing your throat to open while your manicured hand slips lower, cupping the heavy sack of his balls. your nails graze lightly as you massage, squishing the weight in your palm while your lips choke down another inch. the bulging veins of his underside throb against your tongue, and the guttural groan above makes your eyes glaze slightly.
“hnngh, pull it out,” eren grits out, tugging at your hair until his cock slips wet from your throat with a lewd pop. his shaft smears his syrupy pre over your crimson cheeks, gliding sticky trails across your skin as he drags the tip back and forth. “look at you. yeah, rub it, princess, paint that pretty face with it.”
you scoff, nose scrunching as his length presses over your mouth. “disgusting pervert,” you retort, tongue peeking out just to lick the slit, tasting him anyway, ropes of spit from your lips cling to his cock as you nuzzle your face into him.
he cuts you off with another sharp thrust, knuckles blanching in your hair that’s tied back into a neat ponytail. “god, you’re so—fuckin’—mouthy.” he groans, and you feel the twitch in his cock against your tongue. eren’s hips buck, bottoming out completely and hitting the tender, teardrop-shaped piece of tissue until you’re gagging, saliva pooling at the crevices of your lips. “ha—nd y’r still lettin’ me use y’r throat.“
your eyes prickle, watering on reflex as spit bubbles at the corners of your mouth, your hand swiveling around his flushed length, twisting slick while the other toys with his balls in your palm. you pull off with a wet gasp, wiping your chin with the back of your hand. “whatever. ‘m just tryin’ to make you cum faster.” your glasses slip halfway down your nose, and you nudge them back up with a clumsy little push.
“then shut up,” he drawls, “less talk—more suck.” his thumb drags over your bottom lip before he pushes it past your mouth just to feel the warmth of your tongue twitch around it.
your throat retches, giving his cock another idle pump before rubbing the swollen head across your face again, smearing your cheek with his syrupy fluids. his breath stutters, a low chuckle vibrating from his chest as you press your lips to the base. your tongue darts out, tracing the ridges on his shaft before grinding it against your mouth with a wet smooch.
eren’s torso dips with guttural huffs, his muscles flexing as he lugs your head back until your lips pop off his dick. “turn ‘round f’me,” he instructs, “want you to straddle my face, angel.” his grip hauls you up, hands already groping down the curve of your ass, thumb snapping the band of your thong before slipping under your skirt to yank at the fabric. your lace twines around his brawny digits as he peels it down your thighs.
“you’re so soft,” he hisses against the shell of your ear, shoving the damp scrap with the wet patch at the crotch aside. once it’s kicked off, his large palms engulf your bare backside as he shifts you higher, moving on to tug off his checkered flannel and ivory manbeater in one swift motion, tossing them elsewhere atop the floorboards before flattening himself against the bed beneath you.
“my god. . mine,” he hums, guiding you with a firm squeeze to your hip, helping you drape yourself over his broad shoulders. your skirt bunches at your waist, and you don’t hesitate to straddle his face—not after all the times he’s had you like this. your skirt hikes up as you swing the other leg around, thighs bracketing his head, one hand bracing yourself on his abdomen as you lower down. as he settles back, his brunette layers feather across your satin pillowcase while he gets comfortable beneath you, his hands cupping your sides as he presses your pussy down into his face, your arousal smearing his chin.
eren’s enveloping hands guide your hips, hoisting you impossibly high onto his face. your spine bows into a cute arch, the swell of your under tits grazing the tops of his knuckles. bulky digits crawl skywards to pinch at your sweet, peaked buds, the action making your clit throb heavy on the heat of his tongue.
his jaw slacks as you swivel your ass back, grinding against his tongue and laps, hips swerving left and right, suffocating your ex in sweet vengeance. your thighs clamp his head, nails digging into the taut planes of his shoulders as you bounce softly, a drowsy coo purling from your lips with every ring-shaped orbit, lashes fluttering as waves of pleasure course through you.
large hands greedily knead your ass, forcing you down until your folds settle onto his mouth. eren’s cock leaks across your tongue as you slide the tip back in, hips thrusting up into your throat. he urges your spine forward, tipping your weight so you’re no longer upright, leaning into him, tits pressing against the tops of his chiseled abs, thighs splaying wide as you fight to steady yourself on your slippery knees across the silken sheets.
one hand slides beneath your tummy, lifting your hips just enough for his free hand to drift away, fingertips grazing blindly across the rustic oak bureau before curling around the base of that dildo from earlier. the tilt of your pelvis drags every heavy lick across your slit, beads of your juice smearing over his jaw and the underside of your thighs. your toes curl into the silk of the sheets, matching the soft, explicit little noises spilling from your lips.
the supple tip of his tongue continues to trace zigzag swirls along your pearly nub while the dorsal of your palms lie flat on either side of his flushed shaft, nails digging small crescents as you use his crotch to steady yourself. you’re too wrapped up in the way his mouth’s works your pussy to distinguish the chuckle he lets out along your folds. “knew you put this shit here for a reason,” eren purrs into your heat, the vibration of his vocals throbbing through your slit.
his knee shifts suddenly, and you mirror the movement—until he drags the toy across the curve of your ass, the cold silicone ghosting against your hole, coating the inches of its length with your warm nectar while he keeps tongue-fucking you open. you jolt, instinctively hitching one leg up like you’re about to clamber off, but his grip on your backside stills you.
“stay still, you’ve got it, there we go,” he purrs, lips immediately wrapping around your bundle of nerves, sucking until your hips buck off his face. his palm smacks your curvy butt, a florid handprint blooming over your skin while the toy nudges at your entrance.
“renny—wait, that’s—!” your breath hitches, thighs quivering around his head as the stretch starts to tease at your opening. you shouldn’t have called him that, but the nickname felt too familiar.
his head tips back onto the pillow to catch his breath, giving you room to push the dildo in your oozing hole while your ass stays right in his face. “jus’ keep y’r mouth on me, precious.” eren pants softly, chest heaving as his brows scrunch in concentration. he spits, watching a pearled strand drool over your cunt, “mhm, just like that, good girl.” his thumb spreads it, slowly easing the toy bit by bit. “take it—c’mon, pretty girl, see? pussy so eager to eat dick all the damn time.”
before you can even blink, he yanks at your ankle, the sudden motion jerking you off balance. your weight tilts to one side, skirt flipping up as you scramble to steady yourself. “eren—you’re so dirty, hnph—!” your protest dies halfway out, syllables dissolving when he drags your hips closer, his tip smacking against your agape lips.
your mouth instinctively sheathes his length again, swollen lips stretching obscenely around the width of his girth, spit sliding hot down your chin as his cock hits so deep you can barely breathe. your glasses slip down the bridge of your nose with every bob, compelling you to adjust them between every up and down motion, yet that just earns a grunt from him, fingers digging into the nape of your neck and pressing you down by the base of your skull, keeping you right where he wants you. “yeahhh, fuck, that’s it. swallow it, baby.”
your throat wimpishly flutters, air rattling from his chest as he buries himself in your essence—the sound of you gagging on him is the sweetest melody his ears have bosomed. “just like that. keep takin’ it aren’t you a good girl?” eren affectionately coos, pumping the dick-shaped toy into your spongy walls, speeding up the rhythm as he slowly drags it back just to slam the silicone’s length back in. you elicit a sharp pitched squeal when his lips reattach to your tender bud, your thighs giving out. a low chuckle rumbles from his chest, his hot breath fanning against your slick folds as he keeps bullying your pussy.
your nails dig into his stomach, legs trembling, a broken cry muffled by his cock as you choke on your own spit. “eren—i’m—gonna—! g’nna cum, hah!” your voice breaks, gagging around him.
euphoria wracks through you as you let out a squeak around his cock, drool spilling as your hips jerk and spasm from the overwhelming bliss, feet flailing as everything coils tight inside you. “gonna cum already?” eren croons into your heat, the thrum of his tone rippling through your folds. his grip on your hips tightens as the silicone pounds into you, the wet muscle of tongue flattening over your clit. “cum then—c’mon, drench me,” he rasps, and at his command, the knot in your tummy unravels.
your thighs clamp around his head as a gush of your high soaks his chest while you remain perched on him, juices dripping down his collarbone as your spine curves. your ass presses down as h continues to lick, lapping everything up while still stuffing the toy inside your gummy walls, cock twitching in your mouth as your body convulses above him.
“fuuuck—eren—oh god—mmph! right there, yes—fuck—!” your walls flutter and squeeze down on the artificial cock, warmth webbing down your inner thighs, pooling over his wrist and dripping onto the sheets as you douse everything below with your slick when he pulls out the toy and drops it beside your leg.
“sweet fucking fuck—ngh, ‘m g’nna nut.” eren’s head lazily tips back against the bed with another groan, panting as his release nears, big hand cradling your skull while his abdomen caves in. your jaw aches, glistening as your gaze stays hidden behind squared lenses.
huff . . huff . . “why’d you even touch that thing?” you whine, lips sulking slightly. your body collapses inward, sticky spurts glazing your palm as you finish him off with a few more rapid strokes. a strangled mewl warbles past your mouth as your cheek lands soft against his tanned thigh, gooey fingers resting on his fleshy quad while your coherent pants fill the now humid bedroom. his chest rises and falls between your legs, and you, utterly spent, don’t bother stopping your specs from crookedly tumbling off the bridge of your nose.
“shit. . ” eren huffs, chocolate hair tumbling in soft strands over his face as he lets an arm flop across himself. your release glistens over his torso, and his moss irises peek down at your spent ass now draped across his stomach, “so. . same time t’morrow?”
