eren jaeger x gn!reader ↺ college!au ; suggestive
You’d bet your life that Eren Jaeger is the best kisser out there.
College is—and you mean this wholeheartedly—hectic. You have no time to spare your attention anywhere else but on pushing through your heap of assignments with heinous amounts of coffee. A significant other? Hah, that’s out of the question. You barely have enough time to sleep; what more to kiss college boys, hold hands and go on frivolous dates? A ‘significant other’ just isn’t in your vocabulary. And it isn’t in Eren’s either.
But booze has a sway to its hips and a sultry glint in its eyes, and you two can’t resist it—or each other for that matter. After all, ‘flings’ are more than welcome in your lexicon, and they’re practically engraved in Eren’s.
You vaguely recall him and you stumbling out onto the gravel road fifteen minutes ago, offering the excuse of ‘needing to get some air’ to your group of friends in the bar who’re drinking themselves into oblivion. It definitely wasn’t because you two had been eyeing each other up all night. No, totally not that.
“You doing alright? Can you even walk straight?” asks Eren, who was the one who had tripped over his own feet on the way out.
“I can handle my alcohol very well, for your information,” you scoff. And it’s true. Plus, you’d only had, like, what? One? Two glasses? “I’m not a lightweight.”
Eren grins, looking far too good beneath a shabby street light to be human. You chalk it up to his hair. You always thought he looked best with it tied half-way up, loose wisps framing his pretty face. “Really now? You seem like one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re not as tough as you try to seem.”
You click your tongue disdainfully, “Neither are you.”
“At least I don’t try to act like a saint.”
You halt a few paces behind Eren, who merely spares you a regaled glance from over his shoulder. “I don’t try to act like a saint, Jaeger.”
A smile’s cadaver tugs at his lips, and Eren axels on his heel to face you head-on. Your glare is resistant to the challenge in the quirk of his brow.
“Enlighten me then.” He strides towards you, a dark figure against the shadows, angled cheekbones illuminated by the fuzzy golden light from above. “What is it that you’ve done that can disprove your holy saintliness?”
“I—” your jaw pulses, “I kissed a boy. Three boys.”
"Ooh, how risqué,” he croons, almost mockingly. “With tongue?”
“Well,” you bite the inner flesh of your cheek, “I didn’t say that.”
“You’ve never kissed with tongue?” Eren looks genuinely surprised, voice dry of any teasing lilt.
“I didn’t say that either.”
“So, you’ve really never kissed with tongue.” He knits his arms together, leaning forward so his face is inches from yours. His hot breath traverses the expanse of your neck, or maybe it’s just you. “And you tried to lie about it too. Cute.”
“Kissing still counts even without tongue, Jaeger.”
“Aww, what?” Eren pouts, bottom lip carnation pink and glistening. He doesn’t miss the way your gaze flickers to it or the way your throat bobs. “But that’s what the fun’s all about. That’s proper kissing.”
“You speak as if you’re some sort of kissing connoisseur.”
He veers impossibly nearer, tongue heavy with hints of mint and alcohol. “How would you know whether I am or not?”
“Then, show me, Jaeger,” you murmur, eyes brazenly trained on his lips now. “Show me how to kiss the ‘proper’ way.”
Everything feels too intense when you’re kissing Eren—your senses, instincts, they’ve been amped up to a thousand. Your skin blazes, yet the press of Eren’s hand on your nape burns hotter. You want to drown yourself in him, though his firm chest against yours drags the air out of your lungs and suffocates you. The swipe of his tongue against your lips drives you to root your fingers in his hair, and a rumble resonates within him when you unconsciously tug on the strands. Your kiss is messy, intense and reeks of unadulterated desire. Eren is addicting. You want, no, need more, even if it’ll never be enough. When he sucks on your tongue, your inhibitions evaporate, and you make your rapture audible. Eren groans, his excitement blooming beyond tangency.
Saliva strings from your mouth when he pulls away to reposition himself, and your teeth are scraping against one another, but neither of you gives a shit. You’re starting to feel light-headed, but you kiss Eren with perhaps even more fervour, drunk on him: on his lips, his scent, his touch, his groans, on him, him, him, him.
You have to physically tear yourself from each other; ribcages heaving, pupils dilated, and lips swollen like all hell. Eren’s ponytail is a wreck having undergone all the gripping and yanking you’d done. Shit, you didn’t realise you had pulled that hard.
“Okay?” asks Eren, near panting, though you’re probably no better.
“Good,” he mumbles, head tilted and puffy lips closing in on yours once more, “because I’m going to do that again.”
