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You’ve always been pretty to Eren.
Pretty in makeup, pretty with your hair down, pretty when smiling, and even when you’re not—you’re always attractive to him. Always and always. It’s a frequent compliment—he tells you all the time, words coming out soft and sweet, like they do whenever he says them. Whenever he says anything about you.
Eren relishes in the way they make your face heat up sometimes, despite how often you hear them, and doesn’t hesitate to tell you just how good you look, whether it be verbally alone or with some extra action (usually involving him sweet-talking his way into fucking you on the couch before you have to leave, and interrupting you getting dressed because he can’t keep his mouth off of you).
He can’t help himself, really. You’re just too pretty.
While you look stunning all the time, there are just a few times when he thinks you look better than others.
i. on the table
He did it again.
Eren interrupted you when you were getting ready for work in the morning, by snaking his arms around your waist and pressing his warm body to yours, nuzzling his chin in your neck.
You rolled your eyes when he did so, a quick (and empty) complaint falling off your lips as his chest came to rest on your back. You could feel him smirking in your neck when you made no attempt to move, like always, and it made you want to flick his forehead.
“Eren, let go. I’m serious, I have to leave,” You warned him when his fingers hovered over the bottom of your shirt, lingering there as a signal for what he was planning to do.
“Shh, it’s okay,” his lips brushed your shoulder and his fingers still hovered, “’M gonna be quick, promise.”
“You’re never quick, Eren. You say that every morning.”
“But you’re not disappointed, are you?” Eren lifted his head to quirk an eyebrow at you through the mirror you stood in front of. After a beat of silence, he laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’ll be quick, baby. Just let me have a taste, yeah?”
You rolled your eyes, but made no effort to stop him when he turned you around, loosened your pants, and let them fall to your ankles. There was even less of an effort when Eren hooked his hands underneath your thighs and hoisted you onto the table beside you, and dropped to his knees.
He settled between your thighs and pressed a kiss to the insides of them, that same charming smirk on his lips. He made sure to keep eye contact with you as he inched closer to where you were already soaked, and gave you a kiss there too.
Whatever you had to say next died on the tip of your tongue and in the back of your throat, replaced by keens and sobs of Eren’s name as he ate you out until you cried; pussy clenching around his fingers and sometimes around nothing.
It was when he wrenched a fourth tearful orgasm from you (the last being entirely for his own pleasure and the fact that he liked to see you cry and your legs shake), that he stopped, face slick with your cum, and a satisfied look on his face. He eased himself from between your legs, standing back up to where he towered over you, and gave you a kiss, allowing you to taste yourself and him.
ii. off the table (and under him)
“You look so cute like this,” Eren coos, face mere inches away from your own. His fingers don’t stop or slow down. They’re still working away at you, knuckle deep in your messy cunt and moving, fingertips curling against your G-spot and splashing your slick all over the bed, his hand, and the inside of your thighs. Making your pussy clench and quiver, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm; unrelenting.
He loves to make a mess of you in the best way he knows how–fucking you stupid.
Fat tears rolling down your cheeks and ruining your carefully crafted eyeliner, dampening your eyelashes and pooling down beside your face, all while you screamed his name and gripped onto him for support. Some kind of support, something to hold you down when your orgasms rocked your body.
He liked not giving you any room to think or form a coherent thought, opting to render you speechless outside of babbling his name, just with the curve of his fingers. He drank in your gasps like water after being out in the desert for too long, always greedy, always wanting. Always watching the way your face contorts in pleasure, and your hips rock against his hand, desperate for him to please let you cum because you’ll be a good girl.
He really liked it when he’d gotten you to this point merely with just a few flicks and pushes of his long fingers.
“’R-Ren, please,” you sobbed, eyes squeezing shut.
“I hear you, baby.” His voice is soft and low to your ear. “Go ahead and cum.”
You clamp down on his fingers and a broken sob pulls from your mouth, the contents of which neither of you know.
Eren lets you ride out your high on his hand, while you’re whimpering from your oversensitivity, and when you open your glassy eyes, you can make out him smiling softly.
“Atta girl. Now give me another.”
iii. painted and pretty like a picture
Eren’s never had the best art skills. He’s never been good at painting or drawing or even coloring inside the lines, which is why he avoids it. He’s better in other art forms, like photography and even singing, despite Armin telling him he was tone-deaf (that hurt).
He’s not skilled with a paintbrush, no, but he works it out.
Plump lips press a kiss to his flushed tip, and curious eyes watch him from their place between his legs; they linger for a moment, carefully taking in the expression on his face—the furrow of his eyebrows and the way his teeth grit whenever you get close to him—watching him like a hawk.
Your tongue sticks out of your mouth to lap at the precum leaking from the top, slow and deliberate strokes of your tongue like you’re testing him. His patience and his resolve, and whether he’d let you wrap your mouth around him and go slow, or if he’d fuck your throat like he did every other time.
Scooting forward on your knees, you adjusted to get more comfortable before you took him fully—lips wrapping around the head, flattening your tongue along the underside to fit him in your mouth.
He hit the back of your throat and hissed, nearly unable keep his composure. Your mouth was so warm, so wet; he wanted so badly to—
Fuck, he thought once you started moving. He wouldn’t last long, not like this, not when you’re taking him all the way in and swirling your tongue just right, pulling back to stroke his spit-covered shaft with your hand. The sight of your spit connecting your mouth to him made him groan.
You did it a few more times, pushing his cock down your throat until you couldn’t breathe, and pulled back with a spit covered chin and stroking him with your hand.
“‘M gonna cum, baby, ‘m gonna—”
He could feel his balls tighten as he released with a drawn out moan, right on your face while you continued stroking him, until he was done.
He had a good look at you, and the way his cum covered your face, and thought that maybe he wasn’t a good painter, but you still were a pretty picture.
iv. spent and overstimulated
Eren held you there, arms pinned behind your back, and face pushed into the sheets, where you lay, body spent and legs shaking from your previous orgasms. Sobbing and begging for something–one second it’s for him to slow down, and the other it’s for him to keep going and get right there. It’s too much for you, he knows that because you’re inching your hips forward, and he has to dig his fingertips in the skin of your hips keep you still, but you just look too good. He can hear it in the way your voice creaks when he angles his hips just right and drags his thick cock along your walls, accentuating the sound of your squelching cunt.
You’re lovely, he thinks, while he fucks you into oblivion, and he wants so, so much more of you.
“Gonna fill you,” he promises you like he hadn’t done that already, with his fingers, his tongue, his cock, and his cum, all once before - he’s promising to do it again. “Gonna fuck you so good, you’ll feel it right here,” Eren reaches his hand forward to press two fingers on your tummy, “You’re gonna take it like a good girl, yeah?”
A chorus of ‘yes’s sound from where your face is in the pillow, and they ring in his ears as his hips snap up; he rubs your clit to get you sobbing his name and clenching around him one more time, milking him for what he has.
He swears you’re made for him.
He makes good on his promise, unable to stop the way he fucks into you through both your orgasms, leaning down to bite on your shoulder to stifle his own oversensitive groans, pushing his cum further up into you with each deliberate gesture.
It’s him who pulls back first, and slides his softening cock out of you, and uses both hands to spread your cheeks, just to have a look at what a mess of you he’s made. And when his eyes flick up from his spend seeping down and pooling onto the bed, up to your face, he realizes something.
Yeah, you look pretty all the time, but that’s his favorite.
“There. You get a taste too.”
ii. off the table (and under him)
“You look so cute like this,” Eren coos, face mere inches away from your own. His fingers don’t stop or slow down. They’re still working away at you, knuckle deep in your messy cunt and moving, fingertips curling against your G-spot and splashing your slick all over the bed, his hand, and the inside of your thighs. Making your pussy clench and quiver, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm; unrelenting.
He loves to make a mess of you in the best way he knows how–fucking you stupid.
Fat tears rolling down your cheeks and ruining your carefully crafted eyeliner, dampening your eyelashes and pooling down beside your face, all while you screamed his name and gripped onto him for support. Some kind of support, something to hold you down when your orgasms rocked your body.
He liked not giving you any room to think or form a coherent thought, opting to render you speechless outside of babbling his name, just with the curve of his fingers. He drank in your gasps like water after being out in the desert for too long, always greedy, always wanting. Always watching the way your face contorts in pleasure, and your hips rock against his hand, desperate for him to please let you cum because you’ll be a good girl.
He really liked it when he’d gotten you to this point merely with just a few flicks and pushes of his long fingers.
“’R-Ren, please,” you sobbed, eyes squeezing shut.
“I hear you, baby.” His voice is soft and low to your ear. “Go ahead and cum.”
You clamp down on his fingers and a broken sob pulls from your mouth, the contents of which neither of you know.
Eren lets you ride out your high on his hand, while you’re whimpering from your oversensitivity, and when you open your glassy eyes, you can make out him smiling softly.
“Atta girl. Now give me another.”
iii. painted and pretty like a picture
Eren’s never had the best art skills. He’s never been good at painting or drawing or even coloring inside the lines, which is why he avoids it. He’s better in other art forms, like photography and even singing, despite Armin telling him he was tone-deaf (that hurt).
He’s not skilled with a paintbrush, no, but he works it out.
Plump lips press a kiss to his flushed tip, and curious eyes watch him from their place between his legs; they linger for a moment, carefully taking in the expression on his face—the furrow of his eyebrows and the way his teeth grit whenever you get close to him—watching him like a hawk.
Your tongue sticks out of your mouth to lap at the precum leaking from the top, slow and deliberate strokes of your tongue like you’re testing him. His patience and his resolve, and whether he’d let you wrap your mouth around him and go slow, or if he’d fuck your throat like he did every other time.
Scooting forward on your knees, you adjusted to get more comfortable before you took him fully—lips wrapping around the head, flattening your tongue along the underside to fit him in your mouth.
He hit the back of your throat and hissed, nearly unable keep his composure. Your mouth was so warm, so wet; he wanted so badly to—
Fuck, he thought once you started moving. He wouldn’t last long, not like this, not when you’re taking him all the way in and swirling your tongue just right, pulling back to stroke his spit-covered shaft with your hand. The sight of your spit connecting your mouth to him made him groan.
You did it a few more times, pushing his cock down your throat until you couldn’t breathe, and pulled back with a spit covered chin and stroking him with your hand.
“‘M gonna cum, baby, ‘m gonna—”
He could feel his balls tighten as he released with a drawn out moan, right on your face while you continued stroking him, until he was done.
He had a good look at you, and the way his cum covered your face, and thought that maybe he wasn’t a good painter, but you still were a pretty picture.
iv. spent and overstimulated
Eren held you there, arms pinned behind your back, and face pushed into the sheets, where you lay, body spent and legs shaking from your previous orgasms. Sobbing and begging for something–one second it’s for him to slow down, and the other it’s for him to keep going and get right there. It’s too much for you, he knows that because you’re inching your hips forward, and he has to dig his fingertips in the skin of your hips keep you still, but you just look too good. He can hear it in the way your voice creaks when he angles his hips just right and drags his thick cock along your walls, accentuating the sound of your squelching cunt.
You’re lovely, he thinks, while he fucks you into oblivion, and he wants so, so much more of you.
“Gonna fill you,” he promises you like he hadn’t done that already, with his fingers, his tongue, his cock, and his cum, all once before - he’s promising to do it again. “Gonna fuck you so good, you’ll feel it right here,” Eren reaches his hand forward to press two fingers on your tummy, “You’re gonna take it like a good girl, yeah?”
A chorus of ‘yes’s sound from where your face is in the pillow, and they ring in his ears as his hips snap up; he rubs your clit to get you sobbing his name and clenching around him one more time, milking him for what he has.
He swears you’re made for him.
He makes good on his promise, unable to stop the way he fucks into you through both your orgasms, leaning down to bite on your shoulder to stifle his own oversensitive groans, pushing his cum further up into you with each deliberate gesture.
It’s him who pulls back first, and slides his softening cock out of you, and uses both hands to spread your cheeks, just to have a look at what a mess of you he’s made. And when his eyes flick up from his spend seeping down and pooling onto the bed, up to your face, he realizes something.
Yeah, you look pretty all the time, but that’s his favorite.