#tyyyy this was soooo fun aaaaaaaa

[daryascurse]

A little something in your ask box ❤ Eren's A, C, H, J, M, W

❤️😫 AWWW MY GOODNESS THANK YOU!! I was SO excited to see this hehe I’ve been on a bit of an Eren kick the past few months that hasn't gone away.

Okay this is sort of modern-AU Eren just to be consistent with all the prompts (and I love my modern Eren with a touch of stoner lol). I shuffled a little from the alphabetical order just to flow a little better.

ɴꜱꜰᴡ | ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ + BLANK / AGELESS BLOGS ᴅɴɪ // cw: recreational weed smoking, alcohol, kinda possessive vibes; completely g/n reader not described with pronouns or genitalia, but mentions of high heels

ALPHABET NSFW ASKS (still open!)

A for Aphrodisiac [What always turns them on?]

A few things turn Eren Jaeger on without fail; but he never really noticed the effect they have on him until they were characteristics of yours. He loves your independence. He loves the way you move through the world with an unapologetic freedom. He has to shift his legs in public when you give a devious smirk, when someone says something and you have some smart retort to bite back with. And he loves when that little clever laugh becomes a keen between the sheets, loves being the one to take your brain and make it melt just for a while, taking his time just coaxing it out of you to make you fall apart under his touch. His touch. He’s not controlling, he could never control you, but he takes pride in being the person to make you thoughtless for once. Besides, shouldn’t all boyfriends be a little possessive? That’s another thing – boyfriend. Partner, significant other. It doesn’t matter the term. Anything you say publicly, with a pride, with a cooing smile, is irresistible to him. The burst in his chest is a little juvenile, but he can’t swallow it down, he won’t hide a smirk of his own when you introduce him with such a label. It’s the same feeling other people might get by buying their lover jewelry or more extreme public showings of belonging. For him, your choice to call him by such special words is enough. Something else, something more tangible that turns him on, is when you wear high heels. It doesn’t matter how tall they are, how tall they make you. Even if you tower over him, he loves how strong it makes the muscles in your legs look, the way your hips sway as you walk in them, the way it literally elevates you so simply. Not that you need it. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he said once in the elevator on your way to a dinner, and his eyes were dark with desire.

J for Jazz [What’s their go-to sexy song/playlist?]

Eren doesn’t really have a “sex” playlist. He has a playlist that inevitably gets shuffled through at night when you have a bowl or two or three together; so, it’s usually just already playing when his fingers, thick and slow from the marijuana, crawl over your clothes to peel them off you. A month or so into seeing each other, you’d convinced him to make it collaborative – he grumbled just a little at not wanting to spoil his carefully curated vibe, but he’s also been adding your favorite songs to his library. The songs he’d already had on the playlist include “Skin” by Mac Miller, “Acai Bowl” by Dominic Fike, "You've Got Everything Now" by The Smiths, “Moon” by Seahaven, and “War” by Hypnotic Brass Ensemble (yes, the Hunger Games theme – it came on shuffle mode once when his head was between your thighs, and in your hazy mind it was hilarious. He sat up with a scowl and turned his head to hide his flush as he quickly skipped to the next song, and you howled with laughter as he muttered something about it being a “really good song to blast through headphones while walking home stoned from the park.”).

M for Moan [What kind of noises do they make? What sounds do they like to hear from their partner?]

It’s not that he’s quiet, but Eren wants to hear you more. Especially at first, when things are just getting hot and heavy, when he’s listening acutely to the sharpness of your sighs and moans and using that to guide his hands and his mouth over you. He’s groaning, his gasping breaths full of sound, but he’s listening to the cues to figure out what makes you feel best – pressing further when he hears your “oh yeah”s and “right there”s and shifting his touch to get your voice to that point where it’s breaking, where your mouth can’t properly form words anymore. He gets pleasure from giving you pleasure. That is the first thing he sets to do when he puts his lips on you to worship your body, and he’ll take his time doing so. But the words finally burst from him when you’re half-drunk from endorphins and hungry for your orgasm, when his fingers are on your thighs and his tongue drips with your arousal. You’re begging in broken sentences, your body in agony. That’s when his throaty groans turn verbal, when he sits up, fixes his eyes on you, and speaks with that possessiveness through his wet lips – “ ‘S getting sensitive? You can still come for me.”

H for Hands [What do they do with their hands during sex?]

Maybe it’s because Eren always wants to make sure you get off – he’s said that he feels good when he makes you feel good – but his hands are always on you. It doesn’t matter the position, he’s always touching you, stroking against your skin, rubbing the places he knows are sensitive with the lightest, but most insistent, caresses. Sometimes his hands are gentle like that. And other times, his hands hold you by aching wrists, as he groans right into your ear and your hips jerk as he fucks into you again, and again, chasing down your climax with his own. “Tell me it’s mine, your pretty little body is all mine.”

C for Cuddling [How do they cuddle after sex?]

When the two of you collapse, naked and exhausted in the sheets, Eren takes a moment to gather his breath. You’re doing the same, your mind turning cartwheels as your blood pounds and your bones weigh you down, and you can barely hear the creak of the mattress over spinning in your ears when he sits up again with a long sigh. He goes into the kitchen, and returns with a glass of water, and a gentle reminder that you should pee. You drag yourself to the bathroom with staggering steps, and when you make it back to the bed, he’s wearing boxers, pulled the sheets back up and propping the pillows in place again. He hands you a clean oversized t-shirt with hands still trembling from exertion, hair sticking to his forehead in a sweaty sheen. You let him help you back into the bed. He passes you the water from the dresser and puts it back when you take a sip. Neither of you have the energy to speak as he crawls back in bed. You turn to him with open arms, welcoming him into a silent, overly warm embrace of limbs, heartbeats, and damp sheets.

W for Wet [How would they have sex in the shower?]

You’ve brought up sex in the shower a handful of times before in different contexts, and Eren’s never really given the warmest reaction. Once he wrinkled his nose, pointed out in a doubtful deadpan just how difficult and clumsy the mechanics would be. Another time, he asked if it was something you’d done with an ex, a tinge of jealousy coloring his voice. So you’ve mostly seen it as a joke now, nothing to seriously pursue. But you come home extremely drunk together tonight. You’re sweaty and buzzing from the walk. When you whine about wanting to shower, Eren asks if he can join you. Your enthused “yeah of course!” matches the same heavy alcohol-laden tone he had invited himself in. You two stumble into the shower without even turning on the bathroom light and the fresh water is all you can pay attention to, the hot stream pouring down your face and waterlogging your senses. You don’t even care about the sting blinding your eyes, don’t even think of Eren at first until you spit warm water out of your mouth and ask hoarsely if he wants to switch. You reach for the bottle of body wash but his hand is on your face, turning it to you, and his lips devour yours in a drunken kiss. It is clumsy, he was right, as you scramble to hold to the edge of the tub and he bends you over with a foot on the ledge. The angle isn’t quite right, the water hitting you around the shield of his body in jagged strikes, the porcelain tub too smooth to grip – but you don’t care, your brain is just wheeling in dumb drunk circles as your thighs shake and your teeth chatter, skin somewhere between hot and cold as he holds your hips in slippery fingers. He draws out wetness between your legs with each uneven stroke. The small room reels in steam and moans, everything getting teased but nothing getting fully satisfied, and he finally grunts: “Let’s go to the bed, okay?”