#attack one titan x reader

[co-psycho]

Armin Arlert twitter links

a/n: enjoy!! New story out soon

Don’t forget to leave request :)

Riding then jerking him off

Armin eating you out

Armin praising your body

Dry humping

Pumping himself in your pussy

Sitting on his face

Jerking him off as he becomes a moaning mess

Rough pussy eating

Armin trying to gain your attention

Dry humping pt 2

Face fucking

Armin teasing you with his fingers

Squirting on his fingers

Rough cream pie

Playing with your clit, while fucking you

Slow passionate sex

[h1nanii]

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ hallmark holiday !!

ᝰ.ᐟ tis the season to sit by the fireplace and indulge in cheesy, cliche, ever-so-predictable hallmark movies where we know the main couple will always get their happily ever after. alternatively: a scenario post detailing the cliche holiday romance you and your fave would be ♡ྀི ( fem!reader & sfw )

starring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, shoyo hinata, seishiro nagi, shoei barou, yoichi isagi, jinpachi ego, noel noa, rin itoshi, oliver aiku, kento nanami, naoya zenin, porco galliard, colt grice, levi ackerman

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . haikyuu films coming to a theater near you ౨ৎ

⋆⁺₊❅. dedicated to you starring keiji akaashi synopsis keiji akaashi finally gets his dream promotion to the literature department — sort of. see, first he's given what the company calls a "trial run", where they're testing to see how well he'll do. if this book that he edits makes it to the bestseller's list within its first month of publication, he gets the position permanently. fail, and he doesn't just get demoted — he gets fired. this dream of his becomes a nightmare whenever he realizes the author they're assigning to him is you — famous literary critic turned author. well, almost an author. this will be your first book you're ever writing. see, you've got a bit of a reputation. your reviews of novels, whether they'e indie books available only on kindle unlimited or works considered to be modern classics, are nothing short of scathing. rarely is there ever a book that seems to impress you. and while your reviews are valid, a group of scorned writers (who are all beloved by the booktok community, which, in your opinion, invalidates everything they do by default) publicly challenge you: if their writing is so bad, why don't you publish a book and show them how it's done?

exclusive sneak peek! "so you're my editor?" you raise an eyebrow at the man sitting across from you. he's wearing a brown blazer, his hair neatly parted with gel, and he has such a mild-mannered aura about him that you want to groan in agony. of course, the only shmuck who'd be willing to touch your book (book is generous; you barely have half of a first draft) would be some dweeb who's probably been out of work for like, the last year. "yes. i'm keiji akaashi. we spoke over email." he reaches into his workbag, probably to hand you a business card that you'll end up tossing in the cafe's trashcan. "oh. from the tone of your emails, i was expecting someone..." you don't finish your sentence. "someone what?" he asks. "it's nothing." you wave your hand, as if to tell him that the comment was useless anyway. "listen, i'm sure i'm not your ideal client, but we don't have to keep meeting. i'll make your job easy by making sure you never have to edit or touch a single letter on my drafts. just let me handle this my own way, and i'm sure—" "no." you don't normally let people interrupt you, but the shift in his tone makes you pause. you stare at him curiously, only this time, you notice that keiji akaashi doesn't seem so mild-mannered right now. he continues. "i'm not sure where you got the bright idea that you would just write this book on your own, but you don't make a deal with a major publishing house just to go about the project like all the indie authors you criticize in your little column. the minute you signed that contract, you became my responsibility." akaashi looks you in the eyes as he tells you, "so from this point forward, your book is about to become our book. and i only plan on producing bestsellers." you smile at that, leaning forward and matching the intensity of his gaze. "good. because i only plan on writing a bestseller."

⋆⁺₊❅. make it to christmas starring atsumu miya synopsis break-ups can be tough. coming home for the holidays can be tougher. combine these two situations, and throw in the fact that no one can know about said break-up, and this might be the toughest situation to go through. here's the deal: you and atsumu, who've been together for the past four years, are deemed "most likely to get married". your friends, family, and even strangers on the internet all think you two are the couple that will make them believe in the power of love again. with this type of pressure, neither of you are willing to wreck the holiday spirit by announcing your break-up, and really, mama miya just got a particularly bad diagnosis. the last thing either of you want to do is break her heart some more. so, you both agree to pretend to still be together, all for the sake of "saving christmas", so to speak. but then, mama miya walks in on the two of you in the kitchen at the worst possible moment. atsumu is down on one knee, kneeling in front of you. finally, some good news this season: her baby boy is getting married to the love of his life.

exclusive sneak peak! "atsumu, this whole thing is a mess!" you whisper-shout at him, leaning down and examining the space beneath the floor kitchen cabinets in search of your missing earring. "well, you can't back out now!" he whisper-shouts back, crawling on all fours to help you look for the damn earrings osamu's new girlfriend gifted you. "what would we tell everybody?" "how about the truth?" "we will tell them the truth! right after christmas." "you idiot, your mom has her next appointment the day after christmas! the whole point i agreed to this was so that way we wouldn't crush her with a whole day of bad news!" "you're right." your back is turned to him, but even without looking, you know he's nodding his head. "we should just wait 'til the month's over then." "that's even worse!" now you finally do turn around, crossing your arms against your chest. "i really think this was a bad idea. we need to figure out how to come clean before this whole thing blows up in our faces." he sighs, knowing that you're right. you always are. it's what he loves — loved; he's not quite sure if he's still allowed to use the L-word concerning you — about you. then, he perks up, catching a glint of your missing earring. propping himself up on his good knee, he presents the ring to you earnestly. "oh!" you grin, happy that atsumu found the damn thing. now, osamu's girlfriend will be properly placated. before you can reach for it, three things happen in rapid succession. one: the kitchen door swings open. two: mama miya assesses the situation quickly, and lets out the biggest shriek of excitement heard 'round the world. three: this whole thing definitely just blew up in your faces.

⋆⁺₊❅. v for valentine starring shoyo hinata synopsis you hate valentine's day — after you found out your (former!) boyfriend of three years was cheating on you on this very special holiday, you see what the 14th is all about. commercialized "love": packaged in bright pink packaging and red hearts that get sold to unsuspecting fools. however, as a wedding planner, you still have to love love. it's just hard to whenever the wedding you're planning is set for feb. 14th... and it's to your ex-boyfriend and the girl he cheated on you with. you know it's petty and ridiculous and horribly immature, but you're plotting and scheming ways to ruin their wedding without it being tied directly back to you. the only obstacle in your way, though, is the bride-to-be's annoying cousin who immediately catches onto your plans and seems intent on putting a stop to you.

exclusive sneak peek! "what do you think you're doing?" you jump up, startled at the sudden intrusion. everyone else is supposed to be occupied, oohing and ahhing at bridezilla's reception dress reveal. "nothing." you say, in that tone of voice that makes it very, very obvious to anyone who can hear that you were definitely up to something. "really?" hinata asks. "because it looks like you're trying to convince the dog to tear up my cousin's high heels." busted. (you're too flustered and trying to come up with an excuse as to why there's peanut butter on his cousin's designer heels that you don't notice the way hinata looks like he's trying to hold back his laughter.)

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . blue lock films coming to a theater near you ౨ৎ

⋆⁺₊❅. married by christmas starring seishiro nagi synopsis as the only daughter of the mikage business empire, not to mention having an older brother who could care less about the family business, you should be rightfully inheriting a good majority of mikage corp. on the day of your twenty-fifth birthday, you anticipate the metaphorical keys to your family's empire. instead, you receive the worst news of your life: reo's going to lead mikage corp starting on christmas day (a gift that he never asked for), and since you're still unmarried at the decrepit age of twenty-five, your grandparents are demanding you start going on blind dates with the men they've found for you. when you angrily confront your parents, wanting to know why everything will be handed to reo, who doesn't even want this responsibility, the answer is clear: they need a man to be the face of mikage. if you marry someone, even if you're the one pulling the strings from behind, you can still inherit the business by having your husband look like the one in control. your parents know that you don't want to get married, but what they don't know is that you're willing to do anything to get what you've worked so hard for. you didn't spend years abroad to study at the best business school in the world and to build connections all for it to go down the drain. but then you realize that all these men your grandparents found for you won't be willing to just sit back and let you do all the work. they want power of their own. where in the world could you possibly find someone you can trust to be married to in these conditions? and then it dawns on you: your older brother's best friend! from what you remember of him during high school, nagi wants nothing more in life than to just be able to make easy money and relax, left to his own devices. he's never taken advantage of reo, so he'll probably stay loyal to you. and a quick google search reveals that nagi's never even been in a public relationship. he's perfect.

exclusive sneak peek! "you bought me a ring?" you stare at the velvet box resting on your living room table, eyeing it like a bomb that might explode at any minute. "huh? oh yeah, why?" nagi's voice is cracking through the speaker of your phone. you're not sure where he is; you don't really know much about your husband-to-be, you realize. you should get him to email you his daily schedule. you plan on making note of that in your outlook calendar, after this call. "i didn't expect you to get me a ring." you frown. "forward me the invoice for it, and i will make sure to reimburse you. in the future, please refrain from making any purchases related to our relationship unless i clearly allow it and expect it. christmas in front of my family, and public birthday celebrations, for example, are occasions in which i'll allow gift-giving." "you're sayin' my future wife doesn't want gifts?" nagi wants to choke reo. he's the one who said you expected to be spoiled, and all the guys on his team seem to be adamant that buying gifts for your significant other is the way to go. if he knew you were going to start talking business around him, he wouldn't have gone through the hassle of finding a decent jeweler in this city. "this is a business partnership, nagi. not a romantic relationship. in business, you buy gifts only to bribe. are you trying to bribe me right now?" no, he thinks. he was only trying to make you happy.

⋆⁺₊❅. a king for christmas starring shoei barou synopsis serving as king but hated by a small, powerful group of witches, the ruler of the kingdom, shoei barou, is cursed and expelled to another world where his tyranny will not be tolerated. the only way to return back to his world is for him to learn benevolence and empathy. they certainly gave him a challenge; it'll be hard to be kind and empathetic whenever you're magically transported to the twenty-first century without a single clue as to how the world works. luckily, he ends up transported here, unconscious, on the front porch of a tired, overworked, graveyard shift ER nurse. you signed an oath to protect and save all lives, so you can't exactly kick the large man passed out by your front door, now can you?

exclusive sneak peek! "where is your horse?" barou asks you, following you around your house. him being your shadow is odd, considering how he towers over you so much, he's actually casting a shadow onto you. seriously, he's blocking the sunlight peeking through your blinds. "my horse? you think i'm a horse girl?" you whirl around to meet him, nearly bumping into his muscular chest as you do so. he makes a face, not sure what to make of your exclamation. "how will you travel into town?" "like everyone else. with a car." you hold up your key fob, and he immediately snatches it from your hands, staring at the fob curiously. "you travel using this?" he points to it, and you nod. "witch." he says. "what did you just call me?" you stare at him, stunned. "witch." he repeats, still holding onto your key fob. "to travel in a contraption so small... magic is the only reasonable explanation. you must be a witch. why didn't you tell me this sooner? we can use this—this car, and you can take me back to my kingdom at once!" he straightens his back, holding your key fob out of your reach. "witch, i demand you transport me back home." "i should've kicked you when i had the chance." you mutter, wondering how hard this stranger banged his head to forget what a car is.

⋆⁺₊❅. the perfect playbook starring yoichi isagi synopsis bastard munchen is forcing all of its players to dedicate their time during the holiday season to an approved community outreach initiative. isagi sees nothing better than to return to his hometown, and help volunteer to coach the local little league team that's 1) underfunded and 2) currently coached by the only person kind enough to volunteer: you, the fresh-out-of-college brand new, bubbly elementary school teacher. yoichi might not be the biggest believer in team work makes the dream work, but you don't make a bad teammate... not in the slightest.

exclusive sneak peek! "isagi," you frown as you stare at the whiteboard, trying to make sense of all the x's and o's and arrows he's scrawled on them. "you want to train this group of seven to nine year olds... to become strikers?" he nods, pleased that you're finally starting to see his vision. "yes, exactly!" "the recreational elementary-aged youth team... is going to undergo a simulation of what you went through as a high school boy?" "well, it'll be tweaked accordingly. with your guidance, of course! it'll be a more tame version, but i'm sure the results will be the same." when he smiles at you like that, you can't help but want to give in. "and besides, i'm proof that project blue lock is a very beneficial program. look how i turned out!" you think back to when you curiously searched him up on the internet. "top 10 isagi crash-outs on the field" was not the result you were expecting. but he's been nothing but kind and enthusiastic around you and the kids. it's not like he's some egotistical maniac who only cares about soccer, right? "okay." you nod slowly. "project baby blue lock it is, then."

⋆⁺₊❅. cease and assist starring jinpachi ego synopsis former collegiate athlete with a professional career ahead of you, your dreams of becoming the world's best women's soccer player gets crushed the minute you suffer the worst injury possible. now, you spend your time trapped in an office, working for the japan football association, waiting for the decades to pass you by so you can finally retire and die. until the head of the association pulls you to his office and lets you know that you're going to be going undercover; apparently, jinpachi ego is creating a soccer program that's supposedly going to change japanese soccer, and he wants you to report back to him and the jfa so they can anticipate everything ego plans on throwing at them. hired to project blue lock as ego's personal assistant, you spend practically the whole day with him. he's annoying, never listens to your advice, mansplains everything, and refuses to eat anything resembling a vegetable unless you force it down his throat. he's also the only person to match your passion for the sport, and the only one to call you out for not continuing to chase your dreams. the more time you spend by his side, the less and less you want to report to the jfa...

exclusive sneak peek! "sir," you grit your teeth, clutching onto the files in your hand because you know if your hands are unoccupied, you'd be sprinting across the room so you could personally choke jinpachi ego out. "i have an mba from the top business school in this country. i've played soccer since i was a child, and was one of the most decorated d1 players back in college. i know i'm just your assistant, but i can promise you, i am capable of far more than heating up your cup ramen." he doesn't even turn around his chair so he can face you; instead, he's still laser focused on the massive monitor in front of him, his eyes occasionally flickering to the other dozen screens surrounding the room. he doesn't even acknowledge your words. "are you seriously going to ignore me?" you snap, strangling the poor papers in your grasp. "are you done speaking? last time i tried to answer back, you yelled at me for not letting you finish." he still isn't looking at you, but you're certain he sees the nasty scowl that crosses your face. somehow, ego is capable of seeing everything. "forget it. you're impossible." "and you're a failure of a player." he tells you, right before you can storm out. "excuse me?" "you keep talking about how good you were at soccer, yet you never even bothered to pursue it after you got out of physical therapy. good in college doesn't mean anything when it's been so long. that's why i don't listen to you." he turns his chair, finally staring at you. "when you prove to me that you're still as good as you claim you used to be, maybe i'll take your advice. until then, get out of my office until i call you back."

⋆⁺₊❅. the only exception starring noel noa synopsis at thirty-three years old with not a single serious romantic relationship for the past decade or so, and with society basically treating any single woman in her thirties like a cow put out to pasture, you have come to terms with the fact that you'll be a spinster. it's fine. you have a successful career in a male-dominated field, you're still as beautiful as ever, and it's not like romantic love is going to fill the void. you have a supportive family and even more supportive friends; you don't need anything else. at thirty-five years old, with a successful soccer career and a body still performing at peak physical fitness, noel noa is considered to be one of the most eligible bachelors in the world. the public considers him to be at his prime, even. and yet, he seems to want nothing to do with romance. he plays his sport, he does a damn good job of it, and then he goes back to his isolated home in the french countryside to spend his days and nights entirely and utterly alone. for two people content to spend the rest of their lives without a partner, the minute you walk into his life as the new assistant coach for bastard munchen, you both slowly start to realize that maybe, you both could just try being alone together.

exclusive sneak peek! he doesn’t pay you any attention whenever you enter the locker room; after all, this isn’t the first time one of his teammates’ girlfriends walked in here unannounced. he can only hope that your heated rant and accusations of cheating don’t take a long time because practice starts in ten minutes, and noel noa is known to be particularly anal when it comes to sticking to a strict schedule. “hey!” igor says, being the only one bold enough to block you from taking another step further in the locker room. “you can’t be in here, even if you are dating or related to one of the players.”  “well, that’s certainly a respectable rule, but it doesn’t apply to me.”  “i'm the vice captain of this team.” he replies, letting his title to do the rest of the talking. right now, in this room, he’s the authority, second only to noel. noel, who's too busy stretching his legs to really concern himself with something as silly as a female intruder in the men's locker room. the altercation between you two is nothing more than white noise to him. “oh? that’s nice.” you hum, before adjusting the lanyard around your neck so that the little ID card, the one that’s used to allow people entrance into the gym during practice, is showing. it must be brand new because it shines underneath the fluorescents of the locker room. “i’m your new assistant coach.”  well, you’ve certainly got noel's attention now.

⋆⁺₊❅. all in starring rin itoshi synopsis even with worldwide fame, rin itoshi still prefers to be left alone. deemed the "prodigal recluse" by the media, no one knows what he gets up to during the offseason. the truth is, rin returns back to his hometown and spends his free time training by himself in the frozen field he used to train in during middle school. he's never been found out here, and that's how he likes it. until you, an ambitious sports journalist visiting your parents during the holidays, gets lost and stumbles upon him playing soccer by himself. you're convinced that this is fate. no one else in your field has ever gotten this close to him, especially outside an official game, and you're begging him for an exclusive interview. you're persistent and annoying, and rin finally agrees, with one catch: you have to score against him on a one-on-one soccer match. (he just doesn't anticipate how persistent and annoying you can be. when you set your mind on a goal, you're going all in.)

exclusive sneak peek! "you have to admit, it's pretty impressive i even kept up this long." you're panting, the palms of your hands digging into your knees as you hunch over, struggling to catch your breath. the icy air makes every exhale visible. rin looks like he hasn't even broken a sweat. "a child could've kept up for even longer." he says, the soccer ball resting underneath his right foot. "if you're this tired already, you might as well just head home and go enjoy your vacation with your family." the and leave me alone goes without saying. "why? intimidated by my shocking athletic abilities already?" you think you've finally got your breathing situation figured out, and you straighten up. "i'm going to get that interview, itoshi." "if you say so." he shoves his hands in his pockets, his own breath visible in the icy air. "i'm ready for our rematch." you tighten your ponytail, giving rin such a fixed, determined stare that it surprises him. you really are serious about this, aren't you? "and don't think about going easy on me." the corners of his mouth nearly turn upwards. he matches your gaze, preparing to shoot the ball. "i never will."

⋆⁺₊❅. meet your match starring oliver aiku synopsis tired of cleaning up his messes and struggling to reform his playboy image, oliver aiku's publicist has to break out the business card locked away in her "in case of emergency" glass case. she's calling in the calvary — you, the celebrity world's most respected matchmaker. every celebrity couple you've set up has either dated for years (and more to come) or even got their happily ever afters by saying i do at the altar. you've got a one hundred percent success rate. you're making the perfect matches left and right. hinge who? when your publicist bestie calls you, begging to help her most troublesome client finally find love and quit playing around, you already know who she's referring to. oliver aiku. he's hellbent on ruining your perfect run, and you're hellbent on finding him the love of his life so he can finally settle down and stop causing your best friend to spend her whole paycheck on migraine medicine. in his hyper-competitive field, he's never quite met someone as obnoxiously stubborn as you — nor has he ever had as much fun playing games with anyone else. it looks like the two of you have finally met your respective match.

exclusive sneak peek! "what the hell is the matter with you?" you glare at him from across the table, but oliver doesn't seem the least bit ashamed. you're not shocked; you don't think he has the capacity for shame. "what are you talking about?" he tries to sound innocent, but it doesn't work. look at him — there's nothing innocent about the man sitting across from you. "i'm talking about you bringing another woman to the date i set up for you!" you hiss, trying to remain calm and not draw attention to the two of you. he takes a long sip of his coffee, dragging out the silence as you wait for his explanation as to why he wants to make things as difficult as possible. "i was just testing her." oliver is smiling. you want to punch him in his stupid face and see if he'll still be grinning at you. probably. he's annoying like that. "during a situation like that, you can tell if the girl's gonna be a struggle to deal with depending on her reaction." "you know what my reaction would be if you did that to me?" you lean forward, and he meets you halfway, also leaning in closer. he's still smiling. you hate his stupid smile. "oh? what would your reaction be?" "nothing. you'd never even get the chance to pull that shit on me. as if i'd ever be dumb enough to go on a date with the likes of you." you lean back in your seat, opening up your phone and furiously marking off girls from your list. the list gets smaller after every one of his failed dates. oliver sits back, too, watching the way your brows furrow as you stare at your screen, not even giving him the time of day. he never stops smiling; finds it hard not to smile when he's in your presence.

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . jujutsu kaisen films coming to a theater near you ౨ৎ

⋆⁺₊❅. the roadtrippers starring kento nanami synopsis you're traveling solo for the first time ever after your fiancé breaks things off with you to date his 19 year old neighbor. kento nanami's a single father/investment banker trying to make it back home in time for his daughter's birthday. you're both trying to travel across the country, but when a massive snowstorm delays the same flight you two were going to take home, you decide to team up and just travel together to try to make it your respective destinations on time. from weirdos on the train, flat tires on scarily cheap rental cars, and posing as a married couple at a strict, christian-owned bed&breakfast, you go from strangers traveling cross-country together to being connected together in ways neither of you have ever connected with your previous partners before.

exclusive sneak peek! "whoa, you're doing this like it's nothing." you stare in awe as nanami rolls up the sleeves to his button-down, exposing his strong forearms as he turns the wrench, loosening the lug nuts of the flat tire of the rental car. "that's because it is nothing." he tells you, glancing up at you. you're wrapped up in his blazer, but the chill of the outside air still bites at you. "you should go back inside the car and wait for me. i'll be done in a second." "it wouldn't be fair." you explain to him. "you've been doing all the work this entire trip. braving the elements with you for a few minutes is the least i can do." "you don't have to do anything." he looks up at you, his stare bringing heat back into your body. "you don't owe me. i really don't mind helping you. if you really want to do me a favor, then go back inside the car and stay warm."

⋆⁺₊❅. snowed in starring naoya zenin synopsis you've never had great luck, but with your good attitude, you don't let life get you down. good karma finally comes your way when you win an all-expenses paid trip at a luxury ski lodge. this is where your good luck ends. apparently, the ski lodge accidentally double-booked the cabin: you're supposed to be staying there... and so is the rudest, most arrogant and condescending lawyer you've ever met. naoya zenin booked this place to get away from the city and work in peace, away from the incessant nagging of his family and employees. instead, he's met with even more inconveniences, the biggest one being you, some teacher from a small town he's never heard of and couldn't care less about. before either of you can head back to the main lodge to complain, a snowstorm comes rolling in, effectively leaving the two of you snowed in together for the time being. no cell service, no internet, and no one but each other. fantastic.

exclusive sneak peek! "where are you going?" he asks, eyeing your towel and pajamas in your hand. "to go shower?" you point to the bathroom door. after claiming he wants nothing to do with you, and then setting a ground rule that you can't speak to him unless he allows it, you figured he'd just leave you to your own devices. "unless i need permission from you to do that, too." "i checked the water tank. there's barely anything, and even less hot water." "and this is my problem because...?" "i need to shower, too. i know women have a tendency to take hour-long hot showers, but that isn't going to work here." somehow, you find it hard to believe any woman would want to be close enough to naoya to where he can track their shower-time. "fine. i'll take a lukewarm shower for fifty-five minutes then." you reach for the bathroom door handle. "will that satisfy you?" he's up in a flash, his body so close to your own. you've got nowhere to go but to back up against the closed door, trying to get some space between the two of you. "you don't want to know what'll satisfy me."

:¨ ·.· ¨: `· . attack on titan films coming to a theater near you ౨ৎ

⋆⁺₊❅. falling onto you starring porco galliard synopsis when you’re forced to return to your hometown to take care of your grandmother after her hip surgery, you’re roped into volunteering for the town’s fire department charity event. paired with the constant scowling firefighter who rescued you from a tree back when you two were kids and classmates, you’re tasked with organizing the firefighter calendar auction. between awkward photo shoots, bickering over decorations, and trying to outbid a local rival for the best auction spot, you start to see that maybe porco galliard isn't all scowls and shambles arrogance — after all, he's there to catch you every time you fall.

exclusive sneak peek! "no." "it's for charity, galliard." you toss him the santa hat, not the least bit shocked that he manages to catch it without batting an eye. "you're like, morally obligated to do this. unless you want to ruin christmas. that's fine by me, too." "i won't be ruining christmas. you're just a pervert." you gasp. "i'm not the one who came up with these positions!" "you're still going to buy the calendar." he points out. "yeah, for charity! not to actually look at it!" "you sure about that? because you seem pretty damn persistent that i should take off my shirt and let you take pictures of me in nothing but suspenders, my work pants, and this ridiculous hat." "that's the most stereotypical firefighter photoshoot for a sexy christmas calendar!" he pauses. "you callin' me sexy?"

⋆⁺₊❅. the one starring colt grice synopsis colt grice has the worst luck known to man. when it comes to pay-it-forward chains, he always gets stuck in front of a minivan for a family of nine. naturally, the only people who crash into his car are the ones with no insurance. he felt bad for a coworker during a work potluck, stomached some of their disgusting food, only to end up getting food poisoning from it. the only thing colt ever seems to have good luck with is relationships... specifically, his good luck seems to transfer over to the girl he's currently dating. see, the thing is, every time colt gets dumped, his exes always end up finding the love of their lives. all his exes are happily married or in long-term relationships, with all of them finding their soulmates right after breaking up with him. he thinks no one else in the world has luck as terrible as his, but then he meets you. after a conversation exchange during a long line, you reveal that it seems like every ex you have has found their soulmate directly after breaking up with you! which is when you two hatch a plan: in order to help each other find "the one", you both agree to date each other for a period of time and then dump each other, all in the hopes of finally meeting your soulmate.

exclusive sneak peek! "your soulmate is super lucky, by the way." "what makes you say that?" colt turns to his side so he can look at you. you're still laying on your back, gazing up at the stars above. "just... i can't imagine why anyone would want to break up with you. you're honestly the best boyfriend i've ever had." colt's heart jumps at your words. he's glad it's so dark outside; otherwise, you might see the blush creeping on his cheeks. you continue on. "i'm going to be really sad when we have to breakup." he knows it's not in the agreement, but he can't help it. he thinks, then let's not. instead, he swallows hard and makes a half-hearted joke. "don't worry. you'll meet your soulmate soon, all thanks to me." you laugh, but you don't tell him how you're really hoping that he's the one for you.

⋆⁺₊❅. girls just wanna have fun! starring levi ackerman synopsis you're the prime minister's daughter wanting to get the proper college experience during your very last year of university. he's your marginally older, no-nonsense, militant bodyguard. you're determined to check things off your college girl bucket list (skip lecture, eat questionable dining hall food, go to a frat party), and he's determined to keep you safe.

exclusive sneak peek! you’ve been meticulously planning this all week. the perfect outfit is tucked under your oversized hoodie, and you’ve even plotted out the quietest route to avoid any of the creaky floorboards in your family’s massive home. all that’s left is to slip past levi, who seems to have an annoying sixth sense for every bad decision you attempt to make. sliding your shoes on, you tiptoe toward the front door, holding your breath as you slowly twist the handle. almost there. just a few more seconds, and— “you have exactly five seconds to explain what the hell you’re doing.” the deep, authoritative voice freezes you in place. slowly, you turn to find levi standing in the shadows, his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in disapproval. the flat line of his mouth isn't forming a frown or a scowl, but the disappointment is evident. “levi,” you start innocently, trying to cover your tracks. “i was just—” “if you're just going to lie, don't bother saying anything.” he interrupts, stepping into the light. his eyes flick to your shoes and back to your guilty expression. “where are you really going?” you sigh, crossing your arms defensively. “it’s just a party, okay? everyone’s going, and i’m not some teenager who needs her parent's permission to go out at night.” “you might not need your father's permission,” he says, his voice low and deliberate, “but you do need my protection. and if you think i'm letting you sneak off to some frat house full of drunk idiots without so much as telling me, then you’re dumber than i thought.” you glare at him, your frustration bubbling over. “you’re not my dad! i can take care of myself.” he leans against the doorframe, unflinching. “if you could take care of yourself, you wouldn’t have tried sneaking out like a common criminal." “ugh,” you groan, childishly stomping your foot. “why do you always have to ruin everything?” “why do you always have to make my job harder?” he counters, his tone sharp but his eyes softening just slightly. for a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. then levi exhales, rubbing his temples as if you’ve given him the worst headache of his life. “here’s the deal,” he finally says. “you stay home tonight, and i’ll consider letting you go to the next party — with me shadowing you the whole time.” your jaw drops. “you can’t be serious.” “correct. i never plan on letting you go to one of those idiotic parties.” he says. “now go change out of that ridiculous outfit you're wearing under your sweatshirt, and get some sleep. you've got class at eight.”

[crazychaoticizzy]

Just the Tip

CONTENT: 18+, MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, morning sex, dom/sub/switch reader and character depending on which one you’re reading, my knowledge on some of these characters is limited since i’m new to the fandom so they may be mischaracterized, the most basic concept but it’s something ✨

WORD COUNT: 573

MASTERLIST

“C’mon, baby… Just the tip, I swear.”

You both knew he was lying. He didn’t do just the tip. You knew that, and yet you still obliged him in the early morning.

“Just for a bit. I have a meeting today,” you mumble. You bury your face further into your pillow as he climbs on top of you. Now that you’d said it, you realized how much you didn’t want to go to that business meeting.

“I know, baby. I swear this time it’ll really be just the tip.”

You hum as he pushes your panties aside. His fingers briefly glide against your folds before he replaces them with his cock.

For a moment, he abides by his promise and only puts in the tip. He ruts into you and moans in your ear before pushing more of himself in. You’re too tired to notice entirely, although you can feel it. You don’t comment on it, though, even knowing that you should. You excuse it by convincing yourself just a little bit of indulgence wouldn’t hurt anyone.

It isn’t long until his hips meet yours. Your mouth falls open in a surprises moan when he pulls out almost completely and shoved himself back inside. Your eyes shoot open, and you look up at him with a questioning gaze.

“Oops.” The stupid smirk on his face tells you this is definitely not and oops situation, but you can’t find it in yourself to argue. Especially not after he begins a fast pace.

It looks like that meeting will have to wait. What a shame…

Jean Kirstein, Eren Yeager, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Roy Mustang, Portgas D. Ace

There was no sound prettier than the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, still groggy with sleep as he holds onto your hips for dear life.

Just the tip. That’s what he’d promised you. But Jesus Christ, the way your walls stretched and squeezed around just the tip made him delirious. You’d barely given him anything and his eyes were already rolled to the back of his head.

He whines and whimpers in your ear, pleading, begging for you to let him put more of himself inside.

“Baby… Baby, please… I know you’re busy today but I need-”

With the way he moans in your ear, his hands twisted in the sheets and leaving bruises on your hips, it would just be cruel to say no, wouldn’t it?

Armin Arlert, Reiner Braun, Choso Kamo, Sanji Vinsmoke

Sometimes you find yourself hating how coy he can be. How fucking clever he is infuriates you, especially when it’s early in the morning and the only thing you want is for him to not follow what you said.

You moaned his name, long and drawn out, as you tried moving your hips back to push more of him inside you.

But he keeps his hands on your hips, preventing you from moving any further. He tuts and shakes his head, barely moving the tip in and out.

“We can’t get too carried away. We both have things to do today,” he whispered, his voice still raspy and thick with sleep.

You groan, attempting to move your hips again. When he resists, you give up. “Please,” you beg.

He chuckles. You think for a moment that he’ll give in to your pleas and screw you until you’re a mess beneath him, but he only kisses your cheek and pulls away.

It leaves you feeling empty and upset, even with the promise of a proper fucking when the two of you return to work.

Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, Kento Nanami

this has been in the drafts since at least February sorry about that guys hope y’all enjoyed 💜

[vernasce-blogs]

why are all of the character x reader tags going through a dry spell rn? 😭 either there’s no engagement or there’s no content :(

Edit: Imma just leave my two cents about this here, I think the main issue is the media most people consume. smut and smau tend to get the most traction, but not everyone knows how to write good booty tickling smut or smaus

[leviismybby]

Levi's face card is insane in this photo...

[plussizeficchick]

OOOHH YALL walk with me but… I can’t stop thinking about douchebag guys that publicly voice their distaste for chubby women but are secretly the biggest chubby chasers on earth!

They’re your favorite to prey on because they’re just so easy. A little bit hair twirling, lollipop sucking and they’re practically putty in your hands.

They make it so obvious that they want you too, they say the makeup you’re wearing doesn’t suit your chubby face, so you tell them to fuck you so good you’re not wearing any anymore. They like to comment on how that crop top is too short and how they can see your stomach, so you ask why they’re so focused down there when your eyes are up here. They must want you cause they’re practically salivating at your tits! 

You promise them you won’t say anything to their friends when they slide in your dms later. You tell them that you understand, they’re just shy.

But you can’t help but laugh cruelly when you have them on their backs later. You have their phone in your hand, your cunt squeezing their cock so deliciously he wants to thrust up into you but you hold firm, I set the pace, you said. “Please.” he begs, beautiful crystalline tears in his eyes and you almost feel pity for him. 

Almost.

But then you remember how cruelly he laughed at you in front of his friends earlier and it just steels your resolve. 

You lift your hips and slam down on his cock, slow and steady and when you feel the telltale sign of his orgasm, you stop. “I- I can’t, just let me,” he tries to fuck up into you but clench around him so hard he has no choice but to be quiet. “Ah, ah, ah,” you chuckle venomously, lifting your hips out of reach. He tries desperately to buck up into your tight heat, but you’re sure to hold him down. “I’m in charge, remember?” You grin wickedly and he has no choice but to concede reluctantly. 

But you’re not cruel, obviously you want to get off too. So you slam right back down on his weeping cock, grinding your hips up and down his impressive length and you’re sure to capture the delicious, crystalline tears that build up in his eyes at your unforgiving pace. “Who’s fucking you good?” You ask, reaching a hand to tweak one of his sensitive nipples. “You.” He mutters under his breath, the pressure of his impending orgasm building in his lower stomach. “Me, who?” You say, slowing down the rhythm of your thrusts. He whines out at that, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “You, mommy! Please, just fuck me!” He finally cries out, tears of pleasure pouring down his cheeks. He gasps at the feeling of your soaking cunt choking his dick, his hips fucking up into you involuntarily.

But you don’t mind, fuck you’ve been waiting for him to fill you up since he arrived at your front door and the fact that you have it on camera?

Absolutely delicious.

It doesn’t take long before your cunt is clenching around him, your pussy squelching as you both milk each other’s orgasms. His hips stutter as he spills everything he has into you, declarations of love and adoration pouring from his lips. But it’s the same song and dance you’ve been privy to for years, love you in private but never in public and if you even breathe a word of it, they try to deny. 

But you don’t mind, you’ve got plenty of evidence. And it’d be a real shame if your finger slipped and you sent it to a group chat with their friends.  

—GOJO, GETO, NAOYA, Bakugo, KAMINARI, MONOMA, Dabi, SHIGARAKI, CHISAKI, SANEMI, OBANAI, TSUKISHIMA, Atsumu, Oikawa, RAN, Baji, Kazutora, SANZU, EREN, Levi, BUGGY, Mihawk, Zoro, Your fav

[willreigns]

Letters from the Other Side

The sea washes over the sides of the steamship, taking with it the algae stuck to it. You almost hope the waves can take you with it, the nerves getting the better of you as you leant over the rail. Come see me, you read the letter over and over again, your stomach fluttering, I want to see you.

CW: Post-war Levi x fem!reader, civilian!reader

A/N: Some post-war Levi goodness after the angst I’ve posted this past month. ~2.5k words of fluff and romance. If this does well, I’ll probably write the super romantic smut next.

Credit to @cafekitsune for the dividers!

Three years after the Rumbling and things were starting to return to a sense of normalcy in the Stohess district. At least as normal as things can get when the twisted mentality of the Yeagerists and their seizing control of the military dominated the news. Your mother and father tell you not to worry, but you’ve been worried ever since the walls disappeared and the Survey Corps regiment disbanded.

Or rather, you have only really been worried over a single person, the man with the raven locks and the dull gray eyes, dull eyes that glittered when you spoke to him. You were still a woman, and a woman has intuition for those sorts of things like attraction, and Captain Levi couldn’t help how flustered he got whenever he saw you. Your father was the owner of a blacksmith company, and you often bumped into Levi along with Commander Smith several times a month.

Humanity’s strongest, you’d think in awe, where you had imagined a big brute, now you saw the man for what he was.

Why’d he come along was always unknown to you, but as your father and the commander spoke privately in another room, you offered small conversation and tea while he waited. Where small talk began, somehow a deep appreciation for the other bloomed, and the visits began to feel like the visits of the suitors that bombarded your home on occasion. He’d gift you single flowers, it’s all I can afford, he’d say meagerly. You’d thank him with a kiss on the cheek each and every time. And each and every time a ferocious tinge of red would adorn his face.

The timing never seemed to be right with either of you, it always seemed like when one was ready to take the leap, the other had other obligations waiting. Wait for me, were his selfish last words to you and you nodded your head as you gave him a final good-bye.

It had already been three years. You were already on the cusp of giving up.

It had been a nice breezy morning when you received his first letter. The unfamiliar stamps had caught both you and your parents off-guard, but nonetheless they gave you the privacy to open it. There, in the small garden of your home, tears welled up in your eyes as you skimmed through it.

It was a letter from Captain Levi.

Or rather Levi, just Levi, as the letter so said. I have told them to stop calling me captain, but these brats never learn. You giggled inwardly at his words, tears welling up in your eyes. You read it one more time, much slower this time, familiarizing yourself with his handwriting, the slant in his letters, his signature, everything. You familiarized yourself with the names Gabi and Falco, children you did not know but instantly loved with the way they cared for Levi.

At the very bottom, a hopeful wish that you will respond, signed next to his name.

Of course you will.

Your father stood confused as you gathered parchment and a pen to write, finding it odd that his moody daughter was suddenly so lively. Perhaps it’s the engagement, he thought, and let you be.

Your ring twinkled under the summer sun, and yet nothing has caused more glee than the very letter you were responding to. You wrote about the situation in Paradis, you wrote about the kindness of the queen, and you wrote about how business was booming for your father, despite the war having been over. The thought saddened you, but you quickly sign the letter and add a note that you excitedly await his next letter.

It’s not that you fail to mention your engagement, rather some deep part of you didn’t want to mention it. Your betrothed was a good man, hand picked by your father, you had accepted to keep his worries at bay that you wouldn’t end up husbandless and with no children.

How quickly Levi’s letters can have you questioning your familiar duties.

We restored some of the land ruined by the war, Levi writes, many foreigners are starting to settle here again.

You can’t help the sense of admiration that fills you up. It filled you up when he’d visit with the commander, and it still filled you up now. A military man, you wonder if he’s still as strong as when you met him. Humanity’s strongest, you wondered if he still thought about you and the flowers he’d gift you.

I’d like to visit it one day, you write, perhaps a change of scenery would be nice. All this yeagerist talk has me going mad.

I’d like to visit you one day, you will yourself to write, but you don’t. You had been lovestruck years ago, perhaps the captain no longer harbored the same feelings. Perhaps the captain has found someone new, perhaps the captain has married.

Sadness consumes you. After all, you were just friends back then, right?

You trash your letter and write a plainer one instead. It hadn’t even reached half a page when you sealed it, wrote his address on the front of it and set it aside for the postman to pickup tomorrow.

“Honey,” you can hear your mother call, “James is here to see you.” You force your best smile to greet your husband-to-be.

It’s weeks before the next letter arrives. The pretty orange and red tree leaves were beginning to fall, a cozy chill running through the district. Your wedding preparations were already underway when the postman calls out to you, a single letter in his hands, the stamps it bore already familiar to you.

More talk of restoration, recovery, Gabi and Falco’s shenanigans, when finally you reach the last bit of the letter. I don’t mean to bother you, Levi writes, your last letter felt abrasive. I understand if things have changed. Everything has changed.

You wonder what goes through Levi’s mind when he writes to you.

No, things have not changed. Things still felt the same, at least they did to you. Still, you couldn’t ignore your engagement anymore as you saw your mother debate through wedding ribbons in the distance and you finally will yourself to write and tell him the news.

I’m engaged, it feels awful to write it, my engagement is a long one, though, and so I’m sorry if the letter was short. I must’ve been busy.

You write of other things, of the rising tension amongst good folks like your family who didn’t want to fuel another war, and the yeagerists. You write of how the talks of peace by the ambassadors (who you found out were actually part of the same regiment as him) were falling on deaf ears.

I’d like to see you, you finally write, I’d like to see what the other side looks like.

You add the last bit in a final moment of hesitation, sign your name and set it aside, a deep breath falling from your lips.

“You’re changing the wedding date again, and to a later date might I add,” your father bellows out to you.

“Father, please,” you reply, exasperated, trying to escape the dining room and into your own, a new letter in hand, “I will get married in time, what’s the rush?”

“The rush is that you’re not young anymore, I beg you to reconsider.”

You shut the door behind you, shaky fingers coming to pry the letter open. You force yourself to read slowly, absorbing every single inked word coming from Levi’s fingertips.

You skip his polished words of annoying governmental policies being implemented on his side and go straight to the heart of the letter, his real response to you.

Congratulations on your engagement, he begins, I’m surprised you haven’t even married yet.

That? That is what he has to say? You scoff, a slight irritation blooming.

I don’t look like before—I’ve lost an eye and my right hand is destroyed, his letter continues, I look awful.

I’m not humanity’s strongest anymore.

You don’t know why these words strike you deeply. Years and a great distance separate you from what Levi is or was for that matter, yet it isn’t Levi’s exterior that ever affected you in the first place. It was the small talks and the small gifts, it was his tinged cheeks and his intrepid way of speaking around your people who have only seen the refined things in life.

You could never look awful to me, you write in your response, a wave of heat flaring up on your cheeks, you’re just trying to get me not to go.

Levi’s letters continue well into the deeper part of winter, the leaves have long since fallen, snow beginning to gather amongst the branches. The winters where he lived were harsh, and he writes of how they were causing the ache in his knee to worsen. You spend some of your money to send him some ointment you purchased from a local medic.

He writes to you of how the snow reminds him of when the Survey Corps would serve hot chocolate on the off chance. You send him chocolate you bargain off a local vendor.

The signs of Levi’s homesickness don’t escape you, even if he doesn’t admit it.

I could send you Stohess’s entire stock of goods if I can, you respond to his letters of thanks.

What would I do with all that, he responds to yours, breaking you into a fit of silent laughter.

I’ve missed your awful humor, you write casually. You wonder if you should trash this letter and begin a new one, but you don’t. I’ve missed you, you finish writing.

The budding roses in your garden remind you of your predicament.

“As much as I respect you,” James begins, “I won’t accept any other change to the wedding. If you won’t marry me then I’ll find someone who will.”

You comprehend his irritation, even if you don’t fully understand it.

He leaves you on your garden bench, exiting through the gate, just in time for the postman to arrive. Your feelings don’t subside, in fact they linger as you read Levi’s next letter.

Upon opening it, nervousness hits you as you see just how short the letter is. Policy change, annoying policy change.

The ambassadors have told me that postage to Paradis will be barred soon. Your eyes widen. Despite the nice spring breeze, your body suddenly feels so cold.

If I don’t hear from you again, I wanted to wish you a happy marriage. Your eyes well with tears, but it’s his next words that move you.

Unless you change your mind. Come see me. I want to see you. Just as you’re about to trash the envelope, a small flower catches your eye. It was dried up and rather lonely, but you hold it close to you as small tears slip down your cheeks.

The next morning, you try to give the postman your next letter but he just shakes his head in response.

“Apologies ma’am, the military has ordered a full stop for all international mail.” You thank him anyway, despite how distraught you feel.

Your wedding is within two weeks. The white dress in the corner of your room haunts you. Although lace with spring flowers were added to match the season, it only made it look like the kind of dress you wore on your deathbed.

There was no more rescheduling your wedding date, there were no more letters to look forward to, you could only look over the last letter, his final request.

You longed for Levi. Did he long for you?

Come see me, I want to see you.

Despite the spring air, a heat that resembled summer humidity burned through you.

“It’s a one way trip if you decide to head to the other side,” the hefty man tells you, “military has barred all incoming and outgoing mail, I wouldn’t be surprised if they bar incoming ships soon.”

This was it, the point of no return. You had written your last letter addressed to your parents—an apology for doing what you are doing. No, your heart hasn’t seized its rampant beating since Levi’s last letter. You need to see him.

You board without much of a glance back.

For days, sea sickness threaten to put a damper on your good (albeit nervous) mood, your only fuel the letters stored in your small suitcase, rereading them every night as the darkness of the ocean tormented you.

Finally, the crewmen announce that you will be arriving in the morning. The sun was setting off in the horizon—you clutched his last letter as you take a brief moment to absorb this feeling of resilience that surged through you. You’d get to see Levi soon, you’ve waited enough. Here, near the rails of the ship, you long for him, nerves filling your stomach.

The sea washes over the sides of the steamship, taking with it the algae stuck to it. You almost hope the waves can take you with it, the nerves getting the better of you as leant over the rail. Come see me, you read the letter over and over again, your stomach fluttering. I want to see you.

Past the plethora of persons disembarking, past the many political volunteers ushering about far-off dreams of peace that were unachievable, you navigate through unknown territory in an effort to find him. Fingers pointed, people spoke foreign directions as they glanced at the address on your envelope. It has all brought you here.

Face to face with a young girl, too young to be married.

“Ah—sorry,” you begin, “I was told Levi Ackerman lived here.”

“Yeah he does,” she begins suspiciously, “I’ll get him.” The door closes again and already you feel out of your element. Perhaps this was a mistake, you wish the ground can swallow you whole. Peering eyes look at you through a nearby window, ones that belonged to the young girl who just spoke to you, and another who you haven’t met.

“That’s her? No way,” you can hear them say. Suddenly the door opens, and dull gray eyes that bore a hint of annoyance soften and make way for a familiar glitter that reminded you of simpler times.

“Levi.”

He whispers your name, suddenly hiding his maimed hand, trying to get you to see his good side, the side with his working eye. But you don’t see that. You see the man who gifted you flowers, you see the man whose cheeks you once kissed.

You will yourself to move and you do, grabbing the hand behind him and crashing into him in an embrace. Levi’s face is red, and he glances at the window to see Gabi and Falco gawking at them. He waves them off annoyingly and they give him a thumbs-up as they pull away.

Hands come to wrap around you, lips kissing your forehead.

“You came,” he whispers into your hair.

“Of course.”

[ashthemadwriter]

Kinktober Masterlist

October 1st— Cunnilingus | Sanji Vinsmoke

Your friend can't deny you when you're this needy for him, but you have to keep it down.

October 3rd— Breeding | Gojo Satoru

Seeing you with a baby in your hands, your boyfriend can't get the idea out of his head.

October 6th— Incest | Chuuya Nakahara

Your parents are abroad for a week and Chuuya can't say no to her spoiled stepsister.

October 9th— Workplace sex | Katsuki Bakugo

A short visit to your boyfriend's workplace turns into something more.

October 12th— Cuddlefuck | Osamu Dazai

You're cuddling with your husband and everything's peaceful until you feel his boner against your crotch.

October 15th— Somnophilia | Atsumu Miya

You wouldn't mind if you wake up with your boyfriend's cum between your legs, would you?

October 18th— Hate sex | Tooru Oikawa

As much as he hates your guts, he can't deny how sexy you are, especially in an empty room.

October 21st— Degradation | Toji Fushiguro

How can you be so horny in the middle of a mission? What a slut you are!

October 24th— Cockwarming | Sae Itoshi

You tell Sae about your day while sitting on his cock.

October 27th— Dry humping | Megumi Fushiguro

Just the tip my ass! Megumi has to find another way to pleasure himself.

October 30th— Aphrodisiac | Eren Yaeger

You catch Eren's eye and he comes up with a way to get into your pants.

[callisto-corner]

Beauty of the Blondes

[theragethatisdesire]

pretty girl - jean kirschtein x afab!reader - 18+!!!

there's def more eren coming but while that's in the works please enjoy the result of the jean brainrot i experienced the other day. fair warning- it's going to get pretty rough, but that's what you asked him for ;)

pairing: reader x jean kirschtein

wc: 4.6k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, established relationship (jean's ur gorgeous bf lucky u), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, pretty rough sex, vaginal fingering, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, daddy kink, use of names (pretty girl, crybaby, good girl), very dom jean, multiple orgasm, dacryphilia/crying, creampie

this one was super fun and is very tasty u guys enjoy <3

-

-> be there in 5 babe :)

You are not looking forward to this, to say the least. You pace madly around your little apartment in a massive t-shirt and sweatpants covering the skimpiest lingerie set you own. It’s got all the bells and whistles: a matching garter belt, lace in all the right places, stockings that come up to where your plush thighs are the fattest. You should be looking forward to this, you tell yourself, candles lit and ambient lighting ready to go. You have a gorgeous boyfriend who’s going to “be here in five”, and you should be brimming with excitement. But…you’re just not.

Jean’s been in your life for a few months now. What had started as a run-in at the coffee shop around the corner had turned into candlelit dinners, movie marathons, and exclusive titles, and you adore him. His sandy brown hair, the tattoo on his strong bicep, pretty hazel eyes– Jean’s sexy, loving, sarcastic, attentive, literally everything you could ask for in a boyfriend. Except when it comes to your sex life, that is.

The sex isn’t bad per se, you just can’t shake the feeling that he’s holding something back from you. He’s almost too perfect; he’s gentle with you, always taking care to ask permission before touching you, chaste kisses as he slides in, hand-holding in missionary. He cums every time, immune to the whiskey-dick you’d expect from his bourbon drinking habit, so you know he’s enjoying himself, but he doesn’t always seem all there. The fire just isn’t in him, and you know he has that side to him. You’ve seen those hazel eyes you love so much blaze, in a heated argument, at the gym. Why it doesn’t happen in your intimate moments is beyond you, it’s like he’s afraid to break you, like he’s not doing everything–

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Shit, knocking on your front door is what he’s doing.

You take one last look in the mirror: hair’s casual, but still sexy, makeup to a minimum, all straps and lace covered up by your inconspicuous pajamas. Time to potentially ruin your relationship.

“Hey beautiful,” Jean greets you with an innocent smile, “you look cozy.”

“Feel cozy,” you accept his kiss, chewing on your lip as he comes in. Your heart’s pounding in your ears; poor thing has no idea what’s to come. Maybe it’ll go well, you think; false hope might be the only thing that gets you to pull through with your plan.

“Have any movie ideas for tonight? I was thinking Hereditary, but only if you’re not too chicken…” Jean raises his eyebrows, a taunting smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Ha! If only he knew all of the things you aren’t “too chicken” for.

You smile weakly, stomach churning. “Maybe. Can we just…can we just talk for a sec?”

Jean’s playful demeanor drops instantly, replaced by a faint frown. “What about?”

You amble over to the couch, playing with the strings of your sweatpants anxiously. How the fuck are you even supposed to bring this up? Your mind’s racing so quickly it draws a blank, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt: “Sex.”

“Sex?” Jean’s cheeks tinge pink. He hasn’t shaved in probably a week, a shadow covering his sharp jawline. God, he’s gorgeous, you can’t mess this up, you really can’t.

“Yeah,” you confirm, “sex. Our sex, to be clear.”

“I figured as much,” Jean’s sat himself beside you now, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. He’s not upset, not yet, but you’ve definitely caught him off guard.

“I– I feel like we’re on different pages,” you stammer– fuck you are so bad at this, “I just feel like sometimes you’re so…gentle, and you don’t necessarily, like, have to be?”

Jean’s frowning full on now, a precious little wrinkle appearing in the center of his forehead. You’ve hurt him, and your heart sinks. Probably should have started with the pros. “Like…what do you mean, by ‘don’t have to be gentle’?”

“Our sex life is great,” you try to smile enthusiastically, as if you don’t actually want to blow your brains out right now, “please don’t think I’m saying you’re bad in bed or anything. I just, like– okay, for example, have you ever tried anything rough?”

His mouth is a flat line. “Like what?”

“Like, handcuffs, or roleplay, any of that stuff.”

“What have you tried?” His voice is even, collected, but there’s something simmering in him that you can’t put your finger on. It’s not anger, but it tastes similar, running in the same vein but not quite there. It’s your turn to feel your face warm.

“I mean, I’ve tried handcuffs before. Some light slapping, spanking.” You’re twiddling your thumbs, confessing into your lap. You can feel his eyes on you.

“That it?”

“I guess.”

“Did you…enjoy that kind of stuff?” He’s taking the bait. You finally meet his gaze and it ignites a little fire in your stomach; he’s never looked at you this intensely, brows pinched together like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. All of these little mannerisms are tells, you’re intuitive enough to know that, but exactly what he’s trying to convey you just can’t figure out.

“Yeah.”

“How rough are we talking, here?” Jean sounds deeper than normal, the slightest bit of strain to his words. That’s definitely new; Jean’s the most unshakeable person you’ve ever met.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I–”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” an easy chuckle floats out of his mouth, “just trying to feel you out is all.”

Your brows furrow. “Feel me out?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, “I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Surprised?” Your nose wrinkles. “Did I ever give off the impression that I was, like, super vanilla or something?”

“No,” he laughs again, a bit of the tension melting from the room, “no, not that. We’re just still pretty new, that’s all. Wasn’t going to whip out everything in my toolbox ‘til I knew you were okay with it.”

That piques your interest; you think you’d very much like to see what’s in this toolbox of his. “So you do like some of this stuff?”

Jean rolls that thought over in his mind for a beat before responding, a suspicious smirk that you can’t read tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess you could say I like some of this stuff.”

“We’re back to my original question then: what do you like?”

“I’m more worried about what you like,” Jean says, “especially since you won’t come right out and say it. Gonna make me guess?”

That’s your Jean, blunt as ever. The fire in your stomach sparks and spits at the conversation, teasing and tempting. There’s something playful to his words; you can’t shake this feeling that you’re missing something, that he’s toying with you, but you like it. You let him keep pushing, see where he’s leading you. “Sure, guess.”

“Do you like…” Jean trails off, examining you with his chin nestled between his thumb and index finger, “to be dominant?”

“No.”

“Submissive, then.”

“Yeah.” He likes that, you can tell by the way his eyes glint at you. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

“Like to be tied up?”

“Already told you about the handcuffs.”

“I bet you have a praise kink.”

That has you flustered. There’s a sinking sensation in your stomach that you’ve underestimated him, waded out too deep into the water, but fuck it, you’re already here. “How’d you know?”

Jean smiles, pleased. “I just do. Overstimulation?”

“Sure.”

“Orgasm denial? Degradation?”

“If I deserve it.” It’s a bold answer, but it makes Jean suck in a sharp “fuck” between his teeth. Oh yes, you’ve definitely underestimated him.

“You like to be punished, don’t you?” His hand has traveled up to cup your jaw, thumb playing absentmindedly with your bottom lip. There’s an anticipatory warmth gathering between your legs, and the air between you both is practically crackling, charged by the tension thrumming through both of your bodies.

“Yes,” it comes out in a breath, almost pathetic, but you can’t help yourself. He looks so good, always does, and now he’s grazing his eyes over you like he wants to take a bite.

“You know how safewords work?” You nod a bit too eagerly. “Ours is going to be red, okay?”

“Okay,” you’re agreeing, but you aren’t entirely sure what to, caught up in the soft rubbing of his thumb over your mouth.

“If your mouth is,” a deep breath shakes through his frame, “occupied, give me a sharp pinch with your nails.”

“I can do that,” the tension between you is palpable now, the room’s so hot that you’re surprised your wallpaper isn’t peeling off.

“Go to your room,” Jean releases you, eyes dark and hungry, “take your clothes off and wait for me on the bed. I’ll be in soon.”

You follow his instructions without thinking twice, as if a switch has flipped in your brain. Maybe it was his tone, an authoritative way of speaking that threatens consequence, or maybe you’re just so ready to see what this perfect boyfriend of yours has been hiding all this time. As you’re getting undressed, you realize he still doesn't know about your lingerie. You bite back a smile, kneeling on the bed. This is going to be so good.

A minute or so ticks by slowly, and just when your legs are starting to ache, Jean’s entering your room. His face darkens in a way you’ve never seen before when he sees your little get up; lightning shoots through your core.

“Put on a pretty outfit just for me?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“That’s good,” he says in that slow drawl of his, “good girl.”

He’s only testing the waters, but you can feel your body viscerally react to the little pet name, shifting on your knees to mask your desperate attempt for friction, dampness spreading in your panties. Jean sees right through your act, smirking.

Jean joins you in undressing, slipping his shirt over his head. You take your time admiring his torso; miles of long, lean muscle, little ripples by his ribs trailing into a ridiculous six-pack. Jean’s a confessed gym rat, and it shows in every little line along his body. You have to blink and look away before you start salivating.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jean scolds, tilting your head up towards him, “eyes on me, got it?”

“Got it,” you answer. Jean frowns.

“That’s not very nice,” he says, “try again.”

You go out on a limb. “Yes, sir.”

Jean’s eyes glint again in that mean, pretty way you saw earlier. You did good, you did good for him. “Much better. Get on the floor.”

You slide off of your mattress, practically buzzing with anticipation, settling on your knees in front of him. A low groan rumbles in Jean’s chest.

“Look so good like that, my pretty girl.”

Oh, you really like that, nuzzling against his hand on your head. Jean smiles down at you, inching his pants down until that little thatch of brown hair starts revealing itself. “Open up for me, nice and wide.”

Your jaw’s dropped, mouth open and tongue out, expectant. Jean smiles wider, sharp and dangerous, pulling his cock out for you. He taps the head against your tongue a few times, even slaps you with it, facade faltering for a fraction of a second to gauge your reaction. You’re good for him, sitting still and patient with your mouth still open, a drop of drool starting to slide off the end of your tongue. Jean makes a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a chuckle.

“Oh, you’re an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” Your panties grow impossibly wetter, you wiggle on your thighs under him, earning yourself another slap of his cock on your tongue, heavy and drooling. “Gonna fuck this pretty face, okay?”

You close your mouth around his head, sucking lightly to show your approval. He’s not even touched you, not so much as a kiss, and your brain’s foggy, running like a hamster on a wheel chasing the circular thought of be good, be good, be good. Jean grabs your hair none-too-gently, tugging it at the roots, and starts canting his hips towards your mouth, muttering under his breath about how good you are, how good your mouth feels on him.

You lower your jaw ever so slightly, and before long, Jean’s picking up speed, knocking your gag reflex here and there and making you cough around him. He doesn’t seem overly concerned; in fact, he grins cruelly down at you when he hits an extra-sensitive spot, making you hunch and gag on him.

“Look at my pretty girl, so happy getting her mouth fucked,” he hisses when you moan around him, feeling the vibrations up his cock. He’s moving faster now, rougher than he’s ever been. You’re gagging with some regularity, tears welling up in your eyes and threatening to spill down your cheeks. You expect him to let up, give you some air, but it only spurs him on, and before you know it, there are thick streams of tears running down your face. Your jaw aches, your knees burn, but you stay, letting him use you how he pleases.

“Fucking crying on me,” Jean growls, “my cock too much for you?”

You try to answer with a shake of your head, but he’s relentless, fingers tightening in your hair and cock shoving to the back of your throat, making you retch.

“No, you love it, don’t you? My little crybaby.”

You’re so wet you can feel it gathering on the insides of your thighs, entirely soaked through your panties. You move your hips subtly, this way and that, desperate for friction. Jean notices, pulling out of your mouth but staying connected by a string of your spit.

“You squirming, pretty girl? Need some attention?”

“Yes, sir,” you rasp, nodding eagerly. Jean helps you up onto the bed, lays you back against his chest facing the mirror on top of your wardrobe. It’s a terribly lewd sight; you spread out in front of him, face swollen and teary, the telltale glisten of wetness glittering on your thighs.

Jean slides a hand down your body, rubbing you over your panties and nibbling at your ear. “You’re gonna watch me make you cum, and if I see you look away, I’m fucking you ‘til I cum, and you’re not getting a damn thing. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” your voice wobbles pathetically. Jean seems to like it; his cock twitches in interest against your back. He pushes your panties to the side, flicking his fingers faster over your clit. Embarrassingly enough, you’re already nearing your halfway point from the face-fucking, moaning and grinding up into his palm.

“Need something?”

“Mhm,” you grit out, jaw clenched. Jean slaps your pussy; not too hard, but firm enough to make you jolt, bring you a moment of clarity.

“Manners,” he reminds you sharply.

“I’m sorry, I– can I please have a finger?”

Jean’s placated, slides one finger into you and laughs hot against your neck at the obscene sound that tears from your throat. “What do we say when we get what we ask for?”

“Thank you– fuck, thank you,” your words are coming out in puffs of breathe. Jean has long, skilled fingers, a fact you’re already familiar with, but the position he’s put you in has you dripping onto the sheets: forcing you to watch as he pumps in and out of you, grinding into your clit with the heel of his hand. You’ll be lucky if you last another minute.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? My pretty girl likes being full, right?” Jean murmurs, hot against the shell of your ear. “Tell me.”

“Yes, sir, I– I like it, I need– fuck!”

“What do you need?” Jean coos, entertained, as if he’s not unraveling you with just the one.

“I want one m-more finger, please,” you stutter, relieved you’re able to get the words out at all.

“Learning so fast,” Jean kisses your shoulder, granting your wish. His fingers are thick, the slight stretch making you throw your head back against his shoulder, hips rolling into his hand of their own accord. “Still looking?”

You force your head back to its upright position, mindful of the threat in his tone. His fingers work faster at your obedience, curling insistently against the gummy spot inside your walls that makes you see stars, makes you a little out of your mind with need. It’s that out-of-mind dizziness in your head that causes your little slip-up:

“Fuck, please, more- more, Daddy.”

Jean’s fingers still; it’s not until you’re halfway into a whine of disappointment that you realize what you’ve said. Your face burns; you meet his eyes in the mirror, yours shot wide and embarrassed. You trip over your words, trying to explain yourself. That definitely hadn’t been mentioned in your earlier conversation.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that, I just–”

“Just what? Already so fucked out you can’t think straight?” Jean curls his fingers pointedly against your walls, punching a groan from your chest.

“Yeah,” you sigh, head growing cloudy again.

“Say it again.” That definitely isn’t what you expect to hear him mutter against your neck. Jean works a third finger into your cunt with some difficulty, stretching you to your limits. “Fucking say it, or you’re not cumming.”

“Oh my God, D-Daddy,” your cries are pathetic, punctuated by whimpers. The bubble in your stomach is about to pop, the tension growing unbearable. You’re almost there, grinding into his hand pitifully and babbling, when Jean takes one of his hands to grab your throat roughly. He holds you captive, staring at your own stretched cunt on display for you in the mirror.

“Good, good girl,” he says, “now watch Daddy make you cum.”

The band inside you snaps viciously; your back arches away from him, and you squirt, gushing all over your bed sheets, inhuman sounds tearing from your throat where you struggle under his hand. Jean’s working you through the whole thing, still steadily pumping his fingers and whispering dirty little nothings into your ear. It finally begins to quiet, overstimulation washing over you. You push urgently at his wrist, mumbling something or other about “too much, too much”.

Jean mercifully obliges, pulling his hand from you with a shameful sucking sound, giving your pussy another light slap.

“Such a good girl for me, yeah? How you feelin’?”

“Good, so good,” you slur, “I’ve never– never…”

“Never squirted?” Jean’s eyebrows shoot up at your answering nod before a smug expression settles over his face. “Such a fun little toy, aren’t you? Just wait, you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing; so he can make you do that? Again? Jean’s slid out from behind you and is repositioning your limp body, dragging you down the bed by your ankles to line you up with his cock. He bends your knees up, pressing them close to your head. Jesus, he’s going to kill you at this rate.

“Want me to fuck you?”

“Please,” you hate the begging lilt to your voice, but you’re beyond fighting it. You gave up the reins a long time ago when you knelt for him, let him call you a good girl, let him fuck your throat.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl, Daddy’s gotcha,” Jean starts bullying his way into your pussy, still tight and pulsing from your orgasm. “Shit, got a tight little cunt, don’t you? Feels so good– fuck.”

You’re simpering under him, barely able to process the stretch of his cock in you. He’s well-endowed and you’re overwhelmed, a dizzying combination for your fucked-out brain to handle. Just when you think he might be in your throat he’s so deep in you, his hips press to the back of your thighs, both of you letting out a long groan at the feeling.

“So pretty,” Jean muses, not moving yet, just placing a thumb on your clit and absentmindedly playing with it, “such a beautiful pussy.”

You whine, frustrated. He glares at you, landing a harsh smack to your inner thigh.

“I’m not going to warn you again.”

“Please fuck me, oh God, please,” you pant, past the point of humility. Jean licks his lips, presses his palms deep into the backs of your knees, practically folding you in half. He gives you what you ask for.

You’re jolted back and forth on the mattress, mouth hung open in a silent scream as he splits you open on him, forces every inch deep into you. His tip’s kissing your cervix, pain blooming in your abdomen, but you don’t even care, so lost in the rhythm of his hips.

“Jean, I– oh my God,” you try to tell him how good he feels, but all you get is a firm hand around your throat.

“Who’s fucking this pretty cunt up, hm? Fucking you good and deep? Who is it?”

“Daddy,” you choke out, breathless, “Daddy’s.”

“There you go,” Jean’s focused on where you’re connected, eyes never leaving the frothy white ring forming around the base of his cock. You’re crying again, vaguely aware of the streams of tears running down your temples, into your hairline, but fuck, he just feels so good your brain can’t even process it. Jean takes notice, wipes one of your tears and licks it off of his thumb. “Cute fucking crybaby, all happy and cockdrunk, aren’t you?”

You whimper some semblance of an agreement, feeling the band of tension in you already getting stretched to a breaking point. He’s at an angle that allows him to hammer into the most delicious spot inside of you, rubbing against it with each thrust.

“Gonna cum soon, I– I’m gonna cum soon,” you manage, locking his gaze.

“Let me feel it, go on, do it for me,” Jean pants, squeezing your neck tighter. The lack of air goes to your head; the room spins until all you can focus on is him pounding into you. You cum violently, throbbing around his cock, thrashing against his strong arms. Jean fucks you through it, never losing his pace. “Good fucking girl, just like that.”

You’re practically wheezing as your senses return to you, clawing at Jean’s arm on your throat. He lets up on your neck, smiling down at you. “Feel good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, blissed out and half-asleep until Jean flips you, forcing you to prop up on your hands and knees. “Wait, Jean–”

“Wait?” Jean scoffs, sliding back into you. You let out a little cry, and he smacks your ass sharply. “This is what you asked for, right? Said I was being too nice to you.”

“I didn’t– oh my god…” your eyes roll back into your head, a well-placed thrust cutting your words off. “It’s so…it’s so much, Jean.”

Jean lands three more sharp slaps to your ass, already thrusting into you at a brutal pace. “What was that?”

“T-too much, Daddy,” you collapse, face shoved into the bed to mask the pitiful cries leaving your mouth. It is too much; if you tuck your chin to your chest, you can see a little bulge in your tummy where he’s fucking into you, another orgasm already building in the pit of your stomach. You feel like you might pass out if he makes you cum again, but he’s ruthless.

“Too much?” Jean coos, fisting your hair to turn your face. He’s glaring down at you. “You were practically begging me for it, and my pretty girl gets what she wants, right? Said you wanted it rough, so you’re going to fucking take it.”

You nod miserably, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Jean hisses when you clamp down around him. “Squeezing me so goddamn tight, this pussy.”

You feel a hand start thrumming insistently against your clit and nearly shriek; your pussy’s so swollen, so sensitive already. You claw at the bedsheets, feeling something warm and wet swelling inside of you.

“Daddy, I– fuck, it’s, it’s–”

“Gonna make you squirt again,” it’s a promise from behind your ear, “you’re gonna squirt on my cock and Daddy’ll cum for you, okay?”

“I can’t, I–” you’re wailing, words cut off by your own moans. Jean loves it, you can feel his thrusts growing more urgent against your hips, so deep in you you could choke.

“You can,” he corrects you, hand moving faster, “want Daddy to cum in you?”

“Yes, please, p-please,” You cry, letting him use you as he wishes. 

“I’ll give it to you, gotta cum first, you can do that, can’t you? Taking me so well, pretty girl, just need you to cum one more time for me.”

“Uh-huh,” the edges of your vision are starting to close in. He’s ruthless, hips slamming into yours hard enough to bruise, cock stretching you out so nicely, you can’t hold it, but you know, somewhere deep in this primal part of your brain, you need to be good, need to ask him. “Need to cum, Daddy, please– please let me, I–”

“Go ahead,” Jean shushes you, hips moving impossibly faster, “be a good girl, let me feel it.”

That tips you over the edge and Jean makes good on his promise; your cum is dripping out of you, spraying onto his thighs and ruining your sheets. You’re thrashing your head back and forth and sobbing through your orgasm, pinned and powerless under him. Jean swears at the vice-like grip you have on him; it doesn’t take him long to follow suit, pressing himself as deep as he can go, cumming in you. He bends over you as he does, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to him, kissing you hard in a mess of tongue and teeth. You feel it warming your stomach, moaning appreciatively until you both collapse in a sweaty mess of limbs, gasping for breath and clutching onto one another.

Jean allows himself a few moments to catch his breath, and then he’s pulling out of you, leaving you empty and whimpering. He shushes you, holding you close to his chest and letting you work through the intense session in his arms. You’ve never been so fucked out, nuzzling into his chest and simply letting him hold you, letting the aftershocks wrack through your sore body. After a few minutes you’re coming to; the haze begins to lift, and you peek up at him, unsure of where to start after…that.

“You okay?”

You turn the words over in your mouth before you can get them out, still feeling a bit like you’re floating. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. That was…wow.”

Jean, the man that just held you down and forced what were probably life-threatening orgasms out of you, blushes. “Yeah, it was really something.”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, giggling despite yourself. Your mind is still a little cloudy, a little soft after everything. “But it was good. So good.”

“Yeah?” Jean grins, hoisting you up into his lap so you can both sit up, still cradling you to his chest. “Not too gentle, was I?”

Your face grows hot, you want to hide it behind your hands. “No, not too gentle.”

“You were right earlier,” he admits, “I was definitely holding out on you just because the way I like to…I mean, I don’t think I need to get too into it, you were there. It can be a lot. Didn’t want to push you too far.”

You hum contentedly, playing with the little gold chain he always wears. “I understand that now, but I’m a big girl. I can handle whatever you want to give me, promise.”

“Don’t say that,” Jean groans, “too tired for round two.”

Your hand falls into the mess between your thighs, and you wince. “Maybe after a shower?”

“Greedy,” Jean tuts, scooping you up with him to make the journey over to your bathroom, “my greedy, pretty girl.”

[kariighost]

I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM ILOVE HIM I LOVEHIIM

[arabella0001]

it took me like two weeks to write this

nowhere to hide

anime: attack on titan

pairing: eren yeager x reader

synopsis: there’s a fine line between guilt and obsession—and he’s already crossed it

warnings: slow burn(10k words), possesive/obssesive eren, manipulation, consensual sex, overstimulation, edging, fingering, praise/degrading kink, rough sex, biting, oral sex (both receiving), penetrative vaginal sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, after care, comfort

After Eren fully accesses his ability to see the future, he discovers something unexpected after touching Historia’s hand—the subconscious projections of those around him when he makes contact. Fleeting, abstract, easy to ignore.

Until he touches you.

The hall buzzes with conversation, clinking dishes, and the scrape of chairs against wood. Eren barely registers any of it.

He’s moving through the crowd, brushing past shoulders and hands, when his fingers accidentally graze yours. It’s nothing—a fleeting touch—but the moment it happens, his breath catches.

It slams into him—sharp, foreign. You

Calm as ever, outwardly composed, but beneath it—a tremor. Desire, raw and untempered, seeping through the cracks of a mind that shouldn’t be this exposed.

Eren freezes mid-step, gaze snapping toward you.

You notice. Your eyes meet his, brows lifting slightly. “Eren?”

He realizes he’s staring. His hand falls back to his side, and for a moment, he forgets how to respond. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He clears his throat, dragging his hand away as if the touch had burned him.

“I—I thought…” he starts, but the words tumble out awkwardly, and he shuts his mouth. His gaze flickers to yours again, searching, unsure if he imagined it. “It’s nothing. Sorry.”

You tilt your head, unconvinced, but let it go.

Eren forces himself to keep walking, but his heart pounds harder than it should. The echo of that feeling—your feelings—lingers longer than he’s ready to admit.

The rest of the day drags on, but Eren feels a step behind it.

His hands move on instinct—gripping equipment, adjusting gear, going through the motions of training—but his mind loops back. Back to that moment. That flicker of something he wasn’t supposed to see.

He hadn’t expected that from you.

It wasn’t like you ever acted that way around him. In fact, you barely spoke outside of mission necessities. But now that he’d seen it—felt it—it was impossible to unsee.

Now, without meaning to, his eyes find you across the training field.

You’re focused, laughing lightly at something Jean says. Ordinary. You don’t seem any different. Eren watches too long, searching for cracks—proof that the need he felt wasn’t imagined or just his mind playing tricks.

At one point, you glance up, meeting his gaze by chance.

He watched you, waiting for the crack to show, for the evidence to spill out across your expression.

You tried to hold his gaze, to keep that mask of indifference firmly in place.

Your thoughts don’t align with how you act—not with him.

Your eyes narrow, just slightly, questioning “What?”

But Eren felt it, deep in his gut.

You want him.

Badly.

It burned into him—glimpses of thoughts he wasn’t meant to witness. Slow, dirty, and unfiltered, lingering in ways that didn’t belong to the person standing in front of him now.

Not that he ever really believed you were innocent but that pulse of need wasn’t supposed to come from you.

Not you, the one who barely glances his way, who speaks to him only in clipped, formal exchanges. And yet, now he knows.

Eren doesn’t answer. His eyes shift away, jaw tightening.

He doesn’t understand it. And he’s not sure if it’s worse that now he wants to.

Eren tells himself it’s nothing. His power misfiring. A stray, meaningless thought. But the rationalizations don’t stick. The weight of your desire—for him—coils around his ribs like a vice. He shouldn’t want to chase it.

But it happens again—during drills, during meals—his gaze flickering to you when no one’s looking. And every damn time, he knows exactly what’s running through your head—how much you want him, how you imagine his hands, his mouth.

Your thoughts aren’t just dirty. They’re filthy.

The days blur together—long hours of drills and meetings. Eren buries himself in work, letting responsibility drag his mind elsewhere.

Whatever he thought he saw—or felt—that day, he brushes it off. There are more important things to worry about.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

But one night, long after the camp has gone quiet, his thoughts drift back to you.

It isn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he convinces himself. A flicker of curiosity, lingering a second too long, and suddenly he’s reaching for that connection again.

He shouldn’t. It’s been days. He hasn’t needed to.

But when he finds you this time, the weight of it knocks the air from his lungs.

Warm. Unrestrained.

These aren’t idle fantasies. The images flooding his mind are sharper, soaked in something deeper—like you aren’t just thinking about him, but acting on it.

Eren sits at the edge of his bed, pulse slow but heavy, dragging a hand down his face as the realization sets in.

Are you…?

His throat tightens, the realization sinking deep into his stomach. You are.

And you’re thinking of him.

It’s a dangerous thing, to linger like this.  He shouldn’t pry. He knows that. This isn’t just a stray glimpse. This is intimate—something you probably believe belongs to you alone.

He should pull away—should sever the thread between your thoughts and his before it twists into something darker. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sinks into it, lets it unravel inside him, heavy and possessive. The deeper he leans, the more he wants—until the guilt dulls into hunger, and even that feels too easy to ignore.

Eren exhales through his nose, knuckles pressing into the mattress as he leans forward.

He should stop.

Instead, he lets the connection stretch thin, sinks into that space between thought and sensation, testing the edges.

And this time, the fantasy unfolds slower.

Late. Quiet. Just the two of you.

Your arm stretches, the hem of your shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Eren’s eyes track the movement, slow and heavy-lidded, drawn to the slight shift of your hips as you try to balance. Eren stands nearby, leaning against the wall, watching.

“Need help?”

His voice—heavier than usual.

You nod, not bothering to look at him. His chest brushing against your back as he reaches over. His hand ghosts over yours, dragging deliberately down the length of your arm. And he doesn’t move away.

Eren feels the way your body tightens under him, the slight shift of your hips against his. Subtle, but intentional.

You want him to press closer, slide his hands down your waist, pin you against the shelves.

His tongue flicks over his bottom lip as the fantasy darkens.

You—beneath him. Breathless.

Skin damp, thighs trembling, legs locking around his waist as he thrust into you.

Eren’s grip tightens on the sheets. His head drops, teeth sinking into his cheek.

The way you whisper his name—soft, pleading—twists something sharp inside him. Like you already know who you belong to. It isn’t just the fantasy. It’s the way you let him in. The way you want him to take control.

And the worst part? It feels like you’ve thought about this before.

Eren’s breath drags out, uneven. The ache in his cock grows harder to ignore.

How many times have you thought about this?

The idea hums in his veins. You never show it. Barely sparing him a glance during the day. But somewhere behind that careful exterior, you’re imagining his hands. His mouth. And the way he’ll break you apart.

Eren leaned back, letting his head fall against the cold wall of the barracks. Eren shifted where he sat, jaw clenching as his pulse picked up. 

Tomorrow, he’d test it. Just to know if it was real. Just for that.

The next day felt ordinary—training, drills, the same tired routines—but Eren’s mind wasn’t on any of it. He hadn’t forgotten.

So when the day slowed, he waited.

You were alone in the supply room, restocking gear. Outside, the others finished up drills, their voices faint beyond the walls. The scrape of crates echoed softly in the stillness.

Too easy.

Eren stepped inside without a word, letting the door close behind him. His eyes lingered as you stretched to reach a box overhead, balancing on the tips of your toes. You didn’t notice him at first.

But he noticed everything—the way your shirt lifted slightly, the curve of your waist, the subtle strain in your arms, your slighty open mouth. His gaze dipped lower at your ass, your thights rubbing together.

Then his voice cut through the quiet

“Need help?”

You glanced over your shoulder, barely sparing him a look.

“I’m fine,” you replied, fingertips grazing the box’s edge. It shifted slightly, heavier than expected, but you didn’t stop trying.

Eren didn’t care. He stepped forward—closer than necessary. Before you could protest, his hand covered yours, gripping the box effortlessly. His chest brushed against your back, solid and warm, the weight of him impossible to ignore.

Your breath hitched. It wasn’t the closeness that caught you off guard, it was how familiar it felt.

His hand innocently settled on your tensed shoulders, appearing unintentional, dragged softly down your forearm in a fleeting moment as he lowered the box—tracing the exact path you’d imagined the night before.

Your heart pounded in your chest, loud enough that you wondered if he could hear it. The box landed on the table, but Eren didn’t move away too soon. He was enough that the space between breaths felt too thin.

The warmth blooming under your skin betrayed you, creeping up your neck faster than you could push it down.

“Thanks,” you muttered, but even you could hear the slight tremor in your voice.

When your eyes met his, his gaze was already waiting��steady, dark, unflinching.

Eren didn’t speak. He didn’t need to, he just nod. You swallowed hard, turning back to the table, pretending the way your skin prickled under his stare wasn’t real.

But Eren wasn’t pretending. Eren eased against the table’s edge, the casual slope of his body betraying nothing—but the air around him shifted. Arms crossed over his chest, his gaze lingered, just shy of predatory, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

“You alright?” His voice was smooth—too smooth. There was something coiled beneath it, something darker. Your fingers twitched against the box.

“Yeah. Just… surprised me.”

Eren didn’t blink. His smirk deepened just enough to make your stomach twist.

“Sorry, just wanted to help” he says softly with a fake gentleness.

And then he was gone, footsteps quiet and unhurried as he slipped down the hall.

You lingered, fingers tightening against the table’s edge as if the solid wood beneath your hands could anchor you. But it didn’t. The ghost of his touch lingered—like he’d left a mark only you could feel. Your heart pounded in uneven beats, echoing the space he’d filled just moments before.

By the third day, it wasn’t curiosity anymore. It was possession.

Eren didn’t expect this to stay with him but etting go didn’t feel like an option—it felt like losing. Curiosity should have faded—fleeting, harmless. But now, it was something else.

You were dangerous in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

Beneath all of that, there was more and it wasn’t leaving his head anytime soon.

It started small.

Eren standing too close, his presence stretching into your space while you adjusted your gear.

There was no reason to linger. No reason for his gaze to slip down the curve of your back—or for him to lean in so close the heat of his breath skimmed your skin.

“Your strap’s loose.”

His voice ghosted along the curve of your ear, threading low and smooth beneath your skin like silk catching on raw edges. You froze, just for a moment. The faintest catch in your breath—barely there—but Eren noticed.

“I’ve got it,” you replied quickly, hands moving to fix it yourself.

But your fingers trembled, betraying you.

Eren stepped back, but his eyes dragged lower before he turned, smirking to himself. He saw it—the soft flush creeping up your neck. You felt it too, the heat crawling higher, betraying you in ways you couldn’t control. It wasn’t fair how easily he unraveled you, how his gaze alone seemed to strip away the armor you wore so carefully around everyone else, especially him. You wanted to brush it off, to laugh, to make it seem like nothing—like it wasn’t happening. You don’t understand what’s different now. But deep down, the weight of his stare didn’t feel like nothing. And that terrified you.

The next time, subtlety wasn’t part of the plan.

It caught you off guard when Levi matched you and Eren for sparring, but you weren’t about to question his decision. You shifted stances, attention locked ahead, until Eren’s shadow stretched beside you—too close.

“Here.”

His hands found your waist, adjusting the tilt of your hips with slow, easy pressure as if molding you beneath his touch.

It wasn’t necessary, he could have told you to move, but he didn’t. Because the second his fingers grazed your skin, he felt the way your muscles tensed involuntarily. Your pulse jumped—small, but enough.

He let his hands linger. Long enough to feel the discomfort settle between you, long enough to make sure you felt it too.

“Better,” he murmured.

Even he wasn’t sure what he was correcting anymore.

When you finally turned toward him, lips parting as if to speak, Eren had already stepped back, returning to his initial stance.

Leaving you standing there, breath uneven, heart racing beneath your ribs. But he noticed the way you held yourself—the way your hands flexed faintly at your sides like your body hadn’t fully come down from his touch.

He was testing the waters the next day.

The sun dipped low while you sat near the barracks. You know he was here, he was caught in the distance, deep in conversation with his friends. But you brush it off, brows furrowed as you skimmed on a map, completely unaware of the weight of Eren’s gaze. He leaned against the wall beside you, arms folded lazily across his chest.

“You look tired.” You didn’t look up, your pulse jumped.

“Nothing to worry about” You tried to joke.

 He crouched down beside you, close enough that his elbow brushed yours as he leaned in.

“You always this tense?” The words hung heavy, spoken just above a whisper. Your eyes flicked toward him—hesitant, uncertain—but you didn’t pull away.

That was all the answer he needed. Eren let the silence stretch, watching the flicker of confusion cross your face. The faintest pink crept into your cheeks.

You were trying to figure him out. Trying to decide if this was nothing—or something more.

But Eren wasn’t guessing anymore. He could feel it—the hesitation in your breath, the way your body betrayed the thoughts you wouldn’t say aloud and he wanted to see how far he could push it.

It wasn’t just the fantasies anymore, it was you.

You, standing there with that same stoic expression during the day—pretending nothing sat beneath the surface. And the more you tried to hide it, the more it twisted in his chest, refusing to settle.

The glimpses came easier now—too easy. Even when he wasn’t searching for them, you were already there, your eyes met his across the field more often and every time—it lingered.

You didn’t avoid him anymore, you were searching for answears.

The last traces of sunlight bled across the trees as drills ended and most of the others had filtered out.

Eren stayed, so did you.

Eren wasn’t subtle. His movements were sharp today—faster, harder. Every block, every shift seemed designed to drag your attention back to him until he caught your wrist.

A sharp twist, your balance slipping bu before you could stumble, his hand settled at your back, steadying you effortlessly. The grip was light, pressing like a brand through your shirt, grounding you more than necessary.

“You’re distracted.” His words brushed against your ear, quiet but heavy.

The heat of his breath sank low, curling beneath your skin, and you hated the way your body responded to it. You swallowed hard, lips parting slightly, but no words came.

‘I thought you wanted this.’ His words fell quiet but sharp. He said it like fact—like something he’d already decided for you, leaving little room for denial.

You stepped back instinctively, confusion flickering across your face as your breath faltered.

Eren let you go, but the look in his eyes stayed with you long after he was gone.

It was late—the kind of late where silence pressed heavy against the walls, where even the wind outside felt distant. You shouldn’t have been awake. Neither should he.

You felt it before you saw him, that familiar weight pressing against your senses, the one you’d grown hyperaware of over the past few days and then—you heard a soft knock.

Eren stood near your door, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flickered toward you, unreadable in the dim light.

“Eren?”

Your voice dipped into confusion as you opened the door, hesitating with one hand on the frame. He didn’t answer, not at first. Instead, his eyes dragged over you slowly, as if he was considering something—measuring.

“Let me in.” his voice lowm carring no edge, but the weight behind it left no room for argument. It wasn’t a request—it was inevitable, like gravity pulling you closer the longer he stood there.

The door clicked softly behind him, louder than it should have in the quiet and you shifted, crossing your arms tightly, a surprise expression on your face as Eren’s gaze swept the room—or maybe just you.

He leaned against your desk, gaze steady, unmoving. The silence between you stretched thin. Nothing about the way he watched you felt passive—he was dissecting you, stripping every layer down without lifting a finger.

“Is something wrong?”

The words came out clipped, your tone thin, and you hated how obvious it sounded—how tense the air had become.

Eren’s head tilted slightly, his stare catching yours and holding it in place.

You opened your mouth, searching for something else to say—anything to break the silence. You try to dechiper his unusual behaviour in the past weeks, like you did every night until now.

The way he was looking at you now...like he knew something you don’t. But soon the realization twisted low in your stomach.

Armin’s voice echoed faintly in the back of your mind in a class you didn’t really pay attention, from months ago. “Eren’s abilities might evolve. If he can see the future after touching Historia’s hand, who’s to say he can’t see more?”

You remembered—his hand brushing yours across the dining table.

The subtle shift afterward, his sudden attention fot you, the way his eyes always finding you, how he stood too close during training, how he touched you accidentally too more to seem a coincidence.

Your pulse betrayed you, hammering beneath your skin, echoing louder than the faint creak of the floorboards. Heat licked at the base of your neck, but you couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment—or the way his stare coiled low in your stomach, twisting too tight to ignore.

Memories surfaced that you hadn’t meant to recall—things he couldn’t possibly know.

“Eren,” your voice faltered, soft but uncertain. “How long have you—”

“Weeks.” His answer cut clean through the air, sharp and unapologetic, stepping away from the desk, the quiet thud of his boots heavy on the floor.

“Yeah. Since that day at the table.” Your pulse spiked violently.

“You—” you stutter, trying to collect yourself.

“I felt it the moment I touched you.” His voice dipped lower, rougher. “After that, I couldn’t stop.”

Heat flooded your chest, burning its way to your face.

“That’s not p—” you stumbled over the words, stepping back.

You took a hesitant step back, the space between you feeling fragile. You wanted to pull away, but the weight of his stare pinned you in place, unraveling the walls you thought you’d built too carefully. The shame felt distant—overshadowed by the quiet, breathless part of you that wanted him to stay. Before you could retreat any further, his hand caught yours.

His fingers curled around your wrist, firm enough to keep you still, soft enough to make you feel the pulse in his thumb against your skin.

“Isn’t it?” His grip lingered, thumb brushing faintly against the inside of your wrist, and your breath caught in your throat.

“You’re thinking about how close I am,” he murmured, his gaze never wavering. Your chest tightened, eyes widening slightly.

“And now you’re wondering if I’m going to kiss you.” His head dipped, lips barely grazing the edge of your jaw, close enough to feel the warmth but not enough to touch.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, unbearable. “I—”

“You’re trying to convince yourself you wouldn’t let me.” His lips twitched faintly at the corner—just enough to make it clear he wasn’t guessing.  “But we both know that’s not true.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Eren’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around your wrist, his other hand rising, knuckles skimming just beneath the hem of your shirt, dragging along the bare skin at your waist.

“Eren—” you blurt you, panic in your voice.

“You think this is easy for me?” His voice sharpened, but it wasn’t anger. His palm pressed lower, fingertips skating across the dip of your spine, spreading warmth where they trailed.

“Do you know what it’s like?” His forehead brushed against yours, breath fanning over your lips as he spoke.

“Hearing everything you think about me… feeling it almost every time I’m near you?”

You can’t move, pulse thrumming beneath his touch. Your lips parted, but no sound escaped.

Eren’s hand slipped further down, settling over your hip, fingers flexing slightly against the fabric.

“I know you try to hide it,” he murmured, voice soft but weighted. His eyes searched yours, hovering inches away.“But I feel it. Every time.” The space between you dissolved, his mouth hovering over yours—close enough to take, but waiting. “Just like now.”

Your body betrayed you, pulse racing hard enough to make you dizzy.

“You’re an asshole,” you whispered, but it came out too soft. Because even as you said it, your hands found his chest, pressing into him but not pushing him away. Eren’s smirk deepened, the hand on your waist sliding further, dragging you closer until not a breath of space remained between you.

“I know,” he murmured, lips brushing faintly over yours.

Your breath hitched as his lips hovered a breath away, close enough to taste but just out of reach. The faintest brush, featherlight, like he was daring you to close the distance yourself.

“But you’re not pulling away either.”

His lips finally met yours, slow at first—purposeful—before deepening. The restraint cracked, and Eren’s fingers twisted into your hair, tugging gently as his other hand pressed harder into the curve of your spine. Your body arched into him, warmth pooling low in your stomach as his mouth dragged along your jaw, teeth grazing skin with just enough force to leave you breathless.

“I’m not stopping this time,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice low and thick with certainty. The weight behind his words shatters whatever fragile thread of control was left between you

His hand curls beneath your thigh, lifting it against his hip as he backs you into the wall. You should stop this. You tell yourself that, over and over, even as your breath quickens and your head grows light from the closeness. But every press of his body into yours unravels the reasoning in your head, slipping further away with each second.

It’s not just the way he touches you—it’s the way your body melts under him, the way your pulse races in response, as if it had been waiting for this longer than you’d ever admit. There’s no turning back now, and maybe… maybe you don’t want to.

The kiss turned hungrier—rougher—his hips pressing flush into yours, making your breath falter as you clung to him.

Eren groans softly into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips  and you gasp at the deliberate slowness of it. His hand drifted lower, fingers toying at the waistband of your pants.

“I know exactly how far you want me to go.” his voice dropped lower, roughened with the weight of restraint slipping through his fingers

Your breath trembles, lips parting as if to deny it, but nothing comes out. You can’t lie to him—he already knows. His hand dips lower, teasing the border of your pants and skin, and your hips shift forward almost involuntarily, chasing the contact you’ve been too proud to ask for.

“Eren...” you whisper barely audible. His name escapes as little more than a breath, but the way he reacts—his grip tightening at your waist—makes you regret letting it slip.

“Say it again.”  His voice drips with something taut, electric, the weight of his demand sinking deep into your stomach.

“I... I shouldn’t”. your words falter. You know how close you are to losing the last bit of restraint you have, but the heat of his breath against your throat dissolves the fragile thread you're clinging to.

 “But you will.”he whisper teasingly. His thumb pressing lightly over the ridge of your hip bone in no rush to be kind.

His forehead presses against yours, and his mouth hovers almost shy of meeting your lips again,but not enough to be innocent. You can feel him waiting, giving you the chance to pull away.

"You’re thinking about how easy it’d be to let this happen." His hand slides up your waist, skin on skin, slow and steady. "How much you want me to just…" his hand tightens suddenly, pulling you flush against him, lips brushing your ear as he finishes, "…take what’s already mine."

A gasp escapes you, fingers curling against his chest, his words hit harder than they should, the ache pooling between your thighs makes denial impossible.

“I shouldn’t want this.” you say softly, but the conviction doesn’t stick. Your head tilts back, surrendering as his mouth drags along your jawline.

“Oh, but you do.”

His free hand catches your wrist, lifting it gently to pin it beside your head. The action isn’t rough, but it leaves no question of who’s in control.

You bite your lip, hips shifting slightly against him despite the war raging in your head. His hand dips lower again, teasing but holding back, waiting. You feel the hesitation in his touch—giving you the final say, despite how much you can tell he wants this.

"Tell me to stop," he breathes against your throat. "Say it, and I will."

You swallow hard, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, but you don’t say it. Your thighs press tighter around his, and your nails grip faintly into his shirt, dragging him closer.

“Don’t stop.”

Eren groans, low and satisfied, before his lips crash into yours again, deeper and hungrier than before. His grip on your waist tightens as his body presses fully into you, letting you feel just how much restraint he’s been holding back.

“Good girl.”

The words leave his mouth against yours, and heat pools fast at the praise, twisting something tight in your stomach. There’s no time to feel embarrassed, his hand is already slipping beneath the fabric of your clothes, dragging along the bare skin beneath.

“Eren—” you gasp, but doesn’t let you finish.

His fingers flex at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s nothing, his eyes searching yours as if daring you to take it back.

 “You’re sure?”his voice low, almost dangerous.

“I’ve been sure.”There’s no hesitation after that.

His mouth finds yours, claiming, while his hand drags higher beneath your shirt, tracing the muscles beneath your ribs. His touch maps paths across your skin, leaving nothing untouched.

“You don’t know what you do to me.” he moans into your mouth.

He feels every subtle tremble beneath his hands as they ghost over your ribs, teasing closer to the edge of reason. His lips drift lower, tracing the length of your throat, and your hips grind back instinctively, chasing the pressure you’re no longer ashamed to crave.

“Mmm.” His forehead pressing against yours for just a second—like he needs that brief pause to keep from losing himself completely.

"I know, baby. I can feel it."

 His lips drift lower, tracing the length of your throat, and your hips grind back instinctively, chasing the pressure you’re no longer ashamed to crave. A low curse spills from him, his palm dragging down your side, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, heat following every inch he claims.

His hand clamps at your thigh, dragging you closer as his hips bear down with purpose. His mouth lingers at your jaw, teasing without touching, while his thumb sketches slow, lazy lines over the sensitive skin at the edge of your thigh. Your fingers twitch against his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt as you suck in a shaky breath.

“You’re not playing fair.”you’re struggling to keep steady.

“I never said I would.” his breath hums against your skin, the sound curling at the edges like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

His hand shifts higher, fingertips skimming the waistband again, not pushing further. Your hips grinding again more insistently, the ache pooling low in your stomach becoming too much to bare.

Eren pauses, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, he watches through half-lidded eyes, smirk tugging slow and knowing as his thumb brushing over your lower stomach.

“If you want something, you need to say it.” His teeth grazing the soft skin just below your ear before catching lightly on your earlobe, tugging slow enough to make you moan.

“Eren… just—” you swallow hard, whispering.

“Just what?” his voice cutting you off. He presses forward, pinning you harder against the wall as his knee slips between your legs, the friction enough to make your thighs tense around him.

“You want me to touch you here?”

His palm drags lower, just brushing over the damp heat between your legs, but he doesn’t cross that last inch.

“Or here?”

His lips brush over your collarbone, trailing down the center of your breast, with deliberate slowness, pulling your peaks with a teasing drag that leaves your skin burning for more .

“Eren, please.” your voice desperate, voice shaking

The plea slips out before you can stop it, and you feel the way his body stiffens against you, his breath hitching slightly in response.

“You sound so pretty when you beg.”

His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and teeth, his tongue pressing past your lips—demanding, possessive, like he’s been waiting for you to break just like this. His hand slides under the fabric of your pants, fingers brushing teasingly and you arch into him, biting your lip as frustration pools thick in your stomach.

“I need you… I need you to touch me.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” His hand finally dips lower, fingers sliding beneath your underwear, your head falls back against the wall with a sharp inhale, thighs squeezing tighter around him. His finger moving over your clit, slow and purposeful, dragging a long moan from your lips before he continues.

You part your lips, breath shaky as his thumb presses faintly against your tongue.

"Suck." And you do, eyes flicking up to meet his—half-lidded, almost innocent, your lips stretched around him just enough to make his jaw tense. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and unblinking, and the weight of it alone leaves you pulsing, dripping with need.

He pulls his thumb from your mouth, dragging it slowly down your bottom lip as his hand returns to your breast, gripping tighter this time. His lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking faint marks into the skin—just enough to leave reminders that won’t fade easily.

His fingers move faster, thrusting deeper, stretching you open until you’re gasping against his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut as the pressure builds unbearably fast, he slips another one inside you

“Fuck…so wet.” He exhales sharply, his body tensing against you as if the realization alone might break his restraint. “I should make you wait longer... just to see how far I can push you.” His hand tightens at your hip, holding you still as his mouth brushes against your ear. “But I don’t think you’d last.” You let out a loud moan, and his hand clamps tighter against your thigh, pulling you closer as he works you open faster, deeper.

His teeth sink into the sensitive skin around your breast, sucking hard enough to leave another mark. He groans again, eyes flicking up to watch your expression, catching the way your mouth falls open, breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Such a dirty girl, squeezing me so tight.” His words push you closer to the edge, and his pace never falter, stretching you open. “Look at me”

Your breath shudders, and his free hand wraps around your throat—not to squeeze, just enough to keep you there, to make sure you don’t look away. “I said, look at me.” His lips hover an inch from yours, and when you finally meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes alone is enough to undo you.

 “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it” As you ride out the waves of pleasure, Eren presses his lips into yours, possessive and unrelenting, like he’s trying to drag every last bit of your high out of you.

But the heat in his gaze doesn’t fade. He grins faintly, his fingers still moving inside your pussy, teasing even as you whimper beneath him. Eren shifts, hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifts you, carrying you toward the bed.

“Eren…wha--.”

As your back meets the mattress, his body presses into yours, kisses along your jaw, nipping lightly everywhere he can. His hands slip down your sides as he moves lower, settling between your legs without breaking eye contact.

You feel the faint scrape of his teeth against your hipbone as he presses a lingering kiss there, trailing heat over your skin as his lips move lower. His breath fans against your inner thigh, and when his mouth finally hovers over the spot that aches for him most, you can’t stop the way your hips shift toward him.

"So needy…" he murmurs, the faintest trace of amusement curling his lips as he holds you down with ease. His thumbs press into the sensitive skin just above your knees, pushing them further apart.

“Don’t hide from me.”  His breath is hot against you, lips ghosting just above where you ache for him, but he stays right there—his forehead pressing to your inner thigh briefly“You smell so good… fuck.”  His mouth hovers just over your center, teasing faint breaths over the spot that aches for him most.

“Say it”  Your cheeks burn under the intensity of his stare and his proximity making you dizzy, makes it impossible to resist him

 “I want… I want your mouth.”

 His eyes flash with satisfaction, lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “That’s my girl.” Without breaking eye contact, his mouth lowers, tongue flicking over your cunt in one slow, deliberate stroke. You gasp, back arching slightly from the sensitivy as his grip tightens on your thighs, holding you in place.

“Stay still..” His mouth works you open, hot and unrelenting, and even when your hips buck involuntarily, he holds you still. The edge of his teeth grazes faintly over your clit, enough to make you gasp but not enough to hurt. “You wanted this, remember?” Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling as you tug, chasing the pressure that builds higher with every flick of his tongue.

"That’s it. Keep grinding on my tongue." He mutter between licking

His pace shifts, tongue pressing deeper, and the coil in your stomach twists tighter, leaving you panting as you arch against him. His grip on your thighs bruises, but the slight pain only makes the pleasure sharper. His tongue  dragging out each flick until the pleasure feels unbearable. Your hips buck slightly, and he groans, pressing you down harder with his forearm.

"Eren—fuck, I’m—"

His grip on your thighs tightens as he presses deeper, his tongue working you over relentlessly until he feels you tighten beneath him. His tongue flicks with more purpose, faster, rougher now, until your body starts to shake beneath him.

“Let go. Now.”

The orgasm tears through you, and he feels it, groaning deeply as he holds you down, tongue working you through every pulse. Your body trembles beneath him, legs tightening around his head, but he doesn’t let up until you’re gasping, the overstimulation leaving you squirming beneath his mouth. Only then does he pull back, lips glossy and swollen as he watches you with hooded eyes. His hands trail lazily along your thighs, grounding you with soft, slow circles.

"Look at you," he murmurs, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "So pretty when you fall apart for me." Your breath is uneven, chest heaving and he presses his forehead to yours, lips just brushing against your mouth, his finger start teasing your pussy again.

“Eren f-fuck, I can’t- anymore”

“No. You’re not going anywhere.” His tongue drags over your lower lip, his palm flattens against your lower stomach, holding you in place “You’re gonna take everything I give you.” His fingers move deeper inside your pussy “You can handle it. I know you can.” You whimper at the pressure, but it only seems to encourage him. His hips shift forward, pressing into yours with deliberate slowness, letting you feel exactly what he’s holding back.

“You like it when I ruin you, don’t you?”his voice ragged, playful. You’re barely breathing, moans spilling from your throat. His free hand dragging up your body to cup your breast, thumb brushing and pinching your buds hard. His voice drops lower, rough and hot against your ear. “You’re nothing but a filthy girl when I touch you like this, right baby?.” His eyes flick up, catching the way your body responds, and he grins against your neck. You try to suppress the effect his words have on you and his grip on you tightens, possessive.

His hand slips from your breast, fingers tracing down your stomach as his pace slows slightly—just enough to tease you, keeping you hovering on the edge. You squirm against him, the tension almost unbearable, but he doesn’t let up. The plea cracks something inside him, and his restraint slips further as his finger-fucking you harder. His lips brush yours, the kiss deep but fleeting, as if testing how long he can keep teasing you before you break.

“You’re gonna need to beg a little louder if you want more.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he smirks into the next kiss, clearly satisfied with your frustration. “Say it.” Your breath hitches, lips parting slightly, but you hesitate just long enough for him to notice.  “I can keep this up all night if you want.” his nose brushes against yours, his lips barely touching but not fully kissing you, your hips shifting against his hand, silently chasing more, but he holds firm, not giving you the relief you need.

Your pride wars with your desperation, but the ache blooming between your thighs wins. “PIease, please more--i want you to fuck me.” voice shaking as the second the words leave your mouth, Eren lets out a low groan, his composure slipping further, taking his finger from you, leaving you empty.

“Mhm.” His hips press forward, grinding against yours with deliberate force, dragging another gasp  “I’m gonna give you exactly what you’ve been thinking about, baby.” His fingers tighten around your throat “And you’re gonna take all of it.” His lips graze over your collarbone.

Your gaze stays locked below his waist, eyes dark with hunger as his fingers work quickly, tugging your shirt over your head in one swift motion. The fabric barely hits the floor before his hands are at your hips, dragging down your underwear without hesitation—there’s no teasing now, just the sharp edge of need driving both of you forward.

He steps back just enough to strip himself down, and you can’t stop staring. The tension in his body is unmistakable, every movement deliberate yet rushed, like he’s barely holding himself together. When his waistband falls, your breath stutters, and he catches the way your eyes linger.

“Greedy girl.”

He releases his hold on you just enough to step back, guiding your trembling body down until your knees hit the floor willingly. His thumb brushes against your chin, tilting your head up as he stares down at you, his eyes flickering with something dangerous.

“You want this, don’t you?”

You nod faintly, but it’s not enough for him. Your breath trembles, lips parting as your eyes flicker up to his.

“Fuck my mouth, Eren.”

His eyes darken instantly and his hand tangles in your hair, gripping firmly, tilting your head back further. “Fuck… you really know how to get what you want, don’t you?” His thumb drags over your lower lip, pressing down just enough for you to part your mouth further. “Open up.”

You open, sucking his thumb slowly, and the low curse that escapes him only fuels the ache building between your thighs again. “You look so fucking perfect like this.”

His cock hard and heavy in his hand as he guides it toward your lips. His tip presses against your tongue, and the groan that spills from his throat when you take him in is raw, almost broken. He is panting softly, hand tightening in your hair “That’s it… deeper.” His hips push forward slowly, his other hand brushing the side of your face, thumb tracing your cheek as he watches himself disappear further past your lips.

“So obedient”.” Your hands grip his thighs, nails faintly dragging over his skin as you hollow your cheeks, pulling another groan from him that rattles through his chest. His hips buck involuntarily, and his eyes narrow faintly as he tugs at your hair, pulling you off him just enough for your lips to hover over his tip.

“Careful. Or I’ll fuck your throat until you’re begging for air.” His hand relaxes in your hair, guiding you back down slowly. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You hum softly around him in response, and the vibrations make his head fall back briefly, jaw tightening as his grip on your hair tightens again.

“God… you are a perfect little slut, aren’t you?”

You sink lower, taking him deeper until your nose brushes his pelvis, and he lets out a rough, broken groan, his other hand pressing flat against the wall for support. His hips roll forward slowly, guiding the pace, and his eyes flick down to watch the way your lips stretch around him.

“Taking me so well.” His thumb brushes against your jaw, tracing faint circles as his voice softens—just enough to make you wet again. “You were made for this.” The rough edge returns as his hips snap forward slightly, pressing deeper into your throat, forcing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Crying already, baby?” His lips curl faintly, dark amusement flickering across his face. “I know you can take more.” He thrusts forward again, slower this time, letting you feel every inch as he sinks deeper. “Relax. Let me in.” You relax your jaw, letting him push deeper  and his voice drops lower, and his hand brushes down the side of your neck, squizing slightly, making you gag.

 “You feel that? How deep I am?” His head tilts, watching you carefully as you nod around him, your throat tightening.. “Fuck— I feel you tightening up around me.” His pace stutters briefly, hips jerking forward without warning as he lets out another rough sound.

“You want me to come down your throat, don’t you?” His words send another wave of heat crashing through you, your pussy dripping with want and the soft hum of your agreement sends him over the edge.  His grip tightens in your hair, and his body shudders as he thrusts forward one final time, groaning deeply as he spills into your mouth. His hips roll forward gently as he rides out the high, fingers brushing faintly over the side of your face.

Eren is panting, half-smirking as he watches you swallow. “You didn’t waste a drop. Such a good little slut.” He tilts your chin up, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. His thumb brushes over your swollen lips, eyes darkening, looking at your ravished face, full blushing.

“You were so good to me, so sweet.”

Eren’s hands slide beneath your arms, lifting you from your knees with ease. His grip is firm but careful as he lays you back against the bed, settling between your legs without hesitation. His weight pins you down, the heat of his body pressing into yours in all the right ways.

His teeth graze over your collarbone, biting down just enough to make you gasp, his tongue follows, soothing the faint sting while his fingers keep working you, unrelenting. Your hips shift instinctively, but his grip tightens around your thigh.

“Don't be so eager, baby”

You squirm, a frustrated whimper escaping, and his smirk deepens, his hips grind down, firm and deliberate, dragging against you and drawing another soft, involuntary moan spills from your lips, your head tilting back against the pillow. His palm curling around your breast until he squeezes rough and needy, making your back arch into him. His teeth graze your nipple, tugging faintly before letting go.

Your fingers curl into his back, nails dragging faint scratches over his shirt, and the low groan he gives while his gaze trailing over every inch of exposed skin. His knee shifts between your legs, parting them just enough to remind you how close he is—how easily he could end the wait. But he doesn’t. Not yet. He takes his time, dragging it out in that torturous way that leaves you trembling beneath him.

“I could leave you like this, you know.” His lips brush the corner of your mouth, hovering just out of reach. “Make you sit with it—feel me between your legs every time you move.” His hand trails down your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Would you like that?”

“No… I wouldn’t.” He hums softly, thumb tracing light circles along your cheek, but the glint in his eyes says he’s not done playing yet.

“I think you would.” His mouth drops to your neck again, tongue flicking over the faint mark left earlier. “I think you’d love walking around knowing you’re soaking for me, and no one else has a clue.” Your hips roll against him, desperate for friction, and the soft groan he lets out is pure satisfaction. His head dips lower and your breath stutters, but he waits—watching you carefully, expectantly.

“Eren, I can’t, i can’t anymore.” His laugh vibrates against your skin, dark and satisfied, his tongue tracing over the faint bruise beneath your jaw.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please… fuck me.”

Eren’s eyes darken, the sound of your voice unraveling whatever was left of his control

He shifts lower, settling between your legs, and his hand catches your thigh, guiding it higher around his waist as he presses closer, his mouth swallowing the soft, desperate sounds you can’t hold back.

“I’ll take such good care of you…,” he murmurs against your lips.  “I’m going to make sure you remember this.”, biting your lip with his teeth in that torturous way that leaves you trembling beneath him.

Your thighs squeeze tighter around his waist, pulling him in, and he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your mouth.

"You’re lucky I’ve lasted this long." he murmurs, the words slipping through gritted teeth as his jaw clenches,  He drags his length along your folds, the slow, movement making your breath catch as he watches every flicker of reaction on your face before, pushing in and out your pussy, the teasing beginning to slip away.

The last shred of restraint snaps. His hands slip beneath your knees, parting them wider as he sinks into you with a slow, steady push. His forehead presses to yours, breath shallow as he watches your expression shift, eyes darkening when the moan falls from your lips, your walls clenching around him already from his torturously edging. All this pent up tension between you two after so many months finally released.

"Fuck… so good." A groan catches in his throat as he starts to move, each thrust deep and precise, his body rocking against yours with growing intensity "I’m not stopping until I’ve filled you so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow."

Your hips roll up to meet him, chasing every bit of friction, and he rewards you with a low curse and rougher movements.  His hand curls around the back of your thigh, pulling you higher as his pace grows more forceful, each snap of his hips drawing sounds from you that you can’t hold back. "That’s it, baby. So desperate for me."

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging as he holds you down, his lips grazing over yours but not quite kissing—letting the tension hang between you. Your hips are struggling to match his thrusts, overwhelmed by the intensity of the movement, Eren can’t think only on how good and warm your pussy feels  "I could do anything I want, and you’d take it."

“Yes, yes yes-“ tears springing at your eyes, legs trembling as his free hand anchors you, holding you firmly.

 "I’ve got you." His forehead presses to yours, eyes flicking down as he watches the way your body moves beneath him—like he can’t look away. "Come for me."

His pace doesn’t falter, even as your body tightens around him, and the scream, that spills from your lips feels too loud in the room. He kisses you hard, swallowing the sound as your body trembles beneath him, the sharp snap of his hips growing erratic.

His head dips lower, lips pressing to the space just beneath your ear, voice shaking as he struggles to hold on. “I want to fill you up, to know your mine in every way, will you want that?”

His words alone make you shiver, nodding frantically, thighs trembling around him as he pushes deeper, dragging out each thrust like he’s chasing something just out of reach."Shit—" But instead of release, his movements falter, a frustrated groan vibrating low in his chest. His hands tighten at your hips, fingers digging in as his breath hitches against your neck.

Suddenly, he pulls out, the loss of contact making you whimper softly before he shifts, flipping you onto your stomach with ease.

“Turn around.”

His grip tightens at your waist, urging you to shift, but when you hesitate, his hands push firmer—more commanding. “Now.” The way his voice drops sends heat curling deep in your stomach, and you move instinctively, legs trembling from previous orgasm as you turn beneath him. His palm presses against your lower back, guiding you down as he shifts behind you.

He drags his fingers down the length of your spine, slow and deliberate, until they settle at your hips, squeezing tightly. “Stay like that.”the weight of his gaze burns into your back as he watches you—taking in the sight of you laid out for him. “You look so fucking good like this.”

He is guiding your head back down as his palm finds the back of your neck, pressing you gently into the mattress.

“Keep your head down. I want you to feel every inch of me.”

The weight of his body shifts, his chest pressing against your back as he leans over you, his breath hot against your shoulder. His hips roll forward, and the sharp friction sends a broken sound from your lips that he catches instantly, groaning into your ear. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” His hands slip to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he thrusts deeper, rougher this time, dragging a gasp from your throat as your fingers curl against the sheets beneath you.

His pace grows faster, sharper, each thrust forcing your body forward slightly until his hand presses flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you down completely. Your body trembles beneath him, and he feels it—the way you clench around him, the soft whimpers you try to swallow. But he doesn’t let you hide anything.

“You like it rough, don’t you?” His palm drags up your back, curling lightly into your hair. The hand in your hair tightens, tugging your head back gently, forcing you to arch as his hips snap forward, rougher this time.

“I want to hear how much you love it.”

“I—I love it...”

His hand tightens in your hair, dragging another gasp from you as he thrusts deeper, holding you there. Your body trembles as his grip on your hips tightens, pulling you back to meet every movement until the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room. “You’re mine. Say it.”

Your breath catches, head tilting back further, but he doesn’t let up—his hand sliding down to grip your throat from behind, pulling you up just enough to kiss the side of your jaw.

“I’m yours.” He groans, pace stuttering slightly as his forehead presses into the back of your shoulder. His hand slips lower, fingers working between your thighs as he thrusts harder, chasing both your release and his.

“You’re gonna come for me again.”

His voice is rough, breathless, but there’s no mistaking the command in it.

“Come while I’m inside you.” Your body tightens at his words, hips rocking instinctively as the pleasure builds too fast to stop.  “I want to feel it.” His teeth drag over your shoulder, sucking faint marks into your skin as your body tenses, finally falling apart around him. “Fuck— ”

His hips slam forward a final time, his body shuddering against yours and a low, drawn-out groan escapes him as he reaches his peak, burying himself as deep as possible while he spills into you. His breath comes in ragged, heavy bursts, but his arms stay locked around you, refusing to let go even as his body begins to relax.

The room lay shrouded in silence—thick and heavy, broken only by the faint rise and fall of your breath and the soft rustle of sheets shifting beneath Eren’s weight. His chest pressed against yours, the space between you felt too intimate, too fragile, like something that could shatter with the wrong movement.

His forehead rested against your shoulder, hair damp against your skin, and though his hold on you was firm, you couldn’t help the uneasy twist in your stomach.  

Your fingers hovered lightly over his back, unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away — not because you didn’t want this, but because you weren’t sure what to do now. 

"You’re quiet," Eren murmured, his voice rough against your neck, but soft in a way that made your heart ache.  

"So are you," you replied, barely above a whisper.  

He didn’t answer immediately. His hand slid slowly along your waist, his thumb brushing faint circles over your hip, but the touch felt different now — like he was grounding you both, not just savoring the moment.  

The silence stretched a little too long.  

"You can hear me now, can’t you?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, and your pulse quickened as the weight of the question settled between you.  

Eren’s breath stilled, hesitation flickering behind the sharpness of his gaze. When he finally leaned back, the weight of his eyes on you felt different—less demanding, more searching.

"No Eren murmured, his fingers threading gently through the strands of your hair, tucking them behind your ear. His touch lingered just a second too long, as if reluctant to let go.  "Not right now."

You searched his expression, but there was no sign of deception, no hint that he was holding anything back.  

Still, doubt prickled at you, and your voice trembled slightly when you spoke. "But you did. For days. You heard everything."  

His gaze softened, but the intensity never faded.  

"I couldn’t control it," he admitted, thumb grazing along your cheek. "I didn’t mean to invade your head."

You wanted to believe him, but the memory of his voice—the way he had known exactly what you wanted—burned too vividly in the back of your mind. It wasn’t just that he’d heard you; it was that he had listened. He had memorized every unspoken need, every hidden desire you hadn’t even voiced aloud. That should have unsettled you. Maybe it did. But as his hand slid gently over your waist, thumb drawing soft circles against your skin, you felt something else. Something dangerously close to comfort

“‘I feel stupid,” you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Shame curled hot beneath your skin, pooling low in your chest, and you stared hard at the sheets rather than risk meeting his gaze.

"I didn’t think you could actually hear—"

Before the weight of your words could settle, Eren’s lips brushed softly over yours—intentional, lingering, but careful. Like he could kiss the doubt away if he held you close enough.

His hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just enough to keep you there, as if to remind you that whatever you thought was too much, wasn’t.

“‘Don’t,” Eren whispered, his breath hot and close, the words pressing into you more firmly than his lips. He pulled back just enough for your eyes to meet, his thumb grazing slow circles against your waist. “Don’t start second-guessing this now.’”

His eyes met yours, dark and unwavering. "You’re not the only one who wanted this, you know."* 

Heat crept up your skin, but doubt still lingered in the back of your mind.  

"I just—" You swallowed, unsure how to explain the knot twisting in your chest. "It’s hard not to feel stupid, knowing you—"*  

"You think I wasn’t losing my mind hearing the things you thought about me?" Eren interrupted, his lips brushing along your jaw, trailing down the side of your neck slowly, deliberately. "I could barely focus half the time." 

Your breath hitched, nails lightly digging into his back as his mouth lingered just below your ear.  

"You hid it too well," you mumbled, heat burning at the edges of your voice.  

Eren huffed softly, the faintest smirk curling against your skin. "Yeah, well… I didn’t."  

His hand slipped beneath the sheets, dragging slowly along your thigh, and your heart stuttered beneath his touch.  

"I’m not going to pretend I didn’t want this just as much as you did." His voice dipped lower, rough and thick with something unspoken. "And I’m not letting you overthink it now."

Your breath trembled as his hand tilted your chin up, guiding your lips back to his in a kiss that left no room for doubt.  

Whatever insecurity lingered between you faded beneath the weight of his touch.

Eren's lips lingered on yours, soft and slow, but when he pulled away, the weight in his eyes hadn’t faded. His hand slipped from your waist to rest gently on the side of your neck, thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw.  

For a long moment, he just looked at you — like he was waiting for something.  

"I mean it,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady. *"I’ll find a way to stop hearing your thoughts." 

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone.  

"You don’t have to— 

"I do." His grip tightened just slightly, grounding you as his gaze softened. "It’s not fair to you. I shouldn’t know what you’re thinking all the time. It’s yours — it’s supposed to be private." 

Your breath hitched, eyes searching his, but all you saw was sincerity.  

"I… don’t blame you," you whispered, though even as you said it, doubt still curled in the back of your mind. "But it’s hard not to feel weird about it."  

Eren exhaled slowly, his forehead pressing gently against yours. His hand slid back down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.  

"I’ll fix it," he promised, his voice so quiet it almost got lost in the air between you. "I swear."

For a moment, you let yourself believe him, the steady rhythm of his breathing against you easing some of the tightness in your chest.  

But that didn’t answer the other question lingering at the back of your mind — the one you weren’t sure you were ready to ask.  

"And after that?" you murmured, fingers trailing lightly along the back of his neck. "When you can’t hear my thoughts anymore — what then?"

Even as you asked, you felt his grip tighten, as if the thought of distance unsettled him more than he’d admit, his eyes flicking over your face carefully, like he was weighing the right words.  

"That’s up to you," he said simply, but the roughness in his voice betrayed him. "But if you think I’m going to forget about this… about you—"  

His hand slipped beneath your jaw again, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing over your lips.  

"You’re wrong.

Your stomach twisted, heat prickling at your skin beneath his touch.  

"So, what? We just—"

"We’ll figure it out." Eren’s lips twitched faintly, the corner of his mouth curling into something softer — something just for you. "Together, if you want that."  

You stared at him, heart pounding harder than it should, but the thought of pushing him away felt impossible now.  

"I do," you admitted quietly, and the tension that had been holding Eren back seemed to melt all at once.  

He kissed you again, deeper this time, like he needed to hear those words as much as you needed to say them. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you fully beneath him, and the weight of him pressed you into the mattress in a way that left no doubt —  

This wasn’t going to be the last time.

levi smut

[raebae0001]

sigh. i need some soul crushing, gut wrenching angst. i wanna cry and bawl my eyes out. help

[rene-darling]

[imagine]

...catching feelings for your sneaky link...

Dom/topGn!reader [talks about thrustin from strap or dk up to you.]

Something isn't right, it doesn't feel right. It's not his first time, you're not taking his virginity or some shit, hell- this isn't even the first time you two fucked. But something about the mood, this fuck session was...off.

Your thrusts were deep and- slow, which- wasn't entirely unusual maybe you're tired? You sometimes go slower when you start- no. Fuck, it was a few hours into your fuck session and the entire time you went so deep!

You went fast when he whined for it you kept at a pace most pleasurable to him. Why? It- it wasn't like he was your boyfriend or some shit. You didn't need to be all sappy and slow, hah, did you lose your touch?

Why're you touching him like- like he's delicate. Soft and- like you- fuck who do you think he is? He's [______] he doesn't need to be treated softly, he can handle it. He can fuck. He won't break he can endure it, he- so why does he like it. All soft 'n shit.

"Have y-you gone soft on mhm- me." He finally built up the courage to confront you about your weird..behaviour

Bringing your hand up, you touch his face, his cheek. You didn't slap him even though he flinched as his face tightened in preparation for that. "You're the one, who's gone soft." He's crying, globs of tears flowing down his numb face, fuck. Why's he crying?? You aren't going rough so he has no excuse. Shit. Maybe he has gotten soft on you.

He- he doesn't know what to say- or do- shit. Are you gonna stop? Leave him like this? He's pretty useless if he can't handle you, fuck who would've imagined him, of all people melting into your soft touches crying over some basic decency.

"I- uh mm..hic..I don't-..uh..mm hic-" shit what is he doing? Looking up at you, trying to formulate a sentence as his stream of tears turn into rivers, drool dripping down his lips, as his mouth opens and closes like some damn fish. Looking up at you with his glossed-over eyes, his body seems to pull away from you, trying to curl up into himself.

Since.. your arrangement started, there were only two rules, no catching feelings, and- no kissing on the lips, made to protect the first rule. You've wanted to break it many times yet never had the guts to cross that line, yet, here you are. Lips crashed into his as he pulls you back into him, closer. This time curling into you rather than himself, arms around your shoulder and back as you break away, shock prevalent in those glazed eyes, and a gling of something else too.

"fuuuck, [_____]. Maybe- hah..maybe I am the one going soft after all."

...MICHAEL KIASER...reo...ness...SCARAMOUCHE...fratboy Eren...judar/judal...GOJO...toji...+your favs...

[seredelgi]

How do they take compliments, then?/ AOT x fem!reader

featuring: Eren Jaeger, Armin Arlert, Jean Kirstein, Connie Springer, Reiner Braun, Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman

tw: kissing, groping, sex, implied/referenced sex, mature content, smut, 18 +

Eren doesn’t even need to be complimented, honestly. He’s way too confident for his own good. It’s enough for him to catch you staring a bit too fondly at him as he brushes his teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, shirtless once again. His hair is in a messy bun, his saliva trailing down his chin and dripping on his chest, so close to his nipples that you can’t help but stare in awe. He smirks at you from his reflection when he’s done, making you snap out of it. You’re left to flush shyly and look away before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Armin never expects it. And to be fair, it usually comes out of the blue, for example as he’s talking about something he’s very excited for, and his beautiful blue eyes sparkle ever so fleetingly. You can’t help but sigh ecstatically before breathing out “ You’re so damn handsome”. He stops mid-sentence and meets your gaze before smiling timidly, his cheeks reddening a little. He shrugs it off and keeps talking, but you can see the shift in his demeanor after, a bit more confident and cheerier than usual.

You can’t help but compliment Jean every time he dresses up for one of your many nights out. He’s just so vain, and he spends hours in front of the mirror brushing his hair and attending to every fold of his outfit, making sure they’re all straightened up. You roll your eyes from the other room, thinking you’re probably the only girl who has to wait so long for her boyfriend to get ready for dinner. But as soon as he’s finished, you can’t help but grin proudly at the sight of him. He sure is a catch, and he’s all yours. “ You look amazing” you say, and you’d think him happy to take the compliment, having spent endless hours making you wait for him, but he’s too distracted by how good you look instead, so he has to pull you in for a swooning kiss before answering “ You're stunning, darling”.

Connie doesn’t care for any type of looks-related compliment. It’s the ones you utter quietly during sex that really count to him. Those are sincere, he knows. They’re mewled closely to his ear and are just what he needs to spur him on. One time you’ve let yourself absentmindedly slip some gibberish about how strong he was and how much stamina he had. That had to have been one of the longest sessions you two have had to this day. The man just couldn’t stop pounding into you restlessly, chuckling proudly at any of the sounds you made, burying his face down the curve of your neck to bite you through so many highs that you honestly just lost count.

Reiner loves it when you compliment him. It doesn’t have to be about his looks, he’ll take anything you give him, honestly. And it comes so naturally to you, especially when he’s just about the best boyfriend you could’ve hoped for. So you do it often, and you love to whisper it in his ear while he’s occupied with something. Doesn’t matter what’s in his hands at that moment, he’ll drop it, reaching out to grab you by the waist and pull you into him, giving you the most passionate kiss, the kind that sends shivers running up your spine and leaves you craving more. But of course, he’ll have you patiently waiting for him to be done with whatever it is he’s fixing up in your apartment this time around before he grants you that.

Erwin finds your compliments endearing, but mostly they're just the perfect excuse for him to give them back, parroting whatever it is you’re praising about him this time around. It’s basically the best way for you to get a confidence boost whenever you need it, and it gives you the occasion to return the favor for all the adulations he usually spontaneously reserves you. He likes the compliments fine, he just finds other things way more amusing and sincere: the way you’re constantly looking for his touch for example, or how you offer to give him massages whenever you’re horny, and the way you always ask for his help with every type of problem you have. He likes to be your safe place.

Levi hates compliments, he usually shuts them down from everyone else. You’ve learned this about him very soon and so you’re not very keen on giving him any, but there’s a special time of the month you just can’t help it. You’re way too sensitive to care when you’re ovulating, so much more needy than usual. You can’t help kissing his neck while on top of him on the couch, and his hands come to rest on your hips before you quietly whisper it on his skin “ You smell so good”. He grunts and pulls you back, finding you flushed, big languid eyes staring into his dark slits. “ Don’t do that” he simply states. “ Do what?” you smile cheekily “ Tell you that you’re hot?” you lean back into his space, trailing your tongue silently up the pulsing vein on his neck, and you shiver at the breathy hum he lets go when you do. “ I mean it, y/n” he warns you, but his voice is so broken by the emerging of arousal that you can’t take him seriously. “ No fair” you pout, and he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “ Why can’t I tell you how much I like you?”. He sighs and kisses you, his tongue flicking past your lips, and he groans heartily in your mouth as you rut into him. When he breaks away his breaths ghost on your flushed cheeks, and you cling to his shoulders, already demanding him back against you “ ‘Cause it makes me wanna fuck you raw, kitten”.

How do they take you?

What names do they like being called in bed?

What's their love language?

Do they get jealous?

What gets them going?

So what about the way they kiss you?

And what pet names do they use the most?