fu11ofshit

[fu11ofshit]

After Hours

ꪆৎ1,990 words, ignore mistakes, older woman x younger reader, rough sex, choking, spitting, light humiliation, dom/sub dynamics, age gap, pet names, dirty talk, fingering, oral(receiving), straparonie, etcꪆৎ

The clock above the soda machine flicked past 2:47 AM.

Rain tapped against the windows in slow, sticky patterns. The storm hadn’t broken yet—just threatened like it had something to prove. You sat in the corner booth, legs curled under you, denim soaked at the hem, the taste of burnt coffee going stale in your mouth. The fluorescent lights above buzzed like a warning.

She was behind the counter, back to you, wiping down the griddle. Slow, methodical. Her long locs were twisted up into a loose bun, curls damp at the ends like she’d been out in the same drizzle as you. Her tank top clung to her shoulders, tattoo ink glinting under the grease-slick light—lines of flowers curling into scripture, a set of eyes across the back of her bicep that watched without blinking.

You hadn’t spoken a word to her in three nights.

She hadn’t kicked you out, either.

But tonight… you were pushing it.

Your cup had been empty for an hour. No refill. No look. Just her hands moving—steel wool on cast iron, cloth on chrome, the rhythm of a woman who’d worked her way out of something once and wasn’t going back.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Swallowed the scrape of pride rising in your throat.

She beat you to it.

"If you ain't got money, you better have hands,” she said, not turning. “Or legs. Either one better be good for cleanin’.”

Your gut went tight. You stood slow.

“I can mop,” you said.

She looked over her shoulder—first time she’d made eye contact all week. Her eyes were dark, unreadable. They stayed on you a second too long.

“You ever hold a mop before, baby girl?”

The end of that sentence should’ve sounded sweet. But it didn’t. It cracked like flint.

You nodded.

She didn’t ask again.

---

The mop water was lukewarm and cloudy. The handle had duct tape wrapped around the grip. You pushed it across the tile like you meant it, trying not to think about how quiet it had gotten. Just the slop of water. The sound of her pacing behind you.

When you turned around, she was closer.

Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, one brow raised. The tattoos on her collarbone peeked out where her tank dipped. Her voice came low.

"How old are you?”

“Old enough.”

She smirked. Just barely.

“That ain’t an answer.”

You stopped moving. Your hand tightened on the mop handle.

“##” <- whatever age you want

She didn’t blink. Just looked at you.

Then—slowly, deliberately—she stepped forward. Her boots echoed on the wet tile, stopping just inches from yours. You could smell the smoke and grease in her shirt. Feel the heat of her body in the way her presence swallowed the air.

“You been starin’ at me like you want somethin’. You gon’ keep actin’ scared or ask for it like a big girl?”

You couldn’t speak. She was taller than you, broader. Her voice was soft, but your whole spine shivered under it.

She tilted her head.

“Mm. That’s what I thought.”

Then her hand was on your hip.

Heavy. Confident.

And everything in your chest broke open.

Her fingers flexed on your hip, slow like she was feeling out the shape of something she already owned.

You didn’t breathe.

Didn’t dare.

The diner’s lights buzzed overhead. Somewhere, the wind hit the windows hard enough to rattle the panes, but neither of you flinched. Her gaze stayed locked on you—dark, low-lidded, like she was reading you line by line.

“You runnin’ from something?” she asked, voice steady.

You didn’t answer.

She stepped in, close enough that your back hit the edge of a table, wood biting into your spine. Her hand moved up your side—warm, rough, the calluses catching on the thin cotton of your shirt.

“Mm,” she hummed. “Didn’t think so.”

Your legs were shaking. She hadn’t even kissed you yet.

She leaned down slow. You could see the scar on her lip, the glint of silver at the edge of her earring. Her locs had slipped loose, brushing your shoulder.

“You know what I want, right?”

You nodded.

Then her mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was a claiming.

She kissed you like you owed her something. Like your mouth was a promise and she was cashin’ it in. Her hand slid around your throat—not squeezing, just resting there, thumb dragging up under your jaw until you tilted your head and gave her more.

You whimpered.

She chuckled against your lips.

“Knew it,” she murmured.

She pinned you there, not with brute force—but with certainty. Like she’d already made up her mind. One hand on your throat, the other cupping your ass through your jeans, pulling you flush against her.

You were already soaked.

---

She led you into the back, past the dish sink, past the swinging door, into the storage room that smelled like metal shelves, lemons, and mop water.

She didn’t turn the lights on.

Just pinned you to the nearest wall, one hand flat against your chest, the other working your jeans open.

"You wanna be mine for the night?” she asked, voice low in your ear. “You wanna stop pretendin’ you ain’t been beggin’ for it with those pretty eyes?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

“Then shut up and hold still.”

She dropped to her knees like it meant nothing. Like she’d done this a thousand times before—because maybe she had.

You barely had time to register the cool air on your thighs before she tugged your jeans down, dragging your panties with them, letting both bunch around your ankles.

“Messy little thing,” she muttered, voice low as a growl. “Bet this pretty pussy’s been aching since you saw me.”

Her tongue was on you before you could answer—hot, thick licks between your folds, like she wanted to drown in the taste of you. She flattened her mouth against your slit and sucked your clit in slow, deliberate pulls, fingers digging into your thighs to hold you still.

You gasped, knees buckling.

She didn't stop.

She moaned into your cunt like it was good to her, like it fed her something she’d been starving for.

“So wet for me already,” she muttered, voice soaked in sin. “That what happens when someone finally pays attention to you, sweetheart?”

Two fingers slid into you smooth—crooked just right, thick and slow like she was savoring the stretch.

“You take it so easy, baby,” she cooed. “That how you got by? Bein’ a sweet little slut for whatever hands felt nice enough?”

Your stomach clenched, you shook your head.

You shouldn’t have liked it.

You loved it.

She curled her fingers and you cried out—hips jerking, legs shaking.

"Ahh!—mmghn—mhm," you grabbed her wrist as all kinds of noises slipped pass your lips. Just her fingers and mouth felt so good.

“That’s it,” she growled. “Don’t run now. I wanna feel you fall apart on my fuckin’ hand.”

You came fast and hard—her mouth never leaving you, fingers working you through it. You sobbed her name without meaning to. She held your thighs open and licked up everything like it belonged to her, like she had every right.

Then she stood.

Her mouth was slick with you. She spit in your mouth without warning—slow, wet, heavy—and palmed your jaw when you gasped.

“Swallow it, honey.”

You did.

"Good girl.”

You barely had time to breathe before she turned you around and bent you over the metal table, chest pressing into the cold steel.

You heard the sound of a zipper. A low grunt. Then the soft, cruel snap of a strap tightening against her hips.

“Gon’ fuck the spoiled outta you,” she said, voice tight. “Hold still.”

She pushed in with one smooth stroke—deep.

The strap filled you slow, too slow—then rough, slamming in with a rhythm that felt like punishment and pleasure all at once. Her hands gripped your hips like reins. One slid up your back, grabbed your hair, yanked your head up.

"Look at yourself,” she hissed, forcing your gaze to the reflection in the dark window. “Look how messy you get for me. Drippin’ down your thighs like a hungry little bitch.”

"Please—” you whimpered.

“That ain’t beggin’. You want mercy, you ask like a proper slut.”

She fucked you then—rough, grinding strokes that punched the air from your lungs. You could feel her watching your face the whole time. Her hand wrapped around your throat again, not enough to cut you off—just enough to own you.

“Takin’ this dick so pretty, baby,” she murmured against your ear. “God, look at you. My pretty lil’ runaway. All mine now, huh?”

You nodded desperately.

She slapped your ass, once, hard.

“Say it.”

“Y-yours—fuck—I’m yours.”

She groaned and buried herself deep, grinding until you cried out again.

And again.

And again.

After the last high tore through you, she pulled you up—body trembling, legs barely holding you. Her strength was quiet but absolute, like the kind of woman who never raised her voice because she never needed to.

She lifted you onto the metal table, between the stacks of napkins and old salt canisters, and stood between your knees. Her strap still glistened with your slick.

You blinked up at her, dazed.

She slid her fingers into your hair, tilted your head up so you couldn’t look anywhere but her face.

"You run all that way just to fall apart like this?” she asked, low.

You couldn’t speak.

Her hand slid between your thighs again—just a brush of her palm over your swollen cunt—and your whole body twitched.

"No hiding now, honey. You wanted this.”

“Look at me and say it.”

You swallowed hard, lips parted.

“I—I wanted it…”

“Wanted what?” she murmured, pressing in closer. Her strap nudged at your entrance again, just teasing.

“You. I wanted you.”

Her eyes didn’t soften, but her mouth twitched like maybe she liked hearing that a little too much.

She gripped your thighs, pulled your hips to the edge, and slid inside slow—face to face this time. She held your jaw with one hand, forced your gaze to stay locked with hers.

“That’s better. Keep talkin’. I wanna hear you.”

She started moving, deep, steady strokes that stretched you open all over again. Your hands gripped her arms, nails digging into the tattoos that ran up her biceps like branches.

“Tell me what you been thinkin’ about since you walked through that door.”

“You—ahh,” you gasped. “The way you looked at me. Mmghn— The way I knew you’d—fuck—touch me.”

“Like what?” she asked, lips brushing your ear. “Like I own you? Like this messy lil’ thing was made to be filled up?”

You nodded frantically.

“Use your words, baby.”

“Yes. Yes—fuck—it’s yours.”

“That’s right,” she growled, hips grinding deep until your head fell back. “Such a sweet slut when you behave.”

She spit in your mouth again and kissed you after—hot and filthy, tongue dominating yours as her thrusts picked up, harder, meaner now. Her hand wrapped around your throat again—not to cut off your breath, but to own your voice.

“Say you need me.”

“I—I need you—need this—need you to keep me, please—”

“You’re mine now, ain’t you?”

“Y-Yes, fuck—mhm—please, don’t stop—don’t stop—”

Her thrusts turned punishing, her mouth dragging down your throat as you clenched around her again, tears slipping hot down your cheeks. She didn’t ease up. Not until she’d wrung every word out of you.

Not until she’d carved herself into your memory so deep you’d never forget the sound of her voice when she said:

“That’s my girl.”

---

She lets you sleep in the back, curled up in her work flannel. Doesn’t say anything in the morning. But your coffee’s waiting—extra sugar, just how you never asked for it but needed it.

Dividers by @dollywons and @cafekitsune

All works © liliacwiine 2025. Do not modify, plagiarize, or repost my work. 

[fu11ofshit]

it’s not clocking to you that I’m standing on business

[fu11ofshit]

ik i just run a tumblr smut page BUT!!!

FUCK ICE, free palestine, free congo, FUCK trump, FUCK musk, no one is illegal on stolen land, and if u disagree, FUCK YOU TOO!!!

i’ve said this before but if u support that fuckass orange in office, idc if ur a silent follower or ur like is ur only form of interacting with me, just know, i don’t want it!!! and u are a terrible person!!! 😛

[fu11ofshit]

Your fics are fire please don’t die🙏

bye thank u sm 😭 I wanna do an actual long fanfic with story and depth but idk if I’ll do it on tumblr, bc tumblr is lowkey js one shots and smut which I looove but idk if a long 100k word fic would be appreciated on here. 🤷🏾‍♀️

[fu11ofshit]

𝘚𝘗𝘐𝘛 𝘖𝘕 𝘐𝘛 WAS SO GOOD OMG!! I LOVED IT.

I have a request! Armin x Reader → The reader is sick, but Armin insists on staying with her. He ends up spooning her from behind, and they do it while she's on her side, holding hands.

₊ ⊹ Thank you, I’m also a Black writer so I decided to make this an Armin x Black reader fic !! I hope you enjoy ;)

Cough, Cough! ⋆˙⟡

Armin x Sick!Reader

cw: porn without plot, dry humping, grinding, unprotected p in v, creampie, sick reader

…

Armin warned you. He told you over, and over again that if you didn’t slow down, if you didn’t take breaks from work, you’d eventually burn out. You’d shrug him off every time—  you knew your limits, and you knew your drive. Work was always a top priority. You weren’t just going to drop everything because you were a little tired. 

So what if you nearly fell asleep behind the wheel on your way back from work a few times? You were fine.

Until you weren’t. 

You were a mess. Coughing, congested, puffy eyed, and exhausted. You looked and felt like you’d been hit by a truck.

When you opened the door to your apartment, Armin was standing there wearing his smug “I told you so” look. You stood there in your bonnet, wrapped tightly in a blanket like a burrito, looking completely pitiful.

On the contrary, he looked… amused.

“Shut up,” you muttered, stepping aside to let him in.

But instead of walking past, he stepped closer and pulled you into a hug. His arms were warm and careful, like he knew exactly how fragile you felt. He pressed a kiss to your forehead that was hot with fever and rested your head gently against his shoulder.

You sighed, the kind of sigh that only comes when you’re finally allowed to stop pretending you’re okay.

“I didn’t even say anything,” he said softly, but you could still hear the smugness under his breath.

That’s when you noticed the small white bag in his hand.

“What’s that?” you mumbled.

Armin tilted it a little so you could peek inside. “Tea, honey, some cough drops… and that soup you like. The one from the little deli down the street.”

You stared at him, throat too sore to say anything meaningful. So instead, you leaned harder against his chest.

“You didn’t have to,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said, cupping your face gently and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “But you never listen… so I came prepared.”

You sat at the kitchen table, your body slouched in the chair. Armin moved quietly around the kitchen, warming up the soup as he opened cabinets without hesitation. 

He already knew where the plates were, where the spoons were kept, and which mug you always reached for — he’d practically been here a thousand times.

He brought you your hot meal, slowly stirring it before lifting the spoon to his mouth. He pursed his lips and gently blew on it, then eased the spoon towards your mouth.

 “Open,” he said softly, eyes fixed on your lips, waiting.

“You don’t need to feed me,” you murmured, reaching up to take the spoon from him. You already felt guilty, having him take care of you when this could have been completely avoided had you just listened. 

Armin gave you a look— patient but firm. Then, with a sigh, he raised the spoon again. This time you let him in. 

You opened your mouth, and the warm soup slid down your throat, the heat spreading through your chest like comfort made tangible.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you muttered, as Armin chuckled. 

You opened your mouth again, and he fed you another spoonful. Eyes locked on you as you swallowed. 

His gaze lingered, and you felt it— warm and steady. Feeling a little self conscious under the attention, you tried to lighten the moment. “You’re totally thinking I look hot right now, huh?”

Armin smiled, scooping up another spoonful, his hand cupped beneath it to catch any drops. “You look gorgeous,” he said without hesitation. “You always do.”

You weakly kicked him under the table, “Stop it,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

He laughed again, bringing the spoon closer to your mouth, “Open,”

And you did, your eyes meeting his as you eased the soup down.

After you finished eating, Armin guided you to your room and gently tucked you into bed. He put on a movie, the volume low and soothing, before sliding in beside you. His arms wrapped around you from behind, his body warm against yours as he spooned you gently.

You leaned into his touch, letting yourself melt into the comfort he offered. He rocked you slowly, his arms draped securely across your body.

He started with a kiss to the top of your head, lips pressing gently against the fabric of your bonnet. Then, slowly, he trailed soft kisses behind your ear, down to the curve of your neck, each one delicate and unhurried.

His hands settled on your hips, fingertips moving in slow, soothing strokes. Every touch was tender, and grounding, it was a wordless reassurance that he was there for you, and wasn’t going anywhere. 

You leaned further into him, you turned your head, meeting his eyes for a breath before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He kissed back, his hand gilding down to your  stomach, giving it a gentle squeeze. His fingertips then slipped just beneath the waistband of  your shorts, applying light pressure. 

You hummed softly, as you began smoothly grinding your hips against his, you both fell into this slow back and forth rhythm, his hips slightly rolling against yours. 

You felt his hardness pressing against your lower back, as you moved with a firmer, slightly quicker rhythm. His hand slid across your chest, finding your breast, his thumb pressing tender circles around your nipple. 

Armin’s other hand slipped deeper into your waistband, his finger gliding over your swollen clit. You let out a strained gasp as he began to rub it gently, your hips rolling between his hardness and his giving fingers.

Your hands slid down your shorts, your bare ass pressing back against him. He carefully pulled out his cock, groaning as he pressed it between the curves of your ass, shamelessly grinding against you, slowly angling it towards your pussy.

His other hand cupped your breast with care as he pressed himself to your entrance, the tip of him slick with your wetness. You jolted when he brushed your clit, the soft pressure making you moan into the pillow. Your fingers laced with his over your chest, holding tight as he slowly pushed inside, filling you with a deep, aching closeness.

Armin wasn’t quick with his pace, he took his time—  keeping in mind how fragile you felt. Instead of thrusting quickly, he rolled into you with deep, steady strokes, his cock filling you completely, in a way you didn’t know was possible. 

He drew back almost all the way before pushing into you again, hard enough to make you see stars. His other hand stayed between your thighs, fingers gently circling your clit, even as his hips moved with unrelenting rhythm.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak, his face buried in the crook of your neck, hands tightly gripping yours. You heard his breath hitch as he whispered, ‘I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,’ over and over until he finally did, deep and steady inside you.

Your breaths were heavy, tangled together, as you stayed in each other's arms. 

[fu11ofshit]

hi, your work is amazing!!

i was wondering if you could do a reiner x fem!reader smut fic where he has a scent kink/is obsessed with the sniffing the reader? it's ok if not, i just think that would fit him pretty well lol.

Thank you so much!! I love this idea, that is sooo him ! I wrote this in like 30 minutes lmao.

𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘚𝘊𝘌𝘕𝘛— Reiner x Reader

cw: scent kink, pantie sniffing, making out, sex, riding position, slight biting, and all that good stuff

…

Routinely, every single day after work, Reiner greets you at the door. He dips down and pulls you to a tight hug, his tall frame folding into yours, his arms wrapped firmly around your waist while yours rest loosely around his neck.

He buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, inhaling deeply with an exaggerated sniff that makes you laugh—just before he smothers your skin in rapid, playful kisses.

Or sometimes, while you’re working from home, focused on documents at your desk, Reiner will wander in, lean down, and whisper, “You smell so good,” before biting your shoulder. Then he wraps his arms around your neck from behind, letting his weight settle onto your shoulders. He kisses just behind your ear, then inhales again like he can’t help himself.

Your scent—he can never get enough. It’s an addiction. Every time he gets close, he takes full advantage, leaning in for another hit of your sweet, irresistible smell. He wants it laced into his lungs.

When you're undressing for him, you turn around, hooking your fingers to the side of your panties. You drag them down, slow and deliberate— giving Reiner a perfect view of your ass as you bend to slide them off your ankles.

You step out of them, then toss them his way.

He catches them easily, holds them up to his face and shamelessly brings them to his nose, inhaling your hot scent.

“You’re gross,” you tease, your voice low as you walk towards him fully naked.

He meets you halfway, hands gripping your bare hips, pulling you into him. “You’re perfect,” he breathes against your lips, then kisses you like he’s starving for it.

He’ll have you riding him, his hands squeezing the soft curves of your ass, guiding your rhythm as you bounce on his hard cock. Each slap of your hips echoing the room, matched only by your breathless cries and the rough sound of his name falling from your lips

His lips find your neck, scattering soft, lingering kisses along your skin between shallow breaths. As Reiner thrusts into you, hitting your sweet spot with an unraveling pace, he inhales you—like your scent alone is enough to undo him.

“You smell so good,” he’ll whisper into your ear, as you cum on his cock, “So, so good.”

[fu11ofshit]

writing smut is really just constantly reusing the words softly, slowly, and deliberately like 10 times in the same sentence.

[fu11ofshit]

𝘈 𝘓𝘈𝘗𝘚𝘌 𝘐𝘕 𝘑𝘜𝘋𝘎𝘌𝘔𝘌𝘕𝘛 // Boss!Reiner x Reader

Summary: Reiner’s your gruff, no-nonsense boss. Last night, one stolen kiss cracked the facade. Now he’s called you into his office. What does he want? Discipline or a repeat?

cw: handjob, slight cursing, Reiner’s lowkey a sub, fingers in mouth, public sexual activity, pathetic male

a/n: might make a part two i love boss x employee (secretary iykyk!!)

…

When you walked into Reiner’s office, the first thing you noticed was how unnaturally stiff he looked. His hands were folded tightly on the desk, and his back was so straight it looked like he was bracing for impact. He didn’t rise from his obnoxiously large chair—just gave a small nod. His eyes meeting yours for a fraction of a second before darting away.

“Yes sir, you called?” you finally said, trying to cut through the unbearable awkwardness that clung to the room.

He glanced up briefly, “Have a seat,” he said gesturing toward the significantly smaller chair across from his desk. You’d always figured it was some sort of intimidation tactic, something all bosses did to make their subordinates buckle at their sheer authority.

Maybe it would’ve worked. It definitely had in the past. But after seeing Reiner’s cracks last night— the vulnerability, the way he kissed you like he forgot how to pretend, you couldn’t help but find it silly.

You sat down, your hands lightly fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. It was quiet for a while, you waited for Reiner to finally say something. Was he going to beat around the bush, or put it out bluntly? Your grip on the fabric tightened.

Finally, he spoke, “I wanted to talk about last night.”

“Me too,” you blurted, a little too eagerly, “I mean— yeah.”

Jesus Christ.

You could hear his foot lightly tapping underneath the desk, the anxious pat, pat quietly flooding the room.

“I respect you,” he started, slipping into this stern dad tone, “I respect your work ethic. I respect your professionalism. And most of all, I respect you as my employee.”

Unbelievable.

“I hold you in high regard, which is why I won’t deny that last night’s incident was a misstep on my part. As your boss—“

“As my boss,” you cut in, repeating the phrase back at him with quiet defiance. You met his eyes, daring him to continue.

“Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,”

“Just say it,” You snapped. “Say you regret it.”

He exhaled sharply, then met your eyes with a forced steadiness, “Last night was completely inappropriate. It was…a lapse in judgment—for both of us.”

You had a flashback to that night, the way his hands gripped your waist, the heat of his body, the low sound he made when you pulled him closer. None of it had felt impulsive. None of it had felt like a mistake.

“It shouldn't have happened.” he said flatly “As your boss, I crossed a line.”

There was a pause. Long enough for the words to settle, but not long enough for you to respond.

“It can’t happen again,” he added quietly.

“Sir—“

“It can’t,” he said sharply, Reiner’s face unreadable.

It stung, the rejection— more than you cared to admit. You stood up slowly, hands gripping the edge of the desk. You leaned forward just enough for him to have to look up at you.

“So when you pinned me against that wall,” you said, voice low and deliberate “when your hands were underneath my skirt— “

A slight blush colored Reiner’s cheeks, Your voice dropped lower.

“That was just a lapse in judgment?”

He looked up, brows slightly furrowed. “Yes.” He said quietly.

Bullshit. And you knew it.

You began to slowly walk towards him, his eyes following you like a hawk. Your finger trailed lightly along the edge of the desk as you passed, the air between you thickening with every inch you closed.

When you reached his chair, you put a hand on the back and gently turned it to face you. Reiner tensed, starting to rise— but you firmly placed your palm on his chest, guiding him back down.

He stayed seated, jaw tight, eyes avoiding yours like looking at you might undo him completely.

You leaned in, bringing your finger to his chin and tilting it up, forcing him to look at you.

When his gaze met yours, something in him shifted— you could see his walls faintly drop with the way his eyes softened beneath your touch. “We can't,” he mouthed, barely audible.

It sounded less like refusal and more like he was trying to convince himself, not you.

You inched closer, lips gently brushing against his. “Tell me you don’t feel anything,” you whispered, your other hand resting against his chest, slowly sliding down to his abdomen.

He grunted, low and strained. His chest rose and fell beneath your touch, hands gripping the armrests of his chair like anchors.

Your thumb delicately traced the curve of his soft mouth, before pressing against his lips. When you eased into his mouth, he made a muffled sound, tongue brushing against the pad of your thumb, wet and warm.

Your hand continued down his lower abdomen, hovering just above the heat between his legs. Instinctively, his teeth grazed your thumb, his body going still.

“Tell me,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper, “If I touched you right now, you wouldn’t already be hard.”

You pressed your palm against his hardness, feeling him twitch beneath your hand. A low, breathy grunt escaped his throat. You firmly palmed against his clothed cock, your thumb still resting in his slick mouth. When you pulled it free, a thin strand clung between his lips and your skin. Your thumb trailed down, still forcing his chin up.

There was something intoxicating in seeing him like this— your composed, commanding boss buckling into your touch, reduced to shallow gasps and groans. You wanted more. You needed more.

Your fingers moved towards his belt, the quiet snap of the buckle echoing across the office. As you slid it open, you teasingly traced your hand over his boxers, he let out a strangled gasp, hips barely lifting to meet your touch.

“Please—“ he breathed, eyes locked onto yours, with this pathetic look on his face.

You slipped your hand beneath the waistband, fingers brushing against his aching cock, pulsing in your grip, you gave it a light squeeze. He groaned, the sound barely controlled, low and rough in his throat.

When you finally wrapped your hand around him, you cursed under your breath, feeling his length. You felt his wanting gaze on you, breath uneven as he waited for your next move.

Your thumb slid over his tip, smearing his precum. You then stroked him, slow and controlled. Reiner grunted. His hips rolling against your hands without thinking, each pump drawing a deep sound from his throat, his sanity thinning with each passing second.

“I’m — I’m gonna cum, please— fuck,” He gasped, barely able to form words as your unrelenting hands kept pumping him with steady precision. You guided his head gently to your chest, cradling him there, his face buried between your breasts like he was seeking comfort in the closeness. His moans were muffled against your softness, his hands finding your hips, pulling you closer, as if grounding himself in your warmth.

You stroked faster, your hand coated in his slickness. His grip on your hips tightened, and he looked up at you— half his face still submerged in your tits, eyes fluttering before rolling back as he unraveled in your hand. His breath hitched, your name slipping out in a broken muffled moan as he came.

The room fell quiet except for his heavy breathing and the faint creak of the chair beneath him. You could still feel the warmth of him against your hand, his body trembling slightly in the aftershock.

Reiner didn’t let go.

You brought a hand to his hair, lightly stroking it, while he stayed buried in your chest— ears flushed pink, holding you like he didn’t trust himself to move.

Neither of you knew what would happen after. After he would finally let go. After you both straightened yourselves out. After you would both pretend to return to work like none of this happened.

So neither of you moved.

You stayed there—just the two of you—letting time pass around you.

[fu11ofshit]

𝘚𝘗𝘐𝘛 𝘖𝘕 𝘐𝘛 // Nerdmin x Reader

𝘕𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘪𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵. ⋆˙⟡ ( art by musapylsa)

cw : oral sex (f) receiving, fingering, spitting, and all that good stuff

a/n: yall give me requestss i will do themm

…

“I want you to spit on it.”

Armin looked up from between your thighs, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as his hands were halfway through easing your panties down your ankles.

For a moment, a quiet intensity flickered in his eyes— his cheeks flushed, his breath hitched before giving you a small, deliberate nod.

Armin tucked a strand of hair behind his ear before leaning in. His lips parted, releasing a thick trail of spit that slid down your aching bud. You felt the wet heat trickle slowly over your clit, sinking toward your entrance. A broken groan slipped from your lips as Armin brought his thumb to where his spit had landed, spreading your folds open to let it glide over your core before firmly rubbing it in with your wetness.

You drew a haughty whine, as Armin’s thumb stroked slow, tedious circles on your clit. You arched your back in response, gradually rolling your hips against his addicting touch.

“It’s okay, I got you,” Armin said softly, before firmly driving his fingers into you, his pace quick and relentless. “Armin-!” You gasped, his fingers pumping in and out of you, every movement sending sparks through your core.

He angled his fingers in swift, controlled motions, pressing into the depths of your pleasure, drawing out your breathless moans. “You take my fingers so well,” he groaned, brushing his fingers against your sweet spot— making your toes curl and your legs tremble.

He liked watching you like this, unraveling beneath him from just his fingers alone. Your hands fondled your breast, desperate moans spilling from your lips. He kept his eyes locked on you beneath his glasses as he lowered his head, the tip of his pierced tongue finding your clit. He dragged it down slowly, and when the cold metal of his piercing met your swollen bud, he moved even slower, gliding it against you with maddening precision.

“Armin, fucccck,” you threw your head back, the sensation dragging you to your breaking point. Armin’s fingers still moved inside you, fast and unrelenting— while his piercing traced tight, teasing circles around your clit making you see stars.

He looked up at you, lips slick, breath heavy. “Come on my tongue,” he said breathless, almost like a plea. “Please.”

And you did.

Eyes fluttering, body trembling, falling apart on his mouth like it was the only place you ever belonged.

[fu11ofshit]

𝘒𝘐𝘛𝘊𝘏𝘌𝘕 𝘊𝘖𝘜𝘕𝘛𝘌𝘙 // Reiner x Reader

𝘙𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘪𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 ⋆˙⟡

cw : oral sex (f) receiving, biting, slight face riding, (f) fingering

…

You fumbled with your keys, awkwardly fiddling between them trying to find the right one. You felt Reiner’s hefty shadow looming behind you, as you continued to struggle. His presence only made your already sweaty hands even more clammy, slick with nerves and want. It was so quiet, too quiet. The only sound being your jangling keys and the plop of a single droplet into an empty flower pot by your door. And yet, there was this mutual impatience. A heavy anticipation hanging between you. Both of you were waiting—aching—for the door to open, so you could finally tear each other apart.

To your dismay, your fingers suddenly slipped. The keys clattered to the ground.

“Shit, sorry—”

You felt Reiner begin to bend down to help, and the movement alone sent a jolt through you.

“It’s okay,” He reassured. Reiner always spoke so softly, this time almost like a whisper. Like he was gently coddling you, trying not to scare you off.

But there was an eagerness in the air, an unspoken certainty. That if you turned around now, he’d take you right there, against the door.

So you snatched up the keys, picked one at random, shoved it into the lock, and turned.

A sharp click echoed from the lock, sending chills down your spine. And in that moment, you could’ve sworn you heard Reiner’s breath hitch at the sound.

He stepped closer. Just a small movement, but enough for you to feel his warm breath brush against your neck. His large hands slid slowly down your arm, stopping where your fingers gripped the handle. He gave your hand a light, deliberate squeeze

“It’s okay.” he whispered once more.

You wanted to scream.

But instead, you tightened your grip on the handle—and without missing a beat, you opened the door.

Once you both get inside, Reiner sternly grabs your shoulders, turns you around and latches his lips onto yours. You feel the sheer desperation in his kisses— the way his grip gradually tightens on your shoulders with each passing second, the way his tongue slips between your lips, greedy and unrelenting, claiming every inch like he’s been starved.

You hear his hastily groans and gasps between kisses, as he sinks deeper into you. Then suddenly he lifts you, effortlessly.He carries you to your kitchen counter and sets you down gently, his mouth never leaving yours.

His hands grip your waist firmly, fingers pressing into the soft dips of your hips like he’s memorizing the shape of you. You find yourself holding on to his neck for support, your fingers recklessly rummaging through his blonde hair. You get the idea to pull on it slightly, just to see how he’d react. This draws a sweet, high-pitched groan from Reiner. Soft and helpless. The sound only makes you greedy for more.

“Do it again— please.” He’s practically breathless.

You oblige, your fingers find another patch of his hair and you roughly tug once more. His lips trail slowly towards your jaw to your neck. Hot persistent kisses. One of his hands rested gently at the side of your neck while he slowly traced his wet tongue down your throat.

His teeth then grazed your skin as he bit down softly. You hissed at the sensation, feeling an electrifying pulse rush down your dress. Your thighs pressed tightly together, the cold counter pressing against the back of your knees keeping you sane. Reiner’s other hand tenderly cupped your breast. He squeezed lightly, placing his thumb over your hardened nipple.

The small deliberate flicks of his thumb garnered a quiet curse to escape your lips, as his free hand caressed your thighs while gradually riding up your dress. His tongue lightly licked between the dips of your cleavage, his thumb still applying pressure on your swollen nipple. He dipped lower, planting kisses down your clothed stomach, as he was practically down on his knees for you.

By now, your dress had slipped up to your hips, exposing the black lace beneath. Reiner’s hands grasped your knees, gently pulling them apart. You leaned back instinctively, shyly parting your thighs for him. There was something about this position that made you feel almost whorish, practically spreading yourself on full display for this man. Suddenly, you felt Reiner pull you closer to his face, his fingers coyly playing with the lace detailing of your panties before gradually easing them down.

Reiner’s gaze lingered on your wetness with unspoken need, before slowly looking up at you with these pathetic doe eyes, and pleading brows.

“God, you're beautiful.”

Without warning, his thumb pressed firmly against your swollen clit, drawing a gasp from your lips. His thumb coated in your slickness, caused Renier to let out a low, breathy “fuck.”

He began tenderly rubbing your clit in these sharp, deliberate circles — each motion precise and electric. Your legs trembled beneath you, every stroke sending waves of pleasure through your pulsing core. Your hands gripped the edge of the kitchen counter in an attempt to stabilize yourself, Reiner’s relentless pace not faltering, leaving hot kisses trailing up your inner thigh.

He then slowly lifted his thumb, a thin strand of cum stretching from your clit. To your surprise, he brought it to his lips, tasting you without hesitation, almost like couldn’t help himself. “You taste so good,” He muttered softly, “You never told me you tasted so fucking good.”

Your palm then softly traced along his cheek, the unbearable heat still building up at your core. “Reiner,” you said the last syllable of his name breathlessly, “I need your mouth.” Your thumb drifted to his bottom lip before slowly gliding across it, slightly parting his mouth. Reiner caught the tip of your thumb between his teeth and bit down.

A groan escaped you as your back arched, offering yourself to him. He responded without pause, pressing a tender kiss on your cilt— eliciting a soft, broken sound from your throat.

He dragged his tongue along your aching nerves, dividing your clit slowly. The tip of his tongue pressed tight meticulous circles on your core, persistently flicking at it.

You’re hands grasped the back of his head, “Oh god- oh fuck,”You heard a small “mmm” of approval from Reiner, as his tongue drew lazy circles around your swollen bud. He then abruptly slipped his fingers into you, curling up. His touch landed directly on your most sensitive point. You threw your head back as a wave of electrifying pleasure coursed through you.

Your vision blurred slightly, the only sound filling your ears was Reiner quietly murmuring “You taste so good,” over and over again while devouring you. His nose pressed between your sensitive folds, while his mouth suckled at your clit and his fingers shamelessly pumped inside of you.

“Reiner!” you cried, your thighs trembling around his head as he ate you with desperate hunger. “Fuck— I’m close, please—“

At this point, you were practically riding his face, grinding down against his wet tongue, the rhythm frantic and needy. Your grip on his hair tightened, your moans loud and unfiltered, echoing throughout your apartment. Reiners' large hands tightly clutched your shaking thighs, holding you steady as you unraveled above him.

Your legs finally gave out, his relentless touch pushing you over the edge. His fingers kept moving in soft, steady strokes, guiding you through the waves of your climax, drawing it out until your whole body shivered from the intensity. He placed a final, tender kiss on your overstimulated clit before glancing up at you again.

Half his face glistened with your release, his lips parted, breath heavy. His doe eyes met yours from beneath lowered lashes, the side of his head resting against your thigh like he never wanted to leave.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, still trying to catch your breath. He looked utterly ruined and yet, so damn satisfied.

[fu11ofshit]

𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚢, 𝚜𝚑𝚎/𝚑𝚎𝚛 ݁˖𑁍˖𓂃 ִֶָ

mainly fanfics of depressed fictional men..

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 🧚🏾‍♀️

requests welcome !! ❀༉ masterlist below . ݁₊ ⊹

…

𐦍 ! Attack on titan ⋆˙⟡

─── ⋆ Reiner Braun

Kitchen Counter

A lapse in judgment

─── ⋆ Armin Arlert

𝘚𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵