ᴍᴀᴜʀ

(つω`*) Hello! I'm Maur and welcome to my safe place !! ❣

⊹ requests are open ! (Rules)

⊰ (PLEASE GIVE ME TIPS I NEED THEM.)

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🪐 Characters that I am thinking of writing:

-- Aot --

❀ 𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐧

❀ 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐬𝐚 (𝐰𝐥𝐰)

❀ 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧

❀ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞

❀ 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧

❀ 𝐘𝐦𝐢𝐫 (𝐰𝐥𝐰)

❀ 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫

❀ 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 (𝐰𝐥𝐰)

❀ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐨𝐱 (𝐁𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐭)

❀ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨

❀ 𝐋𝐞𝐯𝐢

❀ 𝐄𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧

❀ 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞 (𝐰𝐥𝐰)

❀ 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞

❀ 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨

❀ 𝐘𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚 (𝐰𝐥𝐰)

❀ 𝐏𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐨

❀ 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐤 (𝐰𝐥𝐰)

-- kny --

❀ 𝐓𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨

❀ 𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮

❀ 𝐈𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞

❀ 𝐆𝐢𝐲𝐮

❀ 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐧

❀ 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐤𝐮

❀ 𝐎𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐢

❀ 𝐆𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐢

❀ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐚

❀ 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢

❀ 𝐊𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐲𝐚

❀ 𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨

❀ 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐨

❀ 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢

❀ 𝐊𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐨

❀ 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐮

❀ 𝐌𝐮𝐳𝐚𝐧

❀ 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐦𝐚

❀ 𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐚

❀ 𝐒𝐞𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐨 (𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫)

❀ 𝐊𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐮 (𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐞𝐝)

❀ 𝐔𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐢 (𝐣𝐨𝐲)

❀ 𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐭𝐬𝐮 (𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰)

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Characters: Reiner, boombayah, marco, porco and niccolo.

CW: NSFW

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐜𝐬!

– Pieck loves resting her head on your shoulder or lap; she’s physically affectionate in a subtle, sleepy way.

– She always seems to know when you're stressed, and without a word, she’ll pull you into bed or onto the couch for a nap together.

– She calls you by soft pet names like “my love” or “sleepyhead” — often teasing if you’re less energetic than her (somehow).

– Despite looking lazy, she notices everything — especially when someone flirts with you. Cue the slow blink and intense stare until they leave.

– Pieck likes touching your hair absentmindedly while you talk. It calms her, and she swears it helps her “think better.”

– She’s sarcastic but gentle. If you’re upset, she won’t give generic comfort — she’ll say something that hits exactly what you needed to hear.

– Lazy mornings in bed with her are heaven. She’ll wrap her arms around you like a blanket burrito and refuse to let you go.

– She secretly hoards pictures of you — both mental snapshots and actual ones, if she can steal them.

– If you're cold, she'll immediately offer her jacket or just pull you under hers with no hesitation.

– Sometimes she'll whisper random philosophical thoughts while you cuddle, and you're never sure if she’s sleepy or actually profound.

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌: 𝖤𝗋𝖾𝗇, 𝖠𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇, 𝖩𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗇𝗂𝖾.

𝖢𝖶: 𝖭𝗌𝖿𝗐!

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────

𝗘𝗿𝗿 𝗼𝗸𝗮𝘆 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗱𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗜 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝗱𝗱 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝗷𝗶𝘀 😭😭💔 !!

Yelena x Femreader | SFW | SFW, slow-burn tension, emotional intimacy. (requested !!)

"You should’ve stayed behind."

Her voice is low. Not angry—just flat. That tone that always makes your spine straighten and your heart pound just a little harder. Yelena doesn’t look up as she wraps gauze around your arm, fingers too careful for someone who’s snapped necks without blinking.

"You think I’d let you face them alone?" you ask, biting the inside of your cheek to avoid wincing. Her touch lingers longer than it needs to, hands still against your skin, as if she’s debating something.

Her eyes finally meet yours. Pale. Sharp. Quietly furious.

"You’re not disposable."

You blink. That’s new.

Yelena leans in a little too close, her breath brushing your cheek, voice barely above the sound of the rain hitting the roof.

"You walk into fire for people who would let you burn. That’s foolish.

You chuckle, soft but stubborn. "Not everyone is like you, Yelena."

She doesn’t pull away. In fact, she gets closer. One hand presses against the wooden wall beside you, caging you in with her body, though she barely touches you.

"No," she says slowly, like she’s tasting the truth on her tongue, "they’re not."

A pause.

Then softer, almost like she regrets it.

"But I would’ve gone after you, too."

You stare at her. Yelena never says things she doesn’t mean. Never confesses weakness. But something in her eyes flickers—something like… fear? No. Not quite. Something worse. Hope.

And just when you think she might pull away, might bury whatever that moment was—

"Next time you do something that reckless, you’re sleeping outside," she mutters, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face with the backs of her fingers. "And I’m letting the wolves have you."

But she stays close. The rain keeps falling. And in the silence, her hand doesn’t move.

You wake to silence—real silence. The kind that only happens after a storm. The rain's gone, but everything outside still drips and breathes like the world hasn’t quite remembered how to wake up.

Inside the cabin, the fire’s out. The air’s cold. And Yelena’s still there.

She’s sitting in the chair by the window, long legs pulled up, arms draped around her knees. Her hair’s loose, falling like shadows over her face, and for a moment, she looks… soft. Almost normal. Almost peaceful.

You sit up slowly, and somehow—of course—she notices. Doesn’t look at you. Just speaks.

"You snore."

You blink. "I don’t snore."

"You do," she says, voice like water over stone. "Just a little. It’s… tolerable."

Your lip twitches. It’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ll ever get from her before noon.

She finally turns her head to look at you, and there’s something unspoken in her eyes. Not vulnerability—she doesn’t do that. But something open. Like a door half-cracked, letting in just enough light for you to see the edges of her care.

"You were crying in your sleep."

Your breath catches.

"I wasn’t going to wake you," she adds. "But I was here."

You nod, slowly. There’s a pause, but it’s not uncomfortable. She lets the quiet stretch, lets you sit with it.

Then—

"Come here," she says. Not a request. Not barked, either. Just… warm.

You hesitate, only for a second, before crawling from the bed to her side. She opens her arms wordlessly, and you settle between them, your head against her chest, her chin resting lightly on your hair.

She doesn’t say much after that.

But her hands are steady on your back. Her heartbeat is slow and even. And in the stillness, you realize something:

Yelena doesn't need to say “I love you.”

She stays.

And that’s louder than anything else.

The day passes without much said.

She moves around you like gravity—close, quiet, always present. You try to help clean up, but she shoos you off with that familiar flick of her hand. Still healing, she says. But you catch how her fingers linger a little too long when she hands you a fresh bandage, how her gaze drifts toward you like she’s checking, constantly, just to make sure you’re still there.

Evening falls like a soft sheet. The sky outside turns gold, then amber, then grey.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing your fingers along a tear in your sleeve, when you hear her voice again.

"Are you going back to the fort tomorrow?"

You look up. She’s standing in the doorway, silhouetted by fading light. Arms crossed, but her shoulders… are different. Less squared. Less sure.

"That was the plan," you say cautiously. "Unless…"

"Don’t."

It comes out fast. Almost too fast. Her mouth tightens like she didn’t mean to say it. Or like she meant exactly that, and hates that it slipped.

"You don’t want me to go," you say softly.

She doesn’t answer. Just looks away.

The silence stretches between you—tense, coiled, a wire about to snap.

Then—

"You’re the only thing that feels real anymore."

Her voice is quiet. Not a whisper. Just bare. Exposed. Like glass that could shatter if she breathes wrong.

"Everything else is war. Death. Zeke’s plan. Smoke and bones. But you… when you look at me, it’s not out of fear. Or loyalty. It’s just you. And I..."

She trails off. You wait.

"I don’t want to watch you walk out that door and never come back."

Your heart stutters.

"Then say it," you whisper. "Say what you want, Yelena."

She hesitates.

Then she lifts her head. And though her jaw clenches, and her eyes sting with things she won’t let fall, she says it anyway:

"Stay."

Just one word. But it carries everything.

You rise without a word and walk toward her. When your arms wrap around her waist, she doesn’t flinch. She melts. Not all at once—but enough. Enough to bury her face in your neck and finally, finally breathe.

And in that breath, you feel it:

The storm inside her is quiet, for once.

Because you’re still here.

𝖨 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 :

・✭・ 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

・✭・𝖧𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌

・✭・ 𝖲𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍; 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 (𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅.)

・✭・ 𝖲𝖥𝖶;𝖭𝖲𝖥𝖶 (𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾)

・✭・ 𝖥𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿

・✭・𝖠𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 (𝗂𝖿 𝖨 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍.💔)

𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 !! ⚠

・✭・ 𝖱*𝗉𝖾, 𝖽𝗎𝖻 𝖼𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗍𝖼.

(𝖨𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖨 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆!)

𝖨𝖿 𝖨 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗜 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻'𝘁 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲, 𝗈𝗋 𝗜 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻'𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝗻𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝘆𝗲𝘁! ♥︎

ʚɞ Requests are 𝘖𝘱𝘦𝘯!

Connie Springer x FemReader | NSFW | Rough x Soft | Begging, Praise, Marking, Aftercare

The barracks are too quiet.

Not just quiet—still, like the world itself is holding its breath. The kind of silence that crawls under your skin after blood has stopped spilling, but before your hands stop shaking.

You’re sitting on the edge of your cot, fingers raw, armor peeling off like a second skin you don’t recognize. The door slams open behind you.

“Y/N.”

Connie’s voice is sharper than usual. No jokes. No laugh. Just your name, like a blade grinding against stone.

You glance over your shoulder. His eyes are wild—storm-grey, torn between panic and fury.

“You could’ve died,” he breathes, stepping closer, boots thudding against the wood like war drums.

“I didn’t,” you say. Simple. Cold. A lie—because parts of you did die out there.

He’s in front of you now. Grabbing your wrists, staring at the bruises forming like galaxies on your skin. “You ran into a titan’s blind side with no backup. Are you trying to make me insane?”

You stare at him. “I did what I had to.”

“No. You did what you always do—throw yourself in like nothing matters. Like I don’t matter.”

That hits. Hard. Right in the hollow behind your ribs.

Something in him cracks. And then he's down on his knees, his forehead resting against your thigh, fingers clinging to your hips like he's terrified you’ll evaporate.

“I thought I lost you, Y/N. And I—I wouldn’t have even gotten to say goodbye.”

Your hand threads into his buzzed hair without thinking. He shudders under your touch.

“You’re here,” you whisper.

His voice is rough against your skin. “You make me feel too much, you know that?”

“Good.”

That gets a breathless laugh out of him, bitter and sweet all at once. And then he looks up, eyes burning.

“Say it.”

You blink. “Say what?”

“That you’re mine.” He’s not smiling. “That you’re gonna stop risking everything before I lose my fucking mind.”

Your heart kicks. “You want me that bad?”

He stands. Leans in close. Nose brushing yours. “No. I need you that bad.”

You don’t kiss him.

You crash into him like fire meeting gasoline

The kiss isn’t sweet.

It’s messy—teeth, breath, hands everywhere. Connie’s fingers bury into your hips like he’s anchoring himself, like letting go would unravel the last threads of his sanity.

You gasp against his mouth, and he groans like it’s the first breath he’s taken in hours.

His voice—wrecked, raw against your throat—comes between kisses.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growls, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck. “Running off like you’re unbreakable. Like I wouldn’t burn the world to keep you breathing.”

You tilt your head back, offering him everything.

“Then prove it,” you whisper, voice hitching as his hands slide up, under your shirt, rough palms skating over hot skin.

He stills.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, lips brushing your collarbone now. “Say it like you mean it.”

You look down at him, fire in your chest, in your blood. “Prove it.”

Something snaps.

Connie lifts you like you weigh nothing, shoving everything off your cot with one sweep of his arm. The crash echoes, but neither of you flinch. You're too tangled in each other—his mouth back on yours, his body pressed flush to yours, one thigh slipping between your legs with wicked precision.

You grind down on him instinctively, and his breath catches, low and dark in your ear.

“You’re playing with fire, Y/N,” he warns, but he’s already lost in you. “And you want to burn, don’t you?”

You meet his gaze, pupils blown wide, lips parted. “Only if it’s with you.”

He smirks. Predatory. Possessive.

“Good girl.”

Your shirt’s already halfway off before you realize his hands are shaking.

Not with fear—but restraint.

Connie’s knuckles drag across your ribs like he’s memorizing every bone, every scar. “You're not leaving my sight again,” he breathes, voice rough with promise. “Next time you run off like that, I’ll tie you to this damn bed.”

Your laugh is a choked, heated mess against his lips. “Kinky threat for a soldier.”

His grin? Dangerous. “Not a threat. A guarantee.”

He leans in again, and this time, the kiss is slower—deeper. The kind that melts your spine, pulls a whimper from your throat you didn’t mean to give him. And God, he hears it. Drinks it in.

“Do that again,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw as his hands slide lower, thumbs teasing the waistband of your pants. “Let me hear what I do to you.”

You should say something smart. You really should.

But his hand slides under the fabric—and everything else shuts off.

Fingers glide over sensitive skin, drawing slow, cruel circles. You arch into him, nails digging into his back, and he *growls* against your neck, all teeth and hunger.

“Already soaked for me,” he whispers, voice a low rasp. “You’ve been like this since I walked in, haven’t you?”

You don’t deny it. Can’t.

His mouth is everywhere—neck, collarbone, the curve of your shoulder. Every kiss is a brand. Every breath is a promise he’ll make you feel this for days.

And then he pulls back, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide.

“I’m gonna take my time with you,” he says, voice heavy with control he's barely holding onto. “But if you want me to stop—”

“Don’t you dare.”

That’s all he needs.

Clothes vanish. Skin meets skin. And the room fills with nothing but the sound of your name breaking on his tongue, again and again, like a prayer turned possession.

The way he touches you isn’t gentle—but it is careful.

Connie’s got you flat on your back, legs open, his body caging yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His dick is buried deep, stretching you wide, thick and throbbing as he grinds in slow and punishing.

“Feel that?” he pants, voice low and dirty against your neck. “That’s my cock filling you up. So fuckin’ tight around me, like your pussy was made for this.”

You whine—hips twitching, clit aching with every grind of his pelvis against yours. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Every thrust is perfect, dragging across your sweet spot, grinding right into your clit like he’s trying to make you come from friction alone.

“You hear that?” he groans, snapping his hips harder now. “That’s how wet this pussy gets for my dick.”

Your hands claw at his back, your moans high and wrecked. “Connie—please—feels so good—”

“Fuck yeah it does,” he growls. “So good for me, baby. My perfect little slut—so desperate, so fuckin’ needy.”

His hand slips between you, rough fingers finding your clit with pinpoint precision. He rubs circles, fast and mean, and you arch up with a gasp, your thighs trembling around him.

“Come on, angel. Come for me,” he urges, eyes locked on yours, hand working your clit while his dick pounds deeper. “Let me feel this pussy squeeze my cock.”

And when it hits—oh, it hits hard.

You come with a cry, back bowing, legs locking, clenching around him so tight he curses loud and filthy, thrusts turning erratic.

“Fuckfuckfuck—take it, take all of it—fuck, yes—”

He spills inside you with a final slam, hips grinding through it, cock twitching deep, breath hot against your cheek.

Then—stillness. Just the sound of your breath mixing with his, both of you soaked in sweat, heartbeats racing in sync.

Connie doesn't pull away.

Instead, he kisses your jaw, your shoulder, the bruised spot on your neck he bit into minutes earlier. Claiming.

“You did so good for me,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, full of worship. “My good girl.”

You hum, dazed and warm, feeling his cum slowly drip out between your thighs, his hand lazily stroking your side like you’re made of glass.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Always.”

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