You’re lost in the rhythm of sorting clothes until your best friend, Connie, breaks the silence with a question that catches you off guard. When your verbal answer doesn't cut it, he takes matters into his own hands, trading the laundry for a vocal demonstration you won't forget.
. ݁໑. ݁3,197 words, smut/explicit sexual content(18+), Reader is said to be talkative and outgoing, brief tickling, mocking, dirty talk, bent over the bed-> mating press -> variation of missionary, no condom (wrap it!!), petnames/name-calling(e.g., baby, princess, sweetheart, and slut), etc ݁໑. ݁
Inspo [1, 2] < not p!links
⋆. ݁໑. ݁˖18+ 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒔 𝑫𝒐 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕⋆. ݁໑. ݁˖
The late afternoon sun filtered through your bedroom window, catching the dust motes dancing over the piles of clothes scattered across your bed. You were in the middle of a seasonal purge, folded tops and bottoms from your many styles and phases; Alt, Goth, Coquette, Bohemian, Y2K—the list is long—forming towers around you. You were currently sporting a matching set—a tiny top that showed off the curve of your waist and soft, low-slung pj pants with little Snoppys that dragged slightly on the floor.
Connie was sprawled out across the foot of your bed, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who was just "waiting for his phone to charge." He was dressed down in cotton shorts and a graphic tee that stretched across his chest. The most distracting thing about him was his hair. He’d recently let it grow out just enough to bleach it and dye it with leopard-print spots—a look that was objectively strange, yet somehow, on him, it looked rugged and cool.
He was scrolling through your phone with a casualness that only came from years of being best friends. You didn't mind; you had nothing to hide, and usually, he was just looking for memes or checking the score of a game.
You were folding a sweater, your brow furrowed in concentration, when his thumb suddenly stopped moving. The room went quiet, save for the distant sound of traffic outside.
"Hey," he said, his voice dropping into a lower, suspiciously casual register.
"Yeah?" You didn't look up, struggling with a stubborn wrinkle in the wool.
"How loud do you get?"
You stopped mid-fold. You blinked, slowly turning your head to look at him. Connie wasn't looking at you yet; he was staring intently at the screen, a little smirk playing on his lips.
"Excuse me?" you asked, your tranquil energy replaced by a sharp, stunned edge. "What did you just ask me?"
He finally looked up, and the look in his eyes was pure mischief—that classic, goofy Connie spark, but with a new, heavy layer of heat you weren't used to seeing. He didn't look embarrassed at all. If anything, he looked challenged.
"I asked how loud you get," he repeated, tilting the phone toward you. "During sex. Like, are we talking neighbors call the cops or just muffled whimpers?"
"Give me that!" You lunged for the phone, but he lifted it high above his head, using his reach to keep it away. You ended up hovering over him, your chest inches from his face, your calm expression now dampened, twisting into something abashed. "What are you even looking at? Why would you ask me that?"
"Relax, I'm not just being a creep," he laughed, his free hand coming up to rest on your hip to steady you as you leaned over him. His palm was warm, and his fingers dug slightly into the soft fabric of your pj pants.
"Mikasa texted you. Apparently, she’s overthinking things with Eren. She asked 'how loud is too loud' because she knows he likes hearing her, but she’s terrified of embarrassing herself."
He pulled the phone back down, his hazel eyes locking onto yours. The goofiness was still there, but his gaze dragged slowly down to your mouth and then back up.
"It got me thinking," he murmured, his thumb absentmindedly stroking the skin of your hip. "Since you’re always so bubbly and talkative... I bet you’re a screamer. I bet you don’t know how to keep your mouth shut when things get good."
You snatched the phone out of his hand, huffing as you sat back on your heels. "You’re so gross. And for your information, I am a lady."
"A 'lady' who's getting all coy because I mentioned her vocal cords," he teased, sitting up and leaning close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. "Come on. Tell me. If I were the one in there with you, would you be making enough noise to wake up the whole floor? Or would you be trying to hide it?"
You stared at the text from Mikasa, your heart hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with the laundry. You could feel him watching you—waiting, playful, and far too observant.
To: Mikasa 🩷
> Don't overthink it. If Eren likes hearing you, that's all that matters. Just be yourself and do what feels natural in the moment—there’s no such thing as too loud when it’s someone you love. You won’t embarrass yourself!!
You hit send and tossed the phone onto the pile of clothes.
Connie was still hovering, his eyes fixed on the screen. "So? What'd the expert have to say? Give me the details."
"Stop being nosy. That’s girl talk." you teased, sticking your tongue out at him.
"Oh, come on, I'm the one who gave you the phone!" He reached for it, but you swiped it away, tucking it behind your back.
"Too bad. You’ve officially lost your phone privileges," you said with a playful glare. "Go back to your own device."
"Fine," he muttered, but he didn't move toward his phone. Instead, he lunged forward, his large hands catching your waist and hauling you onto his lap. You yelped as he forced you to straddle him, your knees digging into the mattress on either side of his hips.
For a second, the playfulness shifted. He just wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest and burying his face in your shoulder. "Sorry," he mumbled into your skin, his voice muffled and unusually soft. "I'm being annoying."
You softened, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, fingers grazing the leopard-print fuzz of his hair. "You really are, but I'm used to it."
Suddenly, he gripped your hips and rolled, pinning you onto your back against the bed. Before you could even catch your breath, his fingers were digging into your sides.
"Connie! No! Stop it!" You shrieked, your legs kicking out as you dissolved into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. You were squirming, trying to shield your ribs, but he was relentless, his face lit up with a mischievous grin. "Stop—Connie, I swear—I'll beat your ass! Constance!"
He stopped abruptly, his hands hovering over you, laughing as he remembered the last time you’d followed through on the threat. "Alright, alright! Don't kill me now."
He let his weight settle on you, laying his head on your chest and listening to your racing heart. The room was quiet for a moment, just the two of you breathing in the afternoon heat.
Then, his voice came out low, vibrating against your ribs. "I bet you moan and beg for more, even when it's too much. You seem like the type who doesn't know when to quit."
You scoffed, your hand coming down to playfully shove at his head. "Please. That sounds like projection. You’re probably the one who gets all whiny and needy the second things get intense."
Connie lifted his head, his chin resting on your sternum as he looked up at you. The goofiness was gone, replaced by a dark, steady challenge in his eyes that made your stomach flip.
"Whiny, huh?" he repeated, a slow, dangerous smirk spreading across his face. "You want to find out?"
-
The shift from best friends to this was like a physical blow. One minute you were laughing about laundry, and the next, Connie had you stripped and bent over the edge of the mattress. The playful goofy Connie was buried under a layer of raw, unchecked hunger, though that signature streak of mischief was still very much alive—and it was meaner now.
He was behind you, his large hands reaching around to grip your jaw, forcing your head back and down as he drove into you from behind. The leopard-print spots on his head were a blur of motion as he worked, his chest slapping against your back with every heavy, rhythmic thrust.
"Connie—ah! Fuuck—you’re so deep—" you cried out, your voice echoing off the bedroom walls. Your fingers dug into the tangled sheets, your back arching as he hit a spot that made your toes curl. "Connie, please—"
He let out a sharp, jagged laugh, his fingers squeezing your jaw a little tighter. "'Connie,'" he mimicked, his voice a perfect, cruel imitation of your high-pitched, desperate tone. "'Oh—Fuuck, you’re so deep!' God, you’re even louder than I thought you’d be. The neighbors definitely know who's fucking you, don't they?"
"Shut up!" you hissed, trying to turn your head, but he just used his grip to keep you pinned.
"Make me," he challenged, his voice dropping into a gravelly rasp as he increased the pace, fucking you with a mean, relentless energy that had you gasping for air.
You’d had enough of him having the upper hand. As he lunged forward again, you planted your hands firmly on the bed and pushed back against him, meeting his thrust with a sharp, aggressive roll of your hips. You clamped your walls around him as tight as you could, a slick, lewd sound filling the space between you.
"You like that, Connie?" you whispered, your voice dropping into a dark, sultry purr. "You like how tight I am? You're shaking."
A high, thin whine escaped his throat—the exact sound you’d called him out on earlier. He tried to cover it with a grunt, but you heard it. You reached back, your fingers find his jaw, mimicking the way he’d held you. You pulled his face closer to yours, your eyes flashing with a dangerous sort of triumph.
"What was that, baby?" you teased, your voice dripping with a honeyed, cruel sweetness as you felt him throb violently inside you. You leaned back, feeling his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against you. "Sounded a little whiny to me. A little desperate."
You shifted your hips, grinding back slow and heavy against him, watching his eyes roll back as he let out a strangled, needy sound
"How about this..." you whispered, your breath hot against his ear, "after you're done fucking me like a good boy, I tie you down? I’m gonna spread those thighs and tie you to the headboard. I'll play with this dick until you're crying sobbing for me. I'll get you right to the edge, let you see the stars, and then I’ll just... stop. I’ll make you wait until you’re begging me to let you cum."
You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, a wicked smirk playing on your lips as you saw the raw hunger in his gaze. His breath hitched and for a split second, he looked completely undone, his resolve wavering under the sheer audacity of your words.
"Fuck..." he breathed, the word breaking in the middle. But then his eyes darkened, and he shoved your hand away, grabbing your hips and slamming into you with a force that knocked the wind out of you.
"You're so fucking nasty," he gritted out, his jaw tight as he regained control. His voice was thicker now, more desperate. "Think you're in charge because you heard a little noise? Forget it. You're not the one doing the work right now."
He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, biting at the skin where your shoulder met your collarbone. His teeth grazed you with a sharp, possessive hunger that made you yelp, the sound echoing in the humid quiet of the room.
"Keep talking like that and I'll make sure you can't scream anything but my name for the next hour," he rasped, his breath hot and damp against your pulse. "You want to see 'whiny'? I’ll show you who’s begging by the time I’m through."
He didn't wait for a rebuttal. He began to tease you, using shallow, agonizing strokes that barely crested your entrance before pulling all the way out. Each time he retreated, you felt the cool air hit your slick skin, making you whimper and reach back, your hips stuttering in a desperate attempt to find the friction he was stealing. Whenever a particularly pathetic sound left your lips, he was right there, whispering it back to you in that mocking, ruined voice, forcing you to hear exactly how much he was affecting you.
"Is that a moan, princess?" he whispered, his thumb catching a stray tear on your cheek as he hovered at the very edge of you. "Sounded a lot like a 'please' to me. Say it. Say 'Please, Connie, fuck me for real.'"
The ghosting strokes were driving you insane, making your skin itch and your core ache with an empty, throbbing need. You were trembling, your forehead pressed into the mattress, your breath coming in short, jagged hitches that betrayed your every thought.
You couldn’t take the teasing anymore.
"Please," you finally broke, the word cracking in your throat like a dry branch. "Connie, please... fuck me for real. Stop teasing."
He let out a low, triumphant hum, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back. "That’s my girl," he whispered, mocking the way your voice had gone small and desperate. "'Please, Connie...' Much better."
He didn’t just give it to you, though. He grabbed your waist, his fingers digging into your hips with an athletic, predatory strength, and hauled you upright. He flipped you over in one fluid motion, the sheets tangling around your legs as he crowded over you immediately.
He pinned your wrists beside your head, his sweat-slicked chest heaving as he looked down at you. This was exactly what you wanted—to see the way his hazel eyes were blown wide with lust, the way his leopard-print was damp and mess, and the way his jaw was set in a hard, possessive line.
He didn't waste another second. He hiked your legs over his broad shoulders, opening you up completely, and drove in. It was a deep, soul-shattering thrust that bottomed out instantly, the sheer volume of him making you scream his name into the quiet of the room.
"Yeah, you like that?" he rasped, his face inches from yours, his pupils dilated until they swallowed the hazel. He began to fuck you with a frantic, messy energy, his hips snapping against yours with a rhythmic, wet slap. "Look at you. Face-to-face and you still can't keep it together."
"Connie—ahn, you're so—mghn—" You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so you could bite his shoulder, trying to stifle the sounds you were making, but he wouldn't let you hide.
He let out a ragged laugh, his head falling back as he hit that spot again, deep and certain. "What happened to that big talk, huh? What happened to tying me down?" He started mocking your moans again, right into your mouth, his tongue grazing yours as he imitated the pathetic, high-pitched whines you were making.
"You’re so loud, sweetheart. I bet the whole building knows you’re taking it right now."
You were losing your mind. The friction was perfect, and the way he was looking at you—with that mix of intense love and bratty, mocking mischief—was pushing you over the edge. You arched your back, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades, scratching thin red lines into his skin.
"I hate you," you gasped, even as you tilted your hips to take him deeper, wanting to feel every ridge of him.
"Liar." he grunted, his rough pace accelerating, breath hitching in that way you knew meant he was getting close. He leaned down, his nose brushing yours, his eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, startling intensity. "You love it," he rasped, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly vibration that you felt in your chest as much as your ears.
"You love this dick. You love that I’m the only one who can make you sound like this—screaming and crying like a brat when I hit that spot."
You let out a shaky, broken laugh, your fingers digging into the corded muscle of his shoulders. The overstimulation was peaking, making you feel reckless, your mind hazy from the way he’d just dismantled you.
"Yeah?" you whispered, your voice thick and syrupy. You tilted your head back, exposing your throat, your eyes fluttering as you felt him twitch inside you. "And what about you? Look at you... obsessed with me. You're such a slut for this pussy, aren't you? Following me around all day, acting all tough, but the second I let you touch it, you lose your damn mind."
His jaw locked, a vein jumping in his temple. He didn't like the truth of it, but he couldn't deny it. He ground his hips forward, a slow, punishing roll that made you moan.
"I’m the slut?" he asked, his hand leaving the bed to wrap firmly around your throat—not enough to hurt, just enough to make you feel the weight of his possession. "When you're the one dripping all over the bed? When you're the one begging for me to go deeper because you can't get enough?"
"You are," you provoked, your voice a breathless dare. You reached down, your nails dragging over his sweat-slicked hip. "All that muscle, all that mouth, and you still work yourself into a frenzy just to get a taste of me. You’re addicted, baby. You’d do anything to keep me under you like this."
He let out a low, guttural sound. He didn't argue. Instead, he pulled back just enough to slam back home, his pace turning fast, crude, and unapologetically dirty.
"Yeah, I am," he gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours as he hammered into you. "I want to live inside you. I want to fill you so full of my cum you can't even stand up straight. I want to make you cum all over my dick until your crying."
He wasn't being careful anymore. He was taking what he wanted, his movements raw and rhythmic, the sound of skin hitting skin echoing through the room like a steady, filthy heartbeat.
"That's it," you gasped, your back arching as the tension coiled again, tighter and hotter than before. "Give it me, baby. Make me cum."
He kept fucking you, his weight pinning you down as he sought out that glazed, blown-out stare that meant you were seconds away from shattering.
The heat between you was suffocating, a fever pitch of friction and salt. Then Connie saw it—the way your eyes lost focus—and he decided he wasn't done playing with his food just yet.
As soon as you felt yourself tip—just as you reached the peak, your back arching and your fingers clutching at his biceps, he abruptly stopped.
He didn't pull out; he stayed buried deep inside you, but he went completely still, his heavy weight a taunt against your sensitive walls.
"Connie—no—" you whimpered, your hips stuttering, trying to find the friction that had just been there. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
He let out that light chuckle, his eyes dancing with mischief despite the sweat dripping off his chin. "'Don't stop, Connie! Please, Connie!’" he mocked, his voice a perfect, high-pitched mimicry of your desperation. He leaned down, whispering against your lips, his voice thick and ruined. "I thought you were the boss? I thought I was the whiny one? You look pretty whiny right now, begging for it."
He began to grind his hips in a slow, agonizing circle—not thrusting, just stirring inside you, making the overstimulation unbearable. He kept mocking your broken sounds, repeating every "oh god" and "please" back to you until you were crying out of pure, exquisite frustration.
"Please, Connie... I'll do anything," you sobbed, your head tossing on the pillow, your body a live wire.
"Anything?" he rasped, his eyes darkening as he finally lost his own battle for control. "Fine. Then take all of it."
He grabbed your thighs, hiking them even higher until your knees were practically touching your ears, and he lunged. The pace went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat. It was a brutal, relentless pounding—no more teasing, no more mocking, just the raw, wet sound of him slamming into you with everything he had.
Your orgasm hit like a freight train. You screamed, your voice finally giving out as your body seized, your pussy clenching around him with a strength that made his head snap back.
"That's it," he groaned, his voice finally losing its mocking edge and turning into a pure, guttural roar. "Cum for me. There you go, baby. Let it all out."
He didn't pull out. He shoved his hands under your lower back, lifting you up to meet him as he delivered three more violent, soul-searching thrusts. He let out a long, choked-off cry—that high, needy whine you’d teased him about earlier—as he spilled deep and hot inside you, his whole body shaking with the force of his release.
He collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm against yours. The room was silent except for the sound of your combined, ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.
After a long minute, Connie lifted his head. He looked at your wrecked, tear-stained face, and that goofy, loving smirk returned to his lips, cutting through the heavy tension of the moments before. He reached up, his thumb brushing a stray tear from your temple.
"So," he panted, his voice a total wreck. "Scale of one to ten... how loud was that? Should I go check on the neighbors, or do you think you were quiter than Mikasa?"
You reached up, weakly smacking his chest. "I hate you so much."
He just laughed, rolling over to pull you into his side, tucking your head under his chin and holding you close as the sweat cooled on your skin. "Yeah, yeah. Love you too, loudmouth."
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#oc x oc: Stories about the author's original characters.
#oc x reader: OC x you.
👾 𝒮𝓊𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒶𝓁 & 𝑀𝑜𝓃𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈
#monster x blackfem!reader: Featuring supernatural creatures or non-human love interests (Gender-neutral or Male).
#lesbian monster smut: WLW-specific supernatural and monster romances.
🎉 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒜𝓇𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓉𝓎𝓅𝑒𝓈
#outgoing!reader: For the loud, sassy, outspoken, and unapologetically confident.
#shy!reader: For the soft-spoken, meek, and quiet souls.
#closed-off!reader: Guarded and mysterious leads—read to see what it takes to break their walls.
#stern!reader: Strict, no-nonsense, and always straight to the point.
#mean!reader: Sharp-tongued and difficult leads (in all the best ways).
#weird!reader: Eccentric beauties and their world.
#other!reader: Doesn't match the archetypes above.
💮 𝐹𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓂 & 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 -> 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝒮𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽 𝑀𝓎 𝐵𝓁𝑜𝑔:
You can find specific characters and tropes by using the search bar with this formula:
[First Name] [Last Name] + [Genre]
Attack on Titan Examples:
Erwin Smith smut
Connie Springer fluff
Jean Kirstein angst
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Elijah Moore plotty fic
Annie fluff
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This works for every fandom I reblog! Just type the name and genre you're looking for.
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Shy lexeaus with an outgoing S/o? That would be cute! How would he confess? Have a great day!
Have a great day/night too dear!
Lexaeus :
He loves to see you like that, you’re like a sunshine for him
But sometimes he needs to calm you
He loves so much this side of you he will try everything to make you happy
But he’s so shy he’ll never touches you or hugging you. When you do it, he tenses and do nothing, slighty blushing
Lexaeus ask you a lot of question before confessing : how do you feel about love relationship? About somebody who can desapears? Who isn’t supposed to exist?
It take him a lot of time before he confesses : his life isn’t heathly, but he finally can’t hold back his feeling
He wait for you to calm down or it slip from his lips
