#Porco Galliard | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luminiamore · 25 days

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ghostface armin arlert x black witch reader

warnings: minnie is psycho & stalker ish, murder (not reader), possessive, mention of branding, minnie has a big d!ck!

a/n: i just wanna say that scenario is crazy, but it’s armin!!!

masterlist

New York City, renowned as the place where dreams come true, the city that never sleeps, but also, unfortunately, the city where danger lurks. Recent events have shaken the East Side with a series of gruesome murders, each marked by the presence of a Ghostface mask. Residents, be vigilant: lock your doors, stay armed, and avoid deserted alleyways. Let’s unite to ensure the safety of our beloved city.

Armin remained indifferent as he listened to the static emanating from the car radio, his expression unmoved. Tsk. As if that would save them. On that dark night, a vast moon cast its glow across the sky. A faint swoosh of cold water could be heard from the harbor directly beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. The cream-colored 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air he had stolen roughly 20 minutes earlier emitted a creaking sound before finally coming to a stop.

He forcefully shut the fragile car door before moving deliberately to the other side. With swift motion, he dragged the unconscious, thin man, securely bound in the passenger seat, onto the freshly laid cement pavement. Two sharp punches to the face jolted the man awake.

“Damn it!” The man grimaced, holding his now bloody nose. “Listen, I’ve got about a grand in my wallet. Just take it! Please, I haven’t done anything!” Armin listened to the desperate pleas, his oceanic eyes rolling in irritation. He contemplated shutting the man up with another punch. With a sigh, he grabbed him by the collar and dragged him towards the edge of the dock.

“D’you want to know why you’re here?” Armin coolly asks, unfazed by the tears the man started dropping. His patience was wearing thin; just looking at his face made him itch to kill him.

“N-no! Please, I just started college! I have-” Armin lands another punch on his jaw, a resounding crack at his sheer force echoing across the empty dock. The man groans as his eyes twitch slowly, open and close. Armin crouches down, bringing himself to eye level with the man on the ground, his gaze fixed on the screwed-up, bloodied, frowned face.

“Does the name Y/n L/n ring a bell to you? You wouldn’t like the outcome if you lie, so try not to.” He asks yet another question with a flat face. The man looks up with a shaky breath; in fact, his entire body is shaking. He nods, trembling.

Armin gives a hum, “I thought it did. Do you remember the interaction with her just yesterday?” He calmly tuts, tilting the man’s semi-dislocated jaw as if examining him.

“L-Listen-” The man gets cut off again with a forceful grip on the same jaw. He cries out at the pain.

“Think about your next words, Porco.” His voice deepens by an octave, and Armin’s demeanor is noticeably less composed this time, his anger slipping beyond his control.

“I was high out of my mind, man! I don’t- I don’t remember anything!” The dirty blonde-haired man sobs. He was petrified for his life. Tonight, Armin wasn’t even adopting his other persona, Ghostface; he was acting solely as himself. He didn’t want the police to suspect —what could he even call her?

The woman he stalks every day? The woman he kills for?The woman who causes him to beat his dick red every night at just her aroma? The woman he craved incessantly, day in and day out? The woman he’s in love with?

“No? That’s okay, I’d love to refresh your memory.” The moment Porco gazes up in desperation, his breath catches at the sight of a knife—the same knife he had seen on TV after the news reporter detailed yet another gruesome murder by the man in a ghost mask. Am I about to die? That same thought again and again was at the forefront of his mind; it was a broken record.

“You approached her pretty arrogantly, might I add. You tried to take her home, but naturally, she denied. You got upset,” Armin drags the knife slowly against the blue vein on his neck. Lightly grazing, barely applying any pressure to make a mark. He draws closer to the petrified man.

“You touched her.” He seethes. “But my girl is strong and pretty special, too. So, she handled you. I’m sure you remember that, there’s the bruise right here to prove it.” He applies pressure with the tip of the knife to a purple bruise on the left side of his throat. A slow trickle of blood falls down the inside of Porco’s shirt.

“S-She already made me apologize, man. I don’t k-know how many times I can say sorry-” The sound of gurgling pierced the stillness. Armin, tired of listening, drove the infamous Bowie Knife into the man’s neck, then glanced to the side.

The man feebly tried to grab Armin’s arm; he was nowhere near stronger, though, and once Armin twisted the knife, the struggle abruptly stopped. He pushed the knife deeper. Porco, too deeply penetrated, fell limp on the ground.

Armin paused, taking out his phone to check the time. ‘10:47’ Shit. It was almost time to check on his girl. He still had one more kill left before he saw her again tonight. He swiftly pulled out the knife from the dead man’s neck and kicked him right into the freezing water below. This was one kill he didn’t want Ghostface to be responsible for.

This next kill, though, he did. He strolled over to the classic car, retrieved the black hood and cloak with jagged edges, and draped it over himself. The ghost mask rested on the leather seats, its eyes fixed on him under the moonlight. With a slight smirk on his pink lips, he picked it up and disappeared into the night.

Quite to the contrary, New York wasn’t your birthplace. Your parents were esteemed practitioners of witchcraft in Cap Haitian, Haiti, renowned for their formidable abilities throughout the country. However, their prominence also drew numerous adversaries. When you were born, they resolved to shield you from the harsh realities of their world and allow you a childhood free from the burdens of survival. Thus, they made the decision to move to the mystical city of New Orleans.

There, they taught you their practices. Every day was dedicated to honing your powers, relentlessly training until you surpassed both of them following their passing. Despite possessing the ability to prolong their lives, your parents chose to embrace their human existence and concluded that their time on Earth had reached its fulfillment.

The pain was too bearing for you, and so you decided to move to The Big Apple. Impulsive decision on your part, really; you just wanted to get away. But your life in New York proved to be incredibly peaceful, your only concerns being your powers and the three cats you lived with.

It started off being peaceful, but your beauty unfortunately came with repercussions, too. With senses finely attuned, you remained acutely aware of your surroundings, quickly detecting a figure shadowing your every move. At first, you believed he was stalking you with intentions of abduction, and though you suspected he was a killer, three months passed without him making any advances towards you.

It was a game. You noticed him watching you closely, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of your awareness as well. Armin knew you wouldn’t address him first, and he was fine with just stalking you. But Armin was just a man. A man who got captivated by your beauty every time he saw you. A man who noticed that killing everyone who approached you would be a never-ending task. A man who made the consecutive decision to claim you instead.

Claims come in different forms, Armin knew that. He could brand you, permanently etching his name into your body so you knew you were his. He could mark you, letting the world know he was the only one who had the pleasure of painting your skin like a canvas. His favorite idea so far was to dump his seed past your pretty brown pussy lips daily.

Would you let him? Who were you kidding? You were aware of someone monitoring your movements nearly around the clock, yet you still chose to wet your sheets almost every week with the help of your Rose toy. He’ll make sure to punish you for that. The only time he ever wanted you to come was with him. You even leave your windows open as if inviting him to perform such a task. He knows you’re not stupid; your actions had a purpose.

You sat on your silk cream sheets, arranging your supplies and ingredients for another round of setting up a protection spell. The lavender and rose sage aroma filled the air, leaving a potent scent of smoke in the background. You were genuinely fatigued from constantly performing various iterations of the same spell each day. Why weren’t they working?

Black salt, Rosemary, Cinnamon, Bay Leaves, Mint, and Sage ashes. With the black salt, you draw a circle around you and light tall black candles in the dim light of your room. You start chanting.

Elements of the moon,

Elements of the night,

Come this way

And grant me with your might.

Powers of night and day,

I summon thee,

I call upon thee,

To protect me.

So shall it be.

The flames coming from the candle become stronger, whooshing rapidly. An unseen gust extinguishes the flames and sends the sand you placed around you swirling into the air. Huh? That wasn’t supposed to happen. That shouldn’t have happened. Why the fuck did that happen?

As rustling outside your window catches your attention, you glance sharply but see nothing. Returning your focus to your sacred space, you raise your hand, ready to relight the candles, only to be halted by a gentle yet commanding voice.

“You look pretty tonight, Y/n,” Armin catches your attention as he stands from behind your closet door. You had yet to spot him. You understood the importance of maintaining composure and clarity in moments like these. The awareness of being followed had long been present, ever since it began. The protective spells were intended to deter him, yet frustration mounted as they proved ineffective against his persistence.

Armin wasn’t really thinking of any of that; rather, he fixated on how the red robe you wore accentuated the curves of your ample chest. The way you knelt emphasized the softness of your thighs, he wanted to drown in between them.

“Come out. You’ve stalked me enough,” Your honeyed voice calls out. You survey the room, your gaze shifting from the cabinet housing your altar to your queen-sized bed and then to the wooden door of your walk-in closet. Your gaze settled on there a few seconds longer before shifting away.

You hear a small chuckle, and your frown only deepens, “The fuck is funny?” You’re about to get up from your position on your carpeted floor, only to be stopped by a large hand on your shoulder. When did he even move? Armin sits on the edge of your bed, eyes taking in every inch of you. When he firmly presses down to keep you still, your breath hitches.

You sense his presence drawing closer, the fabric of your silk robe brushing against him. Though you didn’t know what he looked like, his energy alone had you on the verge of surrender, prepared to relinquish control of your mind to him. You always knew you weren’t normal. After all, you are a witch. Getting sticky from a man that smelled like Baccarat Rouge 540 and commanded attention from just aura alone, though? That was beyond you.

“Relax, love.” He whispered gently in your ear, as if not to scare you. You were anything but. Your nerves were racking up in a different way, and small tears of sweat were forming on the inside of your pressed thighs. You had no panties on, and when Armin leaned down into the crook of your neck to smell you, his eyes caught sight of this.

“E-excuse me? Nigga if you don’t-” You continued to resist and shuffle out of his grip, and Armin understood the reason behind it. Your pride stood as a barrier to your surrender, but he remained undeterred. He’ll break you soon enough.

He silenced you abruptly with a firm grip on your delicate throat. He couldn’t afford to lose his cool with you—not unless he was fucking up your insides. You weren’t in control here. And the problem was, you still thought you were.

“That’s wasn’t nice. Be nice, Y/n.” He squeezed tightly, restricting your airway a bit. You knew you weren’t normal when you felt a long trickle of your slick slip down the side of your soft brown flesh at the action.

“I want you, y’know? I think-” He pauses and sucks in a breath when he brushes his nose right against your sweet spot. You shudder. “I think I like you?” He seems confused himself, Armin really never felt this way before. He couldn’t even describe precisely what he was feeling with accuracy. Infatuation? Obsession? Devotion? He doesn’t know, but what he does know is that he would gladly offer you the world on the finest silver platter if you so desired.

“I’d like to show you. I want to give you everything I’ve been feeling for the past three months. Let me, baby.” He tilts your head in his direction, your lips a hair away from each other. When you steal a glance at his face, your slick only gets heavier. Fuck, he was pretty. His porcelain face is adorned with small dried splatters of blood, his oceanic eyes framed by long, hooded lashes, and his medium-length blond hair gently brushing against your cheeks.

This wasn’t a good idea, you knew that. Armin couldn’t share the moral compass you thinly held onto because he was just so consumed. He was entirely taken by you, believing that you might have staked a claim on him before he had the chance to do the same to you.

Any doubts and moral compass you held vanish through your half-opened window as he tenderly presses his pink lips against your full ones. Initially gentle, as if testing your response, he gradually presses harder when you offer no resistance, deepening it with intimacy.

You gasp when he squeezes your throat once more, allowing him to slip his skillful tongue into yours. The force of his kiss caused you to moan out in slight desperation. He smiles at this without pulling away from your addictive lips. He presses into you even more.

The way you gave in so easily felt completely out of your will, this wasn’t like you. You usually had more self-control, but before you even caught a glance at this man, he had you captivated. There was something about him, the mystery he held, the danger that clinched onto him just by breathing. It made you curious, eager to know more about the man who didn’t bother to hide his intense desire for you. And you alone.

Armin had a reputation for his patience, remaining consistently composed and collected. But, you and your perfect face had a way of unsettling him, causing him to act out of character with every move you made. He was keenly aware of this, finding himself compelled to do things for you that he had never considered doing for anyone else. Tonight, he learned that patience might not be his strong suit anymore.

Your skin felt like it was being electrified as his right hand traced a slow path down your body. Starting from your neck, trailing down to the center of your chest, and finally arriving at the fat of your pussy. You almost instantly grind against his middle finger, wanting him to do more.

He noticed of course, he noticed everything about you. “I want you to beg, baby. Can you do that for me?” His whisper makes you shake in anticipation. You were wet, dripping all over the fabric of your carpet.

“P-Please-” You abruptly cut your whimpers off, realizing something that had completely slipped your mind: you didn’t even know his name. You snapped back into reality in a split second, struck by this realization.

Once more, he noticed. “It’s Armin. Moan it real pretty for me, kay?” The way he knew what you were thinking made you less hesitant to give him what he wanted you. What made your control slip was when he slid his finger down to the top of your sopping clit and rubbed lightly, enough pressure to make you squirm. He liked teasing you.

“S-Stop teasing- Ah!” He shuts you up when he presses two fingers harder, his rubbing making tight circles. Your breathing starts getting heavier at the bliss he’s making you feel.

The blonde asshole only smugly tutted at you, “What was that? I didn’t hear you beg, Y/n. Come on, you’re a smart girl.”

He was teasing as if his heart wasn’t beating outside of his chest, just being this close to you. He was internally scrambling at how your slick was so much it fell off his fingers. He wanted to taste you. He wanted you to beg so he could taste you.

You would’ve kept quiet, not feeding into his antics. But, he made you feel so.. good. The way his fingers rubbed up and down your slit, not quite going inside your tight walls. His rapid kisses all over your face and down your neck. The way you could feel his print, pressing heavily on your silk fabric. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please just- Shit. T-Touch me, Min.” He groans and exhales sharply at the name your blank mind mustered. Min. You called him Min.

Without warning, Armin hoists you up from the floor and gently places you onto your ice-cold sheets. Lying on your back, your red robe barely clung to your brown skin. You were completely exposed to him, your freshly painted white toenails grazing his shoulders, your soft thighs spread so that sticky pussy was on full display for him.

You must’ve been an angel or a goddess that he’d gladly worship. He could make a religion out of loving you, you were just that enchanting. He leans into your inner thigh and presses a kiss. It burns your skin. He presses another kiss, this time on your twinkling pearl. You jolt.

Maybe teasing wasn’t the best option for him. His erection was painfully hard in his black sweats, his impatient longing hidden from you as he bucks on the edge of your bed. You were too busy choking out pitiful cries when his lips latched onto your sweet nectar. “Oh, fuck!”

You started to feel hazy, your heart pounding and your brown eyes dazed at all the attention he was giving your pussy. Your hip began to spasm and twitch when he sucked harder, teasing your creamy opening with his long finger.

“Say my name, mama. You remember it, right?” His husky plea fills the air. This time, you didn’t hesitate to let anyone within a 5-mile radius know who was eating you as if he starved himself all day just for this.

“A-Armin- Oh shit, Min! Please, more!” You sob, begging him to drench himself in you. He obliged, more than happily. He was at your disposal for the night and many more to come.

His ring and index finger find themselves nestled deep in your core. He stimulates your sensitive parts fast, quickening his pace inside of you. He relishes in the loud cry you make, latching on your pretty clit again. He knew how messy you could get, I mean look at how you were leaking. You had to be tired of changing your, no doubt, expensive sheets when you ruin them like this.

You felt a burning pressure in your gut, were you coming already? Armin answers your thoughts for you. His movements speed up, and the sounds of light smacking from how deep he was penetrating your g-spot echoed in your room. Your back tries to arch off the bed, the pleasure becoming too much for you. Armin makes you take it, pressing his large hand over the pudge your stomach made. You squeal.

“Fuckk,” Your moans get dragged out when a clear sprinkle of your cum escapes you. You were in a frenzy, the loud, lewd squishing sound of your pussy filling your ears. It was like a dam bursting, and what kept your eyes permanently in the back of your head was when he didn’t stop sucking. How could he? It was like you tasted better when you came, and Armin wasn’t a fool. He was determined to not let a single drop go to waste.

He removes himself from your lips with a resounding pop. “I’m going to fuck you now. So, don’t run.” Your eyes widen at his statement, your jaw almost dropping at his sheer size when you realize his sweats are carelessly scattered on the floor. There’s no way that’ll fit inside of you.

Armin knew what you were thinking, he surveyed the way your eyes wandered around nervously. He grasps your chin and plants a gentle peck on your slightly pouting lips, intertwining his fingers with yours to calm your nerves.

“Breathe, mama.” He softly grunts. His kisses start getting heavier, blocking you from letting out a loud scream when he pushes into your weeping walls, inch by inch. He was making sure you felt everything, every vein, as he penetrated you. He blesses your ears with a breathy moan, caught off guard by how fucking tight you are.

He had to remind himself to breathe. Your muffled moans against his lips consume him, making his entire body tremble on you. You were being pushed to your limit, and Armin only paused for a second to let you adjust before his animalistic tendencies got the best of him. He wanted to fuck you up, bad.

His hips begin to snap against your twitching legs at a desperate pace. The position he had you in was honestly mind fucking. Your thighs were firmly pressed to your chest, his hands caressing the balls of your unusually soft feet. Was everything about you so smooth? So beautiful and perfect. He answered his own question when your frantic mewls got louder. Yes.

Your pussy was dripping all over his chest, all over the fat cock rapidly pushing in and out against your cervix. Your pretty tits bounced under him, matching the forceful thrusts he fed you. They looked too... bare for his taste. He wanted you to be covered in his love marks, he wanted to make it impossible for you to remove them. He leans down, somehow pressing your shaky thighs closer to your upper body.

His wet tongue laps around your dark areolas, biting and pulling at them with his teeth until you push your hands into his hair and pull hard. Armin becomes drowsy, losing himself in the comfort your body gave him. He sucks and bites on the fat of your pretty tits, leaving behind deep purple bruises.

Was this heaven? You thought you saw the pearly gates as he continued hitting your G-spot with extreme accuracy. Every deep thrust he made you take caused you to let out helpless, euphoric shrieks. You press your hands against his rock-hard chest, running away from the pleasurable torture you are receiving.

Well, you were trying to. You’ve convinced yourself you couldn’t take it, but Armin knows you can. So, why are you playing with him?

Armin grappled your wrists, pinning them above your head, and sucked his teeth, “You don’t listen?” He heatedly addresses you, trying so hard not to fill your perfect cunt with his seed.

“Why you running, mama?” He questions you softly as if he wasn’t splitting you in half with his girth. He listens to your jumbled screams with a sly smile, pressing a delicate kiss right next to your diamond nose ring.

“I- I can’t, Ouuu shit Min! Can’t take it- Oh god!” Your sweet voice wails out. He makes a tsk sound, and to prove that you can take it, Armin reaches a hand down your stomach. Not once stopping his merciless rhythm, he rubs your engorged clit, desperate to see you cum again. You keen, and in an instant, your sweet juices spray all over him, your creamy essence coating his cock.

“See, there you go. Fuck, you wanna take my cum, pretty? Want me to fill you up?” He deeply murmurs in your neck, sucking lazily. Your body falls limp against him. He was so close, so close to showing you just how much you have an effect on him. You nod frantically, mind not even on planet Earth as he overstimulates your now bruised pussy.

“Please, Min! I-I want it!”

How can he deny when you beg him like that? When you gaze up at him with tears in your eyes, as if he’s your sole lifeline. You look at him as if he’s your deity, as though you can’t exist without him. You’re almost sure that after tonight, you can’t. His thrusts start getting sloppy, his hips stuttering as they leave a resounding slap against yours. Armin tenses and whimpers pathetically in your ear, unable to take the ecstasy your wet cunt made him feel.

He gives you everything, all his cum, all his passion, and pumps in and out of your warm hole slowly. He shudders, his eyes clouded with pure infatuation as he leans down to force you into a nasty kiss. The kiss was incredibly messy; Armin seemed to be devouring you, with saliva escaping both your mouths as he began sucking on your tongue. When he notices you sucking in heavy breaths, he pulls away from you.

Armin pulled out of you, watching as his cum overflowed out of your sobbing slit. What a sight. He flips you over, on your stomach this time. You let out a long whine when he presses your back into a deep arch. What is he doing? His following words cause your breath to catch in your throat.

“You didn’t think we were done, right? Ass up, mama.”

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jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd · 2 months

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How would the aot boys react if they heard a rumor that reader has a crush on them

i heard a rumor….

eren jaeger is so nosey when he hears the rumor going around. he’s intrigued by your crush on him and he wants to know every little detail, of course by everyone else and not you. he gathers everyone’s opinion and saves you for last. he doesn’t beat around the bush; he tells you he knows that you’re crushing hardcore on him. he’s playful and witty, trying to get you all flustered.

armin arlert, bless his heart, tries to be cool about it. and he does a fairly good job you think. he often finds ways to get you two alone but he never makes a bold move. he asks if he can help you do things, tries to find common interests, etc. you know he knows because you find him trying to spend too much time with you, not that you’re complaining. he just lets things take their course.

jean kirsteins plays the disinterested, too-cool-for-you character. he’s damn good at it too. his actions and short replies hurt your ego and your heart. so, you give him the same treatment back. this, he’s not a fan of. he demands that you tell him why you’re treating him like this and you respond that you’re just dishing out what he is. that makes him go ‘oh’ and it results in a very around the bush way of telling you he has some sort of feelings for you but he was trying to repress it.

connie springer grins from ear to ear for days end when he hears the news. he was already crushing on you big time and now that you like him back, he’s convinced your soulmate. shamelessly, connie asks (it’s more of a statement) that you go on a date. you cant believe he knows. you want to just disappear when he confronts you but he doesn’t understand why. “am i coming on too strong? hold on, i can get weak in the knees real quick.”

levi ackerman acts like he doesn’t know about your feelings for him. his behavior isn’t much different than when he didn’t know- his eye’s just tend to linger on you a bit longer. his gaze makes you feel…violated. it’s like he’s looking right through you or undressing you with his eyes. hard to tell. he continues driving you crazy in various subtle ways until you can’t take it anymore and wind up confessing at him in a ‘why are you doing this to me’ moment. he just laughs.

reiner braun's interest is piqued, that's for sure. he's not so smooth about it, always turning into a flustered mess when he's around you. you, now beginning to panic he knows your secret, turn into a shorter flustered mess. your awkwardness makes all your friends laugh and they just tease you more, which causes more stuttering and the cycle repeats. eren's the one who finally sets you up, not able to bare any more of reiner's incoherence.

bertholdt hoover makes the brave decision of telling you how he feels. he doesn't pick the greatest time. he tells you in front of all your friends and that leaves you feeling a little pressured. so, you get up and drag him away from everyone. the two of you share a raw confessional in peace and quiet. it leaves your heart full.

zeke jaeger texts you as soon as eren tells him. he doesn't wait for any more clarification. the text reads, heard you're basically in love with me. I'll pick you up later: a man of his word, he comes and picks you up. you try to him he's ridiculous but he knows you're his future wife.

erwin smith does his best to avoid you. a crush is meaningless to him.but fuck, the way you look at him makes his heart stop. he's beginning to think that there's something wrong with him- he can't breathe when you're around him. one night, he has too much wine to drink and accidentally lets it slip that he knows. he decides he doesn't care anymore and kisses you on the forehead, leaving you confused about the way he feels about you.

porco galliard's too fucking cocky. he starts spreading the rumor himself once he gets wind of it. he tells everyone he knows, bragging about it over and over. the rumor makes it's way back to you and you want to cry. so, that's what you do. you know everyone knows, so he must know. porco catches you crying and is upset with himself for spreading it. he didn't know you'd be so embarassed, considering he ‘obviously feels the same way’

please go read my jean fic 🤍

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kiwie-not-kiwi · 1 month

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Tiny Warriors team💥❤️

I’m happy to introduce you my first magnet that will be available on my shop soon ! 🥰 (some of these tinies also will be available as individual stickers)

#bertholdt hoover #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #reiner braun #annie leonhart #pieck finger #zeke jaeger #gabi braun #falco grice #theo magath #porco galliard #marcel galliard

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nihaalart · 1 year

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it’s christmas time 🎄❄ | patreon

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shirmirart · 10 months

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a "what if" kind of situation...

#AOT #SNK #Attack on Titan #Shingeki no Kyojin #fanart #my art #artists on tumblr #Connie Springer #Jean Kirschstein #Sasha Braus #Eren Jaeger #Mikasa Ackerman #Armin Arlert #Annie Leonhardt #Pieck Finger #Reiner Braun #Marcel Galliard #Porco Galliard #Bertholdt Hoover

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angstym0chi · 11 months

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aot men, women + hange

104, veterans

warriors, anti-marleyan volunteers

ema, scjm, rba, warrior kids

dropping this height chart i made for aot artists. hope it helps🫶

psd file if you want to mix different characters together💕

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jjkeremika · 6 months

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Here to Forever

description: date nights with the AoT men (plus historia lol) <3

pairing: Eren, Levi, Reiner, Armin, Porco, Erwin, Jean, Zeke, Historia, all x (fem!) reader

like A LITTLE nsfw/smutty

Eren

Eren and you almost always went to the movie theaters--your man loves a good trip to the movies. Sometimes you would suggest a meal before, but he was always reluctant, complaining that then he'd be too full to eat the movie snacks. You always rolled your eyes with a large smile on your face, usually caving.

Movie choice alternated each time, you often opting for comedies and animations while Eren advocated for actions and sci-fi's. He liked to sit in the back, able to view the entire screen, usually directly under the speaker so no one could hear your hushed whispers and hearty breaths.

Although you enjoyed a good movie now and then, Eren's eyes were fixed to the screen, absorbed in the film that he wouldn't even notice when you asked for the candy.

So you always enjoyed the bad movies the most, because Eren's attention was on you; and the fact that you had to be very, very quiet while his hands groped your breasts, while they traveled to your bottoms, turned you both on. Sometimes he'd pull you onto his lap, his fingers intimately gracing the sensitive spot between your legs as he nibbled at your earlobe, sucked on your neck. You kept going back, because you've only been asked to leave once.

Levi (age gap)

Levi didn't talk a whole ton, but he liked listening to you. He fervently believed you were smarter than him, always spouting interesting ideas and bringing up counterpoints. And you were so damn kind to everyone, always considerate, and he genuinely did not give a damn about anyone.

Except you. He cared an awful lot about you. Having repeatedly been kicked down by life (he didn't really talk about that), born into a shitty lot in life, had the rug pulled out from under him and lost everything, he built wall after wall and thought he'd lost access to his emotions. Then he found you. And somehow your naivety and wide-eyed view reinvigorated something deep inside.

Although relatively stoic and unemotional in public and rarely voiced his positive opinions with friends, Levi was, in some sense, rather vulnerable when alone with you. He was quite open about his infatuation with you in private; his eyes frequently roaming your body, his mouth pressing hundreds of kisses to your skin.

Then there was the vulnerability that manifested in unique ways. The immense desire to have you, the fiery need to have you on your knees, taking him, all of him, feeling him so deeply it'll last for hours, craving him so deeply to last for days. After he was satisfied with the number of times you'd called his name, begged for more, he'd take the best care of you, wrapping you in his softest sweatpants and giving you the warmest kisses and making you both the most delicious food.

So while most couple's dates consisted of the date then sex, yours was reversed, always working up an appetite.

Reiner

Reiner's dates, a generous term, were always spontaneous activities: playing soccer at midnight, hiking some oh it's only a few miles trails, biking or rollerblading around the city. Even though the physical activity was exhausting and sometimes even daunting, Reiner's presence made it infinitely better.

He'd carry everything, never letting you carry any bags (not that you'd complain). He'd offer various snacks and water, offer to frequently slow the pace or stop and admire the surroundings. Uh, why are you looking at me like that? you'd ask, an eyebrow raised. Hm? I told you. I'm admiring my surroundings, he'd answer, the sunlight reflecting off his brilliant smile.

Hiking was the most frequent activity during nice weather, which, you couldn't deny, definitely had its perks. During higher altitude breaks with clearings in the trees, or at the peak of the climb, when the view was the most clear and pristine and the sunlight was basking on you.

The view was always worth it, and you'd preen as Reiner's lips would connect with yours, smile widely as he gripped your thighs and picked you up, carrying you until your back was against a rock edge or a tree. His large hands groped your cheeks as he kissed sloppily down the middle of your neck towards your chest, already breathing heavy. You smiled as the tingling sensation and a warm heat spread throughout your body, the gorgeous landscape disappearing as your eyes blinked shut with pleasure.

Armin

Armin liked to have you all to himself, often taking you on dates to secluded places or sitting in the corner of restaurants. He was the most gentlemanly and domestic, packing extra jackets and carrying sneakers on the nights you wore heels.

His favorite site was under the large oak tree in the meadows, near where the rabbit's den was. He would set up a picnic blanket in the shade, removing fake glasses for champagne and perfectly portioned meals.

Armin loved telling you how beautiful you looked in the setting sun, the golden light highlighting your features just right. He composed lyrical hymns on the spot, accidentally stringing into teary-eyed poems and soft-spoken sonnets.

The sunset is so beautiful, you would say. Not as beautiful as you, he would reply. You'd roll your eyes because, well, cheesy, before he'd continue: Words elude me as they know they're not worthy of you; Dictionaries are developed to describe you; I could list ten thousand things and none would be as beautiful as you.

And you'd kiss him as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, as the stars shined second to you, illuminating your face as you moaned in ecstasy, intensifying Armin's blue eyes and blond hair as he stared at you from between your legs, his tongue writing love letters in cursive.

Porco

You were the first person Galliard had ever been on a date with, which honestly surprised you. His tough exterior, confident demeanor, honest humor, and cynical smile was so charming you had a hard time believing him when he coyly told you that you were his first, the pink blush on his cheeks just so cute.

During the warm evenings you'd walk along the beach together, enjoying the expansive view of the stars and the soft sounds of the waves landing against the sandy shoreline, watching the tide change.

The sway of you in his huge arms always synced to the sway of the tide, a gentle rocking that soothed your body and mind. You'd close your eyes as his lips would travel along the back of your neck and upper spine. Your hands would travel to his hair and you'd push your hips back into his. Eventually he'd grab your hips and forcefully spin you around, kissing you and dragging you to the soft sand.

He always returned you home after, moist swollen lips and pleasantly tingling bodies, sharing knowing looks and giggles at the dry-humping and grinding that transpired; the sand you find at home for days after becoming an intimate inside joke between you.

Erwin (age gap)

Erwin was the first older man you've been with, and you weren't sure how you had ever survived before. Experienced, mature, muscular, capable, successful, stable.

You were his priority. Were you happy with your wardrobe? He'll buy you a new one. No one to go to the store with? He'll take you shopping wherever you'd like. Did you like the furniture in your apartment? He'll buy you a new set. Did paying bills stress you out? He'll pay it for you. What else would I want to spend my money on if not you? he'd tell you when you'd protest, capturing you within his large arms, pressing you into his strong chest.

Date nights were events, where you both dressed in your nicest garments and ate at a nice restaurant. Erwin would open and close the car door for you, push and pull the chair out for you, pour the bottle of wine for you, order for you, telling you he knew what you liked (he always did).

During the dinner the clouds in his blue eyes whisked into lustful storms. He'd pay the check and hurry you out of the restaurant with his hand glued to your lower back, complaining in your ear about how the food never tasted as good as you did, how he'd wished you'd stayed in and he'd had you instead. He'd rush you into the car, practically running to the other side of the car and racing home.

Jean

Jean prepared you dinner for your first date, buying the ingredients fresh that morning and preparing it from scratch, still cooking (about an hour from being done) when you arrived at his apartment. He'd begged his roommate to leave for the night, and he'd already prepared the table for a romantic evening (about 5 hours before the date started).

He greeted you with a peck on the cheek, a move that you watched him internally question for a split-second, one that he then tried to move on from by awkwardly shuffling you to the counter. You'd smile, a light blush forming from the proximity and the heat of the room.

He liked preparing you dinners for dates, frequently remaking the meal you'd had that first night, kissing you on the cheek every time in homage to that first night. Jean would shower you with compliments, making up for the moments where the sarcastic comments would slip through.

After a few dates you started arriving earlier to cook with him, chopping and dicing vegetables while he seasoned and operated the stove. He'd trap you between his arms against the counter, pressing kiss after kiss to your cheeks and lips and pulling you close, your hands traveling to the growing bulge in his jeans, only moving away when you both started to smell something burning.

Zeke

You had first met Zeke on the lawn at a concert. He was shirtless, sitting on a flannel fabric (probably his shirt), waving both hands in the cool autumn air, a lit lighter in one hand, swaying to the beat of the music, smoking something between his lips.

He put it out as soon as he noticed you standing nearby, scrambling to stand up and started to talk to you between opening acts, somehow managing to intrigue you enough for a date outside the concert venue (totally didn't have anything to do with his six-pack abs).

Although keeping a cool, calm, and collected demeanor, Zeke was always nervous on your dates, constantly wondering if you were enjoying yourself, if the conversation was stimulating enough or if the activities were entertaining enough. He never said anything, but you could read it in the unsteady glances and nervous nail biting.

When you wrapped your arms around his neck, you'd step on your tip-toes and press a soft kiss to his lips, swooping in to ease his anxieties. I had a great time with you, you'd whisper against his lips, thanks for a great night.

He'd tighten his grip around your waist, pull you in as close as you could get, until the only space left between you was the air in your lungs and he was going to squeeze that out too. His attitude would shift as the blood started pumping to his legs, smacking your ass and biting your bottom lip. Let me make it so much better.

Historia

When Historia had first confessed her feelings for you at the coffee shop, you were slightly surprised. The hand-holding and faux-flirting was something she did with everyone. You never realized it was special with you, that it was real with you.

She liked to spoil you, and though she always needed to convince you, you always gave in, letting her buy just that one thing for you or take you to that place you really wanted to go.

Museums were where you both frequently visited, the quiet ambiance perfect for you two. You both talked so much outside of date nights that you had nothing to say during them, and observing art was a hobby you both shared (one that you imprinted on her (she likes it because you do)).

You found out later that Historia considered that time at the coffee shop your first date. But you considered it that first night at the museum, when your hands grazed in front of the Mona Lisa, when you both felt pulled together for the first time, when you both leaned in and kissed for the first time, feeling like no eyes were on you.

Despite that Historia was very affectionate, that first time being an exemption, she never kissed you in public or on camera. That was shared between you two behind closed doors, and you two alone.

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mochimooon · 6 months

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DTF Only (Happy Hour) - porco galliard x reader 18+

pairing: Porco Galliard x afab! Reader summary: Your first match sent you a message and Porco wants to spend Happy Hour with you. word count: 3500+ notes: Part 2 (although can be seen as Part 1) of DTF Only. Been a minute since I've written for this guy, and congrats! He's your first match! :) warnings: smut, explicit content, explicit language, alcohol consumption, semi-public sex, sex in a restroom, vaginal sex, mirror sex, motor boating ☻ masterpost☻

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ !!

The initial thrill of swiping left and right wore off by the time you went to bed, and if not for the notifications, you would have forgotten all about Tinder.

Opening up the app, you’re surprised to see you’ve matched with several guys. But around last night’s margaritas, you don’t remember any of them.

Regardless, you’re hit with another wave of serotonin, reading the first message you received earlier this morning.

Hey You’re cute. You like football?

Before replying, you tap on the guy—Porco’s—profile.

You blink. He’s blond, like Colt.

It’s not something that’ll deter you, only something that you couldn’t help noticing and as you peruse his profile the similarities end there.

He’s a different shade of blond and wears his hair in a different style too, polished, slick back over an undercut. He’s built like he spends more time at the gym than anywhere else.

His bio is brief, not much to the imagination.

Gym, sports, beer. Happy Hour is my fav time of the day 🏈😎

Scrolling through his pictures, you’re not surprised. Most of them are gym selfies, all of which you approve of, with the last photo of him sporting a jersey at a football game.

He’s not a bad-looking guy at all, and it’s too soon to judge him based on his profile. With nothing to lose you tap out a reply.

Hey Porco! I’m no expert on football, but I like happy hour !

You’re not sure what to expect. It’s weird messaging someone you’ve never met. How do you even know he’s real? Online dating is so foreign and bizarre, you’re not sure you’ll get used to it.

The response arrives a few minutes later.

lol! I don’t judge 😉 My team’s playing today. At the bar right now to watch them win!! Drop by have some beer with me?

That was quick, but you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised. The app is meant to get people to meet. It’s just weird…you can’t get over the concept.

You consider the invite. It’s so sudden. But you had no other reason stopping you from meeting up with him.

Without any plans for your Sunday, you agree. Guess this is it. Your first match and you’re already going to meet in person.

You had heard stories of ghosting, slow fades, catfishing, etc. The most common trend Ymir and Pieck had mentioned was becoming a pen pal, keeping communication on the app only and never actually meeting. Porco’s already proven to be an outlier.

“He looks pissed off in every picture,” Ymir says over the phone as you get ready to meet Porco. “Even the ones where he’s smiling…”

“That could just be his face,” Pieck says in answer, though she sounds dubious.

Because it’s your first time meeting a stranger online, you let your friends know where you’ll be, much to their excitement that you’ve taken to Tinder at ease.

“I think he’s cute.” You grab your keys. “He seems like a sports junkie, not sure what else we can talk about. I know nothing about sports.”

“You’re not there for the game,” Pieck supplies.

Nerves tickle at the idea of hooking up so soon with a stranger. Is that really what people do on Tinder? Years in a committed relationship, online dating stories never felt real, but now that you’re single, it’s time to find out.

“I mean it’s the middle of the day,” you trail off, indifferent. “Do you really think he’s going to want to hook-up? He might be more interested in the game.”

“Pfft. What?” Ymir laughs. “Men always make time for their dicks. It wouldn’t matter if you were meeting at a funeral. Trust, he’d find a way to get his kicks in.”

You hear Pieck laugh, and the tension defuses a little.

“That’s a stretch, Ymir,” you chuckle.

“But she’s right!” Pieck says. “Guys on Tinder have no shame. It’s why they’re on it.”

“Don’t overthink anything,” Ymir adds. “To have fun, you’re going to have to have the same clownish confidence.”

“Alright, well I need to get going.”

“Remember the code word if you want us to bail you out!” Pieck hurries to say.

Heading down the hall, you sigh. “Right. Cholula. Got to go.”

Before you end the call, you catch Ymir’s send off. “Good luck, champ!”

…

Football, sports, the like, none are your area of expertise. You could count on one finger the number of football games you’ve gone to—zero.

But happy hour makes you a good sport, and it also lures in the entire neighborhood.

The bar is packed, almost bordering a fire hazard. It’s impossible to see much other than droves of people, and it’s even harder to hear over the jeering over the game.

You squeeze by, craning your head, rising on your tiptoes for a sight of Porco. He had said he was at the bar, so you shove your way through, ignoring the disgruntled looks that are sent your way.

Sidling away from a few football fans, you think you see him or at least the back of his head. A burst of nerves flutter in your stomach. This might be him.

A man with a blond undercut with a gaze transfixed to the TV screen. It’s only when you approach closer to where the empty bar stool is that you recognize the scowl from the pictures.

“Porco?”

He turns, the scowl deepening for a moment in confusion. But it’s replaced with a faint smile as the man himself says your name.

“You made it.” He pulls you into a one-armed hug that would feel like nothing to someone else, but to you it’s tight against muscle, hidden away in his bomber jacket. “Saved you this seat.”

You take the lone barstool at his side, impressed that he managed to keep it vacant from the patrons desperately looking for a spot to watch the game. But as a stranger bumps into Porco’s elbow by accident, the man’s scowl drills into them, and they skitter off.

“Also, got you an IPA, and I placed an order for some nosh. Hope you like nachos,” Porco briefs you.

Reeling back from meeting your first ever Tinder match in person, you’re a little flustered as you take a seat. “Oh, um, thanks. Nachos are fine as long as they’re not spicy.”

He cuts you a humored look. “Tough shit, I love spice. I asked for extra jalapenos.”

The response is so blunt, you don’t even feel affronted, only mildly pricked.

“Okay…” Your eyes drift towards the TV screen. “So, who’s your team?”

It becomes a twenty-minute run down, from Porco’s favorite team and why; who they’re up against, and why they’re going to lose (his exact words). During that time, the nachos arrive, piled with cheese and an absurd amount of jalapenos you try to avoid. It’s no use. The spice has you reaching for your IPA, signaling for Porco to order you both another round.

It’s not all about him, though. You tell him a bit about yourself, and he takes enough interest that you’re endeared by him, despite his blunt and somewhat bossy persona.

And when the game is in full swing, the tension in the bar simmers hot. As does your gaze watching Porco.

Hazel eyes are fixed on the screen right now, his team close to scoring a touchdown, nothing else matters in that moment. While his focus is elsewhere, you can’t tears yours away from him.

The scowl in his brows knit tighter together as he grits his teeth, the tension running down his jaw and strong neck. Porco doesn’t have to try at all to look this good, and your mind wanders, envisioning his face with a flush and hair messed up.

You don’t catch what happens next but become aware of Porco’s hiss of irritation before he turns to you, blinking.

It’s not your intent to be shameless. You want to blame it on the IPA, however you know that’s not true. Something about the air becomes stagnant with heat. The rolling frustration throughout the bar, from supporters of either team fill the space like a thick cloud, dialing up every nerve in your body.

Meanwhile, Porco’s full attention is on you this time. You can feel the drag of his eyes on your bare legs, sweeping slowly upwards until they settle on your chest much longer than any other part of your body.

Something palpable lingers like smoke. Porco’s lip curls, trading your smirk for his as he gulps the last of his IPA, snatches up your hand and in a flash, he’s thrusting past the crowd like he’s on the football field.

Porco brings you both to the back of the bar, just outside of the restrooms. He turns the handle of the male restroom door, clicking his tongue to find it locked.

Porco bangs on the door, scowl deepening. “Hurry it up!”

Not a minute later, the door opens, and a perplexed man averts Porco’s eyes. You don’t notice him shuffling away, staggering on your feet as you’re dragged inside.

Porco’s quick to lock the door, not even looking at the knob, too focused on you. The hastiness, the dark lust burning through hazel in his eyes, your heart races, unable to wait any longer.

Reading your mind, Porco’s the first to erase the small gap, capturing your mouth, and lifting you by the thighs with authority.

For leverage, you clamp your legs around him, allowing him to deepen the kiss with his hand on the back of your neck.

You’re set down on the counter by the sink. You don’t pull away, despite the need for air. Instead, you scrape your nails through Porco’s hair.

He snarls like an animal, biting your lower lip and tugging it. “Keep doing that, I want to feel your nails there.” It comes out firm yet eager, his mouth ruthless against yours.

You do as he says, driving your nails inwards, scratching along his scalp, messing up the polished look.

There’s a whip of fabric, Porco’s jacket is tossed somewhere in the restroom. You don’t spare it any thought, letting your hands fall away from his hair to grasp onto his strong shoulders, clawing at his back to drag him closer.

Porco chases after your touch, like neither of you can have enough of the other. His weight presses into you, urging you backwards. Your back hits the mirror.

His lips pull away, tossing hungry kisses along your neck. He laps at your pulse, tongue dragging up to lick behind the shell of your ear.

You shiver a little baffled but scratch at his shoulders in appreciation.

He does it again, breath hot against your already feverish skin. “That the sweet spot?” Another long, sloppier lap at your skin. “You’re nasty,” he chuckles. “I can be nastier.”

True to his word, Porco’s tongue laps at your neck, a long, wet stripe coating beneath your jaw to your throat. You submit to the sensation, wrapping a hand around his nape to keep him close, a stuttered breath fanning his ear.

Porco releases your neck suddenly.

Your shirt’s tugged off, and before you can enfold your arms around Porco’s neck again, he swipes up your wrists, holding them out.

You blink, confused. Chest heaving in a way that your breasts pump outwards, goosebumps prickling the flesh, and Porco’s eyes soaking you in. Although you’re wearing a simple t-shirt bra, a shadow of lust hangs over Porco’s gaze.

“Oh my God…” pours out of Porco’s mouth before he licks his lips.

Your hands drop the same time as Porco’s face, crouching low enough to pull you in. His warm mouth finds your breast, pressing a soft kiss there.

He looks up, the tip of tongue slipping out to grace the flesh of your breast. “You’ve got pretty titties.”

He swallows, tugging your bra down to expose both breasts. His eyes shift between the two, grasping both in his hands and clenching them together. Moans muffle as he plants open-mouthed kisses between the two.

“So—fucking—pretty—” The words scatter between kisses in a rush, unable to stray too long from your chest. “I just want…”

He takes your nipple in his mouth, robbing him from the rest of that statement, sucking hard to verbalize the rest.

Not to leave the other breast neglected, Porco squeezes the flesh, twisting the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

A hiss slips between your clenched teeth, and you flinch forward from the sudden burst of pleasure.

He’s more than content to be this close, burying his face deeper, sucking, biting, squeezing, leaving beautiful marks, with a hooded gaze locked skywards.

The adrenaline flows through your blood, flaring your pulse at the sudden rattling of the door handle.

Porco pays it no mind, if anything he’s deaf to it, moans vibrating against your chest. He takes your nipple between his teeth and tugs at it.

The sting blooms beneath a tender bruise forming, sparking ever nerve in your body, reaching your center. On instinct, your legs yank him in, and he laughs, flicking your nipple with the tip of his tongue.

“Fuck—you’re something else.” He comes up for air, divining his tongue into your mouth. Fingers crawl up your thighs, digging past the hem of your denim shorts, so close to brushing against your core. “These are cute…”

A sigh of bliss spills out of you.

“You like this, don’t you? That’s why you wore these shorts.” Porco teases—lips on your neck, fingers on your apex. “Somebody’s excited…”

This time a gasp springs forth, a shudder crawling down your spine. You scoot forward on the counter and Porco presses his finger against the damp spot of your panties.

Your hand trails down to Porco’s wrist, guiding him to keep going. His finger hooks into the gusset of your panties.

The rattling resurfaces, louder this time, along with a pounding against the door.

“Hello? Is someone in there?” A man calls out.

This time you’re sure Porco hears it. Despite keeping his attention on you, his brow twitches, the scowl he’s worn all day deepens the more the door rattles.

You do your best to retain his attention, not just for your sake but for Porco’s too.

However, the clench in his jaw and the tension running tight in his throat, both from the mounting irritation and sexual frustration, your body flushes with a new wave of heat, dripping onto Porco’s hand.

Rough fingers unbutton your shorts, and the sharp zip of your fly is drowned out by another round of heavy knocking.

“Open up!”

Porco growls, whipping around. “It’s fucking occupied!” His voice echoes in the restroom, loud enough to send the man outside the message.

The last you hear is an annoyed groan (“Get a fucking hotel”).

“Fucking loser,” Porco says, words strained in his throat.

You can’t help but watch him, mouth agape, stunned to be turned on by his short fuse. Maybe it’s the IPA tickling your nerves, or maybe it’s the heat of the moment, but you’re already so wet, you can’t take waiting anymore.

“Porco, please.”

It’s enough to restore Porco’s attention. He smirks, hoisting you by the hips to bring you back on your feet.

He slots his mouth over yours in a greedy kiss. You take the chance to undo his belt.

Porco does the same, sliding your shorts down to your thighs. Just as you’re about to slide his pants down, Porco grabs hold of your arms and spins you around.

“Face the mirror,” he says, punctuated with a sharp slap to your ass.

You yelp, watching him fish out a condom from his pocket. Shoving his pants down to his ankles, you eye his reflection, admiring the strong arms first, only for your attention to drift to his thick cock that springs free.

There’s a flicker of realization that moves through you. This is the first man you’re going to have sex with since your break-up. No one else has touched you in the three years you’ve been with Colt. You had expected it to feel wrong to be in this position. But you’ve never been more sure of anything else.

You bristle, nerves aflame with anticipation.

If there’s anything you’ve learned from Porco in the few hours that you’ve known him, is that he’s hasty, a facet you welcome eagerly.

The tip of his dick kisses your folds, sliding up and down, you breathe out, fogging up the mirror. You catch the smirk in Porco’s reflection despite that.

Strong hands take your hips with ironclad pressure, and he pushes into you.

Your mouth falls open, blowing out a sigh. You feel the tight strain, getting accustomed to his size. Everything about him is different, new. Nothing about him feels like Colt. Not the fullness of his cock, and definitely not the pace, because the second Porco reaches the end of you, he pulls back and slams forward.

Your hips bump into the edge of the counter, again and again, a wonderful kind of pain. Porco’s hands come around, groping your tits tightly as he leans forward to bite onto your shoulder.

It’s more than the roughness that you bask in, more than a man as attractive as Porco plowing into you. It’s the thrill of being spontaneous, the excitement of trying something new, to be daring, getting fucked in a public space with other strangers on the other side of the door.

You moan out, anchoring your hands on the counter and the mirror, fixated on the pair of eyes glued to your reflection.

“Porco—yes—just like that—”

“I got you, beautiful,” he pants into the crook of your neck, sinking his teeth there too. “Fuck—you feel too good—and these fucking tits.” He squeezes your breast, while his other trails downwards.

A sharp gasp floats in the air. Porco rubs your clit to match the same pace as his thrusts, continue to spoil your neck with attention.

“C’mon doll,” he breathes. “I want you to cum for me. Keep those pretty eyes on the mirror.” He snaps his hips, thrusting deeper into you.

Your lower back starts to ache as the throbbing in your pussy intensifies. “Shit. Porco don’t stop.”

He kisses your shoulder, hot breath burning into your skin. “Cum for me.”

You twitch from the sting of teeth on your shoulder and the swiping of his fingers grant you your release.

You shudder, arms trembling to keep you up as Porco plows into you.

He groans, bringing his hand up to your mouth, having you taste yourself. Sucking his fingers clean, Porco’s unable to hold off any longer, his pace is more hurried and sharper.

“I’m going to cum—” He groans again, head thrown back, exposing the column of his neck in the mirror.

You wince at the tight squeeze around your breast, but you’re too spent to shake him off.

A moment passes and Porco’s head falls into your shoulder, blond strands cling to his sweaty forehead.

You wiggle your ass, and he pulls out, catching his breath and peppering kisses on your shoulder and nape.

“Shit,” he says at last. “Oh my God…” He swallows. “You’re fucking awesome.”

Cutting a glance away from his reflection, you take stock in your appearance. Your hairline shines with a layer of sweat, hair at a disarray though not as bad as Porco’s. Puffy lips and teeth marks all over your breasts. He devoured you, ravished you in a way that you haven’t been in a long time.

Like a firefly brought to life from the touch, something new yet familiar has reawakened inside of you, and you smile at this newfound, but restored version of yourself. The version that craves to explore, experience, and experiment.

Colt flits across your mind, but you know it’s normal. He’ll be there for a while as you continue to sort through this new beginning.

You turn around, smile widening at Porco’s smug expression. The moment untouchable, not even the renewed pounding of the door can ruin it.

After getting redressed, Porco’s glare shoos off the men waiting for the restroom as you both step out.

Though the game ended a while ago, the bar is still stuffed with throngs of people; some wanting to celebrate their team’s victory and the others to wallow in their loss.

You’re not put out when Porco decides to stay. You both got what you wanted after all, and you give him a hug before taking off.

Maybe you’ll see each other again, maybe you won’t.

Either way, you’ve given Porco a parting gift to hold onto. As you slip out of the bar, you cross your arms to shield the hardened nipples poking through your shirt.

That bra wasn’t special, you have others at home.

☻ masterpost☻ taglist: @moonmalice

#porco galliard #porco galliard x reader #porco galliard x you #porco x you #porco x reader #aot #aot smut #porco smut #attack on titan fanfiction #snk #snk smut #attack on titan #dtf only series #mochi-writings #mochimooon

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