Hi!!! Idk if you're still ongoing with your request but I got one! How about Aot Men and Ftm reader smut with the Reader being a Dominant Bottom? I really hope you see this and thank you and I hope you are doing well ❤️❤️❤️
I want you M/n, I want you bad
Op
A/n: THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST, JUST BECAUSE I'M GOING RIGHT IN THE SMUT. You gon get it good 😮💨. And sorry it took me fucking years!!
Warning: Smut everywhere
Eren Yeager
The dim lantern light in the old Survey Corps barracks flickers across Eren’s bare chest as you straddle him on the narrow bunk. His wrists are pinned above his head by one of your hands—more symbolic than necessary, because the second you told him “Don’t move unless I say,” he froze like his life depended on it.
You sink down onto his cock slowly, inch by thick inch, watching his jaw clench and his green eyes darken with raw need. A low, shaky groan escapes him when you finally take him to the hilt.
“Eyes on me, Eren,” you order, voice low and steady. He obeys instantly.
You start with torturously slow rolls of your hips, grinding in deep circles that drag the head of his cock against every spot that makes your breath hitch. Each time he tries to buck up into you, you still completely and squeeze around him hard enough to make him whimper.
“Please…” he rasps, voice breaking. “Let me move. I need—”
“You need what I give you,” you cut him off, leaning forward to bite his collarbone sharply. He arches, but doesn’t thrust. Good boy.
You reward him by picking up the pace—bouncing hard now, slamming down so the bunk creaks under you both. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, mixed with his increasingly desperate moans. You reach down and stroke yourself in time with your thrusts, chasing your pleasure shamelessly while he watches, pupils blown wide.
When you feel your first orgasm building, you slow again, grinding deep and clenching rhythmically until you come with a sharp gasp, soaking his cock and thighs. Eren’s trembling beneath you, sweat beading on his forehead, cock throbbing inside you but still not moving.
You lean down, lips brushing his ear. “You can thrust now. Hard. Make me come again.”
He snaps immediately—hips snapping up into you with months of pent-up frustration, driving deep and relentless. You ride the wave, meeting every thrust, until your second climax crashes over you. Only then do you give the final command: “Come inside me. Now.”
He buries himself deep with a broken cry, pulsing hot and thick as he fills you exactly how you demanded.
Levi Ackerman
Levi’s quarters are spotless as always—until you’re done with them.
You have him flat on his back on the crisp white sheets, wrists tied loosely to the headboard with his own black cravat. His gray eyes are sharp, but there’s a flush high on his cheeks that betrays how much he’s already unraveling.
You straddle his hips, dragging the slick head of his cock through your folds teasingly before finally sinking down. The low, guttural sound he makes when you take him fully is worth every second of buildup.
“Move only when I tell you,” you remind him, nails raking lightly down his chest. He nods once, jaw tight.
You ride him slow at first—long, deliberate strokes that let you feel every inch of him dragging inside you. Each time you bottom out, you grind forward, rubbing yourself against his pelvis until your thighs start to shake. Levi’s breathing grows ragged; his abs flex under your palms as he fights the instinct to thrust.
You lean forward, bracing your hands on either side of his head. “Tell me who you belong to tonight.”
“You,” he answers instantly, voice rough. “Only you.”
Satisfied, you sit back up and start bouncing in earnest—fast, punishing drops that make his cock hit deep and perfect. The headboard thumps against the wall in rhythm. You reach down to stroke yourself again, chasing your release while he watches helplessly.
When you come the first time, you clench hard around him and keep riding through it, drawing it out until you’re gasping. Levi’s hips twitch involuntarily, but he catches himself.
“Please,” he finally grits out—the word sounding foreign in his mouth. “Let me fuck you properly.”
You smirk. “Earn it. Beg.”
He does—quiet, controlled, but desperate. You untie one wrist so he can grip your thigh, then give permission. He surges up into you with precise, powerful thrusts that make stars burst behind your eyes. You come again hard, nails digging into his shoulders, before finally letting him follow—spilling deep inside you with a shuddering groan against your neck.
Armin Arlert
The library after hours is silent except for Armin’s soft, stuttering breaths.
You’ve pushed him gently onto the wide reading table, books shoved aside, and climbed on top. His shirt is open, blond hair messy from your fingers, blue eyes wide and dazed as you guide his cock inside you.
He’s already trembling. “You feel—so good—”
You hush him with a kiss, then sit up straight and start moving—slow, deep rolls at first that make him gasp every time you grind down. His hands hover uncertainly until you grab them and place them on your hips.
“Hold still,” you murmur. “Let me use you.”
He nods frantically, gripping but not guiding. You pick up speed gradually, riding him with confident strokes, angling so he hits just right inside you. Every time you clench deliberately, his hips jerk and he whimpers your name like a prayer.
You lean down again, lips against his ear. “You’re going to make me come as many times as I want before you do. Understand?”
“Yes—yes, anything,” he breathes.
You draw out two slow, intense orgasms from yourself like that—grinding and bouncing until you’re shaking, soaking his lap. Only on the third do you speed up desperately, chasing a harder peak while stroking yourself fast.
“Come with me this time,” you order, voice breaking.
He cries out softly as he obeys, thrusting up shallowly into your rhythm and spilling hot inside you while your own climax pulses around him.
After, he pulls you down gently into his arms, still buried deep, whispering breathless praise against your skin.
Jean Kirstein
The stables smell like hay and leather, and Jean’s back is pressed against a stack of bales as you ride him like you own him—which tonight, you do.
You shoved him down minutes ago, yanked his pants open, and sank onto his thick cock without preamble. He groaned loud enough that you clamped a hand over his mouth.
“Quiet,” you hissed. “Or I stop.”
He nodded frantically behind your palm.
Now you’re bouncing hard and fast, thighs burning, using his shoulders for leverage. Every drop makes his cock hit deep and perfect; every grind forward rubs you just right. Jean’s hands are fisted in the hay to keep from grabbing you without permission.
You remove your hand from his mouth. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Fuck—so tight, so good, please don’t stop—” he babbles, voice wrecked.
You slow deliberately to a torturous grind, edging him. He whines, hips twitching.
“Beg properly.”
“Please let me thrust. Please let me make you come. I’ll do anything—”
You smirk and lift up almost all the way off before slamming back down. “Go ahead. Fuck me how I want.”
He snaps—grabbing your hips finally and pounding up into you with raw strength, hitting every spot until you’re gasping and clenching hard. You come first with a sharp cry, and only then do you let him follow—growling your name as he fills you deep and hot.
Reiner Braun
Out beyond the walls, hidden in tall grass, Reiner is flat on his back and completely at your mercy.
His massive frame makes you feel powerful as you straddle him, sinking slowly onto his thick cock until you’re stretched full and breathless. His golden eyes are hazy, hands gripping the ground hard enough to uproot grass.
“Don’t move,” you warn, voice steady despite how good he feels.
He nods, jaw clenched.
You start riding—powerful, dominant strokes that use his size and strength against him. Every bounce makes him groan deep in his chest; every grind makes his cock throb inside you. You take your time, drawing out your pleasure, coming once with a slow, rolling climax that leaves you trembling.
Reiner’s breathing like he’s run a marathon, sweat glistening on his chest.
“Please,” he finally rumbles. “Let me—”
You lean forward, nails digging into his pectorals. “Beg louder.”
He does—voice cracking as he pleads to thrust, to fill you, to be good for you. You grant permission on your third orgasm, riding him hard and fast until he roars and comes deep inside, hips bucking helplessly as you milk every drop.
Erwin Smith
The Commander’s office is dark except for moonlight through the window. Erwin sits in his high-backed chair, shirt unbuttoned, as you straddle his lap and sink down onto him with deliberate slowness.
His large hands settle on your thighs but don’t guide—waiting for orders.
You start moving—precise, controlled rolls at first that make his breath catch. Every circle of your hips drags him against your most sensitive spots; every lift and drop makes him groan low.
“Tell me what you want,” you murmur against his ear.
“To serve you,” he answers immediately, voice deep and steady despite the strain. “However you need.”
You reward him by bouncing faster, harder, the chair creaking under the force. You stroke yourself in time, chasing release shamelessly while he watches with reverent blue eyes.
When you come the first time, you clench hard around him and keep going, drawing it out until he’s gripping your thighs tight enough to bruise.
Only after your second do you lean back, brace your hands on his knees, and give the command: “Fuck me until I say stop.”
He obeys instantly—thrusting up with powerful, measured strokes that hit deep and perfect. You come a third time with his name on your lips before finally letting him spill inside you, holding him buried deep as he pulses and groans against your neck.
A/n: Love ya.
