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s1ater · 5 months ago

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what haunts you.

pairings. tyler durden x fem!reader

about. tyler asks you to burn down your childhood church, knowing the crude past of it still hangs over you.

warnings. foul language, arson

ricky rocks. hit or miss, lmk.

he always showed up in the most inconvenient places, at the most inconvenient times.

you stared at him now, as he stared back at you from across the room with a sick, slim smile that told you all you needed to know, but really nothing at all.

“sometimes i question how you can be real.”

“but don’t you still love it when i show up?”

“not when you look beaten to the pulp.”

where tyler went, trouble followed.

“fell down some stairs,” his voice sounded teasing, knowing you knew that wasn’t the truth. far from it. “you know me.”

“right,” you clenched your jaw.

he continued to follow behind you as you exited the building your support group was held in.

“what do you want?”

“you sound so harsh, dear. what’s the problem?”

“you’re making me nervous.”

you had met tyler in that exact support group.

it took one time; one time to see him, one moment to look at him, smile at him, and he was yours. he was like a damn leech, hooked to you the moment you gave him a taste.

“nervous?" a loud laugh erupts from the back of his throat. "sweetheart, since when are you scared of me?"

"I'm not scared of you, tyler, I'm just worried about what you're going to say next."

"oh, I think you'll like this one."

the night you met tyler durden, you both had somehow ended up at the same bar.

"you sure its a good idea for you to drink?"

you had looked over, not expecting him but rather some perv or even your parole officer lecturing you. but no, it was him, wearing a smirk you would soon grow to know well and fall in love with.

you smiled back, “what’s the harm?”

after that drink, he walked with you. took you home, made sure you were in one piece with your slight drunken stumble. that night, you had spilled your guts out to him, informing him you were a phony, a fraud; that everything you said in group was a lie and you barely keep your life together let alone stay away from your neighborhood bar. and he listened, laughed at you, telling you the world was full of phonies and frauds and there was nothing special about your small made up stories of success on staying sober.

“you being an alcoholic is the least of your worries.”

“i need a favor from you.”

“what is it?”

“you’re gonna love this.”

“spit it out then.”

“be patient, sweetheart,” his head dips toward you in a sick-fake endearment. “tell me about your day.”

“piss off,” you rolled your eyes, pulling on the door handle of your trashy car. “you get in, you shut up unless you finally give up what you need me to do.”

tyler liked you because you also latched onto him like a leach. you were short tempered, bold, mean even, but you were clingy the moment the two of you expanded your relationship outside of group.

he got into your car, because he knew that's what you wanted.

"i want you to burn down a church."

"what?" you couldn't help but yell as tyler finally spoke from your passenger seat. you did a double take, looking to him, looking away, before looking at him again, questioning if he was serious. "tyler, what?"

"you heard me."

"yeah, i did," your tone is hard and sour. "what part of burning down a church has to do with your twisted agenda?"

"y/n, sweetheart," his tone is teasing as he leans over the center consul separating the two of you. "this is all about you."

"me?" you can't stop looking at him now.

truth was, you missed him. how could you not? with going from seeing him every day for months to only seeing him once every blue moon, it was hard not get attached and wonder what he could possibly be doing without you. he knew exactly how to get you hooked and it was irritable.

"what church?"

"oh, i think you know," he smirked at you, and then did you realize what this was about.

taking back power for your life. you were surprised this hadn't happened sooner.

"my mother still goes to that church."

"are we surprised?"

in the many months spent together, you had confessed to tyler about many, many things; things you hated, such as your mother, your job, ex boyfriends, and the church you went to growing up.

it was a dusty old catholic church planted at the end of your neighborhood that you always went to every sunday up until you were eighteen and finally moved out of your childhood home.

the building haunted your dreams. it was the bane of your existence for so long until therapy pushed it far enough in the back of your mind, that you couldn't remember it.

meeting tyler was like opening a can of worms. multiple cans, including this one.

"what do you say?" his voice is taunting, even if it isn't his intentions. which was unlikely. "c'mon, take back your life. i know it still haunts you. i bet you still even remember how to get there."

you didn't know whether to look at him or the road. it was getting hard to choose, but tyler knew he was winning that fight.

"you got macthes?"

he grinned hard.

"i got everything you need, baby."

°•

when you were ten, there was an outrageous amount of gossip that circulated between the mothers at your church. it all regarded the priest--priest tom who was notorious for being a charmer with all the moms... and the children.

little tammy evans was the start of the gossip. she had ratted on priest tom to her mother about how he had called her into his office for private bible study.

the churches population had dropped because of it, but according to your mother, only the true believers stayed; her being one. some mothers love for priest tom outweighed their care for their children's wellbeing.

it hadn't changed. at all.

you stood before the large arch and steeple, analyzing the brown chipping paint and rotting wood that held together what you thought was more of a sanctuary for the devil rather than god.

tyler's arm extends out toward you, a box a matches calling your name.

"don't worry," he mumbles, smirking. "you're not killing anybody."

the two of you had already soaked the perimeter with gasoline, now all that was left was to strike the match.

"what's your hold up?"

"I feel guilty," you mumble it, cringing at your transparency.

you were struggling with your moral compass, not knowing what was right and what was wrong here. your guess was that there really wasn't one correct answer in this situation. but you still felt embarrassed not being able to offer tyler full certainty.

"you think he feels guilty?"

you finally look to tyler who isn't smirking or smiling (for once), but rather looking at you with a knowing look, a genuine one. he wasn't squirming for you to grow a pair, but rather grounded, like he was there to support you on your own time and pace.

his words were enough.

you fumble a match out of the thick paper box before striking it only once. the small flame barely graces your sight before you drop it to copious amounts of gasoline at your feet.

you can see tyler smirk at you out of the corner of your eye before he follows in suit.

it doesn't take much. the mute flames are quick to pick up in size once it begins to lick up the sides of the old building. you hardly move after the five steps you made to give the burn it's room--hypnotized by the heat and dramatic movements.

you feel something in your chest swell.

"don't you feel better already?"

your eyes continue to stay pinned to swell of yellow dancing in front of you. you blink, the once corrupted, yet pristine, house of god began to crumble and you no longer felt guilty.

"something like that."

he snickered, his arm slinging around your shoulder before pulling you away from the destruction.

tyler did things therapy couldn't.

#tyler durden imagine #tyler durden x reader #tyler durden #brad pitt x reader #brad pitt #fight club #fanfic #fanfiction

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s1ater · 7 months ago

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𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗋 | 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟤

—reiner braun x reader | NSFW

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: In the weeks prior to your engagement ceremony to Reiner, you each attempt to get to know each other.

❖ click table of contents for full list of tags, CWs, and chapters. 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋: 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖽𝗇𝗂 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 ��𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐/𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍. 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾.

table of contents | masterlist | feudal eldia au | cross posted to ao3 ← previous chapter | next chapter →

The first time Reiner shows up looking for you, it’s late in the afternoon after a training session. He’s taken the time to wash himself first and change into something a bit more presentable. You can smell the lingering masculine aroma of his heated skin beneath the clean scent of soap.

It’s not a surprise that he’s at your door. The elders have been arranging a series of planned outings for the two of you to be seen together in public. But when he suggests a quiet stroll through the gardens before dinner, you hadn’t expected something so impromptu.

The resulting walk starts out unbearably awkward. Neither of you can seem to think of the right thing to say. A chaperone trails you several paces behind, boots crunching in the gravel as you trade inconsequential details about each other that feel embarrassingly shallow.

“Uh, you—,” Reiner begins, rubbing the back of his neck. “You seem to like, uhm… flowers?”

He winces internally. Was that really the best he could come up with? You feel a smile tug at the corner of your mouth.

“Yes, Reiner,” you say. “I do like flowers. Like most people, I suppose.”

“I just thought—,” he gestures vaguely to the neat rows of flower beds lining the path. “You were looking at the roses during the ceremony.”

“Ah, yes,” you say with a nod. “They’re nice. I prefer the winter blooms, though. Delphinium, crocus, those kinds of flowers.”

Reiner nods dumbly before he remembers he should probably just be honest. “I don’t really know that much about flowers.”

You let out a soft laugh that sounds so unlike anything he’s ever heard from you. Reiner almost stops in his tracks, warmth spreading in his chest.

“I gathered as much,” you say, giving him a sidelong glance. “Not exactly required learning for an Inheritor, is it?”

“Not really,” he mutters. “More familiar with mud than gardens, I guess.”

You tilt your head musingly. “Mud has its uses, too. If you know what to do with it.”

Reiner blinks, at a loss. “Like… for patching roofs?” he offers lamely.

This time, you laugh outright, finding his attempts surprisingly endearing. Reiner’s heart thumps in his chest.

“I was thinking more along the lines of sculpting or pottery,” you explain. “But yes, I suppose roofing works, too.”

He chuckles, feeling a bit more at ease now that he’s managed to amuse you, even if it’s at his own expense. The garden is bathed in the warm light of the setting sun, the air carrying the faint scent of freshly-turned earth. Reiner steals a glance at you, trying to work up the nerve to ask something more meaningful.

“So, uh, do you actually like any of these outings they’ve been planning?” he asks, surprising even himself with the question.

You’ve shown up together to formal family dinners, attended performances on the grounds of the estate. All orchestrated appearances, courtesy of the clan elders for the sake of public interaction. They’re not exactly the kind of outings that facilitate any informal discussions between you.

“To be honest, I find them a bit stifling,” you admit, lowering your voice slightly. “But it’s necessary, isn’t it? For appearances.”

Reiner nods slowly. “Yeah. I guess so. Necessary,” he echoes.

You stop and turn to face him. “And you? Do you like it?”

He’s caught off guard by the hint of a challenge in your tone. “I—I don’t mind it,” he says after a moment. Then, after seeing the skepticism in your expression, he adds, “I mean, it’s a lot better than sparring with Porco.”

Your lips pull into a smile that you’re trying and failing to temper. You huff out a small laugh through your nose. “I imagine sparring with Porco is less confusing.”

“Honestly? I’m not sure about that,” Reiner says, pleased that he seems to have broached past the cold distance between you.

Subsequent meetings manage to transpire more smoothly than the first. You’re continually bemused by the choice of activities Reiner manages to come up with for the two of you to share. He invites you out for a horseback ride through the estate grounds the second time. The fresh air is enjoyable, and the ride acts as a good butter during the natural lulls in their conversation.

You’re particularly impressed when he chooses to ask if he can join you for archery practice once. When Reiner shows up at the range, clad in a simple yet crisply fitted uniform, you don’t know quite what to expect. He’s all broad shoulders and stern focus, which you assume will make him stubbornly competitive when it comes to a skill that doesn’t involve brute strength.

You’ve seen it before—the way soldiers bristle when they realize your aim is more precise than theirs. It’s practically a sport in itself for you to watch their pride wither under your calm instructions. But Reiner surprises you.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” you ask as he sets his uniform tunic aside and rolls up his sleeves. “It’s not exactly like throwing a punch.”

He grins, though you notice the telltale signs that he’s nervous. The way his eyes flit a little and his feet can’t stay still. “I might as well give it a shot. I’m already here, aren’t I?”

“Alright,” you say, handing him a bow. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As expected, his first few shots go wide, the arrows thunking into the grass beyond the target. Reiner huffs in frustration but doesn’t stomp away or throw down the bow like you half-expected. Instead, he turns to you with a sheepish grin.

“Guess I’ve got a lot to learn.”

You give him a flat look. “Archery requires strength, but you also need patience. A steady hand.” You pause, noticing the way he seems to be shifting his weight uncomfortably under your scrutiny. “A clear mind.”

Reiner furrows his brow. “Clear mind, huh? I’ll try,” he murmurs, attempting to adjust his stance.

“Here,” you say, stepping up behind him. You’re used to this, to guiding people and correcting their posture. But with Reiner, there’s a strange tension, a coiling in your stomach as you come to stand behind his burly frame.

He’s stripped down to just his plain white undershirt. The fabric of it is thin enough to display the flexing of his swollen muscles beneath, and the hem clings to the band of his trousers where it’s been carefully tucked in at his comparatively narrow waist. You tell yourself to remember to breathe.

“Your feet are too close together. Widen your stance a little.”

He does as instructed, shifting his heavy boots a bit further apart and drawing your eyes to the backs of his thick, robust thighs. Your throat runs dry as you place your hands lightly on his shoulders.

“Relax,” you say, though perhaps you’re telling yourself as much as him. “You’re too tense. The bow isn’t going to bite you.”

Reiner chuckles at that, and you can practically feel the low, nervous sound vibrating through his chest. “Easier said than done.”

You peer up at the sliver of his strong profile visible to you. Maybe you’ve never noticed before, but the line of his jaw could cut glass. There’s a whisper of rosiness at the tops of his cheeks. Are you making him bashful? The prospect lights a spark at the base of your belly.

“It’s all about control,” you say, leaning in closer to adjust the angle of his elbow and wrist. You notice the way his breath catches at your contact with his warmth.

He nods like he’s absorbing your words, and perhaps he really is trying to be serious about this, not just pretending. You step back to ease his nerves, in case your closeness is actually affecting his focus. Reiner draws the bowstring again, this time a little slower and more deliberately. When he releases, the arrow flies true, striking just outside the center of the target.

“Better,” you say with a genuine smile. “You’re a quick learner.”

“You’re a good teacher,” he says, turning to look at you almost reverently. “I didn’t think—I thought this was just something you did for… I don’t know, appearances. But you’re really good at this.”

At first, he thinks he’s messed up. Your brows lift like you’re taken aback. Reiner swiftly opens his mouth to emphasize his sincerity.

“I’m just good at it because I practiced,” you reply softly. “I wasn’t born with perfect aim.”

“Right,” he says. “I get that. I mean, I wasn’t born strong either. It was a lot of work. Messing up, getting up, trying again.”

You understand that more than you can put into words. You’ve both put in a lot of work, poured long hours into becoming who you are today. You’ve recognized for a while now that Reiner’s more than just a muscle-bound dolt, ready to nod his head and obey every order his commanding officers bark at him. But now, you’re starting to wonder if maybe you’re a lot more alike than you initially believed.

The sun is beginning to set, casting a golden light over the estate and painting Reiner’s blond hair and peachy skin in a warm wash. You find yourself almost regretting the arrival of the chaperone, who clears her throat and reminds you that dinner will be served soon. Reiner thanks you for teaching him before he heads back toward the wards’ wing of the estate, leaving you alone and feeling a bit astonished.

The following meeting is one you initiate yourself, a week before the engagement ceremony is set to take place. Reiner’s been nervous plenty of times in his life, but he’s never understood when people said they got butterflies in their stomach. Until, that is, he opens the small, neatly folded message delivered to him from the main estate.

Inside, the note is simple and to the point, written in a precise hand. Join me for tea tomorrow afternoon, east courtyard. There’s no flower preamble, no explanation, just your name signed at the bottom. Reiner rereads it over a few times, much to his own embarrassment, before folding the note and carefully rucking it away.

He makes his way through the grounds the next afternoon, winding through cobblestone paths lined with manicured hedges. The air smells faintly of woodsmoke and damp fallen leaves. As he approaches the east courtyard, he finds it quieter than the bustling parts of the estate he’s grown accustomed to.

Here, the trees are just beginning to turn a soft mix of yellow and orange. The courtyard itself is sheltered with ivy-covered walls and a trickling fountain at the center. You’re already waiting there, seated at a laughably small table near the fountain. You’re dressed more simply than usual when you’re not in your training attire, your hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders instead of pinned up elaborately.

The sight makes you seem more approachable than he’s perhaps ever seen you, even back when you were children. Reiner pauses a moment, feeling like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He has to collect himself before he strides forward.

“You came,” you say, looking up. He can’t read your expression, but you sound mildly pleased.

“Of course,” he replies. “Thanks for the invitation.”

You nod, gesturing for him to take the seat across from you. The table is already set with delicate porcelain cups and a pot of fragrant tea. You pour for both of you, your movements fluid and practiced. Reiner catches himself staring at your fingers for a second too long, wondering if he can come up with an excuse for you to touch him with them again.

You both take your first sip in silence, listening to the distant sound of birds and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. The peacefulness of the courtyard feels tinged with the ever-present tension of the upcoming ceremony. You set your cup down with a sigh.

“I imagine your schedule’s been quite demanding with preparations for the ceremony on top of all your usual duties,” you say, as if you’ve read his mind.

“It has been,” Reiner admits. Though, the truth is, he’s grateful for the distraction. Busywork keeps his mind off the growing anxiety he feels about the future. His future with you. “I expect it’s been just as hectic for you.”

“You have no idea,” you say. “The elders have endless opinions on every detail. I think I’ve been asked about the floral arrangements at least three times today alone.”

Reiner shakes his head with a chuckle. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” you agree, absently tracing the handle of your teacup. Your eyes flick up to him with a more serious expression. “Reiner, I don’t think there’s any point in playing coy.”

He stiffens and frowns, your meaning lost on him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it might as well be official now. After the ceremony next week, everything will be set in stone,” you say bluntly. “We’ll be married.”

You speak steadily despite the swirling unease inside you. But this was what you had invited him here to discuss. Dancing around the inevitability feels ridiculous. You’re both adults, after all. You ought to be able to talk about it.

“O-oh. Yeah, that—I guess so,” Reiner stammers, still unsure of what you’re getting at. “Don’t worry. I know you’ve been preparing for this far longer than I have, but I’m ready. Or at least, I’m ready to do what I need to do, you know?”

A flicker of surprise runs through you. You stare at him for a second. Then, you let out a short, quiet giggle. He looks utterly nonplussed by your reaction. All he means to say is that he’s ready to protect you, to protect this clan.

“That’s nice, Reiner,” you say. “So, can I take that to mean you’re experienced?”

“Experienced?” he repeats obtusely, studying you. Then, he jolts, eyes wide and face exploding with heat.

“With women,” you clarify plainly.

“I—I get it,” he says, flapping his hands in front of him.

But you don’t stop yet because, frankly, his scandalized reaction is too delightfully amusing. “Should I assume that you aren’t, then?”

Reiner flounders hard. He doesn’t know why his tongue feels so twisted up. The answer is really quite simple. He’s had about as much experience as can be expected of a ward of an elite clan. A soldier shouldering the expectations of his family—with the little time, energy, and privacy that afforded him.

“I’ve had enough,” he manages, though he wonders what exactly is the right answer here. If there even is one, or if the question posed by you was a trap from the beginning.

Your fingers tap out a light rhythm on your lap as you consider his words. Likely, Reiner has been largely too blinded by his singular goal over the years for any substantial relationships. If he’s familiar with any of the steps to this particular dance, you figure he’s got nothing more than a few hurried encounters in shadowed corridors or pitch-black tents.

Which is a shame because you think he’d be rather popular if he only had the time for such pursuits. Decorated soldier, rugged good looks, dreamy eyes.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you decide, crossing one leg over the other.

Reiner glances away, still tinged pink. He’s struggling to come up with how exactly to handle the strange turn your conversation has taken before it veers into dangerous territory. Before his head fills with thoughts that’ll make it hard for him to look you in the eye again.

Something slides against his calf, and he realizes it’s your foot. Reiner startles, and his knee accidentally bumps into the underside of the table. The resulting clatter of the porcelain ware seems to echo off the walls louder than it should have. His gaze darts around wildly in the desperate hope that there aren’t any nosy chaperones spying on them from the hedges.

When he looks back, you smile at him coyly from across the small table, and he feels extremely lame. You must think him pathetic, unable to keep his composure or show due restraint around a noble member of the clan he serves.

“Just not your type, huh?” you say, your smile fading just slightly. Your foot drops away from his leg. “I could have sworn—well, nevermind. It’s alright.”

Reiner feels his jaw drop. Shit. He’s really messed up now.

“No! That’s not it,” he says hastily, rising up and leaning over the table a little in his insistence. “You—you’re beautiful. I’m just…”

He trails off, opening and closing his mouth once. He’s just what? Technically, he’s a Ritter now, even if he still has to remind himself every morning. You stare up at him expectantly.

Reiner takes a deep breath and tries again. “There are rules. Propriety—,”

You’re not so much thinking as you are acting on impulse when you surge up to cut him off. Reiner’s lips just looked so plush and inviting that before you knew it, you were on your feet and capturing his mouth with yours over the table between you. Teacups and spoons clink against their saucers again as you press your lips to his.

Reiner inhales sharply the moment you connect, eyes wide—but he doesn’t pull away. Maybe, he’s too stunned to move, frozen in place by his shock or the softness of your lips. For a long moment, you don’t move either. You just stay there, applying steady pressure, your eyes lightly closed.

When you do move, it’s to take his bottom lip between yours. Reiner chokes back a groan, every nerve ending alight. Even though only your mouths are touching, he’s surprisingly sensitive, shivering at every catch of your supple skin and the hot, wet flick of your tongue tip. He fists his hands at his sides, worried that if he reaches for you, you might slip through his fingers like water.

You take the initiative he doesn’t, delving a hand into the shorter hair at the back of his head. Reiner realizes only when you urge him a little closer that he’s just been standing there stiffly. Not wanting you to think him deficient, he finally tilts his head and kisses you back, plucking at your mouth with his lips.

The table edge bites into the fronts of his thighs, but he no longer pays any mind to the rattling and tinkling of the tea set as he drifts the fingertips of one hand to gently rest at your jaw. You take his reciprocation as encouragement and lick your way into his mouth. A shudder racks Reiner’s frame at the sting of your fingers tightening in his hair.

He’s overcome with the sense that you’re not close enough. He needs to gather you into him, feel your warmth pressed against home without the obstruction of the table. But just as quickly as your lips were on him, you pull away.

Your hair remains in his hair, and his fingers are still on your face as you remain there for a few seconds just looking at each other. You take in his parted lips, flushed and a little puffy as he catches his breath, and the heaviness of his lids over darkened hazel eyes. So, you haven’t misread things, but instead of satisfaction, you feel the overwhelming urge to squeeze your legs together at the tight coil of desire forming there.

Reiner’s voice comes out as a low rumble as he murmurs your name. “What do you want?”

“Honestly?” you breathe, a wave of boldness swelling inside you. “I want to take you to bed.”

His throat bobs, swallowing his lust. “We shouldn’t.”

You pout, releasing your hold of his hair to drag your fingers over his firm shoulder. “Why not? We’re engaged.”

“Not yet,” Reiner points out, covering your hand with his large palm and carefully prying it off. Gently, he lowers it to your side and straightens, gritting his teeth at the slight ache in his lower back. “We’re not engaged yet.”

Your pout shifts into a frown as you regain your proud posture, haughty mask slipping back into place. It isn’t a snub, not really. But it feels like one. You smooth down the front of your blouse and clasp your hands together primly.

“Very well. After we’re engaged, then,” you say.

The words sit for a brief while before they sink in, and Reiner’s pulse quickens.

“That’s not what I—,” he snaps his mouth shut as you lift your eyebrow. To say he doesn’t want you would be a lie. He chews the inside of his lip and nods. “After we’re engaged.”

Your frown melts into a teasing smirk that makes Reiner squirm. “You’re far too easy to fluster. I’ll have to remember that.”

He rubs the back of his neck, willing the heat in his face to subside. “I’m not usually…”

There’s no point in trying to defend himself, so he just trails off instead. You’ve already seen through him entirely, and you’re clearly enjoying it. Before Reiner can attempt a change in subject, the sound of deliberate footsteps crunching on gravel catches your attention.

“I believe it’s time to wrap up,” says a firm voice.

Reiner sighs, turning to face the newcomer—one of your chaperones, an older unmarried aunt with a perpetual air of disapproval. He’d been wondering when one would rear their head.

“There are still preparations to attend to,” she says, eyes narrowing at Reiner.

You’re already a perfect picture of ladylike composure beside him, stepping away from the table. Not a hint of mischief betrays you as you address the chaperone.

“Of course,” you reply smoothly before offering Reiner a small smile. It could almost be read as innocent if not for the glimmer of amusement in your eyes. “Thank you for joining me, Reiner.”

Then, you step past him, leaving him to stew in discomfort with the chaperone. Reiner watches you leave, his mind spinning and his lips tingling faintly. The chaperone looks at him exasperatedly, her lips thinning.

“Lord Reiner,” she says priggishly. “I trust you’ll maintain propriety moving forward.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles, not daring to look her in the eye.

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#reiner braun x reader #this is so fun i love it #“i’ve had enough” UGH ILY REINER

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