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slttygeto · 4 months ago

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༉‧₊˚. PLAYLIST

༉‧₊˚. episode 05: twenty eight.

preview: ". . .It’s never been this bad with you. Hanma can’t recall the last time your words sounded as spiteful and bitter as they do now. A side of you he never thought he would see after losing you for a decade—but it can’t be helped when he’s adding fuel to the fire. Clearly, neither of you is ready to back down from the argument and Hanma was starting to shiver from the cold. . ."

content warning: v!olence, bl00d, cursing, thr0wing up, mentions of emetophobia, self depricating thoughts, arguments, angsty.

word count: 6k

➜ ┊: @softshuji @mitsuwuyaa @kariatenoh @reiners-milkbiddies @citrusteaa @bejeweled-night-33

➜ MASTERLIST

➜ note: guess who's back after months of writer's block, me!!! this chapter is one hell of a ride. I have been experimenting with the next step for at least a month and a half now and nothing sounded good to me. each time it would make me cringe so hopefully you like this chapter! i feel like i rarely do this, but what do you think is gonna happen next? do we like hanma? what do we think of the reader's decision? share with me your thoughts!!

༉‧₊˚. reblog + comment!

Growing up as a boy in Shinjuku wasn’t the most ideal plan, but Hanma doesn’t like to find excuses for the way he turned out. For the evil that he is–and is constantly surrounded by. For his own lack of empathy, of human emotion. Hanma doesn’t think it has anything to do with his childhood. After all, he can barely remember bits and pieces here and there–some that stand out to him more than the rest. Most of which include you haunting his every thought.

At 12, Hanma first tasted violence against his father, landing blows with a fury that sent him to juvenile detention for a year. The months passed in a haze of paint peeling off the walls and whispered threats, but soon he was back on the streets of Shinjuku, a boy free again yet changed.

The night was cold and dark. A single broken lamppost flickered weakly, its light barely cutting through the shadows. The electric buzzing pulled him from his thoughts, a sudden awareness that he'd been lost in his mind the whole walk home.

His ears shift from the electric sound to the heavy, dull sound coming from a dark alleyway. A crack, then a moan in pain. It is accompanied with manic laughing, giggles even–and his feet start dragging him to the source of the commotion.

Going out after 10PM in Shinjuku was generally a safe option. The city was a bustling area known for its nightlife and entertainment. There were usually plenty of people around, even late at night. However, Hanma’s neighborhood wasn’t necessarily the safest.

An old, poor neighborhood. Nestled between tall buildings and fancy shops, giving the people a false sense of being in one of the fanciest areas in the city. But it was far from being the truth. Hanma glances at the buildings, a mix of rusted metal and peeling paint glaring at him. He was used to the sight of worn out material and balconies filled with old bicycles. He could even see his own from where he was standing, a birthday gift from his father from 3 years ago, which meant that Hanma had outgrown it with the speed at which his limbs were getting long.

Given the reputation of his neighborhood, this meant that people who would get beat up around here were oftentimes the ones who had fallen victim to the false sense of safety in the area.

Hanma’s sandals drag against the concrete floor as he approaches the commotion, hands buried in the pockets of his shorts and the same uninterested look on his face doesn’t budge when he is greeted with the bruised and beaten up body of a boy around the same age as him. The guys responsible for this freeze when they turn around and see that there was another person present, a witness to the violence they had just committed on the boy who had refused to give them his bike as he was riding back from night classes. Their eyes landed on Hanma, who at 13, was only limbs and bones. One of them lets out a chuckle.

“You lookin’ to join him?”

Hanma’s golden eyes snap from the boy’s figure to the one who talked. He looked older than him, perhaps Three or so years.

“Is that an invitation?””

“I wouldn’t say so.” Another one adds, against the concrete wall. Hanma notes that he tries to appear smug and confident. He had an idea that the boy was quite the opposite.

“More of a threat I’d say.”

“I see.”

A beat of silence follows his nonchalant response, before his fist collides with the jaw of the leader of the trio. The alley filled with a cacophony of groans and the shuffle of worn out shoes on concrete. The leader lunged, fists swinging wildly, his breath heavy with panic as he tried to land a single punch on Hanma’s face.

Three bloodied and beaten up bodies later, Hanma watches as the bruised up boy crawls away from him in fear, curling on himself. Hanma doesn’t say anything as he approaches the boy. He stops and leans down, face dangerously close to his.

“Get the fuck out of here.”

It takes Hanma 2 more years before getting nicknamed Shinjuku’s reaper. He says that he earned the title. And for the first time since forever, Hanma had finally found a source of entertainment, a way to kill time. However, he hadn’t killed. Not yet at least.

When Hanma is 16, he spots you as you walk out of school. Your skirt was short, thigh high socks adorning your legs and he wondered just how soft your skin must be. But that was far from being his priority–not when he was walking around the area with blood coating his white shirt.

He doesn’t expect you to spot him in the place where he is sitting, with a bottle of water in hand, desperately trying to get the blood off of his clothes. Not that it’s ever worked. However, you start approaching him and Hanma looks up from his crouched position, golden eyes boring into yours when you step in front of him with a frown adorning your gorgeous lips. (He’s always wanted to bite them).

“Are you okay?”

He tilts his head to the side, quirking an eyebrow in confusion and perhaps a little offended that you were asking him of all people that question. The hint of worry painting your sympathetic tone, the slight furrow to your eyebrows as you keep glancing between his bloodied shirt and the bottle in his hands. Hanma feels something in him about to snap in your presence.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He replies gruffly, but you can’t seem to find any malice in his voice. Or the way he was staring you down despite you towering over him.

“You have blood all over you.”

Oh.

You didn’t know that it wasn’t his. And Hanma never told you otherwise. Instead, he took the handkerchief that you had offered him with a dull face–stuffed it in his pocket and watched as you walked away, never asking him to return the fabric. But Hanma being the teenager that he was, thought it would be the perfect opportunity to find you again and perhaps get to know you.

(How do people start conversations again?)

Like a ghost of a memory, Hanma can almost remember the feeling of the handkerchief in his hand. He remembers grazing his thumb over the letters etched onto the fabric, each time coming up with his own guess of what your first and last name were. The feeling of the letter H. is forever engraved in the forefront of his mind. The initial of your last name.

The man’s trip down memory lane is cut short when he hears the sound of annoying flickering above him. Hanma’s eyes squint as he looks up, the electrical buzzing mocks him as it pulls him back to the present. His body aware. Alive yet inexplicably numb.

The built up rust on the chair’s legs make a creaoing noise as Hanma leans back, soulless eyes staring at the dead body with a cold, unblinking gaze. Devoid of any emotion. Reflecting no light or life. He doesn’t remember when he first killed, but this was definitely not the last. His brain is all foggy as he tries to make sense of when his lust for blood first started–what made the death rattle sound so captivating, like a broken record–stuck in his head in a long, torturing loop.

He doesn’t know. Hanma barely knows himself as he is. Referring to himself as Kisaki’s right hand was the closest thing to an identity. He wasn’t a son to anyone, nor a brother. And definitely not a lover.

The events from that night play on repeat in the forefront of his head, no longer trying to hide in the backseat where he keeps most of his unwanted memories. Instead, you plagued his mind. Like a shadow clinging onto the corner of his thoughts, always present–always there. You wouldn’t let him escape.

“Fuck you’re so sweet,”

You moan into his mouth when he angles his hips a certain way, Hanma grins victoriously against your lips and uses his hands to grab the back of your knees. Pushing them to your chest, he enjoys the sight of you taking his cock like a sweet girl. You’re so cock hungry, practically begging him to fuck you silly with those glossy eyes staring deeply into his.

He remembers the look on your face as you slept peacefully in your bed, still dirty with his own cum and spit–yet somehow looking so angelic. As though he hadn’t just ruined you. Like you didn’t have your legs wrapped around his waist and were begging him to fuck you harder, deeper–

Hanma’s finger twitches. A singular bullet cuts through the terrifying silence.

One of the two bodyguards standing before him falls to the ground with a loud thud, his partner looks at his dead body in shock. Terrified, he cannot seem to pull his eyes away from the blood that starts to pool around the body. He is violently pulled out of his numbed state. Hanma’s chair makes a loud, creaking noise he pushes it further back and stands up. Golden eyes stare at his bloodied brown leather shoes and he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

Almost as though the sight of blood was getting on his nerves. Like he didn’t just take someone’s life unprovoked.

Do you need a reason to hurt someone if you have power?

“Clean it up.” Hanma’s cold voice echoes in the empty room, followed by retreating footsteps. As he reaches for his jacket, the chair tips and falls too the ground but neither he nor the bodyguard flinch at the loud noise.

He doesn’t look back as he steps out of the room, simply typing something away on his phone and scoffing at the message that appears on the screen.

We need to talk.

“Fucking bastard.”

—

The artificial light coming from the kitchen cuts through the thick shadows in your hallway, glaring at you from where you’re kneeling on the bathroom floor. Your apartment has never felt emptier. The door to your room is open– pushed ajar in a frenzy and the carpet in your hallway is moved to the side, messily. As though you almost tripped over it as you rushed to the end of the hallway where your bathroom is. At 2AM, you don’t expect people to still be outside, and it makes your chest ache and burn when you hear the occasional humming of a car driving by your building.

And then you lurch forward again.

The bathroom is filled with heavy stillness, punctuated only by the sound of your stuttered breathing. You're hunched over the cold, unforgiving porcelain of the toilet, your body trembling and weak as your hand grips your hair, pushing it out of the way. Bile rises up to your throat, tears coating your lash line before you’re lurching forward yet again. Your stomach was empty. You didn’t have food to throw up again.

You wish you could say that you were starting to get used to this, but you’ve always been scared of throwing up. Something about the taste of bile, the terrifying feeling of losing control over your body–the gagging and heaving. It scared you. Your bottom lip trembles and your entire body shakes as you brace yourself for another wave of nausea. The acidic taste burns in your throat, mixing with the metallic tang of fear and sleep deprivation.

You’ve been throwing up all day. It simply wouldn’t go away.

When you lean away from the porcelain bowl and rest your body against the wall in exhaustion, you pray that your brain spares you yet another flashback. Another reminder of what had triggered this wave of nausea. You can’t get the feeling of his hands off of you, or how dirty and sickening it felt to wake up and feel that his cum was still inside you—the lack of proper aftercare, no sweet words whispered into your hair. Not the Hanma you thought he would be years later. He vanished like a whisper in a crowded room, fading so quickly that you almost wonder if he was ever there to begin with. Almost.

When you glance down at your thighs, you cringe at the stickiness of his cum despite having showered three times. You can feel the ghost touch of his hands gripping your thighs, his voice whispering filth into your ear as he pounded into you like a God. Last night, he was like a God to you. He knew where to touch, where to kiss, how to leave you breathless and clinging onto him like a lifeline–you felt stupid for being so enamored by the man and his dick. For letting him pull the plug so easily, rendering you the lifeless mess that you were on your bathroom floor.

Beating yourself up was no longer an option though, you didn’t have the energy to hate yourself for what had happened. For thinking he had changed despite being so wary of him since day one. You couldn’t even say that you didn’t ignore the red flags because you did. That man was dangerous, and yet you still thought that you could get him to show a different side.

The quietness in the bathroom is replaced with weak sobs.Your cheeks feel wet and hot and you wipe your tears and snot with the back of your hand. It feels so pathetic to be crying over a man, but even more so when it’s someone you initially thought you could trust. Small, pathetic, dirty–and the list of things he made you feel goes on.

How pitiful of you to think you were any special to him.

When the nausea fades away, you feel numb.

The burn in your heart is replaced with an indifference that magically lifts all of the weight off of your chest. You don’t process nor do you remember how you got off the floor, but your hands were now wet and the tap was running. Water splashes against your face. You don’t recognize yourself as you stare at your own reflection in the mirror. There’s exhaustion, dark circles sitting heavy under your eyes. You blink, then you are in the hallway.

Everything after that is a haze, unimportant to your brain as it moves on autopilot and carries you to your room, on your bed and then under the covers. The plushness of the pillow supports your head well, then you finally allow your neck and your jaw to relax. You had a headache, you realize. But it isn’t painful enough for your body to not allow itself to shut down–you don’t fight it.. You were tired.

You have work in the morning, your cat to feed and a few other errands to run. You don’t want to think about him. Just for a day, you want to forget your responsibilities, who you are.

Just for one day.

—

One does wonder how Toman went from a normal biker gang to the corrupt, ruthless, criminal organization that it became. Upon taking a closer look, at its new leader–everything starts to make sense. The way it’s driven by ambition, manipulation, and violence. All of it reflects the dark goals of its new leader. Kisaki Tetta.

Under Kisaki's leadership, Toman became a shadow of its former self. What was once a gang driven by camaraderie, a sense of brotherhood, and a rough but genuine pursuit of justice, turned into a power-hungry and ruthless organization. Kisaki's manipulative nature corrupted the gang's original values, prioritizing control, fear, and personal gain over any sense of loyalty or righteousness. Everyone was constantly on edge, wary of betraying Kisaki's trust or failing to meet his expectations. His manipulative tactics ensured that everyone was either too scared or too loyal—and his form of punishment consisted of a single word.

Violence.

Hanma embodied the violence that Kisaki needed to ensure that Toman was under his control. If Kisaki’s reaction to betrayal was scary, Hanma’s was terrifying. Savage, barbaric, ruthless. Tall man turned into an even more monstrous version of himself with the snap of Kisaki’s fingers.

However, that didn’t mean that Hanma was obedient. He was far from that.

Up on the last floor of the impressive, imposing building where all of Toman’s business takes place, resided the meeting room. A place where words are shared amongst the dangerous, corrupt men, with the sole promise of never telling a soul. However, the room was eerily silent. The knife that could cut through the thick tension was a testament to that.

The long, round table is empty and the chairs are all pushed to the side messily. Tall windows overlook the gorgeous view of the lively city of Tokyo, the only sound that fills the conference room is the air conditioner and the honking of cars. When Kisaki first designed this room, he made sure that the walls were soundproof. And that whatever is shared behind those walls, stays inside. He did so partly to ensure the privacy of matters being shared amongst gang members, and to guarantee that no one outside would be able to hear what was going on.

There is a singular chair in the middle of the room. It stands out in an unsettling, uneasy manner. Perhaps because of its awkward placement, facing away from the table and more towards the door. Or maybe because Hanma appears cartoonish as he sits on the chair, long limbs and a bloodied face. Messy clothes that look like they had been almost forced off of his skin.

Another harsh punch lands on Hanma’s face, his head whips to the side as he feels the blood trickle down his nose and he turns to look at the man before him with intense, golden eyes. Kisaki’s jaw clenches along with his fist and he raises it in the air.

“You fuckin’ sick bastard.”

The crazed smile on Hanma’s face makes Kisaki pull away from the man who was untied, still armed and so relaxed despite being repeatedly assaulted by the much shorter, weaker man. It was deeply unsettling even to a man as disturbing as Kisaki.

“Nothin’ new to you.” Hanma’s tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick the blood trickling down his nose, the metallic taste feels euphoric against his taste buds and he bites his bottom lip. Harshly. Until it draws blood, and Kisaki’s chest is heaving, exhausted and filled with a fury that eggs on Hanma’s crazed state.

“I’m warnin’ ya,” the short man walks towards the other side of the room, grabbing a few napkins to wipe his hands. The back of his hand then pushes away his sweaty strands of hair that were sticking to his forehead, before grabbing a bottle of water. “Either you fix your fucking self, or I put a bullet through your head.”

When he hears no response, Kisaki turns around and realizes the grave mistake he made of lowering his guard in the presence of a man as unpredictable as Hanma. The cold barrel of the gun kisses his forehead, and his own icy blue eyes meet the tall man’s golden ones.

“Put a bullet through my head, huh?” Sarcasm seeps into Hanma’s cold tone, and a scoff escapes his dry lips as he presses the gun harder against his leader’s forehead. “Gettin’ tired of me?”

“Of your sick fucking games, yeah.”

“So what if I killed a guy? That’s never been a problem to ya.”

“You killed one of the men under Bonten you piece of shit–!” Kisaki groans when he feels the back of the gun make harsh contact with his jaw, then Hanma’s fingers are pulling on his hair. His roots burn, and the angle at which Hanma’s making him stare at him makes his neck ache.

“Watch your fucking tone with me,” Hanma sneers, nose scrunched up. This was the most emotion the man has shown since the start of the long, strenuous meeting. “You think I respect you?” a manic laugh escapes his lips. “I never did. I stayed ‘cause I thought you,” and he pulls at the shorter man’s hair again. “could keep me entertained.”

“It must’ve worked if you stayed this long.”

When neither Hanma nor Kisaki make an attempt to speak, nor move–Hanma’s hand slowly but carefully lets go of the shorter man’s hair. Followed by the gun retreating back to the holster that’s strapped to his pants’ belt. The room suddenly feels colder than usual, the sudden drop of adrenaline sends shivers down Hanma’s spine and the heat that was coursing through his body evaporates the moment he steps away from Kisaki to stare at his reflection in the tall windows.

Shit, he looked rough. There was caked up blood in his hair, on his clothes. The buttons on his blouse were gone and his tie was messily undone. He is surprised he doesn’t have a black eye. Kisaki doesn’t aim that high, he thinks. But he still looks like he got beaten up. It doesn’t necessarily hurt, but it stings when he licks his lips.

“You made a mess.” Kisaki announces as he walks towards the mini fridge situated in the deep corner of the conference room. “With Bonten. You made a huge fucking mistake.”

“I’ll take care of it–”

“Nah, that’s not the problem here–” the door to the fridge slams loudly and Kisaki crosses the room in a few, long strides. It’s impressive given his short stature. “You’ve been acting like a dick since the night you said you’re visiting her.” He stops in front of him and raises an eyebrow, eyes glaring daggers at Hanma’s now bare but bruised fingers.

The leader still shoves a beer in Hanma’s hand who stands there, dumbfounded. Obviously, a man as smart and as calculating as Kisaki would be able to read through his bullshit. However, Hanma didn’t know how to approach the situation, nor did he know if he would be able to say it how it is. He didn’t have that kind of relationship with Kisaki, and he wasn’t going to spill his worries to the same man whom he pointed a gun at only a few moments prior.

Silence drapes over the two like a dense fog. It fills the room, suffocates it while obscuring the path of conversation and leaving the two men uncertain of what to do or say next.

“I have to go.”

“I know.”

No questions asked, Kisaki allows his right hand to grab his belongings and rush out of the office, creating loud footsteps in his wake. Hanma’s big already big stature makes him look even more terrifying when he uses his physical prowess for his own benefit. He sloppily presses a button in the elevator and waits. Impatiently, the sound of his foot tapping against the sleek, reflective surface of dark granite, reaches his ears. He grows even more restless. The expensive watch strapped to his wrist seems to be mocking him, it refuses to go past 10:34PM and he wants to smack it against the walls.

Soon enough, he hears the loud chime of the elevator blaring through the speakers installed inside. Stepping out of the moving platform, he is greeted by the dimly lit, expansive space that exudes an air of both luxury and danger. The floor is polished black marble, reflecting the faint lighting that runs along the edges of the ceiling. The lights cast eerie shadows on the floor, creating a sense of unease as if the space itself is alive.

Hanma doesn’t come here often anyway, and he is only here so that he could grab one of his cars. He isn’t sure if the one he drove to get here is still outside or if Kisaki got rid of it–he can’t risk wasting precious time.

—

It’s cold outside.

There was something indescribable about staying inside your dimly lit apartment on a rainy night. The soft, rhythmic pitter-patter of rain taps against your windows, it soothes your nerves. You can barely hear the world outside, but in the background, a podcast plays softly—one of your favorites to wind down after a long day.

You catch snippets of phrases: “... and that’s when they discovered...” and “...the investigators came across...” The sound of the host’s voice is soothing despite the contents of the episode, like a soft caress, barely registering in your full attention.

Sitting on the carpet near your couch, you’re half-distracted. Having already tidied up the kitchen counter, you were now folding a blanket on the couch. Your movements are slow, almost methodical, you make note of not waking up your sleeping cat. It’s been a rough past two weeks. Being able to pick yourself up after going through something as challenging as that night was a miracle.

However, you weren’t one to back down or let something consume you. You couldn’t deny that your chest burned still, that the tears would coat your lash line every now then, as you tried to go on about your day. Whilst filling out paperworks, making dinner, feeding your cat–when you went to bed.

You stare at the pile of laundry sitting next to the couch, thrown carelessly and half-forgotten as you busied yourself in the kitchen a few hours prior. Your eyes catch a glimpse of the familiar fabric of your nightgown. Uneasy, you avert your gaze.

The rain continues its gentle tapping rhythm, mingling with the murmur of the podcast. You glance towards the windows, and reluctantly stand up to close the curtains. It was a bit past your bedtime, and waking up in the morning is going to be difficult given the relaxing setting that the rain was creating.

The tapping gets a bit louder, and you pause your movements to look outside. It doesn’t look like sleet, or maybe your vision was worsening?

You flinch when the tapping turns into full blown knocking. It certainly wasn’t coming from the living room where you were.

“What the fuck,” you whisper shakily, a hand flying to your chest as you feel your heart squeeze in anxiety. This has never happened to you before.

Warily, you reach for your phone and the knife you washed only moments prior–you turn to the hallway, and the knocking gets louder.

“Who’s there?” you yell out. You don’t sound confident.

The wooden floor beneath your feet creaks as you approach your room. You always keep the door open, but the window isn’t visible from where you were standing. You can barely hear the podcast anymore, your ears are ringing and the only thing you were aware of was how tight your chest felt. The burn in your stomach comes back as you push the door open.

“I said who’s–”

Your words are cut short when you spot the same black suit. But the one thing that makes you hold your breath is its disheveled and bloody appearance, as well as the way he was leaning against the fire escape.

Drenched from the downpour, Hanma seems to have given up on covering himself and lets it soak his clothes further. His elbow rests on the metal railing, the cigarette between his pointer and middle finger long extinguished from the rain. You don’t realize how long you stood there, frozen and unresponsive–until Hanma tries again.

“Open the window.”

You snap out of your thoughts, hand clenching the knife’s handle as your face turns sour.

“Leave.”

You’re not sure if he can ever hear you from outside. He leans into the window, pressing his ear against the glass when he sees your lips moving then shakes his head.

“Can’t hear you, doll–”

“Don’t call me that. Leave.”

Despite his worrying appearance, the cuts and bruises on his pretty face and the way the rain was making his clothes stick to his body, you don’t want him to win. The ongoing war inside your head, one that he had created and ran away from like the coward that he was–you can’t just forget that.

“We have to talk.”

“There is nothing to talk about. Goodnight.” You pretend to leave the room. You were ready to sacrifice sleeping on your comfortable, warm bed tonight if it meant getting him to leave. But alas, Hanma was a stubborn man.

The loud knocking starts again, and you angrily stomp back inside your room.

“Stop that! I have neighbors and you’re causing a scene!”

“Then open the window, doll.”

“I will call the police.” You show him your phone, hand visibly shaking from your heightened emotions. Everything was happening so fast. So unexpectedly. You were growing weary of the tall man appearing just when you were beginning to come to terms with his hurtful actions.

“The police, huh?” You see him wipe his face, but it’s useless given how strong the rain was. “Didn’t take you for such a scaredy cat.”

“I’m not scared,” your high pitched voice would say otherwise. “You’re disturbing my night. I don’t want you here.”

Neither of you say a word after. The rain seems to slow down and the harsh sound of droplets tapping against your window is replaced with a soft pitter patter. Your breathing slows down, but the burn in your stomach is still there. The longer you stare into his golden eyes, the harder it gets to approach that damn window and let him inside.

I can’t forgive you. You hurt me.

You avert your gaze, afraid that your face will give away the hurt that was eating you up from the inside.

“I freaked out.” Now that the downpour has subsided, Hanma’s deep voice was loud and clear. You look up, he was no longer leaning against the railing, bracing himself on the brick walls and leaning into the window. “It was too much.”

“Us having sex was… too much?” You make no attempt to read between the lines. You don’t think he deserves the benefit of the doubt, not after the stunt he pulled.

“..Yeah.”

“Oh fuck you.” Hanma watches as you angrily stomp towards the window to pull the curtains.

“Wait wait–!”

“I waited long enough. For two weeks, I waited for you to send a text message–give me a call–nothing!” Heat rises to your cheeks and Hanma sees that your eyes are now glossed over. “You used me.”

“So did you–”

“You fucking left me without bothering to clean me up!” The hurt in your tone makes him flinch. He squeezes his eyes shut, furrowing his eyebrows.

He can feel a headache coming in.

“Do you always expect boyfriend treatment from your one night stands?” This man knew how to make your blood boil.

“Boyfriend treatment? I feel bad for the women you’ve slept with.” You scoff.

“This is why I fucking freaked out.” He was loud but you didn’t care about disturbing the neighbors anymore. “You’re taking is so fucking seriously like we’re dating or some shit.”

“I wasn’t waiting for you to act like a boyfriend. You’re a coward when it comes to love,” your words drip like venom. “I just thought that as my friend, you’d be decent enough and clean me up.”

It’s never been this bad with you. Hanma can’t recall the last time your words sounded as spiteful and bitter as they do now. A side of you he never thought he would see after losing you for a decade—but it can’t be helped when he’s adding fuel to the fire.

Clearly, neither of you is ready to back down from the argument and Hanma was starting to shiver from the cold. He can’t even light a cigarette. He punches the wall lightly before straightening his back, staring to the side.

Hanma came here to talk about what happened— He already knew you would be disappointed, slightly hurt–(ended up being more than slightly)--but he thought it would be over soon. That you’d listen.

“I want–” Just as your jaw was starting to relax, Hanma breaks the silence. “I’m good at striking deals.”

“Huh?”

“Did you like it?” you feel heat rush to your face and you’re staring at him dumbfounded.

“What?!”

“That night. Lack of aftercare aside, was I good?” Hanma knows the answer and you were aware of that. You didn’t want to stroke his ego, let him know that it was the best sex you had in a while. It would overshadow the hurt you were feeling, and you didn’t want to give him the impression that he was free to walk all over you.

“I felt good.”

“So did I.”

The rain had stopped. The man’s voice was loud and clear as he confessed to you that having sex with you felt good.

(That you made him feel good).

“I’m a busy man. I can’t be around all the time,” a tattooed hand wipes his face before staring at you. “But if either of us is feeling horny–”

“For fuck’s sake–” you are flustered as you scramble to unlock the window. Pushing it open, you refuse to meet his gaze as you step to the side. “Come inside.”

Chuckling to himself, a lazy grin adorns his lips as he steps inside your room. The set up is familiar to him, but he still can’t help but stare at your bed. Your mattress and pillows.

He is reminded that the comfort he felt in your space is only temporary, golden eyes glancing towards your arms crossed over your chest. The gesture brings attention the necklace adorning your chest, your fingers holding onto the pendent tightly.

Huh?

The tall man brushes off the foreign feeling in his stomach, focusing on the way you seem to be wary of him even whilst letting him in your bedroom.

"You're a busy man, but can become available for sex?"

"I am not always free"

"Right."

"Just every now and then."

"Sure."

"When it's really necessary"

"Mhm,"

The dynamic is entirely different compared to last time, and Hanma only has himself to blame. He watches as you silently retreat from your bedroom, disappearing into the hallway. You don't bother to check on him. There was no need to act like your apartment was a foreign territory to the tall man.

Stepping into the hallway, a loud "oof" bounces against the walls as a towel lands on his face. Removing it from his head, sun gilded eyes follow your figure as you sit on the couch, busying yourself with the remote control.

(He doesn't remember you ever liking TV).

"You'll catch a cold," you say in between skimming through channels, aimlessly.

The soft fabric ruffles his hair, but it's futile given how soaked he was. Hanma doesn't say a word. He places the towel on the kitchen counter, brown leathed shoes carrying him across the wooden floor towards the entrance.

Grabbing the door knob, the tall man speaks up.

"I'm...I have to go."

Golden eyes bore into your side, burning shapes and promises into your soul so intensely that you are forced to pull your eyes away from your big screen and towards the same disheveled man. Soaked and bloodied, you pull your eyes away.

"I know."

༉‧₊˚. interested in commissioning me? if not, leave a ko-fi!

2024 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

#moon's works #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #hanma x reader #hanma shuji #hanma #hanma shuuji x reader #hanma shuuji x you #hanma shuji smut #hanma shuji angst #tokyo revengers angst #tokyo revengers fanfic #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev fanfic #hanma shuji fanfic

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neiptune · 2 years ago

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reiner who finds it excruciating not to be able to kiss you goodbye before work, he's running late and you're showering so he'll just write 'i love you' with his finger on the steamed up mirror and spend the day thinking of how your pretty lips must've curled into a sweet smile upon seeing it

reiner who wants to take you out for dinner but quite literally falls to his knees as soon as he sees you wearing that satin dress, grip tight on your hips and face buried in the soft fabric as he worships you, an ancient goddess smiling down on his devotee

reiner who wakes up early on sundays but lets you sleep in otherwise you'll get grumpy. he'll go for a run but first he'll boil the kettle for you so it'll take less time to heat it up when you decide it's time for your tea. if you want to spend whatever is left of the morning in bed, he'll shower, put on a fresh set of pjs and snuggle right back in

reiner who almost started sobbing as he opened the fridge and found the dinosaur shaped cupcakes you had baked for his birthday. he couldn't believe you'd remember something so trivial about him, a dumb childhood wish he never got to fulfill

reiner who knows exactly when to wrap his arms around you and sit quietly, chin on your shoulder as he murmurs sweet nothings to keep you whole whenever you're a breath away from falling apart

reiner who is a fan of big obnoxious romantic gestures but knows you hate them so he just gets you one sunflower for valentine's day, because you deserve more than clichè roses and because respecting your wishes despite what he actually wants to do is way more important

reiner who kisses you slowly most of the time and gently holds your face in his big hands, but can also get brusque and desperate to swallow each moan he draws out of you, the fabric of your skirt riding up your thighs just enough for him to finally grip your soft soft skin so warm and familiar it feels like heaven and why should he ever want to resist the urge to unceremoniously scoop you up to sit you on the kitchen counter and part your legs roughly enough he makes sure you understand what'll happen if you dare close them?

reiner who always listens without interrupting

reiner who smiles so widely whenever he finds the little handwritten notes you hide in his wallet

reiner who hates fighting because he knows how stupidly stubborn the both of you are and that it'll take hours, sometimes days to make up

reiner who was the first to say i love you

reiner who basks in the fondness, warmth and adoration he still to this day can't quite believe you chose to direct his way

reiner who hopes to fuck you'll allow him to revel in them for the rest of his life because there's no life and there's no him if there's no you

#reiner braun #reiner x reader #reiner hcs #aot #snk #these are absolutely impulsive and very self indulgent #forgive me

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aizawaskittenwhore · 1 year ago

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august first—r. braun

summary: you fuck reiner as a birthday gift. that’s pretty much it.

notes/content warnings: rough sex, facefucking, degradation, choking, some angst cause relationships are messy, unprotected p in v sex cause we raw dog over here, armin is a sweetheart and eren needs to go to bed, i think i covered everything but let me know if i missed anythin!

this was meant to be a birthday piece for rei 😔*stares in september * to be completely honest i have zero idea how long this ended up being but it’s been taking up space in my drafts and i kinda freestyled it so enjoy sexies <3

the floor is sticky with liquor, limestone tiles splotched with little islands of red as reiner’s body meets it, it’s surface tacky beneath his flushed skin. his head lolls back against the dial of his dishwasher, seeming to relish in the surrounding moment. the apartment is quiet with the din of murmured voices, gentle rustling of keys , someone slipping on a jacket, a faint “who’s riding with jean?” uttered from one of the many intoxicated partygoers; as for who , he does not know.

all reiner is aware of is the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears, body warm with the coat of whiskey, the glow of his solar return pervading the sallows of his face from the previous year’s torment; as if filling a once-deflated balloon with air yet again.

confetti has woven itself into the carpet, solo cups littering the surrounding dining room, a cake still sits on the table, half-eaten. “happy birthday reiner” it read, for a total of ten minutes. only reiner’s name remains due to your insistence that the birthday boy should get to eat his own name, and in pure self-adoring leo fashion, he co-signed.

and there his name sits, beneath its hard plastic shell as his gifts are sprawled around, some big, some small; though reiner had insisted that presents weren’t necessary by any means, you all came together to at least get him a few things to remember the day by. and what a day it had been. he was grateful. and so, so drunk.

his body suddenly takes a dive to the right—he had failed to realize his passive swaying from side to side and lost his balance—his face finds itself directly in your lap, nose mere inches away from knocking over a rather tall bottle of grey goose lingering not too far from your current position. you’re not much better than he is, face flushed and your smile dazed, as you begin to card your fingers through his hair, seemingly unaffected by his sudden landing.

“hey, we’re gonna head out.” armin says, footsteps lightly sticking with every step he takes further into the kitchen. he grimaces at the noise, but says nothing, in favor of checking on the pair of you. yet before he can utter the words “are you guys alright?” a hefty grip on armin’s wrist from the stockier blond sends armin to his knees, discombobulating the shorter man momentarily before he was met with a fierce hug.

“thank you..for coming.” reiner had been struggling to properly pronounce his syllables since the fourth round of tequila shots with eren, but those four words were the most coherent he’d been all night. the sentiment wasn’t lost on armin, and he returned the embrace, even if his lungs felt the slightest bit compressed the longer they hugged. “n-no problem!” armin pats his back thrice and shifts his gaze to you once reiner pulls away and nestles into your lap yet again. “would you like a ride home? you and sasha live not too far from each other, so it’s on our way.” he offers, so thoughtful as always. you begin to nod your head, thinking of the throbbing sensation that’ll soon swim within your temples, your lack of a change of clothes, along with numerous other things—

“i don’t mind if you stay..” reiner mumbles, a hand swirling patterns into your thigh. “never have, you used to sleep over all the time. i still got your toothbrush, s’ in my bathroom” he’s drunk, there’s no nuance , it sounds so scandalous when he says it like that and yet your heart picks up when he says your toothbrush is still in your space in his bathroom. you contemplate his words, given that it’s two minutes shy of one am (from what you can make out via a blurred glance at the microwave), and it is rather late..

armin surveys the two of you with a knowing glance, choosing to once again say nothing. he’s always been one for reading between the lines, clearly there’s some unspoken tension between you and the birthday boy, a history even. “n-not like that.” you laugh, pulse quickening as you try to divert armin’s attention from reiner’s hand attempting to work its way up your thigh, minuscule movements of his hand feeling like leaps and bounds over your already heated skin. “there was a time where i was going through some shit, so reiner let me hang here for a little while. it’s not nearly as..uh..intimate as it sounds.” your voice is low, your head leaned towards armin.

“i don’t mind sleeping here though. it’s one in the morning, and you’ve already gotta take sasha and eren’s drunk ass home. i’ll be good here.” a smile, and a gentle hand on armin’s shoulder is enough for him to leave you with reiner for the night.

“text me if you need anything, okay?”

mikasa‘s jacket and eren’s vomit crusted dress shirt clink amongst armin’s keys as he makes his way to the door (the shirt is tied in a plastic bag, he’s not a psycho).

‘maybe the mad dog jello shots were a bit much’, you think, saying your goodbyes to everyone as they stumble down the remainder of the driveway, jean corralling each person into their designated cars, and silently regretting his decision to double up with armin tonight to drive. it doesn’t help that he’s shoeless, considering eren yacked all over those too. it’s not funny, but it is, and you laugh as the door clicks behind you.

parties have a very poignant atmosphere.

they fill the space and somehow suck the air out of it once it’s over. but what you feel right now has nothing to do with the party and everything to do with the tension between you and reiner. who seems to have disappeared from his spot on the kitchen floor and made his way to the shower, leaving behind a trail of clothes in his wake. his loft is spacious, open floor plans met with a man’s taste in furniture (which equates to the bare minimum, sadly) and sumptuous windows that stretch from floor to ceiling. it’s one way glass, can’t see in but you can see out, rather convenient considering reiner had a very bad habit of never wanting to wear clothes around the house. case and point, the calvin klein boxers strewn across his floor. ‘jesus, even when he’s drunk he’s a slob.’ you think, grimacing as you reach for them in an attempt to chuck them into the nearby hamper—

“sorry for the mess.” he mutters, stepping out of shower as a plume of steam clings to the nearby mirror. towel hanging from his waist, hair slick with water. the scent of his soap and deodorant envelop you as he walks past, rifling through his dresser in an attempt to find clothes for the both of you. from the quick glance at his figure you’d allowed yourself, you quickly deduce that reiner finally made good on that crossfit membership he’d been blabbing about for the last three months. he was always handsome, always with a body that looked like it was carved from stone but the torso you’re looking at (and shouldn’t be) has gotten a major upgrade. ‘this is a bad idea’ you think to yourself, wondering how you allowed a spur of the moment decision lead you back into a bedroom you swore you’d never step foot in again.

you weren’t lying to armin when you said that the conditions of you staying with reiner weren’t romantic, that part was true; but the last time you were in this house, this room, things weren’t exactly…platonic.

“i found these, pretty sure you forgot em when you were leaving.”

a grey t-shirt and a pair of panties plop onto the bed where you sit, and you cringe upon the realization that you’d even left anything here to begin with. he offers you a pair of his sweatpants to help preserve your dignity, but you decline, knowing there’s no way they’d fit you.

“you remember where the towels are, yeah?”

you nod. third door to the left, past the coffee maker.

“cool. use whatever’s in there, i don’t care. i’ll be in the living room, so if you need somethin’ just yell.”

you give him a thumbs up as you disappear into the bathroom, the humidity mimicking the haziness of your mind as it begins to wander, your hands slippery with soap as you run the cloth over the curve of your hip, the same way he did that night.

“fuckkkk.” the sight before you is delicious, blonde burrowing it’s way between your thighs as reiner tongues your clit; a man starved. lust has taken over the bedroom, coiling around the two of you and winding so tight you feel as though you might burst, but if this is what it feels like to be consumed, you don’t mind one bit. he’s rutting against the bed desperately, your moans sending him into a frenzy; his mouth pools with your essence and he can barely contain himself. he adds his ring and middle finger to the equation, sensing you need more, just the slightest bit extra to bring you to paradise and you keen with pleasure.

“don’t stop..m’ gonna cum..” you’re shaking now, thighs shuddering around his ears and your pulse begins to throb so hard you can feel it in your temples, each wave of dopamine crashing over you, into you; you’ve never gotten head like that before. trust, you’d remember if you had. his tongue wanders in the mess you’ve made between your legs, and his face is no exception. your slick glistens in the cropped cut of his facial hair, and before you can utter a word of embarrassment, his tongue is giving you a taste of what he’d worked so hard to pull from you. the kiss is filthy, lips slotted together with strings of saliva; they break like bubbles when you pull away for air.

“shit!” lost in reverie, you’d failed to notice the increasing temperature of the shower water until it scalds your skin, shocking you back to the present moment. soft linen wraps around your body, soothing the harsh burn, legs still shining with droplets as you towel off, noting that you smell just like reiner does; but you’d rather not ride that train of thought. you make your way to the kitchen for a glass of water, brow raising as you realize his slice of cake is missing.

“the fuck?”

“what’s wrong?” floats from the living room.

“the hell happened to your cake?” you peer around the corner, and find the answer to your question stuffing his face. “nevermind.” you laugh, taking a seat on the couch, a cushion separating the both of you. he gestures with his left hand, offering a fork full; you take it, given that you’re both still not sober and this slice of sponge cake is the closest thing you’ve had to food in the last few hours. buttercream icing coats the roof of your mouth and you moan in sheer joy.

“oh my god.”

“right? shits’ so good” reiner mumbles, already on his last bite. his eyes are closed in bliss and you can’t help but feel jealous, you ache to be the cause of his expression rather than some slice of confectionery. little do you know, when your head turns, his eyes rake up the expanse of your bare thighs, resolve crumbling little by little. you’re beautiful, beyond it. he fights the urge to caress you and settles for a loaded question:

“why’d you say that to armin?”

“say what?” you respond. you’re avoiding his gaze intentionally, you know exactly what he’s asking about, this just isn’t the time.

“that it ‘wasn’t like that’ when i said you could stay the night.” the fork clatters against the cardboard of the cake box, filling the silence for a second, but it does nothing to ease the awkwardness of this interaction. “because it’s the truth? i didn’t start staying here so we could be fuck buddies—“

“—but that’s what happened, right?”

“reiner. don’t start this again.” you warn, tone firm. it’s not that you don’t want to talk about this, it’s been weighing on your heart since the night you left, but what could you say? you were running from the problems in your relationship and escaped into the arms of someone you called a friend, and very quickly that became much more than a friendship. the man your boyfriend couldn’t stand became your shoulder to cry on, and dick to ride. and in the end, everyone got hurt. you included.

“how’s galliard?” his voice seems harmless, but you sense the smugness that lies beneath.

“really? now?”

“it’s just a question.”

a pause.

“i haven’t seen him since..you know. we’ve spoken though. he seems to be doing alright, i think.” you answer. you briefly remember a photo dump he posted coming across your feed, he was in the netherlands with his brother last you heard, but that’s as much as you know. you’ve kept your distance from your ex since the fallout of your breakup, and for good reason. considering the last time you’d spoken, he’d told you that he “hopes it was worth it” and that you were dead to him.

you couldn’t be mad. if the roles were reversed, you’d have probably said the same.

the relationship (despite its relatively short run of five months) was volatile, and galliard has never had a desire to communicate with people in a way that isn’t riddled with hostility and aggression. it was the source of many arguments, and “i’m sorry” voicemails. one night you got sick of it, the pettiness, tit for tat, the pointed indirect insults in front of friends, the building of resentment every day you stayed together; so you left, needing to clear some space in your already heavy heart. a bag hurriedly packed, you’d found yourself at the door of a friend who you knew would have questions, but would never judge.

but friends don’t do the things you have done with one another.

“why did you invite me tonight?” since we’re asking loaded questions.

the text came as a surprise, a simple invitation and an address linked in a text message: ‘hey. my friends are throwing me a birthday party tonight. my house. i was wondering if you wanted to come. it’s cool if not, here’s my address tho in case you forgot it’

“i wanted to see you.”

“bullshit.” you scoff.

“why would i lie? you know how i feel about you.”

a pause.

“prove it.” the reposado speaks for you now, and you’re feeling dangerously curious to see just how far reiner will go. intoxication makes for a great truth serum, you’ve learned. he balks at your challenge, pupils shattering and reforming all at once as he attempts to snap himself out of whatever daydream he’s conjured. it has to be, there’s no way you’re sat so prettily on his couch making “fuck me” eyes, with a sliver of your panties visible beneath that thin fucking shirt. it’s a dream. has to be.

a chuckle. “you’re fuckin with me, right?” reiner’s fidgeting slightly, trying not to draw your attention to his increasing arousal.

“not even a little bit.” you’re so close he can feel your breath ghosting along his lips, a hair away from unleashing the pent up sexual tension between the both of you, but you don’t move any further. “i feel kinda bad..you invited me to your party, and i didn’t even get you a gift.” you pout.

“you can make it up to me.”

he’s finally gotten the courage to make the first move, securing both hands around your waist and tugging you into his lap. your clit pulses almost rhythmically when your lips meet, and the noises he’s making aren’t helping. “take these off.” he groans, plucking the waistband of your panties. you oblige his request, but the cool air still makes you shiver when your back hits the couch, legs spread. his eyes rake up your body, once, twice, before his middle and ring fingers take their place spreading your lips; they trace circles around your clit once they’ve spread enough of your juices around to slicken things up, but he’s just getting started. all the little gasps and cracks in your voice drive him insane, and while reiner loves to tease, he couldn’t wait any longer to taste you. locking himself between your thighs, his arms securing your legs around his head, he makes sure to hold on to your hips when he begins to suck on your clit. there’s no running for you, not when you’ve been dangling this pussy in front of him all evening. his tongue is fluid, slippery when it strokes your sensitive nub from every direction, he’s everywhere and somehow you still want more. “feels so good..don’t stop—” you beg, hips bucking into his face. he loves seeing you so fucked out, so desperate to cum all over his tongue, it only encourages him more as his fingers curl against that spot that makes your vision dip, and you gush all over his lips and jaw. your face burns with arousal and mild embarrassment, but he couldn’t be more pleased.

“can’t believe you let me eat this pussy ..and you made me watch you cum all over my face…such a slut.” he mumbles, his tongue still running laps around your clit. still throbbing, still sensitive. your body shivers and shakes with the continuous sensation, but reiner couldn’t care less. he licks and sucks with reckless abandon for a minute or two longer, before finally detaching himself from you, and giving your body reprieve. you struggle to catch your breath, your attention now drawn to the tented fabric below reiner’s torso. knowing it’s a shitty thing to think of in the current moment, you can’t help but lament at just how much thicker he is than your ex.

then again, reiner braun has never been, especially physically, average.

you splay your hands across his length as he pulls you in, neurons firing when you taste yourself on his tongue. he groans into your mouth, his eyes fluttering when you’re stroking and twisting your hand like that—

a brief disconnection of your lips forces his eyes open, but it’s worth it when he gets to sear the mental image of you spitting into his dick into his eyelids for eternity. your hand strokes the hottest noises out of him, the schlick-schlick of your motions only getting faster when filth begins to pour from his lips.

“mhm. just like that—fuck, i missed my nasty girl.”

you don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on before. and that’s saying a lot, genuinely. your tongue winds around his tip, settling against the underside of his shaft as you descend; the remainder of his dick is in your right hand as you work him over. your efforts matter little though, as reiner has other plans for your tight, tight throat. his hand settles at the base of your neck, winding his fingers at the root of your hair, and grips. rocking you backwards and forwards, he bullies his cock into your throat, and he nearly cums when he watches your eyes well up with tears; at first you panic at the activation of your gag reflex, but your throat slowly relaxes once you realize resistance is futile.

“take it…ah, shit—just like that mama, feels so fuckin good..such a good girl when im fuckin your face” he praises through gritted teeth, pumping himself with your throat a few more times before stopping, and changing your position so that the two of you were in missionary. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you soaked whenever he’d handle you so roughly, the way your eyes would glaze over and your body would become completely pliant for him and him only. for him to be such a typically serious and quiet man, reiner was so mean, so cocky when he fucked; even teasing you for the way you whine when he puts the tip in: “what’s the matter? can’t take the real thing? i know it’s—”

he retreats, and slams back in, taking a ruthless pace. “a lot bigger than those little boys you whore around with.” he finishes with a whisper, folding your knees into your tits as he throws your legs over his shoulders. “m’ n-not a whore..” you whine, voice cracking.

“no? you haven’t seen me in three whole months, you come over for a few hours and the first thing you let me do was stretch out this tight little cunt.” he taunts, a thumb circling your clit. “y-yeah..m-missed you..missed this dick—“ you babble, eyes rolling.

“i know baby, i know, let me in, let daddy make you feel good.”

“j-just like that, fuck fuck fuck” you feel like you’re on the verge of collapse, his cock is pummeling it’s way into your stomach, his sweat is glistening in the glow of his lights and it’s taking everything in you not to beg this man to cum in you here and now. “only whores know how to take dick and still be able to beg for more.” he taunts, his little hair trick from before making an encore appearance as he forces you to watch yourself be debauched, a thick white ring forming at the base of his length like a badge of honor. he was fucking into you so fast and so deep it made you dizzy, but you were too far gone. “love when you fuck me like this’, love when you slut me out” you mumble, teetering on the edge of cumming, you’re so close you can taste it—

“fuck, you’re so fuckin’ nasty, such a good girl for me, always lettin’ me get my way.” reiner moans, a hand wrapped around your throat and a good squeeze has your vision exploding, you melt and your body goes limp, senses still firing off as he coats your insides with sticky white seed.

the aftercare is, to be real, half assed. you’re both exhausted, but reiner still makes sure you’re wiped down with a hot towel, and carries you to bed upon your insistence that you’d, quote, “love to enjoy the sleep part of being fucked to sleep”. you doze off quickly, and reiner follows suit shortly after; the both of you failing to hear reiner’s phone emit a soft ding!

eren 2:23am

you owe me that 20 dollars

your apple watch is still synced to my phone from leg day man…not judging tho. get in there soldier 🫡

#reiner brainrot #kittybutmakeitferal #reiner x reader #aot smut #snk reiner #snk smut #reiner braun #reiner x y/n #reiner x reader smut #reiner braun smut

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aruanimess · 2 months ago

Note

Soft prompts- berumin where Armin tries to zip up Bertholdt’s jacket 🤭

Quiet acts of love prompts

Hello, anon! Thank you for the prompt. I honestly loved writing this! Sorry it took a while, life got a little crazy lately 😅

~~~

His fingers are shaking with jittery nerves as he unlocks their apartment door, keys tinkling softly in his grasp. He pauses at the threshold to listen. Water is running, wet splashes echo as it hits the tiles, and a deep voice is singing the jingle of a cereal commercial. Armin smiles; Bertolt is showering.

Perfect.

He slips inside, hiding the Package™ behind his back, even though by now he knows he doesn't need to. His sneakers are off next, tucked carefully on the rack by the entrance. He tiptoes to the bedroom, tucking the Package behind the bed frame, pulls the party horn out of his pocket and sits crossed legged on the mattress to wait patiently for his boyfriend.

Bertolt emerges fifteen minutes later. His hair is neatly combed, and he's already dressed in a clean pair of joggers and a plain white tee. The scent of aftershave is filling the air.

Armin smiles to himself. His boyfriend is so proper he won't walk around naked even in his own home.

He blows the party horn. Hard.

Bertolt jumps in surprise. He actually jumps a few centimeters off the ground in an adorable little hop that reminds Armin of a startled giraffe.

Armin beams at him proudly. "Happy Birthday!" he cheers.

His expression settling into that of pleasant surprise, Bertolt smiles softly. "Hello," he says, approaching the bed and giving Armin a little kiss on the forehead. "I didn't expect you to be here so soon."

"I wanted to be the first to wish you," says Armin. He loops his arms around his boyfriend's neck and allows himself to be pulled upwards while Bert straightens his back. Dangling awkwardly from his neck, he plants his knees on the bed to prop himself up.

"You're out of luck then," Bertolt murmurs in his hair, hugging Armin's waist tightly. "My mom called me at midnight. So did Reiner."

"Rats," curses Armin playfully. He peppers Bertolt's jaw with kisses to make up for the late well-wishing. "I got you something," he whispers into the hollow of his throat.

"Really?" Bertolt sounds surprised. He shouldn't be, but he's always had trouble accepting good things.

Armin nods. He disentangles himself from the embrace and goes to retrieve the Package.

Before he hands it over, though, he waivers. "Um, it might be a tad presumptuous of me to get you this present. It was a bit of a gamble really, but I thought, what the hell, you really deserve something special, right?"

Bertolt shoots him a wary glance. "Is it like... a sexy present?"

Armin presses his lips together. "Uh, not exactly... Here. See for yourself."

With slow hesitant movements, he starts opening his gift. Armin bites his lip in anticipation as Betrolt takes his sweet time to undo the sellotape and carefully peel the wrapping paper back. He fidgets with the excess skin on his knuckles while he waits. He should have foreseen this. Bertolt is not the type of guy to ruin somebody else's work, even if that's some amateurish wrapping job Armin hastily threw together because he didn't like the look of the shopping bag.

Finally, the present is revealed. Bertolt holds it up at arms length to inspect it and blinks owlishly at it as if he can't trust what his eyes are showing him.

"A leather jacket?" he asks, his voice a mix of confusion and surprise.

Armin blushes furiously. Damn, he messed up, didn't he?

"Look, um, I know it's not really your style, but um... I saw you eyeing it the other day at the mall, and then you told me that story about playing Putzie in your high school's production of Grease, and you said you loved the outfit, and you made that joke about only tough guys wearing leather, and I thought... Well, why should it be like this? It's just an article of clothing, right? If you want to wear it and you like the look of it then you should wear it! But, um, I now realize that I might have overstepped. It's ultimately up to you to decide if you want to change your style or not. I'm sorry. I've kept the receipt. We can change it if you hate it."

He's too scared to look up and meet his boyfriend's eyes. What was he thinking? A present like that has implications. Bertolt is probably convinced that Armin doesn't like him the way he is, that he's trying to change him, to turn him into some stereotypical version of a bad boy. It couldn't be further from the truth of course, but actions have meaning and the meaning of this action evaded him until now.

A warm hand engulfs his own. Armin raises his eyes.

Bertolt is smiling. His cheeks are bright red, but his expression is soft and gentle. "I don't hate it," he says. "I don't know if I'm bold enough to wear it outside, but... I really like it!"

Relief floods Armin's chest. "Really?"

"Yeah." Bertolt nods. He takes a step backwards to have some space and slips the jacket on. He does a little twirl. "How does it look?"

Armin beams. "Amazing!" His eyes dart to the zipper. He points to it. "Can I do the honors?"

Bert lets out an airy giggle. "Of course!" He comes closer again, within Armin's reach.

With a huge grin on his face, he brings the ends together and drags the pull up, watching mesmerized as the teeth align, up and up his boyfriend's torso, hugging his chest in the tight black fabric. He's a little breathless by the time he has the jacket closed.

Bertolt must notice because he's peering at him quizzically. "What- what is it? Is it bad?"

Armin avoids his eyes. "No, no! It's great! Just-" he hesitates. "I guess it's a bit of a sexy present after all..."

Bertolt gapes at him. "Oh," he manages to say after a while. Then his expression turns devious. "I can't blame you. Comes with the territory when you're dating a bad boy."

"Right," laughs Armin. "Tough guys are known to have this allure."

"Are you doubting me?" teases Bertolt.

Armin pauses and takes a moment to look at his boyfriend. Really look at him. He stands a little taller, he notes, a little prouder. His grin is relaxed, and he's joking with him without stuttering at all or shying away. He's lovely like this.

"No," he says. "No, not at all."

#asks #prompt fill #berumin #armin x bertolt #armin arlert #bertolt hoover #bertholdt hoover #these two and birthdays are linked in my mind apparently xD #mini fic #long post #my writing #fluff

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heavenlyakin · 1 year ago

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Island Time - Reiner Braun x Fem!Reader

wc: ~3k

cw: established relationship, use of sex toys (vibrator), oral (m. receiving), vaginal sex.

Description: Modern AU where Reiner was a star football player who's now retired and spoiling his wife on a vacation for her birthday.

This was a commission. If you’re interested in commissioning me, DM me!

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying with us today. We will be making our descent soon. We’re expected to land in about 15 minutes. Please remain in your seats and enjoy the rest of the flight.” The pilot’s voice rings through the airplane.

You squeeze your husband’s hand, and he smiles at you. Reiner has been on planes more times than you can imagine. With his football career he had to fly to different states often, and most the time with all his friends, making it comfortable for him. However, this is your first out of the country flight, so you’ve been nervous.

“Are you okay,” he asks, bringing your hand to his mouth and kissing it lightly.

“Just tired, I couldn’t sleep.” You tell him, a yawn creeping up and exaggerating the point for you.

He checks his phone, looking to see if it’s already adjusted to the new time zone. “We have plenty of time before our reservations tonight if you want to rest. I could use a nap as well,” he admits, and you giggle. He rarely admits when he’s tired, but after a 12-hour flight, you’re both worn down.

As you get off the plane, you see the ocean just off the horizon and you smile. The warmth of the island hits you then, bringing you an unbelievable amount of joy. After all the snow back home on the farm, this is just what you needed for your birthday week.

“God, I could remarry you right at this moment,” you tell him as you walk to the black sedan waiting for you both.

“Save that for our future vow renewal,” he jokes, kissing your temple and guiding you to the car.

The air conditioning gives you chills, your skin already adjusted to the hot air outside. Reiner checks his phone again, probably looking to see if everything back home is running smoothly. You asked a few friends to watch over the house and farm for the week while you’re away celebrating. You take the time to check yours, letting your friends and family know you landed who knew about this trip and checking your socials. Most of them are private now, due to being with Reiner and his fame from his years in the football league, growing your own following substantially and making you uncomfortable. So now, it’s just you and your close friends who have access to it.

As the car starts to move, you put down your phone, wanting to take in the views of the island as you make it to the resort you’re staying at. The scenery nearly makes you choke up. It’s been so long since you’ve been on a vacation with just Reiner, and the fact he planned this all for you makes it all the better.

You look over to him, and he’s staring at you, a smile on his face. You lean in, kissing him softly and whispering a thank you against his lips. He smiles against yours and pulls you closer to him.

“I’d do anything for you, baby,” he kisses your cheeks, one at a time slowly, and then your nose.

The next few hours become hazy memories of the sun reflecting off the ocean, soft white sheets, and the smell of fresh fruit from the welcome basket in your suite. You get some sleep, however, so you feel fine once you make it to dinner. Reiner surprised you with a new dress, a beautiful lavender fabric with iridescent shine in it that flatters your curves.

He wanted to tear it off you when you emerged from the bathroom wearing it, immediately grabbing and squeezing you while kissing your neck. You proactively had to tear him off you, reminding him you had reservations; despite the warmth between your thighs, begging you to stay in tonight. Now you’re sat on the beach front looking at the moon reflecting off the ocean.

“I’m surprised it’s so crowded tonight,” you comment, looking around at the other tables.

Reiner shrugs, “I guess everyone here had someone special to celebrate.” He smiles, leaning forward and taking your hand on the table. “Have you decided on what you want to eat yet?”

“Pick for me,” you squeeze his hand and put the menu down. “You’ve been here before, so you know what’s good.” One of his old teammates had a birthday celebration here a few years ago that Reiner went to, probably giving him the idea to bring you.

“Alright,” he squeezes your hand back.

Turning to look at the ocean, you dig your feet further into the sand, loving how warm it still is despite the sun setting just a bit ago. It’s only been a few hours and you know this is going to be a trip you never forget.

The waiter comes and takes your order then disappears again. Reiner talks about the plans he has for you tomorrow, a trip on a boat to a private beach and then lunch served on the boat. It all sounds unreal, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell more and more. Once the food comes, you’re surprised by the sheer amount of food they bring. Reiner ordered enough for a week.

“I just wanted to try everything,” he shrugs, and you laugh not minding at all. It’s vacation after all, who cares if we splurge a little?

It all looks delicious and tastes amazing. Everything here is truly divine, and you can’t believe you’re actually here experiencing it all with the love of your life. After you’ve both stuffed yourselves, you take one last look at the ocean.

“I guess we better head back,” Reiner says exactly what you’re thinking. “We have dessert back in the room.”

“Honey, there’s no way I can-“

Reiner wiggles his brows at you, and you stop mid-sentence, your cheeks heating from the thought of being his dessert.

“Oh,” you say quietly, still flustered.

He takes your hand, leading you through the restaurant and out to the car already waiting on you both. The resort is a short drive away, luckily. You’ve worked yourself up with the thoughts of Reiner’s tongue between your thighs. Once you see the resort in view, you unbuckle your seatbelt, and you hear him chuckle beside you.

“Eager?” He asks and you turn to him and grin.

“Perhaps,” you smile sweetly. “I’m so tired, I just need to hit the bed,” you lie.

“Have a good night, you two,” the driver who you’ve paid no mind to this trip wishes you both goodbye.

“Thank you!” You chime, giving him a polite smile before sliding out of the car.

Reiner’s warm hand on your lower back guides you through the resort, taking you towards your rooms. It’s on the first floor, giving you a beautiful view of the ocean and beach. As soon as you’re in the room you’re kicking off your heels and running to cover that beautiful view with the curtains on either side of the windows and sliding door.

As you turn towards the bed, you see Reiner’s already unbuttoned his shirt and is starting to take his belt off. You walk towards him and take his hands in yours.

“Let me,” you tell him, kissing his chest a few times softly and unbuckling his belt.

He lets out a breath of air as you start to move down, dropping to your knees and kissing his stomach, no longer as toned as it once was but softened and flat from years of training gone to lighter work on the farm. The hair from his happy trail tickles your nose as you trail a few kisses down it until you reach the top of his black dress slacks, pulling them down along with his boxers.

He's half hard already, precum leaking from the tip of his cock. You take it in your hand and look up at him, sticking your tongue out and placing the head of his cock on your tongue. He moans as your lips close around it, his head tilting back and facing the ceiling. You swirl your tongue around his cockhead, tasting the precum and moaning around him.

How long has it been since you’ve just pleasured him? You can’t remember. He’s always such a giver and wants to go down on you or just bend you over the table and go at it that you’ve lost track. After everything he’s planned for you, he’s more than deserving of it.

You reach up and cup his balls, massaging them softly the way he likes, and he lets out a long breathy groan. You take more of his cock in your mouth, the head prodding at the back of your throat. He’s so large you struggle to take him all without gagging, but you do your best just for him.

He grabs the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair and holding you against him until your eyes start to water.

“That’s my good girl,” he groans watching you take him so well.

You start to gag, and he lets you go, smiling down at you as the drool leaves a trail from your lips to his cock. He cups your face in his hand, pulling you up towards him and kissing you deeply. His tongue tastes sweet from the wine from earlier, lingering still on him. You groan as he pushes you pack against the bed, your legs bumping into the frame.

“If you want to keep this dress, tell me how to take it off. Quickly,” he tells you, his voice husky.

“Zipper on the side,” you say turning and lifting up your arm so he can unzip it for you.

The dress pools around your ankles seconds later, leaving you in the matching purple lingerie you purchased just for this night. Reiner’s fingers drag across your skin, to the bra straps and snapping it on your skin.

“You look so beautiful, baby,” he kisses you again; more urgent and needy. Your back hits the bed before you know it and Reiner is hovering over you, his eyes feasting on you. “I could stare at you all night, ya know?”

You smile, pulling him into you and kissing him. “I love you,” you tell him, and he whispers it back.

His lips are warm as they kiss you from your neck to your navel. His fingers trail up your right thigh, landing on the fabric just above your clit. He circles his fingers lightly around it and you buck your hips trying to get more friction.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Reiner stops you with his hand, pushing your hips down on the bed. “Stay still and let me have my fun.” He smiles, pushing himself up so he’s on his knees on the bed.

He reaches over to the bedside table and opens the drawer. He pulls out a dark blue vibrator you’ve never seen. He brings it to the outside of your lacy thong, pressing it against your clit and turning it on.

“Get yourself off on it,” he smiles, looking at you with wild eyes full of desire.

You lift your hips, the vibration sending shivers through your body as it hits your clit. You moan and close your eyes, feeling the pressure increase as Reiner rubs your cunt with it. Even through the lace, it feels so good and so hot. You’ve not used toys in bed for a while so this is a real treat, you think to yourself.

“Daddy,” you whimper out, already reduced to whines. “Need more to cum,” you tell him.

“Just ask, sweetie,” he tells you, leaning down and kissing your neck.

His lips begin to suck and his teeth bite gently into your skin and you moan louder. He slips the vibrator past your thong and against your wet pussy, the vibrations now against your bare clit. He circles it slowly, teasing you and drawing out a mixture of whines and moans. He loves to tease and you’re not going to fight him on it tonight. You just want to enjoy and savor every moment with him.

Just as you feel the familiar knot in your lower stomach about to come undone, Reiner pulls the vibrator away and laughs.

Laughs.

“Daddy!” You whine drawing out the last syllable.

“Shh,” he kisses your forehead and tosses the vibrator off to the side of the bed. “Don’t you want more?”

You smile and nod, sitting up on your elbows to kiss him deeply. “I always want more of you.”

He chuckles, pushing you back down and pushing your legs up so they’re on his chest with your feet on his shoulders. He pushes into you, his cock stretching and filling you as he does. Your toes curl and his fingers dig into your thighs as he slowly starts to thrust into you.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, kissing your ankle and starting to fuck into you faster.

His trusts are so deep and precise they leave you breathless. You whimpers turn to moans and babbling of different phrases that even you lose track of what you’re saying. He moves your legs so they’re wrapping around his waist as he moves to missionary to have access to your lips. This angle lets him inside you even deeper and closer.

“Oh god,” you whine, as he begins fucking you harder, your feet bouncing off of his back from where you’re wrapped around him. “Daddy, I’m close,” you tell him as that familiar knot reaches its undoing.

“Hold on for me, yeah?” He asks, his hazel eyes leaning darker now with lust.

You nod, not so sure you can do it; but you’ll try. You’d do anything for him, you realize.

Reiner pulls out of you, and you whimper, but he’s just manhandling you onto your stomach and pulling you back so he can fuck you against the bed. He pushes inside of you and that familiar stretch is all it takes to make you cum around him.

“Fuck,” you whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

He chuckles, leaning down and kissing you between your shoulder blades. “Don’t apologize.” He kisses you there again. “You have no idea how good it feels to have you squeezing around my cock when you cum.”

Your face heats up and you whimper, letting your face fall into the cool comforter on the bed. He slowly pumps in and out of you, his hands on your ass, squeeze and spanking you periodically. It’s not long before he’s fucking you so hard the bed is shaking. You grip the sheets, feeling that build up in your stomach once again.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whine into the bed, it muffling the sound even for you.

“You take my cock so well, baby, always so fucking good for me,” he moans, his thrusts becoming more and more uncontrolled.

You feel his cock twitch in you before you hear him mumble he’s about to cum. The warmth from it fills you up, spilling out from around his cock, dripping onto your thighs. You cum with him, squeezing around his cock and your thighs start to shake. As he pulls out, you let your body collapse completely into the mattress. Reiner drops onto the bed beside you, facing up towards the ceiling.

Managing with what strength you have after the mind-numbing fuck; you crawl up next to him on the bed and lay your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you, lifting his head up to kiss your head a few times. You sigh, loving every moment of his warm skin against your body.

“We need new bedding,” he says casually, and you laugh.

“I’m sure we can manage tonight until housekeeping comes tomorrow. It’s not like we haven’t slept with cum on our bed before.” You roll your eyes and giggle.

“Yeah, but it’s different when it’s your own bed and its that much.” He tells you, letting his arms fall to the bed instead of around you. “But I don’t want to be a bother. Maybe I can clean it up.”

“Why are you so worried about it?” You ask, laughing and sitting up, feeling even more drip out of you and onto the mattress.

“I don’t know,” he laughs, leaning against the headboard of the bed, the pillows “I didn’t nap when you did. Maybe I’m delirious.”

You laugh and agree. “Probably.”

You get off the bed to use the restroom then come back and change into a set of silky pajamas for the night. Reiner is in the bathroom when you crawl into bed and you wait for him before turning the lights off, mostly because you don’t want to get back up.

He comes into the bedroom, turning the lights off as he walks by the switches and crawls into bed with you. He snuggles up, his head in the crook of your neck and strong arms wrapped around you.

“I’d love to have every night be like this with you,” he tells you, his eyes still closed. “you deserve to be spoiled every single night.”

You smile, playing with his blonde hair, “Every night does feel like this when I’m with you.”

#reiner braun x reader #reiner braun smut #aot smut #snk smut #attack on titan smut #shingeki no kyoujin smut

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dadsbongos · 5 months ago

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wild bug sluts at club cocoon!

@toxycodone aot fic is here!

12.5 k words / warnings - pinv sex (unprotected), cunnilingus, HEAVY tragedy, thematic objectification, toxic relationships, cannibalism but not for realsies just for play, modern AU, gendered trauma -> fem reader but only for the angst of it all she's more like an actual character

summary - Reiner and Zeke share a birthday, Zeke usually takes all the attention but a year ago Reiner decided to do something selfish: now he has to face it and you. You just want to go out with someone that likes you.

~~~

“You think she knows how to make a tequila sunrise?” Eren leans against solid oak, flagging the bartender before folding his arms -- silver rings glinting beneath a mosaic of colored lights. Pinks and blues melting into dark purple on black tile.

“In a bar like this, I’d hope…”

“Hm, and what do you mean by that?” Eren shoots a quick, halfhearted glare.

Reiner sighs, “Bars with personality.”

“Ha!” Eren puts in his order as the bartender finally graces them, something much blander than a tequila sunrise before smacking knuckles against Reiner’s chest, “And a tequila sunrise? Can you do that?”

She blinks at him, lips bent dismally, “Yes. I can.”

Eren nods curtly, watching her work before murmuring to Reiner, “Ooooh, didn’t even ID us.”

“They ID’d at the door.”

“I was joking,” Eren suddenly snorts, “Zeke gets dragged here by his girlfriend sometimes, and they don’t even ask for his.”

“He’s like fourty, though.”

“Thirty-two, but close.”

Once both men have their drinks, plus a bottled water in Eren’s other hand, they make way to their booth. Occupied by Armin and Mikasa sitting shoulder-to-shoulder as Armin scrolls his phone. Mikasa’s chin digs into his arm so she can share the view.

“Lame-os,” Eren slides the water towards Armin, “You on Reddit at a club?”

“A guy left his wife when she was diagnosed with brain cancer and he’s asking if he’s in the wrong,” Mikasa looks up from Armin’s screen, “So far, I say so.”

“Where’s Jean?” Reiner scans the bumping throng clotting the dance floor, pinpointing Sasha’s bouncy ponytail and Connie’s bald head and twinkly earrings along the fray. Nowhere around them is the patchy bleached hair of Jean.

“No idea,” Mikasa’s eyes continue roaming the post as Armin lifts his head, swiveling the area before shrugging.

“Go find him.”

Reiner takes the sarcastic bite as a tride duty, swinging back his sunrise before clanking the glass onto the table. He promises to be back soon; Eren calls him a true knight in wrinkled cotton shirt.

His first step into the crowd is met with much resistance, packed flesh squeezing him around the shoulders. Hands skim his forearms and heads thud into his biceps and he’s graceful enough to not take the contact personally. A Saturday night is bound to be lucky for those parched of bitter liquor and hot skin. Reiner regrets sucking down his drink as his feet jumble along the floor.

Even with the advantage of being a head taller than most nightcrawlers, Reiner struggles to discern his position. He’s jostled between a woman in a blue slip dress and a man in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans. Turning swiftly is a mistake, feeling as if his brain swirled off its stem -- caught in a cyclone like the lone olive in a martini. More pressing, however, is the fact he cannot make Eren out; everything outside the bumping floor is bathed in pitch black. While everything contained on the floor is purple, overhead hues blurring together on shimmery dresses and wandering legs until all he sees is an eye-twitching shade of violet.

Jean is most likely fine -may have even ran off to the bathroom- because seldom does Jean find himself the center of danger, that’s Eren’s prerogative. Irritation begins to nip at Reiner the more he’s pushed, irritation he knows is solely his own doing.

Nobody asked him to hunt Jean down, but he wanted to be the hero in finding him. Nobody asked him to not shove back, but he would look like a meathead jackass otherwise. Alongside being much taller than others, Reiner is much bigger: typically the biggest guy in the room on any given day. He wields it well, he promises his mother, he isn’t rough nor is he particularly vexing, knowing any fights he picks he’ll win.

Reiner almost elbows the next person to touch him.

A soft hand curling around his wrist. Nails scooping crescents down to bone.

Instinctually, he rips away only to whirl around and glare upon the bold grabber. A rehearsed apology surges onto the tip of his tongue, which he must bite back: why should he apologize?

You grabbed him.

Now, you’re smiling up at him.

“You looked lost!” you shout over the thumping music.

Dark lipstick stains your words, dredging any purity or innocence, and a tight dress draws eyes to cinched spilling fat. Vibrant pink splashes across you, hot flares highlighting the folds of fabric around your waist. He has the strangest impulse to flatten them out. A flash of blue drowns you out before he’s blessed with another burst of bubblegum.

Babydoll lashes bat at him, your head cocks, “Don’t tell me you’re drunk.”

“I’m not,” he has no reason to answer you, and there’s no logic to why he feels the need to prove it.

“So, you’re lost?”

Reiner shakes his head, almost like a child asked -with crumbs all over his face- if he got into the cookie jar. The hand previously snug around him arises, fingers splayed wide.

Does he have to be one or the other?

He supposes he wouldn’t even know what to say otherwise, so he must be.

Surely, you’re the answer. Surely, you can help. Surely, after he takes your hand he’ll feel all better.

Blue and purple lights section off chunks of your face, eyes low and smile wide -- sharp canines neon in the lighting.

You look like sex.

Reiner misses sex.

He webs thick fingers between yours and glides through sweltering, clumped bodies behind you. Hungry hands swerve him into the mens’ bathroom, it reeks of alcohol and overly enthusiastic cologne; a scent immediately overwhelmed by dewy rose perfume. Arms flung around his neck, you’re smearing lipstick around his chin, on his cheeks, and along his jawline.

Blindly stumbling into the first stall, Reiner sighs against your mouth, “Jump.”

Big hands brace the backs of your thighs, lugging you up and pushing you against the door -- slamming it shut and fumbling to slide the lock. Reiner feels you snip his bottom lip with knifepoint teeth, making him squeeze your hips, bruising himself around you. As his fingers worm beneath the hem of your teeny dress to smuggle your panties, you unlatch from his face.

Warm skin and a thundering chest, your pulses are practically mingling. You cradle his face, “So handsome, aren’t you? You look like you like me.”

“Does that make me more handsome?” he, admittedly, sounds pathetic. Not that he can imagine a better way to sound if it makes you hold him tighter.

“By far,” you titter against his mouth, dragging your palms down his cheeks and smoothing them along his throat. Digging your thumbs into his adam’s apple just to hear him wheeze.

So confident. So brash. As if he won’t drop you and walk out right now for the offense.

He doesn’t, he only kisses you harder.

Again, he reaches higher up your dress and, again, he’s met with pain. You suck the bottom lip you tore open and swallow his blood.

“You want me?” you tease.

“Bad,” he confesses, hot-faced and receptive to whatever you’ll give.

“Good boy,” you round your hands around his neck as if to choke him, “Would you let me do whatever I wanted to you?”

The bathroom door swings open. Men’s shoes squeaking across dirty floor and their voices a low rattle.

“Anything.”

“I’ll take care of you, Reiner.”

“Okay.”

Confused hums and awkward chuckles from outside the stall are somewhat familiar. Eren, maybe. And someone else. Someone he tries to forget about. Someone you held hands with on his birthday, at another person’s party.

Nails shredding through his tendons, vastly different from the playful indents you made on his wrist. Bared teeth sink into his neck. Thighs wind tighter around him, until he’s sure you could snip him in half. Spiney barbs prickle from your flesh into his, tethering you both together. Pain and pleasure burn him up, scorching every contact point between you both until he’s shuddering and whining and twitching. You bite harder, when you pull back there’s blood drenching your gums.

Reiner blinks up at you as your mouth gapes, you stare him down along the bridge of your nose and he feels small. Tedious workout schedule and pride be damned, he is petrified under your fangs and wriggling between your legs in vain.

Despite -or perhaps because of- his struggle, you’re laughing. You’re laughing and you surge forward to bite his head off.

Which, at the prospect of not having to return empty-handed to his friends, seems better than living. He would rather you kill him than return to the apartment he shares with his worst friend Porco, and he would rather bleed out in a dingy bathroom stall than go to bed alone.

You’re beautiful, at least. His most selfish request now could be that he stares at you a few more minutes.

Reiner’s knees flail, buckling the instant you’ve got the taste of his flesh -- he staggers back onto the toilet with a clang and screech of protesting porcelain. Someone bangs on the dark green stall wall, and the faint, hedonistic laughs of voyeurs sounds faraway underwater. Raw iron floods his nostrils, mixing with your floral perfume. His muscles lock, disregarding his acceptance to fate, giving one final defensive squeeze to your hips before he’s entirely limp.

Softly, your lips skim his one last time. You smile against him with a whispered ‘thanks, big guy’ and he’s inclined to smile back.

This is okay.

This tequila sunrise is okay.

You make it better.

“Too much orange juice,” Reiner pushes his glass away, a lone maraschino cherry left to spin in the sudden ruckus. Bobbing in a fingernail’s depth of cloudy orange.

Much too boldly, you and Eren reach for the stem at the same time and Reiner has to hold the glass still as you two try shoving the other away from a mediocre prize. As usual, you win, but only after having smacked Eren’s hand away.

“Hey!” Eren whines, reaching over to yank the cherry out of your mouth. He barely manages to snatch the stem between forefinger and thumb, twiggy thing snapping off completely. He throws it in your face as you laugh.

You beam at the attack, letting the stem bounce off your cheek as you chomp the cherry.

Not the trait of a cannibalistic creature at all.

You’re just a fleshy and tender human, but they don’t bite their mates’ heads off so that reality makes it harder for him to indulge fantasy. Easier is the mockup version of you to be around, the one where you two aren’t close friends and you’re not a person. He prefers to imagine sex with the version of you that’s a cruel, carnivorous mistress because that might be the only you he deserves.

So, he’ll continue killing himself off by your hand instead of confessing anything.

“Here, we can makeout and you’ll get the taste,” you stretch forward, puckering your lips cartoonishly.

“How nice of you!” Eren sarcastically chirps before sliding out of the booth and extending a hand for you.

He’ll continue watching you flirt with Eren.

Wild pounding on creaky wood startles Reiner awake.

He shoots up, chestnut brown sheets flying around his hips. Porco’s grating voice booms through the otherside of the door, “Your friends are here, fuckface! Get up!”

Reiner wants to strangle his roommate on a good day, and this is looking to be one of the worse ones. He physically rolls out of bed with an aggravated start, one which completely fizzles out once he’s opening the door. Porco has apparently abandoned ‘Reiner’s friends’, his keys missing from their shared hooks and shoes gone.

Reiner’s dream is already oozing out his ears in favor of following Eren’s retort,

“Did he forget he’s friends with my brother or some shit?” Eren tries to bury his annoyance beneath playfulness, an attempt that totally bombs.

Armin shrugs, perfectly permanently disinterested in dull conflicts. His eyes scrawl over Reiner, bare chest and loose plaid pajama bottoms, before jingling his keys, “You ready?”

“Oh,” Reiner huffs, looking down at himself, “Oh, no. Shit.”

“Hurry up!” Eren chastises, brushing a silky lock of brown hair behind his ear.

Armin says a sentence with your name in it that Reiner cares not to listen to, instead throwing himself into his closet for real clothes.

Something breezy but not opaque, something clean but not overdressed, something he can pretend matches the dress you sent to the group chat without seeming creepy. Though, who is he kidding?

When his thought process starts and ends with what you’ll think: it’s inherently creepy.

Eventually, he’s rushing out toward the door for his shoes in black jeans and a compression shirt which Eren immediately ‘boo’s.

“What?” Reiner hisses, lacing his sneakers.

Armin clicks his tongue, scrounging for the politest way to say his piece before realizing he simply can’t, “You’re gonna look like a douche. We can wait a little longer if you want to change.”

“Eh,” Eren dissents, “I feel like his haircut does enough of that.”

“Like I wanna hear that from you,” Reiner shoots a quick glare from Eren to Armin and stands to grab his house keys, “Alright, let’s go. Who else did you have to pick up?”

Armin says your name again, and it sounds sweeter this time now that Eren’s uninvolved.

Reiner is stuffed into the back of Armin’s clean Sedan while Eren is in the passenger’s seat. You and Connie step out together, with Armin only having to text you about his arrival since you’re not so irresponsible as to nap at 7PM. Connie locks your shared apartment while you’re popping towards the car as fast as your heels will allow.

Reiner snaps the door open for you to slide in.

“Hey, big guy!” you cheer, wrapping an arm around Reiner -- dress midnight black and tight, “Aw, we match!”

“Aww,” Connie coos, shoving into the back after you, slamming you into Reiner, before examining the blonde’s outfit, “Oh. You look… unlucky.”

“Be nice,” you bat your roommate’s shoulder and settle into your seat, letting Connie click your seatbelt in place.

“Mikasa just texted me, she and Sasha are already inside,” Eren announces as Armin takes off again.

“Seriously?” Connie groans, “I thought we were meeting outside!”

“Mikasa says it’ll be easier to get us in this way.”

“Yeah, ‘cuz bitches are lining up to go to a place called ‘cocoon’.”

You raise a brow at Connie, “They are, though. The place is really hot right now.”

“Just side with me,” he pleads, only earning a shrug and meek ‘sorry’ from you in response.

Armin shakes his head, although Reiner can see his fond smile in the rear view mirror, “If Mikasa says it’s easier this way, I’m sure she’s right.”

“Sasha’s gonna get drunk without me!” Connie fesses to his real conniption.

“Con’,” you frown, “I can get drunk with you. And Sasha’s gonna keep being drunk when we get there!”

“It’s not the same…”

Reiner watches in silence. Basking in the good humor and tunes of his friends’ prattling. Your group is not one that looks well-put, as much as he adores everyone he’s plenty ready to admit how strange the gang looks lined up. Especially on nights out.

Armin in a baby blue shirt and plain jeans because he plans on minimal socializing, though he has a black hair tie on his wrist in case Eren loses one. Eren in a sage green flannel unbuttoned over a white Tee with cargo pants that have enough pockets to hold the phone Mikasa won’t want to hang onto. Mikasa, Reiner already knows, will be in an outfit Sasha picked out for her because Sasha likes when they match.

Connie is the only clue as to what those two will be wearing because he also likes to match -- a brown shirt that says ‘I <3 MILFS’ in white and baggy pants with a leather studded belt and chains jangling off the loops. Tiny hoop earrings decorate his lobes with a simple chain necklace over his sternum. If Reiner has to guess, the only thing he’ll have in common with the couple is the color brown (Sasha loves the color brown, so it isn’t a wild assumption).

Then there’s you. Black dress. Tight dress. It tapers off at your midthigh and cups your breasts. Your hair is styled and you smell like a rose bush was dipped in sugar. On the surface: plain party attire, but Reiner can map out what’s so great about it. Short dresses have more mobility to dance, your hair looks pretty and will gain many admirers but is surface level enough you won’t have to spend an hour detangling in the morning, similar to your makeup. Captivating, but so straightforward to fix you could do it while drunk under flickering bathroom lights; and so easy to remove even Connie could do it while you’re about to pass out in bed. You balance the look he could only scratch at.

Casual yet attractive and breathable while maintaining the perfect illusion of careless, effortless sex appeal.

cocoon blinds each occupant in the car as Armin pulls into the lot, cursive lettering lit up in such a bright white it burns blue at the edges. Connie opens his side door at the same time Reiner does, both men holding it open for you to slip through.

“Ah!” you debate which side to exit, something Reiner knows he shouldn’t take as seriously as he does, before ultimately shouting at Connie, “Catch!”

You toss him your clutch and fumble for Reiner’s hand to tug you through his door.

Reiner supposes it shouldn’t matter that you picked him. Connie doesn’t seem to care, no matter how much Reiner wishes he’d at least look offended. Eren and Armin are already heading for the entrance once the Sedan is locked, paying no attention to how it's Reiner’s hand you’re holding now.

“Thanks, Reiner!” even you are shimming after the rest of the guys. Letting his hand fall astray.

“‘Thanks, Reiner,’” he sighs, eyes shut as he steps onto the curb -- pausing when a sick crunch meets his sole, “Eh, sick…” he gags at the sight of mushy greenish guts and twitching legs on his shoe. Guilt then attacks him, and he apologetically smears the insect’s remains on the concrete, “Oops…”

He’d hate to be crushed alive by some pathetic whelp of a giant and called ‘sick’.

Upon siding with his group, Reiner discovers what Mikasa meant by “easier to get you guys inside” and simultaneously admires and hates her for it. She’s perched over the bouncer’s shoulder, arms folded and eyes sharp as if she’s his boss; and for all her unbothered swagger she may as well be. As soon as she’s spotted Eren and pointed your group out, you five are waved in after a cursory ID check -- abandoning the rest of the line to swear and whine.

“I’m gonna hit the bar,” Eren announces, “Anyone up to join?”

“You just got here,” Mikasa ‘tsk’s, “Order a water too, at least.”

“Sure,” he probably won’t, even Mikasa knows that, “Anyway. Any takers?”

Armin automatically deducts himself from the conversation as the designated driver, as does Mikasa since she’ll be driving herself and Sasha home. Connie shakes his head, murmuring something about scoping the population before bouncing off with the other two.

“Can you get me- “

Eren cuts you off, “No, come with me!” his front as the group’s leader melts away as soon as he’d tried putting it up, “I hate going up to bars alone.”

Your face sours, entirely disinterested in spending your opening minutes waiting to get noticed at a clogged counter.

“I’ll go,” Reiner steps toward Eren before nodding at you, “What do you want? I’ll get it for you.”

“Nice that someone has manners,” you ‘teehee’ at Eren’s expense before placing a hand on Reiner’s shoulder as the music rises so he can hear you better. He cranes his neck lower, your lips brush the shell of his ear, “Can I get a hummingbird?”

He nods, “Should’ve known. You always start with that.”

“Ah!” you cover your mouth, eyes wide, “Am I predictable?”

He nods again, “I like it.”

“Really?” you tilt your head and he dare not nod a third time.

“It’s cute.”

Eren tugs Reiner over with a hand on his bicep, you wave the men off before spinning to find your friends in their booth.

“You sure you even need a drink?” Eren muses, “Pretty bold back there already.”

“Shut up,” Reiner doesn’t like discussing his feelings with Eren -- not because of introspective masculinity bullshit, he just gets sick when Eren has your name in his mouth, “What’re you getting?”

“No idea yet,” he shakes his head, muttering, “Nothing weird like a fucking hummingbird, though. Why does she get those?”

“I dunno. I’m craving a tequila sunrise, though.”

“Craving, huh? You sound like an alcoholic when you say it like that.”

Reiner takes the insult in good faith, because honestly he can hear it, “Yeah, whatever.”

“You think she can make a tequila sunrise?”

Reiner’s neck itches, “In a place like this, I’d hope so.”

“Hm, and what do you mean by that?” Eren shoots a quick, halfhearted glare.

Reiner sighs, “Bars with personality.”

“Ha!” as the bartender finally graces them, Eren puts in his own order (something straight and bland, quite fitting), “A hummingbird, and…” he smacks Reiner’s chest, “And a tequila sunrise? Can you do that?”

He’s trying to come off easygoing, like he’s perfectly willing to change any drink in the lineup if she finds it cumbersome.

He sounds like a total dick.

“And a water. No, two waters.”

The bartender levels him with a flat stare and nods.

“Ooooh, didn’t even ID us.”

“They ID’d at the door,” Reiner glances around the room, he’s not sure why. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for -- just that he needs to.

One of Eren’s many silver rings pierces his vision beneath the colored lights.

“I was joking,” Eren snorts suddenly, “Zeke gets dragged here by his girlfriend sometimes, and they don’t even ask for his.”

“He’s like fourty.”

“Pretty much. Thirty-two.”

“Oh my God,” Reiner grumbles, clenching his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Hm?” with their height difference, Eren doesn’t have to crouch to look the man in his scrunched face, “What? You okay? Headache?”

“No,” shaking off the uncomfortably stiff sense of familiarity, Reiner groans, “Deja vu or something. It was weird.”

“Oh,” Eren shrugs, already grabbing for their drinks and turning away, “Okay.”

Reiner swipes the water bottles when he notices Eren struggling to juggle both in one hand. They come upon the party’s booth to find Armin and Mikasa curled into the back of the horseshoe seat, faces lit by the blonde’s phone.

“Losers,” Eren cocks a hip against the dark lacquer frame and Reiner settles a plastic bottle in front of them, “Now who's addicted to their phones?”

“Still you,” Armin cracks without pause, “You can’t cook without watching something.”

Mikasa swerves a potential squabble by announcing what her and Armin are pouring over, “‘Am I the Asshole: broke up my brother and his girlfriend because I’m in love with her,’” she glances up at the men standing across the table, “Thoughts?”

Reiner doesn’t think anything of it. Preferring to search for you in the bumping throng.

After a taught pause, Eren sits by Mikasa, “I think you found Porco’s Reddit account.”

Reiner flinches. Eren doesn’t take it back, though, even as Armin softly gasps and smacks his friend’s leg. Mikasa says nothing, but the bored roll of her eyes from the screen to Eren’s face betrays intrigue. Praying to cut this gossip rehash short, Reiner says the only possible thing that can come to mind,

“Where’s Jean?”

“Jean?” Eren scoffs, pulling out his phone, “Fucker said he’d ‘try’ to make it. He’s probably spending the night with his sushi date from last week.”

“He’s been canceling last minute a lot lately,” Reiner teases Eren’s messy, hateful nature, “You think he’s okay?”

Armin’s brows furrow, “I don’t think he’s sick.”

“I bet he’s pissed about something!” Eren snaps.

“Like what?” Mikasa frowns.

Reiner slouches into the booth, head lolling against his shoulder and poking out of the back frame to survey the floor. Sasha and Connie are dancing, but he cannot pin you in the dark crowd -- even under coral lights. His frenzied search masqueraded as not wanting your drink to grow warm before you have a single sip.

A sharp slap captures his attention, skin on hardwood. You’re radiant. Eyes sweeping from Reiner’s shocked face to the pale yellow syrup cocktail.

“That mine?”

Reiner nods, voice petrified in the bulb of his throat.

“Awesome,” you twirl around the table to slam against Reiner, shoving him deeper into the seat.

Your bare arm brushes Reiner’s, he jumps at the sudden low temperature of your skin -- offensive porous abrasions scratching him, like a dried foam scrubbing his skin raw. Chugging the zesty mix, you noisily gulp it despite the violent fizzing. Barbie pink lights dazzle off the bubbles as some spits through your lips. Syrup and elderflower rolls down your chin and onto your collarbones like mucus slobber. He’s never seen you so messy.

Slamming down the glass, you rasp for breath and thumb at the gooey lipstick print left along the rim.

“What’re we talking about?”

“Jean, he sucks,” Eren answers.

“He was supposed to come out tonight,” Reiner clarifies.

“Oooh,” you lean off the leather cushions, perching a cheek in your palm and laying your chest against the table. It gives your breasts a natural push.

Not that Reiner thinks you need it. If anything, your cleavage is fascinating even when he can’t see it: when it's hidden behind big Tees and sweatshirts. He adores your cleavage when it’s plump and shoved into everyone’s faces and he adores your cleavage when it’s hanging braless and he adores your cleavage even when it's being peppered with kisses from someone else’s lips.

So it makes sense his unbecoming stare is noticed.

Obscured are the sounds and sights of your friends -- they chirp amongst themselves like they were yippy children again. Completely unfocused on whatever adult matters are pervading Reiner’s mind. Which makes it easier for you to chide him like an exasperated nanny.

“You’re obvious, big guy,” his eyes dart to your face, shiny and glossy. You shake your head before asking the next thing to make him panic, “Do you like my tits, Reiner?”

“Uh…”

“Does it like my tits?” you cup his crotch, arm firm and purely clinical. Assessing rather than caressing. Unlike his fantasies, you’re groping with a cold, objective palm, “Do I make you feel good, Reiner?”

“I- you- uhm,” he stammers, heart punching into his throat and mouth sand dry. Not from want. From dread. He doesn’t know what to say, he can’t be sure what response will get you to handle him with more care.

“No? Not gonna get hard for me?”

Breathlessly, he whimpers, “I’m sorry.”

“After everything you did for me? You can’t just get hard?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re selfish, you know that?” the dimples in your skin smoothen, plasticine and without fault. Freezing your nonchalant expression in time with shell-like precision.

“I’m sorry,” maybe if he apologizes enough you’ll stop bringing it up.

“I thought you wanted me. Needed me. You’re just greedy.”

Loving you is fruitless, lusting after you is wrong, but to not do either feels even worse. He is ripe with affection for you, suddenly pretending otherwise is unnatural.

So he just has to keep apologizing, “I’m sorry.”

And pray you stop talking to him.

“Your friends are here, fuckface! Get up!”

Reiner scrambles out of bed at Porco’s voice. Expedite that with the fist his roommate mercilessly beats against his door and he’s left desperately unscrewing himself from his sheets.

Before he can berate the loudmouth for so rudely interrupting his rest, Porco is slamming out of their apartment and leaving both Eren and Armin huffy.

“He knows he’s friends with Zeke, right? He went to my high school graduation,” Eren grumbles.

“He probably doesn’t care,” Armin placates before turning to Reiner, “Wanna change? Like, maybe put on any clothes?”

Immediately, Eren glances down at Reiner’s groin, clad only in slim boxers, “Nice cock.”

“Shut up,” Reiner flushes, whirring around to retreat into his room and dress.

“Good view,” Eren chuckles, loud enough to ensure both blondes hear.

“Don’t embarrass him,” Armin is laughing too, though.

Reiner makes haste to finish getting ready before popping into the backseat of Armin’s Sedan. He’s sure the all black ensemble will treat him well in a dim club, but he’s similarly sure all his friends will have a ball continuing to pick at his plain shirt and jeans.

“Armin’s wearing the same thing, I don’t get what the problem is.”

“Armin has a disarming face, plus his outfit’s got color.”

Reiner opens the side door for you as you and Connie hop down the stairs of your apartment. Greeting you with a, “Is my face unsettling?”

“No!” you gasp and throw yourself into the car, curling an arm around Reiner’s shoulder, “Which of you said he was scary-looking?”

“I never said that!” Eren defends, wide-eyed at Reiner, “I didn’t say that!”

Connie barks a laugh, reaching around you to poke Reiner’s stiff jaw, “Gotta admit, man, you’re intimidating. Especially in that, you look like Eren trying to be emo in high school.”

“Whatever,” Reiner swats Connie’s hand, as loose a wave as one would to shoo a housefly. He doesn’t hate the outfit, in any case: it matches yours… somewhat.

A black dress you sent to the group chat weeks ago. One he’s tried shoving out of his head because the only thing it’d been good for was demolishing all productive thought. Rather than advance his career or make up with Porco or even grow the courage to ask you out, he’d fist his cock and picture you in that little black dress.

Upon pulling into the lot of cocoon, you slink out of Connie’s door -- nails dug into the scrawny boy’s arm for balance as your heels choke your ankles. He hisses and you apologize quietly. Reiner wishes it was him. He just as quickly wishes he wasn’t so hopeless.

“You think she knows how to make a tequila sunrise?” Eren leans against the bar, flagging the bar tender before folding his arms -- silver rings glinting beneath a mosaic of colored lights. Pinks and blues melting into dark purple on black tile.

“In a bar like this, I’d hope…”

“Hm, and what do you mean by that?”

Reiner barely blinks before saying, “Bars with personality.”

As if the response were programmed into him.

“Ha!” Eren requests his own drink, two waters, and a tequila sunrise before floundering, “And a… uhh, what did she want?”

A (what he hopes is) charming smile smatters Reiner’s face to disband the evident annoyance in the bartender’s face, “A hummingbird.”

Your classic opener on any night out.

As the woman nods and gets to work, Reiner finds his mouth opening on its own mind,

“They ID’d us at the door.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

Eren shrugs up at Reiner, “I dunno. I didn’t say anything and you just reminded me they ID’d us at the door. Are you okay, man?”

Reiner shakes his head, “Did I?”

“Yeah. It was weird,” Eren narrows seafoam eyes at the man, “Are you okay?”

He’d be better if it were you beside him instead of Eren.

“I don’t know why I said that,” he mumbles instead.

“Me neither,” the brunette billows through pursed lips as their drinks are laid out. Then sympathetically glancing back towards the woman behind the counter, “Should I get you a water, too?”

“No, I’ll live,” Reiner flashes another grin, “Don’t worry about me, I’m tough.”

“Okay…”

In the wake of his oddity, Reiner decides to sit back with Armin and Mikasa while Eren joins Sasha and Connie on the dance floor. You’re nowhere to be found and your hummingbird oozes condensation over the table, as if to coax its predator.

“If my boyfriend did that to me, I’d kill him,” Armin spits in disgust, tossing his phone screen-up on the table.

Mikasa nods, sitting up to grab her bottled water, “Sasha would cut off her own hand before doing something like that.”

Needing a distraction from his self-inflicted problems, Reiner decides to indulge in aggressively personal relationship troubles of internet strangers, “What’s going on in the Relationship Advice sub tonight?”

Armin rotates his phone and slides it across the table to where Reiner sits at the edge of their horseshoe booth, “Just read it. Unbelievable douche.”

Reiner hunches over the table, leaving his friend’s phone face-up, eyes squinting through the harsh light.

A peculiar title makes him raise a brow at the sober pair. Mikasa folds her arms and nods him along, “You haven’t gotten to the worst, yet.”

The title, in all caps read: FINGER’S GETTING FINGERED. FUCKED UP, RIGHT?

Mouth dry, Reiner wets it with his entire tequila sunrise and wishes it’d, miraculously, make him black out in the single swig. He blinks down at Armin’s phone and rubs a knuckle into his eyes to clear any mistiness. Stubbornly, the title remains the same, though it’s not what his attention is pinched by anymore. Because the body is somehow worse.

YO, POCK. YEAH. YEAH. I KNOW. IT’S FUCKED UP, ISN’T IT? YOU SHOULD DO SOMETHING. I DON’T KNOW. YEAH, I’LL BACK YOU UP. YEAH, THAT’S A GOOD IDEA. SOMEONE SHOULD TELL HER THOUGH, RIGHT? I WOULD WANT TO KNOW. ARE YOU SURE? YEAH, YEAH, I CAN DO THAT. OKAY, MAN, YOU BETTER WIN. HAHA. YOU GOT IT, POCK, GET THAT FUCKER.

I’M NOT LYING! SERIOUS. POOR THING, I KNOW, HE’S THE WORST. POCK’S NOT TAKING IT WELL, EITHER. THAT’S PROBABLY WHY PIECK ISN’T HERE, ‘CUZ SHE KNEW YOU’D SHOW. I KNOW. EREN? OH. EREN’S WITH ZEKE IN THE LIVING ROOM.

ZEKE. ZEKE! CALL THE COPS!

“Awful, right?” is whispered into his ear. Sharp chin digging into his shoulder as you bend at the waist into the booth, hands holding you up by their perch on your knees.

“Terrible,” Reiner doubles down. Sweat bullets down his face, your eyes piercing him -- irises pins in a sea of bulging white. So white it’s searing green around the edges.

Then, your nails are puncturing the solid table, knuckles burning the way they did when you held another man’s hand at a birthday party (and then later that night when you had to pull thrashing men apart). Reiner would consider it a soft mercy if you used those nails to stab him in the heart this very instant.

Chittering whispers precede a hiss parted with low, jerky hums. Your jaw clacks shut as soon as Eren saddles up beside you, smoothing a hand up your back until it rests between your shoulder blades. He smiles down at Reiner, working soothing circles into your stiff muscles without acknowledging the flimy green overtaking your bare skin.

“I’ll get her, bud. You can go home. You’ve done enough for everyone tonight.”

I’LL GET HER, BUD. YOU CAN GO HOME. YOU’VE DONE ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE TONIGHT.

Every comment under the post is the exact same, too. Except for the very top one, in lowercase as if to hide from its eye-catching peers was a mere:

reiner youre fucking insane. i dont care its your birthday i dont care if youre drunk i dont care. i dont care. youre insane. dont talk to me until you tell her. - bert

Reiner pouts up at you miserably, your thin stare unforgiving and unmoving. He feels crowded despite the fact you’re nearly half his size. Petrified, Reiner can’t even think of something to say and redirect your attention. His brain is silent except to register your face in front of his, to log your breathing.

Suddenly, you’re climbing into the seat beside him.

One leg thrown over his lap with the knee digging into his chest, effectively keeping him pinned. The other leg is spread to keep you upright in the booth, arms cage around Reiner and chest pressed obnoxiously against his; he can feel your heartbeat. Sharp. Pointed. Calm.

There’s no rage in this attack because it’s not revenge: it’s justice.

You bob left and right behind the knee pinning him, needlepoint eyes whizzing over his upper body. Searching for the express spot to cut him down as fast as possible.

Before he can so much as blink, you’re striking his pulse and your nails slice open his cheek and arm. Instinctually, his arms fly up to rip you from his neck, scratching your back and tearing your dress’ zipper down. His legs jerk beneath the table, a loud crack echoing through the club.

Nobody comes.

Everybody watches.

You tear into his throat violently, digging through skin and tissue like someone might pry your meal from you.

His arms go lax around you, a soft hug he selfishly takes to his grave.

Until there’s a shriek behind wood and vinyl, “Reiner! Reiner, get out here!”

Reiner wakes smelling the tang of raw meat. Just the scent alone enough to make his mouth water and imagine the many dishes aided by a hearty helping of meat.

Like pasta.

Pasta is a great carb-loading meal, and despite keeping himself cut with outrageously defined muscles Reiner cannot recommend pasta enough. His only gripe with the food is he cannot eat it when he’s wearing his earbuds. Something about the malleable silicone suctioned into his ears makes the squishy tearing between his molars much louder than it should be. It disgusts him until he’s unable to finish dinner.

He hears that squish now, coupling a fresh whiff of open carcass: making him so nauseous he may literally burst.

Wet, sloppy chewing and ragged swallows, intermittently severed by the sound of sharp teeth clacking and ecstatic hisses.

Fingers tickle his sides, middle and pointer parting the puckered slash down his abdomen for you to bend down and suck from. It doesn’t feel too different from giving blood at a clinic. It doesn’t feel like much at all.

Even as the fingers melt together and broaden. Even as you cradle his head with bent slabs, strapping him down via insecticine pincers, and dig into his cranium you’re quite gentle. Like a lover.

Mingling kisses with nips, you crack his skull between jagged, sawing mandibles. Grinding him up into a fine, white powder.

Reiner wakes up screaming.

Porco is knelt over him, face blown in worry and breathing erratic, “What the fuck?!”

Reiner takes a slow draw of breath, gaze bouncing around in a panic to verify he’s in his room, “What?”

“‘What?! What? What’s wrong? What were you dreaming of? You were catatonic until you screamed and I came in!”

What was he dreaming of?

It’s already beginning to fade. He thinks he should let it -- best to forget and move on.

Best for Reiner, maybe, but not Porco.

Porco, who looks more terrified than Reiner feels. Porco, who forwent their passive-aggressive feuding to make sure his roommate wasn’t dying in bed. Porco, who’s nearly stradling Reiner in his scurry to wake the man.

And not best for you.

“Pock,” Reiner can’t forget, “I have something to tell you.”

Armin and Eren are perusing Armin’s Reddit homepage when they’re stunned to a still, only able to glance at each other as Porco shouts,

“Motherfucker!”

Porco storms out, straight past the younger men, and slamming the front door behind him after snagging his keys from their hook. Eren is first to shake himself to life, standing slowly to creep through Reiner’s door.

Reiner is pulling on a white shirt, rather steadily for a man who’d just been screamed at.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Reiner?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, Eren,” Reiner tugs on pale, baggy pants, looping a belt around his waist, before passing his friend with a short clap on the shoulder, “Alright. Let’s celebrate Zeke’s thirty-third birthday.”

And, really, it was nothing to Eren. What happened on Zeke’s thirty-second birthday was not for Eren to know yet because he still had to tell you.

Not in the Sedan, though. He can live a little longer in the dreamworld where you still like him.

He pushes the backseat door open for you as Connie straggles behind, locking your apartment. You wave excitedly and clamber in beside him with a loose side-hug.

“Hey, big guy! It’s been too long,” you squeeze. Connie slips in shutting the car door.

Connie’s scruffy buzzcut tickles the round of your shoulder as he looks over Reiner while reaching for your seatbelt (knowing you won’t click it into place yourself), “Looking good!” he huffs when you don’t make his job easier, “Dude, can you move?”

“Huh?” you follow Connie’s eyes, “Oh! Whoops!”

Eren snickers quietly at your antics before announcing to the car, “Mikasa says she and Sasha are already inside.”

“No!” Connie dramatically clutches the sides of his head, “My ‘fit doesn’t make sense without Sasha!”

“You just walked from the apartment to Armin’s car, I think you can live walking into a club without her!” you pat his back, “You’re strong, Con’.”

Reiner smiles gently at the man’s dilemma: a maroon shirt with ‘HUNTERS’ in bold white. Hardly as humiliating as Connie deems, especially since most people will overlook it in comparison to his twinkly jewelry and pants three sizes too big. Connie loves using his best friend privileges to bud into Sasha’s relationship, and everybody else loves watching what those two will do to make spectacles of their group next.

“Hide behind me!” you suggest.

“Yeah,” Armin pitches in, tone light and flowing with nothing but good intent, “She’ll catch enough attention for both of you.”

“Good thing,” Eren patches, as if the addition was needed.

“Thanks, guys,” you wax your palms down the bunched hem of your dress, kneading your thighs nervously, “I started getting second thoughts as soon as I sent the picture!”

“You look good,” Reiner says quietly, so he could pretend to have not said anything if you didn’t like the sentiment.

Thankfully, you’re sweet like pie and giggle, “Thanks, Reiner,” your eyes drift over yourself, “It feels good to dress like this again. I missed it,” you giggle and wink playfully, “Missed being scandalous.”

Tight black dress that pushes up your breasts and displays plenty of leg, the last time anyone had seen you in such a revealing piece was a year ago. Zeke’s birthday. Since then, you’d partied in more concealing shirts and skirts and Reiner hated it: knowing you were recovering from an emotional scathe. One you never would’ve heard if Reiner was a better person.

“We missed our girl,” Eren pipes from the passenger seat, earning a nod from Armin, who is turning into the club’s parking lot.

cocoon’s LED sign is blinding as the sun crashes beneath the horizon, forcing Reiner to shield his eyes with his hands as your group merges with the winding entry line.

“Oh,” you pinch Reiner’s bicep, “Happy birthday, big lug!” his surprise must be evident because you laugh blatantly, “Thought I’d forget, huh? You can’t hide from my birthday cheer, you know?”

“I don’t mind Zeke taking the attention,” Reiner promises, a lie he’s mastered telling, “I’ve never had a big birthday.”

His mother tried, but there was only so much a single parent could do let alone one on a shoestring budget.

At that, you shake your head, sympathetically patting the skin you assaulted, “You should someday. Maybe when Zeke finally mellows out at old age.”

“I don’t see that happening.”

“We’ll have to see.”

After momentary tilted silence, a man slightly bigger than Reiner in a tight black shirt approaches, waving everyone forward. Eren elbows Connie: ”See, Mikasa already being inside was a good idea, huh?”.

Bypassing the bar entirely, Mikasa herds the group from door to booth, of which she had Sasha save. Sitting beside Sasha (who's wearing a maroon shirt with ‘COUGAR’ in bold on the front, completing Connie’s outfit) is a golden ray of light in a kid’s green-and-blue party hat with circular glasses on a thin wire.

“Other birthday boy!” you hurrah, bounding past the group to wrap around Zeke, laying your head atop his.

Never one to mind your over familiar affections, Zeke brings up a hand to cup yours on his chest, “Hey, pretty girl. It’s been awhile.”

Reiner feels a hot white flare in his chest, something flagrantly upset by what he should know is common ground for the older Yaeger. What makes his anger all the worse is how he cannot pick it apart morally: Zeke is freshly single, you and Reiner aren’t together, and you’re both adults. Reiner can only chalk his jealousy up to that -- pitiful jealousy.

“I know, I know! We’re terrible,” you sigh, unlooping from Zeke to sit beside him as more people slide into the horseshoe booth (Connie resorting to extreme whining so Sasha is sandwiched between him and Mikasa), “We need to hang out more.”

“I’m old now,” Zeke ‘tsk’s, “I’ll die trying to keep up with you. Oh,” he points at Eren with raised brows, “They didn’t even ID me at the door.”

“No shit, you’re thirty-three,” Eren goes to add that his girlfriend brings him here every other weekend, but wisely realizes that would be insensitive. Since it’d be his brother’s now ex-girlfriend. To make use of his already open mouth, Eren thumbs at the bar over his shoulder, “Drinks, anybody? I’m gonna make a stop.”

Reiner knows better than to assume Eren is willing to visit by himself and nods, “I’ll go with,” he gestures to you, “Hummingbird?”

As you’re gearing up to confirm, you stand, “Actually, I’ll just go with. You guys will probably have a lot of drinks to carry back,” you poke Zeke’s shoulder, “Drink, birthday boy?”

“Margarita. With mezcal and lime. Key lime,” a chorus of grumbles escape the table, Zeke guffaws, “Not my fault it’s just better!”

“Waters for you two,” Eren shields his brother from more teasing by speaking up, glossing over Armin and Mikasa, “Sasha and Connie?”

With the punks’ orders in place, you wonder aloud what Jean and Bertholdt will want once they arrive. Only then does Reiner realize he doesn’t recall Bertholdt’s preferred beer with the same certainty he used to.

Zeke interrupts the realization, “No idea, but Pieck will get a negroni.”

“Pieck’s coming?” you mumble, sounding downright shy. You don’t want to be that person, and you doubly don’t want to ruin Zeke’s birthday by excluding one of the friends he didn’t make through his brother.

“Uh-huh,” thankfully, Zeke is a grown man who can understand nuance. He sympathizes with your hurt, yet he’s grateful you’re not the type to lay his evening to waste over that pain.

“Negroni for her, then, cool. Cool,” you turn sharply, eyes wide, “Cool. Cool. I’ll be going to the bar now.”

Eren surges to give chase, quickly put to pause by Reiner’s hand on his chest. Reiner shakes his head subtly, “I’ll get her. Spend time with your brother.”

Cramming through the swamp of bodies towards the bar, Reiner finds you chewing a thumb nail at the counter. Brows knitted towards the center of your face and an arm curled around your churning stomach. Frantic, jittery tugs to the bottom of your dress interrupt the nail nibbling. Reiner can’t take it anymore.

He calls your name over the pounding music and you jerk to attention, an uneasy smile finding your painted lips. Laying a noncommittal hand on your shoulder, Reiner follows the summon with a question, “Can we talk out back?”

Mistakenly relieved by his request, you eagerly nod and lace your hand with his. Fingers knotting and nails shoveling shallow crescents along the back of his hand, Reiner silently wrings you out to the alley behind the club. Dumpsters hide your bodies from onlookers still waiting in line, as well as filling the space with a stale rotten stench that makes his nose wrinkle.

“I have to tell you something,” he laments, no longer the paragon of tranquility he was when dealing with Porco.

“Okay.”

You’re sweet like pie, after all. You really are. He doesn’t deserve you. He thinks that’s what makes looking you in the eyes the hardest part of confessing.

Reiner deserves Porco, and Porco deserves Reiner -- they’re meant to be roommates, although neither is sure how it happened. Entitled dickhead going to bat against entitled dickhead: Porco isn’t going anywhere.

You could. And you wouldn’t be wrong to leave.

“Last year, at Zeke’s birthday, I’m- “ his knees beg to cave, but he strains anyway. Forcing himself rigid to avoid collapsing no matter how terribly he wants to, “Marcel wasn’t cheating on you with Pieck. I lied and said that to Porco so he’d say something to you. I didn’t think he’d start a fight, but I guess- I just- I should’ve… known. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Marcel didn’t do anything wrong, I was just…” he can’t believe himself, even a year later he can’t verbalize it without wanting to die, “I was jealous of him because I’m in love with you.”

Staring up at Reiner, you’re shocked into silence. Eyes wide and pupils small, dread and terror gushing into the bowl of your jaw, you’re certain you’re about to puke.

“What?”

You heard him perfectly well.

“I lied to Porco and said his girlfriend was cheating with your boyfriend, his brother,” Reiner knows you heard him, and he doesn’t know what he’s gaining by putting it simpler. He is, however, precisely aware of what he’s going to lose, “Marcel never cheated on you with Pieck. Aside from what he said about the way you dress, he was a totally fine boyfriend. I just… I just wanted you.”

A car roars by the backside of the alley, punctuating your chunky silence. Faint bass pumps through the club walls. You hug yourself as if to wall Reiner off by force. Head shaking.

“You- I can’t… oh my God, Reiner!” you whirl around and hyperventilate against the brick, muttering variations of that same sentence string to it.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

He prefers his fantasies, where you’re not a person but instead a monster that can tear his head off his body. He prefers to die.

You charge back inside, no doubt to shiver in the arms of Eren just like you did last year when Reiner started this whole thing. Part of Reiner can’t believe he’s been honest, he plucks a few arm hairs clean out just to be sure: both blessed and cursed with the truth.

He’s facing reality.

You know. Porco knows. Soon, everyone will know, and everyone will decide what to do with him. So, he lets you finish the story between hiccups and sobs while he kicks rocks into the dented, graffiti’d dumpster.

For a moment, he has the strangest urge to smoke. Reiner has never smoked before but now he’s certain he needs one. Maybe one of those particularly expensive ones in Zeke’s pocket, the brand that makes Eren’s water when his brother so much as opens the pack.

Finally stepping back inside, Reiner is surprised to see nobody preening over your crumpled, weepy form. The only indication he has that you’d even carried this burden inside is the fact you’re hugging Pieck. You’re blabbering into her ear as she giggles, close-eyed, and rubs your back. Upon separating, you squeeze her hands and she nods to whatever you’ve said last.

Then you flounce away, head flipping this way and that until you find Connie and Sasha.

Reiner apprehensively approaches the booth, where a red-faced Zeke is listening to Jean and Eren bicker. Their newest debate topic is one he cares little for since he’s certain it’ll change before the end of the night.

“Hey, birthday boy,” Reiner claps Zeke on the back, kneeling against the leather seat to ensure his friend hears, “I’m heading out.”

“Already?” Zeke scowls up at him.

Fumbling around his pockets for his phone, Reiner nods and holds up the device to shake, “Porco called. Smells gas.”

Porco should not be home -- Reiner hopes Porco isn’t home, but either way the younger Galliard’s estrangement from their group makes lying easier. Something which is also Reiner’s fault.

“Jesus,” Zeke, a recent home-renter understands the paranoia and waves Reiner off, “Hope your place doesn’t blow up.”

“Thanks, man. Happy birthday.”

Zeke doesn’t return the sentiment whatsoever. Reiner tells himself that is fine.

Pieck is beautiful: black hair shiny and alluring despite numerous fly-aways and unkempt strands. Eyebags that cradle relaxed brown eyes. Nose strong yet with an adorable bump. Voice lullaby soothing. Twelve months ago, you were envious of her, and twelve months ago you wanted to no-holds-barred box her in the middle of poor Zeke’s party. Today, however, you’re squashing her tight and murmuring apologies into her ear.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I just heard it was true and I didn’t even talk to you! I should’ve known better, you’re so nice and soft and I just wanna be friends…!”

A graceful little simper escapes the older woman, she accepts your nuzzling and even encourages it -- hugging you closer, “I’d like that, too. I’m not upset, I would’ve been pissed too if I were you.”

Her empathy only makes you feel worse.

“Though, I do wonder what made you come to this realization…” she muses.

“Oh, it was, uh…” you teeter off to find your answer wandering through the club towards the door.

If asked by any rational and well-meaning person, you could not tell them why you excused yourself to chase Reiner. You could not explain why you grab him by the arm and spin him around. You cannot justify why you look up at him all downtrodden and bashful and wanting.

“Why tell me now? Why not earlier?”

“Same reason I did it in the first place. I’m a coward, I can’t face you.”

Despite his stature dwarfing your own, you can easily tug Reiner away from the crowd. Fluttering from the face of the club to the bathrooms and slinking inside the unisex solo-stall. You stow Reiner away before locking yourselves inside.

An aggravated knot curls your face inwards, lips puckered like you’ve tasted something putrid.

“You could’ve just… you should’ve…”

Reiner watches you reel, you stutter and shiver and cross your arms and uncross them and tap your foot and curl a finger through your hair. He holds back from speaking or reaching out, fixed on the idea that any poking through your film could make you fly away.

“Have you told Porco?” to your question, Reiner merely nods, “And Marcel?”

“I don’t have his number, I assume Porco’s told him by now.”

“You’re okay with that?” you fold your arms again, Reiner hates himself for daring to peek at how it fluffs your chest, “You’re okay with Porco just telling Marcel?”

“I can’t be picky about this. I’m not the one I hurt.”

You’d have to be really stupid to forgive him so quickly. You would have to be dumb beyond comical relief, dumb beyond scary, dumb beyond dumb itself.

You step closer, both arms slithering up Reiner’s chest until your fingertips graze his lymph nodes.

Luckily for Reiner, you’ve never been described by partners as the sharpest tool in the shed.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you don’t know how to lie.

“Sure.” You don’t know how to read a room.

“I’m serious, okay?” you don’t know how to stand up for yourself, “This doesn’t mean anything. I’m just…”

You’re just fucking desperate. Just like Marcel and every other boyfriend before him said.

“You just want to use me for tonight,” Reiner nods, “I’m okay with that.”

Winding your arms tight around his neck, you lean onto the toe of your heels to kiss him -- nodding against his face with a muffled, “Yeah, Rei, just for tonight.”

Big hands wrap around the backs of your thighs as Reiner sighs into your lip lock, “Jump.”

You hardly get the chance to when he’s already lugging you up, one arm braced under your ass while the other cups your back and fumbles to slide your zipper down. Reiner feels you snip his bottom lip timidly earning a clutch from him until your tits are spilling out onto his chest. He’s prying your tight dress off, fingers on your bottom wrinkling up the hem of your dress to snatch your panties. You flit off his face.

Reiner swallows hard.

Red is smeared around your parted lips, soft puffs of air escaping as you stare him down. Your hair is muffed from its style, and he’s sure he’ll only make it worse.

Still holding you by your back, Reiner swings you back to undo his pants. Your nails shinny for leverage against his neck, legs kicking harshly into his sides -- like he’d drop you.

His cock twitches against you, tip weeping into the rolls of your stomach and you clench up at the sight of how deep he’ll stretch inside you. Then your eyes hone in on the way he carefully prods your hole, lip blistering between his teeth as he slowly rocks inside you. Every little hiss and huff from your throat makes him cautiously glance at you, thumb swirling wetly, apologetically around your clit.

“I know, I know,” he husks as tears prick your eyes, black mascara stains coagulating beneath your lashes, “Just squeeze me, pretty girl. I can take it.”

Your head flings back once Reiner has sunken flush. His hand on your back slides up until he’s got your shoulder to aid each sharp thrust. Amusement crawls over him when your hands fly to wrangle around his biceps, ankles locking behind his waist.

Wide, doe eyes vapidly blear over his pinching face, inspiring a sudden charge of those warm, obsessive feelings that got him in this trouble a year ago. Reiner drags his initials across your swollen clit and coos, “So pretty, pretty fucking girl. Cute and squirming on a big cock.”

Mewling at the praise, you buck against him -- whining when his tip slams a particular spot in your sucking cunt. Before you can catch a proper breath, Reiner tugs you again: ragged and gnarly mumbles leaving him as his pistoning hips quicken. Hard and fast into your guts as you squeal: pitchy and wispy and unable to breathe around the impression he’s scarring inside you.

From your hot-faced moaning and quivering muscles and tits jiggling in time with his rough plunging, Reiner’s eyes are kept busy. So busy he almost doesn’t notice when your abdomen scrunches up and your hole pulses around him. Almost.

“Fuck!” you shudder forward, arms curling around his neck to press sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. Legs flailing behind him.

“Fuck…” Reiner echoes after you, “Cum on me, pretty baby -- cum all over me, sweet thing.”

Someone bangs on the door, followed by Zeke calling your name. Reiner feels you spasm around him tighter, something he could excuse if it weren’t for the sudden gush of slick that followed.

“You okay? You’ve been gone a while.”

You look at Reiner, blinking with the silent question of what to do.

Reiner is no use whatsoever, merely winding the hand not playing with your clit into your hair and pulling to expose your throat. Eagerly bruising the flesh with his teeth.

“Zeke,” you whimper, earning a jealous bite from Reiner, “Ah! I’m fine!”

A sick laugh cracks from the other side of the door, a sarcastic “okay” leaving the man.

“I’m fine,” you sputter, skin clapping loudly on Reiner’s and drool wetting the corner of your mouth, “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” you gasp, back snapping as Reiner’s cock twitches, ringing ecstasy through you, “I’m fine! Oh!”

Wet, squelchy splashing picks up as your cum pools and dribbles out, dripping from his soaked thighs and splattering right onto the floor with every dive of his hips.

“Not inside!” you buzz in a panic as Reiner’s gravely pants and growls crescendo into huffs and moans. His rhythm thrown completely, “Not inside, Reiner!”

“Okay, baby,” he kisses your cheek and pulls out, sodden cock slapping against your tummy again, “Whatever you want.”

The ominous promise is overshadowed by the shiny glint he catches with your cum and his pre sheening beneath ugly bar bathroom fluorescents. His fist bobbing along the shaft until he’s painting your clenched gut white with thick ropes.

Reiner holds you a moment longer, and the fact his arms aren’t shaking under exhaustion nor your weight serves good promise he could go again if you desired. Unlucky for him, you don’t think you want to. You don’t think this was ever a good idea.

Undoing the lock of your legs, your heels clack against the floor. Gravity berates you quickly. Reiner’s cum begins running down the pouch of your stomach only for the man himself to swear and scoop it up with his fingers. A sticky smear is left behind, and he rushes to clean that too.

Reiner, with no better alternative, is forced to dampen paper towels from the dispenser to supplement the shower he’s sure you’re hankering for. Airy grievances leave him until you push back.

“I wanted it, Reiner.”

He’s on his knees, fingertips kissing your bare skin as he cleans you off. You look tall from his angle: you look broad and strong and beautiful. Stray hairs stick wildly like pricks. Or antenna. He nods slowly, tossing the soiled clumps away before rising to his feet (now you look small again, but no less beautiful).

“Can I zip your dress?”

“Sure.”

Your tone lacks romantics. Devoid of the warm fuzzies currently congealing Reiner’s veins.

He’s smiling, cheeks vibrant red, as he maneuvers your skewed number and shimmies your tits back into their cups before holding the back closed. His knuckles branding up your spine as he re-zips you. He holds you by the waist with his other hand, lips sugary on your forehead.

You can’t recall the last time a man was so adoring to you after sex. Even in your coldness, his devotion is sickeningly syrupy. You can hear the ‘i love you’s he’s bravely withholding.

Marcel was not the most giving man you’d ever dated. Far from the cruelest, but still not very charitable.

“Marcel hated this dress,” you mutter, staring at Reiner’s legs crowded around yours. One of his shoes poised between your heels so he can sap up as much of your space as possible.

“You’re serious?” Reiner is happy you’re speaking now, so he’s blinded as to what the best thing to say at this moment would be. Because it definitely isn’t, “Any guy would love looking at his girlfriend in this.”

“He said I looked slutty.”

“You’re pretty when you dress slutty.”

Hanging your head, you snivel against Reiner’s broad chest, “Am I?”

“All the time,” Reiner rubs your arms warmly (your skin is smooth, pliant, inoffensive), relaxing his cheek on your head, “You’re pretty in your pajamas and your work clothes. You’re pretty all the time.”

You hadn’t noticed the intensity of your stressed muscles until Reiner was massaging them out with gentle hands and a honeyed voice.

“Marcel met you in a dress like that, he can’t get mad when your entire wardrobe doesn’t change for him. Marcel can’t pin your wings,” as if to emphasize, he pinches the skin over your shoulder blades.

Flinching, you whack against his sturdy abdomen (internally groaning when you realize the giant likely didn’t even feel it), “Corny.”

“It’s true.”

Drifting back from the embrace, you turn and unlock the door before fluttering into the club’s swarm.

Reiner waits, counting down fifteen before strolling out.

“So, the apartment’s good?”

“Zeke, were you… waiting on the bathroom?”

“Something like that,” Zeke’s nosey and invasive to an absolute fault, if Reiner had to guess it’s in the man’s top three flaws, “Anyway, I take it the apartment’s good?”

“Pock called ixnay.”

“Good,” Zeke slides closer, clapping his friend on the back in a way that feels too celebratory, “Let’s drink, then!”

“You already reek.”

“And you do, too, so let’s cover that smell up with alcohol.”

Reiner feels smug despite his position on your shitlist -- after all, you let him fuck you, so that has to mean something positive, doesn’t it?

“Sure,” Reiner wraps an arm around Zeke in turn and together they manage to the bar, “Been needing a sunrise all day.”

…

“You smell fine, really,” Sasha eagerly hands over the body spray in Mikasa’s purse regardless of her insistence.

“I can smell myself,” you grimace, “I feel disgusting.”

Connie shakes his head, silver earrings blinding you when they blaze under pink bulbs, “It’s probably just the Zeke fumes. Dude permanently stinks like cigarettes.”

Admittedly, you can pick up the stench of a cigar box -- old and musty and catching your nostrils like dust, but more so is salted sweat. So you spray away, ignoring your friend’s comforts. Once you’re drenched in the addictive scent of tangerines, you return the spray and promise to buy Sasha a new one if it’s drained.

“Don’t be crazy,” she rolls her eyes and elbows you, “You didn’t drain that thing. Besides, I’d never let you buy me a new one.”

“That’s Mika’s job,” Connie nods as backup.

“Yeah,” Sasha giggles, and their glee makes you perk up, “Mika’s in charge of the expenses.”

Arms find your waist, a back stifling your own, and even though you can tell it’s Eren by the brown hair hanging into view and the rings and the cologne -- you strangely feel suffocated. He isn’t hugging hard, and he’s not the type to intentionally cause you anxiety, but you feel as though he’s got you caged.

A terrible thought, for sure, so you forcefully shove it back. You don’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“Ran off on us, I was worried,” he affectionately slurs.

“Sorry, ‘ren,” you pat his arm, “Was with Reiner.”

“Oh,” he backs away, now spinning into view with wiggling brows, “You were with Reiner?”

Sasha shoots Eren a concerned glance.

Instinctually, you try to ease everyone’s minds, “It’s not a big deal.”

Even though their assumptions are correct.

Your name is called from over your shoulder, Bertholdt and Jean are waving you over. Grateful for the segue from a rapidly curdling conversation, you bid the group adieu and race for the boys.

…

Close to midnight, designated drivers Armin, Mikasa, and Pieck are hauling the rest of the party (each person varying tipsy to slammed) to Denny’s, since the older birthday boy was starving for pancakes. Pieck quietly addresses the freckled teenager operating the floor as the drunkest of the group, Zeke, is led inside by Eren and Jean.

Meanwhile Sasha is helping you out from the Sedan, you spot Reiner staring through the glass doors. Coincidentally, also staring at Pieck. Totally unintentional. You’d have to be an idiot to get jealous.

“Hey, Reiner,” you beckon him over.

He heeds, now looking at you instead. It feels better. It feels right.

You also feel terrible, and guilty, and gross.

“Can we talk?”

Talking quickly dissolves into Reiner eating you out in the backseat of Armin’s pristine Sedan.

Maybe you can delude yourself into thinking this makes you both even. Maybe you can trick yourself into thinking this is a worthwhile apology. Maybe you can rationalize that he’s earned forgiveness this way. Maybe, maybe, maybe- maybe- maybe-

“Fuck!” you thrash up off the seat, hips jolting into Reiner’s hot mouth.

Thumbs spread you open for his lashing tongue to wiggle deeper inside you, nose nuzzling your clit and eyes shut as if he’s the one in bliss. Your thighs muff his ears as his hungry slurping continues. Worry that you could pop his skull burdens you up until Reiner tongue-fucks the concern from your ditzy head.

Shaking his face into your cunt, Reiner flays your lips with broad, soaked strokes only to hurriedly revert to precisely attacking your sensitive hole.

It isn’t supposed to be good.

He isn’t supposed to be good at this.

But he is and you’re whining like a bitch and he’s sloppily, greedily drinking you down.

“Productive talk?” Armin glances over both you and Reiner as you walk into the Denny’s, specifically where your thighs are clenched and the fabric of your little dress folds.

You let out a noncommittal hum before slipping past him and beside Connie at one end of the two tables staff was kind enough to let Jean and Eren push together.

Reiner approaches, dropping keys into Armin’s awaiting palm, “Locked up.”

Armin glares up at the man, “Did you keep your promise?”

(“Promise me, Reiner, promise me you don’t do anything to that car that will make me kill you.”

“I promise, Armin. We’re not animals.”)

Reiner suspires quick and itching to escape his friend’s deathly stare, “I’ll pay to get it cleaned.”

“Fuck you!” Armin mimics strangling Reiner, “Fuck you!”

“I know, I’m sorry…”

“You’re worse than animals! You’re parasites.”

“I’m sorry, seriously,” Reiner doesn’t like likening you to a parasite -- you’re lovelier than that, “It wasn’t full blown sex, just oral.”

That, surprisingly, does seem to calm Armin somewhat, “Which one of you was ass-out on the seats?”

“She was.”

“Okay,” Armin sighs, “Okay. I can live with that. Just - fucking - just go with me to clean it so we can use your card.”

“Done.”

“Asshole,” Armin bites as he turns. Which is fair in Reiner’s opinion.

What’s unfair, however, is the way everyone hounds you at the table.

You sit crinkled, eyes focused on your lap, “Nothing, really. Nothing happened.”

Armin bristles and Eren scoffs. Zeke downright laughs. Reiner sits across from you and tells them to mind themselves.

“We could all see it coming!” Sasha jeers, beaming over at you full of mirth and sunshine and good intent, “Reiner’s been in love with you since you met!”

Bertholdt flinches at the call, spiking a glare the blonde’s way.

“About time you moved on from Marcel,” Connie nods in agreement, the past year lifting from his shoulders like a sack of bricks. As the one to have held and soothed you in the aftermath of Marcel’s apparent cheating (and subsequently Porco and Marcel’s bloody brawl), he couldn’t be happier to hear you’re back out there, “That guy sucked.”

“He was…” okay. He was okay. He was okay. But Reiner’s…

Your eyes dart up to Reiner.

Reiner’s a liar. His actions inherently manipulative. No matter how terribly Marcel’s words could sometimes make you feel, he was a faithful boyfriend. Reiner’s crush could potentially be obsessive.

“He sucked,” Pieck reaffirms, smiling at you warmly.

You don’t know what to do with Reiner.

Except to grab his hand over the table and nod, “Yeah, he sucks.”

Reiner fondly brushes a thumb over your knuckles. Cheeks rosy.

Bertholdt is squeezing his fist so tight there’s blood crusting beneath his nails.

When everyone’s belly is full and your large party is spilling out of the Denny’s, Connie nudges your side. Whispering while nodding towards Reiner, “You coming home? Or…”

“Reiner and I need to talk some more.”

(Reiner and Bertholdt are preoccupied with conversation.

“Are you serious?”

“I told her. She knows.”

“You’re fucked up,” Bertholdt has half a mind to shout at you from across the barren parking lot to confirm if Reiner’s claim is true.

“You weren’t part of it.”

“You told me what you did! That made me part of it…” Bertholdt chides heatedly, grinding the heel of his palms into straining eyes, “She actually knows?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Okay…” Bertholdt rakes through mussed black hair and blinks weary eyes, “Then I’m sorry for avoiding you, I just… You were insane for that.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re good. You didn’t do anything wrong.”)

“Yeahhh,” Connie drags out, elbowing you in dramatics, cheering, “Get it, girl!”

You shrug, Reiner suddenly at your side and directing you towards Armin’s defaced Sedan by his grip on your hand, “Sure.”

Connie laughs because he assumes you’re being uncharacteristically shy.

Maybe he had a point, though, because as soon as you’re in Reiner’s apartment, you’re on him.

You don’t want to talk. You don’t want him to explain himself (honestly, you don’t know what more he could say). You just want him to make you forget he ever opened his fucking mouth.

“After this,” you gasp into his mouth, nails sharp in his back, “Make me a drink.”

“What kind?” he entertains, pulling your hips to roll against his.

“Something sweet, like nectar. But I want it strong.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

…

Waking the next morning with a pounding headache and sore hips, you trip from Reiner’s earthy sheets and lazily haul on his white shirt from last night as well as his boxers before quivering into the kitchenette. With an eye closed, you barely find the dark rum from your many guava nectar cocktails before shooting it. Nursing a hangover with more alcohol: always works.

A scoff fishes your attention, Porco sitting at the couch with a steaming mug on the table. No coaster, like a beast.

“You can have the fucking coffee.”

“Thanks…”

Saying Porco watches you fix yourself a cup of coffee would be too lax, he moreso studies you. How you gingerly wait for approval before opening his fridge for creamer and cabinet for sugar. How you stir the sweeteners into your mug. How you don’t bother with a test-sip before tucking everything away.

You haven’t spoken with Porco since you arrived at Zeke’s house twelve months ago -- an awkward hello between two people that never clicked. But you were dating his brother at the time, so you couldn’t just avoid him.

Now, you’re crawling out of his roommate’s bed, which (as expected) is already providing less opportunity to avoid him.

“Did he talk to you about last year?”

A lie can’t even form on your tongue, “Yeah.”

Porco’s brows raise in shock, pointing at you, then the closed door to Reiner’s room, “And still?”

“Yeah.”

As if sensing the moldy turn of conversation, Reiner makes his appearance. He scratches his bare chest and yawns, mumbling gratitude to Porco for making coffee. All awareness of their conversation yesterday seems unapparent on the blonde now, and it may as well be. Reiner remembers yesterday in full clarity, meaning he also remembers why telling Porco the truth was so easy.

Porco wasn’t going anywhere.

“So, what?” Porco’s question is open to both of you, but his eyes needle you specifically, “You two dating now?”

Reiner gives pause. He, too, studies you. He remembers why telling you the truth was so difficult.

You feel a burning in the back of your eyes, you blink it away and find trepidation swelling your throat shut. You clear the blockage with a swig of scorching coffee before answering, “Yeah.”

When that feels too bland, you take another swig and try again:

“Yeah. We’re dating.”

Reiner wasn’t expecting you not to go anywhere, either.

#reiner braun x reader #reiner x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner braun smut #reiner braun angst #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #bongos.long-ones.🍓

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ceooflovingreiner · 29 days ago

Text

make a wish - reiner/jean

a small birthday drabble for @fromriches-tosin! happy birthday!!! I'm so glad to have found this fandom and ship and you are truly keeping it alive :')

i wrote this in like 5 minutes so I apologize for any mistakes!

Reiner sighs, his head falling into his hands. He’s exhausted, the days seem to be dragging on and on as they continue their ambassador work. Today, in particular, seemed to never end, the sun only just starting to set as he settled in his assigned tent.

The flaps to the tent pull open, with a familiar face popping in. “You good?”

It’s Jean. Of course it’s Jean, Reiner thinks. Jean always seemed to know when Reiner was in one of his moods. He nods before shaking his head, an invitation that Jean takes to come in and sit on the cot beside him.

“Alright, spill. What’s going on? You were completely out of it at the meeting earlier.”

Reiner shrugs. “It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Jean says bluntly. Reiner always appreciated the way Jean spoke to him; no filters and no sugarcoating. It was what he needed sometimes.

He sighs again, giving in. “Today’s August 1st.”

Jean stares at him, expecting him to elaborate. “And that upsets you?”

Reiner huffs a laugh through his nose. “It’s my birthday.”

Jean nods. “Right…still failing to see the issue here. Is it because no one got you a cake because I gotta say, man, I don’t think we have cakes readily available.”

“No, I don’t care about that. I didn’t tell anyone for a reason. It’s just…” Reiner takes a deep breath. “Today’s my 23rd birthday. I wasn’t supposed to live this long.”

Jean’s eyes widen, understanding crossing his face as he nods. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Reiner says, his voice cracking a bit. “A little weird to think about, I guess.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Jean says. “Well…glad you’re still alive, man.”

Reiner scoffs. “Sure. I mean…I’m glad too. I kind of accepted my fate a long time ago, but now that it’s not happening anymore I just feel a little strange.”

They chat a little while longer, Jean doing a good job of lifting Reiner’s spirits before taking his leave with a wave. Reiner sighs, feeling a lot lighter but still exhausted and decides to get ready for bed. As soon as he’s about to turn out the lantern burning nearby, there’s a ruffle of his tent door again.

“You got a sec?” Jean asks.

Reiner nods and Jean enters, his hands behind his back. “Alright, now don’t tell anyone I did this because I’ll probably get in a shit ton of trouble but..” he pulls out his hands, a small pastry tart in it.

Reiner is speechless. “How did you get one of those?”

Jean shrugs. “New shipment of supplies came in. They’re going to hand these out tomorrow but I figured you could have yours now.”

Reiner smiles - his first genuine smile in a few days and he nods. “Thanks, Jean.”

“I’m not going to sing you happy birthday or anything but pretend there’s a candle in there. You gotta make a wish.”

Reiner chuckles, playing along with him and nods. “Okay, fine.”

He closes his eyes, pretending to make a wish. He didn’t have anything to wish for - maybe the continued health of his family and friends. Maybe for a quiet life in the near future. All the things he wanted to wish for seemed trivial and stupid, but he picks one and pretends to blow out a candle.

When he opens his eyes, Jean is staring at him, his face only inches away. When did he get that close? They’d come close to this a few times - usually after a few drinks and some heart-to-hearts - but one of them would always stop before it got to that point. But Reiner would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it constantly.

“What’d you wish for?” Jean asks.

“Can’t tell you. It won’t come true,” Reiner says, his voice above a whisper.

Reiner doesn’t know what, but something changes - a subtle shift in the air between them and Jean leans in, closing the gap as his lips find Reiner’s in a soft, chaste kiss. He pulls back slightly, gauging Reiner’s reaction. Reiner responds by pulling him back in, a hand pulling him in by the nape of his neck, his fingers threading through Jean’s hair.

They both pull back after a few moments, panting slightly, leaning their foreheads against each other. Jean is still holding the tart, but it’s the last thing on Reiner’s mind.

“Happy birthday,” Jean says quietly, pressing a few small kisses to Reiner’s face.

Reiner closes his eyes, a soft smile on his face.

“Thank you.”

#reijean #my writing #drabbles #fluff

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tiffsflickpicks · 4 months ago

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pictured above: Thirteen (2003)

Drama

Dir. Catherine Hardwicke

“A lot of the time we feel that our lives the worst, but I think that if you looked in anybody else's closet, you wouldn't trade your shit for their shit.”

Mid-90s (2018)

Drama/Comedy

Dir. Jonah Hill

“No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.”

Dead Poets Society (1989)

Comedy/Drama

Dir. Peter Weir

“I don’t know what kind of girl I am.”

Juno (2007)

Comedy/Romance

Dir. Jason Reitman

“We knew the girls were really women in disguise, that they understood love, and even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.”

The Virgin Suicides (1999)

Romance/Thriller

Dir. Sofia Coppola

“I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?”

Stand By Me (1986)

Thriller/Adventure

Dir. Rob Reiner

“When you get older you realize that's kinda all life is. It's just a bunch of scribbles and dicks and, violence all in a void.”

Big Time Adolescence (2019)

Comedy/Drama

Dir. Jason Orley

“Women, they have minds, and they have souls, as well as just hearts. And they've got ambition, and they've got talent, as well as just beauty. I'm so sick of people saying that love is just all a woman is fit for. I'm so sick of it.”

Little Women (2019)

Romance/Drama

Dir. Greta Gerwig

“You have so much love to share with the world and so much life yet to live.”

Waves (2019)

Romance/Drama

Dir. Trey Edward Shults

“Don't you think maybe they are the same thing? Love and attention?”

Ladybird (2017)

Comedy/Drama

Dir. Greta Gerwig

“Can I Have 13 Beers To Go, Please?”

Superbad (2007)

Comedy/Teen

Dir. Greg Mottola

“Are we gonna be like our parents?”

The Breakfast Club (1985)

Comedy/Drama

Dir. John Hughes

“We accept the love we think we deserve”

The Perks of being a Wallflower (2012)

Romance/Drama

Dir. Stephen Chbosky

“As soon as you came out, you said, "Mom, I'm still me." I need you to hear this: You are still you, Simon”

Love, Simon

Comedy/Romance

Dir. Greg Berlanti

“I can’t believe it. They forgot my fucking birthday.”

Sixteen Candles (1984)

Comedy/Romance

Dir. John Hughes

“You know, you don't always get the dream house, but you get awfully close.”

13 going on 30 (2004)

Comedy/Romance

Dir. Gary Winick

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averysmolbear · 1 year ago

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Evolution of a Birthday

CW: Established relationship (selfship coded, of course), hints of parental neglect, gender neutral reader, a vaguely nsfw moment with zero details to it, enormous amounts of fluff, pet names (baby, etc)

A/N: I wanted to try to write a little something for one of my favorites for his birthday and somehow ended up with this. It’s a brief look at how Reiner’s opinion on celebrating his birthday evolved over the years. It started out as self ship lore for Tessirei but ended up morphing into x reader.

Reiner Braun hadn't started out hating his birthday. It was hard to hate your birthday when you were just turning two and wouldn't be able to remember the party anyway. In fact, it was years before he had started to dislike all of the attention given to him on the day he was born.

His earliest memories of his birthday were pleasant ones, except for the part where he had to be dragged out of bed so early in the morning. His mom would usually make him blueberry pancakes for breakfast (later he found out they were just frozen ones that she warmed up for him) and he would wait while his mom gathered the things they would be bringing for his birthday party at the beach.

His family would stake a claim on some expanse of sand and slowly everyone would show up. Reiner would get to play with his friends while the adults talked and drank and his uncle cooked up burgers on the grill.

There would be gifts and cupcakes and sometimes, if he was lucky, Reiner would get ice cream on the way home. Usually he would end up falling asleep earlier than usual, being worn out from the long day. It never seemed that terrible to him but as he got older, the novelty wore off. He would ask to do other things with his friends but his mom would remind him that it was tradition and they shouldn't break tradition.

By the time he was turning 12, Reiner made it clear that there would be no more beach birthday parties. They would still celebrate with family, of course, but he would meet up with his friends later in the day to hang out and sometimes get into a little trouble. He wasn't acting out but honestly he had just grown tired of having to get up early and put on a happy face when he wanted to be anywhere but at the beach.

Soon he was starting high school and his mom wasn't making him his birthday breakfast anymore. He wasn't going to his uncle's house for dinner in the backyard. There weren't even any more gifts. It had become just another day and Reiner didn't seem to care or if he cared, he didn't seem to show it.

He didn't start celebrating again until coming home from college one year. He had gotten a football scholarship and attended school on Paradis Island. It got him away from home which he had seemed to enjoy and playing football meant he got to be the hero of the team now and then. Finally his mother seemed to pay attention to him again, congratulating him on his accomplishments on the football field instead of on how hard he was working toward his degree.

Meeting up with his old friends over the summer to have a bonfire on the beach in honor of his 21st birthday was the first time in years that Reiner had ever celebrated the day. It had been a nice change of pace, a reminder to him that it was okay for him to celebrate himself a little sometimes.

Then he met you. It was a month before his 24th birthday when he saw you for the first time. It took almost a week before Reiner had gotten the courage to ask you out but you had said yes and soon the two of you became nearly inseparable. You missed out on celebrating his birthday and when you found out, you were upset that he hadn't bothered to tell you.

"So you just let your birthday pass without celebrating at all?" you asked, frowning as you played with Reiner's hair.

He was laying across your couch with his head in your lap. He shrugged his broad shoulders slightly and laughed at your reaction. "It's no big deal. Just another day."

"Bullshit. It's your birthday and next year we're celebrating it."

Reiner laughed but he knew better than to tell you no. You were nothing if you weren't stubborn and you seemed to have a habit of trying to spoil him that he still wasn't used to yet. "If you say so, angel."

True to your word, you made sure to spoil Reiner the following birthday. The two of you had just moved in together but you still made a point to make him breakfast. You had found out that his mother would make him blueberry pancakes so that was what you did. It didn't take long for him to realize yours were much better.

You gave him a new trace paper, felt tip pens and drafting pens since she had noticed Reiner liked to work by hand on his architecture plans. You took him to his favorite bookstore later where the two of you picked out something to read together (Reiner insisted) and then you took him out to lunch, meeting up with all of his friends from both childhood and the ones from college that had made it to Marley in recent years.

That night you cooked him dinner at home, which seemed to fluster him further.

"You're going to too much trouble, angel."

You laughed softly as you set the plate down in front of him. Leaning in, you kissed his cheek softly. "Happy birthday, baby."

You didn't care how much he protested. Today was his day and you were making sure that he enjoyed every second of it. Of course dinner was full of flirting and Reiner making promises to properly thank you later for everything you had done for him. He loved watching you grow flustered every time he hinted at something he wanted to do to you to say thank you.

While you cleaned up the kitchen, Reiner seemed to prepare the bedroom for the two of you. You tried to scold him but he wasn't having it.

"If it's my special day and I get anything I want, then this is just how it's going to go. I'm sorry, angel, but you made the rules this morning. I'm just trying to follow them."

He easily scooped you up in his arms and carried you over to the bed. Reiner took his time undressing you, commenting about how lovely you looked after removing each item. He would hum and say something about how he was enjoying unwrapping his favorite gift. He did everything that he could to leave you nearly begging for him.

And of course you absolutely did beg for him.

Which was when Reiner got the best gift he had ever received in his life - you.

Every year since then Reiner Braun has had a change of heart about birthdays, deciding that they were the best day of the year - as long as he got to spend his birthdays with you.

#tessie writes #reiner x y/n #reiner x reader #reiner braun x y/n #reiner braun x reader #modern au #modern au reiner #modern au reiner braun #happy birthday reiner 🥳🥳🥳

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sweetwriter · 11 months ago

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Longing :Chapter 2.1

Single dad Reiner x black! Reader

Ever since that day has been trying to spend more time with YN. Getting to know her better and showing her that he cares. By spending so much time with YN he is obviously spending a lot of time with the duo he calls “his girls” YN and Sasha. They’re like ice cream and fries, they’re already good on their own but together, they’re uniquely amazing.

It’s a Thursday morning and YN is getting Sasha packed and ready to go to her mom’s after she finishes school.

“You got all your homework?”

Sasha nods

“You have your sparkly pens?”

“Yessss”

“Snacks?”

“Yes Y/N/N” Y/N/N that’s Sasha’s nickname for you. One day while playing with his stuffed farm animals Sasha had said “I think your name is missing something.” She said absentmindedly.

YN stops and looks at Sasha curiously, “oh?’ She laughs off, “is that so?”

“Yeah” Sasha said a little quieter. Sasha is a sweet girl and she’s loud and bold and loves to be as loud as possible, sometimes, she was quiet.

Reiner tried to be alot for her, but at the end of the day, Sasha was a little lonely. She had no friends at school- everyone thought she was weird. And only for her to go to two seperate houses and having to figure out in her seven year old brain why mommy and daddy don‘ t like each other anymore. She does well for how old she is, but she is still a seven year old girl. Her mom was present, but only when she wanted to be.

Post pictures on her Instagram mostly. Sasha felt more connected with her iPad than when she felt with her mom.

When YN came into her life, she had a friend. That’s how she saw YN. But as the months went on, she noticed how YN helps pick out her favorite outfits with her, like daddy does.

That YN cooks for her, like her daddy does.

YN makes her daddy smile.

And Daddy makes YN laugh. Maybe YN was more than a friend to Sasha.

As YN was dropping Sasha off in the school drop off line, Sasha jumped.

“YN!!!I forgot! I need you to give this to Daddy, it’s his birthday today. I didn’t get to see him” Sasha said with a deep frown. Sasha does everything possible for her daddy to be happy, but she’s realizing, that YN will make daddy more happy.

Sasha hands YN a handmade card. A piece of lined paper folded held by a cow sticker. On the front in purple crayon in big letters writes: “Daddy”

“Please make sure he reads it, it’ll make him happy- and he’ll be more happier that you give it to him.” She smiles before running off into the school.

“It’s Mr.Brau- Reiner’s birthday today huh?” You whisper to yourself.

A/N: Hey y’all, so sorry it took me almost a month :,( my iPad is acting weird BUT fear not- im going to buy my first laptop soon and hopefully that’ll help with writing and what not. But yeahhhhh I’m def wanting to add more filler chapters to build up the story a bit more so definitely let me know what you guys would want to knoooww or if you want to join the tag list or anything :))

Kk much love,

Sweetwriter

#imagine #fanfiction #my writing #black reader #attack on titan #angst #reiner x y/n #aot x black reader #reiner x black reader #reiner fanfiction

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i-literally-cant-with-this · 1 year ago

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Part I ::: Dad's Best Friend, Reiner

Part II

Yep. I'm pumping out more Reiner stuff. Yesterday (Nov. 6) was my birthday and I couldn't get enough of the man. So I started writing again today and he was just wrecking my brain. STILL proofing. My laptop went a little haywire. This will be straightened out by tomorrow afternoon. Thanks for your patience ♡.

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This will be in 2 parts. I'll attach links as I post and finish them up.

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Warnings ::: Flirting with your dad's friend, older man kink (newly discovered, kinda?), accidental exhibitionism, accidental voyeurism, accidental kiss, erection. Implied plus size//chubby reader The good stuff (HA, listen to me) will be in the second part. That's already almost done. I'll probably post that tomorrow morning or afternoon. Enjoy!!

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Part I WC ::: 2,557

It was Thanksgiving break and you were heading home from college. It's always been a big deal with your family to have everyone over to their home and have them leave well-fed.

Well, it was, anyway. Since your mom left last year, it's fallen entirely on your dad's shoulders.

But this was his time to shine. His time to show you and everyone else that he could go above and beyond the regular turkey dinner. You were a little nervous about it. He didn't exactly have the best track record when it came to cooking turkey. But you'd be here to help him out however he needed.

You and your dad's best friend, Reiner. There wasn't a holiday that he hadn't been around. In fact, there weren't any special events that you couldn't remember him being at. He was sort of like a second dad to you. If you had to put a label on it, that's probably what it'd be.

It's been over 4 months since you'd last seen him. You were both at your dad's house on the 4th of July. You stopped by to have a quick burger before you went back to your dorm room. All you remember is that his best friend was really, really drunk, and really happy to see you.

You called your dad as you hit a red light.

"Yell-o?" The voice at the other end of the call said.

"Hi, dad. I'm on my way. I'll be there in less than 30. Do you have everything you need for the great cook-off? Let me know, I'll call when I get clo--"

"Hey! Hey, y/n. It's Reiner, your dad's --"

"Oh! Hi, um, Reiner. My dad's ... best ... friend. W-where is he at?"

"He had to run to the store to pick up a few last minute things. But he'll be back. Either before you're here or right around the same time. S' I guess, just keep coming, uh, home. I'll be here. We'll be here, I meant. See you soon, sweetheart." He said before hanging up. "Y-yeah, ok. Rei-, um, ok. Bye, see you soon."

You suddenly felt really hot in the face. Was his voice always that provocative? Did it always sound like that when you talked to him on the phone? So deep and alluring? Snapping your head from your daydream as the car behind you honked at the green light you were mindlessly sitting through, you drove on to your childhood home. Not sure what you're in for when you get there. But feeling a little giddy about it, all the same.

Pulling into the driveway, you didn't see your dad's truck. But you saw Reiner's. It wasn't huge, but it took up over half of the drive. You loved the color; a deep blue. So dark you couldn't really see your reflection on the side of it. It was nice.

"Hello? I'm here. Dad? Are you home ye--" you called out to your dad. But he wasn't there. It was just his friend, still. Just you and his friend.

"Hey, sweetheart! Welcome home! S'good to see you, baby girl!" Reiner came to you with open arms. You looked at him. He wore a nicely fitting light blue button-up shirt. It was accentuating his very large, muscular arms. Shit, did he always look like this? His hair was a little longer than you remember it being. But it was slicked back as much as he could get it. It was in that awkward phase between too short to get it to do what he wanted and should he get a haircut. You thought it looked fantastic. Even the little bits that hung down against his forehead.

You let yourself be wrapped up in his arms as he pulled you into a close, tight, and very warm embrace. His body was so hard and so soft, simultaneously. It made your head spin.

A little while later you realized he'd already let go but you hadn't, so he kept hugging you until you were ready for him to loosen his arms. He chalked it up to you missing him or missing your dad after being gone from the house for school.

"You ok, sweetheart? *Heh* I don't remember you ever letting me hug you like this. But that's ok. I don't mind. I'm happy to fill in for any dad energy--"

Dad energy? No. No no no no no. You thought. This had nothing to do with 'dad energy'. Maybe 'daddy energy'.

"Not 'dad', god. I just ... s'just, well, guess I missed you. Dad energy. God." You laughed. He leaned down and brushed your hair from your face and kissed you on the cheek. Twice. You hoped he wouldn't notice how your heartbeat quickened. Or your breath got caught in your throat. Or how your face turned a deep shade of pink.

"You good, baby girl?" Nodding you put your hands up on his pecs and it took every ounce of will power to push him away from you. All you wanted to do was drop to your knees and lick his stomach. Just for starters.

"Hello? I see my daughter's car in the driveway! Where is she?" Reiner dropped his arms and let his hands glide down from the curves in your waist and turned quickly. You saw him start to adjust something, but your dad's voice drew your attention away from his best friend tucking his cock away.

"Dad! Hi! Happy Thanksgiving, pops. Thank you for doing all of this."

He hugged you and kissed the top of your head. "Well, I wouldn't be doin' this if it wasn't for my dumbass friend over there. He insisted that I do this. Y'know, to keep things 'normal' and to entice you to come home for a nice meal."

You looked at Reiner. He shrugged his broad shoulders. Fuck, how had you not noticed how hot he was before today?

"Well, thank you. Both of you. I can't wait to get started on everything. Are you working over the break?" Your dad was a veterinarian and often the one who was on call over holidays. Even on his vacations he'd still find the time to work for his patients. He was just that kind of person. You always admired it about him.

Your dad sighed. "I think you already know the answer to that, baby girl." Reiner's head whipped around at the sound of your dad calling you what he had called you minutes before. Maybe he should lay off.

But your dad called you that. Reiner has been practically a part of the family for over 25 years. He decided to try it out in front of your dad to gauge his reaction to the pet name. He'd go from there. It just had to be the right time.

"Don't worry, though. I sent home fliers about all the foods animals should stay away from over Thanksgiving. And how they shouldn't have bones that can get lodged in their throats."

Reiner choked on his beer. "Shit, shit. Sorry, {Dad’s name}. I ... *aheh*, shit. Never mind. Sorry." You and your dad stood there looking at Reiner, puzzled. You knew what he was choked up about. But your dad was most likely clueless. And that's probably better for everyone.

It was around 8pm and your dad and Reiner were watching football and reliving their high school days. Reliving their game nights when they were in (what they felt like) was the prime of their lives. Reiner jumped up from the second recliner that your dad moved in for him after your mom left. "Go. Go. Go go go go go go!!! YES!! Whooo! Fuck, I love this team." His honey-colored eyes met yours and you couldn't help but get all bubbly in your tummy at the slight squint as he smiled so widely. He genuinely looked the happiest you've ever seen him. And for some freaky reason, that made you happy, too.

"I'm going to grab a shower and go to bed. Can I bring you guys another beer or anything?" You asked, still maintaining eye contact with Reiner.

He shook his head, "'S fine ..." Now! He thought. Now is the perfect time to test out calling you baby girl in front of your dad! "Think I'm done for the night, baby girl." He waited for the ramification of calling you such an intimate thing. But it never came. Your dad just followed suit, "Yeah, I'm 'bout to turn in too, sweetheart." You nodded with heavy lids at Reiner and rubbed your thighs together the whole way as you walked to your room.

Sitting on your bed for a minute, you did your best to compose yourself after that pithy exchange between the two of you. If you could even call it an exchange. All he did was look at you while you asked if they wanted anything before you went to get cleaned up and tucked in for the night.

Maybe it was the way he hung on to the gaze. How he lured you in to maintaining the shared glance. No, it was more than a glance.

You stood inside of your room, feeling no relief whatsoever, and pulled your t-shirt over your head and tossed it on the chair. Unhooking your bra, the little clasp in the front separated without much effort.

All you could think about was Reiner's hands on you. How would he take your bra off? Would he do it slowly and make you wait as he teased you? Would he be frantic and grab and pull it off?

"Fuck. I, I gotta stop. Gotta get a grip on this shit. Goin' to drive myself nuts." Slipping your jeans and panties off in one motion, you kicked them aside and left them on the floor by the standing mirror near your desk. There was a small wet spot on your panties that could only be from one thing: Reiner.

Looking around your room for your bathrobe, you remember that you saw it hanging in the bathroom down the hall. "Sh- shit. Ok, g'na make a run for it. I'm just going to run for it. They're both in the living room watching football. I can do this." You bounced on your toes a couple of times to hype yourself up for the mad dash you were preparing to make. Slowly, you opened your door and stuck your head out to survey your surroundings.

"H-hello?" You whispered, testing the population. "Ok, 'm gonna ... gonna go ..."

From out of nowhere, Reiner's face popped into yours as you stood there, naked as the day you came into this world. Oh, how he tried to not let his eyes wander from your blushing face down the front of your body. But he couldn't. He couldn't make himself look away. He was hypnotized by your curves. How your thighs nestled together. Your soft stomach. The soft, silvery glow of light stretch marks.

"F-fuck, sorry! I'm so sorry!" He shouted. "I came to tell you that your dad had to go out on an emergency call for someone's horse. Broke its leg or somethin'. Sssshhhhit. I'm sorry. I'll go now that you know where he's going to be."

He was so flustered he couldn't bring his eyes around to yours. He just stared awkwardly at the floor, hoping you wouldn't see how hard he'd gotten over something so simple and awkward as bumping into you at your bedroom door that you were about to make a break from. Granted, you were naked.

"Oh god, Rei-ner! Oh my god!" You yelled back. But it was more out of sheer surprise than embarrassment. Ever since he answered your dad's house phone today, you couldn't get his voice out of your head. And when he hugged you, it was impossible to forget what his arms and hands felt like on you. There’s a 99.9999999% chance you’ll never forget how he smells. But you couldn't really act like you enjoyed exposing yourself to him. Could you?

Reiner finally found his footing and looked you in the eye. He saw your eyes and felt bad that he made you feel uncomfortable. But he couldn't help but notice how your nipples pebbled in the cold air. How they were a lighter shade of pink than he expected. He just wanted to cup them in his hands and roll them between his fingers. Fuck.

"I-I'm sorry. I thought you and my dad were still in the living room watching tv. I - ugh. Fuck." You turned back and grabbed your throw that lay across the foot of your bed and wrapped yourself up in it. You couldn't get away from him fast enough, but he stood right in the doorway.

"S'ok, sweetheart. It's alright. I just came to let you know that your dad's gone and that I'll be here. Least until he gets back tonight. Just lettin' ya know." He smiled his dazzling smile and you felt your heart skip a beat. "I can come back later and ... and ... you can leave your door open." He stuttered out, not entirely sure what he was suggesting. "You can leave it open while you're getting dressed or whatever. So you don't have to worry about me barging in again."

You nodded, "O-ok? That sounds good, Reiner." You whispered, holding the throw clutched to your chest, you managed to look up at him.

"So, are we in agreement that your dad doesn't have to know anything about this?" Reiner asked and you laughed. "Yes, oh my god, that would be mortifying. Let's just keep it between the two of us."

"Ok, sweetheart. Can do." He leaned down and let his lips sit on your left cheek for far longer than a simple smooch should have lasted. As he was pulling back, you turned your face and looked up at him. What you didn't know was he was going to do the same thing to your other cheek and your lips met with his.

They were so soft and warm. You weren't expecting to actually kiss him when you did this. You were going to say goodnight and slip passed him down the hallway. But instead, you just stood there. Initially wide-eyed, your mouth puckered out slightly. When did that happen? When did you push your lips out to meet his?

Reiner stepped back slightly. He didn't look like he was in as much shock as you. But he had a stupid half-grin on his face where your lips had just been. Like his little scheme had panned out perfectly. You couldn't believe you'd just kissed Reiner. Your dad's best friend. He was practically family. Even if it wasn't on purpose.

You both stood there for a moment longer. You couldn't believe how amazing it felt to kiss him. His lips were so sweet and perfect. But you knew it couldn't go any further. Your dad would lose his shit. And Reiner was his best friend. And he was old. Well, not old. But older.

"I, um, I'm going to hop in the shower." You said, quietly. "Yeah, yeah, I'll leave you to it. Sorry, baby girl." He turned on his heel and walked back down the hall.

He didn't sound like he was sorry. He sounded excited. Like he was about to win some kind of prize.

And that prize?

Was you.

Taglist ::: @darkstarlight82 @callm3senpaii @reinerswarrior

#reiner smut #reiner x y/n #reiner x you #reiner x reader #reiner aot smut #reiner attack on titan smut #attack on titan smut #aot smut #reiner braun #reiner braun x you #reiner braun x y/n #reiner braun x reader #aot reiner braun #aot reiner #reiner braun attack on titan #plus size reader x reiner #chubby reader x reiner

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dude-why-3 · 5 months ago

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Who painted the sky?

Chapter 18: Kiss in the Rain

“Left foot, blue,” Annie calls out. Sitting soundly on the couch with Hitch cheering next to her, she wonders how they’re gonna do it this time.

In the warmth and coziness of the common room, deep into the night, having already changed into their pajamas, the volunteers decided to play twisters to decide who gets the last piece of cake. So they moved the coffee table to the side. Annie took it upon herself to be the judge, for showing off like that was not something she was willing to do in front of everyone. Besides, they deserved a chance to win.

One by one, her friends lost balance, leaving only Sasha, Pieck and Armin on the mat. The others sat around the room and started picking sides and placing bets on who was going to win. So far, Armin seems to be winning, doing his thing a whole foot away from the girls, who are twisted one around the other, Pieck with her back facing the mat– were it not for Sasha’s leg supporting her back, Annie doubts she’d hold her balance. He easily moves his foot on a blue circle, and Reiner, Jean and Connie erupt into cheering. They look absolutely hilarious, all four of them wearing matching checkered pajamas for some odd reason.

Sasha and Pieck exchange a loo. Pieck eyes Sasha’s leg as if asking her to keep it there. But the girl only offers her a sympathetic smile, then proceeds to slowly remove her leg and place her foot on a blue circle. Connie and Jean cheer again.

Very slowly, Pieck moves her own foot, and for a second seems to keep her balance.

“Go, Pieck!” Hitch yells, almost blowing Annie’s ear off.

Pieck sketches a smile, but her victory is short lived– a second later, her back hits the mat with a deaf sound. She gasps slightly at the impact, then rolls on her side and away from the mat, a little laugh escaping her lips. Hitch groans and drops her face into her hands.

Annie spins again. “Right hand, green.”

Pieck stands up and unzips her purple hoodie, taking it off while sitting next to Hitch on the couch. The brunette crosses her arms over her chest. “I was literally betting on you.” With a sigh, Pieck crosses her legs and rests her head on the other’s shoulder.

The boys resume their cheering. “You can do it Armin, just keep doing whatever you’re doing!”

Hitch rolls her eyes at their antics and brings her hands around her mouth. “Eat him up Sasha!”

Sasha and Armin exchange a look, both smiling sympathetically, then look down at the mat. Their hands reach for the same circle. The whole room gasps. Annie holds her breath.

Very slowly, the two look up at each other.

“I’m not moving,” says Armin. His glasses slide down his nose slightly.

“Well, one of us will have to.”

“How about we both move?”

Sasha shakes her head adamantly. “Nuh-uh. It’s my birthday, so I get to stay.”

“My hand was here first.”

“I landed my eyes on it first.”

Armin furrows. “That doesn’t count!”

“Of course it does!”

“Well–”

His glasses fall on the mat. The both of them look down at them, Armin squinting his eyes slightly. His other hand leaves the red circle it was originally stationed on, picks them up and puts them back on. Sasha looks at him with big eyes, her lips arching up in a grin.

Everybody gasps. Armin’s own eyes widen as he realises what he’s done. He quickly puts his hand back down. But what’s done is done. Hitch and Pieck both erupt into cheering, the guys’ disappointment soon washing away as they join in on their celebration. Sasha jumps up, joining the others in their celebrations.

Armin drops on his back with a sigh, his smile hard to hide. As Sasha retrieves her hard-earned slice of cake, Annie leaves the spin on the couch and joins Armin on the mat, her seat soon stolen by the birthday girl.

“I would have shared it with you,” Armin mutters, looking up at Annie with a soft smile.

Annie feels her face warming up. She runs her fingers through his hair. “I know.”

“We should watch something,” Sasha proclaims, her mouth full.

Pieck cocks an eyebrow. “Like what?”

Sasha abandons her spoon next to the half eaten piece of cake and brings a hand to her chin, pursing her lips together, deep in thought. Connie leans over and steals a bite of cake and, seeing as the brunette doesn’t seem to notice, steals another one for Jean too.

“Like Wayward Pines,” Sasha finally says, her eyes glimmering. “I heard it’s rather spooky.”

“Why would you want to watch something spooky at night?” questions Reiner.

Hitch turns to him, a teasing look in her eyes. “What, are you scared?”

He swallows audibly. “...No.”

Turns out, for as spooky as the show might be, it’s also extremely stupid, at least to Annie. The plot twists are so out of pocket they end up having to pause the episodes and just debrief for minutes on an end before resuming watching. But it is catchy, and, before they know it, they’re halfway through the first season and the sun is starting to rise outside. Reiner is already snoring in his armchair. Annie yawns then and, looking down to the sleeping Armin in her lap, suggests to just call it a night and watch the rest some other time. However, Sasha, Hitch and Pieck are so engrossed in the story already that they decide to stream another episode, and then another. Annie’s eyes get heavier by the minute.

She doesn’t know when exactly she’s fallen asleep, but she’s roughly woken up by Hitch shaking her shoulder. When she groggily opens her eyes, she finds the two hosts standing in front of them, camp shirts on and wearing disappointed expressions on their faces. All the others are awake, more or less, and looking at each other with puzzled expressions. Hannah shakes her head at them all, green hair swaying around– the roots started growing out, doing her no favour. Marie has her hands on her hips and is currently scolding them.

“I can’t believe you guys did this.” Annie narrows her eyes at her, not understanding what’s going on. She exchanges a look with Hitch, who simply shrugs her shoulders. “Out of nine consoulers, only one was there to say goodbye. One!” Marie’s scowl deepens.

Floch, who Annie now notices standing next to the hosts in his orange camp shirt, grins widely– he must have been the one present. Annie finds herself wishing she could wipe that smug look right off his face.

“You’ll have to make up for it,” Hannah says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No free time for two weeks,” Marie hits her palm with her fist decisively.

Annie presses her lips together and stares at the host, trying to figure out if she’s serious or not. Connie and Sasha groan. Hitch sighs, letting her head fall on Annie’s shoulder.

Hannah narrows her eyes at her colleague. “Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?”

“They embarrassed us!”

“Yes, and I’m sure they’re so very sorry about it.” Hannah gestures towards them, and Marie turns around, still wearing her scowl, raising an eyebrow. The lot of them stare right back, blankly.

“They surely don’t look the part,” she retorts, putting her hand on her hip.

Hannah sighs. She looks from them to the wall, the deflated balloons on the wall catching her eye. “They’re kids, Marie, they’re barely twenty. It’s okay for them to make mistakes.”

Marie pitches the bridge of her nose. “They must learn there are consequences to their actions.”

“Taking away all their free time is too much,” Hannah argues. “Have them on cleaning duty for the weekend. That’s more fair on them, and gives us plenty of time to plan for the next group.”

Marrie furrows, looking from her colleague to the volunteers and back. She eventually gives in and agrees to having them clean the kids’ house.

So they end up having to clean the kids’ rooms over the weekend and prepare them for next week’s group as a punishment, which proves to be more unbearable than she would have thought. They’re all so tired that Sunday, that they go to sleep before dinner, and would have slept through the new group’s arrival as well had Hannah not woken them up personally. How they manage to get through that Monday is a mystery.

“Alright, guys, you can each take two granola bars and a bottle of water,” Hannah says, tapping the lid of the box where she’s keeping the goods but not opening it yet. She’s wearing her usual hiking attire– the orange camp shirt and shorts, a yellow cap on her head, with the camp’s logo on it, and a backpack. Marie is standing next to her, blonde hair styled into space buns.

Right after breakfast, the volunteers have gathered the kids in the yard and prepared them for the hike of the week. The kids managed to check every requirement for the hike– hiking boots, appropriate attires, backpacks and rain coats, even.

While the hosts go over all the hiking rules and group etiquette, Annie tries to hide a yawn. She’s been sleeping awfully lately, with all the cleaning they were forced to do over the weekend, and she can tell by her friends’ expressions that they haven’t been any luckier either. Even on the kids’ first day, she barely managed to put herself together enough to introduce herself– she was lucky Armin agreed to do most of the talking. The only one of them who seems rested is Floch who’s been looking down on them all weekend.

Even now, he’s standing closer to the hosts wearing a smug expression, as if he had achieved greatness. Annie wishes she could wipe that grin off his face.

Someone clears their throat next to her. Turning around, she finds Jean standing right next to her. “Just so you know, if you’re planning a murder we’re all in for it,” he whispers.

“What?”

“You had a quite murderous look on your face,” Pieck peaks in, leaning closer to the blonde. “We just figured you must be thinking about it.”

Annie raises an eyebrow at them. Hitch turns around just enough to give her the thumbs up, wearing such a serious expression. Armin steps closer himself.

“We can dump the body in the river,” he whispers. “Or better yet, burn it and then dump it in the river, it helps remove the evidence.”

Annie blinks at him, tilting her head to the side. Jean makes a face, and Pieck raises an eyebrow.

Armin narrows his eyes. “What?”

Pieck shrugs, “Nothing. Everything you said was totally normal.”

Pink dusts Armin’s cheeks.

But before he gets to say anything else, a whistle blows, and the hike begins.

They pass the bridge to the forest a lot faster than they used to, the campers not as afraid as the ones last week– but also older. Annie finds she’s better at handling the bridge, too, her legs not shaking like they used to, carrying her to the other side a lot faster, with more ease. It makes her feel somehow proud, although she’s nowhere near the speed of Sasha or Connie or the excitement of Hitch or Reiner, but she manages to pass nonetheless, and without second guessing herself. Even Armin seems to have gotten better at it, for he doesn’t whine as much as he used to.

The first part of the hike goes by smoothly. The little ones listen attentively to what the hosts have to tell them about the forest and the route they’ve chosen. A boy with ginger hair and bright hazel eyes even asks about the fauna, finding the very common bushes of tiny white flowers quite interesting. And Marie is more than happy to answer him, giving him all the juicy details about how the flowers draw water from the soil. Annie rolls her eyes and sighs when this amazingly engaging conversation goes on for more than two minutes. All conversations have died down around the group, everyone paying close attention to what the host has to say. If it’s because they’re actually interested in Marie’s fun facts or are just looking to gossip about something later in the day, Annie’s not sure. Judging by how Hitch seems to mouth every word Marie says, and Reiner has to cover his mouth to muffle his laugh, she’d say it’s the second.

A shriek pierces through the forest.

The group halts to a stop, everybody freezes in their spot. Annie’s eyes widen at the sudden disturbance. She can’t tell whether the scream was one of enjoyment or fear, but she hopes it’s the former. Today is too nice of a day for any injuries to disturb it.

The hosts frantically look around, trying to figure out who’s hurt. Hitch and Reiner adopt serious expressions, even Pieck seems more alert, her usually sleepy face seems to drop for once. Armin jumps in his skin, his eyes widen significantly.

Then Sasha emerges from the bushes, a big, wide grin on her face. Annie narrows her eyes at her. What is she– and probably her buddy as well– doing in the bushes? And the scream– the scream probably came from one of them, as well.

Connie comes out of the very same bush, an equally wide grin on his face, if not even wider, his eyes gleaming. Their faces are an immediate indicative that they’re up to something, and that it’s probably nothing good.

“You guys won’t believe what we’ve found!”

Annie looks both of them up and down, searching for any clue of what the two could possibly be cooking this time. Their appearances are normal. Save for their shit-eating grins, they look exactly the same as the moment they left camp. Sasha still has her hair tied up in a high ponytail, her orange camp shirt crumpled, and probably unwashed judging by the ketchup stain throning in the very middle, a few leaves stuck to her brown jumper. Connie, too, looks just like he did earlier, the knees of his black trousers green as if he’s been kneeling on grass. Annie narrows her eyes at him, scanning him up and down again, her eyes stopping on the bulge poking out of his hoodie.

And then it moves.

“Sasha, Connie, what on earth are you guys up too?!” Marie berates them, her brows furrowed.

“Only good things!” Sasha beams, swinging left and right, visibly excited.

It only makes Marie’s frown deepen. Hitch raises an eyebrow at the two, putting one hand on her hip. The volunteers all look at the two expectedly, as if waiting to see how they’ll sweet talk their way out of this one. The blonde host has fire in her eyes, ready to give them hot and strong, the scolding words on the tip of her tongue. Next to her, Hannah shakes her head slowly, raising her eyes to the sky briefly, as if asking God to save the two.

Sasha and Connie exchange a mischievous look, Connie wiggles his eyebrows at his companion, and Sasha, with her shit eating grin even wider than before, nods thoroughly.

Connie brings his hand up slowly, grabs the zipper of his hoodie, and dramatically slowly starts unzipping his hoodie.

He doesn’t have the chance to bring the zipper all the way down, when a little ball of brown and black fur jumps out.

The little puppy barks loudly, wiggling his tail around, running around Connie and Sasha’s legs excitedly. Its fur is matted, a few leaves stuck to it here and there.

“We found a dog!” the two exclaim excitedly.

Sasha scoops the puppy up in her arms, holding it lovingly.

Jean slaps a hand across his face, groaning audibly. Annie almost pities him– he’s been dealing with the two clown’s antics since forever. She’s surprised he hasn’t started participating in their crazy little adventures.

Connie’s eyes glim as he looks towards the hosts and opens his mouth. “Can we–”

“Absolutely not!” Maries says, her voice high-pitched, her face reddening in fury.

Connie’s and Sasha’s expressions drop, their excitement dimming. Even the puppy seems saddened, his tiny ears folded back.

Annie presses her lips together, watching the two’s quarrel with the host go down. Around them, the campers start muttering and murmuring, likely discussing the current affair. Hitch sighs and moves her weight from one leg to the other, and Reiner slowly shakes his head, pity starting to build in his eyes. Jean keeps his hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. Armin presses his lips together, burying his hands into his pockets, looking at the two with a mixture of kindness and pity.

And Floch, like he always does, starts frantically laughing at the two, bending over and holding his stomach.

“A dog!” the blonde woman exclaims, shooting daggers at the two troublemakers. The two’s expressions drop even further. “Can you believe it?” She throws a hand in the air. Hannah gently touches Marie’s arm, her lips pressed together. They’re holding us and these kids back because of a dog, and they want to bring it to camp!” Marie turns towards her colleague. “A goddamn dog!”

Hannah is quiet for a brief moment. The kids and the volunteers all look at her, all knowing full well that she’s going to have the last word here, that whether they keep the dog or let it roam free in the wild is entirely up to the green-haired woman.

Then she sighs. She looks over at Sasha and Connie, who are watching her with big puppy eyes, pleading with her to soften Marie up. Even the puppy is looking at the two hosts with big, begging eyes. Annie feels almost sorry for the little creature, being at the hands of the two clowns and the mercy of a greedy woman.

A loud sound breaks through the forest, followed closely by a sudden light in the sky. A thunder. Annie looks up, only now noticing that the clouds have darkened significantly. Then a first drop of rain falls. And then a second.

The dog whimpers in Sasha’s arms. As the rain starts falling, and the kids start taking their raincoats out hastily, the puppy scoots further into Sasha’s arms, looking for shelter. The girl can only put her hoodie over him in the same manner Connie did minutes ago.

Annie scoots her backpack and unzips it, starting to rummage through it for her own raincoat. She furrows her brows. Around her, all her colleagues have already put theirs on, hoods over their heads. And yet, she cannot seem to grab a hold of hers.

“Marie, please,” Sasha beeseaches, holding the puppy closer to herself. Connie puts his hood over his head, then puts Sasha’s hood over hers as well, to shelter her from the rain, for neither of them brought a raincoat.

Annie scrapes the bottom of her bag again, hoping that she has somehow missed it, but, again, finds nothing but her phone, a bottle of water, and a granola bar. She sighs heavily, cursing herself under her breath. How could she have forgotten her raincoat? She’s almost certain she took it out of her drawer and placed it next to her bag in the morning, before breakfast. She knew it was going to rain, they checked the night before, Jean specifically looked up the weather before proposing the hike to the hosts and telling the kids, so they’d know what to pack and how to dress. They were supposed to be more prepared this time.

“We can’t just leave the puppy here in the rain,” she hears Connie beg, his voice frantical. “He’s too little!”

Annie squeezes her eyes shut. She searches through her bag again, hoping that she has somehow missed it the first two times and the raincoat is actually there. But, again, she finds nothing.

“Fine!” comes Marie’s voice, loud and clear, a sharp edge to it. “But you two will have to care for it, feed it, and clean after it!”

Sasha and Connie look at each other, their grins slowly coming back, then they look over at Marie and Hannah, expressing their gratitude. The children cheer, happy that they get to keep the little dog. Even the dog barks its thanks, wiggling his tail around.

Eventually, after scraping the bottom of her backpack for the umteenth time, Annie gives up. She zips her bag back, secures it on her back, and throws her hood over her head, although it will probably do close to nothing.

There’s a light tap on her shoulder. Annie snaps her eyes up, ready to berate whoever dared to approach her at such a terrible time. Isn’t it enough that she has no raincoat and will, most likely, get soaked to the skin? Why does she need to be approached and talked to as well?

But when she looks up, she’s met with Armin’s kind yet concerned eyes. His glasses are splashed with water, rain droplets obscuring his view and keeping Annie from seeing his eyes clearly. He has his light purple raincoat on, thrown over his zipped up green hoodie. Annie swallows the insults building on the tip of her tongue.

“Do you not have a raincoat?” he asks, tilting his head up and looking down at her underneath his glasses, as if trying to see through his hood.

The insults come right back Annie’s throat. Is he blind? Can he not tell, by the fact that she’s not wearing a raincoat, that she doesn’t have one?

“Do I look like I have a raincoat?” she barks, narrowing her eyes at him.

Armin shrugs, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I thought you just liked walking in the rain unprotected.” There’s a teasing note in his voice that she’s not sure she likes.

“Walking unprotected through the rain is exactly my thing,” she retorts.

The group starts up the hike again.

“You surely look the part.”

Annie rolls her eyes at him. The boy unbuttons his coat, peels it off himself, and offers it to her.

“You can have mine,” he says.

Annie raises an eyebrow at his offering. “What about you?”

Armin smiles broadly and, with his free hand, puts his hood over his head. “I’m covered,” he smiles, pointing up at his hood as if she couldn’t already see it. “And I like the rain anyway, I don’t mind a bit of water.”

“You’ll get soaked and catch a cold,” Annie argues, looking from him to the raincoat he’s holding out for her. She would love to take it, and shelter herself from the rain. She hates the rain, so cold and watery. But she can’t take it from him. It wouldn’t be fair. She’s the one who forgot it at camp, not him.

Armin pushes the raincoat into her arms. “I don’t mind,” he repeats. “Take it.”

She looks between him and the raincoat again, and then finally accepts his offer and takes it, hastily putting it over herself. She mutters a silent thank you, and the boy smiles sweetly back at her, his smile so contagious she soon finds herself mirroring it.

Before they know it, the group is so far away from them, they have to run to catch up.

When the kids don't stop complaining about the rain and having to walk through it, and when Marie looks like she's had enough of their whining and is on the edge of throwing them off the cliff, Hannah takes matters into her own hands. So they take a break, much earlier than they originally wanted, and find shelter in a gazebo.

The kids take out their lunches, sandwiches with just cheese, and start munching happily, finally shutting up about the rain. They're finally quiet again.

Annie drops to the ground, a few feet away from the others, and takes out her water, drinking with small sips. Armin takes the seat right next to hers, smiling idly as he does so. His clothes are absolutely soaked to the skin, sticking to his arms and legs, his hair dripping water. Annie feels a pang in her heart. He's ended up in that state because of her, because he's given her his raincoat. Why did she take it anyway?

He takes out his granola bar and starts munching, looking out to the rain. “I love this kind of weather.”

“You do?”

“Mhm.” He takes another bite. “It’s chilly but not too cold, and the air is so fresh.” His lips arch up almost unnoticeably. “It’s like a breath of fresh air from all the summer heat.”

Annie hums in understanding as she takes another sip of water. She looks outside the gazebo, where the rain is hitting the dirt and piercing through leaves, admiring nature’s little show for a second. Then an idea pops to mind.

She turns towards Armin. “Do you have that notepad with you? The one with the montage?”

Armin narrows his eyes slightly, slowing his munching. He opens his backpack and searches through it. “I’m pretty sure I packed it– oh there it is!” he exclaims.

He takes out a turquoise notepad and leafs through it. Annie’s chest tightens slightly, anticipation making her heart beat faster. Armin pushes the notebook into her hands, opened to their little list. Annie squints at the small, cursive writing, letting her eyes glide over the words all down to the very bottom of the page.

There it is, the root of her ideas, the origin of her frustration. Kissing in the rain.

She takes a long breath in, letting it out slowly through her nose, and turns the notepad around, pointing at the very last line. Armin’s eyes glide down, widening slightly as he reads over the words. He looks up at her again, a questioning look in his eyes.

“It’s the perfect day for this,” Annie says, as nonchalantly as she can muster, shrugging her shoulders.

He searches her face, her complexion getting warmer under his gaze. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve already told you, I like kissing you, I don’t mind.” But her face burns hotter by the second. “Unless you don’t want to?”

Armin smiles, reaching for her hand. His own complexion dusts red. “I’d love to.”

Annie smiles slightly, putting the notepad down. She grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet and out of the gazebo, bringing him under the rain with her. Their sudden exhibition attracts a few curious eyes, conversations dying down.

But she doesn’t care. In that moment, it’s just her and him and the rain, tapping rhythmically against the gazebo’s roof and the ground.

Annie takes a breath in, a step forward. Her brain is screaming at her not to, that she'll regret it, that she should, by no means, let herself get any more attached than she already is.

And yet, she finds herself closing the distance between them. She cups his face in her hands, raises on the tips of her toes, and her lips meet his.

He’s still for a moment. But then he kisses her back, his hands slip under the raincoat to circle around her waist and bring her closer. She sighs against his lips, and he smiles, the motion somehow ticklish. His lips are so soft against hers, slowly moving in sync, slowly sweeping her off her feet.

And then there’s cheering, and clapping.

Annie feels her face catch fire, and even Armin's cheeks start burning in her hands. He's the one to part, leaving her longing for his touch and the warmth of his lips on hers. When she dares to eye him, a kind smile is spreading on his lips, his face, just as she thought, crimson red. His eyes glim, radiating with something she hasn’t seen in them before– she boldly assumes that’s what love must look like. She lets herself pretend that’s what love must look like, and kisses him again, much shorter this time.

Annie takes a step back, looks away, and clears her throat. His hands drop from around her waist.

“There,” Annie says, “we can cross it off now.”

#aruani #aruani fic #wpts #who painted the sky?#beware of the fluff!!!

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