#bertolt x reader

[l8niteth0ts]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏: 𝐁𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: Bertholdt lets it slip that he's never even kissed a girl. You, being the kind best friend you are, offer to help him when it comes to ladies. The thing is, you both have the fattest crush on each other—neither knowing it.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 (𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈): First time, slow-ish burn, fluff, unspoken feelings (that get spoken lol), inexperienced Bertholdt, semi-experienced reader, body worship, praise, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, etc etcccc

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,489

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Please feel free to leave a like, comment, and feel free to reblog! I am grateful for all of you—thank you for reading my work!

𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘! 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!

“𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐬, 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤.”

Today’s training session was exhausting—from sparring to climbing rock walls to running laps, you were tired. You were in the armory, filling your gas canisters with gas to prepare for tomorrow. You were paired with one of your best friends, Bertholdt, all day, which you didn't mind. In fact, you were glad—you've had a crush on the guy for what felt like forever, but you'd never told him. Didn’t want to freak him out or anything, you suppose. You wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't figured it out already, it was pretty obvious to everyone else. At this point, it's just waiting on somebody to make the first move.

"(Y/N)!" He gasps, a hand flying up to his mouth as his face turns beet red due to the joke you just told him. You giggle next to him, and clutch your stomach, while he is shaking his head and stares at the ground as he fumbles with his canister.

"What!" You laugh, "you act like you've never even kissed a girl before, Bertholdt, jeez." You poke fun at him, not being too serious.

He swallows nervously, and continues his ministrations with his gas canister, as he slowly replies, “well, that's because... I—uh—haven't?"

You look up at him in disbelief. "Huh?" You questioned. "Really? No way—I don't believe it!"

He nods slowly as he turns his head to look at you, "no, I'm serious," he replies. "I—uh—well, you know how I am. I'm not exactly... well, I don't exactly put myself out there," he chuckles while ashamed of himself. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

You pat him on the back, and face him. "Well, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Plenty of people haven't had their first kiss yet! You just must not have met somebody worthy yet," you try to help him feel less embarrassed.

He frowns, "or I just haven't had the guts to tell the girl I do like that I like her. Tch, I'm sure you've had your first kiss, haven't you, (Y/N)?"

Your turn to frown. "Well, yeah, but I was young. It didn't count!" You brush it off, and hook your swords up on the rack—it's almost time for lights out. "Well, if you ever want somebody to help you out with stuff like that, just let me know. Wouldn't want you to be completely clueless when your time comes!" You chuckle. You secretly hoped there'd never be a time where he was kissing another girl... no, that's selfish—he should be able to do what he wants! You mentally sigh.

You head out of the armory, heart pounding loudly in your ear drums. you finally (sort of?) made a move towards Bertholdt. Now it's just up to him to take you up on your offer. You sigh as you walk towards your quarters. The courtyard was mostly empty, save for a couple chatting by the fountain. Your boots clicked along the stone pavers softly as the warm summer breeze brushed against your skin. Your arms got goosebumps as you thought of what could possibly transpire between you two if he took you up on your offer.

You enter your quarters, and close the door. Stripping out of the day's clothes and getting into your pajamas never felt better. You get cozy in your bed with the book you've been reading, and begin to relax.

Until there's a knock at your door.

You don't know how much time has passed, but it's now pitch black outside. "Who the hell could be here at this hour?" You quietly mumble to yourself, as you pull the covers off your body. You shiver slightly, and walk over to the door, and open it slowly.

He stands in front of you, tall and nervous, staring down at his feet as if they might give him the courage he lacked. His fingers fidget restlessly with the hem of his shirt, twisting and untwisting the blue fabric. "(Y-Y/N)," he finally says, voice barely above a whisper, trembling with uncertainty. "I’m sick of being afraid... sick o-of not saying what I really want..." he pauses, takes a shaky breath, and blurts out the rest before he can lose his nerve: "I want you to... teach me things." His face goes red the second the words leave his mouth. "B-But! It's okay if you've ch-changed your mind!" He adds in a rush, already backpedaling. "I-I didn't mean to make it weird—actually, I-I can just go, really—" his eyes flick up to meet yours, wide and full of panic. He looks like he's on the edge of bolting. He bites his bottom lip hard, like he's physically trying to hold himself together, and for a second, it looks like he may cry.

Your eyes widen, certainly not expecting this—especially not from him. He looks so embarrassed—his cheeks are redder than a cherry, his chest is heaving like he can't catch his breath, there's a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face. You look him up and down, and nod your head, realizing you still haven't said anything. "H-Hey, it's okay! Here, come on in," you softly reply, stepping aside so he can walk into your quarters. He quickly slides in, not wanting to get in trouble for being in a girl's room—especially during lights out.

You close the door behind him, and he awkwardly stands in the middle of your room, his hands at his side, in tight fists. He looks like he's about to throw up. Your heart is racing once more, you never imagined he'd be in your room, let alone for this reason. "Uhm, what were you wanting me to teach you?" You meekly ask while you cross the room to close the curtains hanging on the window.

He swallows nervously, and stares at his feet. "Uhm, I-I don't know. I just... I really want to... do this—with you. Y-Y’know?" His voice wavers nervously, and it's much quieter than it normally is.

You nod slowly, and approach him, not wanting to startle him. "Okay. Well, we can... start with physical touch, I guess? I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, so if you need to stop, just tell me, alright?" You feel your heart jump in your throat the closer you get to him, and you swear you can feel the heat of his skin on yours—and you're not even touching each other yet.

He nods, and looks down into your eyes. "Okay." He gives you a soft smile, and you feel a little bit of your nerves wash away.

"So, I suppose lesson one is touch," you begin. You gently reach for his hand, and once you grab it, both of your faces flush. "A nice gentle touch is all you need to start," you explain softly.

He nods, and his fingers wrap around yours softly. His hand was large and warm—slightly clammy. Yours probably was, too. Your stomach twists in knots—your nerves tangle like live wires. You wonder if he can feel how your hand trembles ever so slightly in his. This was real. He's really here, with you. "A-And then, you can gently caress the o-other person's hand," you continue to explain, as your thumb brushes small circles on his hand. He nods, and mimics your action once you're done showing him.

His hand trembles slightly under yours, but he keeps holding on. His eyes flicker between your face and your joined hands, as if trying to memorize every second of this. "D-Does this feel okay?" He whispers, voice shaky.

You nod and smile, "yes, it-it feels nice," you reply, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

There’s a pause. The kind that stretches, heavy with possibility. Bertholdt opens his mouth, then closes it again, like he’s trying to figure out how to breathe. He finally speaks, and his voice cracks a little. "Can you... show me more..?"

Your heart skips. "More?"

He nods, cheeks flushed bright red. The tips of his ears are burning, too. His gaze locks on your lips, "mhm... I-I want to know... w-what it's like to kiss somebody—to kiss... you."

Your stomach somersaults so hard you might be sick. "A-Are you sure?"

He looks at you like you've hung the stars in the sky: "I've never been more sure of anything," he whispers.

"O-Okay," you whisper nervously. He exhales slowly, but it was shaky—his fingers twitch slightly in yours. Then, without warning, his other hand comes up to cup your cheek, his touch hesitant at first. It felt like a spark ignited when his hand made contact with your skin, warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach. The sensation was dizzying, and you could feel the air between you getting heavier by the second.

He leans in, just a little, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes. “Is this okay?” He whispers, his voice vulnerable, asking for your permission with every ounce of his being.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, but you nod, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah... it’s okay,” your voice cracks slightly at the end of your sentence.

With that, the distance between you closes, slowly at first, as if testing the waters. His lips brush against yours, feather light and unsure, but that one touch sends a jolt of heat through your body, sparking something wild and uncontrollable inside. You don't wait for him to make the next move—your hand moves up to cradle his face, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

His breath hitches as you take control, the tentative touch of his hands sliding to your waist, fingers barely grazing the fabric of your pajamas. The kiss grows more urgent, more desperate, as his lips move against yours with increasing fervor, the nervous tension between you finally starting to melt away.

When you pull away for air, your heart is racing. His eyes are wide, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from the kiss. He looks like he might say something, but you can see the hesitation still lingering in his gaze. He wanted more. You could feel it in the way his body is leaning toward you, the way his fingers tighten ever so slightly around you.

"How was that?" He asks lowly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles softly.

You nod, "Bertholdt, if you want more... you-you don't have to hold back," your voice thick with desire. You look up at him, your eyelashes fluttering lightly.

He swallows. clears his throat. "I-I... I'm afraid, (Y/N)."

"Of what?" You whisper, gazing into his emerald eyes.

He inhales deeply, exhales softly. "Afraid I won't be able to hold back," he confesses quietly, his hand moving from yours to your waist, thumbing at the hem of your pajama shorts. "And I don't want to do the wrong thing," he continues, his voice tight. He hypes himself up again, inhaling deeply, and spitting out: "I-phew, this is hard-I uhm... (Y/N)? I... really... really like you," he finally admits.

The words you thought you'd never hear. You swear your heart just dropped to your ass. Did you hear him right?

"I-uhm, what?" You blink, confused. "Y-You do?"

He grimaces, "fuck, (Y/N), I didn't mean—"

You immediately pull him back in for a kiss, cutting him off. He liked you back, and that was all you needed to hear.

The kiss was hungrier, more sure of itself now. His hands roam as he explores the softness of your body, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your top. You shiver at the first touch of his skin against yours, and it was like the last shred of hesitation broke away completely.

Your brain short circuits the moment he touches you—you can't think straight with him this close. His tongue slips past your lips, exploring your mouth with confidence. you whimper softly under his touch—your hands wrap under and around his arms, caressing his back gently. His hand slides higher beneath your top, fingers hovering just beneath your breast, sending shivers through your chest. Your breath hitches, and you pull away to catch it.

Your breath steadies just barely, but the moment you lock eyes with him again, that restraint crumbles. His hands are still beneath your shirt, warm against your skin, and with one more look of silent permission—he moves.

His thumbs brush upward, lifting the fabric slowly, as if he’s afraid he’ll spook you. You raise your arms, letting him pull the shirt over your head, and the way his breath catches in his throat when he sees you—bare, trembling, waiting—sends another wave of arousal crashing through you.

“You’re... so beautiful,” he whispers, voice hoarse. His fingers, now bolder, trace along your waist, up to your ribs, finally cupping your breast with such gentleness it makes you ache. His thumb grazes your erect nipple and you gasp, leaning into his touch. “D-Does that feel good?” He asks, eyes wide with wonder and desire.

“Yes,” you breathe, hands slipping beneath his shirt in return. “Take this off.”

He obeys immediately, tossing it aside before pulling you close again. Skin against skin now, your bodies press flush, and the heat between you ignites fully. His kisses trail from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, slow and reverent like he’s worshipping every inch. His hands explore as if committing every curve to memory—shaky but eager, like he’s still half-afraid this is a dream.

You guide him gently toward the bed, and he follows, eyes locked to yours like you’re gravity itself. Once he sits, you straddle him, grinding down just enough to make you both moan softly. His grip on your hips tightens instinctively.

“Lesson two,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear. “Let yourself feel it.”

He nods, and when he pulls you into another kiss—it’s messy, uncoordinated, all teeth and tongue and need. But you don’t want perfect. You want this—the clumsiness, the rawness, the man you’ve wanted for ages finally giving in.

Your hips roll down onto his again, and this time there’s no holding back the strangled whimper that escapes his throat. You can feel him now, hard and twitching beneath his pants, the heat of him seeping through the thin barrier between your bodies.

Your hands reach for his waistband without a second thought, fingers toying with the button. “Can I…?” You murmur against his lips.

He nods—frantic, breathless, pupils blown wide. “Please,” he whimpers, like he’s begging.

You make quick work of it, easing his pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. His cock springs free, flushed and already leaking at the tip, and your eyes widen slightly. “Holy shit,” you whisper, cheeks flushing. He looks away in embarrassment, covering his face, but you tilt his chin gently back toward you. “No, hey. You’re perfect.”

He's thick—your fingers wrap around him, and he gasps—his head dropping to your shoulder as you stroke him slowly, deliberately. His moans are soft and muffled against your skin, and the way his hips twitch up to meet your hand makes heat pool between your legs.

You grind down again, your stomach churning with a carnal need. Your strokes get a little quicker, and you grip him tighter. You kiss at his neck, finding the spot that makes him whine most. When you find it, you suck—leaving big purple bruises, marking him.

“Fuck,” he hisses, gripping your waist tightly. “(Y/N)... if we keep doing that… I-I won’t last long.” his gaze is downright sinful—big, green eyes all soft and needy, begging you to keep touching him, but also not wanting to disappoint you.

You smirk softly and press a kiss to his temple. “Then maybe we should slow it down,” you whisper. “Or…” your voice drops lower, sultrier, “maybe you could just make it up to me after?”

He lets out a shaky laugh, and it’s the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You giggle, and gently lift yourself off his lap. "Take my shorts off," you command him softly. He nods, and immediately reaches for your shorts, his fingers feel like fire against your skin. He slides them off with ease, and you're standing in front of him wearing just your panties. "Those too," you whimper, biting your lip softly.

He swallows, and his fingers hook around the waistband of your black underwear, and he slides them down your legs, letting them pool at your ankles. He inhales deeply, and you step out of your shorts and underwear.

His breath catches in his throat—almost unable to speak. "A-Again," he begins, "you're... beautiful." His voice shakes with need, desperation.

Your face heats up at his words. You smirk bashfully, gently walk towards him, and sit on the bed next to him. He drinks in the sight of you, like you're a cold glass of water on the hottest day of the year.

"Step three," you breathe softly, "using your hands." You gulp nervously, and lean back on the bed—its plushness almost tickling your bare back. He moves toward you, and waits for your instructions.

You lie on your back, and spread your legs—exposing your wet aching core. "C'mere," you whimper, desperate for him—his touch. He nods, and inches closer, his hands touching your thighs softly. Your breath catches as you whisper: "do you need me to teach you..? Or do you want to try to figure it out... yourself?"

"I'll try," he replies. "I want to... make you feel good," he says, looking into your eyes gently. You can tell he means it.

You nod, and lie completely back now, looking up at the ceiling, your nerves practically eating your insides. His fingers brush down your thighs to where you need them most at an agonizingly slow pace—like he's afraid if he touches you too hard you'll shatter beneath him. His pupils blow wide at the sight of your sopping wet pussy, eager to touch you—eager to please you.

He slowly brings his index finger to your folds, and tentatively brushes them—immediately earning a soft moan from you. He is barely touching you, and you already feel intoxicated by him. He pushes past them, slipping his middle finger inside you. He groans softly, your warm heat gripping his finger tightly. "Oh my God," he whispers. His thumb comes to meet your clit, rubbing it gently.

You buck your hips underneath him, in need of more. His long and slim finger curls inside, earning another gasp from you. He watches you like a hawk to ensure he's doing a good job, not wanting to let you down. He casually slips his ring finger in, too, as his thumb continues to brush circles on your clit. You let out a lewd sigh, and you grab your breast gently, playing with your nipple.

He groans softly at the sight of you—the woman he's had feelings for for years coming undone by his touch. Confidence surges through him, and he moves faster, more fervent. He knows you have more of those noises inside you, and he's desperate to pull them out of you.

He curls his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl and your knuckles lighten. You whine underneath him, and try to close your legs due to the overstimulation of his touches. his eyes widen, "Y-You okay? Did I-I do something wrong?""

You nod, "N-No, you're okay. It-It f-feels good, Bert... keep-keep going, please," you whimper, your other hand moving to your other nipple, pinching and pulling both of them simultaneously.

You catch the way his throat bobs, like he's swallowing his nerves. He nods quickly, and continues to stretch your pussy out with his fingers by making scissoring motions. His thumb rubs circles on your clit faster with more pressure, earning more moans from your sweet mouth. His cock is throbbing in anticipation, desperate for you and your warmth. The knot in your stomach snaps, and you gasp as you cum all over his fingers and wrist.

His face reddens knowing he just made you cum—he can't help but feel proud. He draws out your orgasm by continuing his actions for a few more moments, and he slowly slides his fingers out of you, admiring the way your arousal coats his fingers. They glisten in the low light with your slick warmth—a tangible trace of your desire. "(Y/N)—"

"Bert, I-I need you, please," you gasp, "I-I literally can't think, I just-I need you inside of me right now..." you swear you can feel your own heartbeat between your thighs—throbbing, aching, desperate. Every inch of you was pulled taut like a wire, trembling for him. It wasn’t just lust. It was need. Carnal, breathless, starving. Your hands twitch at your sides, itching to touch, to drag him closer, to tear away every last barrier between you and him.

His breath hitches as he stares at you—lips swollen, pupils blown wide, skin flushed and glowing under the dim light. Something inside him snaps. The tension, the restraint, all of it shreds. He wants you—needs you—like a man possessed. His hands tremble with the urge to feel your skin, to leave marks on you, to claim you in the most primal way. He doesn't want to be gentle. Not anymore.

"O-Okay. I think I'd die if I waited another minute, anyway," he chuckles lightly. He rearranges himself above you, looking down into your sweet, gorgeous eyes. His hair is stuck to his forehead in spots, and you swear you've never seen anything more beautiful.

You reach down again, positioning him at your entrance. The teasing’s over now—your body is absolutely screaming for him.

“Ready?” you ask, reaching up to brush your nose against his.

He nods, biting his lip. “Yeah… you want me to go slow?”

You shake your head. "I want you to do whatever you want to me."

He nods, and coats the tip of his cock in your slick. The both of you are already whining softly at the sensation—absolutely desperate for the other. He slowly pushes into you, inch by glorious inch, the stretch burning in the best way, until he's fully inside of you—you being completely filled, your breath caught in your throat.

Bertholdt’s head falls forward, resting against your shoulder. “Oh my God,” he groans. “You feel… you feel so good…”

You nod, biting your lip almost to the point of drawing blood. He stretched you out good, the burning soon turning into pleasure. You lift your legs, and wrap them around his waist, angling him slightly deeper inside of you.

“Fuck, Bert…” you breathe, nails trailing down his back. “You feel so fucking good—you're huge—”

His face burns hot, embarrassed yet confident with your compliment. He slowly starts to roll his hips into yours, causing the both of you to moan softly. Your bodies move together, breath hitching and colliding, moans tangled as the pressure builds and builds. You didn't know who wanted this more, but no matter what, you felt incredibly relieved that it was happening. You couldn't imagine it with anyone else.

His pace increases, gaining more confidence and control with each thrust. He leans back, and unhooks your legs from his waist. He slowly pushes your legs closer to your chest, gaining better access and a deeper angle that feels better for both of you. He groans deeply as his cock drags in and out of your tight hole—with you feeling every ridge and vein of his length.

"(Y/N)," he whines, "y-you feel so-so good... you look so—hnnng—good..."

Your hands wrap around your ankles, holding them in place for him. His fingers dig into the fat of the back of your thighs, sure to leave bruises behind—letting the world know he was here. "You're d-doing so good, Bert," you breathe out, feeling your second orgasm approaching sooner than you'd like.

His hips snap against yours, faster now—desperate, reckless, like he couldn’t get deep enough. Your back arches instinctively, a broken moan tumbling from your lips as he fills you again and again, relentless in his need. Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped marks in his skin, but he doesn't stop—can't stop.

“(Y/N)... fuck,” he growls into your neck, voice ragged, strained with restraint. “You feel—shit—you feel so good.” Your name sounds like a prayer and a curse all at once. Each thrust sends sparks down your spine, heat curling in your belly, tightening fast. His pace stays punishing, as if trying to etch himself into your body—like he needs to make sure you’ll never forget how this feels.

"I-I can’t—” he gasps, pressing his forehead to yours, breath hot and uneven. “You’re all I want. All I’ve ever wanted.” His voice cracks on the last word, something fragile and aching buried under all that raw need. The rhythm of his hips grows erratic, like he's chasing something just out of reach—or maybe trying to bury himself in you completely, to disappear inside the one place that finally felt like home.

Your hands cup his flushed face, pulling him in for a messy, breathless kiss. “Then take it,” you whisper, lips brushing his. “Take all of me.”

And he does—every thrust like he's worshipping you, claiming you, losing himself in the only place that made him feel whole.

“(Y/N), I’m gonna—I-I can’t—”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss him again. “Cum for me, baby.”

His whole body tenses, and with a strangled cry of your name, he shudders above you, hips stuttering as he spills deep inside you. You follow moments later, clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash through your entire body.

He collapses forward, careful not to crush you, breathing hard, tangled in each other, skin slick with sweat and limbs trembling. Bertholdt’s arms wrap around you protectively, and he buries his face in your neck.

“…you okay?” You ask softly, stroking his hair.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’ve never… felt anything like that. Ever.”

You smile, kissing his cheek. “Me neither," your fingers tracing idle patterns across his back.

He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s trying to find the courage to say something important. Then, just above a whisper: “I meant it… earlier. When I said I really like you. I’ve liked you for so long, (Y/N).”

Your chest tightens, and a breathless laugh slips from your lips. “You idiot,” you murmur fondly. “I’ve been head over heels for you forever.”

He lifts his head to look at you, eyes wide and disbelieving. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” you nod, brushing a piece of hair from his forehead. “What, you thought I was offering to teach you just for fun?”

His cheeks flush again, but this time it’s paired with a smile—soft, bashful, glowing. He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, and sighs contentedly. “This… this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You giggle, arms wrapping around him. “It’s just the beginning.”

And there, tangled up in each other beneath warm sheets and moonlight, you both knew it was true.

ⓒ 𝐋𝟖𝐍𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐓𝐡𝟎𝐭𝐬 -- 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.

AOT MASTERLIST

OTHER AOT CHARACTERS MASTERLIST

BERTHOLDT HOOVER MASTERLIST

ʚɞ

[marisoil]

𝓥ǝ𝐧𝐮𝐬 α𝒔 ᴀ 𝐁𝑜𝐲

summary: you, bertholdt and his conscience

warnings: desperation, sunlight deprived femcel writing, fem pronouns used, reader described as really pretty/super beautiful, themes of emotional confusion, complicated feelings, forbidden attraction, betrayal, guilt, quiet yearning, and personal struggle with loyalty. not too heavy, some moments of tension, and choices that don’t always make sense. reader and bertholdt’s dynamic might be a bit too close for comfort at times. proceed with careeee! ૮ . . ྀིა⁩

an: i’m back!! yayayayyayaayayaa. this took SOOOO FREAKING LONG TO WRITEEE. but i hope it was worth it and not too much of my word vomit >< !! i still have some more works for bertholdt underway sooo you’ll have to pry me from this tag, i fear.

word count: 11.1k (😵‍💫)

there is something contemptuous about you, but whoever created you must have lithographed you with wary, tremulant hands, as if they, too, feared what you would become.

you must have risen from the seafoam, gasping, gleaming, wild-eyed spat out from the throat of some superannuated tide too greedy to keep you, too awed to let you sink, risen from the earth’s own yearning. born not in a womb, born not of blood nor of bone, but of salt-kissed sunlight and the hush of waves pulling back only to reach for you again.

flowers bloom where your penumbra lingers too long, their petals sighing open, drunk on the warmth of your presence while the trees lean inward, the sky unfolding itself just to pour gold at your feet. unequivocally, the world does not know what to do with something like you, a mouth made for poetry but eyes that have swallowed whole cities.

so they call you ruin, call you a thing that should not be, a herald of endings wrapped in silk and sunfire. they say you stole the light from an angel’s back, tore the wings from itʼs shoulder blades with hands too delicate for such destruction. feather by feather, tender as a lover’s touch but violent in the way you claim what does not belong to you. did it cry? did it beg? or did it press itself into your palms, knowing that something as dazzling as you could never be righteous.

you wear the plumage like a birthright, because nothing this beautiful comes without consequence. nothing this radiant can be innocent. there is no purity left in you, only the taste of a devilʼs bargain sealed with a kiss as they themselves smile from beneath their hoods when they look at you, knowing you were meant for paradise.

miles across the swollen sea, he has spent years listening to stories about the devils of paradis, has memorized the shape of them in his mind. their horns, their tails, their blackened claws dripping with the blood of the innocent. they machinate under the cloak of twilight with their forked tongues, seduce the weak-willed with silken voices. their ribs are cages for stolen souls, their spines ridged like the back of some fearsome beast.

they gorged voraciously on the hearts of their enemies, drank deep from the veins of nations. their ancestors defiled the land with their monstrous dominion, built cities atop graves, wove their banners from the skin of the conquered. they called themselves kings, gods, saviors, but their hands reeked of bloodshed. they shattered bloodlines, unmade legacies, turned entire peoples to dust beneath their heels.

bertholdt was raised on the wreckage of marley’s vengeance, fed stories that tasted like gospel. his ancestors had been trampled under eldian boots, he understood. the devils, your people, were not just enemies; they were a sickness that had to be eradicated from the face of the earth. marley’s rise was justice, not conquest. it was balance restored. when he stood beside reiner and annie, when he became the colossus, he believed each and every one of them had to die.

and yet, none of those ideologies could prepare him for you. the physically aspects of you, at least. if he had to conjure a girl from paradis, he would have drawn her with split-serpent eyes, with the stench of something dead beneath her skin. indeed, a savage that wore the shape of a girl but could not wear it well. a creature whose ugliness bled through, no matter how much flesh it stole. they never warned him of a devil that could make his heart race, a creature whose beauty could break the very chains of fate. how could it be that something so pure in itʼs form could be so utterly, devastatingly corrupt? how could a creature like you carry within you the weight of a thousand broken souls and still shine so bright?

he doesn’t know whether to run or to kneel, but he feels the pull of your presence and for a moment, he wonders if he, too, has been stolen.

the instance in question was the very first time he saw you. you were picking at your food, uninterested, while ymir needled at your pride with her lazy smirk. the benches wobbled under the weight of too many cadets, all of them too young, too tired, too eager or too resentful. bertholdt wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t stop looking. he’s unsure whether to feel disgust, awe, or just... curiosity.

he doesn’t remember where he was sitting, only that his own embarrassingly modest-sized bowl wobbled in his hands, filled with something thin and gray, broth with no bite and no warmth. he already missed marley’s food. real food. cumin and saffron and salt were mourned by his tongue, their absence a quiet funeral held between his teeth. he supposes he can’t complain. not when the reason their rations are so pitiful, so spare, so tasteless, is because of him. because of what he and the others had done.

you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. so beautiful, that even the tasteless broth he sipped on began to taste sweet on his tongue. not like the heroines in marleyan fables, not like the soft, docile maidens painted in careful brushstrokes. your beauty lingered long after the eyes had turned away.

the thing he found most profound about you was the sorrow that pooled in your irises, dark and deep as a well with no bottom. shiganshina had fallen just days before. the world had torn itself open, swallowed whole the streets you once walked, the people you once loved. and yet you did not cry, did not weep where all could see. you wore grief, not like a devil wears sin, not like a monster wears carnage. you only stared down at your untouched meal, eyes distant, fingers idly tracing the rim of your tray as if waiting for something — though even you might not have known what.

bertholdt wondered, with something like dread curling in his gut, if you had family there. if their bodies lay in the wreckage he left behind, broken beneath his titan’s heel. if they were the ones who had sung you into life, only for that song to be silenced by the fires he had helped start. he might never know. does he want to?

it was true, yes, that he sat as a wolf in the fold, a predator among the unknowing. but undoubtedly you were the true nightmare in the dark, the horror that lurked beneath paradise’s skin. though beautiful, you were something far worse. all of your people were.

what a shame, his heart cried out. what a waste, for something so lovely to throw herself to the wolves. to join the survey corps, to march toward death with such certainty. what a shame for the world to be so cruel, that even the most beautiful things are not spared.

he’s sure he will never speak to you. never sit across from you, never hear the tremor of his name on your lips, soft like a secret. you exist in a world parallel to his, a world that should mean nothing to him, something to be purged. and yet, for a fleeting second, he thinks if things had been different, if the stars had set a gentler path for him, perhaps he could have met you in another life. whatever.

away, he locked you into the furthest corner of his mind, bertholdt wasn’t that foolish. he wasn’t reiner, eyes pledging allegiance to anything with a pretty face, a passing touch. no, his focus had never wavered before and he surely will not allow it to on this forsaken island. his mission, his purpose, the thing drilled into him since childhood, will never bend under something as weak as adolescent desire.

their raincoats clung to their backs, soaked through, the fabric heavy and clumsy. boots sank into the mud with every step, leaving deep, sucking impressions in the earth that were quickly erased by the weight of the downpour. the stables were a few paces ahead, and though the warmth of the hay inside beckoned, it felt a lifetime away.

horse duty. it was always a thankless job, a grumbling, groaning task handed down to the cadets who didn’t show the kind of promise that warranted anything more glamorous. night duty, especially, was a series of small, mundane tasks — shoveling manure, mucking out stalls, moving hay, making sure the animals were fed and comfortable. bertholdt didn’t mind it much, though it was hardly anything that would give him goosebumps. therein, perhaps lay the subject of it’s appeal. he wouldn’t consider himself the type of boy to have the fortitude for much else.

it was tedious, mindless work, but at least it gave them a moment to talk without too many ears around. reiner muttered under his breath, talking about the next mission, as always. as if there was anything that could distract him from the grim path they were on.

the blonde grumbled as he slipped, his boots sliding in the mud, his breath fogging in the chilled air. “think annie’s ever had to shovel shit in her life?”

bertholdt huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head, and kept his head down, the storm lashing against his back like a thousand tiny needles. they reached the gigantic wooden door and reiner pushed it open, the sound of creaking wood swallowing the noise of the storm outside.

through the soft rustle of horses and the rhythmic clop of hooves, came the sound that startled him. it was a voice, soft and sweet, someone was singing.

it caught bertholdt by surprise, halting him just inside the door. who on earth could be singing at a time like this? he was unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him.

“who the hell—?” reiner started, but bertholdt was already looking, already following the sound.

they cautiously rounded the corner and there, perched atop a bale of hay, you were. the pretty girl from the messhall.

your head was tilted back, eyes closed, as if you weren’t in the middle of a storm but in some faraway place where nothing could touch you. you stroked the sleek, dark mane of your mare, a black beauty that shifted restlessly under your touch, with a tenderness bertholdt hadn’t thought possible for a devil. the horse’s coat gleamed in the low light, the sound of its breath low as it inhaled the heat of the stable, almost like she was the one soothing her rider, and not the other way around. your boots were muddy from the storm, but you didn’t seem to mind.

let the wind whisper secrets, let the rain wash away….

it was a haunting tune, the kind of melody that seemed to be the rain, seemed to belong to the storm itself. the song’s edges were swathed by the distance between you and them, but it felt like something sacred in the stillness of the stables. your hands hushed in the kind of care he’d only ever seen in those who loved something, someone, beyond the fight.

reiner cleared his throat, not loudly but loud enough to snap you out of it. you startled almost immediately, eyes widening as you turned toward them. bertholdt saw the moment embarrassment dawned on you, the rogue rushing to your cheeks, the way you scrambled to straighten yourself as if you’d been caught in some private act.

this was you, the devil who tore apart families, who stood on the other side of an endless war, who carried a thousand sins on your head, with your gentle hands, with that quiet, beautiful voice, looking like nothing so much as a girl who had affection in her heart.

“oh—” you let out a breath, half a laugh, half a flustered exhale. “i didn’t think anyone was on stable duty tonight,” you admitted, sitting up straighter. you didn’t make a move to leave just yet. you were, in fact, trying to figure out what to do with the sudden intrusion. “i didnʼt mean to interfere.”

reiner made a half-hearted attempt to break the tension. “you’re not bothering us. we’re just doing our chores. didn’t mean to interrupt.”

you flushed deeper, the tips of your ears pink now. “no, no sorry. i didn’t mean to sing that loud,” you muttered quickly, as though the very act of singing was something that had to be excused.

there was a very long pause.

your reaction caught him off guard. it wasn’t just the embarrassment, it was the openness of it. no defensiveness, no snapping or sneering, no attempts to cover it up with bravado. just pure, genuine flustered honesty. his eyes followed the way you shifted, how you looked down at your mare for a moment, your hands moving almost nervously through the horse’s mane, as if seeking comfort from the familiar creature beneath your fingers.

“you donʼt have to stop,” bertholdt found himself saying, the words leaving his mouth before he could think them through.

you glanced at him then, those eyes — those bewitching eyes — lifting to meet his with a hint of surprise, as if you hadn’t expected him to say anything at all. most donʼt. you hesitated for a moment, lips parted, then let out a small breath. “really?” you asked, your voice still a little unsure but softer now.

“yeah,” he added with a laugh that didn’t quite mask his awkwardness, “your voice is... uh, nice.”

bertholdt didn’t know what more to say. he wasn’t sure there was anything to say. but reiner, lacking tact as usual, snorted. “didn’t know you could sing like that.”

you straightened your skirt, brushing the hay off the front of it. “usually i donʼt but... it’s just something my family used to sing,” you admitted, quieter now. “old habit, i guess.”

family. he swallowed, glancing toward reiner, but his friend didn’t say anything, only stood there, watching.

“i, uh, i should go before you two decide to start throwing tomatoes or something.” you said, standing up quickly. but before you moved too far, your gaze lingered on bertholdt for a brief moment. something in that look made his heart shrink in his chest.

and then, as if nothing had happened, you brushed past them, the faintest trace of a smile playing at your lips as you paused. “thanks for not making me feel too stupid,” you added, giving a soft smile before turning, heading toward the stable door.

bertholdt stood still for a long moment after you left. he hadnʼt been looking at you before but now, he wasn’t sure he could stop.

days pass. weeks. the training corps grinds through its endless cycle of exhaustion, bruises blooming like overripe fruit, aching limbs, and sunrises that come too soon. every morning feelz like it’s born from a scream, the days fold into one another, stretching and folding like old paper, each one the same as the last, a blur of repetition and fatigue. sleep is a luxury rationed out in stingy increments, never enough to mend what’s been broken the day before. but now, you won’t leave him alone.

he feels you like a splinter buried too deep to pry out, you haunt the corners of his vision. every time he blinks, you’re there, laughing softly as you pat connie’s head, tapping a steady rhythm against the wooden mess hall table with your fingertips, biting your lip in concentration as you braid the mane of your horse for no reason. youʼre there when he stumbles through formations, lungs raw and gasping, you are there, suffering the same fate as him. your presence is maddening, dangerous, constant.

he tries to ignore it. tries to focus on the ache in his muscles, the burn in his lungs, the sweat rolling down his spine. but youʼre persistent, threading through the cracks in his armor, pressing into the spaces where doubt and exhaustion make room for you.

bertholdt doesn’t get distracted. he doesn’t allow himself to get distracted. he has spent his entire life in quiet obedience to a cause greater than him, a cause that eclipses him. spine straight, head bowed, moving forward because to stop would mean to think, and thinking has never done him any favors. every childish whim, every fleeting indulgence was snuffed out before it could bloom. no time for that. no room. he has always walked the path laid out before him, never straying, never faltering.

he is not like reiner, so easily swayed with his wavering heart, always caught between the push and pull of things that make him feel. quick to burn bright and then fade, enamored with ideals that crumble the moment theyʼre tested. he is not like annie, burdened by ghosts of doubt but too proud to crumble. he has always been steady, a blade honed to perfection, meant only to strike when commanded. no deviation. no distractions. not even you.

and yet, his focus falters. because of you.

bis eyes betray him, drawn to you like the tide to the moon. he watches, unwilling, as you brush crumbs off sasha’s cheek without a second thought, laughing at her half-hearted protests. sees you tie historia’s cloak for her on the colder mornings. watches you guide eren through the finer details of an odm technique you could do in your sleep, sees you grab jean by the collar and yank him out of the path of a runaway cart, the curse on your lips forming before he has a chance to thank you. sees you untangle a sparrow from a net outside the barracks, murmuring something soft as you set it free, even though you’re the one who’ll be behind. sees you run your hands over your mare’s face, forehead to forehead, like she is something sacred.

watches how your fingers curl into the fabric of your uniform when the topic of shiganshina comes up.

he watches, and he begins to understand.

you are not what they told him you would be. you are not cruelty, not savagery, not the embodiment of evil.

and bertholdt is drowning in the realization of it. he wants to drag himself back to shore, wants to claw his way out of whatever spell you’ve unknowingly cast over him. but he can’t. the tide keeps pulling him under, and god help him, he doesn’t know if he even wants to fight it anymore.

how could you be a devil when you wept at the letter of a friend, when you held onto connie’s arm like he was the only thing keeping you upright? how could you be wicked when you were so open, so unguarded in the way you care? like you had never learned to guard yourself against the hurt that always follows? when every touch, every glance, every small act of kindness was given freely, without hesitation, like the world hadn’t yet taught you to be afraid?

it’s all so simple, but it makes you even more lovely. you’re more than what he thought you were. you have depth, kindness, a soul that doesn’t belong in the coffin they told him to put you in. the more he watches you, the more that coffin feels smaller, tighter, something he’s been trying to squeeze you into even though it’s becoming painfully obvious that you don’t belong there.

was marley wrong?

he has spent years reciting his purpose, but then you came along, singing to your horse in the middle of a rainstorm, and now he feels hollowed out.

he is not allowed to feel this way. not about you. not about anyone so wild, so free, that it excites scares him.

but he wants to know you. wants to understand what makes you laugh, what makes you angry, what makes you you.

but he can’t.

can he?

the mission is simple. crush them. end them. burn their homes to the ground.

but wouldn’t you look lovely in marley? wouldn’t you be something soft there, something just for him? wouldn’t it be nice, to press his mouth to yours in a place where he would not have to lie, where he could let the world burn and still feel something real, something that wasn’t the taste of ash and blood on his tongue?

it doesn’t matter. it can’t. he is not allowed to want things. not a home, not a life, not you.

if there is a god, he must be laughing.

because of all the things to bring bertholdt hoover to his knees. war, blood, fire, ruin — none of them could. but you could.

“he’s staring again,” ymir says, voice flat, picking at her nails like this is just another dull observation.

you don’t look right away, but you know who she means. you’ve noticed it too. it doesn’t feel like admiration. it doesn’t feel like longing. it feels like evaluation, like he’s measuring something about you, tallying up numbers in his head.

“he’s just awkward,” christa offers, always quick to defend the quiet ones. “i think it’s kind of sweet.” but you shake your head. no, it’s something else. his pretty, green eyes don’t go soft when they land on you. they sharpen. it makes your skin crawl. or maybe it doesn’t. maybe it does something else, something you don’t want to name.

“he looks like he’s trying to figure out where to stab you,” ymir adds, grinning like she enjoys the thought. “or marry you.”

“ymir!” christa gasps, scandalized, and you groan, shoving her playfully, but your stomach twists all the same. because bertholdt hoover is—

well. he’s something. he’s good. at fighting, at odm gear, at standing just slightly behind reiner and letting him talk for the both of them. he teaches eren, like you do sometimes, plays chess with reiner and by himself, keeps quiet more often than not, but he isn’t forgettable. he couldn’t be. not when he’s that tall. not when he stares so unapologetically.

“he’s too tall,” you mutter, frowning into your palm.

“oh yeah, poor you,” ymir deadpans. “must be so hard, looking at him. must be awful. what do you even do with yourself?”

“it’s weird!” you insist, hating the way your voice climbs, hating the way ymir smirks like she’s already gotten everything she wanted from this conversation. “it’s probably nothing. maybe he just doesn’t like me.”

“oh, yeah, sure,” ymir says, stretching her arms behind her head. “he just spends half of training staring at you because he thinks you're ugly. that makes sense.”

her insistence on irritating you, on drawing you into this frivolous game, grates against your patience until you sublimate into the periphery, letting the conversation fragment into meaningless syllables.

he is not the first to look at you. men have stared all your life as acolytes at an altar, some reverent, others ravenous, but all predictable, all painfully mundane in their worship. their gazes skim your skin, admire its sheen, the architecture of your face, the delicate spectacle of your presence. but his gaze does not wander. it does not consume. it does not exalt. it studies, like he’s confused. there’s something about him that unsettles you. not in the way ymir wants it to, not in the way she’s teasing you for.

she wants you flustered, pink-cheeked and sweet-mouthed, caught in the throes of something girlish and foolish. but this is not that. there is something else in the way he looks at you, something quiet, something solemn, something that does not demand but understands.

and when you do finally look at him, when you meet his gaze across the training grounds, he startles and looks away so fast it makes your breath hitch.

not subtle at all.

what does he want from you?

why won’t he quit staring?

what inscrutable calculus plays out behind those eyes?

what is wrong with you?

you must look like a fool every time you catch him, every time your eyes disobey you and meet his, every time you go still, heat blooming along your throat like some fragile thing caught in a hunter’s snare. flushed and disoriented. it frustrates you to no end.

so stupid, so utterly ridiculous, this pointless distraction, this unbearable pull. you are meant to be focused, you need to train, to forge your body into a weapon worthy of the military police. if you want the safety, the security, the life you deserve, there is no room for glances, for foolish distractions, for the way he makes you falter with something as simple, as cruel, as a look.

you remind yourself of all this but life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans. what power does a young girl have against a young, green-eyed boy with a farmer’s tan?

you would like to think yourself above this. you would like to believe you are disciplined enough, unfeeling enough to withstand a mere look.

but try as you might, you cannot be an impassive girl. your heart has always lived outside your body, exposed to the elements, to the sharp winds of the world, to the tender and the terrible alike.

ymir groans, flopping back onto her cot with a dramatic thud, hands behind her head as she glares at you from across the room. “for god’s sake, yn, if you’re gonna be miserable, can you at least be discreet about it?”

you blink at her, cheeks burning, because oh god. you really have been obvious. you thought you were keeping it to yourself, that your quiet little spiral was contained, but of course ymir would notice. she always does.

“i — ” you hesitate, then bury your face in your hands. a nervous habit. “ugh. i don’t know what to do. i don’t even like him! not like that! i mean, i don’t think i do? i shouldn’t! it’s stupid! we’re training to be humanity’s strongest soldiers, i’m supposed to be focusing, i have an actual plan — but he keeps looking at me! i donʼt know him!” you throw your hands up, exasperated. “and it’s not like other guys, it’s — weird! he’s not even doing anything! just staring! like he knows something i don’t and i hate it! and then i catch him and i just — freeze! like some dumb, lovesick idiot! and i’m not a dumb, lovesick idiot! i’m not!”

silence.

“woah,” ymir breathes, grinning like the devil. “you like him.”

“i don’t!” you snap, mortified.

crista, who has been watching with wide eyes, suddenly claps her hands together, looking far too delighted. “this is so cute.”

“it’s not cute!” you wail, pulling your blanket over your head. “it’s humiliating! what do i do?!”

crista hums thoughtfully. “maybe you should just… talk to him?”

ymir groans. “ugh, boring. i say you kiss him and ruin his life.”

you resurface and throw your pillow at her. she catches it, laughing.

you groan. “be serious.”

“oh, i am.”

you don’t like how easy that sounds.

the first time you actually talk to him, he throws you to the ground.

coincidentally, it was the day after ymirʼs accusation, you thought she was being ridiculous, truly. clearly she has jinxed you with her accursed tongue, since shadis, with his usual sense of humor, pairs you up for combat training, and there’s no room to argue. so now you’re standing in front of him, feet planted in the dirt, fists raised, trying very hard not to think about how tall he is, how broad, how his green eyes look even greener under the overcast sky.

he doesn’t look smug about it, which you appreciate. if anything, he looks a little nervous. his fingers tighten and loosen at his sides, and he shifts his weight like he’s trying not to stand too close. he’s already analyzing the best way to approach this without making you feel small.

“have you fought much before?” he asks, and his voice is softer than you expect.

you shrug. “only what we’ve learned here. i’ve been in a few fights back home, but they weren’t exactly technical.”

his lips twitch, “so, wild swinging and hoping for the best?”

“more or less.”

he nods, still not quite looking at you. “okay. let’s start slow.”

you expect him to attack immediately as most do. but he circles you instead, waiting.

“watch my stance,” he says, adjusting his footing slightly. “low center of gravity. it makes it harder to be knocked over.”

you match him, mirroring the shift in footing. “like this?”

he glances at your stance, nods. “yeah. good.” and then, a beat later, like he almost wasn’t going to say it, “your balance is already solid. must be from the odm training.”

he’s talking to you. just like that. not just talking but paying attention. he said it like an observation, not a compliment, but something about the way he says it makes your stomach do something unpleasant.

before you can dwell on it, he lunges. you dodge just in time, barely sidestepping the sweep of his leg, and grin, triumphant.

“you telegraphed that,” you taunt.

he blinks, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. his mouth opens, then closes again, like he’s not sure how to respond. “i just wanted to see how fast you’d react.”

“oh, sure.”

you’re circling each other now, and it’s nice, almost. in a weird way only you would appreciate. his expression remains calm, focused, but there’s something in his posture that makes you feel safe in a way you probably shouldn’t.

he’s quick, stronger than he looks, but he isn’t using that strength to dominate, isn’t overextending just to prove something. he’s strategic, measured, aware.

before, you thought he was just a quiet guy with an unreadable stare, but now, now you see that he isn’t silent because he has nothing to say. he’s silent because he observes. and heʼs been observing you.

you hesitate for half a second too long, caught up in that thought, and in that moment, he sweeps your legs out from under you.

your back hits the dirt, the wind knocked from your lungs, and in your stupor that’s when it really hits you. he is pretty. he’s really pretty.

his hair is tousled, damp with sweat, a few strands falling into his eyes. his lips are parted slightly from exertion, his brows knitted together slightly. “are — are you okay?”

oh, dear. you need to answer. you need to say something.

“yeah,” you manage, but it sounds breathless, and you hate that.

he must notice, because his expression shifts. he offers his hand. you take it before you can overthink it, and his grip is steady, grounding, pulling you effortlessly back to your feet.

“you’re good,” he says, and it doesn’t feel like pity.

“so are you.” and before you can stop yourself, “but you do stare a lot.”

his brows lift, but he doesn’t deny it. doesn’t look away.

“i know, sorry.” he says simply. and then shadis calls for the next round, and just like that, it’s over.

you wish it wasn’t over. you wish the conversation had stretched into infinity, wrapped itself around the sun and burned bright enough to linger even after night fell. but he’s gone, back to where he belongs, alongside reiner, alongside those who keep him busy, keep him occupied, keep him away from you.

not that it matters. it shouldn’t matter. he probably hasn’t even thought twice about it, probably hasn’t noticed the way your fingers twitch with the sudden, urgent need to do something about this.

youʼre pathetic, drawled ymir. she looks at you like you’re a pitiful stray dog, head tilted, lip tilted in something between amusement and disdain. one conversation and you’re acting like a widow.

talk to him again, crista says, like it’s simple. but it isn’t simple, because he is always with reiner. always speaking in low, thoughtful tones, always laughing at something you are not privy to, always caught in a world you have no claim to. and you aren’t exactly the type to wedge yourself into spaces uninvited.

so you wait for the clouds to part and for the sun to bestow upon you some mercy, for the world to gift you another chance to stand in his light.

like petals plucked from a wilting flower, one by one, days pass, each slipping through your fingers. and still, bertholdt hoover remains an enigma locked behind silence and green-glass eyes. you wait, wait, stomach twisting at every near-chance, every almost-conversation that fizzles into nothing. when will it end?

then, at last, fate takes mercy. destiny, so simple and sudden, cracks the sky open like an egg, spilling its golden yolk into your hands. an opportunity, finally, like a gift pressed gently into your waiting palms. the clouds part, the sun stretches its arms toward you, and relief washes over you like warm river water, lapping at your ribs, easing the tightness in your chest. heʼs alone, untethered from the shadows he so often lingers in, standing by the water trough with sleeves rolled to his elbows, fingertips dripping with cold well water. you nearly trip over yourself in your haste, breath catching, heart leaping like a caged bird at the mere possibility of speaking to him again. the relief is dizzying, an exhale after holding your breath for far too long, the first raindrop after a season of drought.

you don’t understand it, don’t want to understand it, but for once, you don’t fight it. how foolish and lovely it is to feel so much over something so small.

“oh — hi!” the word bursts from your lips before you can smooth it into something more natural, but it’s too late. bertholdt turns, startled, water still dripping from his fingertips, and you swear you catch the way his shoulders tense before relaxing.

“hi,” he says, careful, quiet. always quiet.

now that you’re here, the weight of it settles in. a real conversation. something to hold. something you’ve wanted. but the words don’t come easily, like they’re tangled in fishing wire, caught somewhere between nerves and the way the sun glances off his damp skin.

“uh, thirsty?” you blurt, as if that isn’t obvious. as if he hasn’t just finished dipping his hands in the water. god.

but bertholdt just blinks, glances at the trough, then back at you. “not really,” he admits, hesitant, like he’s not sure if that’s the right answer.

“oh.” you rock back on your heels, searching for something else to say. something witty, something clever, something that doesn’t make you sound like you’ve just been hit over the head.

nothing.

the silence yawns between you, stretching out into something just shy of awkward. you grasp at the edges, determined not to let it swallow you whole.

“you know,” you begin, voice lighter, teasing, because it’s all you have, “for all that staring you do, i would’ve thought you’d have more to say.”

his eyes go wide, panic flickering in the green depths, and you watch, delighted, as the tips of his ears go pink.

“iʼm sorry.” he stammers, shifts on his feet like he’s considering bolting.

“mmhmm.” you tilt your head, “so you admit to staring at me, then?”

he looks utterly betrayed by the question, by the way youʼve managed to back him into a corner with nothing but a few words and a well-placed grin. he presses his lips together, exhaling through his nose. “...not on purpose,” he mutters, gaze darting away, hands flexing at his sides.

and maybe it should wound you, that he doesn’t want to admit it, but it doesn’t. because not on purpose still means he has. still means something unspoken lingers between you, something he doesn’t know how to name.

“hm,” you hum, pleased, leaning in just a fraction. “good to know.”

bertholdt swallows hard, gaze flickering to yours, searching, unsure. but he doesn’t move away. doesnʼt run.

progress.

you clear your throat. “so…” you try, eyes darting to the water, to the trough, to anything to give you footing. “if youʼre not thirsty then what are you doing? cleansing your sins?”

his brows pull together, confused for a beat, and then against all odds, his mouth stretches. not quite a smile, but something close, something small.

“cleansing my sins,” he echoes, voice edged with quiet amusement. “yeah. i think i’ve got a lot to wash off.”

your breath catches at that. something about the way he says it.

“well,” you say, pressing on, “if it’s that bad, you might need something stronger than well water.”

he huffs out something that could almost be called a laugh. it’s hardly there, but it is there. this was worth the wait.

it is absurd, truly. the way your stomach swoops at the mere sight of him, the way your head turns just a little too quickly when his name is spoken, the way you search for him everywhere. in the mess hall, in the training yard, in the space between the trees when you’re meant to be focusing on your odm drills. like some ridiculous school-girl with a crush accompanied by fluttering nerves and warm cheeks. like a girl in a storybook, pressing flowers between the pages of her heart, waiting for the ink of his presence to stain the length of her days. it happens without your permission, this looking forward to him, this gentle anticipation that lingers in your chest.

a small part of you strongly believes that he looks forward to seeing you, too.

you test this theory when you find him alone, hunched over a wooden chessboard in the dimming light of the mess hall, fingertips ghosting over the ridges of a knight as he contemplates his next move against no one.

“teach me,” you say, not a request, but a certainty, dropping into the seat across from him with a smile.

he blinks, startled, but doesn’t protest. just tilts his head, considering, before reaching for the board and resetting the pieces.

“you don’t know how to play?” he asks, carefully neutral, like he’s trying to gauge whether this is a trap.

“nope.” you pop the ‘p’ and lean forward, beaming at him. “but you do. and i want to learn.”

“you’re sure? you want to learn?”

“uh-huh,” you say, lifting your chin. “it’s just a game. how hard can it be?”

he doesn’t answer, instead, he picks up a pawn between his fingers and begins, voice low, patient, explaining the rules, the movements, the strategy. he explains each piece, their movements, the way they protect, attack, retreat. you absorb what you can, but the moment he starts actually playing against you, the board becomes an incomprehensible battlefield. you immediately realize you are out of your depth.

your first move is hesitant, and bertholdt counters with practiced ease. your second move is braver, but he dismantles it within seconds. by your third move, you begin to feel the creeping edge of frustration, the pinch of your brows deepening as you stare at the board, willing it to reveal some kind of secret path forward.

“wait — what? you can do that?” your eyebrows pinch together, eyes darting to his queen, which has just ruthlessly obliterated one of your bishops.

“yes,” he says simply, not even a hint of remorse in his voice.

“this is unfair,” you mutter, glaring at his pieces like they’ve personally offended you.

“it’s just strategy,” he says, so maddeningly even-tempered, so effortlessly good at this, and you think you might actually hate him for it.

“you could let me win,” you try, batting your lashes, even though you already know the answer.

his eyes flick up to yours, green and unreadable, and then he simply says, “no.”

“no?” you echo, insulted.

“no,” he repeats, calmly moving another piece, effectively boxing you into a corner.

you let out an exaggerated groan, dropping your forehead onto your folded arms. “you like watching me struggle.”

“thatʼs not true,” he says, but there’s a smile in his voice. “i like watching you think.”

something warm unfurls in your chest at that, and you peek up at him through your lashes, only to find him already looking at you. his gaze is steady, something unreadable flickering there, something soft and curious.

you are ridiculous. giddy over a game you’re clearly losing, over the way he’s watching you, over the way he never lets you win but still sits here, patient, waiting for you to make your next move.

the game stretches on, and you don’t win. not even close. but you swear, when you make a particularly reckless move and sigh dramatically at your own defeat, you catch him watching you like this. this might be his favorite round yet. this might be your favorite game ever.

reiner, initially the subject of your irritation, is the first to notice. “you like him,” he accuses one day, shoving a hand through his already messy blond hair, staring at you like you’ve just admitted something immodest.

“i don’t,” you say, far too quickly.

reiner snorts, unconvinced. “right. of course you donʼt.”

you swat at his arm, but he just laughs, and bertholdt, a few paces away, only gives the two of you a mild glance before turning his attention elsewhere. you wonder, not for the first time, what he thinks of all this. if he even notices the way you’ve been orbiting him like a planet caught in his gravity.

reiner is like a live wire, sparking with a soldier’s energy, with the kind of joy that comes from seeing his shy friend, his awkward friend, talk to a pretty girl. it’s not malicious — no, not at all. it’s more like a game, a light-hearted observation. he watches from the corners of his eyes as bertholdt, hesitant and unsure, stands near you, a little stilted in his movements but undeniably present. there’s a strange satisfaction in it, like watching a bird take its first flight, awkward but beautiful in its uncertainty.

the soldier side of reiner buzzes with joy. good, he thinks, good for him. bertholdt might be reserved, but that doesn’t mean he should have to spend all his time buried in silence. reiner wants him to have this, even if it makes him squirm. even if it’s just a fleeting moment of relief, a breath from the constant weight of their reality.

but then, the warrior side rises. it’s a cold voice in the back of his mind, quiet but demanding, like a shadow that always lingers just out of sight. stay away, it says. don’t let him get too close to her. don’t let him forget what they are. what they’ve come here to do.

but it’s seldom listened to. after all, what’s a little fun? reiner tries to suppress it, tries to push it down, but there’s no denying the way his gaze lingers when you laugh or when bertholdt says something too quietly for anyone else to hear. he shouldn’t want it. he shouldn’t encourage it. but sometimes he does. sometimes, the soldier inside him just wants to see his friend have something that isn’t stained with the blood of their shared mission.

the blonde’s words always seem to land in the wrong place, always seem to stir up something that shouldn’t be stirred. he’s bolder than bertholdt, sharper with his jokes, and his humor is often dark, full of things that make bertholdt’s stomach turn. but it’s one thing when reiner’s jokes are directed at him. it’s something else entirely when they’re aimed at you.

bertholdt always feels the heat rush to his face so violently he’s sure he’s going to pass out. he practically chokes on his own breath, eyes wide and frantic as he shoots reiner a look of pure, helpless panic. you, bless you, laugh so bright and unbothered, but there’s this look you give bertholdt that makes his head spin and his pulse race.

reiner chuckles, always clearly pleased with himself, while bertholdt quietly prays for the earth to split open and swallow him whole. that bastard just chuckles, slapping bertholdt on the back like this is all so funny.

it is not funny.

the way his stomach churns at the mere thought of you, the way desire tastes like something rotten on his tongue. he wonders if the ghosts of shiganshina can see him now, pining after the very thing he was sent here to destroy. bertholdt sleeps like a man waiting for the noose. restless, fitful, tangled in sheets that feel more like restraints. his sins press into the dark, whispering through the cracks of his conscience, dragging their fingers down his neck. he dreams in fire and rubble, in the sound of screams he will never be able to unhear. his hands have torn down cities, have smothered the light from homes that once glowed warm in the night. they will never be clean. no matter how hard he scrubs, the scent of smoke lingers.

you sleep so soundly, nestled in the arms of your dreams, where he is not a traitor, not a monster, not a thing carved from shame and steel. in your dreams, he is only a boy. only hands and warmth and devotion pressed against your mouth.

how cruel, how ridiculous, that you — bright, good-hearted you — get to dream of him with your head resting peacefully on a thin barrack pillow, while he twists and turns in the dark, the taste of ash and blood still coating his teeth.

you are kissed by him in your sleep. he is gutted by you in his waking hours.

he cannot tell which suffering is worse.

he is torn. tortured by the fact that this thing between you cannot be. a friendship? no. no, he cannot do that.

he canʼt be with you. he can’t let himself fall into the softness of your gaze, into the arms of your presence that tugs at him, pulls him in when he knows he should pull away.

he is an enemy to paradis. you are the enemy. and that is the line he cannot cross.

you are a devil, in their eyes. a monster, a thing to be hunted, feared, erased. and what would you think of him, if you knew? what would you say when you realized? that he — the one who read to you in the quiet of the library, the one who helped you with your training — was a warrior in the army that threatens everything you know, everything you love? would your eyes still easd when they meet his? would your smile fade? would you hate him? would you?

he can’t let you know. he canʼt let you see the truth of what he is. he can't bear it — the thought of you hating him, of everything between you both collapsing into the cruel reality of what he’s become.

he’s not like them. not like reiner, with his ease in embracing the role of a warrior, with his heart already hardened by the walls he’s built around himself. and he’s certainly not like annie, whose resolve is iron, unmoving in the face of the brutality that defines her life. bertholdt is the one who feels too much, the one who can’t pretend. not anymore.

if you knew who he really was, you’d never look at him the same again. youʼd hate him. youʼd hate the devil he is.

and so, he does what he always does when he’s caught in a bind, when he’s drowning in uncertainty. he asks reiner.

the conversation is clumsy, but reiner’s response comes with the ease of someone who’s done this before. even though he really hasn't.

“you’re overthinking it, man,” reiner mutters, voice rough, eyes still dull from sleep but sharp enough to catch the tension in bertholdt’s posture. “she’s just a girl, a pretty one, yeah? but that’s it. it doesn’t have to mean much.”

bertholdt looks at him, unsure, unsure if he’s missing something, if reiner’s words are too simple, too easy. but reiner doesn’t stop.

“it’s just... feelings. they happen, man. she’s not gonna be some... problem for you. we are the problem.” he says the last part quietly, like he doesn’t want the others in the barracks to hear, but the truth hangs there anyway.

bertholdt looks down at the ground, chewing on reiner’s words. doesn’t have to mean anything. but the truth is, it does mean something to him. you mean more to him than words can say, more than he ever thought possible, in ways that twist and tangle around his chest. you are warmth in a world that has only ever been cold to him. you understand him in ways no one ever has, sees the cracks he hides behind that stiff, soldier, no, warrior, exterior, and doesn’t flinch. doesn’t look away. he’s never had a friend like you, never even imagined one could exist.

all his life, he’s longed for a kindred spirit, someone who could see him without the weight of the walls he’s built, and the conscience plaguing him because of the ones he tore down. someone who would never judge, never turn away. and yet, somehow, he’s found you here of all places. in the land of the enemy, in a place that’s supposed to be full of threats and distrust. the irony stings, but he can’t help it. he needs you. even if it hurts, even if it’s a wound he doesn’t know how to stop bleeding, he can’t let go of you. not now. you wonʼt let him.

he opens his mouth, about to speak, but reiner cuts him off with a sigh, like he already knows what’s coming.

“you’re making this harder than it is,” reiner says, a bit of frustration creeping into his voice, but his tone softens as he leans back, a strange empathy flickering in his eyes. “don’t overthink it. you know what the mission is. she’s not part of that.” he lowers his voice even more, the words coming out like a quiet confession. “we can’t have that.”

bertholdt nods slowly, but the gnawing feeling doesn’t go away. he knows reiner is wrong. he lowers his head into his hands, exhaling shakily.

“i don’t want to hurt her,” he says, “but i can’t... not feel this.”

reiner’s eyes flinch, hard and cold in the dim light of the barracks. his usual camaraderie fades as something darker takes its place. “if you let yourself get close to her, you’re putting the mission in danger. you’re putting her in danger. and if you can’t kill her when the time comes, when you need to...” reiner leans in, his voice a sharp whisper, “we will. i will.” his words hit like a punch to the gut. “the consequences are simple, bertholdt. either she’s the enemy... or she’s nothing. nothing personal.”

bertholdtʼs hand tightens into a fist. he knows this. he’s always known this, and he has tried to keep his distance before, to push you away in subtle ways. cold silences, short answers, turning his gaze when you speak. it’s a quiet sort of cruelty, the kind that festers, and he tells himself it’s for the best. he wonʼt hurt you, he thinks. if he just steps back, if he just shuts his heart away, maybe you’ll never have to know what he really is.

but you always came back.

like a drag he can’t escape, you sought him out. first, it’s miniscule, a casual “hey, are you okay?” he brushed it off, but it lingered. then it was longer, a whispering frustration in your voice. “you’ve been avoiding me,” you said one day, and it was more of a statement than a question. the words stung, but it was nothing compared to the hurt he saw in your eyes. hurt he’d caused.

he didn’t know how to explain. how could he ever tell you that the distance is for your own good? that keeping you away is the only way to protect you from the truth? but he’s not selfish, he never has been. so he kept pushing you away, even as it tore him apart to see the confusion, the disappointment settle in your gaze.

you’d never had to chase someone’s attention like this before, and the hurt of it cut deeper than he ever anticipated. deeper than the guilt that eats at his insides.

what hurts more? the hurt of losing your company, of never hearing your laugh again, never seeing the way your eyes brighten when you talk to him? or the hurt of you getting too close, of realizing that the boy you thought you could trust is nothing more than a traitor to your very people? a devil in disguise?

the answer rips through him like a blade. he’s already lost you, hasn’t he? both ways.

somehow always, bertholdt found himself apologizing again. the words spilled out like they’ve been on the edge of his tongue, waiting for the moment when he can make everything right — when he can repair the damage he’s done. it was all too easy to fall back into the rhythm with you, to pretend that everything is okay, that nothing has changed.

and so, you returned to square one.

close again. like nothing ever happened. he had and still has let himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe it could work. maybe it could be simple. you could be his. the way you laugh, the way your eyes glisten when you talk about the future, it makes him imagine a life that isn’t torn between two worlds. a life where he’s not the enemy. where you’re not the enemy.

he deludes himself, he knows he does.

but what if? what if he could take you back to matleh? show you the world he’s known, the world he’s fought for. maybe you’d see things differently. maybe you’d understand. he could be with you there, in that place, in that world, far from the violence of paradis, far from the war that seems inevitable. you could be his. his in a way that no one else can be.

maybe you’d go.

maybe you’d marry him.

become an honorary marleyan.

maybe you could learn to live with the man he’s become, the man he has no choice but to be.

he imagines you, standing beside him, not as an enemy, but as a partner, someone who knows the truth but chooses him anyway. maybe, he dares to hope, maybe you’d stand by him as his equal, as his wife, in a land that isnʼt filled with the ghosts of enemies past. maybe he could protect you. maybe you could protect him.

he let the thoughts run wild, let himself picture it all — your hands in his, the two of you in a quiet home, far from all of this. he deludes himself so deeply, because it feels better than facing the truth. he knows it’s not real, but he doesn’t have the strength to let go of the fantasy. reiner must see it too.

the blonde in question leans back, exhaling a breath, he’s done with the heavy words, the warning’s been said, and now it’s done. “you know what?" he says, softer now, like he’s giving bertholdt the final nudge. “if you need to get it out of your system — whatever that is — do it. mess around. kiss her, touch her, make her yours for a little while. just finish it. don’t drag it out. just... get it done.” his words are as cold and blunt as the truth itself.

bertholdt doesn’t answer. he can’t. because there’s a part of him, the part that already knows what he’ll choose, that is screaming it’s already too late. there’s a long silence. reiner’s breathing steadies, and for a moment, bertholdt wonders if he’s fallen asleep. but then reiner’s voice, low and almost gentle, floats back to him.

“you’re not the first to feel this, bertholdt. and you won’t be the last. but the mission’s what matters. just... just remember that, okay? it’s what we’re here for.”

bertholdt closes his eyes. the words don’t fix anything. but they’re all he has right now. he nods slowly like it will somehow help him believe it.

“yeah,” he whispers back, though the doubt still lingers. “yeah, okay.” it didnʼt make him feel better. he’s playing pretend, clutching at a dream that could never come true.

you’ve snuck out to the horse stables so many times, past curfew, dragging him with you, whispering conspiratorially about how the night is wasted indoors. you scale the wooden beams of the horse stables, shimmy up onto the roof, and sit side by side, looking at the sky like it belongs to the both of you.

the first time you drag him out, he doesn’t understand. the second time, he doesn’t ask. the third, he’s waiting. a rule broken so many times it barely feels real anymore. you never belonged inside those walls anyway.

and neither does he.

“c’mon, bertl,” you tease, already grabbing his sleeve. “you gonna make me climb up here all by myself?”

“who says you’re not already doing it alone?”

you roll your eyes, pulling harder. “don’t be difficult. come up here.”

and of course, he does.

you know every creaky floorboard, every blind spot where the night guards won’t see. you move through the dark like you were born to it, quick-footed and sure, and he follows in your wake, quiet as breath. you’ve done this a hundred times while he moves slower, more cautious, but you reach down for him, fingers curling firm around his wrist. he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he’s up there with you, the world stretched wide and silver.

the stars are sharp tonight, winking like they know something he doesn’t. the roof slants beneath you, a precarious perch, but you sit like you’ve conquered it, arms spread behind you, legs swinging lazily. “what do you think about?” you ask, tilting your head. “when you're all quiet like this?”

he hesitates. “the ocean, sometimes.”

your brows raise in delight. “have you seen it?”

“no.”

“me neither." you sigh, flopping onto your back, staring up at the sky like it might hold the answer. “i think about it too. how it must look at night. how it must feel. sometimes, when i dream about it, i wake up feeling like my hands are wet.”

he glances at you, something unreadable flickering across his face.

“do you ever dream about it?”

“no,” he says, and it is a lie.

his shoulder brushes yours. his knee knocks against yours. he does not move away.

“you always have something to say,” he murmurs, the words only half meant for you, the rest for himself.

“and you never do,” you counter with a smile that could break his heart. “but i know you think a lot.”

his fingers twitch where they rest on his knee. “thinking isn’t always meant to be shared.”

you frown. “that’s a lonely way to live.”

he exhales, just short of a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. he hates it. hates the way you're right, the way he’s kept himself at arm's length from the world, from you, even though all he wants is to pull you close. you wonder, not for the first time, what he was like before all this, before the cadet corps. you know there are things in his head that need to stay locked away, things he can’t share for reasons unbeknownst to you.

but you don’t ask, because you’ve learned by now. he deflects, evades, moves the conversation elsewhere. the more time you spend with him, the more you learn what you do not wish to. not really.

he likes to read, mostly history books, but sometimes novels when he thinks no one is looking. he has preference for colder weather, he likes history books more than anything else, but sometimes, late at night, he’ll pull out novels when he thought no one was watching. he isn’t easy to read. he isn’t easy to touch. but somehow, in all of it, being with him felt like home, even if he didn’t always say the words. even if sometimes, it feels like you’re trying to hold water in cupped hands.

his hands fidget in his lap like startled birds. his throat works around words he will never say. he’s staring, but you’re used to that by now. his eyes move over you like an artist dragging charcoal across a page. he never stops, not even when you turn, not even when your gaze catches his and holds.

you say your father would like him, he nearly crumbles. it’s so easy for you to say it, casual, offhanded, like it’s already a truth. you barely think before speaking, but he knows you mean it. and that’s what makes it unbearable. you don’t know who he is. what he is. you don’t know what you’re saying. because if you did, if you knew your father would spit at his feet before letting him step inside your home.

it makes him want to be better. it makes him worse.

“bertholdt,” you murmur, and his name sounds reverent in your mouth.

his breath hitches.

your fingers ghost along his jaw, and he flinches like you’ve pressed a live wire to his skin, like the heat of you burns. but he doesn’t move away. his pulse thrashes beneath your touch. his lips are parted, pink, uncertain. you want to ruin him.

so you do.

you kiss him gently at first, the way a flame eats at the wick before it devours. he seizes, hands hovering like he doesn’t know where to put them. he makes a sound, and it kills you. then he’s kissing you back, harder, not because he’s certain but because he isn’t. because he’s starving and doesn’t know if he’s allowed to eat.

he tastes like apples, like something crisp and clean, but there’s salt there too like sweat on sun-warmed skin, the edge of something nervous. you can feel his restraint, the way his fingers tighten against his own thigh like he doesn’t trust himself not to touch you.

so you fix that. you move closer and closer until your knee slots between his, until your hands find his wrists and drag them up, up, up until his palms meet your waist, and he gasps like you’ve done something violent. but he doesn’t let go.

when you finally pull back, his pupils are blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he’s been running. his lips are kiss-bitten and red, and he looks devastated in the most sacred way.

you grin, breathless. “again?”

he swallows hard, nods. yes, he was sure now. he was sure of you and of this. he wasn’t afraid anymore. he would keep you. he would take you to his homeland, and hide you from the rest of the cruel, wicked world, and love you until his days ran out. for as long as fate allows, for as long as ymir’s curse lets his body carry the weight of his sins, you will be his, and he will be yours.

if he were stronger, he would end this. if he were selfless, he would let you go. but bertholdt hoover is not a selfish boy. he was raised to be a weapon, a warrior, a tool for a war you are not supposed to survive. but he wants you to. he wants you to live.

and if it means carving out some small piece of a life with you before the end, he will.

so he walks with you when you ask, lingers at the dinner table when you do, lets himself sink into your world when it would be safer to drift away. he reads to you when you shove a book in his hands and tell him his voice is nice. he lets you brush dirt from his uniform, his sleeve, his cheek, because you always do. and when reiner raises an eyebrow across the barracks, smirking, when annie lets out a breath that sounds too much like pity, he only grips his book tighter and pretends he doesn’t see.

the first time he finds himself in your room when he isn’t supposed to be, he tells himself he’s only passing through. just checking. just making sure you’re there. but then your window creaks open, and you whisper his name, and it’s over before he even begins to fight it.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he says, even as he steps inside.

“neither should you,” you murmur, voice warm, teasing. you tip your head, considering. “but i’m glad you are.”

and that’s how it starts.

he is not a selfish boy, but he holds onto you like he is.

he lays awake at night, listening to your breathing, memorizing the curve of your lashes where they brush your cheek, the way your fingers twitch in sleep. he should be thinking of the mission. of what’s to come. of the inevitable, looming end. but all he can think about is you.

how you’ll hate him.

how you’ll look at him when the truth comes out.

how your voice will break when you realize what he’s done.

but that is not now. not yet.

for now, you sleep, safe and warm, and his hands are steady when he reaches for you.

they take you to marley in chains. it happens so fast you barely remember how. the world flips and then you’re here, on the other side of the sea, ripped from everything you knew. bound, gagged, thrown onto a ship that smells of salt and steel, the land you fought for shrinking on the horizon. you should be dead. you were supposed to die with the rest of them.

but bertholdt wouldn’t let that happen.

you don’t know what he said, what he promised, what he sacrificed to keep you breathing, but somehow, you’re still here. not free, not really, but alive. a spectacle, a symbol, the redeemed devil. they clean you up, dress you in fine silks, teach you how to speak their way, make you smile for cameras, sing in theaters like a doll wound tight. marley saw you and saw an opportunity. a devil turned saint. a redeemed daughter of paradis, proof that their cause is just.

you did not run fast enough. you hesitated. maybe you look for him. maybe you can’t believe it, even as the bodies hit the ground.

marley loves a story of salvation. the devil from the island, tamed.

he never says anything. never touches you. never tells you why he did this, why he saved you only to put you in another cage.

but at night, when the curtains close and the world forgets you exist, you wonder if this was mercy or something else entirely.

[rhadamanthes]

I only do this party 4 you. Bertholdt Hoover x reader

word count : 3,8 k

warnings: college AU, angst NO happy ending, unrequired feelings, miscommunication, friends with benefits gone wrong, first times, mention of loss of virginity, soft sex, footjob, face sitting, fingering, cockwarming, semi public sex (locker room), praise and dirty talk, unexperienced bert and reader, switch!bertholdt switch!reader

It started off as a help me help you situation. You and Bertholdt, two friends both inexperienced but trusting each other enough to be their firsts. 

After a few years in college and a bunch of failed situationships you started to believe you would die a virgin.  Until one day stumbling upon a conversation between Bertholdt and his best friend Reiner. The ramble to his friend resembled your own inner monologue. That's why you allowed yourself to talk to him in private about it. 

He denied at first but the way he went pink from his cheeks to his ears didn't lie. You were quick to reassure him, as you were in the exact same situation. So it all began.  

It didn't really came as a surprise when you found out Bertholdt  had no sexual experiences, but at the same time you always thought that he and Reiner had something going on. 

The way he touched and held you so softly for you guys first time was all you could dream off. You had your doubt and even considered backing out but the horniness and curiosity had the best of you. And you don't regret it. 

The intercourse was awkward at first. Bertholdt was so scared to hurt you that he was extra cautious.

"You sure you're ok ? It doesn't look like it feels good"

"Wait is that blood"

"Want me to go slower ?" 

You had to told him to just go with the flow (very unusual for him) and he stopped moving all at once, that was you cue to take control. Eventually he relaxed and started to enjoy the moment, His deep voice made his moan so pretty and encouraged you to continue. 

Once you both came, comforter covering your naked bodies, Bertholdt had a hard time making eye contact with you, it's clear something was on the tip of its tongue, eventually he told you what was on his mind. 

"I don't mean to be impolite and I really liked what we did but I don't want you to get the wrong idea... I don't think I want a relationship"

"Don't worry Berth, I'm not trying to fish anything out of this, I'm content as it is" you had snickered. Relief could clearly be read on his face as he hugged you tight.

"Thank you, I was scared this would be awkward" You still remember how warm his body was wrapped around you, almost enough to lull you to sleep.

"Want to take a nap ?"

=͟͟͞⚝

It's been two weeks since you had sex with Bertholdt. Ever since, you two fall into a dynamic of experimenting sex together. Whenever he fancied a new position or simply relief he would come to you and you would do the same. 

Today is a bit different. You have noticed that Bertholdt is a whiner type, you like it very much and you plan to get as much as you can from it. That's why you are currently seated behind him on the couch. Your right hand is covering his mouth in a fake attempt to mute his moan, his voice is so deep that he bleeds through your fingers anyway. The left hand is tweaking his nipple, his back arches in response.  Your legs are circled around his waist, so your feet can stroke his cock.

It's not the most comfortable position for you, but the way his wimper fills the room, hips trembling with each stroke makes it worth the pain. 

"I-I'm gonna cum" Bertholdt cries behind your hand. HIs puppy voice makes heat rushes to your pussy, god you wish you could see his face right now, biting the pale skin of his bare back.

"Yeah ? You're going to cum all over my feet  Berth ? Like a pervert ?" you whisper in a condescending voice right under his ear, even seated he is still taller than you. His back arches a little more at your words and you squeeze his nipple harder. He gasps.

"Yes! Yes please let me cum!"  he begs, hips thrusting between your joined feet. 

"Say that you're a pervert and I'll let you" 

"I'm a pervert!" he states without an ounce of hesitation. You groan against his skin unsatisfied bringing your feets movement to a halt. "I'm a pervert a-and I want to cum !" his voice is more pitched this time, you smile to yourself resuming the up and down motion on his thick cock. 

"You are ~ go ahead make a mess" 

"Thank you ah! Thank you y/n" Betholdt gasps, voice sloppier with each rope of hot cum that lands on your feet. His back relaxes into your chest as his high comes to an end.   

"Sorry" he whispers with a dopey smile when he realizes he was slowly crushing you onto the backrest.

A long exhale leaves his lips as he lay flat on the couch, closing his eyes. Smile still spread on his face, Bertholdt is pretty when he is not self conscious you think, never such a smile could be seen in public, he's more guarded when surrounded by people, it feels like a privilege seeing him like that. 

"What are you going to do about this ?" you ask, extending your cum covered feet to his face. Opening his eyes slightly, he grabs your ankle, cleaning his semen off your skin with his warm tongue.

"Come sit on my face" he sleepily murmurs once your feet are as clean as the day you were born.

You do not have to be told twice, thighs spread around his face for him to feed on you. Humming in your scent, Bertholdt rubs his nose against your clit a few times, you let your head fall back, eyes closing in anticipation when he finally puts the bundle of nerves in his mouth. You sink more and more of your weight on his face moaning in relief. That boy sure knows how to use his tongue. 

=͟͟͞⚝

Life goes on, you go to college, eat with your friends, go home, study and repeat it all again the next day  but...

There is something different these days. You found yourself always eager from Bertholdt's next text, not only for the awesome sex but also simply to be in his presence. It was an embarrassing realisatiation. 

On a random Tuesday night he had asked you to come by his place to watch the moon through with his telescope. The small balcony of his apartment could barely fit two chairs so your bodies were flushed against each other, nothing you are not used to, but it felt very intimate and not in a sexual way. 

You took turns watching the rocky star through his lense, Never in your life have you seen it so clearly, it warmed your chest to witness it next to Bertholdt for the first time. Later in the night when the observation turned into a conversation he had given you his hoodie when he noticed you were shivering. His musky scent flooded your senses. Your heart was beating so fast, as fast as you felt yourself falling for him.

 13:26 Bertholdt : Meet me after training ? I forgot my calculus textbook at your place...

Such a simple text and you were already thinking about what to wear for his eyes never to leave you.  A mid tights floral dress it is, he complimented it once while it was on the drying rack of your living room: you can't go wrong with that choice. 

Checking the time on your phone you mentally curse you're running 20 minutes late because you couldn't decide on the right lip combo and the perfect fragrance. It's so stupid he probably already left  or is very mad at you, breaking into a small jog you enter the locker room. Crap, it looks empty.

"Bertholdt ?" you try out loud.

"Over here" you hear from the back of the room. Guess it's your lucky day. 

Bertholdt is crouched over his duffel bag filling what seems to be his lacrosse uniform. Hearing footsteps he looks your way, you are surprised to see that he is only wearing a towel around his waist. 

"You guys finished later ? "

"No, I... I don't like to take my shower with everyone else so I waited" he admits standing tall, and you almost forgot that he was in fact almost a giant, you feel a tug at your heartstring. He's so handsome. His black hair is slicked back, a very different look from his usual, falling on his forehead. 

"I'm not surprised" you chuckle to clear your thought "Anyways I got your book with me" you continue squeezing your bag  where it is sitting against your ribs. 

He only hums absentmindedly looking at your form up and down brushing his damp hair against his skull as he gulps. Is it the power of the dress working ? A smile creeps on your face. 

"Come here" he says, extending his hands to you. Your heart misses a beat when you take his large palm in yours. Bertholdt tugs lightly, crashing his lips  against yours. You feel your legs about to give out under the fervor he kisses you with, his other hand lands on the small of your back, presing you flush against his moist body. You can feel his hard member against your belly and you break the kiss. 

"Berth ?" you chuckle looking down at the bulge behind his towel.

"It happens after exercise sometimes" he clarifies with a faint blush on his cheek.

"You mean to say, you walk around campus with a hard on after hours of catching a ball with a net ? "You giggle tracing the outline of his cock with your fingertips. Bertholdt gives you one of his deadpan stares you chortle kissing him back.

"Is it ok ? If we do it here I mean ? " he asks crouching down, being eye to eye level with him is a rare occurrence, it's your turn to heat up, you nod your head giving him consent to proceed. He nods too, angling your body so you rest against the metal row of lockers, the cold material makes you moan into the kiss, you let your bag hit the ground so your hands are free to mess with his hair. 

Bertholdt's large hands go to your hips, squeezing them and you take it as a sign to spread your legs for him.  Travelling to your pussy he gasps being welcomed by your bare skin, no underwear. Oops, you smile against his lips. Long digits enter your cunt scissoring you open. Your head falls to the side, catching your breath 

"Get nice and wet for me, yes ?" he mumbles against the skin of your exposed neck, his hips rut against your thigh and you feel yourself getting wetter by the second. 

"Yes Bertholdt" your meek voice echoes in the empty room. He is not that forward usually, but you don't mind at all.  His thumb attaches to your clit, circling it slowly as his fingers keep curling along your most sensitive spot.  Your hips buck on their own against his hands, as the squelching sound from your pussy fills the room, your grip his shoulders tipping  over your release. 

"U-uh please, mmh please" you beg, burying your head in his chest.

"There, there" he breathes, intensifying his motion, enough for you to cum around his fingers. back arching off the locker, you babble an incoherent mess that none of you care to understand, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. 

A thing you have realised ever since the night on his balcony, is that each of the orgasms he gives you seems to be stronger. You don't think much of it, just glad it feels that way. The sound of something hitting the ground brings you back to earth. Bertholdt is now naked in front of you, erection springing free. 

Your mouth water at the sight of it. Obviously your lack of experience doesn't make you unbiased but to you, his cock is close to perfection. Thick, long and veiny, it could  be the way he uses it or the fact that you feel yourself slowly falling for him. Your pussy clenches around nothing, eager to feel him inside of you. 

Bertholdt's large hands wrap around your thighs to lock them around his hips your body is sandwiched between him and the locker behind you. 

"Can I put it in ?" he asks, looking up at you with his pale green eyes. you nod sliding your hand from his shoulder to his neck, grazing your fingers against the nape of his hair. Flashing you a smile, Bertholdt peppers kisses to your cleavage as he slowly slides his length inside of you. 

An exhale of relief flees your lips, your shoulder relaxes as his cock pumps torturous slow thrusts inside of you. 

"Bertholdt, give it to me" you whine, dragging the last vowel.

"Not very patient today are you?" he asks playfully, licking a strip up your neck. "Say please and I'll go faster" He is using your tricks against you !

What happened to the boy that was too shy to even look you in the eye when he was inside of you? Your cunt clenches against him, this new personality is driving you up the wall.

"Please bertholdt" you moan pulling at the nape of his hair

"Please ?" he questions picking his pace slightly

"Please Bert I need it" you plead, more desperate feeling the impatience grow inside of you alongside the knot in your belly.

"Kiss me" you happily oblige. 

The whole room sounds like a mess, the metal clanks with each thrust that makes your bodies collide against it, mixes of voices whispering and skin slapping. It's your mess, the very own mess you created with him, you're proud of it you wished someone would walk in right now to see how good Bertholdt makes you feel, how good you two look together. 

=͟͟͞⚝

Today Bertholdt is at your place sitting at the coffee table where he is making flashcards. You are belly up on the couch behind him reading the latest celebrity drama on twitter when his deep voice comes to your ears. 

"There is something i would like to try" he starts, looking back at you. Locking your phone you meet his eyes, eyebrow quirked, there is not much you guys haven't tried so you are curious. 

"Shoot" you say tracing his nose with your index finger. 

"I would like to put my cock inside of you and just continue what i'm doing, you can turn me down if it's weird i'll understand" he states, his signature blush making his way on the sharp features of his face 

"Now where the hell did you get that idea uh ? " you giggle, pinching the bridge of his nose "But it  sounds good to me" you say, joining him on the rug.  Bertholdt helps you straddle him, as he pulls his sweat pants down enough so his soft dick can break free. You pull your shorts and pantie to the side, directing his penis to your entrance. 

He's not hard so you don't bother touching yourself to allow him inside of you. Placing a quick peck on his lips you sink on his dick.

The sensation is different from everything you've tried before, you're not stretched enough for your liking but the position allows you to be close to him, it's relaxing his penis would stirr inside of you from time to time. Resting your chin on his shoulder you close your eyes. His body always runs so hot.

"You're feeling good ?" Bertholdt asks, running his hands up and down your sides.

"Hmm yes I could fall asleep like that " you murmur nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

"Go ahead," he says, rubbing your back. 

Dozing off you can hear Bertholdt talking distantly on the phone. 

"Annie is back in town ?" Is the last thing you hear before falling asleep, his voice sounds chippier than usual and his dick grows harder inside of you. 

=͟͟͞⚝

"They went to you for the organization of a party ?" you huff biting in your ice cream cone, Bertholdt looks defeated next to you, head in his hands.

 " I know, Eren said it's because i'm a tidy person whatever it has to do with it" he grunt eyes closed. 

You chortle, shaking your head from left to right, what a very Eren thing to do.

"I mean, I could help you if you want"  

"Really?" 

"Yeah, I did a few before even if it's an Eren party it should be in my range" you smirk standing up "I go to bounce but let's talk about it more later ?" you propose adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

Bertholdt nods his head vigorously, you can't help but think he's cute like that. 

Walking to your next class you think about all the things that need to be done before the party. Friday in two weeks.

A guest list, booze (a lot), decorations, a banging playlist, you could even throw some songs Bertholdt have shared with you from his playlist. Eren should already have a set of ambient lights you could use. Yeah no fuss this should be easy enough you thought to yourself.

It's only when you enter the building that you remember that Bertholdt's hoodie is still in your bag, crap you've been meaning to give him back for weeks now, rushing back to the three where you had lunch you hope he is still there. The voice that cannot be mistaken for another reaches your ear and you're about to but when his next sentence stops you in your track. 

"Yes she will be at the party, you think I should ask her out then ?"

You're frozen, heart beating a mile an hour, is he talking about you ? 

"Right, I've known her long enough it's about time I do it I guess" he laugh nervously.

It's happening ! Retreating on your tippy toes your resume your previous itinerary with a spring in your step. 

You'll have all the time in the world to give his cloth back once you two are boyfriend and girlfriend

=͟͟͞⚝

You haven't seen much of Bertholdt for the last few days. There really isn't much to think of . College and the organisation of the party kept you busy. Regardless, you miss him... 

His text felt distant, like what you had shared with him over the last few months was a long gone memory. It is hard not to overthink, you know he is a rather dry texter but your heart drops a little bit more each time he doesn't reciprocate your enthusiasm.

Maybe he's stressed about making you his girlfriend ? You really got to know him better, so you wouldn't be surprised if he was sweating buckets right now. The party is in two days time anyway, you can't wait to see him and you can't wait to make your relationship official. 

=͟͟͞⚝

It’s the song you picked for him.

The strobes, flashing lights, loud music balloons and confetti scattered all over the floor makes it all feel like a bad joke. Why is everyone laughing while you are witnessing pure horror ? Standing a few feet away from the scene you can't take your eyes off it as badly as you need it, in order to preserve the few sanity left in you. 

Bertholdt is here, as expected, with Annie, not expected, they are close, so close you feel your chest constrict tighter by the second. He is using his default stance when talking to shorter people (almost everyone). It always made you feel special, seen, when he would use it with you, as if he cared enough to not miss a bit of what you're saying. But now... now you feel like a fool you were never special and you can clearly see it in the way he looks at her. Never in the time you have spent with him you were graced with this softness in his eyes. 

Sure he was always kind to you, but witnessing him like that with Annie makes you realise that you never hold a candle to her. She didn't have to get naked for him to be completely enticed with her. You feel dirty, you feel betrayed, but you can only blame yourself. He said it from the start that he wasn't fishing a relationship out of this. 

Of course it wouldn't be you he wanted to make his girlfriend and to think you believed it until the last moment.

You're stuck in place,the world keeps spinning around you. Your throat is dry, but your eyes sure aren't, slowly, your vision becomes blurry, maybe it is better this way. A hard shove on your shoulder brings you back to reality, turning around there's an obviously drunk girl apologizing to you, she looks like she's having fun, her friend group drags her somewhere else, apologizing again on her behalf.

Like a magnet your eyes drag back to Bertholdt and Annie, they are kissing now, his hands, the same hands that you felt roaming your body so many times, his large warm hands are on her small waist, hers are around his neck. Bile rises to your throat. You speed walk to the back of the house. You need air, you need space and quiet or you might go crazy right now. 

Fortunately there's no one in the backyard, not yet. With a few more drinks in there's no doubt that it will be filled with drunk young adults. But for now you are alone. Again

The moon stares down at you, the same moon under which you felt your heart calling for Bertholdt the first time. You feel like a wounded dog under its beam, you want to claw at your chest for it to stop hurting so much. Sitting on the cold grass before your legs give out there's no way this night could get any worse. Tugging your knees to your chest, you allow your forehead to rest on them. You don't want to cry, it would be ridiculous to. But just like falling in love with your friend, you can't help it. 

It's more whimpers and sobs than actual cry, you can hardly breath, not that you care anymore. Praying to the moon that no one comes here to find you, they never do anyways. Squeezing your arms tight around your legs you wished you never went to that party let alone set it up, you wished you never proposed to help Bertholdt, you wished you listened to him when he said he this will not be anything more than sex, you wished your heart would stop squeezing so tight with each passing second.

It was a help me help you situation at first and yet you're the only one crying about it. 

[jjkeremika]

AoT men favorite places with you

description: AoT men’s favorite place to be intimate with you

pairing: Eren, Jean, Connie, Reiner, Porco, Levi, Erwin, Armin, Zeke, Bertolt // x reader

nsfwww

Eren

• prefers public places, not well hidden, like fingering you under the table or having you suck him off behind the racks at restaurants and shops

• risky, likes the thrill of potentially being caught, swears the adrenaline makes you look and sound sexier

• loves sucking on your neck and leaving hickeys, bites your shoulders enough to leave a visible mark for days

• shushes you while he strokes your hair, tells you that you need to be more quiet when you swallow him whole, that you need to bite your lip when he rocks his hips

Jean

• at home, in the kitchen, while prepping for dinner or while baking desserts

• likes lifting you onto the countertop, kissing and fondling you until his preset timers are going off

• always takes his shirt off before putting the apron on, just in case he spills something on it anyway

• smacks you with a spatula or wooden spoon when you walk by, threatens to do it again when you squeal

• watches you lick the batter off your finger with dilated pupils and starts palming his erection through the apron, staring at your lips the whole time

Connie

• well if it wasn’t the arcade, it wasn’t anywhere but home

• hes winning prizes and tickets at every game, smiling and handing you the gifts to keep, smacking your ass and kissing your cheek intermittently

• sometimes asks you to blow on his hands before ski-ball or air-hockey for good luck

• reminds you of that when he asks you to blow on his cock later, behind the pac-man operator, when he’s unzipping his jeans and you’re dropping to your knees

• sometimes will push up against you from behind, pushing your hips into the game as you play, as he teaches you

Reiner

• rents cabins so you two can be conpletely alone because he loves to hear you scream, and doesn’t want a soul to hear or see you (only him)

• likes you on your hands and knees, his hand roughly pulling your hair

• situates you so both of you are facing the wide window, overlooking the natural scenery as his hips slap against yours

• smirks at you in the reflection in the window, blows kisses when you both make eye contact in it

Porco

• could always find him hanging out under the bleachers, and he greets you with open arms and a big kiss each time

• wraps his jacket around you when he takes your shirt off; puts your shirt over his backpack so it doesn’t touch the ground

• holds you so close and so tight, protects your head with his hand if you two get too close to the metal benches

• loves the rattle of the bleachers when you grab onto the metal bars or benches as he fucks into you from behind

Levi

• hates doing it in bathrooms and kitchens

• prefers taking you to expensive hotels with clean sheets and fluffy towels, usually rents a room with two large beds so you can rest and relax on spotless sheets

• cleaning up is his favorite part, lapping up your streams of fluid from your thighs like a parched dog

• loves shoving his cock down your throat when he’s about to orgasm, loves feeling and watching you swallow his cum, enjoying everything more thoroughly with the knowledge that he doesn’t have to dirty a towel

Erwin

• back of the car, like you’re both hormone-crazed teenagers who can’t keep their hands off each other

• has a huge car, so sprawling you out into any position isn’t an obstacle

• always wraps his tie around his wrist, dangling it slightly, and sometimes sharply slaps it against your ass

• plays music through the speakers every time, always drives to the ocean or the lake

• likes the visual of you beneath him, his cock pushed between your breasts

Armin

• likes to be in private, at home BUT the back room at the public library comes quite close

• works there part time, so acquiring the room was easy, and there was something about seeing you amongst unbound books that evoked something inexplicable within him

• loves when you bend over him like an open book, especially when you’re asking him to lick you out while you suck him off

• always reminds you to be quiet when he’s louder than you are

Zeke

• likes to take you to plays and musicals and theaters and operas, “to enjoy the sounds and symphonies of art,” he’d say

• his hand is crawling up your thigh before intermission, tracing the tights pattern up your skirt

• hides the playwright over your lap so those in neighboring seats can’t gawk (but he also kind of likes it when they do)

• rushes you to the bathroom during intermission, hiking up your skirt and ripping a hole in the crotch of your tights

Bertolt

• plays basketball, so meeting him in the locker room after practice is the routine

• explores different positions on the benches and in the showers with you, bending you over it or holding you up

• loves holding your butt cheeks like two globes, moaning every time he compares his hand and dick sizes to the size of your ass

• blushes when he sees you at his games because he knows what will happen later in the locker room, what you’ve both practiced for

[caesthetix]

GREAT DESCENDANT — Part 3. Obsidian Scarf

↪ Attack on Titan series

↪ content; warrior!reader, aged-up character, graphic description of violence, slow burn, season 4 spoiler

When you first breached the wall maria, what went inside your mind next was how to make sure everyone could survive. You and your fellow warriors were just thirteen and fourteen years old kids at that time, and no one knew what the condition would be inside the walls.

There were lots of crimes such as robbery, human trafficking, and fraud going around. Even the garrison soldiers who were supposed to take care of the crisis inside the walls along with the military police seemed to be overwhelmed by how the condition turned out to get worse and worse every day.

So a year right after the breach, the majority of the refugees had to devote their lives and join the military to reclaim back wall maria. The royal government summoned around two hundred fifty thousand people to join the operation, mostly healthy men, and some of them were even women.

It had become a public secret that the results of the mission would turn out like that. With only a few surviving, barely one hundred people left, and you were devastated that day when you worked near the Plaza, finding Armin walking mindlessly, clutching a worn-out hat which he told you that it was belonged to his grandfather.

One of the summoned soldiers — who went to reclaim the wall and never came back.

Even though it was a cruel way to push those people to die, everyone inside the wall couldn't thank them enough for their sacrifices. The food shortage slowly got better for everyone who was still alive, the refugees even got a proper house to live their days. And slowly, everything started to ease down.

But of course, there was no guarantee that they would be safe. There was no guarantee that they wouldn't have to relive the same thing ever again. You knew that, you knew things that they never thought would happen. And you still hate yourself for becoming the reason why it happened in the first place.

"Are you sure that you are going to join the military?"

Your thought was interrupted by the gentle, mature voice that belonged to Mrs. Keller. She was the one who had been helping you out and offered you a job two years ago where you and the others barely survived. You worked with her by putting labels on her husband's wine, and she had treated you like her own daughter ever since.

"Yes, I am sure of that, Mrs. Keller."

Meanwhile, Mr. Keller himself was never home, rarely to be exact. He always traveled around Sheena to distribute his wine to the nobleman and aristocrats, leaving his wife in a house that was too big to be filled with one person. And even now, you didn't dare to ask her why she didn't have children.

She was such a perfect woman in your eyes, reminding you of your mother back home. Mrs. Keller remembered all your stories that you told her, about how you were not alone since you had three friends who were always there for you. She even invited them to have dinner with her, saying that the atmosphere would be nicer with more people around.

Annie being Annie was cautious at first, refusing to eat the meal that Mrs. Keller prepared for everyone. But when she saw Reiner crying after one mouthful of a spoon, she decided to taste the meal and always became the first one who finished it after that.

"Oh, dear. I will miss you so much!"

You were currently focusing on the label in your hand, sticking your tongue out a little as you didn't want the paper to be wrinkled or else it wouldn't look good on the bottle. But of course, you didn't expect Mrs. Keller to wrap her arms around you all of a sudden, squeezing your torso playfully, yet you could feel the affection from the gesture.

She didn't say anything as she just continued to hug you, sometimes even planting her lips at the back of your head. And you just stood there, basking yourself from the tenderness of a parent. It was nice to have something to hold on to for a while, even if you knew that she could possibly die by your own hand in the future.

But you shook it off, erasing all the negative thoughts that often slipped inside your mind. Just for once, you wanted to be selfish, so you pulled away from her, only to jump at her embrace and squeeze her torso so tight you didn't want to let go.

Today would be the last time you helped her. Tomorrow you were going to the cadet corps along with your friends. She had been talking a lot more than usual, not wanting to waste just one second away from you. You knew that she loved you like her own daughter, and you too, loved her like she was your mother.

From how her fingers would gently untangle the knot on your hair or the gentle pat on top of your head — you had been masking yourself with the idea that you were just a normal citizen in Paradis, whom your father always busy with work and rarely home, whom your mother was a gentle, loving woman who loved children.

You knew you didn't deserve any of it, you knew you didn't have the right to feel such love and hugged her body as if she was not one of your future victims. But when you felt her palms caressing your hair, whispering that she would miss you and send you lots of letters — you decided to accept this little heaven that you created.

"By the way, I have something for you!" She abruptly pulled away as she grinned, her green orbs glimmered with mischief before booping your nose. "Wait here, okay, darling? I'll be right back!" And before you could answer, she already stormed off to the upstairs, who knew what that woman would do.

You shook your head as you just leaned yourself on the table behind you. This workplace filled like home already with how many days that you spent here. Boxes filled with high-quality wine, stacks of shiny labels that you should stick on the red bottle — you would genuinely miss this place and the person who owned it.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the room, interrupting your thought. And you could imagine how Mrs. Keller was running down the stairs impatiently so she could see your adorable face once more. She had her usual charming smile plastered on her face as she strode towards you, a kraft paper bag in hand.

"Here you go." She handed it to you with a giddy smile, wanting to see your reaction to the gift. "I ask my husband to send something from Sheena. It's nothing much, but I hope you could use this as a soldier." So you opened the paper bag, retrieving a piece of cloth from inside. "You know, maybe to warm you up when winter comes."

You gently laid the packaging on the desk, orbs never leaving the warm, velvety clothes in your hand. It was an obsidian-coloured scarf, and you knew from how thin yet warm it was, or the way that you couldn't find any shabby seam on the textile — this must be worth lots of coins inside these walls.

"Mrs. Keller you don't have—"

"Hush, now."

She shut you up in the most gentle way, resting both hands on your shoulder and squeezed it gently. You didn't have to hear any other syllable slip from her lips, it just needed her warm gaze and reassuring smile to know that she wanted you to take it without hesitation.

It was as if she was trying to tell you that you couldn't get rid of her that easily — and she would be there for you every step of the way.

Your vision blurred. A single teardrop fell down your cheek, followed by a hiccup and nasty snort. You never cried like this, even when you bid farewell to your homeland, even when Marcel died to save you, never once you became such a mess.

Maybe it was because everything mixed into one that your heart and mind could not even understand. You didn't know if you cried because of your sadness and the guilt that kept eating you every day from the inside, or because of something as simple as feeling so loved.

It was both.

Her fingers delicately fetch the piece of cloth from your hand, asking you if you wanted her to help you wear it. You couldn't even answer it verbally, afraid that your voice would crack. So you just gave her a single nod in between your sobs, and it was the only thing she needed before circling the scarf on your neck.

"Oh, I forgot you wore a necklace. Pardon me."

You didn't flinch as her cold fingertips grazed your skin. She looked so focused, biting her bottom lip while squinting her eyes a little as she draped the scarf unevenly. Looping the longer end around your neck, she crossed both ends and tucking it gently under the loop.

Mrs. Keller took one step backward to admire her handiwork, but as her orbs moved up and down with an affectionate look, you knew that she wasn't just trying to make sure if the scarf was tucked in nicely. She appreciated you, engraving your figure like this inside her mind.

"You are perfect, my dear!" She clasped her hand together, grinning so wide that sometimes you wanted to ask if it hurt her or not for doing so. "Remember me when you graduate! I will send you lots of letters, and you have to answer them back, okay, little girl?"

"Yes, yes. I will." You chuckled softly before wrapping your arms around her once again, one that she reciprocated almost in an instant. With your mission, you didn't know if you could meet her again after graduation, but surely you would answer each of her letters without a doubt. "I promise I will, mom."

Everyone knew how much Mrs. Keller loved and cared for your entire well-being, so it didn't surprise them when you came back later than usual today. You always looked like you had no burden on your shoulder when you got back, having this little smile and a serene expression on your face.

So many times Reiner had been telling you to be careful, afraid of the demons putting a spell on you. But you shrugged it off and kept silent since you knew the truth about the citizens in Paradis, and he knew too well not to push you too much — still haunted by your glare that he received two years ago when he brought up Marcel.

"What's going to happen to our room?"

You were currently packing some of your clothes into your bag when you heard Annie's voice. She was mostly silent, but the two of you talked on a daily basis since she was a lot more comfortable being around you than the others. Probably because you had the same gender as her and became her roommates.

"Maybe they are going to keep it open for us, in case we are going to be back here." You stopped for a while, deciding to sit on the edge of the bed that creaks a little as you plopped yourself. "Since they literally give this room to us, and there are no other refugees who still need shelter."

Annie just gave you a small hum as she leaned her back on the wall, showing that she listened to your answer. But something bothered her mind and you could see it from how she seemed to be a lot more fidgety, not calm and collected like usual. 

"But we are not going to be back here." Her voice dropped, lingered with solemn. "Right?"

You knew the answer to that, hell, you were sure that she knew too all along. Yet the way she asked you right now, she wanted you to lie. She had grown fond of those people who worked with her on the stables for the last two years, the blonde started to feel like she was home.

And you wanted to lie to her. If that meant she could at least live in a fantasy where she was just a normal sixteen years old teen instead of a warrior, you would lie to her. But you knew there was no point in that, sooner or later the fantasy would crack.

"I don't know, Annie." Though maybe you could give her the benefit of the doubt. "There was a possibility." And you didn't have any intention to give her more than that.

She seemed pleased enough with your answer, and you didn't try to say anything more as you let her create her own fantasy, her own path. You have been doing that for the last couple of years with Mrs. Keller as your mother figure, and you thought Annie would need that too, with a goal to keep her sanity in check.

"Have you ever missed anyone from home?" You were surprised when she talked again, and it seemed like she was a lot more talkative today. "From Marley, our homeland."

Your mind immediately veered from one person to another of the familiar faces that often popped up every now and then. Long-blonde hair, warm dark eyes, and cheeky smile; your father. The first one who filled your mind within a second when you heard the question. Then soft strands, styled in an updo — her laugh resonating through your ear as she watched you sneeze over a horse mane; your mother.

Pieck’s dishevelled hair that was always tied in a ponytail and how she always scurried off to anywhere Zeke went to, you could always picture them together. Whether it was something utterly platonic, or perhaps more than respect and admiration, you would never know. Hopefully, someday you will.

And of course, of course, he slipped in your mind. Perhaps he even popped at the same time as your father, but you just didn't want to acknowledge it before. His smug, annoying face that you wanted to slap sometimes. Or his cute, button nose that you liked to pinch or boop at random times that resulted in you getting another shout from him.

There was this peaceful expression on your face as you daydreamed about them, spending time again with those people that you loved and adored so much. Annie couldn't help but look at you with a small smile since she knew who would be in your mind at the moment. Despite her not being attached to the other warriors, she was quite observant of what happened around her.

"Galliard, eh?" Her voice pulled you back forcefully to the present. "I could never understand how come you like him. Marcel is more — partner material, but you never batted your eyes at someone else far from the rude blonde."

"Hey, now!" You fake gasped, clutching your heart dramatically. "Porco is unique, mind you." Annie snorted a little at your reasoning, shaking her head in amusement before she finished her packing, throwing the large backpack near the door. "And I don't know what you are talking about. I don't romantically like him if that's what you are trying to imply."

"Oh, please. Everyone with eyes could see how much you liked him."

"I do not—"

"Your eyes would light up with hearts like a lovesick girl."

"Annie, I am not!"

"You don't even realise that someone looks at you the same way, right?"

Your heart stopped at that. Before, you were whining and begging her to stop, jutting out your lips as you were too embarrassed that she exposed you like that. But this, this information — she announced it so smoothly as if she just talked about how bland the food was in Paradis.

You waited for her to elaborate more, perhaps giving you a hint or just saying it again since you still couldn't believe it. But with how Annie just tucked herself under the white blanket, ready to sleep, it seemed like you wouldn't get any explanation that you wanted. And at the same time, you were actually relieved, because then you didn't have to think much about this person she mentioned.

Pouting, you decided to just sleep in for the night since you would need all the stamina that you had for tomorrow. And just like any other night, you hoped that you could have a good dream today instead of the usual nightmare which never got tired of haunting you.

But it seemed like today, the one thing that haunted you was Annie's words.

You couldn't sleep, turning and shifting your body around that made your friend groan in a few minutes. Her bed was placed right across from yours, so when you turned to the left, the two of you would see eye to eye, and she had been glaring dagger at you for ruining her sleep (and you forgot that she could be a lot crankier than you when it came to that).

"What?"

Grinning sheepishly, you ignored the irritated look on her face. You were curious about what she meant by that, surely if someone was interested in you, you would have known it, right? But perhaps this someone was subtle, so despite having your friend ready to bark at you at this moment, you decided to ask.

"May I know who this person is?" You whispered-shout, feeling like anyone could walk inside the room. "Or you know, just give me a hint or something?"

"It's a boy." But that was the only thing she said before covering her whole face with the blanket, wanting to rest already and hoping that you would leave her alone for now. Yet even though she already hid under the white sheet, she could still feel your gaze bore on her. "And he had been looking at you like that since we were in Marley."

So hopefully, that added information — which actually didn't help you at all from knowing who it was — could satisfy you for tonight.

You decided to focus on your own thoughts after that, not wanting to disturb your friend even more. Having this mission in your hand shouldn't make you think too much about a matter of the heart. But something like this always excited you, and you cherished all of the precious feelings that you harboured for anyone.

Whether it was platonic or family love as you had to your parents and the maids in your home, or perhaps romantic love that you slightly felt when younger Galliard was around — whatever it was, you loved to understand it. Because you were certain that feeling was the greatest invention humans ever found.

The sun almost set for the day, painting the sky with an orange hue, creating a sense of comfort and tranquillity. Golden hour, you read that in one of the books you had, about how the sun turned everything that it touched into gold, for how everything felt like you were walking in a dream as warm enveloped your body.

For about the majority of your life, you always flew to your father's study when the clock struck five in the afternoon. No maids or butlers would stop you, knowing too well what you were going to do. The large window inside the room stretched throughout the wall, making it possible for the sunlight to illuminate the space.

And he would wait for you, you knew that your father saved all of his work and took a rest at such an hour. Because you were going to be there, because you would barge inside the room, running towards the windowpane and pressed your face on the glass, eyes glimmering as your orbs tinted with orange.

You remembered that one day you barged inside the room, not seeing how the guards tensed up and tried to stop you. White, maybe around a dozen men wearing a white uniform, a military uniform. Your father didn't scold you and gently scooted you outside, telling you that he had to finish a job. But you couldn't forget the menacing and disgusted look on their faces when they looked at you.

That was the first, and the last time you ever saw them. Your father always made sure that he had an empty schedule in the afternoon ever since, certain that his little girl would go to his study without knocking, and he didn't mind that, not at all. And that had become another routine that you shared with him.

When the clock struck five p.m., your tiny feet would drag you to your father's study. And he would always be there, sitting on his plush leather chair, waiting for you.

"I am not going to wait for you, you know."

Grumbling under his breath, he didn't face you ever since you sat there on top of the wooden crate right outside the base, accompanying him even though he didn't ask you to. "Either you or Marcel, I am not going to wait for the two of you to come back. Hell, I even wish that Reiner didn't come back at all but he had the armoured titan so he needed to come back."

He had been kicking pebbles and turned his back on you, both hands pocketed inside his trousers. And after around fifteen minutes of silence, he decided to speak up, only to say some discouraging things to you. Then again though, it was Porco Galliard you were talking to. He never said anything nice to you, what made you think he would change just because you are going to Paradis tomorrow?

"I know, Porco." You answered to satisfy him, knowing that he could be more irritated if you didn't say anything back.

Then it went back to another silence.

You had to get back after this, your parents must have wanted to spend their time with you, their only daughter. Tomorrow morning you needed to get on the ship that brought you to Paradis. A one-way-ticket, you believed. The military would leave you there with the other warriors, not coming back for perhaps a few years.

There was a high chance that some of you wouldn't come back, even everyone in the military knew that there was a possibility that this mission would fail. Yet they kept on going, feeling certain that at least with five titans infiltrating the Paradis, stealing the founding titan would be an easy task once they knew who inherited it.

Warriors would decapitate them, bringing whoever it was back to Marley and let other warrior candidates devour them. Though if they showed immense resistance, one of the remaining warriors had to eat them. No, the military was absolute and they told you to be the one who ate them — because you were a Tybur, because you inherited the powerful war hammer titan.

And yes, you should have been back by now. The last warrior meeting ended around half an hour ago. Yet here you were, wanting to spend your time with someone who didn't even look at you the entire time you were sitting there. You should have come back, having a quality moment with your family instead of wasting your time here, watching the back of the warrior candidates whose expression was unknown to you.

You could have caught the sunlight and watched it with your father inside his study, maybe even invited your mother for the day. That was what you were supposed to do, that was the right thing to do from the eyes of others.

But just today, for the last time in Marley, you wanted to have a memory where you watched the sunset with Porco Galliard.

It was always the same, no matter where you were in this world, the orange hue would stretch across the horizon at this time of day. And here, nothing changed, except maybe beside the fact that you were enjoying it with strangers, fellow soldiers, instead of warriors.

You thanked whoever built this place for making the barracks facing the west, becoming a perfect place for you to see the sun when it started to set. Now, you could spend time here, enjoying the serene atmosphere and the steady yet gentle breeze after the training was done for the day. 

Your eyes flickered to a female soldier that had been running around the main ground, you shook your head in amusement when you recalled the event from a few hours prior. The girl ate a boiled, warm potato in the middle of the field where everyone was supposed to stand still with a perfect stance.

Well, here she was right now, running until her body couldn't take it. And despite how Annie mumbled under her breath about how nonsense everything was here — either it was the weak cadets or the messed-up training system — you couldn’t help but smile at the variety of people that you met here so far.

Maybe the life of a soldier wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Pock, Commander Magath called for you."

A delicate voice rang through his ear, pulling him back from his thoughts as he stared at the orange sky. But he didn't avert his eyes from the sight, not even for a second since he waited until the sun was hiding behind the horizon. Wanting to feel the only connection that he had with someone.

"There's only one sun in this world, Porco."

He had been standing here for a while, on the cliff not too far from Liberio. Two years, he wanted to mock himself for doing something like this for the past two years. No one knew the reason why he seemed so engrossed watching the sunset when he had never been like this before.

"It would be where I laid my eyes upon every day before the night came."

And despite all the rumours that were going around, despite how many times he was called at this time of day to face the commander. He would still stand there, hazel orbs watching every second passed by as the sun hid behind the hill, believing that your eyes landed on the same thing.

Even though you were an ocean away from him.

"I'll be there in a minute, Pieck."

↪ Back to Great Descendant Masterlist OR Wall Maria

↪ Send an ask if you want to be a citizen of Paradis (taglist)!

[bita-bita]

AoT characters react to *undressing cause it's too hot*

Trigger warning: well obviously it can get suggestive with some of them. Kinda dub con with some of them specially cause it's not clear what kind of relationship we have with them. And possessive behaviour with some which is very triggering for me personally since I've been told to "cover up" by the government all my life.

Eren:

Mikasa:

Armin:

Jean:

Ymir:

Reiner:

Bonus:

Lmaooo

Bertholdt:

Hange:

Levi:

Erwin:

[tetsunabouquet]

Bertolt Hoover x Reader: KNB & AOT crossover

A/N: I recently saw this post about Bertolt as a basketball player in a modern human AU, and as a KNB writer and as someone that everyone knows at this point has been stuck with an AOT brainrot for a month or two now- I needed to write this.

Bertolt Hoover was a foreigner born and raised in Japan. Throughout his life, it had drawn him some curiosity. People asking him about his ancestry, family abroad and what kind of languages he spoke. It had also, drawn the attention of the volleyball team and basketball team alike at middle school, because of his height. With the encouragement of his senior by a year, Ogiwara Shigehiro, he had joined the Meiko basketball team and he quickly turnt out to be have great talent. Though it wasn't enough to stop the force of Teiko middle school. Not that Bertolt had lost hope or the will to play basketball, no. As the team manager, you had been trying to keep as many players to keep their spark burning. Honestly, he kept playing in his final year just to see you smile and praise him. It was safe to say Bertolt had a colossal crush on you. It wasn't anything he had ever felt before, nothing to compare to hid old crushes like Annie, the girl next door at his uncle's home in the Netherlands. Just hearing your voice on the court had his heart pumping twice as much as adrenaline into his veins as possible. When middle school ended, Bertolt decided to attend Seirin high school. The reason he gave everyone was how he admired the way Kuroko had humbled the Generation of Miracles and that with Seirin's team being so new, Bertolt wanted to help them fill their ranks with talent. The actual reason, was because you planned on going there. High school was just like middle school when he was on the court, you were still there with your stern but warm voice keeping him steady. He watched you again during practise today, exchanging some notes with Riko. Your soft, shiny h/c locks drifting around you as you moved. You treated the players like you always have; bossing them around with an amused lilt to your voice that to him, had always reminded him of a tiger playing with their prey. Which was no match for how you were during matches, your eyes shining with bloodlust as you uttered words like, "Don't go easy on them, a competition of wild instincts is about who tears the other ones throat out first!" The way you could switch from charismatic and warm to downright terrifying always left him breathless. Whilst the other players liked you well enough they did found you intimidating. Bertolt had only ever found you hot. When practise was over, he could feel Kagami smacking him on the shoulder. "When are you going to ask her out? Even Midorima has noticed your crush on her, and he's almost as dense about social relations as our manager is." Bertolt swallowed and looked at Kuroko for advice, at least he was good with the ladies unlike both Bertolt and Kagami. "I think Kagami-kun is right. It is painfully obvious to anyone, at this point she will never notice if you don't straight up tell her. However," Kuroko observed, "I don't think she will say no. Trust me on that." Bertolt had trusted the blue haired teen many times on the court and knew his observational skills were phenomenal. So he decided to trust him once more. He walked towards you with shaking knees and you looked at him. "Please don't tell me you got injured," your concerned eyes were glued on his knees so much you didn't saw his red face. "Y-y-y-/n…" Bertolt stuttered and that caused you to look up as he rarely did. You frowned and Koganei intervened with a sigh, if there is one thing this catboy was good at, it was lending a voice to those who needed it. He wrapped his arm around Bertolt's shoulder and casually declared, "He's trying to ask you out!" Bertolt's face grew even more red as everyone around you stared at Koganei for daring to intercept the love confession. However as Bertolt saw the hopeful look in your eyes, he was absolutely grateful for his teammate. "Is that true Bertolt?" He nodded and you shrieked yes as you pulled him (and Koganei by extent) into a hug. Seirin's basketball team cheered around the two of you as you entered a new chapter together.

[kantsurii]

cried sm

Letters From the Future

A/N: hello hello this is also cross-posted on ao3 so you can check it out there too if you wanna! i don’t know if there’s any demand for bertolt content but if there is i am here to provide. hope you enjoy ;)

Summary: A pile of letters, tied in red ribbon and addressed to her from a man now dead.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff and Angst, meaning fluff on the way but angst on the end. I’ve never written angst so I don’t know if i’m any good at it but it made me sad writing it so maybe that means something

This bad boy is over 12k words. Please set aside the appropriate chunk of time if you would like to read it all in one sitting.

Pairings: Bertolt Hoover/Reader

“Y/n?”

There was no response when Jean knocked on the door. She had been in her room for the last day now, only appearing in brief intervals to accept meager portions of food or take a trip to the communal bathrooms. Everyone who saw her gave her at least ten feet of clearance, as though she were going to combust, as though she were going to sink her teeth into her own hand and transform before their eyes.

“Y/n, I know you’re in there. I have something for you.”

“No, thank you.”

“Too bad. If you don’t open the door, I’m bringing Mikasa to break it down.”

He had wanted to threaten that he would break down the door himself, but Mikasa carried a certain weight around the barracks that he simply could not attain.

Jean balanced the weight of the letters in his hand. There had to be at least two dozen in the pile, likely more, and some of them were several pages long. When he had pulled them out of the wall, they had been wrapped neatly with a red ribbon and kept in a simple leather pouch that tied shut with a drawstring. Bertolt’s other effects were in various states of disrepair, showing signs of water damage, wrinkling, or general wear and tear”

The letters were pristine.

He had taken one look at the letter on top of the pile before averting his gaze. The words were not meant for him. Every single letter was addressed to the same person, who was now in the middle of reluctantly shuffling towards the door before Jean could call in reinforcements to smoke her out.

“What do you want?”

“Don’t be rude. I brought you something,” he reiterated, shoving the pile of letters in her direction before she could refuse them. “Mail for you.”

“My family is dead. No one sends me mail.”

“You’ll want to read these.”

She scrunched her brow but finally accepted the letters and slammed the door in Jean’s face, purposefully ignoring the indignant, “you’re welcome,” that he shouted through the door. She carefully pulled open the red ribbon and let the pile fall out all over her desk. As she scanned the words, it became incredibly obvious why the letters had been given to her and not kept for evidence.

Afficher davantage

[opheliaandherpeaches]

Her? Ugh... As if!!

Summary: You began to distance yourself from the AOT boys because your best friend likes them but they are NOT happy about it!!

ꕥIncludes: Eren Yeager, Armin Alert, Jean Kirsten, Connie Springer, Reiner Braun, Bertolt Hoover, Miche Zacharius, Levi Ackerman, Erwin Smith, Hange Zoë.

TW: None. Light swearing!

I didn't forget about my AOT girlies 🧸

I wanted to make something light as a peace offering for what I made yesterday.. please accept this as a token of my apology (I'm not sorry)

[jeanbie]

Omg hi I don’t know if you take nsfw requests but I was wondering about aot’s favorite positions🥺 your writing is so so good!!

honestly.....i thought this was hard !!! i can't see any of them being overly picky on positions or even having all time favs; over the eras of aot, they all change so much it's actually hard to say...so i tried my best to think semi-objectively :3 absolutely feel free to disagree with ANY of these, everyone has diff interpretations (and i love all of em)

warnings: fem!reader (sorry), sexual content ofc, if u want the girl vers lemme know :D

AOT BOYS & FAV POSITIONS ★ masterlist.

MISSIONARY

“you look so fucking pretty right now—” is the only thing they can think of saying as they bow their chest over yours, watching your face twist as their cock sinks deeper into your cunt. one of your legs is wrapped firmly around their waist or hanging up over their shoulder; this way, they can watch you writhe and whimper whilst also watching the way you suck them up nicely, the way your body tenses and flinches with every thrust they give...

— jean, zeke, niccolo

RIDING

there is no greater joy than leaning back and watching you do your thing. their hands are on your waist, smoothing around your hips and stomach in an effort to distract themselves from simply filling you up and going wild — they love to watch you sinking down on them, your back arched and breasts rising with every rise and fall. they meet your hips by raising their own, finding pleasure in watching your face pull into contorted shapes, hearing the moans and whimpers from your mouth. from down here, they like the control they can have, and on occasion, the submission of doing whatever you tell them to

— levi, armin, porco

BENT OVER

if they can bend you over it, they can fuck you on it. tables, beds, tree trunks, fences, desks, sinks — it’s like they’re trying to fuck you on every possible or available surface they can find. they just love to see the sight of your ass tilted up, hips pressing into a hard surface, legs spread in a desperate attempt to stay upright, all while they drive themselves into you however fast or hard they want to. they can be as gentle or as rough as they want to be; running their hands up your back and between your shoulder blades, or smacking your ass and pulling your hair — everything about fucking you from behind is perfect for them, and by the sounds of things, perfect for you

— eren, floch

[bonus] s4!eren loves to fuck you over a sink or a vanity, anywhere he can pull you back by your hair and make you watch in the mirror. his eyes never leave yours through the glass, his lips whispering the dirtiest things he can possibly think of just to get you to cum around him, to watch yourself unravel in his hands

RIDING THEIR FACE

they are a seat. that’s all they are, all they ever want to be — a seat for their perfect partner. they could spend hours with their tongue up your cunt, hands pressed into your ass or hips as you ride the features on their face. they would happily die of suffocation down here, just as long as you were happy and they got to taste their favourite thing in the world

— connie, onyankopon

GIVING THEM A BLOWJOB

every position is good with their partner, but absolutely nothing beats you on your knees between their legs, their cock in your mouth. a hand in your hair, on your cheek or the back of your neck, they love to watch you take care of them, especially after a particularly long and otherwise bad day. whether it’s simply between their legs as they sit, or as they lie down before bed — or under a desk when there are other people around, nothing will ever top the feeling of your mouth running itself up their dick, or how warm and wet it feels as you take them. 

— ERWIN, bertolt

REVERSE COWGIRL

“comfy, darlin?” with their hands on your hips, they love to help you sink down onto them, using your hips as handles to bring you up and down at whatever pace they fancy. they just love the sight of your face turning back to him with a pleasured look, the muscles in your back tensing whenever he hits that perfect spot up your pussy. seeing you looking like this makes him feel so proud — you’re taking him like its no problem, your ass bouncing on his stomach, toes curling as you set your hands on his legs for balance. he’ll let you take control until you tire, and then the fun can really begin

— reiner, kenny (help)

[l8niteth0ts]

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓: 𝐟𝐭. 𝐁𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫

NSFW ALPHABET

Here are my headcanons for Bertholdt in a modern au!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2,143

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Written with a fem! reader in mind! Please feel free to leave a like, comment, and feel free to reblog! I am grateful for all of you—thank you for reading my work!

𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘! 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Bertholdt is soft-spoken but deeply attentive after sex. He’ll carefully clean you both up, pull you into his arms, and wrap the blankets around your bodies so you're both warm. He’s the type to keep rubbing small circles into your back while you fall asleep, whispering gentle reassurances into your hair. Even if he topped, he often ends up quietly clinging to you—his way of grounding himself.

“Was that okay for you? I didn’t push too far, right?” “You’re so good to me. I don’t want this feeling to end.” “Let me hold you... just a little longer.”

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Yours: It’s your thighs. Whether you’re on top or lying beside him, he always finds an excuse to touch or squeeze them. He’ll get a little dazed when you're in shorts, or if you straddle him while still fully clothed. Him: He’s surprisingly shy about admitting it, but he likes when you pay attention to his neck and ears. A little breath there? A soft kiss? It sends chills down his spine and immediately makes him pliant.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He’s quiet but intense when he finishes—body trembling slightly, jaw slack, hands gripping at your hips or waist like he’s afraid to let go. He likes it messy, even if he won’t say it out loud: cumming on your stomach, or deep inside with a soft groan and a stuttered breath. If you make him hold off for too long, he might whimper when he finally gets to release.

“I-I can’t—please let me... please…” “Fuck—feels so good, I can’t think straight.”

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s had dreams about you pinning him down. In his fantasies, you take control—slow, deliberate, relentless. He pretends he doesn’t like the idea of being overstimulated or teased, but he’s thought about you tying his wrists more times than he can count. He’s too shy to bring it up himself, but if you ever push the dynamic, you’ll see how fast he melts into it.

“W-Wait, what are you…?” “You’re not gonna stop, are you?” (His eyes say don’t.)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Bertholdt hasn’t had a lot of partners, but he’s deeply intuitive. He learns fast—especially when it comes to your body. He pays attention to your sounds, your reactions, what makes you gasp or arch or whine. He doesn’t chase after meaningless hookups, so when he’s with someone, he’s all in—eager to please, careful to impress, and quietly proud when he makes you fall apart.

“Did… did that feel good? Can I try that again?”

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves anything that lets him see your face—like missionary, with his forehead resting against yours, or cowgirl when you're riding him and he can hold your hips and look up at you with that slightly overwhelmed expression. He also has a secret weakness for being on his back while you ride him slowly, teasingly. Watching you take your time, feeling your hands on his chest—it makes him feel wanted in a way that turns him to putty.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s not necessarily goofy, but he does have the occasional awkward moment—especially early on. He might knock over a bottle of lube or try to be smooth and then immediately apologize. But it’s endearing. His nervous chuckles and quiet "sorry"s don’t kill the mood—they make it more intimate. And once he gets into it? His focus sharpens. He loses himself in you, all traces of shyness melting into something deep and reverent.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it neatly trimmed—both because of hygiene and a mild insecurity about mess. He doesn’t like to be too groomed, though. There’s a light dusting on his lower abdomen and chest, and a trail leading down that you love to trace with your tongue. He’s quiet about it, but he loves when you run your fingers through his hair during sex, especially if you tug a little. It makes him groan—deep and unfiltered.

“Ah—do that again… please…”

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Bertholdt is incredibly emotionally present during sex. His hands are always on you—stroking your cheek, gripping your waist, or cradling the back of your head. He wants you to feel how much he cares, even when he’s quiet. He kisses you like you’re the only person in the world, and when he whispers your name, it’s with such adoration it could break your heart. Even the rougher moments have a tenderness to them.

"You're beautiful. You're so—God, I just want to stay like this... with you."

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Not too often—he tends to hold off unless he’s really worked up. When he does, it's always with you on his mind. He’s the type to lay in bed after a long day, hand over his mouth to muffle soft moans while picturing your lips, your hands, your voice. He gets especially turned on remembering little things—like the way you touched him that morning, or a fleeting kiss on the neck. If you catch him? He gets flustered, but doesn’t stop if you don’t make him.

"Shit—wait, I… I didn’t think you’d come in—ah—" "Y-You don’t have to leave, though..."

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Praise kink, 100%. He melts under your approval—tell him he’s doing a good job, that he’s making you feel amazing, and he’ll get desperate fast. He’s also into light dom/sub dynamics—he likes being guided or told what to do, but can also flip the switch when he’s feeling bold. Mutual masturbation, overstimulation, soft bondage (especially being tied up), and blindfolds all appeal to him. There’s also a hint of a size kink—he loves how much space he takes up next to you, even when he feels small emotionally.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He prefers somewhere private and safe—like the bedroom or a cozy hotel room. Somewhere he can let his guard down. But if you coax him, he'll agree to a few risky spots: the backseat of a car during a storm, a hidden corner of a quiet library, or a bathroom at a house party where no one’s paying attention. The thrill of getting caught does turn him on, but he needs a little encouragement.

"Here? Right now? What if someone hears us—ah—fuck, okay, okay…"

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

What gets Bertholdt going most is the emotional connection. Soft touches, long eye contact, sitting close while your knees graze under the table—he’s ridiculously easy to fluster if you’re subtle about it. He also loves when you take the lead—slipping into his lap, whispering something dirty in his ear, brushing your fingers down his chest while he’s mid-sentence. Anything that makes him feel desired will have his breath hitching.

"You really want me that bad…? I-I didn’t think I was..." "You’re serious? Okay. Yeah. I want you too."

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Bertholdt won’t do anything involving humiliation, degradation, or intentional pain. He’s too emotionally attuned to get off on hurting someone else—or being hurt himself. He’s also not big on public scenes (like full exhibitionism), and anything non-consensual is a hard no. He needs comfort, softness, and trust, even when things get intense.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves both, but giving is something he genuinely takes pride in. He’s shy about it at first, but once he gets comfortable, he’s focused and dedicated. Slow licks, long eye contact, teasing kisses just to hear you beg—he treats it like a privilege. Receiving? He’s embarrassed at how much he enjoys it. His thighs shake. He whimpers. He’ll try to cover his mouth, but he’s completely undone by it.

"Wait—mmh—ah, fuck—please, I-I’m gonna—"

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Most of the time, he leans slow and sensual. He likes to savor—wants you to feel every roll of his hips, every breath on your neck. But if he’s desperate or worked up (especially if you’re teasing him), he can snap. Rough thrusts, firm hands pinning you down, low moans in your ear—it’s rare, but when it happens, it’s intense. He always checks in afterward, too.

"I didn’t mean to get so worked up. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" "I just… I couldn’t help it. You drive me crazy."

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies make him nervous if they’re too risky, but if you catch him somewhere semi-private—like in the backseat of the car during a late night drive, or the bathroom at a party—he’s easily convinced. He gets flustered, wide-eyed, and tries to stay quiet, but the adrenaline gets to him. His hands shake, he stumbles over your name, but he lives for the thrill of you pulling him somewhere and making him fall apart in just a few minutes.

"H-here? Are you serious?" "...Okay. Just—lock the door. Please."

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Bertholdt is cautious, but there’s a quiet thrill in doing something a little risky. Public sex is rare but not off the table—if it’s discreet. He’d die if someone caught him, but there’s something about your hands down his pants during a movie, or straddling him while the car fogs up in a dark parking lot, that gets his blood pumping. He doesn’t seek risk, but he’s weak for it if you initiate.

"God, you’re gonna get us caught—mmph—no, don’t stop…"

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Bertholdt’s stamina is better than you’d think. He’s not a fast burner—he takes his time, but he lasts. He’s the type to keep going until you’re worn out, even if he’s trembling by the end. He’ll need a breather between rounds, but after some water and a few lazy kisses, he’s good for another go. He gets addicted to the way you sound, the way you pull at him. And once he’s in that headspace? He’s insatiable.

"You sure you’re okay? You still want me? Yeah? Then… fuck, c’mere…"

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He didn’t used to, but once he got more comfortable with you, the two of you picked some out together. He’s bashful about it, but curious—and surprisingly good with his hands. Vibrators, plugs, soft restraints—he loves watching you come undone, and if you turn the tables on him? That shy, overwhelmed look he gets when you’re in control is everything. He secretly fantasizes about you teasing him until he’s begging for release.

"W-we’re really gonna try that? Alright. Just… be gentle with me, okay?"

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s not a huge tease in the traditional sense—he’s more of a reluctant one. Like, he’ll say something sweet and sexy without realizing how turned on it makes you, and then get all red-faced when he catches on. But if he’s in the mood to tease you, it’s quiet and calculated—long, drawn-out touches, kisses that barely linger, eyes that flick toward your mouth with heat. He lives to see you squirm. Just don’t tease him back too hard—he melts fast.

"Is that too much? Hah… I just like watching you get like this…" "Look at you. So needy already. You want me that bad, huh?"

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Bertholdt is deliciously vocal when he lets go. At first, he tries to hold back—gritting his teeth, swallowing down the moans—but once he’s lost in it, it’s over. He’s breathy, whiny, soft-spoken but needy. He says your name like a prayer and whimpers when he’s close. If you make him beg? Expect shaky, desperate little pleads you’ll never forget.

"Fuck… please—please don’t stop… I-I need you." "You sound so good. You always sound so good, baby."

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He has a secret folder in his notes app filled with fantasies. Some are soft—like you riding him slow in the morning sun, or laying in a hotel room bathtub together. Others? Much filthier. Like you tying him down and edging him for hours. He’s too shy to say any of them out loud, but if you ever catch a glimpse and ask him about it? His face goes bright red… but he’ll nod, slowly, and let you take control.

"You—You saw that? I didn’t think you’d ever…" "...You really wanna try it? …Okay. Just… be nice."

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Tall and built like a swimmer. Toned arms, lean legs, a strong chest you want to cling to. His cock matches—8 to 8.5 long, a little thick, and curved just enough to hit deep when he gets going. It’s almost intimidating when he first drops his pants, but the way he blushes and covers his face with one arm somehow makes it even hotter.

"Shit… don’t stare at it like that…" "Is… is it really that big? I-I can go slow, promise."

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

So much. He craves you constantly—touch, attention, praise. He’ll never say it outright, but the way he reaches for your hand when you pass, or curls into your chest after sex, speaks volumes. And if you’re gone for a while? Expect needy texts. He’ll spiral a little in his own head, missing your touch, your voice, your warmth.

"You coming over tonight? …No reason. Just… wanted to see you." "Been thinking about you all day. Can’t stop."

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Bertholdt sleeps so well after sex, and fairly quickly, too. His brain finally quiets, his body softens, and he’s out like a light—usually curled around you, his hand resting on your stomach or tucked between your thighs. He’s a cuddler, without question. If you whisper to him while he’s drifting off, he’ll mumble something back, half-asleep and soft, like:

"Mmm… still here? Good… Love you…"

ⓒ 𝐋𝟖𝐍𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐓𝐡𝟎𝐭𝐬 -- 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊, 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐈𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆.

AOT MASTERLIST

OTHER AOT CHARACTERS MASTERLIST

BERTHOLDT HOOVER MASTERLIST

ʚɞ

[levithestripper]

a/n: gender-neutral reader

say you want to hang out with your friends for dinner and drinks or whatever, but bertolt wanted to spend the night with just the two of you instead. since you live together, you always run it by him that you’re going out, and usually he just nods along and says, “have fun honey, tell your friends I said hi.”

but instead, he throws you for a loop, asking he you to ditch your friends and stay home with him.

you look at him with a shocked expression, his opposition to your plans hurling a wrench into the evening you had all planned out in your head. “stay home?”

bertolt nods, his arm outstretched across the back of the couch. “i want you to stay home.” he man spreads, long legs stretching out onto the rug, making his lap look awfully inviting.

“did you have something planned?” you ask, worrying you forgot a date he set scheduled.

he shakes his head no. “i didn’t plan anything, no. is it wrong to want to spend an evening with my partner?” he responds coyly, looking up at you with a piercing gaze.

you sigh, half out of relief and half from accepting your defeat. pulling out your phone, you bring up the group chat you have with mikasa and sasha, quickly texting them you have to bail on drinks tonight. tossing your phone to the other end of the couch, you sit down next to your boyfriend, his arm coming down from the back of the couch to pull you close to him. “you have me wrapped around your finger, you know that?”

bertolt grins down at you, waiting for you to tilt your head back so he can kiss you. “i know. thank you for staying home.” he kisses the side of your head.

“no need to thank me, baby; you know i love spending my evenings doing nothing with you.” you snuggle into his warm side, leaning your head on his chest. “put on a movie?”

bertolt nods, scrolling through the roku options until he finds the netflix box. “i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

thinking about selfish bertolt

[marisoil]

little sneak peek of venus as a boy part two ;3

i’m kinda lost in terms of plot but oh well!!! fair warning though this one will be in the works for a WHILE. like,, i’m not trying to rush it at alllll. i’ll do it but grace must be bestowed upon me >_< there will be little filler works posted though so i’ll be haunting this tag as much as i can.

[hanjisungslag]

Headcanons for when aot men get jealous? Maybe seeing reader and someone else spending time together and getting agitated and then dragging them away - ‘Pay attention to me not them.’ sort of vibe.

💢 aot men & jealously

characters included: eren, armin, connie, jean, reiner, bertolt, erwin and levi.

notes: this ask had me floored.

☆ eren jaeger

he caught you and reiner talking to each other AGAIN.

this has happened one too many times and eren finally loses it.

he’d definitely say something like “what about spending time with your boyfriend instead of him, hm?”

very temperamental about the whole thing..

one second he’ll be furious, next he’ll be sad, next he’ll be happy you’re back to spending time with each other

but mostly angry over it.

he storms over and pushes reiner away from you as he comes between the both of you, “what the fuck do you think you’re doing with MY partner?” eren asked threateningly “woah eren we were just—” but before reiner could say anything, eren grabbed your arm and stormed off with you.

☆ armin arlert

you and jean are very close friends

too close, your boyfriend may say.

armin usually lets things slide at first, he doesn’t want to come off as overbearing or jealous

also you and jean are just friends at the end of the day, right?

but one day, you and jean are laughing away as usual and armin asks what’s so funny and you say..

“oh, it’s an inside joke. you wouldn’t get it.”

after you said this, you continued to laugh. but armin had reached his breaking point, he slammed his hands on the dinner table and rose from his seat turning to face you, “y/n. get up.” your smile drops as you also get up from your chair. you two walk out the dinner hall. armin quickly speaks up “pay attention to me, not him.”

☆ connie springer

you and berty boy were spending wayyy too much quality time together.

making you spend less time with your own boyfriend!

connie obviously took this to heart and had to do what a man’s gotta do

aka pull a prank on bert.

every single day for like 2 weeks, connie would do something just to cause him inconvenience.

just like hiding his things right before practice, stealing food off his plate, replacing his sugar with salt, messing up his laundry etc.

but now what was connie going to do with you? after he pulled one of his pranks on bert he saw you HELPING him so not only do you spend all your time with him but now you’re ruining connie’s revenge plan? nope, not happening. he slams bert’s door open not taking any notice that the both of you are trying to talk to him, he just grabs you and pulls you into the hall. “last time i checked, i was your boyfriend. so, stop acting like bert is.”

☆ jean kirstein

there was someone in the survey corps who clearly had a thing for you

but you didn’t seem to notice. supposedly.

anyways, you guys would spend quite a bit of time together especially during expeditions.

jean obviously took offence to this and what does he do?

showboats🗣️🗣️

while on an expedition, you and this guy were chatting away, killing titans, all the usual stuff. but little did you know, from the back, jean was watching all of this happening and he was getting pissed off. his anger built up so much that when it came to killing the titans be whipped out half of them on his own. everyone was super impressed and the girls started complimenting you for having such a strong, brave boyfriend.

he pulls you aside afterwards and says “that was because of you and him, you know? so, you better start paying more attention to me now.”

☆ reiner braun

there was this one guy from garrisons who adored you!

and you thought he was sweet and you’d always try and catch up with him when you could.

which reiner would say was too often.

reiner would definitely intimidate this guy with how huge he is.

it’d be intimidating even reiner wasnt massive because he was just a garrison.

he’d pump his chest out more and wrap his big arms around you in front of him to prove how much bigger and better he was.

and when it came to you, he was so mad. as you stepped away from the garrison guy, he took his arm off of you and grabbed you by the shoulders turning you to face him. “hey. you better stop talking to that fucking whimp. i’m your boyfriend.”

☆ bertolt hoover

you and connie were super close.

you both trained together, love pulling pranks and just bounce off each other so well.

some people sometimes even think you’re a couple..!

but you already have a boyfriend.

bert doesn’t like to speak up about how he feels for a while until something really tips him over the edge.

bert always used to ignore how close you and connie were, he was too shy to say anything in the first place but he also didn’t want to ruin your guys’ relationship by being jealous. that was until someone asked if you and connie were a couple. that was his final straw. he calmly walked over to you but grabbed you with a grip you wouldn’t expect from bertolt. you found yourself outside with him where he looks you dead in the eyes “unless you actually want connie to be your boyfriend, you better start paying more attention to me, y/n.”

☆ levi ackerman

you mostly worked in the offices after a bad injury.

and there was this one librarian who really took a liking to you.

but, you’re already coupled up with mr. ackerman.

levi sees you guys talking all the time. sees that you’re in the library quite a lot even when you don’t need to be.

because of this he delegated menial work to him and even you, when he’s feel mean.

but when he catches you STILL talking while doing the tasks he set for you, he loses it.

you got distracted from your task when your little librarian friend starts discussing this ancient book he discovered the other day and as you were chatting away, you heard the door creak.. you jump out of your skin, trying to return to your task but it was too late. levi had already seen you. he calmly marched towards you and pulls you away to the other end of the library “is that what i said your task was, y/n? come here, i got a better task for you like helping your boyfriend. not this cretin.”

( however at the end of the week when things were all cleared up and you ask him about it he just says “me? jealous? no, i wasn’t.” )

☆ erwin smith

you and mike were working a little too closely lately.

erwin saw the way mike looked at you longingly

at first he thought it was nothing, he wasn’t even jealous!

until mike starts getting more physical

a shoulder brush here, a slight hand touch there

after this, he fully loses it.

erwin side eyes you and mine when he sees his hand gently brush up against yours, it could be pure accident but erwin couldn’t care less. he had gone too far. he marched over tall and mighty and swiftly stole you from mike “i’m the only man who gets to do that to you, you hear me?”

[ridingtorohan]

How the shifters react to you having a high body temp, knowing that it represents your platonic/romantic attraction to them

Goofy headcanon time!

Each titan shifter can recognize how another shifter feels about them based on their body heat. This includes all attraction: familial, platonic, aesthetic, romantic, so on.

SPOILERS for shifter identities AND events up to Season 4 Special Literally everyone has some spoilers for the anime to some extent. Older shifters like Kruger and KSaver is excluded, but there's 11 listed. It's in order from oldest to youngest.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎Masterlist _ Join the taglist!

ZEKE YEAGER

He feels it for a second, when your knuckles brush against his wounded shoulder, fastening his restraints tighter, making sure he's secure while transporting him out of Marley on the blimp

Blue eyes darting to you, tracing the features on your face, lingering for a second on the titan marks beneath your eyes

Then he focuses on the task at hand, filing that away for later

He has a lot of time to stew on it, the simmering heat under your touch. Low but steady. Lucky for you! You're assigned to his guard detail in the forest with Captain Levi

Shifter to shifter, you're able to relate on a different level than he does to Levi.

Also makes note how you drop to ice cold when the horrors of Shiganshina. Probably realizes that's where you snagged yourself a titan ability.

Listen... if you saw him coming out of the Beast........... you're smoking, iykyk?

Because he's a little shit, he uses it to his advantage. Makes full eye contact with you during conversations, leaning forward. Which makes it interesting when you or Levi nip off his arms to restrain him and you have to give him a drink.

Leans in nice and slow, eyes staring directly into yours, letting you watch him as he takes a long, slow sip. Licks his lips, knowing you're watching him, leans back, eyes lidded. "Thank you, I was terribly thirsty"

Levi kicks his teeth in

Lord have mercy on you for when it's time to bathe

He literally will always use it to his advantage if you let him but will never clue you in unless you already know

Zeke will tease you about this, pressing a cigarette to his lips, his arm or leg brushing yours. "Are you cold? I can help you feel warmer" (Levi is murdering him with his eyes in the background)

Y'know maybe he does warm you up later 😏

Probably starts warming up to you shortly before his jailbreak, though it's hard to tell in what way.

After this point, it's a little too late to do anything else about it.

LARA TYBUR

Bro you hardly even realize that she's a titan at first.

As a titan inheritor, the Marley Gov't requires that you and your fellows play nice with the Tybur family whenever they visit.

She's tepid temperature at first, your thoughts and ideas making you a little colder to the touch.

You brush against each other at some fancy schmancy dinner party. She act very much like an Eldian at the party, silent, refilling your cup and you thank her.

Later, you're just feeling soo awkward with her family, with watching Willy dance around his family, laughing and jesting.

Some of the Warriors keep trying to make guesses as to who the Warhammer is but ultimately you don't figure it out

You try your luck at befriending all of them, painfully aware of Willy's eyes on you every time you talk to his sister

But something about Lara keeps drawing you in. Her quiet demeanour, the sleek attire, her proper figure. Dutiful and classy, voice quiet but confident.

Telling her about books and the latest movie, offering tea and biscuits from your Zone whenever you visit.

She never says anything about your body temperature and honestly you don't touch her often enough to notice a difference

But you do notice that she talks to you a little more, lingers by your side more than she does anyone else

During the attack, you do everything you can to defend her crystal - so painfully, carefully aware of how it burns under your titan's hand

REINER BRAUN

Sorry, he's made to suffer. Nothing in his life is ever easy. Isayama decided that. (And so did I.) (There's a happy ending, I promise.)

Things would be simpler for Reiner if everything went well, if he became a great warrior, if his father noticed him, if he did well on his missions. The first thing that goes wrong is Marcel.

When he meets you for the first time, a memory tickles at his mind. Something familiar in the way your skin touches his. Then he gives you a smile, introducing himself and Bertholdt.

Something about you always drew him in. He'd watch you across the training yard and smile whenever you looked at him. Always glad to help you out, shedding himself of the warrior skin and so much easier into the soldier one.

Sucks as a sparring partner btw. Always checking to make sure he didn't go too hard on you.

At some point you probably made mention of him working up a sweat during the training. His body temp is not much warmer than normal but noticeable. Everyone in the Cadets is his pal but there's something special about you

You, who feels like they've had a bit too much sun, but still comfortable.

With time, it may increase to a warmth that lingers in his bones, reminding him of his mother's teas and fresh bread.

He really likes wrapping his arms around you for this, a big bear who just holds you tight to his chest. Big squish!

Likes to clap his hands to your shoulders from behind, feel your warmth in his hands

If you are this warm, he'll always do a little start when you touch him, caught off guard. With as often as he's thought about you, he'll become a bit flustered at times - he begins to entertain a crush and/or getting to know you better.

However, a part of Reiner always remains..... apprehensive

Lays awake at night wondering about you, your tale of being orphaned, family long dead. Something not quite settling

This is what stops him from actually getting close-close to you

At Utgard Castle, it's obvious why something niggled inside him at the sight of you. Because one day, when his dreams were shattered by a boy, a titan lunged out of the ground. That's how you inherited the Jaw

It explains everything, in the end. He may not have recognized that you were a fellow shifter but he did recognize the body heat

You, unfortunately, are either kidnapped or agree to go along with Reiner and Bertholdt in the forest.

You are, either, an unfortunate soul cast out of Marley or a former warrior candidate who was cast out alongside your family thanks to Zeke's efforts years prior. If the latter, Reiner does mention it to Zeke in hopes of him sparing you because, technically, you are on "their" side. It's not a positive outlook either way.

Knowing your fate in Marley, Reiner spends time with you. Painfully aware of how broken his betrayal meant to you (if you're colder) or how you still believe in him (if you remain the same/increase)

Above all else, Reiner considers you a friend and he's so sorry.

If, by sheer chance, he leaves you unsupervised or your chains a little loose to "let your blood circulate" and you accidentally escape, he won't be upset.

And if, he saw you, years later, doing recon work in Marley.. and your eyes caught, he would make the conscious choice to turn away.

Marcel may have been his first mistake but he doesn't regret these two.

Very awkward when you join forces with him to take down Eren.

Reiner remembers the last time he saw you, what your touch felt like.

But the thing about Reiner isn't that his soldier personality was a persona - it's still him. He still cares for you. At this point you know what the touch means, can't blame it on the campfires. You may or may not have trusted him before but you trust him now.

Your hand slides in his, reminiscent of your first meeting, letting him know. "I trust you, Reiner. We'll work with you"

He'll still be withdrawn from the Paradis group but ... his feelings about you never really stopped. Time, distance and circumstance may have changed it, but never stopping it.

He thinks of your touch, even now, even during the final fight.

And, when everything is said and done, when the titan blood doesn't linger in either of your veins, Reiner knows how you feel by the look in your eyes.

BERTHOLDT HOOVER

Whatever you do, do NOT think about Bertholdt touching a non-Marleyan shifter after he escapes beyond the walls. Do NOT think about your touch burning under his, with Bert pleading for Zeke's mercy. Because despite everything, you still thought so highly of him.

Real talk: THIS GUY IS THE REASON YOU BECAME A TITAN SHIFTER

Unfortunately, despite being a fellow warrior candidate, you weren't chosen. Your score was a smidge below what they were looking for.

Bert was one the first to shift. In the practice field where this is done, he, unfortunately, steamed the heck out of you. Bad enough that it was a matter of getting medical attention asap. Fortunately, thanks to your score, the generals decided that you would be swapped out with one of the candidates and inherit a titan!

This is Bertholdt's first memory as a titan, by the way. :) He feels beyond terrible for what happened.

But having grown up together, helped each other through the trials and training... you two wind up being friends. Decently close, because he winds up telling you about his family, what he's doing for his father.

Bert looks up to you a lot. Always staying by your bedside when you got injured, kept a Band-Aid in his pocket for whenever you tripped during the training. (Or if he does. As gangly-limbed as that boy was, that happened often too.)

He knows but also doesn't about the significance of the warmer touches. It was probably one of those tidbits that was filed away for later and then forgotten. It doesn't matter when you're in bed injured and recovering from the heat damage he literally inflicted on you.

Super caring. Always having to talk both of you out of trouble when you wind up in it. But Bertholdt finds himself admiring that anyway, how different you are to him. (He's actually so thankful that you're a warrior with him, even if this was the worst way for it to happen.)

The other warriors clue in that you two are close but don't really comment on it. "Good for them" stance.

Bertholdt likes sitting next to you! Thighs brushing, his leg touching yours. Just small intimate moments that mean the world to him.

Then Marcel gets attacked and all Bertholdt can think about is 'thank god it wasn't you'. He'll stay wide awake watching you sleep at night, only nodding off when/if you let him sleep beside you, his palm on yours.

During training, Bertholdt finds a lot of comfort by sleeping next to you. Even if he ends up sprawled all over your body.

Thing is, Bertholdt doesn't really quite piece together the heat thing. Just knows that you're his, in some shape or form, that you're what's making this mission bearable. He doesn't miss Marley, he just misses you whenever you're not around.

Gets fidgety if you elect to join a different faction from him. But he understands. (But when you walk past him during the scouts enlistment, his hand catches yours for just a moment. Just for this. Because no matter what you mean to him, he wants you to stay.)

Fake dating trope because how else are you supposed to inform Bertholdt about the information you gathered while in the interior?

Everybody believes the ruse lmao

And, the thing with him is, there always feels like there's going to be more time. Sitting at tables, talking about your days. Reminiscing about Marley and campfires.. it's easy to think that you'll get those days back. That it's just another year, another season, another "one more time" before you get to go home.

For Bert, his feelings are... kind of a catch-all. Could be inferred as romantic or platonic. All he knows is that you're the most important person to him. He's just so glad that he gets to spend your thirteen years together.

And, when the mission goes wrong, when the attempts to kidnap Eren go awry and he has to pull your battered body from your titan, Bertholdt is right by your side, as he always is. There's always going to be another attempt, another chance. (Until there isn't.)

Bertholdt feels like home, his hand warm in yours. (He wants to keep coming back to you.)

Maybe those three simple words are whispered, right before it all goes to shit and you're captured/immobilized and Bertholdt grows desperate to get you back. Maybe you two never say them at all. But when it's just you two, the moments feel like they last forever.

(But you do. You know you have to talk about what this means for both of you, even if it meant defining your friendship in a different way. And he'll stutter and stumble over his words but listen intently, knowing that nothing is worth the cost of losing you. And he's secretly so relieved that you feel the same way, no matter what form your affection takes shape as.)

Bertholdt will cherish your friendship for as long as he lives.

PIECK FINGER

Whoo! Titan! Bes - ties!

Warrior trainees together, it totally sucked when you were passed over and Pieck inherited without you. She's pretty chill about everything, walking down the street with you while holding hands, throwing her arms around you constantly. Letting you ride atop her titan's back while she runs around the airfield.

Consider your relationship with her a mix of her squad and Porco

Legit you both are close before you even get a chance to inherit your titan, which you do! Eventually!

She's honestly not that great at explaining how titan shifting works or how to "focus" and "control" it but she'll help you get your bearings by walking around with you in titan form

Her body heat is like a heated blanket, warm and comfortable, ooey gooey melting cookie in your mouth kind of warm.

If you're ever on a long trek together, it's easy to doze off next to her, backs pressed together or her head in your lap.

Honestly she probably doesn't even think to mention how you feel to her, or acknowledge what it means. Pieck is happy with everything you are, how it feels with you.

actually tbh might comment about it everytime she springs a hug on you

"Incoming hug! Ahh... this is nice. you're so warm😊"

Your warmth is so comfortable to her. She's often nuzzling against you.

Honestly you guys would be borderline romantic, even if one/neither of you felt that way. It's just how you two are.

If you do cheek kisses, she'd be all up for that.

If you're romantically attracted to her, it'd be a seamless transition. Like you could invite her somewhere and mention it's a date and she'd just go "oh yay :)".

Otherwise at some point someone comments about how you two are always together on outings (calling them 'dates') and Pieck just goes "yes. :)" then later when it's just you two, "it really does feel like a date sometimes, doesn't it?"

Definitely respects it if you're not interested in her that way + just think of her as a sister or best friend. She won't change how she interacts with you at all (unless you mention that it makes you uncomfortable)

ANNIE LEONHARDT

A year (or a few) older than her, your family has warrior heritage; it’s a point of prestige and honour for you, moreso than for normal candidates. You have an expectation and responsibility to your ancestors to follow through. Of course you’d get a titan. Especially the one your family has meticulously trained for again and again; it’s not so much about the high esteem but keeping it in the family. Inheriting their memories. (For giggles, imagine it’s the attack or female titan.)

By the time Annie and the other warriors are partway through their training, you’ve all but confirmed your spot. It’s just a matter of establishing which one you’ll get.

You’re not exactly friends with Annie initially, especially with her aloof nature. But she’s companionable, sitting quietly if you ever approach her. Everything about her at the start is like that - withdrawn, solemn. Just as focused on her duty as you are. Either you find companionship over this fact or in spite of it - finding life worth living outside of being a candidate.

When you’re recovering from your inheritance, Annie is the one to tend to you. While you don’t remember a lot of it, amnesia getting the better of you, you’re almost certain that she was holding you.

Annie often watches as you continue your training, especially as a titan. She’ll gladly train in titan hand to hand combat with you once she inherits the female titan.

All the shifters are given books to learn about how to best utilize their titans. As they’re leafed through, it’ll mention the odd quirk of the shifters. Pieck is the most excited for this, followed by Reiner. It becomes a point of conversation, where everyone compares their temperatures - though Annie is quite reserved about the whole ordeal. She takes pity on Bertholdt who feels hot to her touch, though she does throw him under the ringer. You, though? She says not much at all, calling it quits at that point (if she hasn’t already).

She doesn't make a big deal of it at all, merely treating you like another candidate. One that she gets along with better than anyone else, at any rate.

In the group, you're dubbed "Annie's best friend". If Annie ever hears of this, you never know.

When it's time to leave for the wall, her knuckles brush against yours. The only indication that she's restless and has any qualms about what they're doing.

But as children honed for war, sometimes rivalries are hard to beat. Especially when the first tragedy strikes your group and Reiner takes the lead, leading you to wall. To mayhem. Murder is a different burden to bear, one that sits funny in your throat.

She sits with you at the refugee camps. While you've never seen her grab extra portions of food, she always seems to have some for you. She takes care of you (and you remember your first shift, how she had been the one to hold you).

Joining the Police is the only sane decision, the inner network so much like Marley. So much like home. You're relieved when Annie goes with you, even though you think it was for duty. (You never know if it was.)

Hitch gets added to the short list of Annie's friends. But nobody replaces you, nobody knows her as well as you do. You know each other's mood, the subtle raise of her brow or scrunch of her nose.

She takes her duty seriously - but she takes you seriously too.

You're the only comfort from home she has.

In the forest after she's hacked up by Levi, you're the one to grab her. To take her back, tending to her as she's cared for you so many times.

Unfortunately your close bond makes it easier to seek you out as a titan. Easier to goad you into advancing attacks, to defending her honour from horrors Armin promises she's enduring.

For you, Annie felt like home more than Marley ever had. Siblings, best friends, lovers. Whatever you felt for her, it was strong.

If you get a chance to see her chrystalized, you touch it desperately, trying to feel a sense of life inside. And you feel it, an echoing thrum beneath your hand.

She mentions it, later, when you two are alone on the ship. "I don't remember what you said, but I felt you." (She always has.)

And when you both go to fight Eren, fighting for something you want so desperately to keep now, you feel her knuckles brush against yours like they did so long ago. When you two were sworn to duty, marching to the walls. This time, you take her hand and never let go.

If you both survive this, she'll show you exactly how much you mean to her.

YMIR

100000% figured out you were a titan shifter because of this.

Her memories of the castle are hazy at best; initially she only remembers the heat and fog, the truth of Christa's real name.

While she knows quite a bit about her titan and its abilities, she doesn't know anything useful. The body heat memories? She knows it. Knows how her previous shifter learned about it, knows how he felt about his comrades.

She's hardly had reason to touch you before this, but like she figured out Reiner in the castle (they touched briefly) she also knows who you are. Knows the truth of your Marleyan roots.

Like Annie, you had been more distant from the group and more independent - you weren't as easily found out compared to them. At that point, it was only Ymir who really knew. Go, you. Clap yourself on the back for a job well done.

As well as you'd hide your identity, unfortunately the capture must take precedence. With Annie compromised, Reiner and Bertholdt outed, you have no choice but to pick up their slack.

Eren is fucking pissed that you're a titan and regardless of your involvement with the walls breaking, often voices his displeasure towards you loudly.

Ymir saw it coming so she takes it in stride and is dismissive towards you. You two really don't get a chance to speak, not until she's back in Marley and that's all that's left for her. Stone walls and iron bars, her complacency and feeling like a debt is owed is what keeps her there.

You sit with her most days, where she eventually opens up about the cadets. That's not to say you're best friends, but she's not dense enough not to take advantage of how you feel about her.

Listen, if you're not a woman, you stand no chance. If you are, she might confess her feelings towards Christa, how Christa helped her change as a person, how she felt like she could be herself.

How she could be herself around you, too.

While Ymir was never as buddy-buddy with you as she had been Christa, she had often roped you into being indebted to her, owing her favours one way or another.

She's back to her usual tirade even while imprisoned, using those unreturned favours to charter better meals or pen and papers. Most days you watch her write, rewrite, try to figure out what she wants to pen to Christa. Ultimately she writes her final draft with Reiner and leaves it in his possession.

Ymir is never quite hostile towards you, not when she learns of your service to your country, to the threat you thought Paradis posed. To the family and people you swore to protect. She understood it. Perhaps better than anyone bar Marcel.

You get a chance to touch her sometimes, changing the irons or giving her new clothes or meals.

There was a time when you were closer, as cadets. When she'd sling an arm over your shoulder, teasing about something or other. That's what it mostly was, her goading you into some tasks for her or taking the fall for things.

Back then, she used how you felt about her against you.

Unfortunately, facing death, she's mellow and more withdrawn. You don't learn much of anything during this time, not verbally anyway. But you learn about what kind of person she was, what role she had before.

And she asks for you to be there when she's eaten. Not directly, but something Reiner tells you later. When he's telling you that you've spoken more to her than she has, that she had tolerated your presence better, that you were the only Marleyan that she looked forward to seeing.

And when you go through her cell later, rifling through what meagre possessions she had, you find a letter addressed to you, hidden beneath leaflets of messy unfinished letters. Thanking you for not treating her as a monster, for not using Christa against her like Bertholdt had. That if she had a choice, she'd want you to inherit the jaw solely for your friendship with your fellow cadets and Christa.

She writes of other things too, little things she noticed about you, tips on how to get better at hiding or hitting. Advice on to living for yourself and not under the charade of the Marleyan government.

There's scrawled out ink, too, of things that she crossed out. She writes in that familiar, knowledgeable but closed off way that she does. In those sentences, under candle light, you can make out her thoughts on the heat exchange, moments from your cadet days. Once, what she would've done if you both had stayed on Paradis. Even a list of favours that she wanted to bank on, teasing remarks written in margins of paper and belittling comments that felt only praising coming from her.

Strange, how you only know her better in death, where you can no longer speak to her and hear the words left unsaid.

PORCO GALLIARD

the biggest baddest boldest guy who will LATCH ONTO YOU SO FAST MAN. I'm half joking

But he zeroes in the second your temperature spikes whenever you touch him. Turns his head towards you, gesture a little quick, eyes watching you, half-lidded. Aware, aware, aware of what this means

He's always always watching you after this, smirking softly to himself, just nodding along

You're so lucky he feels the same way because otherwise he'd just wrinkle his nose and turn his head away, "ew, you're hot" like the turd he is /affectionate.

Once he notices, Porco will always be hovering over you, in your personal space, raising his eyebrows and smirking when you turn around and bump into him. Gtfo Porco. Always casual about leaning against you, your arms brushing.

Porco doesn't really do cuddling but he'll be annoying about this, lightly touching. all. the. time.

Porco knows what it means. And if you don't say anything about it, he will. Just casually drops the fact about shifter body heat before shoving his hands and walking off casually. Leaving you guessing about his intentions.

Eventually it culminates in frustration because this smug mf won't tell you JACK.

Honestly you're going to have to confront him about this at some point unless one of the others point out the weird dance you two are doing.

(If you get frustrated with him enough that it affects your temp towards him, he'll knock it back so fast. Rubber banding it like a pro. He may be a dick but once it's clear he's making you uncomfortable he'll back off.)

Raises his eyebrows, leaning back. "You know what it means, don't you?" All smug. Leading into him talking about his own temperature, "Well, what do you think it means?" Literally makes you guess about how he feels about you. If you guess romantic, he'll lean his arm up against the wall, getting close to your face, eyes half-lidded. "Yeah."

Free boyfriend.

If you don't do teasing, he'll be more upfront. “You know what it means.” He's reciprocal so even if he didn’t romantically like you if you guess boyfriend, he’ll be like “yeah”.

Again, free boyfriend.

If you're strictly platonic, he'll do a little sigh, expression smoothing and go, “You're my best friend, dumbass.”

Free best friend.

Will become the bitchiest bitch to ever bitch if your temperature ever lowers.

Possessive possessive possessive. Competitive af. “Well, the other shifters don't feel hotter than I do, do they?" Glowers and sulks if anyone teases that your touch feels scorching hot to them.

Other than these instances, he actually NEVER mentions your temp or asks how you feel when he touches you. Would listen intently if you ever decide to describe in detail what his body temp feels to you.

Gets super smug if you mention it in front of the others.

EREN YEAGER

Sorry, there's no happy way this can end at all. :(

Eren straight up does not know about the heat thing until he inherits the attack titan's full memories.

But he's always kind of ... known in a way too. Every time your hands slap together or you pull each other out of danger, he feels it. The warmth lingering under your skin.

Grisha learned it during his studies with Zeke and Eren inherited that memory. Eren remembers then forgets in that same instant when he inherits his titan as a kid. So he knows, by pure instinct, that it's good. It feels right

He emotionally warms up to you more because of this.

Does not get touchy feely over this, although his hands often linger a little longer on you

There's two paths here. One where you're a Marleyan warrior and one where you inherit it after (jaw or in Shiganshina).

As a warrior, your betrayals burns worse than anything else. He's always suspected Reiner because of his cold+hot flashes but you? You who always burned like a star under his fingertips, who sent a wave of comfort through him?

It stings like nothing else has ever before.

It stings when he's in Marley, bandage to his face and leg, watching the people walk past.

He either waits for you purposefully or has Falco grab you a day/hours before the Marley exhibit. (Conveniently, this would be when Reiner is busy and he has an excuse to talk to Reiner later)

Or you come along with Reiner

It's such a small moment, in the end. His palm meeting yours, or your shoulders touching when you pass him by.

But it's a supernova, lit under his touch. And it settles the idea inside him that Marley and Paradis are the same, that there are people he cares for both in and outside the walls.

As a non-Marleyan, in the end, it doesn't change anything. He's still Eren and you're still you. Despite everything.

He's like a comet when he touches you later, after the rescue from Marley. Even when his knuckles are bruised from Armin's bones, when there's a fire in his eyes and death on his lips

But he's still Eren and you're still you.

And there's never enough time

(There's a memory that you only get later, after Everything. Where you sit together, toes on the beach, shoulder to shoulder. Where his skin is warmer than the sands. Where he tells you in what way he thinks about you. Where he asks you about yours and you answer. And you will remember this with a heat in your throat knowing that you'll never feel his touch again)

ARMIN ARLERT

I'm absolutely losing it just thinking about going to a sauna with Armin and after he finds out about the body heat thing he accidentally exclaims, "wait why'd you gET COLDER?" (if you do it's def because you went through the mental gymnastics of respecting his body and not getting thorsty)

He honestly didn't even realize there's a difference between normal people vs shifters because he actually hasn't touched the Warriors trio a lot prior to his shifting (so he has no baseline to compare it to). And Eren always ran hot

He really only clues in when he notices that your body temperate is a lot higher than normal and he freaks out a little, thinking you have a fever. Except everyone else assures him that no, you feel perfectly fine to them, what are you on about Armin??

Hange knows jack all about it; it's not a normal titan feature. Armin eventually has to ask Eren, Zeke or Annie about it directly

Gets flustered and comforted by the realization that you care so deeply for him. If you run crazy hot then it'll be like making him face his fear of fire (rip Armin)

If you don't know what the body temp means, he'll be all too glad to inform you! He won't ask you what temperature you feel his touches at BUT would be all too willing to test what influences the increase/decrease!

Turns super red if the experiments get a little too handsy and you both feel each other's temperatures spike

He's actually super touchy feely! Always reaching for you, giving you lingering hugs or brushing at your clothes/hair. He'll take your hand when its just you two, thumb stroking over the skin, basking in your warmth.

Will cuddle if you let him/ask him. Absolutely adores it. Always happy to indulge

If you're crushing on him, this is the thing that tips Armin off! He's so studious and acutely aware of each minute change so he notices when you get a little warmer, esp if you're reacting to him grabbing your arm or brushing something from your cheek

Probably noticed how you act around him too

If you're not crushing on him the it's just an awkward fiasco BECAUSE:

He confronts you about this. You're both just sitting down somewhere, him across from you, knees drawn up as you're talking or enjoying the silence. Eyes downcast as he brings up, "Do you have... feelings for me?" Voice soft, skin even hotter than his tomato red face. He takes your hands in his and looks up at you earnestly, "this is how I feel about you", letting you feel his emotions

In the case that Armin thinks of you strongly as a friend/ally only, he'll let you down gently. By directly referencing his newfound knowledge. Purposefully going "It's interesting that we can tell so much about the other person when you touch them like this" and he grabs your hand, looking right up into your eyes, smiling gently, "Like this. See? You'll always be my best friend" Emphasis on 'always' and 'best friend'. #friendzoned #ripyou

FALCO GRICE

Sunshine baby, baby boy, my literal son in another universe

He's always holding your hand. You're so cool! A warrior who trained with Reiner, he looks up to you immensely, although your term being close to being up stresses him TF out about Gabi

Listen, you're stuck with little brother Falco who always follows you around, tugging on your sleeve or running off on errands for you. Give him the time of day and you'll have a new dog. I mean child

If you're close to Reiner at all he'll latch on even harder. You're both his parental figures, although he gets so flustered if anyone mentions it.

He's deadset on inheriting the Armour but if you have the choice of who you can give yours to and you pick him, he's gonna cry.

He doesn't remember a lot about his first shift or the events surrounding it, except the smell of burnt flesh and fire in his arms. If you touch him at all when he immediately comes out of his titan, he'll dissolve into hysterics, crying without knowing why, because your touch reminds him immediately of the memory he's almost forgetting

Fortunately, he does forget

When you finally get to touch him after the amnesia period is over, Falco absolutely melts in your arms. Also immediately cries. Because he does know what this means, has studied this in his books, knows it from Porco's memories. Sobs and wails in your arms, feeling so secure and loved. Because you love him and you care for him. After everything he's been through, he needs this

Hugs you so, so tight every chance he gets, getting red-faced whenever Gabi teases him. Hovers by your side a lot, knowing everything will keep being okay so long as he can feel your warmth.

Always touching you, probably gets a little anxious when you leave him alone but eventually comes around.

For the kiddos out there who are crushing on my son, I raise a counter scenario. Just for you. You're now my child-in-law

Training together!! Yay!!

Your grades will vary, though you're definitely behind Gabi on the roster. Sorry, I do make the rules.

Falco excitedly told you about body heat when he read about it in a book!! You two excitedly try to figure out how you'd feel to each other.

Unfortunately, this is about the time he gets a crush on you. So Falco gets so flustered the next time you mention it to him and he ends up blurting that he hopes he never finds out what temperature you'd feel like to him.

Wants to protect you forever and ever, taking a similar route that he does with Gabi in canon.

You became shifters together! Terrible news!

Except when you're both pulled from the napes of your titans. When you have to ride with Connie, forgetting everything except the press of his hand in yours.

Falco may not remember the meaning behind the warmth but knows that it's good, that he can trust you.

Once his memories come back, avoids you to high heavens because he is so acutely aware of the flipside of this scenario. That you can feel how hot he burns because of his crush. He doesn't even think about what your hot touch means for him

You have to chase him down.

Keeps making excuses until you almost fight him trying to get him to settle.

He's definitely heartbroken if you tell him you only see him as a brother/best friend. Probably gets teary eyed and red-faced but accepts it before running off. He'll stop avoiding you after this.

Gets so red if you tell him you romantically like him too.

After the confession or when he's calmed down from the rejection, he comes back around. He's pretty constant at your side and will hold your hand if you let him, reassured by your warmth.

No matter what happens, at least you have each other.

[cherry-romper]

hey! you write smut or suggestive content??? If so can i ask for sure hc with the aot boys specially the warriors reiner and zeke are my favs if not fluff and silly hc are nice too please????

Suggestive Headcannons

+ Eren, Armin, Jean, Connie, Levi, Erwin, Reiner, Bertholdt, Proco, Zeke

Warnings; MDNI, Sexual content but language is tame.

Contains; mostly GN!reader - eludes to gender for Zeke due to his plan for euthanasia, Fluff, Smut - nothing hardcore.

Im not a fan of when HC get really vulgar, so this is quite tame. I might venture into that realm later though! I hope you enjoy <3

Eren;

At first, he was into you like you were the last person on earth. He’d be all over you before and after missions (sometimes even during).

Would take you in any position. He’ll be whatever you needed him to be, after all he was all yours and you were all his. 

But after a while, he grew more distant. Time spent together was scares anyways, so you barely had time to initiate anything. He has a big burden on his shoulders, but after you brought it up to him, he apologised and told you he was only trying to keep you safe. 

He made love to you that night. It lasted hours, you were tangled together like never ending yarn. You explored each other, held each other, loved each other so purely so truly that he knew, everything he must do, he’d do for you. If it meant he could hold you for one more night.

Armin;

Sweet man who makes even sweeter love.

He’s okay with being a little adventurous every now and again but likes to keep this tame most of the time. 

He’s really good at teasing in public. He loves to see you flustered. Will never do anything to make you uncomfortable though. He won’t straight up grope you, instead he’ll let his hand wander up your thigh under the table or he’ll whisper something in your ear only you can hear. 

Prefers keeping your relationship private. And so, likes to keep the loving till after dark, and it’s always in the bedroom, not always on the bed, but he’s not a fan of doing it elsewhere. 

Will cuddle you for hours afterwards, almost reluctant to let you go. He loves your touch more than anything, the thought of being away from you scares him so he savours you as much as he can. 

Jean;

You took the lead first, he didn’t know what to do, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. 

He grew in confidence though. Taking the lead more, teasing you openly. 

He’s a lover at heart. He worships the ground you walk on, but if you tell him too, he’ll go fast, he’ll hit deep, and he will be rough. 

He loves you wholeheartedly, so anything you need to finish, he makes it happen. 

However, he also loves when you do the same for him in return. He doesn’t ask though, but by the way he vocalises when you tough him just right, he doesn’t need too. 

Connie;

He can never be serious, not even during sex. 

Has no idea what he’s doing even after months of being together. 

Will giggle at certain noises and laugh if either of you bang your head on something. 

He often moves around during, tries out too many positions and can’t co-ordinate his limbs well with yours, so you just end up a tangled mess. You both find it hilarious and it’s the cutest thing. 

You’ll both find your limbs again, and kiss each other, holding your bodies close. You’ll giggle at each other, faces slick with sweat, sheets sticking to you. You’ll put your foreheads together, whispering sweet nothing at each other before staring up again. Slower, sweeter than before, more controlled.

Levi; 

Not into sex. He cares for you time and presence. Time is precious to him. 

Don’t get me wrong he has a sex drive, but I feel as though he’s a once in a blue moon person. He’s too busy and stressed to even get it up. Has no problem serving you if you need it. 

Will do what he needs to please you, but often takes more pleasure in just cuddling you, holding you close. To him, it feels more intimate than anything else. 

Erwin; 

Wants to with all his heart, but you can never find the time. If you do, you’re often interrupted. 

You can count on one hand the amount of time you’ve been able to actually finish without someone walking in. 

When he gets down too it, Erwin is a sensual lover. Caressing you all over, squeezing and squishing you. He loves skin on skin contact.

He likes being behind you, hugging you from behind. He’ll shower you with kisses. 

The most memorable time was by candlelight. You’d been drinking wine, reminiscing about the ‘good old days’, recalling tales of stories beyond the walls, and the drama that goes off within. You laughed, you cried, you smiled and frowned. It was a wonderful night; unforgettable. When you retired to bed, you stripped down, your body illuminated by the candles and Erwin nearly lost his mind. You were ethereal to him, so sweet and gentle. How were you put on this earth with him, he was so lucky to be born at the same time as you. So easily, you could have passed him by. You made love that night for the first time, without being interrupted. He sucked in your sent, vowing to never let you go. 

Reiner; 

I think due to his split personality, it depends to which one you’re talking too. 

The soldier part of him is gentle and sweet, normal even. Giving you just the right amount of loving. Touches you right, makes you feel good. The other? A coin flip.

His warrior side will either refuse to touch you, being too scared to lay a finger on you. Partly because he thinks he’ll hurt you and partly because he thinks he doesn’t deserve you. You’ll get fleeting kisses and ghost touches at best.

The other is like a dog in heat. He’ll take you at least 3 times a day. 

He won’t use words much, he’ll either give you a look or he’ll straight up throw you over his shoulder and drag you away from what you’re doing, and when he does, he’s rough.

Will also become a babbling mess a lot while being rough. Barely coherent strings of ‘I love you’s and ‘you’re too good for me’s. whiney 

He’s not a dirty talker, he’s a grunter or a growler then after a while gets emotional and it turns into whines and moans.

Bertholdt;

MUNCH

Your pleasure is his pleasure. 

Nothing gets him going more than your climax. Will refuse to let you touch him till he’s got your head spinning. 

He loves the foreplay and aftercare more than the act itself.

During, he’s sweet and loving. Prefers positions where you can be close to each other where he can see your face. Loves when your bodies are pressed together, he wants to feel all of you.

Will often caress your face and kiss you; he will make love to you. He’ll make it mean something every time, he’s not a fan of quickies. 

Although, he’s slowly gaining his confidence with it and it always willing to try new things. Like I said, your pleasure is his, he’ll try anything once.

Proco;

Like rabbits.

Everyone is sick of hearing it or hearing about it. He is so smug that he can make you feel good, he will tell everyone everything. With his own added exaggerations. 

Loves your body so much, he cannot get enough of it. If you have free time, you two are fuckin’. 

A switch in his truest form. He tries so hard to be dominant, but he’s whiney, and a brat with a big mouth. You just gotta touch him in the right places and he’s a mess, and he’s like putty in your hands. 

He talks a lot for someone who likes to be edged. 

Secretly loves being taken control of but will never admit that.  

Zeke; 

What a man.

Will make love to you in a way that is unforgettable. Every. Single. Time. 

Everytime is better than the last. And every time is different. He’s down for everything, as long as you’re both getting what you want out it. 

Love seeing you shake with pleasure. 

It took him a while to warm up to the idea of having sex, considering his plan for euthanasia. But you both take the necessary precautions and have come to an agreement with things.

Although he won’t admit it, he wants nothing more than to finish inside you. It’s like an animalistic urge that he can never satiate, and he finds it harder and harder to stop himself.