#reiner x black y/n | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

grimesproperty · 2 months ago

Text

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒

You and Eren are such close best friends, almost "platonic." You open up to Eren about your desire to gain more experience now that you both are in college. Being the sweet best friend he is, he listens to you. And being the sweet best friend you are.

You ask him if he can teach you a few things, even teaching you how he is gonna take your virginity.

(PART TWO)

EREN YEAGER X READER

cw: nsfw

—

"You can't just... expect to be good at it," he said, leaning back on your bed, arms stretched behind his head, the thin fabric of his t-shirt clinging to his chest. "You gotta practice. Learn. Like anything else."

"So?, you said you were going to teach me,” you said, voice shaking a little too much.

He grinned, sharp and wicked. "Only if you ask nicely."

It was supposed to be a joke.

It wasn't.

Because somewhere between laughter and half-drunken dares, you were sitting on his lap, straddling him, heat pooling between your legs, heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped thing. Nobody has ever gone down on you before.. you were nervous. Too nervous to meet his gaze.

And Eren... Eren looked at you like he was starving

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice hoarse, brushing hair behind your ear with trembling fingers. "Tell me to stop, and I swear I will."

You didn't.

You kissed him instead, reckless and messy, lips colliding with no finesse — just need.

He kissed every inch of you, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing the shape of your body with his mouth. And when he kissed lower, between your thighs, leaving open-mouthed kisses along soft skin — you gasped his name, grabbing at his hair.

"Let me," he rasped against your thigh, voice desperate. "Please. Let me taste you."

You were already too far gone to deny him.

And when he finally dragged his tongue over you — slow, devastating — it shattered something between you.

Because Eren wasn't careful. He was hungry.

Growling low in his throat, he buried himself between your thighs like he was a man possessed, arms hooked under your hips to pin you against his mouth.

It wasn't neat. It wasn't gentle

It was messy, dirty, desperate — wet sounds filling the room as he licked and sucked and groaned against you like he needed it to breathe. Like getting you off was the only thing that mattered.

You came so hard you saw stars, sobbing his name, thighs clamping around his head. But he didn't stop. God, he didn't stop.

Licking you through it, pressing kisses against your soaked folds, whispering broken things against your skin:

"So sweet... can't get enough of you... fuck, you're perfect, you're so perfect—"

When he finally pulled away, his mouth was slick with you, green eyes blown wide with something feral and aching.

And when you reached for him — dazed, trembling — he just cradled your face in his hands, looking at you like you'd ruined him.

"This isn’t just sex anymore," he said, voice wrecked. "This was never just sex."

You were both breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync, faces inches apart.

No jokes now. No games. Just raw, terrifying truth.

You stared at him — your best friend, your everything — and realized the terrifying, beautiful thing neither of you could deny anymore:

You weren't just friends. You weren't just lovers. You were something deeper, older, written into your bones.

“Tell me to stop.”

The words rasped from Eren’s mouth, his breath hot against your inner thigh. But his eyes — those feral, starving green eyes — begged you to do the opposite.

You didn’t tell him to stop. You spread your legs wider for him.

And he broke.

He growled — an honest, low sound vibrating through his chest — and dove in like a man who’d been dying of thirst and just found water.

His tongue licked a fat, slow stripe up your pussy, from dripping entrance to sensitive clit, moaning low like you were the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Fuck— you taste so good,” he groaned, the words almost angry. "So fuckin’ sweet—"

Then he latched onto your clit and sucked, messy and obscene, spit and slick mixing until you were gasping, hips bucking uselessly against his mouth.

He didn’t care about neatness. He wasn’t trying to impress you.

Eren was devouring you.

Wet, filthy sounds filled the room — the lewd slurping of his mouth on you, the desperate noises ripping from your throat as his tongue worked you over with single-minded, brutal precision.

He ate like he wanted to crawl inside you.

Fucking his tongue into your tight, aching hole, moaning against you like he was losing his mind, nose nudging your swollen clit with every filthy lick. His hair was a mess under your fingers, and you couldn’t stop pulling, grounding yourself before you floated away.

“E-Eren—” you whimpered, trembling.

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

“Look at you,” he panted against your dripping cunt, fingers digging bruises into your thighs to hold you open for him. “Already fuckin’ falling apart for me— you needed this, didn’t you, baby? Needed me to ruin you—"

He buried his face back between your legs before you could answer, tongue fucking into you so deep you cried out, thighs shaking violently.

You came — hard — clenching around his tongue, grinding against his mouth shamelessly as he moaned into your orgasm like he was getting off on it.

But Eren didn’t stop when you came. No, he kept going.

Overstimulation slammed into you, overwhelming and brutal, as he licked you through it — messy, desperate, starving — spit and slick dripping down your thighs, coating his mouth and chin.

You felt him slide two thick fingers into you without warning, curling them perfectly inside you as he sucked your clit back into his mouth, groaning like he couldn't get enough of the way you squeezed him.

"S'tight, fuck— so perfect for me," he slurred, voice ruined, fucking his fingers into you faster, messier, noisier.

The squelching sounds were so filthy you could barely process them — just whimpering, babbling nonsense, totally helpless against the way he was breaking you apart.

“Gimme another one,” he growled, voice rough, desperate. “Come again. Want you soaked all over my fuckin’ face.”

And you did — pathetically fast — body locking up, thighs trembling violently as you shattered again with a raw sob of his name.

“Eren— oh my god— EREN—!”

He groaned like a man possessed, licking you through it, like he wanted every drop of you, like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

When he finally pulled away, his mouth was shiny with you — lips, chin, nose soaked — eyes glassy and wrecked.

You lay there trembling, fucked-out and teary-eyed, chest heaving.

And then he crawled up your body — slow, heavy — caging you under him, face hovering inches from yours.

You could still taste yourself on his lips when he kissed you, filthy and deep, no hesitation, like he wanted you to know exactly what he’d done to you.

When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours, voice low and broken, "Your fucking kill me.."

"Get on your knees," he says, pulling back. You opened your eyes to meet his gaze, confusion evident on your face.

You should’ve known Eren wouldn’t let it end there, you told yourself.

He was kneeling above you now, green eyes wrecked, cock heavy and flushed against his stomach, throbbing between you two.

Not when he was looking at you like you were something holy — something he wanted to ruin and worship in equal measure.

"Want you to learn somethin’ else," he rasped, voice broken and low.

Your throat went dry, your legs still trembling from how brutally he'd devoured you earlier.

Eren fisted the base of his cock, sliding it slowly through his spit-slicked hand, precum leaking from the tip, smearing across his knuckles.

"You ever deepthroat before, baby?" he murmured, almost sweet. You shook your head, wide-eyed, lips parted.

He smiled — soft, devastating. "It's okay. I'll teach you."

You were already on your knees before him, trembling hands resting on his thighs, your mouth watering at the sheer size of him.

"You gotta relax," he whispered, cupping your jaw, tilting your head back to look at him. "Let me in. Let me take care of you."

Your heart thundered.

You opened your mouth.

Eren groaned — wrecked — guiding the flushed, leaking head of his cock to your lips.

"That's it," he panted as you wrapped your lips around him, sucking shyly, feeling the heat and weight of him on your tongue. "So fuckin’ pretty with my cock in your mouth—"

He pushed in slow, letting you get used to it, letting you breathe — but even then, you gagged when he hit the back of your throat, tears immediately pricking your eyes.

You whimpered, choking slightly, drool already starting to drip down your chin.

"Shh, shh, good girl, so good," Eren cooed, brushing your hair off your face, thumb wiping a tear away. "That's what I want, baby. Let it all out for me."

You gagged again as he rocked his hips slightly, deeper, forcing you to take more of him, your throat convulsing around the fat head of his cock.

The wet, messy sounds were obscene — your sobs, your gasps, the slurp of drool leaking from your lips.

"You’re doin’ so good," he praised between heavy breaths. "So fuckin’ brave for me, pretty thing."

He pulled back just enough to let you breathe, then pushed in again — deeper this time — holding your head still with both hands as you struggled, tears pouring down your face, spit stringing between your lips and his cock.

Your jaw ached. Your throat burned. You loved it.

He was whispering broken things, voice shattering:

"Fuck— you're made for this— perfect little mouth— my pretty baby— takin’ me so well—"

You whimpered around him, trying to swallow him deeper, desperate for more praise, desperate to make him proud.

He hissed, hips jerking, barely holding himself back.

"Fuck— you want it deeper, huh? Look at you— beggin' for it— god, you’re fuckin’ perfect—"

You nodded the best you could, gagging around him, crying openly now — spit, snot, tears a mess across your face.

Eren nearly lost it right there.

He pulled back, letting you gasp for air, chest heaving, before tapping his cock against your swollen lips.

"You wanna try again, baby?" he crooned, voice dark with hunger. "Wanna be a good girl for me?"

"Please," you sobbed, completely wrecked. "Please, Eren— wanna be good for you—"

He moaned — wrecked, possessive, in love — grabbing your jaw and sliding his cock back into your mouth, deeper this time, guiding your head onto him slowly but firmly.

You gagged violently when he bottomed out, nose pressed against his pelvis, tears streaming, but Eren was right there, praising you, worshipping you:

"That's it, that's my good girl," he panted. "So fuckin’ good for me— takin’ it all— proud of you, baby— so proud—"

You sobbed around him, overwhelmed, humiliated, honored — desperate for every word, every touch.

And when he finally started thrusting — slow, controlled, using your mouth like it was his — you surrendered completely.

Tears, spit, the sounds of your messy throatfucking filled the room — filthy, desperate, devastating.

You barely registered him pulling you off at the last second, groaning your name like a prayer, thick ropes of cum painting your swollen lips, your chin, your trembling fingers.

You gasped, blinking up at him through blurry, tear-soaked eyes, wrecked and ruined and so full of love you thought you might die from it.

Eren collapsed to his knees, pulling you into his arms, cradling you against his bare chest.

He kissed your spit-smeared cheeks, your tear-streaked forehead, whispering broken, beautiful things:

"Mine," he breathed. "You're mine. Always."

And you clung to him, sobbing against his chest, because you knew it too.

You weren't just friends. You weren’t just lovers.

You were soulmates. Filthy, messy, destroyed.

And you’d never be whole without him again.

—

Hope you guys enjoyed this little series!

469 notes · View notes

callmeoncette · 2 years ago

Text

Hmm what’s this?

Waitamin…..

OH!!!!

No but seriously this is why I don’t take those “nigga Eren” discussions seriously cuz the people who start them always have this vibe that they’re extremely pompous and arrogant sometimes??? I don’t like speaking proper on the internet it’s annoying asf. I do that all day when I’m around others I let loose here. But for this person to assume that I only use AAVE (which there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that and if you think there is that’s internalized anti-blackness) AND to assume I didn’t go to college based on the fact that I’m defending “hood” fanfiction is extremely telling. Not once did I say the word bitch in reference to this person and if I did I apologize but sayin something loaded like this??? When talking about fanfiction of all things?!?! No. I won’t hear anyone out on this. When you start these discussions you’re opening the door for people like this who are speaking from anti-black and classist viewpoints.

I don’t like how y’all jumping down the girls throats that like to make the characters of their choice hood asf. Sometimes the girlies want a thug. Let them have it, it’s fictional, it’s a fantasy. You wanna have a cottagecore whimsical soft fic with a character find one! There’s tons. But if black girls get on here and write a character how they wish it’s not some huge thing it’s just how those black girls wished to write the characters. Wanna soft black girl fic find one that write that way, wanna goth black girl fic find one that write that way. We go through this like every 3 months. Someone says something then it’s a big debate when it doesn’t need to be

#aot x black reader #x black!reader #eren x black fem!reader #armin x black reader #eren x black reader #eren x black y/n #armin x black y/n #connie x black reader #connie x black y/n #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x black reader #reiner x black reader #reiner x black reader smut #Reiner x black y/n #jean x black reader #jean x black y/n

921 notes · View notes

ccwpidsblog · 2 months ago

Text

White Dress, Black Cat 𖣁 | ONYAKOPON

Summary: They said she was a witch.

She said they were all damned. Onyakopon didn’t believe in hauntings until he heard his own voice tremble at the pulpit. Now every hymn echoes wrong, and she’s waiting for him by the well, knitting as if the world ain’t falling apart. He just wanted to serve God. Now they’re standing hand in hand, watching the damned burn.

Themes: Heavy Religious trauma/themes, family dysfunction, mentions of suicide, miscarriage, mental health struggles, tall blk female reader, plus-sized reader, preacherson!ony, implied supernatural violence, psychological horror, shy!ony, dark themes and atmosphere, small town prejudice, abandonment, slow burn, smut: virginity loss (mc and ony), soft sex/lovemaking, praise kinks, soft dom!ony

Part one | Part two | Part three

Word count: 10.2k

Authors Note: Well obviously I've been really into religious themes and southern gothic themes for some reason and with my religious background it's only fair I vent through my writing lol. This was meant to be a one-shot but yk how I get lol. Very different from the usual Ony fics hope you all enjoy and I don't disappoint 🥺💔

also wanted to thank @thecoochiefairy and @2neaky for unknowingly inspiring me!! I love black love and im happy to see it on tumblr again 🩷 please don't be shy send me an ask and support me on AO3

The night pressed in thick as syrup, and Onyakopon couldn't move.

He lay flat on his back on a threadbare cot in the shotgun house behind the old

sugarcane fields, sweat slicking his brow, heart hammering against ribs that had forgotten how to breathe. The air was too still. No crickets. No frogs. Not even the wind dared stir. Just that weight, heavier than a man, darker than sin, pinning him to the mattress with invisible hands.

Something's whispering in his ear.

He couldn’t understand the words, not exactly. But the voice, it was his father’s. And then not.

His body twitched. Eyes wide, still unable to blink. In the corner of the room, where the shadow refused to dissolve, something crouched. Watching. Waiting. Its eyes were coals, slow-burning.

“Get up,” he told himself. But his jaw wouldn’t work. His tongue felt thick. Roots of a tree growing wild inside his throat.

The thing in the corner inched forward. Crawling on elbows. Grinning too wide.

And then—

A scream tore from his chest. The kind that didn’t sound human.

He sat bolt upright, breath ragged, vision swimming. The shadow was gone. But the smell lingered like hot iron and smoke. Like burnt offerings. Outside, there was a loud crack of thunder as the sky began to pour. The world had moved on. But Onyakopon didn’t.

Not yet.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and stared down at the callouses in his palms.

The tremble in them betrayed him. That was the third one this week. And in every single one, there was always a shadow. Eyes like smoldering coals. A voice that wore his father’s face like a mask. No matter how many scriptures he recited before bed. No matter how often he sang himself hoarse in praise. It kept coming back. Stronger and stronger. And every time he woke, he felt like something had been peeled off of him in the night. Something soft. Something sacred.

He refused to speak on it. Refused to write it down. Didn’t dare let it live outside his own chest.

Not yet.

Not running. Not crying. Just sitting there heavy on his heart. Another crack of thunder rumbled the sky as heavy rain pelted on his family homes roof. He rose from his bed pulling his rosary off his night stand bringing it to his lips as he said a silent prayer.

Lord… have mercy on me. I been seein’ things. Eyes in the corner, whispers in the dark, faces that don’t belong to no man. I don’t know if it’s You, or the Devil, or somethin’ in between. But I’m scared. I’m tired. I’m tryin’.

Send me peace. Send me clarity. Send me somethin’ steady, somethin’ real. A light, Lord. Just a light to carry me through. Even if I don’t understand it yet.

As he said his Amens and laid back in his bed, Onyakopon had felt for the first time think that He wasn't listening.

By Sunday morning, the dreams still hadn’t left him. They clung to his shoulders like wet cotton.

But church folk didn’t care about dreams, especially not from a man like him. broad-shouldered and Bible-raised man, with a voice like honey on fire. The kind of voice that made pews sway and Deaconess Grant shout with both hands in the air.

Onyakopon stood at the front of the little white church he'd grown up in fingers wrapped around the wooden pulpit like every Sunday, his deep waves still damp from a basin rinse. Sunlight filtered in through stained glass panes, splashing color over the choir robes and sweating faces. The fans were flapping, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus but the heat was still wrapping necks like a noose.

“There's a leak in this old building... and my soul...” His voice filled the rafters, warm and booming.

Eyes closed. He let the song carry him. He tried to lose himself in it. But then

He saw it.

It wasn’t a flash. Not a trick of the light. It was there, really there, on the third pew from the front, sitting where Sister McGee always sat, legs crossed and grinning wide like it was proud to be seen. A thing with a stretched-out face and black gums, skin that shimmered like chicken grease thrown in water. Its eyes were hollow, but it always found him.

Mocking.

Ony’s throat caught on the next word.

“...This old building—keeps o' sinkin' and my... soul”

His voice had cracked like he was sixteen again singing for the congregation for the first time, he winced. Blinked. Shook his head.

Someone from the amen corner called out, calm and easy: “Take your time, brother.”

The thing was gone.

Just a trick of the heat, he told himself. Just his mind. The back doors of the church creaked open. Slow. Dust in the light. And there she was. Tall for a woman and wide-hipped, dark-skinned kissed by Gods given sun, like the earth after heavy rain, wearing a faded rose dress with puffed sleeves and lace at the hem. Her black cat trotted beside her like it belonged there. She held a woven basket over one arm and wore a wide-brimmed hat trimmed with dried lavender.

Every voice in the room caught in their throats.

Folks didn’t speak her name. Didn’t meet her eye. The bastard daughter of sin and prophecy. The daughter of a witch. But she just walked, quietly, deliberately, like the whole town wasn't against her and took her seat on the far back pew. Sitting there there like she always had a right to.

And while the choir tried to pick up the next verse, she began to knit. Small, neat stitches. Humming the melody under her breath in a voice soft as velvet.

Onyakopon stared too long.

He wasn't the only one.

Service ended with a shaky benediction and more side-eyes than hallelujahs.

Folks filed out quickly, muttering about the heat, about the hymnbook pages sticking together, about anything but the girl and her cat in the back pew. Onyakopon pretended to help fold chairs in the fellowship hall just long enough for everyone to disappear down the gravel road.

He stepped out the side door into the sunlight, breathing like he’d been underwater. But even outside, the church still felt-strange. Like it held its breath after she walked in.

She was still in the last pew. Alone now. Knitting the same deep thread with slow, sure hands. Her cat sat curled beside her like a guardian made of fur shadows. The rest of the sanctuary had emptied out like they feared catching something just by breathing her air.

Onyakopon stood at the door a moment, one boot scuffing the floor.

She didn’t look up. Just said, soft and almost teasing , delicate voice bouncing off the empty decaying walls.

“You feel it too.”

His spine stiffened as he straightens himself up, removing his cap from his head, deep

frown lines growing between his eyebrows.

"Ma'am?"

She tugged the thread once, looped it, pulled it through. Her fingers never paused.

“What don’t belong in the Lord’s house.”

His lips parted, but he said nothing.

Then she looked up. Wide, round, doll-like eyes — so dark they shimmered. She looked at him like a mirror. Like she saw every dream he tried to forget, every shadow that clung to the edges of his soul.

Onyakopon’s stomach twisted. A chill moved up his spine slow as molasses. He hadn’t told nobody about the thing that visited him in sleep or what he'd seen — not his mother, his father or brother. This was something just between him and God. He felt his fists clench, not in threat but in defense. That kind of knowing… it wasn’t natural.

He took a step in, boots creaking on the old wood. “You been watchin’ me?” he asked, voice low and rough like split wet oak.

“No,” she said, still sweet, still calm. “You came lookin’ for me. Even if you ain’t know it yet.

He frowned deeper, throat dry. “You don't know what you're talkin' about ma'am..”

“Mm.” She glanced down. “And yet, here you are, tryin' to defend yourself to a stranger who don't know what she talkin' bout."

The black cat stretched from its place at her feet and wound around his leg, tail brushing his calf like a whisper. Onyakopon looked down, startled, as it rubbed against his dress shoes, purring deep like a hymn. He tensed, stepping forward, and his shadow stretched over her like a giant. Despite their size difference, he felt a sudden weight in the air. Her presence loomed, even sitting, somehow bigger than him. Ony was always the biggest man in any room — 6’7, broad and built like a pillar. But this woman, in a worn rose dress and knitted calm, made him feel small.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

He swallowed.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice softer now, but no less honest.

She smiled just slightly. “You already know.”

“I don’t.” She hummed again, “Your dreams are becoming louder brother,” she murmured, threading her yarn again. “Woke the sky last night, Woke the dirt.”

He blinked, unsettled. He didn’t want know how to fight it. Didn’t know how to turn off the uncomfortable truth in her voice. Her fingers moved again. The yarn wound tighter. She added, without looking

It’s this town. Folks plant their evil here, water it, pray over it like it’s corn and wheat. And it grows.”

Ony’s jaw tensed. The cat flicked its tail once like punctuation. She tied off the thread, tucked the yarn into her basket like she was sealing something sacred or dangerous.

“When you start to see the truth,” she said, standing now, her basket in hand, “you’ll know where to find me.”

She lingered in the doorway, eyes on him like she already knew what he’d choose.

“May the Lord keep you, Onyakopon. Even when the ones close to you can’t.”

Then she vanished into the rain.

The church doors creaked as he stepped out, the rain had stopped sunlight dull and sour under a heavy sky. No birds singing. Just the wind dragging itself down the road like a dying hymn.

The woods swallowed her up quick, the church just a shadow behind her. Leaves brushed her shoulders, pine needles crunching beneath her bare feet. She didn’t look back once. Mama trotted at her side, tail high, silent as breath.

“He don’t even know what he is yet,” she whispered, mostly to herself, but also to the cat.

Mama meowed low, like a scoff.

“I know, I know. You don’t like him. Sayin’ I oughta let him stay lost.”

She paused by a fallen log, placing her basket on it carefully. Sat down, drawing her shawl tighter across her shoulders.

“But he’s dreamin’ the way I used to. That means somethin’. Ain’t many left who can see past the veil.”

Mama leapt up beside her, staring off into the trees like she was waiting for somethin, or someone.

The girl smiled faintly. “You always was overprotective.”

Mama blinked slow.

“I ain’t lettin’ him close, not yet. Just watchin’.”

She turned her eyes to the sky, where clouds pressed low and the wind smelled like storm.

“When he’s ready to see the truth,” she murmured, “he’ll know where to find me.”

Mama curled against her side, purring soft and wary.

And the forest, for now, held its breath.

Monday morning came like it always did — quiet, slow, and too bright.

The sky was washed pale like a bedsheet left too long in the sun, and the town lay still beneath it. No rain left, just the memory of it in puddles and soft mud tracks. Ony didn't dream at all last night, just darkness and cold.

Onyakopon stood by the porch steps, box of his mama’s peach pies tucked under one arm, the other gripping a thermos of chicory coffee. Caleb his older brother was already loading up the truck, hands moving fast and efficient, like always.

“Quit draggin’ your feet,” Caleb muttered. “These folks ain’t gonna wait forever.”

Ony grunted, climbing in beside him.

They rode through the back roads in silence for a while, gravel popping under the tires, air sticky with heat. Every house they passed had a porch, and every porch had eyes. Folks rocking slowly in creaking chairs, faces turned their way but not smiling. At the first stop, Miss Irene met them on her porch with a crooked grin and two dollars folded tight in her hand.

“Your mama’s a blessin’, she know that?” she said, voice thin as brittle paper. “Tell her I’m prayin’ for her.”

She didn’t look at Ony when she said it.

By the third house, he noticed it, the way people didn’t laugh the same. Didn’t talk the same. Brother Johnny Al who always joked with him just nodded and shut the screen door with a quick and nasty slam. He saw the elderly man peeking from the blinds as they drove away, he should have worn his glasses today because he swore his eyes flash completely dark.

Another one of their regulars wouldn't meet his eyes during prayer, just muttered “Amen” too fast and wiped sweat off his brow that wasn’t there.

The last stop was by the church, where Sister Myra handed Caleb her tithe and asked them to “keep an extra prayer for the sinful.” She smiled at his brother when she said it, but Ony felt it cut anyway when it dropped as she looked at him duly

By noon, Ony’s chest felt tight. Not like fear like being studied. Like his skin was a page someone was reading line by line. He wondered if this is his Jesus felt when they read his commandments though Caleb didn’t notice, or pretended not to. He was good at that.

Caleb was humming to himself on the drive back, fingers tapping the wheel in rhythm, until Ony finally spoke.

“Something’s off,” Ony said, quiet.

Caleb didn’t look at him when he responded, just snorted dismissively. “It’s Monday. That’s what’s off.”

“I’m serious.” Ony’s voice was low, almost unsure. “Like somethin’ shifted. Like the world ain’t sittin’ right on its bones no more.”

“Somethin’ off,” he said again, quieter now, letting the words hang in the cab.

His long legs stretched out in the passenger seat, feet braced like he was expecting a turn that never came.

Caleb finally glanced at him, just a flick of the eye, jaw tight. Then laughed, short and sharp.

“Boy, you feel off ‘cause you always by yourself, hidin’ in your own head like some daydreamin’ woman. You need to study more. With me and With Pa. Need to find you a wife. Get you right.”

“...A wife?”

The word stuck in Ony’s throat, and just like that she was there. Not in body but in that sudden, dangerous way dreams slide into daylight. She wasn’t doing anything grand just sitting on a porch, elbows on her knees, eyes half-lidded like she knew every secret he ever kept. Humming low. Thread slipping through her fingers like it had a mind of its own. Like he did.

Ony blinked slow, like the words took a second to land again he repeated "A wife.."

Caleb went on, voice firmer now. “You feel off ‘cause you always stuck in your damn head, day dreamin’. Walkin’ around like you waitin’ on signs and visions instead of doin’ what men do.”

Ony turned to him, slow. “And what’s that?”

“Work. Worship. Wife. Provide. That’s the order. That’s how Pa did it. That’s how I do it. You think I didn’t feel strange too before I married Leah? Thought the whole world was wrong. Now look, she carryin’ my child, and I sleep just fine.”

Ony shook his head, jaw tightening. “So you think I’m crazy ‘cause I ain’t found nobody to lay up under yet?”

“I think you lonely,” Caleb snapped. “And lonely men start believin’ in all kinds of foolishness.”

They pulled into the driveway and sat in silence, the weight of everything pressing down like the summer heat.

Caleb finally broke it, voice low and hard. “I think somethin’ needs to fix you. You been strange for weeks. Folks see it. You don’t even try no more—don’t talk, don’t help with the sermons, barely speak to Ma. And now you sittin’ here talkin’ like the sky’s fallin’.”

Ony turned his head to the window, jaw tight. “You don’t see what I see.”

“No, I don’t. And that’s the damn problem. You always talkin’ in riddles. Bein’ quiet ain’t the same as bein’ deep.” Caleb’s voice was sharp. “You need to come back to earth, Ony. You ain’t no damn prophet. You just lost.”

Ony’s voice was cold, clipped. “Maybe you’re the lost one if you think a woman and a baby in this rotting town gonna fix anything.”

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “So you disrespectin’ the Bible teachings, boy?”

Ony didn’t look at him. Just said quietly,

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return.”

Caleb turned to face him, brow furrowed. Ony finally met his brother’s eyes. “That don’t sound like disrespect,” Ony said, voice flat. “That sound like a man knows this world don’t owe him nothin’. Not comfort. Not clarity. Not no wife or baby to fix what’s broke inside.”

Ony opened the door and stepped out, boots hitting the dirt like punctuation. The screen door creaked faintly in the distance, wind brushing against the trees. Caleb stayed in the truck for a second longer, jaw flexing, breath shallow. Then he shoved the door open.

“You always pullin’ them verses like a blade,” Caleb snapped, rounding the truck

“Think that makes you more holy? Makes you a better God-fearing man than me?”

Ony didn’t answer, just walked slow toward the porch, hands in his pockets like nothing touched him. Caleb caught up fast, grabbing his arm. " I’m talkin’ to you.”

Ony yanked back. “And I heard you. You mad ‘cause I know what I’m talkin’ about, and it don’t line up with your little box of how a man supposed to be.”

Caleb shoved him then, not hard, but hard enough.

“You think knowin’ scripture make you better than me? You think starin’ off into space and spittin’ riddles make you more of a man?”

Ony pushed him back, this time with force.

“I think pretendin’ like a wife and a baby make the rot go away is a lie. I think that makes you the fool.”

They were close now, breath hot, shoulders squared. From the porch came a soft creak the screen door opening slow.

Their mother stepped down from the porch, robe tied tight at the waist, her expression unreadable — but her eyes sharp as ever. Leah hovered behind her, one hand on her stomach, eyes wide.

“That’s enough out here,” she said again, sterner now. “I don’t care who’s feelin’ what you don’t raise your voices like that on this land.”

Caleb’s chest was still heaving, fists balled at his sides, but he dropped his eyes. Ony, jaw locked, He looked at her, really looked at her and something in him softened.

“I’ll be back ‘fore supper,” he said quietly.

Then he leaned in, pressed a quick, reverent kiss to her forehead.

“Love you, Mama.”

She nodded, the way only a mother could like she saw through him but loved him anyway.

As Ony stepped off the porch, he brushed past Caleb, shoulder knocking into his brother’s like punctuation. Deliberate. Firm.

Caleb turned after him, lips parted like he had more to say, but whatever it was, he swallowed it.

Leah reached for his hand from the porch.

“Let him go,” she said gently.

“He don’t need to wander,” Caleb muttered. Their mother didn’t look at him when she answered.

“Maybe he do.”

Onyakopon walked with no aim, boots kicking up dust as the cicadas screamed louder than the thoughts in his head. The town stretched out around him, crooked and quiet all heatwaves and peeling paint and eyes he couldn’t see but felt. His hands were in his pockets, his jaw still clenched.

He didn’t know where he was going, Nowhere, really but it felt like somewhere

Like something was pulling.

The sun hung thick and low, dripping gold between the trees, and for a second everything felt too still like the world had paused to hear his steps. Then he saw it.

A black cat, perched on a crumbling stone fence just ahead. Its fur looked wet, almost shining. It didn’t move when he approached.

Just stared, eyes like glass marbles catching the light. He slowed and the cat didn’t blink, didn't flinch. Just waited.

Ony felt a chill crawl up his neck despite the heat.

“You lost?” he murmured, barely louder than the wind. The cat tilted its head, eyes squinting like his question offended it, then turned. Leaping down, slipping into the brush like it had somewhere to be and maybe, just maybe, he was supposed to follow. So, he'd stand there for a while listening, waiting - for what exactly? He wasn't so sure himself.

Staring at the place where the cat had vanished. His breath slowed, the tension in his shoulders settling into something heavier. He didn’t move, just listened to the buzz of the heat, the rustle of leaves.

Thinking about turning around. About going home. Sitting down with his family at dinner telling them he was ready to look for a wife, asking his father to mentor him. Mold him to be just like him and Caleb. About pretending he hadn’t felt something shift deep in his gut the second he saw that cat.

Maybe Caleb was right.

Maybe he was strange.

Maybe he was just lonely.

A sharp, irritated meow snapped him from the thought. There it was again — the black cat, now sitting neatly a few paces behind him, tail curled tight, ears pointing upward, eyes narrowed like it was waiting on a child dragging their feet. It meowed again, louder this time, then stood and turned. Walked ahead slowly, stopping every few feet like it was checking to see if he’d catch on. Ony swallowed. Then, without a word, he followed.

The cat cut through a thicket like it had somewhere to be, glancing back only once before Ony followed. Trees arched above him like ribs, the woods swallowing sound until all he heard was his breath and the soft thud of his boots on earth. It didn’t feel like he was walking anymore. More like being led. They came to a clearing a patch of light cracked open like an eye between the trees, and there she was. She sat on an old quilt, colors faded like memory, her back to him. Her clothes clung loose and thin in the heat nothing like what women wore outside the house. Nothing a preacher’s son had any business looking at. But he did.

She was knitting again. Hands moving fast, like she was trying to exorcise something with every twist of thread. Her dark coils slipped loose, brushing her cheeks as she muttered to herself, angry and fast. The cat trotted over to her and curled up like it had been expected.

Without looking up, she said, “Thought you didn’t like him, Mama.”

Ony took a careful step forward, brow furrowed. “Your mutt don’t like me?”

The girl turned sharp, like she’d been waiting on that line. Her hands froze mid-stitch, and her head snapped over one shoulder. That chubby, soft face from church? It scrunched up like a storm cloud now, eyes suddenly sharp cutting.

“Only mutt here is you.”

Even the cat hissed, low and warning, tail flicking once like a whip before settling back down beside her with a satisfied grunt.

Ony stiffened.

She wasn’t sweet like she was in the Lord’s house. Not quiet and warm like the girl humming behind the pews. Her energy was strange now. Bristled. Her lips were dry, chapped pink from too much sun, and her voice carried something jagged underneath it.

“You always follow stray things?” she asked, threading again quick and harsh like the yarn had done her wrong.

He didn’t answer at first.

Didn’t know how.

Didn’t know why his feet brought him here at all. “You was knittin’ in church,” he said finally, more to himself than her.

“I was.”

“You knittin’ now.”

“Got hands, don’t I?”

He squinted at her, frustrated and fascinated all at once. “You always talk like this?” She shrugged, didn’t look up. “Only when men ask me stupid things.”

Ony winced, rubbing the back of his neck. His boot scuffed at the dirt, slow and awkward. He didn’t have much practice with women, his world was made up of his mother, elder ladies at church, and Leah when she needed something fetched from the pantry.

“Apologies, ma’am,” he mumbled, voice low and careful.

The girl paused. Her fingers stilled against the needles, eyes flicking up to study him for the first time without all that steel in them.

“No need to apologize,” she said, gentler now. “The day hasn’t been the kindest to me.”

She yanked at her project something half-made and angry with color, thread coiled tight like it was holding its breath. “I shouldn’t take it out on you. If anything, I should be used to it by now.” She huffed, more to the yarn than to him, jaw clenching like there was more she wanted to say but didn’t trust the space between them enough yet.

Ony shifted his weight, thumb hooking in his belt loop. His voice came quiet, almost a whisper. “Day ain’t been kind to me neither.”

That made her pause again. Just long enough for the cat to flick its tail against her hip, like it was waiting too.

She didn’t look at him when she spoke next, just patted the empty space beside her blanket, fingers brushing away twigs and grass. “Well… you can sit if you want. You look like you been walking without knowin’ where to land.”

Ony hesitated. His eyes flicked down, he hadn’t really looked before, not properly. But now the way the fabric clung to her arms, the soft rise of her chest as she breathed, the bare skin of her calves peeking beneath the hem, it struck him all at once.

It wasn’t scandalous in the way church folks used the word. But it was… intimate. Delicate. Dressed like that, back home, she’d be in her own bedroom or padding barefoot through the kitchen fetching tea for her mother. Not out here in the woods with a stranger.

His throat worked as he swallowed. “You sure?”

She gave a half-smile without looking at him. “I wouldn’t’ve asked if I wasn’t.”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, cheeks burning as he eased himself down beside her careful to leave a respectful distance, hands resting flat against his thighs like he was trying not to touch anything at all. The cat stretched between them like it was measuring the space.

They sat in silence.

Not the kind that crawled under your skin like Sunday tension or lingered like unsaid prayers, but something softer. Still. Ony sat with his hands folded, shoulders loose for once. The weight he always carried in his spine, the pressure to square his chest, to be something righteous and loud — eased without permission.

The girl kept knitting. Her fingers moved fast, urgent almost, like she was working through a thought with each loop and pull. The cat yawned, curling into a perfect comma between them.

Then, without looking at him, she said it low:

“Your head’s loud again. Makin’ the wind brush by a lil too fast. Gettin chilly. ”

Ony blinked, brows pulling together.

“Just breathe,” she added.

He did. And it wasn’t a deep breath or a proud one, but something real. It slid out of him slow, quiet. A breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

The wind slowed. The trees settled.

So did he.

The silence between them didn’t ache like it did at home. It stretched warm, quiet—not something to fix, just something to feel. Ony let his eyes drift to her hands, how fast they moved, like they had somewhere to be.

“You always knit this fast?” he asked, voice low.

She gave a soft shrug, not looking up. “Only when I’m tryin’ not to cuss or cry. It helps. Pullin’ somethin’ ugly outta me and making it useful.”

Ony nodded slowly, watching the rhythm of her fingers. The thread danced between her knuckles like it knew a secret language.

“You… think you could show me how?”

That made her pause. She looked at him for a beat, then down at her lap, like she was weighing it. Finally, she held up a half-finished square of fabric — dark, tight with frustration.

“You sure?” she asked. “Most men too proud to sit still with something this soft.”

“I’m not most men,” Ony murmured, not meeting her eyes.

She smiled, not wide but real, and shifted a little to the side. " I’ll show you.”

He shifted closer, slow like the earth might split if he moved too fast. She handed him the needles, warm from her fingers, and the yarn, coarse but strangely comforting.

“Keep your hands steady,” she said, voice softer now. “Let it pass through like water. Don’t grab it so tight.”

Ony tried, fumbling at first. She reached over, guiding his fingers without making a big deal out of it. Her hands were smaller than his, but surer—she shaped him like she did the thread, gentle but firm. “You’re teachin’ me to do women’s work,” he muttered, half teasing.

She snorted. “I’m teachin’ you to keep your mind from rot. Don’t matter what shape the work come in.”

That made him smile without thinking.

“You always talk like that?” he asked. he asked, glancing at her from beneath his lashes. “Like you halfway know what God whisperin’ before He even say it?” She didn’t answer right away. Just tilted her head, lips twitching like she was deciding how much to give away.

“You asked me that before,” she said finally.

He blinked. “Did I?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well…” He scratched the back of his neck. “You talk like my granny, but you don’t look eighty-six.”

That made her laugh—real and full, spilling out of her like light. She leaned back a little, grinning at him. “Your granny must’ve been sharp.”

“She was,” Ony said, quiet now, surprised at the warmth threading through his chest. He let the silence sit between them again, but it didn’t feel empty — it felt close. And when their eyes met for just a second too long, something shifted.

Not loud. Not sudden. Just… true.

Then nip.

“Agh—damn!” Ony yelped, jerking slightly as Mama, the cat, sunk her teeth gently into his thigh like she’d had enough of the moment.

The girl rolled her eyes. “Mama don’t like when people get too comfortable.”

“She got good timing,” Ony muttered, rubbing his leg and glaring at the cat, who looked smug and settled right back down beside her. “Guess she figured you needed some grounding.”

They both laughed, the weightlifting again, but not gone. Just resting for now. Ony glanced down at the cat, still lounging like she owned the blanket and the girl both. He reached out a slow hand—Mama narrowed her eyes but didn’t move.

“How long you had her?” he asked, voice lower now, thoughtful.

The girl’s fingers slowed around the yarn. “Seven years,” she said, quiet.

He looked up. “That long?”

“She showed up a few hours after my mama passed.” Her voice was steady, but there was something buried in it—like a scar covered by a silk scarf. “Just… appeared on the porch. Sat right at the door like she was waitin’. Like she knew.”

Ony said nothing, only watched her face.

“I like to think she is my mama. In some way,” she went on, threading the needle through the yarn faster now. “Mama always said she’d come back as a black cat. Said it’d suit her. Misunderstood. Proud. Particular. Protective.”

Her lips curved faintly. “And she was all three.” Mama let out a slow purr, as if in agreement.

“I believe that,” Ony murmured.

She looked over at him, brows lifted slightly.

“Why?”

He shrugged, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Just feels true. Like the way certain songs make you cry even if you don’t understand the words.”

She smiled at that, soft, almost grateful.

“You always talk like that?” she teased.

He grinned. “Guess we even now.”

Their laughter faded into the breeze, the knitting needles tapping steady again. Somewhere in all of it, Ony realized — he hadn’t thought about the tightness in his chest for minutes now. Minutes that felt like something more than time.

The wind shifted, sharp and sudden, cutting through the thick afternoon air like a knife dipped in river water. It brushed against Ony’s arms and made the fine hairs on his skin rise. But it wasn’t the cold that made him stiffen.

It was the girl.

She froze. Fingers gone still, the thread limp in her lap. Her body locked up like a porch swing caught mid-sway. Even Mama, curled smug and sleepy just moments ago, lifted her head, ears flicking forward, eyes narrowed at something just beyond the trees.

“You alright?” Ony asked, leaning a little closer, voice hushed like he didn’t want to disturb whatever had just walked through them. She didn’t answer right away. Just blinked like she was trying to remember how. Then nodded slowly, though it didn’t quite reach her shoulders.

“Sometimes the wind don’t come to cool,” she murmured, barely audible. “Sometimes it’s just passin’ through, carryin’ somethin’ behind it.” Ony glanced around, suddenly more aware of how quiet it had gotten. No birds. No rustle of leaves. Just wind and the low hum of something beneath it.

“What’s it carryin’?”

She shook her head. “Don’t know yet. But Mama felt it too.”

The cat was on her feet now, tail low, pressed against the girl's side like she might need to bolt — or block. “You should get home soon,” the girl said gently, but her eyes didn’t meet his. They were somewhere else. “Sun’s not as strong as it looks.”

Ony didn’t move.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered, his voice surer than he felt.

But she just gave a tiny smile, one that didn’t match the new edge in the air. “I’ve walked through worse.”

They stood at the edge of the clearing now, where the trees swallowed the sun in long shadows. Ony hadn’t realized how far they’d wandered — or maybe how far she’d led him. The cat weaved between their ankles, brushing its side against Ony’s boot one last time before settling back by her feet.

He took a step back, not wanting to go, but knowing the air had changed again. “You gon’ tell me your name?”

She paused, gathering up her needles and thread. The question hung in the air like smoke before she finally spoke, voice light but low, like a secret.

“You already know it.”

“I don’t.”

She looked up, lips curving into something half-playful, half-knowing. “Well, that’s what makes it fun.”

He gave her a look, amused and a little flustered. “Alright then… I’m Onyakopon.”

“I know,” she said softly, the smile not leaving her face. He blinked, surprised, then chuckled. “’Course you do.”

Their hands met then — a shake at first, but it lingered. Her hand was soft but firm, warmer than the wind that had just passed.

They didn’t speak as they held it. Just let it stretch, like maybe neither of them was quite ready to leave. Then her fingers curled, just slightly. “Be mindful,” she said, voice almost too quiet for the air. “Of what you carry. Of whom you follow. Everything that feels wrong right now. It's not all in your head.”

Ony’s brows drew together. He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but she was already turning away, Mama trotting ahead like she knew the way. He stood there watching, rooted in place, as the girl moved between the trees, slipping into them like smoke. Her nightgown caught the last bit of light, white and fluttering like wings.

Then she was gone.

Like something holy. Or something beautifully haunting.

By the time Ony reached the porch, the sun was kissing the edge of the horizon, everything soaked in that strange amber glow that made shadows long and soft. His boots thudded against the wooden steps, and the familiar creak under the third board welcomed him home like it always did. Inside, the house was warm and humming with domestic rhythm. Dishes clinked softly, the smell of stewed okra and baked bread thick in the air. His mother stood at the head of the table, her sleeves rolled to the elbow, humming a hymn under her breath as she laid out silverware. Leah was beside her, placing the cornbread down with careful hands over a dishcloth.

They both looked up when he stepped in.

His mother’s eyes lingered. “Told you I’d be back before supper,” Ony said, brushing a hand over his neck, suddenly conscious of how the wind still clung to his shirt, like he’d brought the outside in with him.

"Mm make sure you wash them hands before sittin' at my table." She didn’t say more and went back to setting forks.

Leah’s eyes flickered between the two brothers as Caleb appeared from the back hall, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Ony tensed instinctively, but Caleb didn’t say anything just stared at him for a second too long. The air in the room wasn’t hostile. But it wasn’t settled either. Ony felt it swirl around him, curious and careful, like everyone was waiting for something to crack.

He moved toward the sink to wash his hands, nodding toward his mother as he passed. “Smells good in here, Ma.”

She nodded again, this time more gently, then glanced toward Caleb like she was measuring something unsaid between them.

No one asked where he’d gone.

And he didn’t offer it.

But as he dried his hands and found his usual seat, he thought of her—bare feet in the grass, humming low, thread dancing between her fingers like it had a mind of its own.

The clink of forks against ceramic was the loudest sound at the table. Ma had made stew, rich and spiced, but it tasted like sawdust in Onyakopon’s mouth.

“Had a little heat between you two earlier,” Pa said without looking up, spoon cutting through his bowl. “Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity.”

Ony didn’t look at Caleb, though he felt the verse land like a stone between them. Psalm 1:33, yeah — but it had the weight of Cain and Abel behind it, and they all knew it.

Caleb just scoffed under his breath.

“Yesterday’s service ended early,” Caleb said casually, like a man mentioning the weather. “Soon as that girl came 'long Whole congregation cleared out like they caught the plague.

Ma sneered without missing a beat. “Never met such an unlady-like woman. Wandering about with a devil’s pet, whisperin’ to trees like they whisper back. But Lord knows she can stitch. Shame every thread feel like a curse.”

Ony’s grip tightened around his spoon. He stared down into his stew, letting the broth steam up his face like fog. He didn’t say anything — not about her hands, not about her voice, not about the way she said his name like she’d always known it.

Ony felt a strange ache twist inside him at her words, a pull toward the woman Ma so openly despised. He kept his jaw tight, the silence settling even heavier around the table.

Leah shifted uneasily, but no one else spoke. The candle flickered low, and the weight of unspoken things hung thick between them.

“Boy,” Pa said suddenly, voice firm. “You best get out your head. A man’s got no business sittin’ at his father’s table starin’ off into the dark.”

Ony blinked slowly, but didn’t answer.

“You think you grown? Then act like it. Ain’t no room in this house for cloudy minds and foolish obsessions. You wanna be a man, be one. Handle your kin. Get your head on straight. Get your spirit right.”

Still, Ony didn’t speak — not to him. His eyes stayed low, locked on the chipped edge of his plate. Then, like something creeping up from his chest without permission, his voice slid out low, almost like it didn’t belong to him

“What makes her a bad person for lovin’ trees a lil bit?”

The room froze.

Ma’s hand stilled halfway to her cup. Leah’s fork clinked quietly against her plate. Caleb leaned back slow in his chair, face unreadable. Pa narrowed his eyes. “What you just say?”

“I just mean…” Ony muttered, spearing a piece of fried okra with his fork, “she’s a woman with a pet cat? That knits.” He shrugged like it was nothing, then stuffed the food in his mouth, chewing slow, like he hadn’t just cracked the air in two.

Ma’s eyes narrowed. “That thing ain’t no pet. Strays like that don’t belong in the house of the Lord — or round decent folk like the ones in our community.”

Caleb scoffed under his breath, reaching for his cup. “Ain’t about the cat. It’s the way she carries herself. Like she knowin’ things she ain’t supposed to.”

“That woman ain’t right, Ony,” Pa said, voice low and warning. “Mark my words. Ain’t no good ever come from women who walk like they float and talk like they pray to the moon.”

Ony didn’t respond. Just kept chewing, like maybe the weight of the room couldn’t touch him if he didn’t let it. But his ears were hot, and his throat ached in a way that food couldn’t soothe.

Leah, quiet all this time, finally spoke, voice soft as usual. “She knitted my apron. The one with the sunflowers. It’s… pretty.”

Ma turned sharply. “And you best not wear it again. We don’t know what spirits she stitched into that thread.”

Ony’s silverware scraped the plate a little too loud when he's told up.

“I’ll go wash up,” he mumbled, though his plate wasn’t empty. “Y’all keep on eatin’. Thank you for the dinner mama"

He didn’t wait for permission. Just turned and walked toward the back, the screen door creaking open as he stepped onto the porch, letting the night air slap him clean.

Behind him, the candle flickered.

The back porch creaked under his weight, old wood sighing like it remembered too much. No one came out here anymore — not since Granny passed. Her wicker chair still sat in the corner, covered in a thin film of dust and memories. Ony didn’t sit there. He chose the steps instead, letting the night press in close, heavy and still.

Crickets sang. The wind tugged gently at the trees, and for the first time all day, nobody asked him to be anything. He let his shoulders drop. Let his jaw unclench.

Then came the sound — soft, slow, deliberate.

The screen door moaned open behind him.

He didn’t turn, not at first, until he heard the light step on the porch — and then a bottle clink. He glanced over his shoulder.

Leah stood there, caught like a deer in her round belly stretching the front of her dress. In one hand, a dusty wine bottle; in the other, just shame.

“It won’t hurt the baby,” she said quickly, blinking like she might cry or laugh or both.

Ony raised his eyebrows and looked back out at the dark yard. “I get why you need it,” he said flatly. “Dealin’ with this family’ll make you wanna drink holy water straight from the font.”

That earned him a quiet laugh — small and bitter.

Leah walked over and sat beside him with a sigh, the bottle tucked between her knees. “I ain’t drinkin’ for real. Just wanted to hold it. Make it feel like I had a choice, even if I don’t.”

Ony hummed, a low sound in his throat.

“You and me both.”

They sat in silence for a beat, the air between them not tense, just… lived in.

“You ever think ‘bout just leavin’?” she asked, voice soft, eyes fixed on the dark stretch of trees.

“All the time.”

She nodded like she expected that. “Caleb says I should be grateful. That I’m safe here. That the Lord provided. But safe don’t feel like freedom, does it?”

Ony didn’t answer.

Not out loud and the silence stretched on the kind that didn’t beg to be filled. Just two people watching the dark, pretending the quiet didn’t know all their secrets.

Leah leaned back on her hands, her fingers curling around the edge of the step. “That girl from service yesterday…” she started, voice light but lined with something sharper, “she the reason you were gone all afternoon?”

Ony didn’t look at her. Just let the question hang there in the air between them, weightless and heavy all at once.

Leah smiled to herself, not unkind. “She’s... different. Not like folks around here.”

“She’s just a girl,” Ony said finally, though it didn’t sound convincing. Not even to him.

“A girl with a black cat and a stare like she’s already seen how the world ends,” Leah murmured, like she was thinking more than speaking. “She got the whole town feelin’ itchy and lookin’ for salt.”

Ony gave a faint snort. “You 'fraid of her too?”

“No,” Leah said simply. “But I think you are.”

That made him look at her. Really look.

She met his eyes, steady, too old for her years. “Not ‘cause she’s strange. But ‘cause she see somethin’ in you been tryin’ to bury.”

Ony didn’t respond. Couldn’t, really. His throat felt tight.

“She’s not evil. You’re right bout that part. Just a girl with a heavy hurt, a cat, and a different sense of faith. This town… it’s so close-minded, full of fear. The moment someone different comes along, folks scream ‘Satan’ or worse.”

“We used to be friends,” she said after a pause, like weighing whether to share too much. “Before her pa got caught up in some things. Before he disappeared. She was always so strange. Picking up bugs, talking to the ground, like she’d been here a thousand years instead of thirteen.”

She laughed, a soft, distant sound. “I used to joke she was a grandma reincarnated.”

Ony huffed out a soft laugh but then her smile faded, shadowed by memories. “When her daddy vanished, she was… calm. Like the universe does things for a reason. Said everything done in the dark will come to light.”

Her eyes darkened further. “Her mother got real sick after that. Took her own life.” She flicked squeeze the dusty wine bottle, then leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Your daddy… I think he’s got

something to do with it all.”

Ony’s heart tightened. "How so?"

“She told me once, before her dad disappeared, he was there. And minutes after he left, her mother… she was found splattered all over her bed.” She made a finger-gun motion, sharp and cutting through the heavy air.

Silence fell again, heavy and still.

Then Leah sniffled — barely — and blinked fast. Her voice wavered, thinner now. “You know… she’s the one who told me I was pregnant before I even knew? I really hope this conversation stays between us.”

She paused, swallowing thickly. “Couple months back, when I was real sick and you and Caleb were out runnin’ errands… she came by. Her and that damn cat. I hadn’t seen her since we were fifteen. Daddy forbid me from ever seein’ her again. Said she was a witch. Imagine my shock when she showed up at my doorstep eleven years later — all grown, and God help me, even more beautiful than when we were kids.”

She let out a shaky breath and laughed weakly, rubbing her stomach.

“She put her hands on my belly like she already knew me. Told me I’d be the most wonderful mother. Like she saw it, clear as day.” Her voice cracked. “Knitted me a little hat… and an apron to fit my belly. Softest thing I ever touched. But then she said somethin’ strange. Told me this wasn’t the place to raise a child. Said I should leave.”

Leah’s eyes lifted to his, wet but steady now.

Leah stayed quiet for a moment, her shoulders hunched and small despite the swell of her belly. The bottle hung loosely in her grip, the wine sloshing quietly like it too was listening.

Then, almost like an afterthought—but heavier than anything she’d said before—she murmured, “Something’s eatin’ your Ma, your Pa… even Caleb. They ain’t the same no more, Ony. I can feel it in my bones.”

She stood carefully, steadying herself with the porch railing. Her eyes met his one last time.

“You take care of yourself, Onyakopon. Don’t let ‘em make you blind to what’s right in front of you.”

She handed him the wine bottle, fingers lingering for a moment on his, then let go. Her silhouette disappeared into the dark hallway behind her, door creaking shut behind her like a breath held too long.

The next morning, Ony woke to a scream that didn’t belong to him for once.

It came from the guest room.

Leah had miscarried.

The house felt like it was holding its breath, heavy and suffocating. Caleb paced the worn floorboards, muttering under his breath, his footsteps sharp and uneven. Leah sat still in the corner, her eyes hollow, the light that had shone there just the night before completely gone.

Onyakopon watched them both, the weight of silence pressing down on him. His Ma and Pa were nowhere to be found — the house was emptier than usual, shadows gathering in every corner like unwelcome guests.

Caleb’s voice cracked as he whispered to no one in particular, “This ain’t right… none of it.”

Leah’s fingers trembled in her lap, her breath shallow, as if the air itself had turned to stone.

Onyakopon stepped closer to Leah, voice low but steady.

“I’m sorry, Leah. For everything.”

She gave a weak nod, eyes shimmering with tears but empty of hope. "You got time Ony. Leave before it touches you too"

Caleb’s pacing stopped abruptly, his shoulders stiffening like a coil about to snap. He glared at Ony, voice rough and sudden.

The house felt like it was holding its breath, thick with tension that clung to the walls like humidity before a storm. Caleb paced the floor in crooked lines, muttering beneath his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Leah sat on the edge of the couch like her soul had drained out in her sleep, her eyes puffy and distant. She hadn’t spoken more than a whisper since the scream.

Onyakopon stood in the doorway, watching. His parents were nowhere in sight. The house was too still. Wrong.

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ to start a fire,” Ony said gently, “but you need to sit, Caleb. You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor.”

Caleb’s steps stopped abruptly. He turned slow, like a puppet pulled too tight on its strings.

“Oh, now you care?” he said, voice dry and full of heat. “Now you got concern?”

Ony blinked. “I’ve always cared.”

“No, you don’t. You stand around lookin’ like you see through everybody, like none of this is real to you. Like we’re fools for tryin’ to build a damn life here.”

Ony’s jaw tightened. “That ain’t fair.”

“Oh, but it’s true,” Caleb spat. “You think I forgot what you said a while back? ‘A wife and baby won’t fix nothin’? You said that. You looked me dead in the eye and said that. Like all this… like Leah—”

His voice cracked. “—like the baby didn’t matter.”

Ony’s voice was low. “I never said they didn’t matter. I said it won’t fix what’s wrong with this place. This town. You know that better than anyone, Caleb.”

“No. What I know is, you mocked me. You sat at that table with your silence and your damn half-smiles and judged me. You think you’re better than me.”

“I don’t—”

Caleb stepped forward, eyes wide, glassy, something off inside them now. “You don’t? Say it with your tongue then. Look me in the face and tell me I’m not a fool for wantin’ more.”

Leah stirred, voice soft. “Caleb—”

“Don’t,” Caleb snapped without looking at her.

Ony held his ground. “You ain’t a fool, Caleb. But you’re acting like one now. You’re hurt, and I get it. But don’t come at me like I put that pain in you.”

“You put the doubt in me!” Caleb roared.

“You were the voice in the back of my head every damn day since she told me she was pregnant. And now look! Gone. Just like everything else in this cursed house.”

There was a beat — the kind of silence that comes before something breaks.

Then Caleb lunged.

The scuffle was quick but violent — desperation making up for lack of form. Ony tried to hold him off, but Caleb fought like he wanted to draw blood, like if he hurt someone else maybe the ache inside him would let up.

Leah shouted, trying to reach them, tears running down her face. “Stop it! Stop!”

Ony finally shoved Caleb back, hard enough to knock him into the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Caleb’s chest heaved. His eyes were wrong not just angry, but dark, as if something else had stepped into him. Something watching through his face.

“You mocked me,” he said again, quieter now. “You cursed me with your mouth. You always did.”

Ony stepped back, heart pounding. “I ain’t cursed you. This place did.”

Leah stood between them, shaking, one hand stretched out like she was trying to keep them both from falling off a cliff.

“Please, Ony,” she whispered. “Just go."

He didn’t want to. He wanted to fix it — to fix him. But he saw the look in her eyes. That pleading. That fear.

So he turned and walked out the front door.

And behind him, the house groaned.

The air outside slapped his skin like cold judgment. Onyakopon didn’t know when his feet hit the porch or when the front gate swung open — he only remembered the crunch of gravel under his boots and the warm sting of blood trailing down from his eyebrow. His lip was split, throbbing with each breath. The fight with Caleb replayed in flashes behind his eyes, quick and jagged like broken glass.

He kept running.

Not because he was afraid of Caleb, but because he was afraid of what he saw in Caleb.

The sky above had gone dull and gray, not quite evening but no longer day. Birds had gone quiet. The cicadas, too. All that remained was the pounding in his ears and the sharp inhale-exhale of lungs trying to keep up.

He didn’t even realize where he was until his knees buckled beneath him, and he hit the soft grass with a grunt. Hands splayed wide, he pressed his back to the earth, letting the air wrap around him. He was in the clearing.

The tall reeds swayed around him like ghosts with no mouths, whispering only through movement. And the sky above looked... too wide. Too still.

He lay there, panting. Sweat mixed with blood. His chest rose and fell like he’d outrun death itself.

And maybe he had.

Or maybe he’d run straight into it.

His chest rose and fell like a storm settling into silence. The sky above blurred, hazy from tears he didn’t know he’d let fall. Grass pressed cool and damp against the back of his neck. His lip stung, and his brow pulsed where Caleb’s fist had landed. Blood still crusted warm at the corner of his mouth.

He closed his eyes. Just for a second.

When he opened them—

She was there.

Standing over him like a painting left out in the rain. Skirt brushing the wild grass, curls coiled like shadows catching sunlight, eyes so ancient and wide they swallowed the sky behind her. Her face was soft, full of moonlight and mourning. The kind of beautiful that didn’t beg to be noticed — it just was, like wind or thunder. There was dirt on her hem, leaves tangled in her sleeves like she’d risen straight from the woods, or maybe the earth itself. Her cat, that little ghost pressed against her ankles, then padded forward, tail flicking, and nipped at Ony’s fingers with a quiet warning.

He flinched and blinked like he might still be dreaming.

“You,” he whispered.

“I always come when the house sends you away,” she said simply.

She knelt beside him, hand grazing the grass just beside his temple, never touching just near enough to feel the air between them hum.

“You’re hurt again, physically this time”

“Didn’t come here on purpose.”

“I know,” she said. “But your blood always finds its way back to me.”

The cat settled between them, purring low, eyes unblinking like it knew all the secrets neither of them could say. Onyakopon studied her — the way her presence dulled the pain just by existing, the way her eyes never flickered with fear. He wanted to say something. Apologize for the world. Ask how she knew so much. Ask how she still smiled like hope hadn’t died with the rest of this town’s soul.

Instead, he asked, “You always show up like this?”

She shrugged, curls bouncing lightly.

“Maybe I’m your guardian angel,” she said, and for a second, he thought she might mean it.

Then, her voice dropped to something softer, sadder.

“Or maybe I just know what it’s like to get pushed out by people who pretend they love you.”

She stood again without a word, brushing dirt from her skirt like it was nothing new, like she’d done this a hundred times before. The cat circled his shoulder once, then darted ahead into the trees.

“You comin’?” she asked over her shoulder, already turning.

Onyakopon hesitated. He should’ve gone back home. Should’ve checked on Leah. Should’ve tried, one more time, to reach the brother that looked at him like a stranger now.

But instead, he pushed himself off the ground, every bruise and scrape a sharp reminder of what waiting there would cost.

He followed her.

They moved through the woods like ghosts her steps barely stirring the leaves, him limping just behind. The path wasn’t marked, but she never second-guessed her turns. Like the forest knew her. Or she knew it.

A weather-worn cottage appeared just beyond a thick grove of oaks, roof sagging under moss and time. Wind chimes made of bones and rusted spoons tinkled faintly from the porch. A line of herbs dried beneath the windows, and a narrow chimney puffed with gentle smoke.

“Don’t mind the mess,” she murmured, holding the door open.

Inside, it smelled of lavender, ash, and something green not rot, not decay, but age. Lived-in. Safe.

He stepped in, and the warmth hit him like a balm. The fire crackled. The cat disappeared somewhere deeper in the house. She gestured toward an old kitchen chair.

“Sit.”

He obeyed.

She moved through the space like she belonged in every shadow of it. Wet a cloth, brought over an old metal tin, crouched before him like he was something precious.

She wiped his lip first, gentle, patient. Then his brow.

“You bruise easy,” she said, voice nearly teasing.

“You always nurse people back to life in the woods?”

“Just you.”

He didn’t ask why. He just watched her, close now the fine lines in her expression, the way she focused like this mattered, like he mattered. Her touch was warm, but her eyes. . . her eyes were still carrying something ancient.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

She didn’t respond right away. Just dabbed at the last of the blood, then looked up at him, expression unreadable.

“Next time,” she said softly, “don’t wait ‘til the world breaks your face to come find me again. Too handsome for all these and bruises."

Her fingers lingered on his chin, gentle, almost tender. He caught the faint scent of lavender and honey on her skin and felt heat rise in his cheeks. His eyes flickered down to his lap, suddenly shy under her steady gaze.

For a long moment, they just stayed like that close enough to feel the warmth of each other’s breath, the unspoken words hanging in the air. The cat nipped playfully at his fingers, breaking the spell, but even then, her smile held a softness that made his heart tighten.

"You hungry?"

He smiled softly meeting her eyes again, " I could eat."

She chuckled, the sound light and unexpected in the heavy silence. “Good. I don’t do fancy, but I can fix you something real.”

She stood and moved toward the small kitchen, the cat padding behind her like a loyal shadow. Ony followed slowly, still feeling the strange comfort of her presence like the world had shifted just enough to let a little light in.

352 notes · View notes

swytdoll · 6 months ago

Text

nsfw + fluff! in which he’s whipped ♡︎

sweetheart!reiner who despite his demanding role as a firefighter, always finds time to prepare heart-shaped pancakes for you on his days off. rising early, he meticulously mixes the batter and pours it into the pan with the same precision he applies to his work. the kitchen becomes infused with a delightful aroma as he flips each pancake, a gentle smile on his face, fully aware of the significance these small acts of affection hold for you. even amidst his numerous responsibilities, he consistently seizes the opportunity to express his love through these simple yet profoundly meaningful gestures.

sweetheart!reiner who is incredibly clingy, always craving the warmth of your skin. whether it’s his hand resting on your thigh or his head nestled against your shoulder while he casually browses recipes to cook for you, he just has to be in contact with his beautiful girl. if you try to nudge his sleeping form away, he’ll complain, insisting he’s not asleep as he wraps his strong, tattooed arms around you, pulling you back into his sturdy embrace. his touch is a constant source of comfort, a tangible expression of his love. even in the dead of night, if you attempt to move away, he instinctively tightens his hold, softly murmuring sleepily that he needs you close.

sweetheart!reiner who always has daily baby fever, it’s truly a sight to see. he can't help but rub your tummy, whispering about how eager he is to watch it swell and grow with the life you two will create together. shopping with him is a challenge, to say the least. he constantly picks up baby clothes, holding them up with a sparkle in his eyes as he imagines your future child wearing them. you can almost predict his words before he speaks: “we could start tonight.” he’ll lift the tiniest onesies, his fingers gliding over the soft fabric as he dreams of the little one who will eventually wear them.

sweetheart!reiner who doesn’t get invited out by the boys anymore to drink. it’s always the same story: a few drinks in, and reiner’s eyes glaze over with that familiar lovesick look. he’ll start with how amazing you are, describing every little thing he adores about you with a goofy grin plastered on his face. eren, connie and jean roll their eyes, knowing exactly where the conversation is heading. “my wife is sooo pretty, and she has the best pus—“ just as he’s about to launch into another explicit detail, eren’s quick to intervene, clamping a hand over reiner’s mouth to save everyone from another round of tmi.

sweetheart!reiner who loves asking about your day, always so attentive. hands palming your feet as you two sit on opposite ends of the freestanding bathtub, he’ll watch intently as you talk, his eyes never leaving your face. the warm water surrounds you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy. occasionally, he’ll press a kiss against your foot, his lips soft and tender against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. his fingers work gently, massaging away the stress of the day as he listens, genuinely interested in every detail you share. the candlelight flickers, casting a warm glow on his face, highlighting the love and adoration in his eyes.

sweetheart!reiner, who’s anything but a sweetheart as you ride his dick in the bath.

giant muscles wrap around your frame, keeping you safe as his hands wander, stroking over your sides, your hips, the tops of your thighs. his dick is big, so big it takes your breath away and leaves you reeling. you know that if it wasn't for the gentle grip of your husband, you'd be bouncing. his cock is a solid pillar that's rubbing your velvety insides, pressing against all the good spots as you're forced to take him. it's a tight squeeze. a snug fit. a perfect, sinful pleasure.

his hips lift, pushing up and in, the water making you both weightless. the sensation is almost too much and you cling to his chest, moaning out your pleasure as the pace becomes brutal. the slap of skin against skin is barely audible over the rush of water in the tub, but the feel of it is there. it's a slight sting, a delicious ache that you can't get enough of.

"you're doing so well, honey," he tells you, voice a soft purr. "takin’ me so well."

you can only moan, eyes shut as you're overcome with sensation. the stretch, the feel of his dick inside you, his hands holding you. the press of his mouth against yours as he steals your breath. he's all you can see, all you can feel, all you can think about. he’s so pretty, thick eyebrows furrowed, blonde hair clinging to his forehead. you can see every freckle and scar on his body, from the one just under his eye, to the one just below his clavicle. you're mesmerized by him.

he's not even panting, not like you are, and that makes it all the more thrilling. his voice is calm and steady as he says, "squeezing me so tight, you close already baby?” you don’t need to answer, your body giving him the answer. you're shaking, gasping, your nails biting into his skin. he just keeps smiling at you, that sweet, lazy smile of his that you love so much.

"then let's make you feel good, hm?"

and then his arms are gone from around you and his hips are moving faster, harder, driving himself deep. you're helpless to him, a rag doll as he uses your body to find his pleasure. there's no mercy as his fingers dig into your hips, holding you still as his hips snap up and down. it's a blur of sensation. it's almost painful how hard he's taking you, but there's no way you're telling him to stop. no way.

the sounds coming from you are obscene, whorish, but there's nothing you can do. you can't help but scream his name, begging him to go harder, faster. to never stop. he does as he's told. his mouth is on yours, stealing the last of your breath away. "such a good girl," he purrs against your lips. "such a good girl for me. come on, now, give me what i want."

"r-rei, oh my god!" you're helpless. powerless. at his mercy as your body gives him exactly what he's asking for. "there you go, baby. just like that," he says as he continues to pound into you. he's not done. you can't come again. you're going to die. "one more time."

"i-i can't-"

"sure you can. don't make me beg."

"i-i can't, fuck-"

his voice drops low, dangerous. "then i'll keep fucking you until you can. you'll be my cocksleeve if that's what i have to do." oh god, oh fuck, yes, please. he does. he keeps fucking you until you're seeing stars. he fucks you until you can't breathe, until your whole body is shaking and jerking with the force of his thrusts.

when he's finally done, when the aftershocks have stopped and the mess has been cleaned, the two of you end up in the bed. reiner’s casually laid between your thighs, reading a novel, humming as you wrap golden strands around your fingers. the silence is comforting, the sound of him turning pages nice. it's peaceful.

you sigh, closing your eyes. you don't even notice when he stops reading. "hey," he murmurs, voice low and rumbling. "i love you." and that's how you end up making love on the floor.

sweetheart!reiner who cried into your chest when you presented the positive pregnancy test weeks later.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ dedicated to @wintrrxxo

#valᥫ᭡.#aot x black reader #aot x reader #aot x black y/n #aot x poc!reader #aot x y/n #reiner x black reader #reiner braun #reiner x reader #reiner x you #aot reiner #reiner x y/n #reiner smut #reiner snk #anime x black!reader #anime x y/n #aot smut #anime x reader #anime smut

981 notes · View notes

nanamincreampie · 25 days ago

Text

Sweetheart, You Dripped on the Carpet

Context: Your husband comes home after a long day of “work” to find you standing in the living room in nothing but a blood-splattered plastic apron. You’re completely naked underneath, your body on full display, plush, warm, and slick with crimson. A corpse lies at your feet, but he only has eyes for you.

Content Warnings: Murder & blood, dead body in scene, nudity & implied sexual content, blood kink themes, Serial killer romance, Dark humor, 18+ MDNI

The sun was long gone by the time he pulled into the driveway. Its pale light had bled out across the horizon hours ago, leaving behind a lazy half-moon and the hum of suburban silence. The porch light was off, which was unusual. She usually left it on for him, even though they both knew shadows suited them better.

He stepped out of the car, locking it with a lazy flick of his wrist. His shoulders ached. The body from earlier had taken longer to dismember than expected. Bone saws were efficient, but messy. The client would be pleased, though. He always left things clean.

His boots thudded up the front steps. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and—

The scent hit first.

Metallic. Sharp. Fresh.

Not his kill.

He paused, nose twitching. His eyes narrowed slightly, but his body didn’t tense. Not quite. Instead, a slow smile curled the corner of his lips.

She’d been busy.

The living room was dim, lit only by the flickering amber glow of a corner lamp. Shadows stretched long and thin across the room, and at the center of it, barefoot, blood-soaked, and radiant, stood his wife.

She was calm, like she had all the time in the world. One hip jutted out with a relaxed defiance, a butcher’s knife dangling from one hand, tip still dripping. Her natural coils were puffed into a soft halo on top of her head, untouched by the violence splattered across the rest of her body.

And she wore nothing… nothing but a clear plastic apron.

The thing clung to her body, smeared with blood, fogged in places from heat, and sticking in streaks to her thick, plush frame. Her belly peeked from behind it, round and soft. Her breasts, full and heavy, pressed against the plastic, nipples dark and visible through the red-slick transparency.

His gaze dipped lower.

The apron ended just below her hips, and through the glossy, blood-speckled sheet, he could see the curve of her bare pussy, plump lips glistening, slightly parted from the warmth still rolling off her skin. No panties. No modesty.

Just his wife, naked and coated in crimson, standing over a body like a vision from a dream only a monster like him could conjure.

She blinked at him.

Wide brown eyes. Calm. Sweet.

Like she hadn’t just gutted someone in the living room.

Like she was waiting for him to ask how her day went.

“Hi, baby,” she said softly, voice honey-sweet, head tilted just a little to the side.

He stared. Then slowly, he shut the door behind him.

And he got hard, instantly.

Simon Riley, Sukuna Ryomen, Geto Suguru, Reiner Braun, Ghost face,Miguel O'hara

363 notes · View notes

cottonconnielvr · 2 years ago

Text

laying on reiner’s chest just sobbing as he fingers you so harddd :(( he’s pressing kisses to your forehead, muttering little “i know’s” to you in the most soothing voice. he thinks it’s so cute how youre searching for comfort in the person who’s disrupting it. your tears wet his shirt and your arms are pinned to your back by one of reiner’s beefy arms. he’s pressing you so hard against him, easing your squirming. his fingers constantly press at your cervix, reaching deeper than you ever could. the stretch hurts to bad but feels so good. your clit bumps against reiner’s hip. you can feel everything and nothing all at once, your mind going so hazy you can’t even see straight. you’re just sobbing n droolin alll over his chest, letting reiner do whatever he wants to you.

#my honey sugar bear #he’s so hubby #and babygirl #reiner braun x reader #reiner x y/n #reiner x reader #attack on titan reiner #aot reiner #reiner braun x you #reiner braun #reiner brainrot #reiner smut #snk reiner #aot x black reader #aot smut #aot headcanons #aot x you #aot x reader #x black reader

5K notes · View notes

kamospeach · 4 months ago

Text

plot: country!reiner meets a cute little slut at his lake house party :P

content warning: nothin really

peachy's yap: something about reiner with an accent sits SO right with me. if you remember he made a lil cameo in the plug!ony fic :3 part 2 coming soon

was this a waste of your day off, which you rarely get? yes, absolutely. did you care though? no not one bit. if you did, you wouldn't be leaning on suguru geto's arm, having your feet in armin's lap, or making sanji run back and forth to get you food and drinks to proclaim his love for you.

so to say the least, you were having fun. you weren't thinking about much either. you sat watching people jump in the lake or run around the house. although you had no idea whose house this was, you were sure splurging.

food, drinks, snacks, water, even using the bathroom to fix up your makeup. but while you sat and enjoyed your time, your eyes caught the most amazing sight. a guy. yea, it's true, any guy really caught your attention, but this one was different.

he was tall, blond, buff, but his stomach had a pudge. happy trail peaking out through his swim trunks as he walked toward where you sat. he slicked his wet hair back as he began talking to eren.

your eyes never left him as you watched his every move. seeing him grab a towel, the way the veins in his arms protruded as he wiped his face. you watched as he threw the towel over his shoulder, going to the grill.

suguru watched as your eyes stayed trained onto him, laughing to himself. you turned to look at, questioning what was so funny. only for suguru to clear his throat, giving you a scare. he laughed, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"like what you see?" he asked, and you nodded, eyes still trained on the blonde. you wanted to get up and go talk to him, but you were drunk enough.

even though you wanted to wait until you were as drunk as possible, it didn't matter because suguru had other plans.

"reiner!" he yelled, waving this so-called reiner over. you quickly took your feet off of armin's lap, sitting up like a respectable young woman. of course, reiner seen you trying extra hard, but he thought it was cute.

"geto, how ya' been?" he asked, holding his hand out to firmly shake suguru's hand. although your eyes were trained on the very visible veins in his arm, your mind was trained on his southern accent. mixed with the deep raspiness of his voice was like heaven on earth.

"man, i told you, you can call me suguru." he laughed, and reiner shrugged that's just how his momma raised him.

"jus' how i was raised, it'sa habit." he laughed, eyes trailing over to you. "who's the pretty lady?" the subtle compliment causing your face to run hot. you looked at suguru hoping he'd introduce you, but he looked back at you.

"i'm y/n." you introduce yourself reaching out for his hand. he wasted no time taking your smaller hands in his insanely big calloused ones.

"nice to meet ya, y/n, i'm reiner, welcome to my house." he greeted you, and your eyes practically popped out of your head. this big lake house belonged to this man?

"thank you for having me," you smiled and he laughed, letting go of your hand to get back to grilling. you turned to look at suguru, who gave you a lazy wave. "what?"

"that's the best you could do? i thought you wanted him," he asked, and you scoffed, he knew you could get what you wanted from him. but because you decided to turn over a new leaf (getting to know the man before giving it up) he wanted to tempt you.

"i could sleep with him if i wanted but i really want to get to know him." you protested, and suguru shrugged. you could admit that suguru wasn't the best influence, and you let yourself be swayed by his taunting.

building the courage to go stand next to reiner by the grill. a blended drink in your hand that you sipped on seductively, looking up at him through your lashes. you both small-talked until you decided you’d let him finish what he was doing. once he took all the meat off the girl and wiped the sweat off his forehead, he turned his attention to you.

"m'sorry sweetheart i had to finish that 'fore i got too tired." he chuckled and your eyes practically had heart eyes hearing the way the pet name rolled off his tongue like honey. "what were ya sayin'?"

"oh, i was asking how old you were," you repeated as the two of you sat on a small bench. he leaned back, placing his right leg on his left knee, throwing his arm on the back of the chair behind you.

"26 you?" he returned the question, looking you up and down. to you, it looks like he was assessing your age for himself, but reiner was definitely checking you out.

he admired your white french tips and your diamond-studded anklet. moving his sight to your shorts that left nothing to the imagination and the skimpy bikini top that showed off your sternum tattoo.

"i'm 22," you tell him, of course not really interested in the small talk anymore. the more you looked at the shirtless man beside you, the less restraint you had. "it's getting late, won't you get cold?"

"yeah probably..." he hummed pulling out a fresh toothpick from his pocket. you watched as he peeled the plastic wrapper before placing the toothpick in his mouth. your eyes were trained on him and he knew it.

his southern hospitality wouldn't allow him to act on what he was thinking. but it definitely didn't stop the rising tent in his pants. something that you didn't notice, and he really didn't care if you saw.

"maybe we should go inside then," you advised, and reiner already knew where this was going. he wanted it just as bad as you did, and you asking to go inside while everyone else was outside was the greenlight he needed.

"we can go ta my room if ya want," he added, acting innocent as if he didn't really know what he was asking you. you being oblivious to the game he was playing agreed. you thought you had this poor man wrapped around your finger. when in reality he was matching the energy you were giving.

"sure!" you said happily giving him an innocent smile. luckily for you, there were only about 5 people in the house. so walking past them to go upstairs wasn't as awkward as you expected.

when you both made it to his room, and initially you weren't planning to look around. but when you see a bunch of pictures of reiner as a kid. some as a baby, some as a young kid with soccer gear holding a trophy.

"aww, you played soccer?" you asked, walking over to his desk, bending down to look at the photo. "even got a lil trophy," you smiled, and reiner scoffed.

"didn't hafta do much, it was a participation trophy. i was ass." he laughed scratching the back of his neck. he was a bit embarrassed to admit it but your smile looking back at him made him feel better.

"at least you were a cute kid." you cooed but it turned in a gasp when you felt reiner press his hardon against your ass.

"am i cute to ya now?" he asked, leaning forward to whisper in your ear. the hairs on the back of your neck were standing up and a chill ran up your spine. the accent made it worse, turning you on even more.

"yeah, you're just my type." that was the last thing you remembered saying before reiner picked you up and threw you on the bed.

287 notes · View notes

nova2kss · 1 year ago

Text

Influencer island

“GOOD MORNINGGG AMERICAAAAA”

“I’m your host Yanna Bailey to Influncer Island. It’s new, it’s hot, it’s dramatic, and it’s your new obsession!”

“We’re bringing all of your fav influencers and Internet personalities across the country for a steamy hot adventure”

“You all know them”

“And you all love them”

“I have hand picked these hotties myself…some ofc more known than others none the less they are all wild and ready to come in swinging!”

“Before I introduce you to the men that will participate in influencer island I think it’s fair that I give you a run down of what this show will look like!”

“These 16 hotties will come in ready to pick some partners and participate in challenges”

“Each pair will receive points based off of where they place on the board and based off votes from the viewers aka you guys”

“At the end of each episode there will be a poll placed for voting”

“You guys will be able too vote who should stay, go, and receive a punishment, or a hot date”

“With that being said let’s introduce the men of INFLUENCER ISLAND.

“Coming in first we have the famous polo boy himself”

“Armin Arlert”!

“He’s best known on instagram for being the cute polo soft boy model as stated in his bio, the internet has named him the number 1 golden retriever baby and I couldn’t agree more!”

“Armin is such a sweet heart and I know he can’t wait to be here….but with him being a sweetie pie…will he be able to hang and get wild with the rest of the contestants?”

“Especially this chipped tooth, beer drinking, horse riding, dirty country boy gone viral”

“Reiner Braun”!!

“This big beefy boy best known on that clock app has gone viral for bringing his southern ways onto the app, Reiner caught the attention of many wild men and sexy ladies and was requested by the merrier”

“Currently living in Mississippi but we all know he’s a real south Floridian gator wrestling boy. He’s the perfect match for this cast”

“Next up we got this black cat clothing owner bertoldt hoover!!”

“Best known for his brand flontae clothing and getting hella wild on them boats, don’t let the pretty eyes fool you this city boy knows how to party”

“Kristen made that cast Okay!”

“Y’all know him cause he definitely produced your favorite songs”

“He’s worked with Nicki Minaj, lil Wayne, drake, lil durk, Kanye west, and so many more”

“However when he’s not in that Stu making beats he’s out hosting the biggest parties and filming it all letting us know he was a perfect candidate for this cast!”

“This hot head was requested by the executive producer herself, we’ve seen him whoop ass in that underground ring, we’ve seen him getting wild in the streets, we’ve seen him catchin ass on twt and we wanna see MOREEE!!”

“Everyone love porco”

“But I don’t think as much as y’all love this sexy stoner”

“Constance springer the man that you are”

“He’s 6’0 tatted like a chipotle bag and he is the life of the party! This skater boy most known on TikTok and YouTube is definitely influential and definitely deserves his spot here

“As stated himself he is a fine chocolate sexy black man”

“Get this! He’s also a brand ambassador for flontae clothing who would’ve known”

“Onyankapon, such a pretty name for a pretty boy.”

“We don’t know how wild ony gets and that’s why he was picked cause the whole world wants to see, he’s seen as someone who doesn’t do much. But I’m willing to bet as soon as he steps foot on this sand that will change.”

“And last but certainly not least”.

“Eren Yeager.”

“Or jaeger”

“Regardless this man dose not need an intro at all, you’ve seen him right with Beyoncé on her ivy park campaign”

“You’ve seen him on the front page of Louis Vuitton”

“You all love him and rightfully so he is something else sporting that black motorcycle when he’s not doing them photo shoots”

“You see these men? These are who are gonna be across your screens in the next few weeks!! Now just imagine the women.”

“On the next preview we will be introducing your favorite wild ladies! It’s your host Yanna Bailey signing out!”

How do you guys feel?😁

(Not proofread)

559 notes · View notes

blond3ang3l · 1 year ago

Text

“Fuckk baby that’s it. Keep throwing that shit back.�� REINER groaned in your ear. He was harshly gripping your waist, watching the way your ass jiggled as it crashed against his pelvis. “Rei- ngh! Can’t. Can’t take anymore.” His rough voiced bounced off the walls as he chuckled. Mocking the way your moans sounded while your under him. “Oh poor baby. Can’t take it huh? Thought you wanted to make daddy happy? You’re being such a crybaby right now.” You let out a yelp when his large and hairy arm wrapped around your neck, pinning your back against his chest. “It’s okay though doll. Daddy’s gonna teach you how to behave real soon.”

UGH I LOVE REINER SM YALL

1K notes · View notes

grimesproperty · 2 months ago

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

— CONNIE SPRINGER X READER —

Where your friendship seems beyond complicated to Connie— or maybe to you as well.

cw: nsfw

—

It started with a stupid game of Never Have I Ever.

The cheap tequila burned down your throat as you glanced across the circle at Connie, legs spread, back against the couch, wearing that smug little smirk that always made your stomach twist. With His Eyebrow piercing on his left eyebrow — making him look even more attractive with his all black outfit.

“Never have I ever,” Sasha said, holding up her fingers dramatically, “had a sex dream about someone in this room.”

The group howled, naturally.

You tried to laugh it off. Tried not to flinch.

Connie didn’t drink.

But he didn’t laugh either.

You caught his eye for half a second. His tongue swept over his bottom lip. Then he looked away.

Your skin prickled.

He never looked away from you.

That was the shift. Subtle, but seismic.

—

Two hours later, the party was winding down. Music low, people filing out, your dorm room left with only a few stragglers— Sasha, Jean, and Reiner.

Who ended up finally leaving after their almost 40-minute debate on which ramen spot is superior.

You said your goodbyes and made your way back to your bed. Connie was on your bed.

Same setup as always.

Except tonight, everything felt off.

His knee was brushing yours under the blanket you both shared. Your legs were tangled in ways they hadn’t been before. Close. Warm. Dangerous.

You tried to focus on the movie playing. Tried to ignore how his fingers kept twitching against his thigh like he wanted to reach for you.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

The silence stretched.

“Hey,” he finally murmured, voice low and rough. “Can I ask you something?”

Your breath hitched. “Yeah?”

He leaned in just a little. Close enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne. “That sex dream thing… earlier. Was that about me?”

Your heart slammed in your chest.

Your throat went dry. “What if it was?”

Connie didn’t laugh.

He didn’t smirk.

He just stared at you like you were a puzzle he’d almost figured out.

Then his voice dropped. “You wanna know the truth?”

You nodded.

His lips barely brushed yours when he said it.

“I’ve had dreams about you too.”

Your breath caught. “Connie…”

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

Instead, your hand found his jaw and guided him into the kiss you’d been aching for since sophomore year.

It wasn’t gentle. It was slow but starving. Like he’d been holding back for too long and didn’t know how to be careful anymore.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he was afraid this would be the only time.

His tongue slid past your lips when you moaned—soft, surprised—into his mouth. And then it was heat. Hands in your hair, your back hitting the mattress, the weight of him pressing against you in all the right ways.

You gasped into his mouth. “This isn’t just—this isn’t just—”

“Casual?” he breathed, forehead against yours, grinding his hips down just enough to make you whimper. “Nah. It’s never been casual with you.”

Your fingers slid under his hoodie, feeling the heat of his skin, the slope of muscle, the flutter of nerves in his stomach.

He sucked in a breath. “Fuck. I’ve wanted you for so long, you don’t even know.”

“Then show me,” you whispered, tugging his hoodie up and over his head.

He did.

Carefully. Reverently.

With fingers that traced over every inch of skin like he was memorizing the map of you. With lips that kissed down your neck, your collarbone, your stomach—like he needed to taste the way you sighed his name.

He undressed you slowly, checking your eyes, your breath, your reactions with every piece that came off. Like he wasn’t just desperate—he was in awe.

“God,” he murmured, voice cracking when he saw all of you. “You’re so—fucking perfect.”

You arched up against him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Connie's hands roamed your body, and you could feel his hot breath on your neck.

"You drive me crazy," he whispered in your ear as he started to undo the buttons on your jeans. His fingers were trembling slightly as he slowly exposed more and more of your skin to him.

"I can't get enough of you," he continued, his lips grazing your neck now as he leaned down over you.

He kissed your neck, then your collarbone, then your chest. He could feel your heart racing beneath his touch, and it only made him want you more. "I need you," he said, his voice rough with desire. "I need you so badly."

"I need you...I want you to make me feel good," you say to him as you look up at him with a desperate look in your eyes, wanting more, wanting more of his touch.

Connie's eyes darkened with hunger at your words, and he shifted his body to press himself against you.

"Oh, you have no idea just how good I'm going to make you feel," he promised, his lips trailing down your body, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake.

His hands moved down to your hips, his grip firm as he lifted you slightly, positioning himself between your legs.

"You want me down there, mama?" he asked, his eyes locking onto yours. "Please...Connie," you said, bucking your hips slightly. Connie smirked at your eager response, clearly amused.

He knew exactly what you wanted, and he was happy to give it to you.

"So impatient," he teased, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "You want me that bad, huh?"

"Don't be a tease, Connie..." you said as you watched him chuckle at your demand, but he could see the need in your eyes growing stronger. "You're right," he said, his voice low. "I don't want to tease you any longer."

He shifted his body again, positioning his face between your legs just as you'd hoped.

He could feel the heat coming off of you, and he couldn't help but lick his lips in anticipation, looking up at the sight of you all laid up in front of him-- just where he wanted you.

All pretty and looking so pretty and delectable, open and ready to cater to his whims.

He wanted to make you feel good, to satisfy all of your needs. "I'm here to please you," he said, his breath hot against your skin. "Just tell me what you want."

"I want your face down there, Connie, please," you said to him as you ran your hands through his hair. Connie grinned, clearly enjoying your pleading, but he couldn't resist giving you what you wanted.

"Well, how could I say no to that?" he said, his voice low and rough. With that, he leaned down and began to kiss and bite between your inner thighs.

He could feel your body responding to his touch, and it only made him want to tease you more. He continued to kiss and nibble his way upwards, his tongue darting out to tease you, but never quite giving you what you wanted.

"You taste so good," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "I could do this all day."

He could feel your hands gripping the sheets, and he knew you were getting impatient. He wanted to torture you a little longer, but he also wanted to give you the release you so desperately craved. "You're so beautiful like this," he said, his lips trailing up to your stomach. "So needy and begging for me."

Connie chuckled at your pleading, but he could tell you were at your limit. He loved seeing you like this, begging for his touch, but he didn't want to make you wait any longer. For what you deserved.

"Alright, baby," he said, his voice low and husky. "I'll give you what you want." He shifted his body again, positioning his face between your legs once more. This time, he didn't waste any time.

Your body twitches when you feels his fingers ghost over your throbbing cunt, light touches making you yearn for something you hasn't felt in what feels like in forever.

He kisses down your thighs and towards your pussy, pausing when he finally reaches.

Connie looks up at you for one last approval and when you scoots your hips closer towards him with the cutest whimper, he dips his head down between your legs and presses the slowest kisses on your clit.

The way you gasp makes him smirk. He wonders how you will sound when he uses his tongue.

You feels the flat of his hot tongue dip between your soaked folds, pushing its way up your slit and finding your clit. You sit up on your elbows, brows furrowing in pleasure as Connie wraps his arms around your thighs, holding your hips in place.

He moans against you, pulling you closer to him as he starves for more of your taste.

He flicks his tongue across your clit, his chin coated in your juices before he moves his tongue lower, tongue fucking you. You bite down on your plump lower lip, quietly moaning while his eyes watch your every movement, like he is studying you.

Every small movement he makes with His tongue slithers back to your clit, circling it before he gently sucks on it. "Holy, fuck," you say letting out a loud gasp, your hand instinctively reaching through his gray short-buzzed hair.

He lifts his head, licking his lips so as to not waste any drop of you. "Want my fingers, baby?" His voice is gentle, with a sense of security in it. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to."

The pad of his thumb rubs your clit in circles, his other hand caresses your thigh. "I wanna get you ready for me before I fuck you,"

You nod slowly, "Okay," you meekly say. Connie wraps his arms around your waist, hoisting your leg around him. He pushes his finger past your folds, feeling your walls clench around him as he goes inch by inch.

"Mmm." your eyes screw shut as you cling to his broad shoulders, feeling the stretch. He finally gets it all the way through, and you are panting, clawing at his skin.

He pulls his hand back and pushes his finger back in, slightly gaining in speed. You can't seem to look away from him, melting into his touch, feeling your body accept him just like you wanted this entire time.

He presses his forehead against yours, bodies pressed up against one another as you fight back the urge to kiss him until you are breathless. You start rocking your hips into his hand, following his movements.

"Want more?" you let out in a whimper, nodding at him. "Want more, pretty? Yeah?" He pecks your lips, carefully sliding his ring finger into your entrance, you feel his cold ring against you, adding more pleasure.

You whine at the stretch, taking in a deep breath when you feel his fingers curl up, repeatedly hitting your G-spot.

Your cunt squelches around his fingers, sucking them in. "You're doing such a good job," he whispers, working fingers faster until you are a moaning mess.

Wet kisses make their way down onto your neck, moving lower down to your chest as he repositions himself at the end of the bed, fingers still curling inside of you.

He pushes one of your legs back, eyes intently watching the way your pussy takes his fingers so well. Without warning, the flat of his tongue presses down your swollen clit. "Oh fuck!" you gasp, gripping at the sheets below you.

Your body shivers with pleasure, the sensation of his tongue and fingers making your head fall back on the pillow, eyes rolling back, legs threatening to close around his head.

He slurps your pussy, tongue working its way through your folds to get every last drop. He's moaning at your taste, breathing heavily through his nose.

His hand pushes your leg back farther, nearly up to your chest, as he works hard to drive that orgasm out of you. "Fuck connie..! Oh my gosh!" you cry out, clutching at his hair, pushing his head down when he sucks on your sensitive clit once more. "connie, baby, I think—fuck!" you squeals, rocking your hips on his face.

Your legs close around his head as your orgasm arrives, your body quivering, and every touch is heightened. That doesn't stop Connie, low eyes watching how prettily your back arches off the bed, your walls squeezing his fingers. "Oh— Fuck.. Connie, yes!" you moan.

Connie finally lifts his head, chest heaving up and down as he looks at you with the most love in his eyes. "Fuck, baby, you did so good. Come here." He rushes to plant his lips on yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His dick is throbbing, oozing precum from the tip just from watching you cum in his pants. "You alright?" He asks, planting a soft kiss on your cheek.

"I'm okay." You nod. "Thank you." A smile spreads across your face, one that makes his chest fill with warmth. "But, I want more, I want you to fuck me connie, please."

You look down towards where both of your eyes meet, faces only inches away from one another.

"You sure? We don't have to if you don't want to. I want you to be comfortable," he says softly. "I promise I am. Just...go slow at first." anxiousness riddled your tone. "Of course. Let me know at any time if you wanna stop." He presses a kiss to your forehead. The nerves build in your chest, and your stomach fills with butterflies.

He repositions his hips and unbuttons his pants and the zipper before taking his pants off and boxers, rubbing his length through your folds, smearing his precum. Not wasting any time. He lightly groans, slowly moving up and down, nudging your clit with each thrust.

Connie notices you watching, the look in your eyes only fueling his desire even more. "Do you want me to stop, baby?" He gently grabs your face, staring into your eyes before his fat tip pushes its way through your folds.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise before furrowing, and you shake your head. He goes as slowly as possible before removing himself, causing her breath to hitch. You spread your legs further before another attempt, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pushes into you again, inch by inch, and you feel the stretch.

The stinging sensation made you grit your teeth. Not being used to such a big size. "Ah!" You bury your face into his neck when you feel his hips finally meet with yours.

And when he finally—finally—pushed inside you, it was like breathing for the first time.

Slow. Deep. Intimate.

He held your face in his hands and kissed you through every stroke. Whispered your name like a prayer. Told you things he’d never said before with every thrust of his hips, every graze of his fingers.

“Fuckkk, keep clenching like that around my cock just like that, mama,” he said into your neck.

—

Later, tangled in the sheets, your bodies still pressed close, he brushed his fingers over your bare back.

You didn’t speak for a while. Just laid there, skin against skin, hearts trying to slow down.

Then—

“You’re not gonna pretend this didn’t happen, right?” you whispered.

Connie turned you gently to face him.

His eyes were soft, his grin slow. “Nah. I was hoping you’d let me do it again.”

You laughed. “Smooth.”

He kissed your cheek. “I mean it. I’ve been in love with you since you shared your fries with me that one night at Denny’s.”

You blinked.

“You’re just telling me this now?”

“I was scared. You’re… you’re everything. I didn’t wanna screw it up.”

You smiled, curling closer.

“Then don’t screw it up. Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

—

348 notes · View notes