#this has like super light mikani so

[freckledskittles]

Reibert Secret Santa 2017: Bathtime

Happy Holidays to @thecolossustitan!!! I hope you enjoy this rather dorky story. The prompts you gave me were absolutely heartwarming, and I hope I did a decent job of including as many as I could!

“You’re out of popcorn.”

Bertholdt was hardly surprised to walk into his apartment and find Annie sprawled on the couch, quietly chomping on popcorn and intensely watching the television. An episode of “The Office” was on, one he had seen countless times and one that had probably taken zero effort to access with his Netflix. Unfortunately, with all the stress his life had accumulated, if someone in his friend group was watching a show like that without a head’s up, it was not a cause for celebration.

“Hi, Annie,” he sighed and shuffled a load of groceries into the kitchen. Marco, his roommate, gave a more jovial greeting as he followed behind him. On the TV, the insufferable regional manager was acting as a former criminal and talking about how terrible prison was. “Is it Reiner, me, or miscellaneous?”

“None of your business.”

Bertholdt rolled his eyes; miscellaneous it was, then. Once the groceries were away, Bertholdt went to the living room and sat beside Annie, the popcorn bowl between them. Marco had offered to prepare dinner and shooed him away. “Did you break in or use the key this time?”

“The key.” She tugged on the sleeve of her shirt. “I was too distraught to kick your door down.”

“Is it about the Secret Santa?” Even though a good number of their friend group didn’t have any reason to celebrate Christmas, the twelve of them used it as a way to appreciate and spend time with one another.

Annie leaned back and let her head hit the back of the sofa. “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you can guess who I got.”

Well. That narrowed the search down by a tiny margin and then some. “Seriously?” Bertholdt leaned back beside her as she nodded with a grimace. Just her luck to get the person she had been crushing on since the start of college. For Annie to find anyone appealing or worthy of her presence was enough of a compliment, but to receive affection in a romantic way was rare. He could only name a handful of people who had succeeded, whether they knew it or not. And a mutual friend was just another addition to that shortlist.

“My life is a disaster.”

“At least you know what to get her.”

Annie scowled and punched his shoulder. “Don’t try and make this better for me, jerk. I’m still in mourning.”

He was more than sure that it didn’t quite work like that, but he didn’t argue with her and, instead, took back what he had said. “You don’t have to worry about keeping it a secret, because you’re already keeping your crush from her.”

Annie chose a new episode—in this one, the office employees participated in beach games to become the next boss. “Why couldn’t we have done ‘Yankee Swap’ or ‘naughty Santa’ or whatever the fuck it’s called?”

Marco hopped into the room with a friendly smile and an apology for interrupting their conversation on his face. “Annie, are you staying for dinner?” He asked. “We just got a new bottle of wine to try.”

The blonde let out a long sigh and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Sorry about your Secret Santa.”

“Thanks.” She said it with a snort and an eyeroll, but she showed her appreciation in laughing quietly at his jokes during dinner and washing the dishes afterwards. They weren’t close, but ever since he had started rooming with Bertholdt, they interacted more and were quite friendly with each other. Not to mention that Marco knew the perfect remedy to cheer anyone up, and he set up Mario Kart after dinner for some competitive driving. Bertholdt sat on the couch behind them and commented on both of their driving styles, even though his Secret Santa was just as much on his mind.

Buying a gift wasn’t his main concern—after all, Jean had been dropping hints about what he wanted since before they chose names—but he always got anxious over who had his own name. There had been one year they had nixed picking out names and just got a gift in general, and everyone had been unsatisfied and ended up selling the gifts and just cooking food for each other. Selling a pack of thongs was not what he had in mind, however, and three years later, he always hoped that it never returned there.

The next day, he and a childhood friend, Marcel, met up for coffee to catch up and chat. They usually grouped up—Bert with Reiner and Annie, and Marcel with his younger brother Porco tagging along—but they always made an effort to see each other outside of the group. Marcel enjoyed watching the crowd pass by and had picked a table by the window, two coffees in front of him. When Bertholdt walked in, he was met with a grin and a wave.

“Took you long enough,” Marcel teased. “I almost chugged your coffee.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get both of these for yourself,” Bertholdt shot back. He took a sip of his drink and was relieved to discover that it still had some heat to it. “How’s Porco?”

Marcel snorted past his coffee. “You should already know, Bert. Still stingy and passive-aggressive.”

“At least he’s true to himself.”

“Yeah, too much. A little bird told me you got your Secret Santa for your troupe of friends.”

Bertholdt kicked Marcel under the table. “You know Annie hates when you use bird puns. And yeah, we did. She ended up getting her crush.”

“No way, the Mikasa Ackerman?!” Marcel threw his head back and cackled. A few other patrons of the shop looked at him in alarm and disapproval. “What irony! She must be dying.”

“I think she’ll be okay. This is sorta her chance to actually face her instead of avoiding her.”

Marcel smirked wide and mischievous, a look Bert had seen countless times during their childhood. Before he could bring it up, however, the topic changed. “So you have your gift planned out already?”

Although he wasn’t fond of the change in conversation, he accepted it and moved on. “Yeah, Jean’s not that difficult,” he said. “He doesn’t want anything that’s not Kit-Kats, so the candy rule is covered. And Sasha’s been talking about how much he wants a stuffed Cubone, but she’s never gotten him, and she teams up with Connie for birthdays, so they always find something better. So I’m doing everyone a favor and ending her pleas and bribes.”

“Ah, a chivalrous man, you are. Is that all you’re doing for him?”

The coffee burned his tongue on the next sip, and Bertholdt shrugged. “We roomed together in college, and we’re alike enough to where I have no worries if he’ll like it or not. If it’s sentimental and refers back to something he likes, then he’ll be okay. Bonus points if it’s a surprise.”

The smirk from before appeared again. “And you’re the same way?”

“I guess, yeah.” That was an understatement, maybe, but he supposed it was true. It was true for anyone. But that wasn’t the point Marcel was trying to make. He turned them towards a new conversation, with a sudden recollection. “By the way, have you heard from Reiner this week?”

Marcel paused to toy with the hand protector and waved his hand in a so-so gesture. “On and off. He texted me about some family things, something with his cousin Gabi? But that’s all I got.”

Bertholdt frowned. He had ended up just as empty-handed as he had when he asked within their friend group. “I heard the same thing. He hasn’t answered anyone I’ve texted. It’s weird.”

“Huh.” He tapped his finger on his chin and leaned forward. Something inside Bert told him to watch his eyes, and he noticed how they strayed from his and looked at every other aspect of the coffee shop that wasn’t him. Strange. “He’s either dead or he’s in a coma.”

“Annie shares an apartment with him. I think she would know where he is.”

“I dunno, man. I’m sure he’ll text you tomorrow though! He’s not your best friend for nothing.”

Bertholdt eventually got a text, with family issues over “who’s gonna host Christmas dinner” and struggling to get the dog to the vet while Gabi battled a cold, and relief flooded over him. Reiner planned a gym day together over the weekend, though much to his dismay, the conversation focused on Secret Santa more than anything else.

“Good thing we both got easy gifts this year,” Reiner stated. He had challenged them to a race on the treadmill and had been running for a good while. Thankfully, there were only a few people at the gym. Bertholdt would have preferred to stay in bed a few more hours, but Reiner’s early-to-rise persona and thoughtfulness was a worthy substitute. “Otherwise, I’d be stressed out.”

“Eren wants the same thing every year,” Bertholdt said, and Reiner laughed. “He just doesn’t say it outright.”

“But Mikasa will.”

“Because she doesn’t stand for his bullshit.”

“You should know, right?” The blond looked over at him and winked. “You don’t stand for mine. I got you all figured out, Hoover.”

Maybe not entirely—Bert had been interested in Reiner for a while now and had never found the courage to speak out about it—but he let his friend have his fun in believing otherwise. “My dastardly plan has been foiled. Next thing you’ll be doing is figuring out my Christmas gift for you.”

“Some stickers off of Redbubble and a giant pack of Reese’s pieces.” The silence was enough of an answer, and Reiner stopped his run to beam at the taller and bat his eyes. “I thought you were the mystery turtle that no one could figure out.”

Bertholdt slowed down and gripped either side of the treadmill. “I still am. You don’t know what my favorite Pixar movie is.”

“WALL-E.”

“Okay, fine, I’m losing my touch.”

Reiner cackled and, once they grabbed their waters and started heading over to the weights, threw an arm over Bert’s shoulder. “All that sweating might have washed it off.”

“Keep talking and you can walk home.”

x-x-x

Their Secret Santa party for the 24th. Annie had dragged Bertholdt around to look for the perfect gift—“not everyone can get a Pokemon and Kit-Kats, you idiot”—and their searching led to more dead ends than successes. But by the time the day rolled around, she had solved her problem with creativity and perfection, and Bertholdt was relieved. All he had to do was wrap his gifts up, even putting a decorative bow around the Cubone’s neck.

The party was at Sasha and Historia’s apartment, already an interesting pair of roommates, especially since Connie and Ymir spent so much time there, but they were excellent hostesses. Historia twirled around the room and passed out appetizers and drinks to everyone, conversing with anyone nearby, and Sasha kept the night going with fun games and running the music.

“You know,” Sasha said as the group of twelve gathered around the living room to pass out gifts, “I gotta say, I think we knocked it out of the park with gifts this year.”

“Don’t jinx it!” Eren cried out. “We haven’t even started yet!”

Historia did the honors of passing out the presents, though a comparison to the fiasco last year made it easy to surpass. (He was positive everyone was still embarrassed by the stunt Ymir and Reiner had done, no matter how much they blamed their drunkenness on it.) It was enjoyable to spend time with friends and laugh, as well as watch the enjoyment spread on their faces at opening their gifts. Ymir got flustered at the astronomy and space book she opened up, clutching it to her chest protectively and using it to block the thankful smiles she sent Armin. A good laugh was shared when Connie opened up Marco’s gift, a “cookbook for adults,” as the title proclaimed, and they read off a few of the suggested recipes. And Jean stayed silent in shock for a good minute when he opened his gift, shyly holding the stuffed Cubone and eating a Kit-Kat.

When Mikasa was handed her gift, she cocked her head at the interesting shape. “It looks like the Gherkin in London,” she observed, poking softly at the egg-like figure.

“Because you’re a good egg,” Sasha pointed out. Everyone agreed.

Underneath the wrapping paper was an egg. “Or because it is an egg.” There was a bow on the top keeping everything closed, and she twisted it off so that the shell “cracked” and fell apart, as if made of paper. Inside was a bowl with two movies she had been wanting to see for a while, tickets for one still in theaters, and a plethora of paper cranes. The largest one was the most beautiful, with crisp folds and a flawless form. It truly was a sight to see, as simple as it may have been, and Mikasa smiled. It wasn’t very hard to guess her Secret Santa: there were only a few people left, and Annie had been trying to pull her hoodie back on and hide in it ever since it had been opened.

Bertholdt was next. He took the box with suspicion and looked around the semi-circle. “If it’s a pack of thongs, I’m unfriending all of you,” he warned to their laughter. It was a partial joke, in that he wouldn’t actually unfriend them, but there would be some raising of Hell.

There was a mumble of “I hope it’s a g-string” “or a b-string” from Sasha and Connie, but nothing further as he unwrapped the present. It was neither of those things, and it wasn’t a pack of thongs either. It was something that was either much worse or much better; once he saw it, he was hard to get a grasp on it.

“LoveBoat Bubble Bath Set?”

The room instantly filled with a combination of laughter and confusion on what that meant. From beside him, Eren reached over and lifted the artsy tag from inside the box. “‘Three-set bubble bath soap and essential oils,’” he read, and a smirk flashed on his face. “Someone wants to get saucy with Bert!”

“Oh my god.”

Annie, who had recovered from her burrowing, pointed to a fallen scrap of paper on the floor. “What’s that?”

Bertholdt picked it up and read it. The words “a free coupon for a bubble bath party with me” were not what he had in mind. Saying them out loud only made it worse. Any other time, he would probably have joined the chorus of amusement filling the room, but this was happening to him, which meant there was nothing remotely funny about it.

And there Reiner was, sitting directly across from him, sporting a shit-eating grin and a pair of lightly flushed cheeks. He was simply grinning, fingers curled and pressed against his lips. It answered everything for Bert. And then he couldn’t hold back the smile and laugh.

It was a confession, without explicit mention, but with a request to join him in a bubble bath. There really was nothing like it.

The group finished handing out gifts and dispersed to help set up for dinner. Bertholdt was on table-setting duty and walking between the kitchen and table when he nearly ran into Reiner. The blond, instantly blushing, smiled to brush past him, but they moved the same way. Nervous laughter came from both of them—something usual for Bert, but rare from his friend.

“Uh, hi,” Reiner said. He hopped lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Hi,” Bertholdt smiled, bowing his head to keep it from spreading into something goofy. “So I got a bubble bath set and a coupon for a party.”

“Oh really?” His eyebrows rose in interest, but his hazel eyes shone with a knowing sort of mischief. “Sounds like a nice gift.”

“I think so. It was given to me by this guy I’m into.”

Reiner choked on that and looked around. Thankfully, no one was paying attention to them for the time being, despite their obviously larger frames and the fact that they were blocking the path between the kitchen and dining room. “Sounds pretty cool if you wanna bang—I mean, bathe with him.” His face only turned hotter, his nervousness shining through, and Bertholdt couldn’t help but be endeared by him. If he wasn’t interested in Reiner already, he definitely was now. It was reassuring to see someone so confident and sure and outgoing be the complete opposite, especially when he related to it.

“I, uh,” Bertholdt cleared his throat, “I would like to do both. Of those things. With you—him. With him.”

Reiner nodded, biting his lip, but his smile was too strong to hold back. “Nice. I’ll let him know.”

“Oh my god, just kiss already!” Ymir shouted from the kitchen. The tall duo glanced over at their suddenly invested audience. Bertholdt instantly covered his face and hid his blush from view. This night was going rather well and absolutely terrible in record seconds.

“Quit peeping at us,” Reiner shot back. Bertholdt peeked out of his hands to find the shorter glaring daggers at the group. “We’re having a private moment.”

“You’re the ones flirting under the mistletoe, bro,” Connie said, pointing at the dangling piece of green above their heads.

Both looked up to see that yes, there was a piece of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. It had definitely not been there before, unless it had, and Bertholdt had taken little notice of it. There was only one person he was interested in finding under that symbolic decoration, but he hadn’t strayed near it with intention.

Reiner was back to embarrassment, eyes wide at the dangling mistletoe. His eyes never stayed one color, deciding to instead remain a kaleidoscope of greens and browns and the occasional blue depending on the light it reflected. At that moment, they were a faint green, energetic but calm, warm and lively but familiar and safe. Bertholdt had known him for years, but when he was hit with feelings of affection in college, he was hypersensitive to a lot more things: the closeness of their bodies, the laugh and tone of his voice, the flicker of his smile. But most importantly, he found a new love for his eyes.

It looked like Reiner was stuck in shock, glancing from the mistletoe to Bertholdt in rapid fire. His eyes wandered briefly to his lips, but never for long. Bertholdt had little experience in taking the initiative, fueled by anxiety and worry that something, anything, could go wrong. And the possibilities were endless: a yell in the face, abandonment by a friend, rejection from the university of his choice. Things he couldn’t even imagine could turn up and ruin everything.

But this time, he was calm. He felt little worry, paired with a slight concern for Reiner and if he had fizzled out or malfunctioned or something. There was no tremble in his lips as Bertholdt leaned forward to peck him, much too short but oh so sweet, and there were no regrets. It felt freeing to do something about the feelings that had twisted inside him for so long, like a sleeping dragon awaiting provocation. Once he tasted it, though, he refused to go back, no matter how much he was fearful of it.

Which reminded him of the reality of the situation that had caught up quite quickly with him, and he realized what he had done.

“I need to help the table!” He cried out as he hurried back to the dining room. Reiner stayed in the doorway for a moment as their audience gasped and cried out, owning up to bets and struck with disbelief.

The rest of the night was fun, the food was delicious, and everyone returned home safely. Bertholdt lingered behind. He had already bid farewell to Marco, figuring out sleeping arrangements with Jean, so he would have the apartment to himself. The next thing he needed was a bath and Reiner.

“So,” he began, quietly handing over the handmade coupon, “I think I wanna cash in that free bubble bath party.”

x-x-x

“Look. I’m the Armored Titan.”

Bertholdt looked up at Reiner and burst into laughter immediately. The lingering remains of the events before the bubble bath—consisting of lips, hands, and the contact of skin, oh my—hadn’t left him. Even if his possibly-though-maybe-definitely new boyfriend was imitating a character from a dumb television show.

“You’re gonna get that in your eye,” he pointed out. Some of the suds were dangerously close to his mouth and vision. Bert had been too busy making a crown on his head, with as little help from a mirror as he could manage, to monitor the blond. Besides, he had to focus on making a beard as well.

“Psh, yeah, okay, I’ll remember that when I’m—shit.” Bertholdt laughed as Reiner lunged for one of the towels, giggling and kicking the taller once he could see well again. “It’s not funny, Beard-tolt! I have to protect my beautiful eyes.”

Bertholdt felt a blush rush to his cheeks as he sputtered for an excuse. “I’m pretty sure I did not say that!” He couldn’t tell past the pleasure that Reiner was delivering with his tongue if those words had actually left his mouth, though he was sure they had, but no one needed to know that much detail.

“The court reporter will read back your remarks and prove that you are wrong.

“Who’s the court reporter?”

Instead of an answer, Bertholdt received a multitude of kisses, along his neck and cheeks and to his lips. He had little protest for them, not when he was sitting in a tub, with the one person who could make him feel more comfortable or relaxed than anyone in the world.