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moving is so fucking expensive. it’s expense after expense after expense. oh I thought I had a hand me down couch for my apartment. actually a back up as well!
NOPE
THEY BOTH DONT FIT
AND NO WAY IN HELL AM I DROPPING MORE THAN 400 ON A NEW COUCH
Been rewatching Attack on Titan with a friend of mine, and just- Mmmmff, thoughts on a more Habitually Submissive! Reiner Braun. Fuck I love him so much, I would do so many lewd thing to him. and kiss his face.
Reiner, who ends up taking on a more naturally caring and giving role as his partner, feeling the need to make up for everything he's done. No amount of tender love, affectionate looks, sweet kisses, will make him think he deserves you; so he switches gears
Reiner, who asks to come with you every time you tell him you're going to bathe or shower, nearly begging with those sad eyes to help wash your hair and scrub your back, learning the names and uses of every product you might need or prefer, just so he can care for your body properly
Reiner, who insists on helping you dry off afterwards too- getting on his knees to reverently towel off every inch of your perfect body, scrunching up his face in concentration like he's doing literally anything other than just toweling you clean. If you ever ask about it, he'd say he just doesn't want to irritate your pretty skin with the rough material—maybe that's true, maybe he just wants to take his time with his worship,
Reiner, who offers to do your skincare any chance he gets. Your hands are feeling a little dry? Let him massage some lotion into them! Your arms and legs too? Well, he didn't know what 'body butter' was before you came around, but he'll spend as long as you'll possibly allow applying that too, making sure to knead any tense muscles in the process
Reiner, who begs to help cook and clean even after an exhausting day—on the contrary, being able to put in work around the house so his wonderful partner doesn't need to is practically therapeutic; you could kick your feet up and ignore him while he scrubs the floors on his hands and knees, and Reiner would still be grateful
Reiner, who would spend the rest of his life on his knees pleasuring you if you so wished it; venerating your body, you, like the blessing you are to his life
Reiner, who sulks when you don't let him do any of this, insisting that he should get some rest, take some time for himself, let you repay his kindness—because he feels like he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve to rest and sit, to have someone else do anything for his sole benefit; wondering to himself 'What if all those people came home to this too?'
Reiner, who breaks down crying from a mix of guilt and starvation the first time you do something solely for him. And the second time. And the third... He craves it, craves having someone who will put his wants and needs before others, craves someone who will love him unconditionally, who will hold him, whisper affections, do little things without wanting anything in return
clothing item: his worn-out, heavy dark gray hoodie that falls past your thighs
his reaction: would double-take when you walk into the kitchen, his eyes dropping to your bare legs before tracing up to the giant hem. a slow smirk would spread across his face as he hooks two fingers into the hoodie strings, pulling you flush against him
"looks way better on you anyway... but don't think you're wearing much else for the rest of the day"
armin arlert
clothing item: his thick, oversized vintage cardigan buttoned up over your chest
his reaction: starry-eyed and beaming. a rosy blush would cover his cheeks. seeing you so cozy makes him feel so cozy and he would immediately pull you into the fluffy bed blankets to cuddle
"you look so precious... come back to bed, let we wrap the rest of the blanket around us"
levi ackerman
clothing item: his plain, extra soft black fitted t-shirt that drapes loose on you
his reaction: he would raise a single eyebrow, inspecting the way the shoulder seams sat past your shoulders, before his expression softens into quiet satisfaction. he would reach out, gently pinching the excess, loose fabric hanging off your arm. a faint, soft shift relaxes the usual tension around his eyes
"look at this. sleeves are completely hollow... you're drowning in the arms" (he would give the loose sleeve a tiny, affectionate tug, his voice dropping into a rasp) "tch. keep it on. at least it's clean"
jean kirstein
clothing item: his oversized flannel that was left hanging on the back of a chair
his reaction: he would freeze mid-step, leaning against the doorway with a slow, appreciative scan that lingers on your bare legs before tracing up to the open collar. a confident and charming smirk would break out across his face. he would walk over slowly, arms wrapping loosely around your waist to pull you in close, humming softly as his thumb traces your hipbone right at the hem
"i just spent an hour looking for that shirt... but honestly? it looks a hell of a lot better on you than it ever did on me" (he would lean down to press a slow, warm kiss to your jaw, whispering against your skin) "guess i'm never getting it back now, huh?"
reiner braun
clothing item: his heavy, oversized high school varsity jacket; thick leather sleeves, wool body, and his old varsity letter on the chest
his reaction: he would also freeze when he walks into the room, his eyes getting wide as he processes what you are wearing. the massive leather sleeves would hang completely past your hands, and the broad shoulders sit halfway down your arms. a deep, flustered blush would hit his cheeks before turning into a massive, tender smile. he would walk over and just completely wrap his broad arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder as he breathes you in
"god, look at you... if i had known you back in high school and saw you wearing my jacket like this, i probably would've fainted on the spot" (he would gently hook his thumbs into the oversized collar, pulling you up to press a sweet, lingering kiss to your forehead) "it looks a thousand times better on you than it ever did on me. wear it whenever you want"
bertolt hoover
clothing item: his blue massive, soft zip-up hoodie that hangs almost down to your knees
his reaction: he would blush so intensely, stammering a bit because he is so overwhelmed by how sweet you look drowning in his clothes. he would step up to roll the extra long sleeves up for you so your hands can peek out
"is... is it warm enough? you can wear it whenever you want..."
erwin smith
clothing item: one of his classic white button-down shirts, left unbuttoned just enough that the wide collar slips completely off one side, exposing your neck and shoulder
his reaction: he would set his coffee mug down on the desk. his deeply appreciative eyes trace the path of the fabric slipping off your bare shoulder down to where the hem hits your thighs. his usual stoic posture melts into a slow, devastatingly attractive smirk as he gestures for you to come closer
"it seems my shirt has trouble staying on your shoulder, darling..." (he reaches out, his warm thumb softly tracing your exposed collarbone before pulling you onto his lap) "a remarkably dangerous look to walk around in while i'm trying to work"
marco bodt
clothing item: his cozy, soft-knit beige sweater that slips slightly off one shoulder
his reaction: face would immediately turn a bright pink. he would gasp softly with pure adoration, dropping his dishtowel to pull you into a tight, warm hug. he rests his chin on your head
"you look so warm! it smells like you now, so it is officially yours"
connie springer
clothing item: his graphic streetwear hoodie that hits halfway down your thighs
his reaction: would point and burst out laughing at your completely hidden hands. he'd immediately grab the long, empty ends of your sleeves, flopping them back and forth like little bird wings before pulling you into a tight bear hug
"look at you, where did your hands go?! you look ridiculous and super cute --- give me a kiss"
porco galliard
clothing item: his dark leather jacket --- cool silver zippers, stiff leather, and a soft inner lining draped over your bare shoulders and underwear
his reaction: he would walk in and stop dead in his tracks, his eyes darting down to your bare legs before snapping back up. a deep and bright crimson flush would spread straight to his ears. he would scowl hard, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes to cover up how fast his heart is pounding. but, a helpless, possessive smirk would betray him completely. he steps up to you, grabbing the cool leather lapels to pull you flush between his knees
"you're stealing my leather jacket now? the shoulders are practically falling off you" (he would huff, tracing a thumb along the lapel right over your collarbone while looking anywhere but your eyes) "... whatever. just leave it on. you look good"
notes: comment if you would like to be tagged in aot headcanons / preferences
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hi! I'm zora. let me tell you a little bit about me :)
22 ✮ scorpio ✮ i/enfj
fandoms (does not include all of them; that would take years) ✮
attack on titan ⭐︎ a song of ice and fire ⭐︎ marvel ⭐︎ percy jackson ⭐︎ star wars ⭐︎ avatar: the last airbender ⭐︎ lord of the rings universe ⭐︎ one piece (la) ⭐︎ hunger games
this blog is for little writing ideas that i have, fangirling, interacting with people in the fandoms, and just expressing myself creatively in more of a short form rather than chapters and chapters in a book.
random facts about me!
✮ i have been writing some kind of fanfiction since i was like 12ish
✮ i have seen twenty one pilots in concert 6 times
✮ i have adhd, so i get hyperobsessed and hyperfixated on characters / fandoms pretty easily and it will consume my life; but i also can lose interest at the drop of a hat, so i apologize if i am suddenly just not interested in a fandom anymore
✮ my degree / job involves neuroscience (brain science) and psychology
✮ my favorite colors are purple, green, and blue
✮ if i were to describe my style irl, it would be between downtown girl / grunge / whimsigoth. and this is only if i have the energy to put on a cute outfit
how would attack on titan characters behave while traveling, specifically via plane?
notes: first, i am so sorry, this is based on me traveling mainly out of america, so i don't know the equivalents to things like TSA PreCheck or whatever, please forgive my ignorance. second, i'm so sorry this is so long, i just kept writing and writing. i think you can tell who my favorites are just by the length so sorry loll.
will get flagged by security because of the full water bottle he left in his backpack
wouldn't be early but wouldn't necessarily be late... somehow gets the luck of getting there just in time (even if he shouldn't)
refuses to check a bag to save money/time, so he crams his clothes into a single carry-on
doesn't charge his phone before leaving the house so he has to find awkward places to charge it
would be staring out the window of the airport gate at the people loading the luggage, arms crossed, foot tapping in impatience
"why are they taking so long? the plane is here, why can't we just get on?"
eren would be the person to crowd the gate, even if his group wasn't called
within 20 minutes in the air, he is going to get restless. he will constantly shift around, bumping into you, stealing your snacks (that you haven't even opened yet btw)
but eventually he falls asleep with his head slumping heavily on your shoulder
the second you walk out of the sliding airport doors into the fresh air, his mood completely flips
impatience vanishes, he tosses your bag on his shoulder, grabs your hand with a big goofy grin on his face and says,
"finally. let's go do something."
Armin Arlert
arrives four hours early to the airport
if it is an international flight, he has the passports, boarding passes (two additional physical copies just in case), and custom travel insurance documents neatly organized in a small travel pouch around his neck
he would go through security smoothly. he paid attention to the instructions, his liquids would most definitely all be under 3 oz
would know the flight number of the aircraft by memory before you even leave for the airport
while sitting at the gate, armin would have the incoming plane pulled up to make sure there are no delays
would also have the weather app on standby to reference if he sees any delays
if there is a delay, he would smoothly adjust to it. he wouldn't be anxious, just updates you that you guys will have time to make your connection but it might be a bit tighter
he is secretly passionate about the "stand on the right, walk on the left" for escalator etiquette
he won't say anything, but if he sees that someone in front of him is blocking the left part of the stairs with their luggage, and someone is trying to get past them, he will get quietly stressed on their behalf
he would buy a noise-canceling headphone splitter so you guys can both watch a movie on his tablet
he would also pack any medicine if you are nervous on flights or get airsick
if you are a nervous flyer, he would always hold your hand, allowing you to squeeze it hard every time there is turbulence
Levi Ackerman
refuses to travel without TSA PreCheck or CLEAR (or your country equivalent)
will be a very uptight travel partner
visibly tense in the security line, glaring at people who take too long to take off their shoes
he would visibly wince when someone coughs near him (honestly, he would be wearing a mask on a plane and in the airport)
will wipe down the security bin before putting his items in
levi would lock eyes with the person who sneezed or coughed too loud and give them a death glare
refuses to let anyone touch his phone or passport; he will hold it up to the scanner himself at the exact angle and the screen on the right brightness
he will not relax a single muscle until you are both sitting in your seats with your seatbelts fastened and in the air
will sanitize every inch of that airplane row – window, armrest, headrest, table, that knob for the table, the seats, etc. – with his own pack of sanitizing wipes; will almost use the whole pack
i think he would prefer the aisle seat, not wanting to feel trapped by people
if he were to sleep on the plane, it would be upright, arms crossed, wearing a black silk eye mask and noise-canceling headphones
if people try and crowd the baggage claim belt he will speak up:
"step back so people can see"
Jean Kirstein
he would be obsessed with the idea of airport lounge access; the ones you can access if you use your credit points, or get first class or whatever
he would be in a comfy but fashionable fit, wanting to 'fit in' to the lounges
jean would feel so bougie getting free snacks and sipping on prosecco as he watches the tarmac
would constantly be checking that he has everything,
he is terrified of missing a connection and looking like a clueless traveler in front of you
if the gate suddenly changes to a different concourse, he would get wildly flustered and it would honestly ruin his "premiere access lounge" vibes
if jean is traveling with his friends and not just with you, he would be constantly snapping at them for moving too slow or wandering
if you guys have a lot of time (like a long layover) and he didn't splurge on a lounge, he would drag you to the luxury stores, dousing himself (and sampling on you) three different designer colognes he can't afford yet
when he is in the air, he is checking his watch every 15 minutes
if there is seatback entertainment, it would stay on the flight map to see how much longer (which only makes it longer...)
you would have to eventually distract him with a movie or tv show you want to watch together, just because he was getting on your damn nerves with the constant checking of time
jean would make sure that you are comfortable the whole time
he would most likely get an exit row for his legs
when the beverage cart comes around he already knows what you'll want and order drinks for you guys (and if you are asleep when snacks comes around he always knows which one you would pick)
in between his restlessness, he would definitely be the type to take a cute mid-flight selfie, putting his arm around your shoulders
will control the air-vent and make sure its the right temperature for you
idk why i also imagine him having the neck pillows as well
the MINUTE you land, he immediately turns his phone off of airplane mode and confirms Uber/Lyft and/or the hotel reservation
the second you push through the sliding glass exit doors and step into the fresh air, he lets out a huge, dramatic exhale of relief
right in the middle of the busy curb, he will stop dead in his tracks, loop an arm around your shoulders and pull you tightly into his side to press a long, warm kiss to the side of your head
when he pulls back, he will brush a stray hair out of your face, looking down at you with a proud smirk on his face
"told you i'd get us here in one piece. welcome to vacation, babe."
Reiner Braun
refuses to let you lift a finger, will carry every single bag
is adamant about using long-term parking and having to circle the garage for 20 minutes to find a spot near the shuttle pickup or near the exit
on the shuttle-- would stand the entire ride, holding onto the overhead strap while using his body to shield you and the luggage from the crowd; would smile politely at every person who squeezes past him and apologizes if he is in the way
he gets nervous about overpacking, hoping that the bag isn't over the weight limit
when going through security he is trying to be the most efficient in line, not wanting to annoy the agents, but he gets so nervous he doesn't realize the certain rule changes and gets flustered when they yell at him for taking out his laptop because some places don't ask for it
"sorry, sir, my mistake, so sorry"
he will spend the next 10 minutes repacking his bag at the re-dressing station while profusely apologizing to you for slowing things down
would be the "gate dad" where he will stand by the window before the flight watching the baggage handlers load luggage onto the plane
would track the bags
also would make sure that you have enough snacks and water for the ride
got stuck in a standard economy seat for his first flight with you; he didn't complain once, even though his knees are pressed against the seat in front of him. instead, he is focused on making sure that you have enough space
after that, you made sure to upgrade your seats at least a little bit to make the journey more comfortable, because you know that he would never spend the money on the upgrades to benefit himself
but, if you mention once how it is your dream to fly first class at least once, he will save for that and even try just giving you first class while putting himself in economy. when you caught wind on that you had to take matters into your own hands again
on return, he will run ahead to the car to turn the AC/heat on and pull right up to the curb so that you don't have to walk to the parking garage
the moment you step through those sliding glass doors into the fresh air, he lets out a deep, heavy, happy sigh, his shoulders instantly dropping all that built-up airport tension
he sets the heavy luggage down and pulls you into the biggest, warmest, bone-crushing hug, lifting your feet slightly off the ground as he buries his face in your neck
he would just hold you like that for a long, quiet moment amidst all the curb chaos, letting out a soft laugh and whispering against your skin how happy he is that it's finally just the two of you
Bertolt Hoover
would be sweating profusely in the security line because he is terrified he accidentally packed a forbidden item he didn't even know existed
will double check his pocket for his passport every three minutes, convinced it magically vanished into thin air since the last time he checked
poor guy would be extremely self-conscious about his height in the crowded terminal, constantly ducking his head and apologizing to anyone he even slightly steps near
he would be highly sensitive to airport noise and crowds; would sit quietly at the gate, nervously picking at his fingers until it's time to board
gets stuck with horrible legroom ofc, but would rather suffer in dead silence for six hours than ask the person in front of him not to recline their seat
if you fall asleep on his arm or shoulder, he will not love a single muscle for the rest of the entire flight; even if his whole side becomes numb, he refuses to wake you up
whenever the plane hits slight turbulence, he stiffens up completely, his hands gripping the armrests while he glances at you with wide, nervous eyes to see if you're calm
quietly shares his stash of mints or motion sickness pills with you the second he notices you looking even slightly uncomfortable
minute you guys step into fresh air, he lets out a huge, trembling exhale, his tall fame relaxing as he wipes a bit of nervous sweat from his forehead
at the curb he would offer you a gentle, sweet, relieved smile, looking at you with so much warmth before asking:
"you doing okay? not too tired?"
he would take your luggage, ducking his head with a slight blush as he takes your hand, softly squeezing your fingers
Erwin Smith
pre booked private black car to get to the airport
before the car even pulls up to the airport, erwin finishes his last work email, turns his phone notifications to "Do Not Disturb" and closes his laptop, turning to you
"my attention belongs entirely to you now"
and he means it, no secret checking of emails for the rest of the trip
will get the most exclusive airline lounge
when you are in the plush leather armchair, he brings you your favorite foods, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple
"take a deep breath, my dear. the vacation has officially begun"
has priority status so you guys get to be one of the first ones to baord
will effortlessly chat with airport staff to get you seat upgrades
never loses his cool during mishaps
this man will have everything handled, absolute zero stress while traveling
if a flight issue arises, he steps up to the counter, offers a warm, captivating smile, and addresses the agent by the name on their badge; within three minutes, the agent has magically bypassed three policy rules, bumped you both to First Class on the next available flight, and hand him vouchers for dinner
the agent would literally look like they would follow erwin into battle by the time he leaves the counter
will be in first class most of the time
makes sure your champagne or drink of choice is always filled
sipping on it while either reading a book or newspaper
during takeoff he would hold your hand and give you a calm, reassuring smile
when the plane reaches the gate, he steps out into the aisle first, grabs your bags and extends a hand to help you up from your seat, holding you close by his side as you walk off the plane
(HE ALSO COULD LITERALLY OWN HIS OWN PRIVATE JET AND STUFF YOU NEVER KNOW WITH THAT MAN)
Marco Bodt
he prints out a small, cute physical copy of your travel plans and folds it into your passport cover
includes handwritten notes like
"flight departs @ 10:15-- don't forget to grab your jacket" w/ a little smiley face
bring reusable water bottles so you don't have to pay 18 dollars for a bottle of water in the airport
he has a "just in case" first-aid kit
motion sickness medicine, band-aids, pain relievers,, tissue packs, hand sanitizer
would also pack snacks and make sandwiches
but of course, if you want some candy he will gladly buy you that overpriced candy
he is super polite to everyone he sees– thanking the airport workers with a huge smile and wishing them a wonderful day, holding doors open for families with strollers
he likes you having the window seat so he can watch you watch the clouds
he would lean over slightly, resting his cheek against yours to look out the window with you, whispering:
"look how small the houses look down there"
OR
"look! that is that one place that i really want to go to!"
makes sure you have whatever you need to help you fall asleep (neck pillow, earplugs, blanket, eye mask, etc.)
will diligently check to make sure you don't leave a single item behind when leaving the plane
as you walk down the jetbridge, he keeps his hand on the small of your back to help guide you through the crowd
walking out into the city, marco would take your hand, give you a warm squeeze, and look at you with so much admiration,
"we made it. ready to have the best time ever?"
Connie Springer
will likely forget to take off his belt and get stopped through security
has a huge stuffed backpack and would be unaware of how much space it takes up and whack people in the face accidentally when he turns around quickly
he loves the seatback entertainment screen
he will play the multiplayer trivia game with random strangers or any of the games
if he loses on a trivia round he was confident in, he would physically lean forward in his seat to try and spot who “passenger 12b” is in the cabin, muttering
"there's no way they knew that faster than me. they are definitely cheating."
he would laugh out loud at movies and try to show you and explain the funny scene to you even though you are watching your own movie
will keep trying to feed you with his stash of candy throughout the flight
gets overly excited about anything offered for free on the plane
would be the type to stand up right away when you land and just give you an excited smile
he would also try to do those tiktok airport/travel hacks
brings an empty pillowcase stuffed full of extra clothes because
"airlines don't count pillows as bags, guys!"
(it barely zips shut and looks like a sack of laundry)
the second those sliding doors open and the fresh air hits, connie would drop his luggage onto the pavement and let out a loud, dramatic:
"WE MADE IT"
he would immediately grab you by the waist, spin you around in a big, chaotic hug, and planting a dramatic, noisy kiss right on your cheek, making people walking past turn and laugh
Porco Galliard
would complain about slow walkers, loud kids, and overpriced coffee
porco can’t hide his annoyance in the airport security line
he would roll his eyes, cross his arms and mutter just loud enough for you to hear
“first time in an airport? amazing.”
you have to elbow him in the ribs to make him quiet
if people are crowding at the gate, he will loudly complain within earshot of the crowd
“group 4 isn’t even called yet, why are people crowding”
along similar lines, if a family or group abruptly stops right in front in the middle of the walkway, he will loudly exclaim
“move it or pull over”
much to your embarrassment
but he has a system at the airport
he knows the best ways to get to the gates, the best store to get a water, and exactly where the terminal connector is without even looking at the map
when the cabin gets cold, he sets his leather jacket over you
he would immediately just try to go to sleep
you would lean your head on his shoulder and his arm would automatically wrap firmly around you, pulling you in close for the rest of the flight.
the second you step out of the jetbridge into the chaotic terminal, he lowkey acts like your personal body guard
he would take your hand in a firm, unbreakable grip, using his shoulders to carve a direct path through the slow-moving crowds, basically shielding you from anyone bumping into you
the only time he would let his guard down would be when you guys finally get into the uber and close the doors.
he would give you a sweet, soft kiss on the cheek now that the travel chaos is over
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
contents: suggestive themes, toxic relationship, explicit/implied sexual content, power dynamic, Jean might be a bit ooc, reader is THAT girl, just not when it comes to Jean, heavy banter. 18+
notes: reader folds for jean again and again (I mean... who wouldn't) also… all my corporate knowledge is from the 6 episodes of succession I have seen (I’m working on getting through the show). ALSO, um I absolutely loved doing this. do we see a future of more song blurbs? bc I get inspired every time I drive. would take requests for songs and characters as well.
“I'm so mature, collected and sensible”
"Page four, section B," you say, your voice barely above a conversational hum. Your eyes stay on your tablet. "Strike the third-party indemnity clause in its entirety, or we walk before lunch."
Opposing counsel, a man twenty years your senior with ink-stained knuckles and a swollen ego, opens his mouth to push back. He leans forward over the glass conference table, inhaling to deliver a practiced counter-argument.
You finally raise your eyes. You meet his gaze with a cold, pleasant patience, completely unblinking that makes the air in the room drop five degrees.
Across the table, the partner next to him shifts uncomfortably, tapping a nervous rhythm on his legal pad. Ten seconds pass in complete, stifling silence. Slowly, the opposing counsel’s mouth closes. He looks down at his notes, clears his throat, and slowly caps his pen with an audible click.
"We'll strike it," he mutters to his notepad.
You lift your left wrist, tapping the face of your watch once.
The movement is so subtle it’s almost telepathic, but Elena is already in motion. She steps forward from the perimeter of the room, seamlessly sliding your favorite coffee onto the table at your right hand, holding out your tailored wool coat with the other.
"Car is idling downstairs, ma'am," Elena whispers, her voice low and efficient. "Driver says traffic to the airstrip is clear."
"Good." You slide the tablet into your leather briefcase, zipping it with a single motion.
Leaving the room full of men who just conceded millions of dollars to you sitting in total silence, you stand and slip your arms into the coat Elena holds open. You turn straight toward the double doors.
As you step into the sunlit corridor, three junior associates clinging to stacks of files instantly flatten themselves against the glass wall to clear your path, their eyes tracking you with a mixture of terror and absolute reverence.
“Except when I get hit with rejection”
The brass elevator doors slide shut, sealing you in.
You pull your phone from your blazer pocket. The screen lights up on a conversation thread you’ve opened forty times today.
To: Jean — 10:14 AM
My place tonight?
Read 10:16 AM
It is now 4:45 PM. You swipe down to refresh—spin, spin, nothing.
Your thumb instinctively taps Instagram. 12 minutes ago. A picture on his story of a dark oak bar, a half-empty glass of whiskey. He has service. He’s holding his phone right now.
"Ma'am?" Elena asks gently behind you. "Should I confirm the Thursday dinner with the senior partners?"
You lock the screen so fast it clicks against your ring, forcing your spine straight.
"Yes," you say, slipping the phone into your blazer pocket. "And tell accounting to approve the retainer for the defense team."
Elena hesitates. "You approved that yesterday morning, ma'am. The wire was sent at noon."
A cold pause.
"Right," you murmur, pushing straight through the revolving glass doors into the rain. "Of course. Good work, Elena."
“To turn me down, well, that's just unethical”
Tuesday night. 2:15 AM.
The bedroom is dark except for the amber glow of the city streetlights bleeding through the sheer curtains. Jean stands at the edge of the bed, pulling his heavy charcoal coat over his shoulders.
You sit propped against the pillows, your black silk robe pulled loose over your collarbone, watching him with a quiet, dangerous stillness.
"I'm going to head to my place tonight," he says. His voice is smooth, effortless, completely unbothered. He reaches down, his fingers pressing a brief, patronizing pat against your bare shoulder— the exact kind of touch you'd give a dog or a junior associate you're trying to placate. "We're getting a bit reckless, love. Best if we keep our distance for a few days."
"You're staying," you state, not a question, your tone dropping into a cold, level register you usually use when a board tries to short-change you.
Jean pauses, his hand dropping from your shoulder. He looks down at you, half-amused, a slow, infuriating smile curving his mouth. "I'm really not, though."
Before you can form the words to stop him, he turns toward the door. The latch clicks and the heavy oak frame settles into place.
“I'll turn into someone you're scared to know”
Friday, 9:15 PM.
You sit in the corner velvet booth of the hotel lounge three blocks from your office, a glass of scotch in hand. Across the low wooden table, Erwin Smith— the managing partner who controls the master vendor contract for Jean’s firm— leans back, discussing fourth-quarter portfolio allocations over the quiet hum of the room.
The heavy glass front doors swing open, and Jean walks in.
He scans the dimly lit room to unwind after his week, his eyes catching yours, and then locking onto Erwin. Jean’s stride hitches mid-step. A subtle tightness enters his jaw as he adjusts his posture, changing course to approach your booth with a stiff, careful deference.
"Erwin," Jean says quietly, before his eyes shift to you, flickering with a sudden, guarded tension. "Good evening."
You slowly turn your head and offer Jean a polite, pleasant smile— the bland, sterile expression you save for a stranger holding open an elevator door.
"Hello, Jean," you say smoothly, your voice light and flat.
You give him a brief, half-second nod of professional acknowledgment, and turn your eyes right back to Erwin without missing a beat.
"As we were discussing, Erwin," you say softly, swirling the ice in your drink, "we’re reviewing all external vendor allocations for next quarter. I'm keeping a very close eye on performance metrics."
Jean stands at the edge of the booth, completely frozen. He stares at you— at the unblinking, pleasant smile on your face and the total absence of warmth in your eyes— and a visible flicker of unease crosses his face. He clears his throat, murmurs a quiet "Excuse me," and backs away toward the bar, looking at you like you're a complete stranger who holds his entire career in her hands.
Your eyes stay on the managing partner in front of you, continuing to discuss vendor allocations. You take a sip of your drink, hiding a small smile behind the glass.
“But if you need my love / My clothes are off, I'm comin' over to your place”
Midnight.
The screen lights up on your nightstand, throwing a sharp square of white light onto the dark ceiling.
Jean: That ice-cold act at the bar was cute. Now come over and let me warm you up.
A sudden, embarrassing bloom of heat hits the pit of your stomach. You bite your bottom lip hard, your thumb hovering over the screen as a helpless, quiet breath escapes your nose.
You throw back the silk duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You grab your long wool coat straight off the chair, wrapping it over your nightshirt and pulling the belt tight. You slide your feet into a pair of heels, not even waiting for the phone screen to dim.
Four minutes later, you're standing at the curb, hand raised to flag a yellow cab under the streetlights. You slide into the back seat, slam the door, and rattle off Jean's address to the driver before he even resets the meter, your fingers digging into the leather strap of your purse.
“And if you don't need my love / I didn't want your little bitch-ass anyway”
Thirty minutes later, you stand on his porch in the damp night air.
Jean opens the door three inches. He’s in a faded gray t-shirt, rubbing the back of his neck, his face blank and mildly surprised to see you actually standing there.
"Oh," he says, his voice flat. "Love, I didn't think you'd actually come all the way over. I'm pretty wiped tonight. Let's just do another time."
The latch clicks shut.
You stand on the concrete step, the cold air hitting your bare ankles. You scoff, pulling your sweater tight around yourself, turning on your heel, and walking back down the driveway with your chin held high.
You slide into the backseat of the waiting cab, pull out your phone, and block his number in two sharp taps.
"Unbelievable," you murmur quietly to the dark window as the car pulls away, your jaw clenched tight. "Six-three and still manages to slouch like a teenager. Mediocre in bed. Absolute loser." You pull your coat over your shoulders, staring out at the streetlights with an icy, dismissive scowl. "I was doing him a favor anyway."
“Yeah, I'm a busy woman”
Three weeks pass.
It’s 6:30 AM on a Tuesday, and you step out of a black town car in front of the office building, sunglasses covering your eyes against the glare. You carry a stack of bound financial reports under one arm and a large coffee in the other.
You walk past the security desk without nodding, tossing a fifty-page brief onto your assistant’s desk before she even finishes saying good morning.
"Move the European conference call to 8:00 AM, cancel my Thursday lunch, and tell the press team I'm off-grid for the rest of the month," you state, stepping into your corner office and letting the glass door slide shut behind you.
“I wouldn't let you come into my calendar any night”
Six weeks pass.
You sit at your desk, pulling up your master calendar for the next two months. Color-coded blocks fill every single hour: Board Syncs, European Travel, Quarterly Audits, Trustee Dinners.
You drag your cursor over the remaining open evenings in October and November.
With sharp clicks, you plug every single gap— 6:00 PM Pilates, 8:00 PM Private Dining, 9:30 PM Solitary Read. You block out every single hour of your personal life, locking your schedule down like a steel vault.
You look at the solid wall of color on your screen. There isn't a single millimeter of space left for him. You unblock his number just to prove to yourself that it doesn't matter anymore. He’s completely erased.
“But if you want my kisses/ I'll be your perfect Mrs. 'til the day that one of us dies”
Two months later. A rainy Thursday afternoon.
You’re mid-sentence in a budget review meeting, a black dry-erase marker in hand, when your phone vibrates once against the table.
Jean: I'm downstairs. I'm taking you to that lunch place you like.
Your hand stops mid-letter. The black felt tip rests against the board, leaving a tiny, blooming dot of ink.
A soft flush of warmth rises up your neck. The tight edge in your posture melts. You cap the marker with a quiet click, set it carefully in the tray, and smooth down the lapels of your blazer.
You check your reflection in the glass partition, touching the side of your hair, before sliding your phone into your handbag. You turn back to the six associates sitting around the table with a serene, gentle smile.
"We're wrapping early," you say softly, picking up your coat from the back of your chair. "Elena, cancel the rest of my afternoon."
“So much to shave and lipstick to reapply”
Friday night. 7:15 PM.
The bathroom mirror is thick with condensation. You step out of the steam, wrapping a plush towel around yourself while the razor sits rinsed on the marble ledge. You wipe a circle clean on the glass with your palm, lean in, and unscrew a tube of burgundy lipstick, pressing your lips together before checking your hair to ensure every strand falls effortlessly.
You step into the walk-in closet, sliding hangers past structured Saint Laurent blazers, sharp Tom Ford trousers, and tailored silk. You pull down a black silk slip dress, checking the hang before stepping into a pair of sleek heels.
“Maybe for you, though, I could accommodate”
The doorbell chimes twice.
You take a slow breath, unlatch the deadbolt, and pull open the heavy front door.
Jean is leaning against the frame in a tailored charcoal suit, his coat unbuttoned, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside. A slow, satisfied smirk touches his lips as his hazel eyes take you in— tracing the line of your collarbone, dropping down to linger heavily on the curve of your hips in the black dress, before dragging back up to lock onto yours.
He looks infuriatingly, devastatingly handsome, and he knows exactly what he’s doing to you
“I'm flexible, so just tell me what you like / Tantric yoga, baby, namaste”
After dinner he doesn't even make it past the foyer before his hand is on your hip, spinning you around and bending you forward over the low console table by the entry.
Your purse knocks onto the floor with a heavy thud. The backless silk of your dress hitches up over your thighs as his palm presses firmly into the small of your back, arching you deep to fit the angle he wants. He grips your hips, lifting and holding you in place against the edge of the wood while his other hand slides up the bare skin of your inner thigh. You yield completely to the position, breathless, adapting your body to every heavy, deliberate push of him behind you.
“If you don't want me, I'll just deem you gay”
Afterward, he’s sitting on the edge of your mattress, buttoning his shirt while looking out the window.
You lie back against the pillows, the sheet pulled lazily over your waist, watching the broad line of his shoulders. A quiet, amused breath escapes your nose as you trace the bare skin of your collarbone.
"I mean, honestly," you say softly, a dry, playful smirk tugging at your lips as he glances back over his shoulder at you. "If a guy looked at all of this and still managed to walk away, I’d just have to assume he’s fundamentally broken."
Jean pauses, his fingers resting on the third button of his shirt. He tilts his head, his eyes darkening as he looks down at you resting against the pillows. A slow and dangerous smirk spreads across his mouth.
"Careful," he whispers, reaching out to hook two fingers into the hem of the sheet, dragging it down in one slow pull to expose your bare skin to the cool air.
He unbuttons the shirt he just finished fastening and slides back onto the mattress, his weight settling heavily over you. Before you can even catch your breath, his hands slide firm and steady under your knees, pushing your legs open as his mouth presses a slow, hot line of open-mouthed kisses up the inside of your thigh. He hitches his body higher, trapping your wrists together above your head with one hand, his lips moving up to your hip as his weight presses you deep into the mattress.
"Say things like that," he murmurs against your skin, "and I'm not leaving this bed until tomorrow morning."
“Busy woman all the time”
You’re back in the lobby, stepping out of the elevator into the hum of the floor. You’re holding a tablet in one hand and an espresso in the other, walking at a brisk pace while taking notes on a quarterly projection.
“Busy woman for the rest of my life”
You stride straight into the main boardroom, setting down your coffee as the entire legal team stands up to greet you. You don't look up, opening your leather folder and immediately jumping into the agenda.
“My openings are super tight”
During a twenty-minute recess before the afternoon board review, the door to the third-floor archive room clicks locked.
In the narrow aisle between high-density filing cabinets, Jean’s coat is already off, tossed over a stack of binder boxes. He lifts you straight onto the lower metal shelf, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist in the dim, quiet space. You bite down on his shoulder to keep from making a sound as he presses you back against the steel frames, the quick, desperate rhythm echoing softly against the concrete floor before you both have to be back in the boardroom.
“Busy woman, unless you call tonight”
6:00 PM.
You sit at your desk, packing your leather briefcase, sliding files into designated folders. Your schedule is booked solid for the next three weeks. You slide your coat on, pick up your keys, and glance down at your phone resting beside the keyboard.
You hold it for a second, waiting for the screen to light up.
STOP popping in to say aot and a song of ice and fire series fan??? my kinda niche 😌 LMAOO loved to be mooties with you <333
Yessss!!! My top two obsessions right now. Binge-watched GOT within a couple of months, and then devoured HOTD and AKOTSK.
AOT and ASOIAF are very different shows/series (or are they...), but I love them both so much!
I am glad we are mooties!!! Feel free to reach out to yap about the last two episodes of HOTD when they come out, but I don't usually watch them right away because I wait to watch them with my boyfriend.
Random Fun Facts About Me w/ GOT
I would love to say that I am a Targaryen, but let's be so fr, not all of us are Targaryens. Realistically, I think I would be either House Mormont, House Tully, or House Arryn (without that weird child...).
Favorite characters include: Brienne of Tarth, Ser Gwayne, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Tyrion, Egg
Massive Crushes Currently... Ser Gwayne, Dunk (um how can you not he is so babygirl), Valaar, Rhaenyra
notes: a last minute drabble for the birthday man. it’s so last minute I’m sorry if there’s mistakes.
Reiner jolts up in the bed beside you, choking gasps escaping his lips and his body reacting before his mind can process where he is. Steel, blood, smoke— the phantom stench hangs heavy in his nose as he scrambles off the mattress, his bare feet hitting the cold floorboards and stumbling back until his shoulders slam against the wall.
You open one eye to see him sliding onto the floor, knees pulled tight against his chest, his bare shoulders shaking as he buries his face in his hands.
Moving quietly, you pull back the covers and lower yourself onto the hardwood next to him. Sensing the violent tremors rolling through his body, you lay a palm on the back of his neck— securing his once weak spot, reassuring him that he’s safe now. He’s here. He’s with you.
Reiner flinches at first, a growl almost leaving his lips, but once he registers your warmth, he completely melts into your touch. He sags, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder, his heavy arms wrapping tight around your waist. He clings to you like a drowning man, his chest hitching against yours as he tries to anchor himself in the dark.
Your hand on the nape of his neck slides up into his hair, fingers gently tangling in his short blond strands. With your other hand resting against his bare shoulder, your thumb traces soft, soothing circles across his back as you press a lingering kiss onto the crown of his head.
The chill of the room bites through your sleep shirt. You shift, leaning back slightly to reach your arm up toward the edge of the mattress, intending to grab the heavy quilt hanging off the side.
The moment you pull back, his grip on your waist tightens to a bruising pressure.
"Just a minute more," he rasps, his voice cracked, muffled against your skin, "Please."
You soften immediately, your free hand reaching the blanket and dragging it down over both of your shoulders before wrapping your arms completely back around him.
"Honey, I’m just getting us a blanket," you whisper, pulling the heavy fabric tight over his back. "I’ll stay down here however long you want."
Reiner exhales— a long, shuddering sigh that rattles through his entire frame. He buries his face deeper into your neck, his fingers tangling into the back of your shirt. The trembling in his hands slowly begins to ease, subdued by the heavy weight of the blanket and the steady, unhurried rhythm of your chest against his.
You hold him there through the rest of the night, letting the hardwood floor carry your shared weight without complaint. Slowly, the frantic heat of his breath against your neck slows to a deep, even rhythm, and the white-knuckled grip on your shirt finally loosens, his fingers relaxing into the cotton.
Only when you know he’s completely fallen asleep do you lean down, pressing one last quiet kiss into his hair.
"You can rest now," you whisper into the dark. "No more fighting."
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𖦹 jean kirstein stars in " love, evergreen " ( chp 1 )
is grief something to hide or embrace? after the loss of your mother, all you know is how to keep quiet about it. that was before you met jean, who taught you how to live beside it instead. but is easier said than done?
note : it's finally here. i've been working on this fanfiction for over a year. please enjoy the fruits of my labor <33 index and info stuff is posting later!
nav. index.
" the bunny "
aug. 15
you stir awake by the soft sunlight peering through the curtains. a light rain patters on your window, slowly edging its way into your consciousness. you tiredly sit up and yawn, running your fingers through your messy hair.
today is a very big day for you, you're finally leaving for college. it truly feels like you'd graduated from the small high school in your hometown only yesterday.
you applied to trost university on a whim, one of those nights where you're desperate and willing to try anything. of course, you expected it to come to no fruition. trost university is pretty prestigious and doesn't accept just anybody.
you've barely slept a wink in the past few weeks, ever since you reviewed your acceptance letter. every time you think about it, your heart sinks to your toes. deep down, you don't know if that's a good thing or not.
evergreen ㆍ richy mitch
you take a deep breath, slide your legs to the edge of the bed and plant your feet onto the ground, feeling your soft rug under you. after doing your skincare and getting ready in a basic and comfortable outfit, you walk around your bare room. you had been completely packed for a while, the anticipation killing you. you grab the last minute necessities and shove them into your day bag before heading to the kitchen where your father rushes to make breakfast.
your mother died a few years ago, in freshman year of high school. for a while, your father was inconsolable. you barely made it through that year. only due to the kindness and patience of your close family, mostly your aunt.
because you live in such a small town, everyone knew your mother as the angel she was. but even with their support, your father struggled with alcohol for some time after her passing, he still does to some extent. you've had to take care of him for a couple years before he got the help he needed. even with the many ups and downs the two of you have, he never stops trying.
he frantically runs from the fridge to the stove, grunting when he realizes he's slightly burnt the pancakes. when he hears you laughing he turns around abruptly.
"[name], you aren't supposed to be up yet," he says with a lighthearted whine. you smile as you walk over to the fridge, absentmindedly helping him set the table for breakfast.
"i know, i know, i just couldn't wait any longer."
he chuckles as he adds chocolate chips to the pancakes, it's your favorite. "can't wait to get out of the house and leave your poor old dad, huh?"
you smile at his teasing, your nose scrunching, "how'd you know?" you move back to the dining table, putting the orange juice you grabbed from the fridge on the surface.
you start to prepare the table with your favorite set of white plates with navy blue flower edges. your mother bought them from another country when she and your dad traveled across the world. they feel like home. it's a shame you're leaving now, you hope it doesn't damage your relationship. you hope more that it doesn't damage him.
he will be alone in the house for months until winter break. it feels weird going somewhere without him, all you know how to do is watch over him.
"and... all done!" your father says proudly, bringing the plate of chocolate chip pancakes with a few slightly overcooked pieces at the bottom. you take a deep breath, the smell fills your lungs. it harshly reminds you how hungry you had gotten last night.
"oh my gosh, dad, it smells so good," you say as you get a pancake off the plate and start to feel the warm comfort seeping into you. maybe everything will be okay.
before you can even think about how to say goodbye, it's already time to go.
you stand in front of him, hand on the doorknob, and smile bittersweetly, "call me if you need anything. mrs. kelsey is right next door, she said she can also help you too."
dads gaze is fixated somewhere on the doorframe above you, his eyes shiny with tears. there goes that feeling again. this has to be a mistake somehow. terrible thoughts plague your mind. drunk car accidents, an overnight jail cell, another parent in the grave.
your father scoots you out of the door with your suitcase in hand. he doesn't let you speak, he already knows what you're thinking.
"i'll be okay," he assures. his sad eyes say something different. you make the decision to trust him anyway, you'll probably regret it.
lovergirl ㆍ laufey ( playlist. )
after a few hours of driving while blasting your favorite tunes, you make it to the university property. it's relatively small and private, only having three main buildings and four dorming halls.
trost is known for being a quiet and reserved college town. campus administrators claim that they've created their own community of students and help socialize the new adults who may struggle with finding their place. whatever that means.
evergreen trees surround the campus and a beautiful brick wall encapsulates the property. a huge gate sits centered in the front, welcoming you inside. theres a large forest south of the campus, with many walking trails scattered inside. on a nicer day, you plan to check it out.
you pull into the gate and the person directing traffic tells you the dorm building you're staying in is up ahead. you follow their instruction and you're met with a four story building, intricate architectural details and vines flow perfectly around the edges. you pass a sign.
" fritz hall "
you're finally here. no going back now. panic sets in ever so slightly and you take a deep breath, trying to combat your anxiety over the new chapter of your life.
you'll be okay, this is nothing. your desperate attempts at calming yourself don't work as well as you'd like them do. when you find a parking space, you slowly back in and once you take a much needed deep breath, you step out, feeling the cool breeze under the warm sun.
you fidget with the pendant around your neck, it's a small bunny. your mother gave it to you to help with your anxiety in middle school. it's a reminder she's always with you. you've grown extremely fond of bunnies now, most things that you have are rabbit related in some way.
you start to head to the administration building to figure out what dorm room you're assigned to, as well as all the other orientation things. you figure this will be pretty boring and would be just enough to calm yourself down. it's just some paperwork and information, right?
you head to the main sidewalk, following it as best as you can, trying to find a sign to tell you where you're supposed to go. after a while you give up and pull out your phone.
not long after, your face is glued to the campus map on your screen. you look up sometimes to make sure you're going the right direction, and also so you don't get hit by a car. that would kinda ruin the day.
while you're not looking where you're going, you run into a wall. a wall that just so happens to be on the middle of the sidewalk. you immediately look up, moving your hand to your head.
that is absolutely not a wall.
the wall that stands in front of you is a man, a pretty handsome man, but that's besides the point. before you can even say anything another person moves from behind him.
"what happened?" a soft masculine voice makes its way to your ears. "oh! jean you ran into someone-"
he stares at you with an apologetic look on his face. he's also pretty attractive, but more in a cute way. he has short black hair with freckles lining his cheeks and a sweet smile. by the lines on his face, you can tell he smiles a lot. just by his presence you feel a comforting warmth building up in your chest. for a moment you almost forget what just happened.
"i'm so sorry, oh my gosh," you frantically blurt, moving back a few steps. "i was looking at my phone and-"
"it's fine." the rough voice calls out before you're able to finish your sentence. your gaze falls to the man in front of you.
"jean, be nice. she looks frazzled," the soft voice says sternly. he lightly pushes the man, who you assume is named jean, out of the way. "are you alright!? is your head okay?"
luckily, you don't actually hurt anywhere. you had moved your hand to your head on instinct, it must have worried him. you quickly move your arm down and behind you as the embarrassment sets in. you want more than anything to just run away.
"it's fine i promise, i'm completely okay," you rush your words out, a little faster than you hoped. you glance at jean, his eyebrow is slightly raised and his eyes narrow, he looks like he wants to run away too.
"that's good," he says, turning to jean, "this is jean, and my name is marco. it's nice to meet you..." he looks at you expectantly.
"[name], my name is [name], it's nice to meet you too marco," you give a warm smile, silently wishing you ran into him instead of the one who looks bothered by your mere existence and audacity to exist. you fidget with your necklace awkwardly. you glance over at jean and give a small nod.
"great, you're okay," jean says curtly, he grabs marco by the arm and moves aside, "we gotta go marco, i want to get to the dorms before that asshole."
you blink, interested in who he is talking about, but you don't care enough to stick around. you smile awkwardly before stepping around them and going on your way, marco waves at you sweetly before lecturing jean about his behavior.
you let out a breath you weren't aware you were holding. as you continue to walk, you're able to see the administration building ahead. you assume it's where jean and marco came from. you see another group heading toward you, you're aware enough this time to avoid running into any of them. day one and you've already embarrassed yourself once, hell if that's gonna happen again.
it's two boys and a girl. the middle boy is tall with brown hair in a half up bun, he seems to be angry about something, slightly rushing the trio forward. the boy next to him is trying to calm him down, he has short blonde hair and glasses. the girl on the other side, closest to you, seems uninterested, like she has been dealing with that behavior for a while. she has shiny black hair that sits in a perfect pixie cut.
the two boys completely miss you walking by, but the girl smiles at you softly. you swear she's an angel. you almost immediately get a friend crush on her.
you finally make it to the building, stepping inside. you feel the air conditioning hit your warm face. the interior of the building is super fancy. there is a big open space in the middle, filled with white foldable tables housing various clubs, fraternities, and sororities.
you haven't had any interest in joining a sorority, they scare you a lot. the idea of joining a big group of people who expect you to give your life to them seems exhausting. you do like the idea of that closeness, but it's not for you, at least not this year. you plan on focusing all of your time and energy into your studies, the scholarships you've recieved are pretty strict about your grades.
you snap out of your thoughts when a sweet voice calls.
"hi sweetie! welcome to college, i'm abby!" she hands you a packet of information. "head to the left for dorm information and the right for paperwork! the middle room is the community based groups," she pauses and smiles, "going in there is optional."
that last part makes you worry the anxiety you have is plastered all over your face. you smile and mutter a quick 'thank you' before heading to the right, you wanna get the paperwork over with. you hear her saying the same speech to the next person walking in.
after about 15 minutes of learning about campus disciplinary action, you're just about beat. so much information has been shoved in your face, you're really worried its not gonna stick. you go back to the main area, and go into the second room where abby said the dorm information was.
as you pass by, you see two people walk in. normally you wouldn't think twice about it, but they're overly loud and slightly obnoxious that you couldn't miss them.
the girl with brown hair up in a ponytail is laughing and bumping hips with a boy who has a very short buzzcut. the girl who gave you the information before tries to get their attention. you just keep walking in hopes they decide to do paperwork first.
the next room is beautiful, a nice office space with red carpet and beige walls. there is an intricate chandelier hanging in the middle of the tall ceiling. in the center are two wooden desks, you head towards the first table and hope for the best.
the lady at the table starts explaining the basics of dorm life, no candles, weapons, drugs, or alcohol. you're kinda sad about the candles part, you love candles so much. alcohol won't be a problem of course thanks to your fathers behavior when drunk.
before she is able to explain anything else, the laughing from before is heard again, much louder this time. you turn back and stare at the two from before, they decided to go to the dorms area first, of course. they read the room a bit and their laughter dies down. they split up at the two desks, the girl with the ponytail behind you. she smiles at you wide, you throw a quick smile before awkwardly turning back.
the woman clears her throat and quickly finishes what she was saying before handing you a key. you take it and get the hell out of there, wanting to go to your dorm and enjoy the quiet for a little bit. you aren't normally an anxious person, but this is far out of your comfort zone.
tongue tied ㆍ grouplove
you make the quick walk back to your dorm building. you grab your two compact suitcases, the day bag, and a small duffel bag out of your car before heading inside.
the main room is gorgeous. it has a red and beige theme like the other buildings, it's the university's colors. to the left is an arched doorway leading to the common area. you can't see the entire room from where you're standing, but there is sound of pop songs radiating from the space. directly in front of you is the elevators, and to the right is a door labeled 'laundry'.
you're relatively early to orientation, so there are few people around. you wanted to get there as soon as possible for the least amount of human interaction and the most time to unpack and get comfortable in such a new place. you head to the elevator, pressing the up button. the lady from before told you that you're on the third floor, in room 319.
you stand in front of the door, wondering if your roommate is here yet. you've given this a lot of thought, worrying about having a bad roommate or someone who will have a lot of friends over. taking a deep breath, you twist the key and press open the heavy door.
the room is empty besides the two beds, two nightstands, and two desks. so your roommate hasn't arrived yet. you let out a long breath.
you step inside and put the bags down on the left bed. you look around the room, it isn't as small as you thought it would be. there is a large window in between the two beds and the desks are placed at the end of the bed frame facing the wall. on the right side of the room there is a door leading to a small bathroom with a tile shower, toilet, and relatively spacious counter with shelves surrounding the mirror.
you take a deep breath in and your worries start to leave you. this is exactly what you've wanted, freedom and your own space. living with just your father for four years has you longing for the time to get to know yourself.
you open the suitcases and unpack the basics. you put your clothes in one of the provided closets. you don't really have much. you've never been one to spend money on that kind of stuff, but things are going to change once you get a job and are able to buy the things you like. you put your favorite family photo on the bedside table, smiling to yourself, you wonder how your mom would act if she knew where you are right now.
you close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge in that fantasy. she would have come with you for sure, standing right behind you smiling wide as you went through orientation. she would laugh when you bumped into that man and whisper into your ear that he was cute. you'd probably have an entire closet full of clothes and cute decorations that she would get for you. you'd facetime every night and tell her all the cool things that happened to you, a couple times a month you'd have a mother daughter lunch date. you catch yourself smiling at the thought until you realize she's not here. the room suddenly feels dark and empty.
you pick up the photo frame in your hands. it's you, your father, and your mother. you're around 10 years old. you're standing in front of the house in a cute green frog shirt with overall shorts. you have a big teethy smile, showing your braces. your mother is on your left side, pinching your cheek. and your father is on the right, holding your purple pony backpack. you caress the edge of the frame with a bittersweet smile planted on your lips.
after you unpack the last few things, you plop down on your bed, now covered with simple white floral sheets and a matching pillow. you turn behind you and pick up the small deer stuffed animal you placed gently on your bed before. it's slightly embarrassing to have a stuffed animal in college, but it was a gift from your mom when she was sick and you can't sleep without it. this is the only way she can visit you in college now. you smile sadly, running your hands along the deers face.
you hear the door click and it startles you slightly. you quickly hide the deer lazily under the blanket and stare at the door as it swings open.
the last person you expected walks though the door. the girl from before with the brown ponytail.
you stand up and hold the door for her, she's balancing an ungodly amount of boxes in her hands while also pulling a suitcase and holding a duffel bag. she walks in and plops her stuff on her side of the room, sighing and wiping sweat from her brow. she gets a good look at you, and you can almost hear the gears turning in her mind as she tries to figure out where she knows you from.
"oh my god, it's you!! you were in front of me in the line, this is so awesome i was so worried i would be dorm-ing with a stranger." she lets out a breath and smiles a toothy grin at you. she has a slight southern accent, but it sounds like she's trying to hide it.
you smile sweetly back, "yeah, me too," she reaches her hand out and you awkwardly shake it.
you pull your hand back close to yourself. you always find yourself back to your necklace that sits softly against your chest.
"my name is sasha! what's yours? we are gonna be the bestest of friends. oh look, you already unpacked. aww your sheets are so cute i love them, and omg is this your family?" she notices the framed picture on the bedside table. your face contorts slightly at the mention of your family.
she talks a whole lot.
"nice to meet you, sasha, i'm [name]. and yes that's my family." you decide to keep it vague, you're not ready to talk about anything yet. she has already turned around to her boxes and looks around the room, mapping out where she will put everything.
without turning her body back to you she nods a few times, "[name]," she repeats your name, "that's so pretty." she shoves her hands in the box, grabbing out a bunch of stuff and dumping it on the bed.
"thank you, sasha is a pretty name too." you watch as she continues to pull stuff out of the boxes, it feels like a lot more than those boxes would hold. "um, do you need help unpacking?" you offer kindly
"wow that'd be so sweet! i'd love help." she turns her head to look at you before handing you a bin of bathroom items.
"can you take this in the bathroom? put it wherever there's space! thank you." she elongates the 'you' as you take the basket from her. you nod and head to the bathroom.
you don't have many bathroom items, the basics in skincare and haircare. sasha on the other hand, has an all matching set of strawberry scented soap, conditioner, shampoo, body scrub, and lotion. slightly overwhelmed by how much there is and how little you have in comparison, you start to put her items on the shelves in the bathroom. you've always liked organizing and sorting, so this task calms you well enough.
once you're done, you head back out into the main room and sasha has made her bed and is working on the walls above it, standing on the mattress. you stare at her decorations. she has a large handful of stuffed animals on her bed, almost covering a fourth of her sleeping space. you laugh a bit to yourself, pushing away any insecurity you had about having your own stuffed animal with you. maybe this won't be so bad.
she looks over at you, almost falling off the bed. "thanks so much, what do you think of this?" she points to the layout of various polaroid photos she has on the wall. organized in the pattern of a heart, a calendar with cartoon foods on it in the center.
"i love it, you're so good at this, sasha." you say honestly, and she laughs cutely while continuing to set up the decorations.
you sit on the desk chair, pulling out your notebook to make a first day checklist. sasha notices your silence and respects it, playing some pop songs in the background while she decorates. she sings softly, sometimes messing up the lyrics or humming through the parts she doesn't know. you feel comforted by her presence.
you're excited for this already, she seems like a great person to have as a roommate. maybe she can help you lighten up a little.
after a while, she shows you the finished product. there are fairy lights strung from one side of the wall to the other with various plastic flowers tucked into the wires. on her desk there are cute figures from media you don't recognize and an organizer with pencils and pens. she has a poster above the desk that reads 'guess what? corgi butt' and a laptop sits on the desk with stickers of different doodled foods with faces on them. she put a soft white certian over the window you share.
her personality is perfectly represented by the space around her, and it makes your side look even more bland than it was before. you stare in awe and she smiles widely at your reaction
"it's beautiful sasha, i love it."
"i know it's absolutely gorgeous isn't it" she squeals before she sits on the edge of her bed, visibly tired. "so!! it's time to get to know each other, girl to girl."
you haven't really had any girl friends like this. after your mom passed away you isolated yourself for a long time. not only did you have to take care of your father, you lost the feminine part of you when she was gone. you're a little nervous having someone so in tune with her girlhood, but you hope she rubs off on you this semester.
"okay, sounds exciting," you reply, not entirely sure what to say next. she seems to understand.
"so what are you majoring in? oh, and what's your schedule? maybe we have a class together, that would be awesome." she says with a big smile on her face while digging around in her bag for her phone.
"i'm majoring in psychology, but i'm not entirely sure. i haven't found my calling yet, i suppose. lemme get my phone to see my schedule." you grab your bag from the bed. "what about you, what are you majoring in?"
she opens her phone and hands it to you with her schedule on it, "i'm majoring in food science," she giggles slightly, "i wanna study how food affects the body and hopefully become a nutritionist! i want to teach others the importance of food and help those who struggle with it."
she seems to know exactly what she wants, you quickly find your schedule and hand her your phone. you read through her classes, the basic stuff. you have history and biology together.
"OMG, we have two classes together!!" she squeals.
"history and biology," you think out loud. you let out a sigh of relief, thanking your lucky stars you won't be alone.
she reads more and thinks for a moment, "i think you have health with my friend, connie!" after a moment of silence she clarifies, "he's the one who was with me before."
you nod, "awesome, i was worried about being alone in class." she hands back your phone and you do the same, you notice you aren't in the photos app anymore, but contacts.
"i went ahead and gave you my number! it's number one on the 'steps to becoming friends with your roommate' article i read on the way here," she says with a slight blush on her face.
"oh, awesome! thanks, i didn't even think about that," you text her your name so she has your phone number as well. you have a feeling this is going to go a lot better than you planned.
you and sasha talk about your goals and aspirations, you haven't spoken this much in a while. you can already tell you'll be the best of friends. at least you certainly hope so.
that night you sleep well. you still feel tethered to home, a part of you missing without your dad. but another piece of you, a piece you didn't know was even empty, is starting to feel warmer.
aug. 16
sasha wants you to meet her friend connie so you'd be able get to know each other for class. there are four more days until classes begin and most of the time has been spent with sasha exploring campus. sasha likes to go on walks too and you need to know this place like the back of your hand before classes come around.
the campus is absolutely gorgeous, trees hang over the slightly cracked sidewalk. the light peers through the leaves in such a beautiful way. trost university is known for having gorgeous trails leading all the buildings together.
by the time noon came around, sasha is tired and hungry. it's about time to meet up with connie so you just head to the dining hall. as soon as you walk in, the smell of so many different foods hits you, almost making you nauseous. you take a deep breath, you start to feel a bit hungry.
juna ㆍ clario
this buildings interior is much simpler than the others, beige tile floors with white walls. there is a huge archway that leads to the dining area. to the left and the right are the places to get food. sasha practically drags you in and before you know it, she leaves to go try everything and more.
you walk over to the salad bar. it's filled with beautifully crisp lettuce and a multitude of dressing options. you decide to go simple and make a ceasar salad. you also get a slice of pizza before meeting back with sasha at the entrance to the dining hall. she has two full plates with a bit of everything from the buffet.
you laugh softly at her and she sticks her tongue out. she looks around and sees connie sitting with the trio you saw on the way to the admin building and a guy you don't recognize.
sasha leads you to the circle table, everyone sitting around each other. she smiles and waves at everyone as she sets her plates on the table. you weren't expecting there to be four extra people, your stomach churns with anxiety.
"there's my girl sash, and the roommate!" connie smiles, his voice is overly loud and confident. sasha sits down, shushing him dramatically and you sit down next to her. on the other side of you is the blonde boy from the trio. you smile softly at him and he returns it.
"so are you gonna introduce your new friends to us or are you just pretending to know them?" sasha teases as she takes a big bite of a sandwitch.
"i have so many friends sasha, you're lucky to sit with us," he teases back. she rolls her eyes, too busy chewing to say anything back. he points to the guy next to him, the one you don't recognize.
"this is floch, he's my roommate. he's friends with eren, who is the guy next to him," he gestures at the hotheaded guy who seemed angry about something from before. he gives a lazy nod and wave before sipping from his drink.
connie points to the girl from the trio, she looks as calm and collected as ever. "that's mikasa" and he points to the blonde boy next to you, "and that's armin. they're erens childhood friends, they all went to the same high school."
sasha nods quickly, taking everyone's names and faces in before introducing herself. "i'm sasha and this is [name]! we're roommates." you smile, silently thanking her for introducing you as well.
the group greets you two in unison.
"so [name], we have a class together? which one is it again i forgot?" connie says as he pulls his phone out.
"yeah, we have health together. i think the professors name is hannes."
"he's alright," eren interjects, "i got here a week ago for basketball practice and he's our coach. he's pretty lenient as long as you do what you're supposed to. he's drunk a lot though."
your stomach drops at the mention of alcohol and you firmly grasp your necklace for comfort. you decide not to say anything.
"thanks, bro. noted," connie nods, sending eren a lazy salute.
"yeah, eren's the best, we go way back." floch interjects.
"no we don't." eren simply states.
you look up from your plate at the interaction, wanting to see what happens. you honestly have to bite your tongue to not laugh. before floch can say anything back, someone slams their hands on the table, making you jump a bit.
"jean, what the fuck do you want?" eren says without looking up.
you look up at him, slightly annoyed he scared you. he doesn't even seem to notice you're there, too busy giving eren a death glare.
"bro what the hell you scared the shit out of me," connie exclaims.
jean ignores connie's comment, "i want you to apologize to my friend for running into him earlier."
as if on cue, marco speed walks behind him, grabbing onto jeans shoulders. "hi guys, ignore jean he's not a people person. there's no need to apologize eren, i technically ran into you." he looks at the group and smiles, noticing you and sending you a wave. you smile and give a small wave back.
"he should still apologi-" before jean could finish eren speaks.
"if it'll get you to shut up," he interjects, turning at marco somewhat genuinely, "i'm sorry."
marco nods and smiles, "see it's all okay now jean, we can head out." he says quickly before pulling jean away.
jean scoffs and follows marco, he glances over at you first. he turns away before you can make any expression. it's almost as if he feels bad, at least that's what you'll believe.
"what was that all about?" sasha asks with her eyebrow raised. "he seems like a dick."
"he is," eren says plainly, "too bad his friend is so nice."
you find yourself staring at the duo while they leave. there is a small moment of silence before armin cuts in with an awkward cough, "so what's everyone's schedules, we could be class buddies."
after sharing schedules, everyone has at least two classes with someone else, except floch who has only one with mikasa. she doesn't seem to like that. you have health class with connie, history with sasha, biology with sasha and armin, and algebra with mikasa. you have one class where you won't know anyone, you hope it'll go well.
after lunch you and sasha head to the dorm building, she wants to see the common area. the walk from the dining hall to your dorm is pretty long and winds through the edge of the forest.
once you arrive, you enjoy the cool controlled air conditioning and take a deep breath in. sasha veers to the left, heading for the open space you wanted to explore the other day.
the room is very large and filled with many different activities for young adults. in the middle of the room is a pool table that looks older than you, at the very end are two tvs and a few couches surrounding it. there is a bluetooth speaker on the coffee table and on the other side of the room is a miniature kitchen with a microwave, mini fridge, sink, and coffee maker. there is a shelf that holds various card and board games. a few people are sitting at the couches watching television.
"woah, this place is awesome," sasha calls out from beside you. you nod in agreement, still taking in all the details around you. she walks over to the bookcase, looking at the games. you find naturally yourself naturally following her.
"i wonder if every dorm has all this stuff, we should go check out connie's building sometime," she thinks out loud.
you run your finger along the cardboard boxes, slightly dusty from the lack of use over the summer. you touch a jigsaw puzzle box. you used to do these with your mom a long time ago, you haven't thought about it since. it's sad to think one day you just stop doing something you enjoy and never think about it again.
sasha pulls you out of your thoughts, "im terrible at those puzzles," she gestures to the box you're touching.
"i used to love them, i'm probably so bad at it now," you chuckle softly.
"we should try one together at some point," she offers, this gesture means a lot to you though. it's been a while since you had fun with friends. you nod and smile softly.
after a while of exploring with sasha, she gets a text from connie about meeting up for dinner.
"connie is a lot more outgoing than i am, if you believe it" she laughs over her phone. "it may be a bigger group now, i hope that's okay."
you nod, "yeah, i need to get myself out there anyway," you long for friends, but you didn't want it to be that obvious even though you trust sasha a lot. you only met her yesterday.
she smiles and nods, texting connie that you'll meet him at the diner nearby campus. you and sasha head back to the dorm to freshen up before going back out.
you've been ready a while now, sitting on your bed and staring outside, the sun peeks over one of the dorm buildings. you've always enjoyed the sunset, it brings you peace. it's a reminder that another day has gone by and tomorrow is right around the corner. you close your eyes in relaxation, feeling the warm light on your face.
"hi sleepyhead, did i take too long?" you open your eyes as sasha steps out of the bathroom with her hair pulled up in a neat ponytail with a yellow bow. she refreshed her light makeup and added some banana earrings with cute faces on them.
"you look great, i was just resting my eyes," you stand up and grab your purse. "do we need to drive?"
"i don't think so, the map says it's a 15 minute walk. we can drive if you want though. do you have a car?" she asks while looking at her phone, glancing up at you.
"yeah i have a car, but it's okay though we'll just walk. it's nice outside," she nods in agreement and puts her phone in her backpack. you both head out and start walking to the diner.
"so where are you from, [name]?" she asks, watching as the sun moves closer to the horizon.
"a small town south of here, like a really small town," you laugh a bit. "what about you?"
"also a really small town, our high school was so small. me and connie met there, we actually hated each other at first, but eventually we realized there's no one else as cool as us. we've been besties ever since." she smiles to herself, reminiscing on the moment.
"that's adorable, you guys are like twins."
she smiles, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, "what about you? do you have anyone like that?"
this question hits you like a rock. you don't have anyone like that. you haven't had anyone like that in a really long time. not since your mom.
"not in a while," you answer honestly. "it's okay though i have you now." you scrunch your nose, bumping her at the hip.
she laughs and interlinks your arms together. you continue to share small stories from your childhood until you reach the diner. you enjoy it, being able to talk about your life like it hasn't been violently ripped away from you.
everybody wants to rule the world ㆍ tears for fears
when you step inside, it's like a hit of nostalgia. there's 80s music playing in the background from an old jukebox that sits in the corner. theres a long bar that goes from one side of the building to the other, with vibrant red leather stools lining it. on the other wall are striped cushioned booths. the lighting is dim and warm, adding to the old school vibe. the smell of burgers and grease fills your lungs. this is exactly what you need.
the chatter of the people around you block out what sasha says to you and she grabs your wrist, pulling you towards the table in the corner of the diner. the booth wraps around the wall with a lot of seating space. the people you met at lunch are there, excluding floch. to your surprise, jean and marco are there as well. marco sees you and sasha, smiling softly at the two of you.
there is barely room for you and sasha, forcing you two to split up. you sit next to marco who is by jean, while sasha is on the other side next to armin. marco tries some small talk, asking about your day and handing you a menu. you reply in short words or sentences while fidgeting with your necklace, the noise around you becoming slightly too much. you hear a ding on your phone and quickly pull it out, wanting to do anything to get out of this for a moment.
sasha: hey you okay? we can leave if u want i just wanna get some to-go :3
you smile at her thoughtfulness before quickly typing a reply.
you: i'm alright it just takes some getting used to the noise !!
before she can answer, the waitress steps over to the table and takes everyone's orders. the anxiety sitting in your stomach sort of kills your appetite, so you just get a milkshake. sasha on the other hand, gets a burger and fries, a burger and fries for later, and a shake. everyone else orders and the waitress smiles and heads to the back.
"so, eren is having a back to school party the day after tomorrow, you guys up for it?" armin adds sweetly.
a party sounds nice, but at the same time a huge nightmare. you'll probably go if sasha does, but you aren't too sure about it.
"yeah it's gonna be around 9, i don't know when it'll end, whenever everyone leaves i guess." eren replies with a small chuckle.
"yeah im up for it one hundred percent, where is it, surely not the dorms?" connie adds.
"no, of course not, it's gonna be at my older brothers house. he's popular in the frat. its kinda his party, honestly." eren says with a small shrug.
"hell yeah, we'll be there," sasha joins in. "right [name]?" everyone at the table glances at you for your answer.
"yeah of course," you reply without thinking.
stupid fomo.
"cool, i'll talk to the guys on the basketball team and they'll bring whoever. it'll be lit" eren says as he pulls his phone out. you stare at the booth table, trying to ignore the fact you just committed to a terrifying event. you chew the inside of your cheek and fidget with your necklace.
marco taps your shoulder and whispers, "hey, you alright?" you must have had a weird look on your face thinking about that many people around you.
you nod and smile at him, "i'm okay. thank you, marco," he smiles back and returns to the conversation with the group, they're talking about what kind of drinks will be there.
content warning : substance abuse
starting about a month after your mom passed away, your father would be gone for a few days and come back smelling weird. after a while you learned that smell is cheap alcohol and body odor mixed together in pathetic desperation.
you would often try and talk him out of leaving, the fear of him getting into an accident on the way home or getting arrested scared you. he would always tell you that he just needed some time. he refused to ever drink at home, he says he wouldn't let you see that.
one day you did though.
it was summer break, you were planning on going out on a friend date with some of your close girl friends. you headed down the stairs, about to tell your dad you'll be gone for a few hours when that smell hit you like a brick wall.
"dad? are you okay, where are you?" you called, taking every step carefully. you didn't like the feeling that followed as you got closer to the kitchen. your heart dropped when you could smell the beer.
he didn't reply, you saw him first. he was sprawled out on the kitchen floor, passed out. you sighed, closing your eyes and hoping it wasn't real. you stared down at him for a long time before picking up your phone and texting your friends that you didn't feel good. it wasn't exactly a lie, you felt absolutely sick.
you knelt down on the ground, shaking him softly. "dad, come on, get up."
your patience was growing thin. you had lost your mom, and you weren't out drinking and causing issues for him. in fact you were doing everything right. he didn't have to ask you do things anymore, things just got done. he didn't have to ask about school because it was something you handled. it was hard, yeah, but you did it alone.
"dad get up now, i'm not playing" you said, a little harsher this time. still no reaction.
there wasn't anything you could do at that point, he would just have to sleep through it. you grabbed a pillow from the living room and put it under his head, covering him up and sitting on the floor beside him until he woke up.
after he knew you would take care of him, he got used to it and drank more at home. you had to cancel more and more on your friends. eventually they just stopped asking.
"there's gonna be alcohol?" you blurt out without thinking, you aren't even aware of how long had gone by.
"uh yeah, it's a party." jean replies quickly. marco nudges him.
"yeah, is that a problem?" eren asks genuinely. everyone in the group watches you for your reaction, except jean, who looks anywhere but you.
"no it's not, i was just asking," you bite your tounge.
sasha still hasn't taken her eyes off you, trying to read your face. her eyebrows were furrowed in worry, a small frown sets on her face. she's the only one who seems to notice anything.
"alright, i was able to get everything in one trip," the waitress interrupts the awkward moment. thank god. she puts the food on the table, everyone grabbing their orders and sasha stuffing her to-go in her bag. you awkwardly hold onto your milkshake, using the cold to ground yourself.
everyone seems to have moved on from it and is now busy eating. you notice in your peripheral vision that jean keeps glancing at you over marco's shoulder.
even after everyone's done eating, the conversation keeps going. you've warmed up a bit and are engaging in the conversation more. sasha is talking about how cute you and her dorm room is. you smile and nod even though her side is the only cute side.
"and omg i found this adorable sweater when my dad was driving me here," she rambles on, "it literally has a corgi eating hot dog on it. get it guys?? 'cus corgis are dogs"
"omg, i get it," connie says deadpan and starts laughing, "that's so funny," everyone else sighs and laughs, but more at connie than the joke. you find a rumbling in your chest bubble up and a laugh escapes you.
for the first time in a long time, your fathers wellbeing tonight isn't on your mind. you don't think about where he is right now, you're a normal teenager. at least you're trying to be.
once everyone's done, it's decided to walk home as a group, since it's safer. its long past sunset, the moon and the dim overhead light posts are the only source of light this late.
you become lost in your thoughts, thinking about school starting. honestly, trying anything to not think about your dad. you can feel him in the back of your mind, a subconscious thought. you fear if you think about him too much, you'll go back home in a heartbeat.
you bite your lip in concern and watch your feet step forward one by one, your fingers wrapped securely around your necklace.
"you good?" a voice rips you from your thoughts. blinking a few times, you look up and see jean. right beside you.
he was pretty separate from the group, a few paces behind everyone else. you didn't realize you had slowed down so much to meet him.
"shit, sorry, i was just in my head," you say honestly, picking up your pace slightly. he matches you.
"it's okay," he says awkwardly.
you expect him to slow back down, separating the space between you two again. he doesn't. the two of you silently walk beside each other, matching each others strides. he seems different now, in a way, from the guy yesterday.
you, sasha, and mikasa head to the dorm building. you didn't know until now that she lived in the same building as you and sasha. she didn't seem surprised though. you must have missed the conversation.
you part ways when mikasa gets off the elevator on the second floor, while you and sasha head to the third. you're starting to feel the sleepiness seep in and your eyelids feel heavy. you havent walked as much as you want to recently and today's exercise is catching up to you.
you and sasha silently get ready for bed, you assume she's as tired as you are. she mumbles a goodnight and plops into bed. you swear she started snoring right when her head hit the pillow.
you sit in bed, going over your to-do list. you didn't get much done today school wise, but you made friends, got invited to a party, and you think jean may dislike you less. that's a win in your book.
you make some notes for tomorrow, you have a few things you need to get done before classes begin and your brain is telling you you're running out of time quickly.
Wildlife Ranger! Reiner Braun x Visiting Researcher! Reader
part one
summary : A quiet cabin, cold mountain air, and two people whose feelings for each other have grown too deep to contain. After years spent entirely alone on the reserve, Reiner has found something he never wants to let go. Between silent jealousies, shared laughter, and a devotion that finally burns away every last trace of restraint, he gives you every piece of himself in a night built on pure, breathless love.
contents: domestic romance, fluff + caretaking, practical intimacy, unwanted attention, and territorial overreaction NSFW: mdni, fem reader, size difference, cockblocked by nature, possessive male lead, territorial behavior, jealousy, neck biting, hickeys, explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), stubble friction, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare, birth control discussed, praise, pleading, unpredictable hunger, worshipping, soft/passionate lovemaking, established relationship, swearing
notes: oopsies, I got a bit carried away... I spent the last four days working on this 24/7... anyways, enjoy!
wc: 9.8 k
Once Reiner grew comfortable with the smaller things— the fleeting press of his lips against your temple over morning coffee, or the casual way he’d bury his face into the crook of your neck while you were both reading notes— it didn't take long for that initial caution to burn off completely. He got bolder. He stopped pulling back the second a gesture lasted a moment too long, and he stopped pretending he wasn't looking at you when he thought you were occupied.
And you weren't complaining in the slightest.
Instead, a quiet, constant fever had settled under your skin. You became hyperaware of him in the small cabin, attuned to the exact space he occupied. Whenever he murmured something low in your ear while pointing out a set of tracks on a map, his voice vibrated right down your spine and settled in your stomach. Your eyes caught on everything— the width of his back when he peeled off his shirt after coming in from the cold, the corded muscle of his forearms working as he hauled crates of equipment, the way the damp, dark blond hair clung to the nape of his neck when he stepped out of the narrow bathroom. Every movement he made felt deliberate, charged, and impossibly loud.
That hyper-awareness made simple tasks significantly harder to focus on.
Case in point: the woodpile.
Determined to carry your weight around the reserve, you had taken it upon yourself to split the evening’s firewood. But the heavy axe seemed personally offended by your presence. The log sat stubbornly intact on the chopping block, bearing three shallow, uneven gashes that served only to mock your efforts. You took a deep breath, adjusted your grip, and swung again, but your angle was off— the axe head bounced off the edge with a dull thud, shooting a sharp jolt through your wrists and up into your shoulders.
You let out an irritated huff and wiped a lock of hair from your face with your sleeve, missing the observer on the porch.
Reiner was leaning casually against the thick support beam, broad shoulders sloped, ankle crossed over ankle. A steaming mug of coffee sat forgotten on the railing beside him. His arms were folded over his massive chest, stretching the fabric of his flannel tight over his shoulders, and his lips were curved into a lazy, amused smirk. But beneath the lighthearted tilt of his mouth, his golden eyes were heavy, warm, and brimming with an unshielded affection that made the cold afternoon air feel suddenly suffocating.
When you finally caught sight of him, your jaw tightened.
"Is this funny to you?" you demanded, resting your hands on top of the axe handle, glaring across the yard at him. "You’ve just been standing there watching me struggle?"
Reiner’s smirk widened. A low laugh rolled from his chest as he pushed off the beam. "You're swinging from your elbows," he said, stepping off the porch, his boots crunching over frozen dirt. "You're using all upper body. Trying to muscle through it instead of letting the weight of the head do the work."
"I'm trying to get leverage," you countered, though your voice lacked real sting as he closed the distance between you.
"Here," he murmured, his voice dropping into a raspy register that made your skin prickle.
He stepped right up behind you, cutting off the cold air until his chest pressed flush against your back. The scale of him engulfed you instantly; his broad frame blocked out the wind, wrapping you in the scent of pine resin and his heavy warmth.
Reiner reached around your sides, his hands sliding over yours where they gripped the handle. His palms were rough, fingers easily overlapping your grip. When he leaned down to position you, his stubble scraped the skin below your ear, making a shiver run down your spine.
"Stand wider," he instructed near your ear, his breath hot against your neck. "Plant your feet. Keep your wrists loose..."
You tried to obey, but every muscle in your body had gone taut. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back and the firm press of his stomach against your waist.
"Now," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ribs. "Together. On three."
You lifted the axe back together. Reiner guided the trajectory, his broad shoulders powering the motion easily. It came down fast, steel biting cleanly into the center of the oak. The log split down the middle with a sharp crack that sent the two halves flying into the dirt.
A breathless, triumphant laugh burst from your lips. "Yes!"
Caught up in the victory, you turned around inside the cage of his arms, hands coming up to grip his flannel for balance.
The words of celebration died in your throat.
You were pinned against the chopping block, trapped between the wood at your back and Reiner in front of you. He hadn't stepped back. He let the axe drop into the dirt behind him, staying crowded right in your space.
His golden eyes were dark, blown wide, and entirely unblinking as they dropped to your mouth. The lazy amusement was gone, replaced by a sudden, heavy intensity that made your heart hammer violently against your ribs.
"Reiner–" you breathed.
He leaned down and took your mouth before you could finish his name.
It was a firm press of lips that caught your lower lip between his teeth, pulling a gasp out of your chest. The moment your mouth parted, the kiss deepened into something hard and hungry. He tasted like coffee and mint, his tongue demanding a response that made your thoughts scatter.
Reiner groaned, a low sound in his throat, and brought both hands up to cup your jaw. His calloused palms framed your face, thumb dragging over your cheekbone as he tilted your head to take what he wanted.
Before you could think, his hands slid down to your waist. With sudden, easy strength, he hitched you up against the edge of the block until your toes barely grazed the dirt. Your legs parted to make room, and Reiner stepped into the gap, pressing his thigh firmly between yours.
A ragged noise hitched in your throat. The heat off him was overwhelming, the hard friction of his leg pressed high against you pulling a shudder from your chest. Your hands scrambled over his shirt, fingers digging into the thick fabric of his shoulders to pull him closer.
"God, you're... you're killing me," he rasped against your mouth, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second just to drag his lips down your jawline.
His mouth was hot and relentless. He pressed bruising kisses down your neck, stubble scraping your skin in a slow burn. When he reached the dip above your collarbone, he sucked softly, making your back arch off the wood as your knuckles turned white in his shirt.
His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving against yours, his hips grinding forward with an unyielding pressure that left no doubt about what you were doing to him. His hand slid up under the hem of your coat, bare palm pressing directly against the warm skin of your waist. His thumb dragged over your hipbone, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips.
FLAP-FLAP-FLAP-FLAP.
A sudden explosion of wings broke the silence as a flock of crows burst out of the pine canopy overhead, their caws echoing through the clearing.
Reiner froze instantly.
His mouth stopped right against the pulse point on your neck. The sudden interruption hung in the air while the cold wind rushed back between you. Neither of you moved. Reiner thudded his forehead softly against your shoulder, his weight resting heavily on you while he tried to force air back into his lungs.
"God," he rasped, the word choked and thick.
His grip on your waist tightened until it was almost painful, a desperate, possessive squeeze that anchored you to him, before he slowly, agonizingly, began to ease himself back.
Reiner slid his hands out from under your coat and finally met your eyes. His gaze was dark, hooded, and heavy. He took a single step back, leaving you flushed, panting, and aching against the cold wood of the chopping block, your skin still burning everywhere he’d touched.
✶⋆.˚
The aftershocks of the woodpile lingered between you for days like the charged air before a storm. Neither of you spoke about his mouth on yours or the weight of his thigh pinned between your legs, but the cabin had changed permanently. The air was thicker, restless. Every time he passed you in the narrow hallway, his eyes held yours a second too long, his fingers dragging a lingering path over your hip as he slid by. Every time you set a cup down near his hand, his skin brushed yours with that same quiet heat.
It was only a matter of time before the tight enclosure of the cabin forced another crack in his restraint.
That crack came on a freezing, overcast morning when the small bathroom had turned into a foggy sanctuary of hot water and cedar. You had just stepped out of the shower, the room suffocatingly warm, your skin glistening. You had barely hitched a short towel around yourself—pinching the damp cloth tight over your sternum, the hem riding high up your thighs—when the brass latch on the door slipped with a soft click.
Reiner pushed the door open, stepping halfway inside to grab a dry shirt from the small shelf.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Steam poured out into the hallway around him, but Reiner didn't move. His golden eyes darkened instantly, tracking a stray bead of water rolling down your bare shoulder, past your collarbone to where your hands were gripped tight around the towel. His gaze dropped lower, taking in the shortness of the cloth—the way it clung to your damp hips and left the curve of your legs exposed.
He ran his tongue over his lower lip, chest rising on a deep intake of air. Without a word, he took one step inside and clicked the door shut behind him.
The tiny room felt instantly small. The air was thick and heavy, filled with the smell of soap, steam, and the tension radiating off him. He closed the two feet of space between you, looming over you until his broad shoulders blocked out the light from the frosted window.
Reiner reached up, the back of his knuckles gently grazing the damp skin of your collarbone—making a shiver run over your shoulders—before his fingers wound into the wet hair at the nape of your neck.
He tilted your face up and brought his mouth down hard on yours.
A gasp tore from your lungs as his lips claimed yours with a heavy demand. Reiner groaned, a low vibration in his throat, his tongue sliding deep to taste the warm mist lingering on your skin.
He slanted his head to deepen the kiss, his hand cupping the back of your head to hold you still. His mouth moved over yours with a starved intensity, swallowing your gasps. He caught your lower lip between his teeth, tugging firmly enough to pull a whimper from your throat.
A low groan broke from his chest at the sound, shattering what was left of his control.
His grip in your hair tightened, anchoring your face flush to his. His lips trembled against yours as he rasped, "God, sweetheart..." right into your mouth. He captured your lips again, his stubble scraping your jawline while his other hand hooked around your waist, hauling your damp body flush against the rough canvas of his trousers.
Without breaking the kiss, Reiner slid his hands down, his palms hooking beneath your hips. With easy strength, he lifted you straight off your feet and set you back onto the edge of the narrow bathroom counter.
Your legs parted, and he stepped right into the gap. The rough denim of his trousers dragged up the bare skin of your inner thighs, hitching the damp towel higher. He pulled his hips flush against yours until there was zero space left—the stiff canvas of his pants pressing directly against your bare center.
He kissed you until your head was spinning, leaving you clinging to his shoulders for balance, your lips slick and swollen under his attention.
Only when you were panting into his mouth did his hand wander down to the top fold of the towel. His fingers slowly tugged the damp fabric down until it settled around your waist, leaving your chest exposed to the humid air.
Reiner’s breath caught in his chest.
The kiss died on his lips as his gaze dropped. It was his first time seeing you like this—bare, vulnerable, your skin flushed from the steam, wet droplets clinging to your chest. The cool air hit your skin, making your nipples harden before his eyes.
A sharp gasp caught in his throat. Up until now, he’d only known you through heavy layers of wool, flannel, and borrowed sweaters. Seeing you like this, sitting exposed on his counter in his private space, ruined whatever stoic composure he had left.
His hands hovered an inch off your waist, his fingers trembling as he held himself back. A frustrated sound escaped his throat.
"God..." he rasped, his voice breaking—rough and stripped of its usual quiet strength.
He leaned forward, thudding his forehead against yours, his hot breath fanning across your mouth as he shuddered against you.
"Tell me I can touch you," Reiner pleaded, the words coming out as a shaky murmur against your lips. "Please... I’ve been driving myself insane thinking about this for weeks. Can I... please?"
"Reiner, yes," you breathed, the permission barely out of your mouth before his restraint snapped.
A low groan rolled through his chest. His weathered hands came up, sweeping over your ribs before covering your breasts. The sensation of his rough palms against your wet skin drew a gasp from your throat. His thumbs stroked firm over the aching peaks, his palms shaping you and lifting your weight.
"You're so soft," he muttered against your jaw, his breath ragged. "So fucking warm..."
He crowded deeper between your knees, pressing you back until your spine met the fogged mirror. The movement pressed you down harder against the counter, drawing a sharp contrast between the cold porcelain beneath your thighs and the heat of his skin everywhere he touched.
Reiner dragged his mouth down your neck, pressing wet, open-mouth kisses along your throat to your collarbone. He paused there, breathing in the scent of rain and cedar soap before dropping his head lower.
His breath fanned over your skin a second before his tongue made contact.
A jolt ran straight through you. Reiner was thorough. He ran the flat of his tongue in a slow swirl around your breast, tracing the circle of your areola. You arched back against the mirror, hands scrambling upward to tangle into his blond hair.
"Reiner–" you gasped, your head falling back as your body went weak under him.
Driven by a quiet hunger, he kept up the rhythm, flicking his tongue over the peak until a whimper broke from your lips. With a low hum, he opened his mouth and drew you deep, sucking firm and hot.
The heat and suction were pure bliss. The contrast of his slick mouth, the pressure of his tongue, and the sharp scrape of his golden stubble sent a wave of heat straight to your lower belly.
He sucked hungrily, his hand squeezing your other breast to match the rhythm of his mouth. Every roll of his tongue pulled a desperate noise from your throat. You dragged his head closer, arching into him, completely caught up in the sight and feel of him taking his fill of you.
Overwhelmed by the sensation, you gasped his name, pulling his shoulders closer to take more of his weight.
That extra shift was all it took. Driven past his limit by the sound of your voice, Reiner’s free hand slid down from your waist, his palm tracking a line down the inside of your thigh. You let out a breathy gasp as his fingers cupped your bare center, finding you completely drenched for him.
He groaned into your chest, his thumb slicking over your clit as he sought your heat, pressing his shoulders forward to sink a finger inside.
SMASH!
In the tight quarters, his shoulder hooked the edge of the toothbrush holder. It was knocked hard off the counter, crashing straight into the basin with a sharp clack, shattering into pieces against the drain.
The noise cut through the quiet instantly.
Reiner pulled back, chest heaving as he stood frozen in the steam.
Neither of you moved. You sat on the counter, bare from the waist up, breathless, staring down at the broken porcelain before your eyes lifted to his.
For three seconds, the only sound in the small room was the steady drip of the faucet and your shared breathing.
Reiner stayed locked still over you. One palm was still pinned to your waist, while his other hand remained trapped between your thighs—fingers resting motionless against your slick skin where he’d been about to slip inside. His knuckles trembled faintly as his golden eyes darted from the broken basin to your face.
A flush crept up from his collar, spreading to the tips of his ears. Slow and careful, Reiner pulled his hand back, his gaze heavy with frustration as his fingers dragged along your thigh one last time.
"God," he exhaled, a rough laugh breaking from his throat. "I... I smashed your toothbrush holder."
"Reiner," you murmured, your heart still thumping against your ribs.
"I'm sorry," he rasped softly, his thumb stroking the curve of your hipbone. He didn't look away from your eyes now. "I got carried away. I didn't mean to manhandle you in a five-foot bathroom."
"Don't apologize," you whispered, laying your palm flat over his racing chest. "I wasn't complaining."
His eyes softened, a quiet warmth replacing the dark hunger from moments before. Slowly, Reiner leaned down and pressed a kiss to the center of your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose, before pulling the damp towel back up over your chest. He tucked the top fold snugly over your sternum, his hands lingering on your shoulders just to keep you warm.
"Stay still," he murmured against your cheek, his voice gravelly. "Keep your hands out of the sink. There's broken porcelain in the basin."
Leaning carefully over the counter beside you, he reached into the basin to gather the broken pieces. He threw the shards into the small wastebasket below, working with that same quiet care he used for everything else, making sure no sharp edges were left.
When he finished, he rinsed his hands under the faucet, then stepped right back into your space. He pulled you into a grounding hug, wrapping his arms around your toweled frame and burying his face into the nook of your neck with a long exhale.
"I need to get out of this room before I ruin something else," he grumbled into your skin, his stubble tickling your collarbone. "I'll... I'm going to make coffee. Put some warm clothes on and come out when you're ready."
He pressed one last kiss to your cheek, opened the bathroom door, and stepped out—leaving you flushed and breathless in the cooling steam.
✶⋆.˚
By late evening, the mountain weather had turned bitter. A steady, freezing rain drummed against the tin roof, and the wind whistled through the pines. Inside, the cabin was a small island of light and heat. The woodstove crackled, casting dancing amber shadows across the floorboards.
Reiner walked over to the battery-powered radio on the kitchen counter, turning the dial until the static gave way to a faint station playing a slow ballad—something old, sweet, and laced with quiet static from fifty miles away over the ridge.
"Sweet Dreams" – Don Gibson
You were standing by the counter, drying the last dish, when he turned around.
He didn't say a word at first. He just stood there watching you in the dim oil-lamp light, framed by the glow of the stove. His golden eyes were soft, stripped of the cautious reserve he’d carried for six years.
He walked over slowly, took the dish towel from your hands, and set it down.
Reiner took your right hand, his calloused fingers lacing through yours, and wrapped his free arm around your waist. He pulled you flush against him. Because of his height, your head rested naturally right under his jaw, your face tucked into the nook of his neck.
"Reiner?" you murmured into his collarbone.
"Dishes are done," he murmured, his voice low against your temple. "Just sway with me for a minute."
You let your eyes close, resting your weight against his chest as he slowly moved you both in time with the music. His rhythm was unhurried. He smelled like cedar, woodsmoke, and clean detergent. Every subtle sway brought your thighs into soft friction with his jeans, his warmth wrapping around you.
For a long time, it was just quiet comfort.
Reiner moved you gently around the small kitchen, his feet navigating the space by pure muscle memory. His chin rested lightly on top of your head, his breath warm against your hair, his hand holding yours tucked between your chests. It was the kind of softness you wouldn't expect from a man built for splitting logs and hauling gear through snow, yet here he was, holding you like you were fragile. Because to him, you were.
"You're quiet," you whispered after a while, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat right under your ear.
"Just thinking," he murmured back, his thumb rubbing small circles over your knuckles.
"About what?"
Reiner exhaled a long breath that stirred the hair at your temple. "About how I used to sit in that chair over there every night for six years. Just me, the stove, and the quiet. Thought I had it all figured out." He paused, his cheek resting against your temple as he swayed you in another slow turn. "Didn't realize how empty this place was until you showed up. Now I can't even remember what it felt like before you."
The honesty of it hit you in the chest, warm and heavy. You slid your free hand up his back, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt, resting your palm right over his shoulder blade to pull yourself an inch closer.
Reiner hummed softly, a low sound of pure contentment, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head as the song drifted through another verse. He held you like time had stopped entirely, like there were no wolves to track, no university waiting for reports, no cold winter outside—just the two of you in a circle of lamplight.
It was tender, domestic, and safe.
...And then the song began to change.
The slow melody faded out through the static, replaced by a lower, slower blues track—heavy, syrupy, and dragging.
"I'll Take Care of You" – Bobby "Blue" Bland
As the tempo slowed, the sway shifted with it. Reiner didn't pull back, but the gentle rhythm of his feet began to falter. The movement became smaller, heavier, until he was barely stepping at all, just swaying you in place in the center of the room.
His hand on your waist slid down. Slowly, deliberately, his palm traveled down your spine, his fingers hooking firm into the back pockets of your jeans. With one slow tug, he dragged your hips tight against his front, erasing the space between you.
The quiet simplicity vanished, replaced instantly by heat.
Your breath caught in your throat. Through the layers of your clothes, you could feel him pressing firmly against your lower stomach, hard and heavy.
Your heart thumped hard against your ribs. Slowly, tentatively, you tilted your head back, looking up at him in the dim light.
Reiner had stopped moving his feet entirely.
He was staring down at you, his golden eyes dark with a restraint that looked almost painful. His jaw was set tight, the muscle ticking in his cheek as his gaze locked onto your parted lips. His breathing had gone heavy and shallow, his chest heaving against yours.
"Reiner..." you breathed, the sound barely carrying over the crackle of the stove.
He didn't speak right away. His hand released yours, his palm sliding up your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your lower lip. He leaned down, pressing his mouth to yours—not with the wild hunger from the bathroom, but with a deep, slow press of his lips that tasted like sweet coffee and desperate longing.
He kissed you until your head swam, his tongue sliding against yours with a heavy demand, his hips pressing subtly forward into yours until you let out a soft whimper right into his mouth.
That small sound was what did it.
Reiner’s kiss slowed, lingering over your lips before he gently broke contact, burying his face into the side of your neck with a heavy exhale. His arms tightened around you, holding you flush against his chest as his back rose and fell in deep lungfuls.
A sharp spike of guilt twinged in his chest. He was still kicking himself for losing his head in the bathroom that morning, for letting his hunger get the better of him and scaring the moment away with shattered porcelain. He didn't want to rush this now, or let his own desperate need drive them again. Not here, squeezed between the counter and the stove. You deserved so much better than a frantic scramble on the kitchen floorboards, and he was determined to give you patience and care.
His hands slid up your back to grip your shoulders, his fingers digging gently into your shirt as he held himself physically anchored, fighting his own body for control.
"Reiner?" you panted, your hands clutching his chest, feeling his heart beating fast against your palms.
"Wait," he rasped into your skin, his voice rough and thick with effort. "Just... give me a second. Just give me a second to breathe."
He stayed bowed over you, his forehead resting heavily against your shoulder. You could feel the strength of his restraint, the discipline of a man who would rather burn alive from the inside out than rush you into something clumsy.
Slowly, the tension in his shoulders began to thaw. Reiner let out one last long exhale against your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your throat before he finally lifted his head.
His golden eyes were dark, but the chaotic edge was gone, replaced by an expression so raw and tender it made your chest ache.
"Not like this," he whispered softly, his thumb gently wiping a trace of moisture from your lower lip. He offered a crooked smile. "I'm not taking you for the first time standing up in the kitchen next to a dying radio."
You let out a soft laugh, resting your forehead against his chest. "Reiner–"
"I mean it," he murmured, wrapping his arms around you again, pulling you into a warm, grounding hug. He buried his nose in your hair, breathing you in. "We've got time. I want it to be right."
He kept one arm wrapped around your waist, guiding you over to the worn leather armchair by the woodstove. He sat down first, pulling you straight into his lap so you were sitting sideways across his thighs. You swung your legs over the leather armrest, settling into his space, while Reiner kept an arm hooked under your knees to support your weight and locked his other arm around your waist to hold you flush against his chest. You rested your head back against his shoulder while the rain continued to fall outside, the safety of the cabin settling over both of you once again.
For a long time, neither of you said a word. The leather creaked under his frame, warm and worn, as his hand lazily stroked up and down your arm. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, tracing the small lines of your palm in slow circles.
"Rain's not gonna quit by morning," he murmured against your hairline, his chest rumbling against your back.
"Does that mean we're trapped?" you asked softly, turning your face slightly into the crook of his neck.
He let out a low laugh, his nose skimming your temple as his arm shifted under your legs to pull you an inch higher into his lap. "Means the trail up to the ridge is going to be pure mud. I'll have to split a bit more timber for the stove before noon, but... otherwise? Yeah. Trapped."
"Sounds awful."
"Devastating," he agreed, his grip tightening around your waist with a quiet sigh.
He reached over to the small side table without unseating you, his fingers searching until they snagged the paperback novel you’d left face-down earlier. He set it across your lap, opening it back to your bookmarked page.
"Read to me," he requested quietly, resting his chin heavily on your shoulder so he could look down at the page with you. "Or just read to yourself out loud. My brain is fried."
"You just want an excuse to close your eyes," you teased, turning your head to catch his eye.
Reiner offered that small smile again, his golden eyes warm and relaxed in the firelight. "Maybe. But I like your voice. Better than the static on the radio."
So you did. You read softly over the steady patter of the rain on the tin roof and the crackle of the burning logs, your voice trailing through the room. Reiner didn't move an inch, his frame anchoring you securely, his chin occasionally drifting lower until his warm breath fanned rhythmically against your collarbone.
Every now and then, he’d interrupt with a low, sleepy question about the plot, or just to ask if you wanted another blanket, completely content to let the storm rage outside while time stretched out, soft and unhurried, right in front of the fire.
✶⋆.˚
The morning air on the mountain had turned crisp, forcing a trip into the supply post two towns over before the first heavy snowfall locked the pass for the week.
The trip started off quiet—Reiner navigating the winding mountain roads with one hand on the wheel, the heater in his old pickup humming against the chill. But the mood shifted the moment you walked into the town’s only general store.
It was a narrow building that smelled of sawdust, motor oil, and dried mud, its tight aisles overflowing with hardware and canned goods. Reiner had already hauled the oil, the road salt, and the first sack of feed out to the truck, keeping only the final bag of winter grain to be scanned at the front.
While he rounded the back aisle, you lingered near the register. Beside a rack of work gloves, a row of glass candy jars caught your eye. Remembering a quiet evening on the porch when Reiner had casually mentioned his favorite childhood treat—something simple he hadn't tasted in years—you scooped a small bag of it, along with a few sweets for the drive back.
You set the candy and a pair of thick wool socks onto the wooden counter.
The guy behind the register, a local mechanic covering the till in a smudged apron, flashed an easy smile as he began scanning the items.
"Not many folks come through here from out of town this late in the season," he said, leaning over the counter. "You staying up at the reserve?"
"Yeah, doing fieldwork for the university," you answered, offering a polite, distant smile.
"With Reiner?" He let out a dry laugh. "Surprised he hasn't bored you to death yet. Man speaks five words a day." He straightened up, tapping his knuckles on the register while his eyes lingered on your face a second too long. "Roads up past the ridge get nasty real quick this time of month. Black ice everywhere. If you ever get sick of being isolated up there, you let me know."
An uncomfortable knot tightened in your stomach. You shifted your weight, tension prickling along the back of your neck. "We handle the roads just fine–"
"I mean it," he interrupted smoothly, leaning further across the glass. His grin widened as he laid a hand over your forearm, thumb pressing against your sleeve. "A small place like that gets freezing. If you ever need someone to keep you warm, you've got my number."
The boldness of the line made you freeze, your throat going dry as you tried to pull your arm back.
A shadow fell over the counter, blocking out the store’s dim overhead light. Reiner stepped into the narrow space behind you, his broad frame crowding right up to your back.
The room went quiet.
Reiner dropped the fifty-pound sack of grain onto the counter with a thud that rattled the display jars. His right arm came around you instantly, his palm cupping your hip through your coat to pull you back against his chest.
He stared straight ahead, his golden eyes locked on the clerk in a cool, unblinking glare that drained the color from the younger man's face.
The clerk went still. His gaze darted from Reiner’s thick arm wrapped around your waist up to the ranger's face. He yanked his hand off your arm so fast he nearly knocked over the receipt holder, clearing his throat awkwardly.
A silence settled over the counter. You stood trapped in the heat of Reiner’s hold, feeling the rigid tension thrumming through his chest while his thumb pressed a firm, protective notch into your hipbone.
"T-That everything, Reiner?" the clerk stammered, his swagger completely gone.
Reiner remained silent, his jaw set like iron, his gaze staying pinned on the guy while the total was punched in. He reached into his back pocket with his free left hand, slapping the exact cash onto the wood without waiting for a receipt.
With practiced strength, Reiner hoisted the bag of grain over his left shoulder using his free hand, balancing the weight easily. Yet even with the heavy sack resting on his shoulder, his right arm never left your side. His hand remained locked around your hip, keeping you anchored to his frame as he steered you out through the front door.
Every step to the parking lot was a silent assertion—his body blocking the biting wind, his grip keeping you held against him.
He tossed the grain into the truck bed with a heavy crash, then immediately led you around to the passenger side. Out of habit, he reached down, offering you his hand to help you step up into the cab. His grip was sure and steady, holding you safe until you settled onto the seat.
He shut the door, walked around to his side, and climbed in. When the driver's door clicked shut, the air inside felt heavy and pressurized, filled only with the hum of the heater and the heat radiating off him.
Reiner backed out of the lot with sharp motions, his left hand gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. The moment the truck shifted into drive, his right hand came off the wheel and slammed down onto your thigh. His fingers squeezed your leg through your jeans, pinning you to the seat with a firm pressure that held you anchored to him while he navigated the winding mountain trail.
Underneath his sudden possessiveness, a quiet insecurity sat heavy in his chest—the doubt of a man who had spent six years alone, fully aware of his own rough edges, terrified that someone smoother might make you realize you didn't need to be stuck in an isolated cabin with him.
He didn't let a shred of it show. On the outside, he just looked like a stone wall—jaw set tight, golden eyes fixed on the rain-slicked road ahead, his grip on your leg heavy and possessive.
You sat in the passenger seat, biting back a grin. You tried to look out the window at the passing dark pines, but the sheer delight of it was bubbling up in your chest. Seeing this massive, usually gentle ranger lose his cool, consumed by a quiet, territorial need to hold onto you, was not only endlessly endearing, it was obscenely hot.
You turned in your seat, shifting against his palm on your leg. You reached out, tracing a line down his flexed forearm, feeling the corded muscle beneath his flannel.
"You were pretty quiet back there," you murmured, keeping your voice low, sweet, and playful.
Reiner didn't answer right away, his golden eyes glued to the dirt road ahead. His thumb stroked once, hard and possessive, over the denim of your inner thigh, his jaw set so tight a thick muscle ticked rhythmically in his cheek.
"I didn't know you had a possessive streak, Ranger," you teased softly, sliding your hand up his arm to rest over his shoulder. You leaned closer into his space, your breath fanning against his neck as you dropped your voice to a low, suggestive whisper right against his ear. "Though... I have to admit, seeing you step up behind me like that? Watching you get so defensive over me... it was really fucking hot."
That was the breaking point.
Reiner’s head snapped toward you, his eyes dark, blown wide, and completely undone. Without a word, he slammed his foot on the brake and yanked the steering wheel hard to the right.
The truck swerved off the dirt road, the tires crunching over gravel and pine needles before grinding to a halt on the overgrown shoulder, hidden beneath the dark pines. Before the truck had even finished idling, Reiner reached out and cut the engine dead.
Whatever noble restraint he’d held onto the night before seemed to evaporate in a single, fiery second. The possessive edge, and the raw, desperate need to mark you as his, completely took over.
He unbuckled his seatbelt in one sharp, impatient motion, before reaching across the center console to quickly unlatch yours as well, releasing you. His large hands slammed under your arms, and with startling, brute strength, he dragged you straight over the gear shift and hauled you into his lap.
"Reiner–" you gasped, but the rest of your sentence was crushed beneath his mouth.
It wasn't harsh, but you could tell the difference from the night before. His hand came up, fingers wrapping firmly around your jawline to hold your face still while his mouth claimed yours in a deep, possessive kiss.
He tasted like coffee and raw intent. He slanted his mouth over yours, his tongue sliding deep, consuming your gasps. His other arm wrapped like an iron band around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.
"Mine," he growled low against your lips, the word spoken with a rough, heavy authority, and an underlying, desperate pleading, that made your breath hitch. "You're out here with me."
The sheer heat of him shattered any lingering desire to tease. You responded instantly, winding your arms around his thick neck, kissing him back with a sudden, matching hunger. Seeking more friction, you shifted higher on his lap, straddling him.
You began to grind slow and deliberate against him, rolling your hips directly into his center. Even through the heavy layers of denim and flannel, there was no mistaking him—rigid and hard against your core. The pressure of him pressed between your thighs sent heat straight down your spine.
Reiner let out a low, gut-wrenching groan right against the sensitive skin of your throat, his breath hot and ragged. His hand left your jawline, sliding down your spine to hook fingers into the back of your jeans, locking your pelvis flush against his. He pushed his hips up to meet yours, setting a relentless friction that made your toes curl.
Every roll of your hips brought your sensitive center sliding along the firm ridge of his erection. The intense warmth radiating through your clothes, combined with the firm, possessive weight of his frame trapping you against the steering wheel, made your head swim. You gasped into his mouth, arching into him, your fingers clutching at his shoulders to set a faster pace.
Reiner’s restraint shattered completely under you. Driven wild by the heat of you rolling against him, he tore his mouth from yours, dropping his head into the crook of your neck with a desperate growl.
His mouth latched onto the sensitive juncture where your neck met your shoulder, sucking hard and relentless. The fierce, bruising suction and the rough scrape of his golden stubble made your back arch instantly, a sharp, gasping whine tearing from your throat. Reiner drank the sound in, his teeth nipping at your skin before sucking harder still— claiming you so harshly that you knew, with absolute, dizzying certainty, he was leaving dark, vivid marks that would last for days.
Not satisfied with just your neck, his large hand hooked into the collar of your heavy sweater, tugging the thick wool down so hard the fabric stretched and groaned, exposing the pale curve of your collarbone to the cold air of the truck. Reiner immediately covered the newly bare skin with his hot, wet mouth, dragging harsh, bruising bites and deep, heavy licks across your collarbone.
"Tell me," he rasped against your collarbone, his breath hot as his hips surged against yours. "Tell me you're mine..."
"Yours," you gasped out against his jaw, your fingers knotting in his hair as the words spilled out without a second thought. "I'm yours, Reiner… all yours."
A low, brutal sound, halfway between a shuddering exhale and a growl, tore from the back of his throat. Hearing the words come ragged and unhesitating from your lips snapped something deep inside him. His grip on your waist tightened until his knuckles turned pale, his fingers digging into your hip to anchor you completely to his frame.
"God," he choked out against your skin, pressing his forehead into the crook of your neck as if the sheer relief of it was too much to carry. "Say it again. Tell me again."
"I'm yours," you sobbed out softly, burying your face against his neck. "Always yours, Reiner."
That final admission set him off. He lifted his head, his mouth trailing down your jawline to devour your neck. The heat of his lips, combined with his hips surging up to meet yours with every pass, sent a wave of heat straight to your core. Overwhelmed, you arched up and bit down hard into the meat of his shoulder through his flannel, squirming in his lap.
The heat inside the cramped truck went sky-high, the windows completely fogged over as your shared, ragged breathing filled the dark space. Driven wild by the friction, you rolled your hips again in a desperate search for more pressure, grinding down hard into his center.
Dizzy with the heat, you slid one hand down between your bodies, your fingers scrambling for the brass buckle of his belt, desperate to strip away the denim between you.
Reiner leaned forward, pressing his weight over yours to deepen the kiss, his hips surging up one last time to meet your roll—and as you arched back to give your hand leverage at his buckle–
HONK
The truck’s horn blasted through the dead quiet of the woods as your backside pressed into the center of the steering wheel.
You both jumped a foot in the air, the sudden noise shattering the intense atmosphere like a brick through glass.
For two seconds, you both froze, wide-eyed, hearts hammering against your ribs.
Then, the absurdity of it hit you. A breathless, wheezing laugh broke from your throat. You covered your mouth, your shoulders shaking as you dissolved into helpless laughter right there on his lap.
Reiner let out a heavy, frustrated groan, tilting his head back against the headrest with a quiet curse, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He looked thoroughly annoyed, his mood hijacked by a steering wheel, but as his golden eyes dropped down to watch you writhing with laughter in his arms, the tight line of his mouth began to crack.
A quiet, breathless chuckle escaped him, his shoulders shaking against yours.
"Unbelievable," he muttered affectionately, though a faint flush still dusted his ears.
Still giggling, you leaned forward, burying your face into the warm crook of his neck. You gave him sweet, soft, lingering little kisses along his pulse point, working your way up his jawline, drawing small, breathless laughs out of him every time your lips tickled his skin.
"Every single time," he grumbled into your hair, though his arms stayed wrapped comfortably around your waist, holding you close.
"It wasn't my fault your steering wheel is in the way," you giggled against his neck, giving his jaw one last, sweet kiss.
Reiner hummed, his thumbs stroking lazily over your hips, the sharp possessive edge finally melting back into his usual affection. He helped you shift carefully off his lap, making sure your feet found the floorboards without hitting the horn a second time, before you sat back into your passenger seat— flushed, breathless, and thoroughly delighted
✶⋆.˚
The marks from the truck hadn't faded by nightfall. If anything, they had bloomed into a vivid violet against your skin, a contrast against the slope of your shoulder where his sweater sat slouched over a pair of thin cotton shorts.
Reiner’s eyes hadn't left those marks all evening.
You’d made his favorite dinner, a simple, hearty stew he’d mentioned weeks ago, and opened a bottle of wine you’d picked up during the supply run. The woodstove crackled low and warm, casting an amber, flickering glow across the quiet cabin. With only two or three weeks left of the season, a quiet, bittersweet weight hung in the air. Every routine felt precious now; every shared silence felt borrowed.
You lay side by side on the quilts of his bed, the room lit only by the soft light spilling through the doorway. Reiner was on his back, his frame encompassing yours as you lay tucked against his side. Your head rested right over his heart, listening to its steady thrum, while his hand moved lazily over your arm. His fingers traced shapes over the skin of your shoulder, his thumb occasionally pausing to brush over the mark he’d left on your collarbone.
"You're quiet tonight," he murmured softly, his breath stirring the hair at your temple.
You shifted slightly, trailing your fingers over the soft cotton of his undershirt, feeling the heat radiating off his chest.
"Just thinking," you whispered, repeating what he said to you a few days before and looking up at him through the dim light. "About how much I don't want to leave in three weeks."
Reiner’s hand went still on your shoulder. His golden eyes softened, a quiet, vulnerable ache crossing his features as he looked down at you.
"I've been trying not to think about it," he admitted, his voice dropping into a low rumble. "This cabin's going to feel... too big when you go."
"I'm coming back, Reiner," you said, your voice thick with an emotion that ran far deeper than the words themselves. "You know that, right? I'm not just going back to the university and forgetting about this place. About you. You ruined me for everything else out there."
Reiner swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. The raw, exposed affection in his face was almost overwhelming. The look of a man who still couldn't quite fathom that someone like you had chosen to walk into his quiet world and stay.
"You mean that?" he rasped, his thumb stroking your jawline with unbelievable tenderness.
"Every word," you whispered.
He leaned over, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep and unhurried it took the breath right out of your lungs.
It was a complete contrast to the desperate, possessive frenzy in the truck that morning. This was unhurried, romantic, and thick with devotion. Reiner cupped your face in both of his massive hands, his tongue sliding against yours with a gentle, languid rhythm, drinking in the taste of the wine and the quiet warmth of your breath. He kissed you as if you were made of glass— reverent, careful, yet completely helpless against the pull of you.
As the kiss deepened, you lifted your leg, hooking your thigh over his waist to pull yourself flush against his side. Reiner let out a low breath, his hand coming down to grip your bare thigh, his fingers digging in with a sweet, grounding pressure that held you locked against him.
His hands slid down your body, fingers hooking into the hem of his oversized sweater, slowly pulling the heavy wool up over your head and tossing it aside.
His breath hitched sharply in his chest as his eyes took you in.
You lay bare from the waist up beside him in the dim light, wearing only your thin cotton shorts, skin flushed warm, his own dark violet marks painting your neck and collarbone. Reiner let out a low, shaky exhale, a sound that was half-whine, half-sigh, his shoulders trembling slightly as he looked at you with absolute awe.
"God, look at you..." he whimpered softly, the sound raw and completely undone.
You reached up, your fingers hooking into the hem of his undershirt. Reiner immediately helped, sitting up just long enough to peel the thin white cotton over his head and toss it to the floor. The broad, carved expanse of his chest and shoulders was bare in the amber light, radiating an intense, furnace-like heat.
You pulled him right back down to you. The kiss turned fierce and hungry as your bodies came together skin-to-skin. You tangled your fingers deep into his thick blond hair, tugging him closer while Reiner brought his broad, hot palms up to completely cover your breasts. His calloused hands shaped you, lifting you slightly as his thumbs stroked firm over your hardened peaks, pulling breathy whimpers from your throat into his mouth. He kissed you senseless, slanting his mouth over yours over and over, his body heavy and hot pressed flush against yours on the mattress.
Finally, he tore his mouth from yours, his chest heaving as he looked down at you with dark, blown-out eyes. He shifted down the bed, his broad frame kneeling reverently between your parted legs. His large hands slid up your thighs, his palms smoothing over the thin fabric of your shorts before hooking into the waistband, gently pulling them down your legs and tossing them aside.
He pressed soft, lingering kisses to the insides of your bare knees, his hot breath fanning across your core. His golden eyes lifted to yours— wide, dark, and completely pleading.
"Please," he rasped, a needy, breathless whine catching in his throat as his fingers stroked your inner thighs. "Tell me I can taste you. Please... I need to make you feel good. Let me..."
"Fuck, yes," you gasped, your fingers immediately tangling back into his hair.
A low, vibrating hum of satisfaction echoed from his chest. Reiner didn't rush. He pressed a lingering, wet kiss to your core before his tongue slid over you in a long, deliberate stroke.
You threw your head back against the pillows with a sharp, breathy scream. Reiner was methodical and completely obsessed. The rough, prickly scrape of his golden stubble against the delicate skin of your inner thighs made you shiver, the coarse friction sending a delicious, agonizing heat straight to your core before his mouth even touched you.
He used his tongue with a slow, worshipping rhythm, laving over your sensitive center while the shadow of his jaw dragged deliberately across your softest skin with every pass. The contrast, the sharp, rough bite of his stubble against the slick, scorching heat of his mouth, drove you nearly out of your mind.
Reiner drank in every gasp and whimpering sigh you made into the quiet room. He whined softly against your skin whenever your hips bucked up into his face, the rough scruff of his chin digging into your thighs as his broad hands gripped you firmly to anchor you right where he wanted you. His licks grew deeper, faster, his stubble scraping high and sweet against your center until he drove you straight over the edge, catching your shuddering release against his lips.
As you lay panting, breathless and undone, Reiner climbed back up your body, his face flushed, his mouth wet and slick.
Grounded by the intense pleasure he’d given you, you reached down, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants, ready to pull him free and take him into your mouth in return.
Reiner instantly caught your wrist.
"No, no–" he pleaded, his voice breaking into a needy, whimpering rasp as he hovered over you. His chest was heaving, his eyes wide, dark, and practically glossy with desperate longing as he looked down at your face. He was completely undone, a pleading mess of a man who couldn't bear another second of space between you. "Don't... please. I just need to be inside you. Please, sweetheart... I can't wait. Just let me be inside you."
Hearing him beg, hearing this massive, capable man whimper for you like a man starving, sent a fresh wave of liquid heat straight to your core.
"Baby, please," you whimpered back, pulling him down to you. "Now. Take me."
He didn't wait another second. Reiner stripped off his pants in one desperate motion, and with one quick pump, he lined his heavy, rigid length up against your slick entrance. He framed your face with his large hands, his eyes locked firmly onto yours as he slowly, steadily pushed all the way inside you.
A gasp tore from your lips at the full stretch of him. Reiner let out a long groan against your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut for a second as he buried himself to the hilt, completely overwhelmed by how tight and warm you wrapped around him.
"God... god," he whimpered against your lips, his body trembling over yours as he held himself still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size. "You feel so good... so fucking perfect..."
He began to move. The rhythm was slow, deep, and agonizingly intense. Every long, deliberate thrust brought his solid chest crashing flush against yours, skin to skin, the heavy heat of his body pressing you deep into the mattress. Reiner moved with a needy, obsessive rhythm, his hips driving into yours with a steady, unhurried weight that made you arch into him, crying out his name.
He was a completely vocal, helpless mess beneath your touch. Every time your hands stroked down his slick, sweating back, he let out soft, needy whimpering sounds against your neck. He kissed you continuously, messy, wet, desperate kisses that swallowed your gasps, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, scattering soft, breathless praises against your skin.
"Good girl... so sweet for me," he gasped into your ear, his large hand shifting down to cup the back of your thigh, pulling you higher against his hips. "You're taking all of me... doing so good..."
"Reiner—god," you sobbed, your fingers digging into the firm muscle of his shoulders, arching up to meet every heavy, agonizing slide. "You feel so big..."
"I know, I know, sweetheart," he rasped, a shuddering breath tearing from his chest as your tight heat squeezed around him. "Just like that... stay right there with me. You're so perfect, so fucking gorgeous..."
"Look at me," he rasped, his voice cracking with emotion as his rhythm picked up, his thrusts hitting deeper, harder. "Look at me, sweetheart..."
You opened your eyes, meeting his dark, blown-out golden gaze in the dim light. Seeing the absolute devotion and raw desperation in his face as he drove into you was what pushed you over the edge. You clamped down tight around him, your body shaking with a powerful, shattering climax.
Feeling your walls contract around him shattered Reiner’s remaining control. He let out a loud whine, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as his hips surged hard and deep three more times before he spilled hot and heavy inside you, his entire frame shuddering in your arms.
He collapsed over you, taking care not to crush you, his face buried deep into the side of your neck right over the dark marks he’d left that morning. He was panting heavily, his heart hammering wildly against your ribs, his arms wrapped around you so tightly it felt like he was trying to meld your bodies into one.
"I've got you, baby," you whispered softly, running your fingers through his damp blond hair, kissing the side of his head. "I'm right here."
Reiner let out a long, shaky exhale against your skin, and then, suddenly, his entire body went rigid.
He lifted his head abruptly, his golden eyes wide with a sudden, sharp lurch of sheer panic. He looked down at you, his breathing catching in his throat as the reality of what he’d just done hit him.
"Fuck," he rasped, his voice thick with sudden, frantic worry. "Sweetheart, I... I came inside you. Jesus, I didn't pull out. I'm sorry, I was so out of it, I just–"
"Reiner, hey, calm down," you murmured softly, a small, soothing smile breaking across your face as you reached up to frame his distressed face with your hands. "It's okay. I'm on birth control. I promise you, it's completely okay."
Reiner blinked, the panic in his eyes slowly melting away into immense relief. He let out a long, breathless sigh, closing his eyes as he pressed his forehead flush against yours, kissing your lips three times in soft, grateful presses.
"God," he breathed against your mouth. "Don't scare me like that."
"You scared yourself," you teased gently.
Without another word, Reiner carefully disentangled from you, sliding off the bed. He padded quietly out of the bedroom, returning a moment later from the adjacent bathroom with a clean cloth soaked in warm water. Rejoining you at the bed, he knelt beside the mattress, his large hands astonishingly gentle as he carefully wiped away the slick heat from your thighs and center, taking care of you with that quiet, meticulous devotion that was so uniquely his.
Once you were clean, he tossed the cloth aside, pulled the heavy quilts up over both of your shoulders, and gathered you back into his arms. He tucked your head securely under his chin, his arms wrapping around you like an iron fortress, completely content to hold you in the quiet warmth of the cabin for the rest of the night.
divider credit: @angeliicide
tags: @babyapplejan
(comment if you would like to be tagged in Reiner fics or just AOT in general)
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