Wifey of Asahi Azumane

Life in the ghetto wasn’t a walk in the park. Sure, life could be worse, (Y/N) could be going hungry at night, slowly turning into skin and bones. (Y/N) could be shivering the night away in a flimsy tent with a single blanket to keep warm.

Although it’s a little hard to be grateful for what you have when it feels like the oppressor is always watching your every move.

It doesn’t take a genius to see the lack of justice in these ghettos provided by the Marleyan regime, however, young (Y/N) didn’t pay attention to her oppressors as much, they’re only a child after all. Why would they even want to be concerned about politics when the neighbors are playing a game of kickball?

Almost like clockwork, every week at precisely 5pm, the children born in the ghetto would gather in a courtyard and play kickball, with the ball being an old ball accidentally thrown over the fence years ago and the bases marked by old linens.

Kids of all ages gathered as usual at the court yard to divide out the teams and begin their game of ball. (Y/N) wasn’t the youngest there, but at seven years old, they were still young and scrawny, so it was no surprise that (Y/N) was one of the last ones picked.

(Y/N) sighed in relief, however, when they saw that Reiner was on their team. Reiner was three years older than (Y/N), and pretty much tied to their hip. Since both their mothers were friends growing up, they always had playdates together, playing with various figures and creating these elaborate plots to go along with them.

“We’re on the same team? Yes!” Reiner celebrates, jumping around excitedly as any ten year old would.

“You’re only celebrating because you’re too chicken to face me,” (Y/N) teased, sticking their tongue out.

A succession of ‘am not’s and ‘am to’s was promptly stopped when one of the older kids shouted that the game was about to start. Team Black would be kicking first while Team White would pitch.

(Y/N)’s favorite part of the game was kicking, so finding out that the Black Team was kicking first was music to their ears. They ran to the line, getting as close to the front as they could. Reiner held back, as he preferred catching the ball and running fast to get someone out.

(Y/N) was finally up to kick. Team Black had an out and kids on second and third base. If they scored, their team would get their first point.

The ball bounced a slight bit as it made its way toward (Y/N). (Y/N) wound back their leg and hit the ball back, aiming in between the second and third base. The ball flew and (Y/N) sprinted to first base.

What (Y/N) failed to realize was that Jameson, the eight year old boy that had a personal goal of making every day miserable for (Y/N), was waiting by first base.

As they ran toward the base, Jameson positioned himself to where his foot would ‘accidently’ get in the way of (Y/N)’s footing. Sure enough, (Y/N) stepped on his foot, causing them to lose their balance and fall to the ground before hitting the base.

“What the hell, (Y/N), you stepped on my foot!” Jameson shouted, landing a kick in (Y/N)’s side. (Y/N) yelped in pain as they curled into themself.

“You put your foot there on purpose,” (Y/N) sniffled as pain-filled tears leaked from their eyes.

“So what if I did? You still should have avoided it,” Jameson landed another kick to their side.

Reiner, who was zoned out looking at a bee buzzing around, snapped back to reality when he heard (Y/N) yelp in pain in the distance. Before he could think, he found himself running over to the two and punching Jameson square in the face.

Before Jameson could retaliate, Reiner picked up (Y/N) from the ground and ran away from the game, carrying them on his back. Deciding it was not worth the effort, Jameson let them run off as he got back to his game, but not before the team captain of the day switched him to outfield as punishment.

With (Y/N) on his back, Reiner ran to their self proclaimed happy place, if you could call anywhere in the ghetto happy. Near the entrance gate, there was a patch of grass where wildflowers grow, giving them a taste of the natural world that was unknown to them within the walls of the ghetto. He set them down and plopped next to their shuttering frame.

“How are you feeling, (Y/N), are you hurt? Do we need to go to the doctor?” Reiner asked.

“I’m hurt, but I don’t want to go to the doctor.”

“Are you still afraid that the doctor is going to give you a shot?” Reiner teased.

“Shut up! Needles are scary!” (Y/N) whined, causing Reiner to giggle.

Soon enough, the pain in (Y/N)’s side began to fade, and they focused themselves on making a flower crown while Reiner watched the Marleyan soldiers outside the gate train.

“My mama wants me to be a warrior, but I’m not too sure that's what I want to do,” Reiner sighed, lying all the way back on his back.

“How come? Isn’t becoming a warrior one of the best things an Eldian can do for Marley?” (Y/N) asked.

“Yeah, but that would mean I would have to work really hard, while buttheads like Jameson would get to play and make fun of you. It wouldn’t be fair!”

“Why are boys like Jameson so mean anyway? My mommy told me that it just meant that he liked me, but why would someone be mean to someone they liked?” (Y/N) asked.

“Is that a thing?” Reiner asks.

“That’s what mommy says,” (Y/N) finished their flower crown and unceremoniously flopped it onto Reiner’s head, earning a giggle from him. “I wouldn’t want to marry a guy like Jameson, I would want to marry a guy like you, Reiner, who’s nice to me.”

“Then how about we make a promise?” Reiner asked.

“A promise?”

“Yeah, like, we promise to marry each other now, and once we get big we actually do it?” Reiner’s cheeks were now bright red.

“Yeah! I like that! I promise to marry you, Reiner,” (Y/N) extended a pinky out.

Reiner crudely plucked a flower from the ground and tied the stem around (Y/N)’s finger. Reiner’s fingers were chubby and unskilled, so the flower ring didn’t turn out as pretty as the crown, yet (Y/N) still stared at it.

“And I promise to marry you, (Y/N).”

XXX

Reiner ended up joining the Warriors a few years later, to the dismay of (Y/N). The flower ring had since shriveled up beyond repair, but (Y/N) refused to let go of their promise, thinking that if the flower stayed in their possession, it would guarantee Reiner’s safe return home.

However, the mission that was estimated to take the four warriors a year or two to complete turned into a major failure with rumors stating that only one of them was making it home. However, (Y/N) didn’t have the time to mourn her lost friend, Marley was still causing conflict in both the battle front and the home front.

It wouldn’t be until after the Rumbling ended when (Y/N) would meet up with Reiner again. He was in the area negotiating peace with some other nations, and decided a late lunch and catch-up session with his childhood friend was in order.

“So, how was going through puberty like on an island without modern medicine?” (Y/N) asked shamelessly.

“What happened to hello?” Reiner asked, causing (Y/N) to erupt in laughter.

“I’m just sad I didn’t get to witness voice-crack Reiner,” (Y/N) wiped a tear from their eye, causing Reiner to groan.

They then began to catch up, retelling all their experiences from the past thirteen years. Reiner went into detail as to what it was like training with the man who almost killed all of humanity, his trauma, and even his suicide attempt while (Y/N) retold moments of agony in the ghetto, their dad getting drafted for one of the countless wars, and even confessed that they and Jameson dated at one point.

“You! And him!” Reiner stuttered.

“Apparently my mom was right, Jameson pretended he hated me because he couldn’t decipher his own feelings. Dumped his ass a while ago though, he started spending all his money on alcohol.”

“So I’m assuming you’re not seeing anyone?” Reiner asked.

“Not at the moment, why do you ask?”

“Well, (Y/N), I may have had ulterior motives to this lunch,” Reiner pulled out a small box from his pocket and set it on the table, inviting (Y/N) to open it up. Inside was a ring, with the centerpiece shaped as the flower that he tied onto (Y/N)’s finger all those years ago.

“What is this?” (Y/N) stuttered.

“You probably don’t remember, but one day, I gave you a flower ring with a promise. I’m sure it’s long gone by now.”

“Yeah, lost it in the rumbling. Are you really proposing to me right now?”

“No no no! This is just a reminder of that promise we made that afternoon. That promise helped me push through all the hardships I faced,” Reiner flailed his arms a bit, getting slightly flustered.

“So, a promise ring?”

“I promised I’d marry you, didn’t I?” Reiner asked as he pulled out his pinky. Smiling, (Y/N) slipped on the ring and interlocked their pinky with his.

You knew the two of you were falling out of love, so why did you agree to get a tattoo with him? Maybe somewhere in the back of your mind thought the permanence of the tattoo would somehow inspire you to keep nurturing the relationship that was quickly fleeing from your grasp.

Alas, you got the tattoo, and three months later, you caught him in bed with someone he met off of Tinder.

After the breakup, the first thing on your agenda was to find someone to cover up the tattoo, which shouldn’t be too hard. It was a small puzzle piece on your forearm that would connect to his similar looking piece on his forearm. After a google search and a couple of clicks, you found a tattoo artist who specialized in coverups.

Asahi Azumane. And his book was open.

You filled out the application, attaching a picture of the tattoo you wanted covered up and what you wanted in place of it. After reviewing the information on it a couple of times to make sure everything was correct, you sent it over.

A couple of days later, you got an email from Asahi accepting your request and giving a list of available dates and times, the earliest of them being that weekend. After emailing back and forth discussing price and other logistics, you scheduled your coverup for that Sunday at 3pm.

Before you realized it, the day approached, and you found yourself on your way to the parlor in which Asahi worked. Opening the door to the parlor, your nose caught a whiff of the sterile air and a hint of second hand smoke.

“You must be (Y/N)? My three o’clock?” asked a man in the back of the shop.

“Yes!”

“Alright, just finishing up sterilizing the area from the last guy. I’ll call you back in a bit.”

Nodding, you take a seat and start to flip through a random magazine they had at the front of the store. It was a little metal for your style, but you enjoyed looking at the different pictures of Rockstars showing off their respective tattoo’s.

Soon, the man you were pretty sure was Asahi walked into the area. His long chocolate brown hair was tied back in a loose bun, showing off his rather muscular shoulders almost bursting out of his tank top. Sleeves of traditional Maori tattoos covered his muscular arms up to his wrists, leaving behind spotless, veiny hands that were reaching out for a handshake.

“You must be, (Y/N). I’m Asahi. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you reply as you stand up, grasping his hand to return the handshake. After signing some paperwork at the front desk, he led you back to the chair, where he would be tattooing you.

As soon as you hit the seat, he begins his work sanitizing and shaving what he needs to. He reminds you that cover ups hurt more than regular tattoos due to the scar tissue. Once you assure him that you understand that, as well as the other risks he mentioned earlier, he printed the design on you and began tattooing.

To say it hurt would be the understatement of the century. After many ‘stay still please’s and a couple of breaks, your pain pretty much evaporated after you saw the finished product. What was once a puzzle piece representing your broken-up relationship was now the moon phases going all the way up and down your forearm.

Simple, yet absolutely stunning.

The two of you said your goodbyes and went your separate ways; you home and Asahi to the back to clean up his work station for the next customer.

A couple of weeks later, you found your tattoo healed and yourself swiping through numerous different men on tinder. Some were hotter than others, but a majority of them had fishing photos, which instantly turned you off.

Utterly hopeless from the dry conversations and constant ‘step on me’ super likes, you were just about ready to give up and just spend your nights at the bar looking for your next relationship or hook-up. Honestly, you didn’t care too much for commitment at the moment, but if it was the right guy, an exception could be made. That's when you stumble upon a profile that caught your attention.

Asahi A. 24. Tattoo Artist. 6 Miles Away.

Before you could even swipe through his photos and think about swiping, you swiped right to instantly get the little match animation. Instantly, you rush to the messages and type out ‘I didn’t realize you were single,’ and hit send.

About a minute later, he replies, and the two of you get into a nice discussion about how you both had a mutual attraction, but elected not to say anything due to the fear of the other not being single.

The two of you agreed to share your snaps, and continued talking to each other until the wee hours of the morning.

You two continued to go on dates, getting to know each other like the lovebirds in the honeymoon phase you two were.

At the end of one particular date, you found yourself giggling as Asahi struggled to unlock the door to his tattoo parlor late into the night. You had called him a softie earlier that night and he wanted to prove to you that he was bad to the bone (even though he was an actual softie)

Once the door was unlocked, he pushed you in and started to kiss you heavily. You reciprocated easily, slipping your tongue in at one point. He continued to push you back to one of the rooms. You definitely heard him curse a couple of times as you two knocked over some furniture and stands on the way, but you didn’t really care.

Finally you made it to the back room, where he pushed you onto one of the tables he tattooed on. He was going to need to sanitize it later, but you didn’t care too much.

“Wow, such a bad boy, letting me keep my clothes on,” you teased, although you almost regretted that as his face turned dark.

“Oh, so you want a bad boy, huh? Careful what you wish for sweetie,” he whispered, causing you to get much more wetter than you already were.

He ripped open your blouse, popping off three buttons that you heard bounce on the floor. Your bra was next, although he was a slight bit softer so it wouldn’t break.

“Aww, don’t get soft on me,” you teased again, causing him to roughly pull off your skirt and literally rip your underwear off your body. The now ruined article of clothing was tossed to the side.

“Fucking brat, teach you a lesson,” he murmured to himself as he pulled a pair of black nitrile gloves out and stretched them over his hands, his large hands.

Before giving you time to admire the way the glove stretched against his hand, he shoved two fingers in, causing you to mewl in delight.

He got straight to work, pressing up into your g-spot, causing you to immediately hold onto his arm in an attempt to either slow him down or ground yourself, but he quickly swatted them away, and used his other hand to rub tight circles onto your clit.

In no time, you were crying out in pleasure. You looked down and saw the workings Asahi was doing to your pussy. The intricacies of his movements were mesmerizing to you, and you slowly came undone.

Overwhelmed with pleasure, but not exactly at your peak yet, you started to buck your hips. In response, Asahi pulled away.

“Stay still,” He growled. You groaned in response. “Are you trying to backtalk me?” he asked, almost angrily, causing you to whimper. “I. said. Stay. still.” he grunted, slapping your sensitive pussy with every work for emphasis, and he didn’t hold back. Tears brimmed your eyes as you nodded, trying everything in your power to hold still.

He went back to rubbing your clit and fingering your g-spot, even harder than before the slaps. That mixed with the buildup of earlier and the intensity of him slapping your pussy made you cum almost instantly. And you came hard, nothing like the stupid ex boyfriend could do to you.

He chuckled as you came, seeing you struggle to not move like he had asked you to do. It was endearing, really.

Soon, your high had finished and you were recovering, but before your breathing could get down, Asahi told you to scoot back and hang your head off the table. Without thinking, you complied.

He unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and underwear, exposing himself to you. He started prodding at your mouth, and you opened up. He immediately started thrusting into your throat, causing you to gag around his length.

Grabbing your hair, he held your head in place as he fucked your mouth. You couldn’t help but gag and tear up as his dick moved inside.

You also couldn’t help but enjoy it.

To up his pleasure, you decided to start humming around his dick. It wouldn't be too much vibration, but it would be enough for him to get pleasure out of it.

Soon, he couldn’t take it anymore and pulled it out of your mouth. You gasped for air and a thick string of saliva connected your face to his dick. Almost immediately, he stuck it in your pussy and began to thrust.

Unsatisfied with the angle, he pulled you closer to the edge and pushed your legs back to your chest. The new angle had him hitting every spot in you, thrashing your head around and gripping hard on his shoulders.

“Aww, only a couple of thrusts and you’re already losing it, huh?” Asahi teased, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep kiss. All you could do was moan and inhale sharply as the pleasure became too much. He pulled away from the kiss and started to rub your clit again, causing you to moan out even louder.

“Asa-a, AHH, I-I'm clo-OH-se,” you try to warn him, but he feels you clamp down on him and squirt all over his torso. He doesn’t stop, though, he’s too close to his high himself.

Fucking you into overstimulation, he finally releases inside you, groaning as he came.

The two of you stayed there, panting, trying to catch your breath. He went over to grab a towel and started to wipe you clean of all the sweat and other bodily fluids that covered your body. He let you lie there and catch your breath while he put his pants back on.

“You ok there, sweetie?” Asahi asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just, wow,” you stutter out. He chuckles and goes to find a t-shirt. He came back to put a giant t-shirt over you- it was black with the tattoo parlor’s logo in red print. It was also large enough to fall down to your knees.

“The shirt’s on me, sorry for ripping up your clothes,” Asahi apologized. You giggled as you tried to stand up to leave to his house, only for your legs to give out under you.