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spwiski · 2 years

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come back to me

Hitch Dreyse x gn!reader

Summary: The walls have fallen and the rumbling has started. You face the task of telling Hitch that you need to go.

A/N: Let's just pretend Annie did not take Hitch hostage.

It's a hard thing for you to go and find Hitch after the walls had fallen. The streets are full of rubble and people pulling others out from the wreckages.

You keep your head down, not making eye contact with anyone because you know there's a sliver of a chance that the lifeless eyes you'll meet are her green ones.

The streets are chaotic. Everything is in pieces.

The narrow streets are full of debris, the wreckage of a city. The buildings are still standing but unlike what you are used to, they are warped beyond measure.

So as you approach the still-standing Military Police building, you keep your head down, not wanting to get too close to the wreckage. But the falling of the walls is nothing to the way you'll know Hitch will look at you once you find her and tell her what you have to do.

The Military Police building is bustling, MP's are running around like headless chickens, securing the unstable and medically assisting them, gathering resources and providing shelter, others dragging dazed citizens in the opposite direction.

The sound of their boots hitting the floor echoes through the building, creating a desperate rhythm that reels you in and makes it hard to leave. It smells like leather and starch and sweat.

You navigate through the chaos, making your way to the makeshift medical ward that has been set up in one of the larger rooms. The sound of moans and cries echo through the hallways, making your heart race with anxiety.

As you approach the entrance to the ward, a group of MPs stops you, asking for your identification and your business there. You show them your credentials, explaining that you're looking for someone.

One of the MPs, a stern-looking woman with a no-nonsense attitude, steps forward and asks for the name of the person you're after. You hesitate for a moment, knowing that once you say Hitch's name, there's no going back.

You take a deep breath and say her name, and the woman's expression softens a bit as she nods, telling you that she knows who you're talking about.

She leads you through the crowded room, past rows of injured people lying on makeshift cots, some with bandages wrapped around their heads, others with broken limbs. You can't help but feel overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who have been affected by the wall's collapse.

Finally, you see her. Hitch is sitting on a cot with a few cuts on her face and she's arguing with another MP.

"I'm fine, let me get back out there, I've got people to help." She says stubbornly, her green eyes angry and her lip trembling.

You approach her cautiously, not entirely sure what you're going to say to her. But the look of relief that fills her eyes when she sees you tells you everything that you need to know.

"Hitch," You breathe out and it's barely audible.

"Hey," She says softly, her voice broken, rushing up to hug you. You wrap your arms around her, feeling her body shake as she holds onto you tightly. For a moment, you both just stand there, holding each other, letting the chaos of the outside world fade away.

Finally, you pull back slightly and look at her, taking in the cuts and bruises on her face, the exhaustion in her eyes. You know what you have to do, and it's going to be hard, but it's necessary.

"Hitch, I need to talk to you about something." You say gently, your voice barely above a whisper. "Somewhere private."

She nods, understanding what you're saying. She follows you out of the ward, her footsteps slow and unsteady.

Once you're alone, you take a deep breath and steel yourself for what you're about to say.

"Hitch, I'm sorry." You say quietly, fighting the tears that are threatening to come. "But I need to leave."

"What?" She asks, her voice a raw whisper.

"You heard his speech." You say clenching your fists and glaring at the floor. "I'm going with the others, to stop him."

Hitch's eyes widen in shock, and for a moment, she doesn't say anything. Then, she takes a step back from you, her face contorting in anger. "What are you thinking? Do you even realize what you're getting into?" She says, her voice rising in pitch.

"I do." You say, barely holding yourself together. "But I'm going because I have to and I know that I might not come back."

Hitch's anger slowly fades, replaced by a look of sadness and understanding. "I can't stop you, can I?" She says softly.

You shake your head, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I wish you could."

"You'll try right?" She starts "To come back?"

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Hitch pulls you into a hug, her arms tight around you. "Be careful, okay?" She says softly.

"I will." You promise and for a moment, you let yourself melt into her embrace, grateful for the familiar warmth that she brings to the icy world that you're about to enter.

As you finally pull away, you take one last look at Hitch, memorizing the way she looks in this moment, hoping it won't be the last time you see her.

"I'll come back," You say staring down at your fingers "and when I do, I'll marry you."

Hitch's eyes widen in surprise at your words, and for a moment, she doesn't say anything. Then, a small smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

"I'll hold you to that." She says softly, her hands coming up to cup your face. She reaches up and pulls you down to her, pressing her lips tightly to yours.

For a moment, everything else falls away and all that exists is the two of you, together in that moment. Finally, she pulls away, her eyes shining with tears. "Just promise me you'll come back in one piece."

#i got the idea for this whilst i was playing the sims #f:attack on titan #ch: hitch dreyse #hitch dreyse x reader #hitch x reader #hitch dreyse x you #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader

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pompousbiscuit · 3 years

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Summer Babe (Winter Version)

Part 1

[SFW] (Hitch x GN!Reader)

{For @odmlevis 'GreetingsFromParadisIsland!Collab'}

{Description: Reader is a sweaty, awkward, movie-obsessed, 'Edge-of-17'-year-old, and questionable-relative of Hannes, co-owner of a tourist trap on the west coast. Summers were always "uneventful and drab", but your opinion is changing upon meeting Hitch, your 21-year-old "co-prisoner" at the gift shop. You're betting on August ending in a blood bath, a slasher coming out of the bushes and bleeding you dry. But, for once, you're hoping you're in the wrong. Instead, you're wishing for Hitch to notice you as something more than a "kid", and for Nile to buzz the fuck off.}

[TW: None for this chapter]

[Word Count: 3595]

{AN: ALL CRITICISMS WELCOME! This is my first time being a lil' "serious" with my posts... Aka, not a complete shitpost, lol. But, that doesn't mean you have to go easy on me, I want it BRUTAL! I wanted a nice&sweet, summertime, 'first love', type of thing. INNOCENCE is the theme here, and I hope you vibe with that. Also, thanks a million to @van-goghs-cypress for giving it a once over and offering some editing tips! You're the bomb because you don't know aot, but you helped anyway. Also, also, title is this Pavement song, lol -Bo}

One of the most notorious lies told by the film industry is, ‘the myth of a fantastic summer vacation’. There were never any musical numbers, flings, rivalries, or life changing adventures that unveiled someone’s true destiny in the heat of the summer. Everything on screen was a complete sham. A sham that made producers millions and gave kids false hope that shattered upon confrontation with reality. Reality being, that summer was, and always would be, uneventful and drab… You would know, you had the prior 17 summers to support your case.

There were the summers spent boiling alive in your humble abode, watching the clock tik until the shady cousin of the holy ghost drove past and, if you could manage to catch it, supplied a cool desert. ‘Homebase’ didn’t have much besides a lazy mutt and your single parent working paycheck to paycheck, and the murky lake festering with blue algae was the farthest from an oasis in the desert of your hometown.

Your grandparents were nice, but their years of retirement left them isolated with shortened fuses. ‘Casa de grandparents’ had an expiration date of about a week, and any second past that would turn every creaky floorboard into eggshells, unfortunately something you had learned firsthand.

Summer camp was perfectly average, and over time the awkward tan lines and mosquito bite scars had become endearing. Though, camp was not on the table anymore, unless you would allow yourself to be subjected to the title of ‘Brat Wrangler’. There was no way you would accept to be overworked for only a horrifying paycheck of 150 bucks.

Too young and inexperienced to work a real job or do anything meaningful, but too old to be reckless and have careless fun… The moral of the story is: fuck growing up.

Your uncle Hannes called your darling-of-a parental figure the other day. Well, you say uncle but, you’re not exactly sure how the two of you are related. You could be in laws, maybe a longtime family friend, a distant cousin, or just some guy who happens to know everyone and shows up to every event with his husband Shadis.

Uncle Hannes and Keith, Shadis as you called him, were an odd couple. They met during their time serving, and the story of their ‘romcom-affair’ brought a smile to your face. War buddies with completely opposing personalities turned lovers. Hannes being outgoing and carefree, a floater who bounced around professions and joined the army to acquire so-called ‘inspiration’, and Shadis being an uptight ‘go-getter-, never settling for the bare minimum and always searching for his ‘something’.

Their ‘inspiration’ and ‘something’ seemed to cross paths, with both finding sanctity in owning a plot of land on the west coast that they turned into a tourist trap that followed every film stereotype. Their home was also a gift shop, which was also a campsite, which was also a hiking trail, and also a hellish paradise that you realized you would spend your summer at.

The lengthy call that was being had with the man sparked the gas stove in your stomach, not indigestion, but rather the stove that began to boil your nerves and skepticism. Another handful of suspicions was tossed into the stew as your caregiver’s gaze kept catching your own, slouching posture straightened upright with curiosity. Raising yourself from doughy cushions, you attempted to glide absentmindedly into the kitchen, intending to nosily overhear the back-and-forth chatter.

The fridge you left open for how-long was promptly shut, leading you to raise an eyebrow at your guardian’s ecstatic expression. Oh no, they’re wearing that look…

“I’ve got news! I know you’ve been bummed because of camp no longer being an option; you give them your money for 10 years and all they do is offer to basically put your kid through ‘child labor’…

A shake of their head ends their mumbling trail of thought,

“Anyway, you won’t be slumming around here anymore!”

...what?

“What?”

“You already know who I was on the phone with, so I won’t even entertain myself by asking you to ‘guess’. Uncle Hannes wants you to spend the summer with him and Uncle Keith, and they even offered you a job at the shop! Isn’t that a relief?”

“But- I don’t know if-”

“You leave next Friday, so I recommend you start packing. I’ll get to making dinner.”

The words fired out of your parent’s mouth at rapid pace, leaving you unable to offer anything but stuttering words and a gaping mouth as they shoved you out of the kitchen, heels squeaking against the linoleum.

Well, you have something to do, you guess. A job, but you fail to see how camp was ‘child labor’ and this isn’t… You blame nepotism and its confusing nature.

So far, you’re really failing to see how this is any better.

The flight was rickety and cramped, and being an unaccompanied minor didn’t spice it up at all. The 2006 banger of a Christmas film lied to you, like everything else.

At around 3:15 pm, Hannes met you at the gate while you met his bear-hug of an embrace. ‘Well, at least one thing seems to be like the movies’, was your first thought when you caught a glance at your chariot, aka, Hannes’s wood paneled station wagon.

Whether it was the concerning noises of the car, the jammed cd player that ceaselessly played one Billy Joel album on repeat, or Hannes easily making conversation by telling various family stories, the drive never allowed for one moment of silence.

After winding down various backroads that reminded you of quite a few serial-killer-thrillers and paranormal-horrors, “My Life” fizzled out for the third time as you arrived at your destination, jetlagged and ravenous.

You relinquished a sigh as Hannes put the car in park, only to give a confused glance to the older man as he engaged in a ferocious battle with the ignition; after many jerks and tugs, the metal beast loosened its vice grip, one akin to Excalibur’s rock, on Hannes’s keys.

The slamming of the car trunk and doors worsened your headache, but the surprisingly breathable air soothed it. You helped Hannes with your luggage that consisted of a backpack and a duffle bag that is suspiciously similar to a body bag. The waxy water-resistant material and its impressive size could make a good transportation unit for a rotting corpse, but you doubt the frayed handles would do a methodical murderer’s hands any favors. Where did your parent buy this? Was the local funeral home having a tag sale?

“Keith! Look who I dug up out of the cemetery thanks to [caregiver name]! They’re a few sizes bigger now, but I still think they can fit in the oven. What do you think?”

Oh Hannes, he’s still ‘hilarious’ as ever… Also, he’s somehow continuing your mental conversation consisting of dead bodies. Anyway, with the rustic surroundings and seemingly deserted area, you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if they dragged you here for a gourmet meal of ‘sweaty teenager’.

“Very funny Hannes, but I’ll be sure to grab the salt and pepper.”

Stepping out onto the porch of a cabin that is desperately in need of a roof repair, Shadis lets the exceptionally squeaky screen door ‘thwack!’ shut behind him. Hands on hips, muddy boots firmly planted on dark wood planks, and the hint of a smirk invading a stoic expression. Though Shadis was ever the deadpan, he obviously softened his ass after spending his years with Hannes. The joke was that he’s a hard ass, not… Even mentally your words never come out right.

“I sure hope you plan on using more seasoning than that, I think I’d taste fairly bland otherwise. I’m thinking of some basil, oregano, thyme, rosemary, maybe some adobo… Do spices even exist here anyway?”

A scratchy and hearty laughter developed in Hannes’s gut and carried out of his throat, echoing amongst the redwoods and pines that shielded the clearing. Keith allowed a scarce grin to grace his features, a quirk of his firmly pressed lips along with an audible ‘hmph’. The couple is evidently amused by you, and you allow their wordless praise to take a beeline for your ego. After a momentary pause, it is Shadis who pipes up first.

“Alright smart ass, you think you could put that charisma into persuading customers? We… like you and all, but we both know you weren’t so-graciously invited to our neck of the woods to play scrabble and go fishing on the weekends. Your visitation could be mutually beneficial, or mutually aggravating. So, what’s it gonna be kid?”

Shadis is, unsurprisingly, still Shadis, and there really isn’t a point in taking note of this non-revelation.

“Could you maybe stop talking like you’re from Married to the Mob for one second? Or here, I’ll play into your schtick:”

You proceed with a rendition of a ‘1980s-interpretation-of-a-goofy-italian-mobster’.

“I have no option but to cooperate, well, if you’re not counting bitching and moaning. I accept your proposition to work the counter, and I think we can accomplish great things together, incredible things. Okay, enough with that. I am getting scharole, right?”

It was a rather pitiful attempt, but it seems to get the point across, as Shadis is trying to smother another surfacing grin.

Hannes grazes the back of his hand over his face to superficially remove the sweat drops that have collected around his brow line; your body-bag-luggage is officially out of the car and by your feet, thanks to him. Your own personal bellhop proceeds to answer your prior question with a throaty chuckle and a snarky quip.

“Yes kiddo, of course we’re paying you- I see you about to object, Keith, don’t even try it. Just try not to be a fannullone. I too have seen “The Sopranos”, and every other movie or show from the genre in existence, thanks to Keith.”

The bald man, like the stray dog he is, bares his canines at his lighthearted partner. But Hannes, being the eternally loving owner he is, disregards the threatening action, and instead, cheekily smiles in return.

Keith and his mob movies, of course! How could you forget the many marathons featuring Marlon Brando and the multiple discussions about Goodfellas! You knew there was a reason Shadis was a smidge more partial to you, you had just forgotten what that reason was, and now you remember other information relating to your realization…

“Doi, I just remembered! TCM is playing The Untouchables all weekend, if you’d like to join me, I’ll be readjusting to my sofa crease and hogging your century-old-television.”

A roll of his eyes and a quick scoff.

“You mean my sofa crease. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s been a few years, and other asses have christened your spot, better asses, including my own. Welcome to ‘Shag Carpet City’ you slacker, enjoy the aches and pains during your stay.”

You’re appalled, not really, but enough for it to show. Brows pulled down and mouth acting as a hotel for passer-by-bugs. You wear your disbelief well enough to pull a real laugh from Keith, the spot-stealing-devil himself.

Hannes takes great amusement from this exchange and responds accordingly, bellying out a laugh before connecting his palm, a bit harshly, but you know he means well, to your shoulder. Your body rocks a bit, the impact of his warm palm shocking you out of your slouch.

Giggles escape the blonde man for a few more seconds, and a signature finger rests under his nose during a quick sniffle. Hannes settles down, but his ease is cut off when a metaphorical lightbulb dings above his head.

“Oh yeah, speaking of slackers… Hey, Hitch! Come Meet Your New Co-Worker!”

You hear a cluster of muffled sounds coming from inside the rickety cabin; a distant yell of ‘One Sec!’, a crash and knock that possibly signified multiple falling objects, a few light stomps, and a few muffled curses along with an exaggerated yawn. Well, speaking of refreshing things, the air doesn’t seem to be the only thing doing it for you.

She was tall, or maybe not even tall, but rather, long. Her limbs seemed to go on forever, with long legs sporting white and red knee-high socks, and slender feet snug in ‘what-used-to-be-white’ high tops. Though she looked great in them, the knee-highs seemed to suit a more practical use, as stray mosquito bites and spiky stubbles of darker leg hair poked from the tops. A gray and white baseball shirt hung over the waistband of her, grass-stained, blue jean cut-off shorts. The wrinkled sleeves of her shirt stopped at her elbows, and signs of the summer heat seeped around the neckline in the form of musky sweat. Rather than any sign of a grimace, you only found those little details ruggedly, and effortlessly, attractive.

Her ashy blonde hair was so, so fluffy, maybe the softest looking hair you’ve ever seen, and it curled and waved at various angles around her face while cupping her jawline. Hazel green eyes seemed to deliciously burn everything they laid on, searing your own skin from just a glance. Pink lips were plump, yet chapped, and seemed to be saturated with an artificially flavored wax; a flavor you were just dying to figure out some-way, some-how. Last but not least, her sun-tanned skin, a golden color with hints of pink that signified hours spent in the sweltering heat of the outdoors, tightly tied a perfect red bow around everything lovely about Hitch.

You could already think of 10 films that her palette of colors would suit perfectly, and you can already imagine what style of filmography would highlight her beauty the most. Lost in your daydream of writing, directing, producing, and filming a trilogy of heart wrenching and breathtaking films that would debut at Sundance, you didn’t even realize your proclaimed-muse-&-headlining-actress was addressing you.

Fuck, what did she say? She’s looking inquisitively, could be out of confusion or concern or maybe she asked you something, maybe?

‘She can raise her brow AND look completely adorable while doing so? Can God give me a boombox already?’

You’re practically dying to play Peter Gabriel out her window at four am and possibly comfort her after her father is arrested for…stealing old people’s money? Maybe not the second half…

Wow, you still haven’t said anything! But as you awkwardly shuffle your feet and itch your dry palm, it seems like you’ve come to the conclusion that you should, MUST, blame the jetlag.

After deciding your first words to the beautiful stranger will be a safe bet of a lie, you clear your throat before allowing your pupils to be scorched by her own.

“Hey, eh, sorry! Y’know, the jetlag has really uh… It shook my brain around, for sure… What I mean is; I missed what you said, and I’d be forever in your debt if you could rewind the tape for me.”

She may have physically stumbled into things on her way outside, but you beat Hitch by a mile with how you stumbled into your words. Thankfully, she seems to be as forgiving as she is pretty, understanding your dramatic sarcasm and ‘rewinding-the-tape’ just like you asked.

“Nah, I get it, you’re good. I mean, I’ve never flown, so I can’t exactly sympathize… But I have heard that flying can like, totally fuck you up for a few days. I see you glaring ‘swear-police’, my apologies for trying to be casual.”

Her tone becomes charismatically sarcastic upon calling out Hannes, rolling eyes directed towards a raised hand and parted lips, dismissing his ploy of interruption before he could enact. Quickly dropping her annoyed façade, Hitch offers Hannes an apologetic smile before returning her attention to you.

“I said my name is Hitch, and then asked for yours. I also asked where these geezers ‘recruited’ you from.”

Introducing yourself as Hannes’s ‘somehow-relative’, you give her your name with a smile, and you almost collapse on-site when she tests it out with a mumble. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard (that/those) familiar syllable(s) said so fluidly, and you’re desperate to find any way possible to hear her say it again.

Upon revealing your place of origin, Hitch’s brows rocket up her forehead, surprised how far you’ve journeyed just to receive a measly paycheck, and to possibly swallow a few bugs by accident.

“Wow, how the hell did you end up here? Hope you won’t be lumbering around here all Night of the Living Dead like because of that jetlag. Customers do like the service to be obnoxiously lively, after all. So, just be a little more on your toes for the weekend rush, okay?”

Her teasing tone gives you goosebumps that juxtapose the one-thousand-degree weather that blankets the state of Oregon, and you gladly accept the wink she offers to you with a red-hot flush on your face. You can’t tell if she’s one to throw broadly known references around willy-nilly, or if she’s a connoisseur of classic zombie films. You make up your mind and proceed to tell the game show host in your head that you’ll take the double-or-nothing, solidifying your bet on Hitch being the ‘zombie-movie-expert’ of your dreams.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll make sure to be more 28 Days Later about my zombie-ism. Y’know, still dead, but terrifyingly energetic.”

Her attractiveness is apparently limitless, because not only does she understand your reference, but she’s absolutely glowing at your wit.

“Ah, looks like you’ve snagged a pop-culture-geek for dinner, good on you Hannes! Maybe you’ll actually acquire a taste for decent movies by the time we’re finished.”

You’d usually pay attention to Hannes’s features, there’s more offense dripping off his face than sweat, but Hitch’s giggle is too throaty and cynical to not be the center of your attention.

You, on the other hand, do not question the second implication of being a meal or, take any offense to her comment about you being a ‘geek’. ‘Geek’ is already a label you’ve worn proudly for years, but you can also sense the endearment she laced in the usage.

How could you be falling even harder and faster than before? Is this what Cameron felt when he saw Bianca? Or Samantha with Jake Ryan, or Ronald with Cindy, or Angela Chase with Jordan Catalano, or James with Em, or-

‘You're going overboard with the references, just stop being roundabout and admit that it's love at first sight.’

Shifting the emotion on his features, Hannes prepares his own snarky response to his challenging employee.

“Well, you better hit the books girly, because (y/n) here has all those fun little facts and tidbits filed away on standby. Get ready to meet your maker over these next few weeks, Ha!”

Flinching as rough hands grab your shoulders, Hannes seems to be your boxing coach, shaking you while squeezing, hyping you up for a match. The proud aura that radiates off him, and even Shadis, is fueling your ego like an endless oil well in the ground below you.

Lids lower and lips curl, Hitch is plenty pleased with this discovery, and the little worker in her brain taking a note is almost visible.

“Well then, you better prep your flashcards and get ready to hand out the recommendations. If you’re as good as this alchy says you are, I’ll be bugging you almost every day.”

Oh, you can’t wait.

“But yeah, I have to clock out early. Dad’s buggin’ me about dinner, or whatever… See ya!”

A roaring exclamation from Keith is fired at Hitch, who’s running off towards a pale-yellow bicycle with a wicker basket that’s chained up around a rotting wood post. A booming voice shouts demands and obscenities towards the blonde girl, but they bounce off Hitch’s carefree armor with ease. You’re sure she’s not stupid, so she must have guts and no fear for her life if she’s bailing an hour before her shift ends. Blood vessels are seconds away from bursting, leading Hannes to direct his partner back inside before he has to try and assist him with writing a last minute will.

Strolling over to an appropriate distance from Hitch, you rest your forearm on moss covered bark, pursing your lips in uncertainty. Deft fingers with neatly groomed, naked nails, fiddle with a frayed helmet strap around her pointed chin, and brush loose hairs under the hard plastic. Even after how many minutes it’s been, you’re not certain if she’s really in front of you, existing in the same reality as you.

The movies always lie, you know the expectations set by them are never to be followed, that even documentaries are riddled with hints of exaggeration and falsities.

So, why do you feel like a mediocre lead who’s enamored with the far too perfect girl-next-door?

In the sun, her eyes seem to match the maple leaves above your heads, a lighter, softer green, with yellow veins running in webs under the surface. Seated on her bike, Hitch kicks up the stand and rides closer to you before breaking.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, co-prisoner. Also, you're leaning on a tree with like, a million harvester ants on it. I suggest backing away slowly and running to a shower!”

You hear laughter when you jump and shake your arm rapidly, brushing your hands down your attire to possibly flick off any stragglers.

With a ring of the handlebar bell, Hitch bikes off towards the dirt road, disappearing into the trees, sounds from scraping tires fading off into the afternoon.

Those words that maybe made you go "whaaa?":

{Fannullone; slacker , bum , loafer}

{Scharole; money, cash}

{THANK YOU AGAIN!!!! AHHH THIS IS WEIRD!!!!}

#writing #Summer!Babe!(Winter!Version)#aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x gn!reader #aot x reader #snk x gn!reader #snk x reader #Hitch Dreyse x reader #Hitch Dreyse x gn!reader #Hitch Dreyse #fic!collab #fluff

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