#berthold x reader

[shut-up-and-touch-the-sky]

Goodbye, Shingeki no Kyojin. Goodbye to my younger version who started watching it, but muy actual version love it the same like 10 years ago.

The end of an era is here.

One part of the travel is the end.

Thanks for exist.

[mommypieck]

𑄽୧ on cam with bertholdt 𔓘 ᰍ

kinktober day 15: watch my cunt!!!

✿ berthodt hoover x camgirl!reader

✿ warnings: dildos, voyeurism, p in v, creampie, on cam

"Do you like the new dildo?" you ask your fans, flashing the cam with a big smile. Your chat spams with different people and the positions they would like to see you in. Just as you're about to press the dildo inside you, the door falls open and reveals your confused roommate Bertholdt.

"Omg, Bertie? What are you doing here?" you scream, covering your body in a blanket. You can't believe your long-time roommate just has seen you with your legs open. He's confused. He isn't sure what you are doing. but his expression falls when he notices your laptop in front of you.

"Why would you do that?" he asks, looking like a deer in headlights. He can't believe you would be doing this by your own will. You were always the innocent girl in the class, and now you would choose this path? No way.

He holds your hands in his, "y/n, is someone forcing you to do this?" he questions. There's sadness and a worried look in his eyes, and he almost looks like he's about to cry.

You cry at his expression, "No, dummy. I love doing this." you confess, standing up from the bed. You open your wardrobe, showing him all of the different toys.

"This is all I want to do. This job is everything to me," you tell him. He can see how happy you look as you tell him, but he still isn't sure.

"Can you show me how it works?" he asks, looking down at his hands. You chuckle at his shyness, but you open your laptop. You press stream, and your chat fills with your different fans.

"Hi, babies. What are we gonna do today?" You smile into the camera, looking at Bertholdt by the side of your eye. He looks nervous but invested.

The comments start to fill with different suggestions of what they want to see you do. Berthold looks at the comments with wide eyes, he can't believe you are letting some freaks tell you what to do.

Mrdaddybear: Who's that?

Berthold curses when he sees the comment, shuffling off the screen. He doesn't want his day to become even weirder if some porn-obsessed creep sees his face.

"We have a guest today. He's gonna want how I treat you, guys," you announce, preparing all your favorite toys. Berthold's head is spinning, and he's not sure if he's gonna survive looking at the different sex objects. Not talking about the fact that he knows you're gonna strip, and he's gonna see you named again.

"This is my favorite," you tell him, showing a 6-inch dildo right in his face. He jumps back a bit but still examines how it looks. It's smaller than him, he thinks.

You spread your legs on the bed, showing your stream your pussy. You rub the tip of the toy up and down your slit before swiftly pushing it inside of you.

Bertholdt swears he's dead now. The way you take the toy is amazing, and he thinks about if you would be able to take him so easily too.

cumlover69: push it up your ass

"Not today," you answer the comment as you fuck yourself with the toy. You can't help but get wetter at the way your roommate watches you. You know he's hard for you, but you know you can't press that hard. You think about how big he is, This dildo is standard size for you, but maybe he's even bigger or a bit smaller. He's a big guy after all so he must be at least as big as the toy.

Master Joe: let him fuck you, I haven't seen you take a real dick before

You look at Bertholdt, knowing he noticed that comment. His face is completely red, and it even looks like he has trouble breathing.

"Some people have no morals," he grunts under his nose, almost looking pissed. Maybe you should ask him if he wants to do it.

"You look stressed," you tell him, moving closer to his body. Your hand moves up his thigh, and his breath hitches.

"Please Bertie," you beg, you want him to fuck you so bad. He's a good boy, he's gonna say yes. You love how miserable he looks right now.

"Okay, y/n."

-

Your eyebrows furrow, he's way bigger than the toy. You've never had something so big inside of you. But it's a challenge for you. You open your legs for him, showing him your whole pussy. He thinks you're beautiful even the way you're whoring yourself for him.

He kneels in front of you, lining up his cock with you entrance. You wince as he presses forward, his size too overwhelming. When he bottoms inside of you, you let out a whorish moan. You never felt so full before.

"You don't have to face the camera." you tell him, and he speeds his thrusts a bit, "Yeah, that's it. fuck me like this."

You can see he loves the praise by how his dick twitches inside you. You put your feet on the bed, humping back against his cock.

He feels so fucking good inside of you. It's been a while since you had some cock inside you, and you missed it so much. You also missed hearing the other person moan. Berthold sounds so heavenly. You know he's trying not to be loud, but you want him to show you how good your pussy is.

"You like fucking me, Bertie?" you ask him. He looks confused about what you're asking him, probably his first time inside of someone in a while too.

"Feels so good." he moans, throwing your hands on his shoulders. He folds your body in half, not caring if the people can see his face. You're the best pussy he ever had, and he's not letting it go. He knows how much you're enjoying this, your pussy holding his cock so tightly he might cum at any moment.

"I'm so close. You're gonna watch me cum?" you're not sure if you're talking to the camera or to Bertholdt. But he whines at your statement. You decide to tease him harder, "You wanna watch me cum, Bertie? Are you gonna cum at me?"

Poor Berthold has to close his eyes in order not to cum. You're so fucking lewd, but he loves it. He's close too, you both know it. It's gonna take more of your dirty sentences, and he's gonna cum.

"It's right here, Bertie." you squeak, digging your heels into his back harder, "empty your big cock inside me."

That's all it takes for both of you to cum. Your arms wrap around his body, and you press him on top of you as you shake and writhe from your orgasm. Your pussy sucks all of his cum inside, and you're almost confused at how much he cums. Poor boy hasn't cum in so long.

Your grip on his body loosens, but you let him on top of you. You smile, he's totally wearied out. You stroke his hair, letting him get off his high, making sure to end the stream.

"Did you like it, Bertie?" you mumble against his hair. he nods his head, not saying anything.

"I liked it, y/n. We can do it more often, but I don't want other people to see us."

taglist: @mcharris747 @huuuuut30 @krispsprite @bejewelledd @cawwn @veryninjanacho @jamayah @dngerwayz @nwptune @universlypiratecolor @ffakegucci @merachannie @d1lf-luvr @th3girln3xtdoor @nobody289x @iheartpieck @gia999 @kawasgirl @st4rrlightt @candyeyeroll @7haze @banchangsbbbg @nigthmar3moon @softlilpeachxx @d1gitalbathh @jaenniii

@satorustar @balenciagarette @armahnsie

[angstbyangeline]

Hatred Within The Masterpiece

Reiner Braun x gn!reader

genre: angst

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Renier woke up from another nightmare. He reaches out for… nothing. Just a nightmare. Porco was sitting in a chair next to Renier’s bed.

“Sounded like you were having an extra sweet dream. So I’d thought I’d like you enjoy it.”

“You saved my life back there, thanks Galliard. I owe you.”

“Don’t want your thanks. If I had inherited the armored titan nine years ago, none of this would’ve happened. My brother would still be alive because he wouldn’t have gotten eaten trying to protect you. And I saw Ymir's memories. I saw you through her memories. You acted like the tough, reliable type. Not at all like yourself.. I also saw how close you got to a certain… devil.”

Renier’s eyes widened in realization. He jumps from the bed and quickly crawls over to Porco in the chair. He grabs the hem of Porco’s shirt.

Renier pleads, “Porco, please! I know you don’t owe me a thing. But please, I never would fall in love with a devil. It had been years- I- I was bored. I wanted comfort. Please don’t report me…”

Tears welled up in Renier’s eyes as he remembered you. He couldn’t let anyone on Marley know of you. It would be shameful for him to have fallen for an ‘island devil’.

“I don’t believe you. From the memories, you seemed pretty in love. So give me one hell of a reason why I shouldn’t report you?!” Porco’s word held so much hate for Renier and his devil.

“They were the only reason I didn’t go insane on that island. Yes, they’re a devil but not like the rest of them. They’re a good person but they mean little to me now…” First part was true, the last was a lie.

Porco scoffed, Reiner contradicted himself. He hated Reiner but decided to let him slide as he just came back to Marley.

Pieck then walked in on crunches. Reminding Porco to remain kind to Reiner. She’s too kind to him. The duo had a bit of small talk while Porco walked out of the room. Pieck left the room as well after some friendly chatter.

Reiner lays back down. He grips the pocket on his shirt tightly. Them he unbuttons it and pulls out a thick folded up paper. Unfolding it to reveal a beautiful portrait of you.

The portrait drawn by one of your best friends, Jean. Reiner had bribed Jean with extra food during their cadet training days. All Reiner wanted was a drawing of you. Jean found it cheesy, annoying but accepted anyway. There was also the condition that you shouldn’t know anything about the drawing and the situation.

To play this off, Jean pretended to have you, Sasha and Connie pose. You were pretty excited to be posing and to see the finished product. But you never saw it and neither did Connie or Sasha. You honestly forgot about it after a couple days but the pair whined to Jean unapologetically to see the drawing. Forcing Jean to pull them aside and explain the situation. Jean had to explain and emphasize that they are not to spill a word about this to you. They agreed but loosely joked about the situation to themselves no matter how nearby you were. Leaving you confused often as they wouldn’t explain what was so funny.

Reiner asked for the drawing a little after the two of you started seeing each other. He wanted something of you. Knowing it wrong to engage with ‘your kind’. Some days he would tell himself that you didn’t deserve the hate Marley had for you. Others he was distant and ignored you, remembering his mission and original ideologies of Eldians. Regardless of his switch ups, you love him endlessly.

He pulls the drawing out every time he misses you. Now that you knew his secret, his chest physically ached from the pain and betray he inflicted on you.

Reiner told Bertholdt that he wanted to bring you to Marley, by force if he had to. Berthold obviously told Reiner he was insane and Marley would never accept you into their nation. Reiner created every excuse he would use to have Marley let you in. He was very certain of going through with it.

That was until you refused. When Reiner and Bertholdt transformed on the wall, Reiner’s titan held you in its hand. You screamed for Reiner to let go of you. Yelling a string of profanities and how could he have lied and betrayed everyone, how he could betray you.

Reiner wasn’t going to let you go. Holding you so tightly, you swear he had broken your rib cage. No one would have saved you, if it weren’t for Mikasa who was on the side of the wall. With her gear, she swung up and sliced the armored titan’s hand.

You fell onto the top of the wall where you were blown away a second later due to the titan transformations happening around you. You used your ODM gear to stick to the wall. After the brutal wind of the transformations, you had a clear look at the armored titan. Who was looking right back at you. You gave it the most angry heartbroken expression.

“You make me sick!”

Those were the last words you ever told Renier. The same words still ring in his head every time he thinks of you. Words that will forever pierce his heart and mark the day he left you.

He looked at the drawing. It had been a couple years since he received it. It had many wrinkles, water droplets and small tears in the corners from how much it’s endured in his front pocket.

He knew the artist hated him but he was sure the artwork hated him so much more.

[diefxrguns]

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘, 𝐈'𝐌 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

✯pairings- jean kirstein x afab!reader

✯ a/n- do not share my work on other platforms, if you're not comfortable then don't read.

✯synopsis- jean kirstein has had a crush on his best friend's younger sister for a while now, but it's not exactly a crush per se.

✯c/w- smut

" move baby, move baby I'm in love"

He was honestly afraid, he was afraid of loosing the friendship he had with Connie Springer, your older brother. You weren't particularly "close" with the older boy- named Jean Kirstein. But you were safe around him, ya know .

You felt a sense of comfort around the man, he was a few years older then you. You being 18 and Jean being 22.

Jean always escorted you to your small car after a party, just to make sure you're safe and sound.

His hands on your shoulder when the two of you went into a convenience store, late at night to get Connie some things. He did this to show the people there, that he was there.

Your body sprawled out underneath Jean, as his hand was on your mouth. Helping you conceal the lewd sounds that were escaping your mouth- with every thrust.

This was so fucking wrong, in so many ways. It was immoral almost.

Fucking his best friend's little sis, his longer hair falling his sweaty face. And one of his hands gripping your boob.

If Springer found out, you'd be dead. No Jean would be dead actually.

" Mhmmm" was all you could manage to say even though your mouth was covered by his hand.

Truthfully you wanted to scream, you wanted to scream so loud. It was all to overwhelming for you. You always had feelings for Jean. Just the way his eyes pierced through your soul. His hair, his tattoos, his muscles...

When you two were left alone, he took the opportunity. And he liked you too, he was overly protective, so that's an obvious sign of attraction.

" Yeah, you taking me so well hon, keep silent for me yeah" he said through heavy breaths

You did nothing but nod under him, with tear filled eyes and your hand gripping his wrist. Your legs over his shoulders, as he thrusted into you slowly.

" Oh, Oh fuck I'm gonna cum in this pussy yeah. Hmmm you'd like that hey- you'd like if I cum and make your pussy all creamy with my spunk" he said, his orgasm on route.

As he continued to thrust into your tight cunt, making wet noises that were getting louder by the second... Your orgasm hit you like a buss going full speed on a highway.

" Oh, mmmhmm" the sounds escaping your lips but were muffled due to his hand still on your mouth.

" Yeah, fuck- oh, you like that hmmm. I bet you love that don't ya" he said as he came but pulled out, his semen falling onto your pink sheets below

He let go of your mouth, making you gasp for some fresh air.

Your hair all messy and your body sweaty, your breathing heavy as he plopped on your bed next to you.

He hugged your small body as you fell asleep in his muscular arms- covered with tattoos.

His head resting on your shoulder, as you both dozed off.

From then on, you and Jean kept fucking. Everytime Connie left you were banging the shit out of each other. Even in his car when he dropped you off. After all that time, things still never got official between you two.

Maybe Jean just wasn't ready for a relationship, but apart of you always thought it was because he was using you for easy sex.

Gradually as time passed, the sexual energy between you and Jean could be seen by your other friends, including Connie.

"So Y/N why is Jean looking at you so much?" Asked Historia as she whispered in your ear.

Across the room, sat Jean with Eren, Connie, Armin, Reiner and Berthold.

It was game night, something your friend group did, every Friday night. It was kind of like a "tradition"

" Um I don't know Krista, He's probably just staring into space" you said tucking a strand of hair behind your ear akwardly

" Don't fucking lie, we see the way he's staring. Maybe it's the dress?" Said Sasha loudly, making the boys look at you all at once

" What about a dress? " Asked Armin looking at the group of girls

" She looks fucking hot, that's what this dress things about, Hey Y/N" said Annie in a somewhat sarcastic yet complementing manner

" Well Y/ N is fucking hot though" said Reiner munching on some chips

" That's enough boys, let's start the game shall we" said Connie, obviously and visibly uncomfortable by the remarks about his baby sister.

The game was a game of truth or dare, but not the regular truth or dare games that ask boring questions. This game was extremely provocative asking the most sexual questions.

" Alright, it landed on Armin... Truth or dare" asked Connie as he looked at Armin

" Hmm... Well.. I'll say truth- yeah truth" said Armin

" Who's your crush, you have to tell us" asked Connie holding back his laugh

Armin's face was bright red, as he froze. The boys knew who he liked but Armin never dared to tell anyone his secret. It was now or never I guess ...

" A-A.. I like Annie" Armin said as he looked away quickly

Annie's eyes widened as she blushed slightly, she found Armin so adorable and smart. In all honesty Annie could see herself with the younger boy.

" Ok next, it's Reiner" said Connie

" Truth or dare Ox" said Connie in a sarcastic manner, obviously joking with the bigger male

" It's truth for me" said Reiner clearly unfazed

" Ok who do you like? " Asked Connie with a big fat smirk on his face

" Well, that's interesting... She's sitting here right now. I mean, I've had my eyes on her forra while now- but she's playing hard to get. " Said Reiner with a smirk

" C'mon bro, who is she?" Asked Jean punching Reiners shoulder

" Y/N of course, I mean just look at her. Sorry Connie but your sister is 11/10, 100/10 in a bikini" said Reiner

And the room suddenly went quite, Connie held his arm awkwardly but never said a word, he wasn't to pleased. But Jean on the other hand was pissed. He wanted you all to himself, and in all honesty Jean disliked Reiner just because of how unnecessary Reiner could be.

" Well... Um, let's move on. Truth or dare Jean" asked Armin

" Dare" Jean said with his jaw clenched and his eyes darting at you

" I dare you to kiss anybody, anyone in the room"

That's when Jean got up and gave you the best kiss of a lifetime. His tongue entering your mouth and his hands found their way to your waist, grabbing you tight.

Reiner and Connie did nothing but gawk as gasps could be heard.

He was tired of waiting, he was tired of competing... You were his and his only.

" Fuck this shit, let's go Y/N. And to set this fucking thing straight, Connie- I've been fucking your sister. And I love it, I love her" said Jean as he grabbed your hand and walked out the house.

" I love you" he said as he drove away

(⁠˙⁠❥⁠˙⁠)⁠ﾉa/n- this was so rushed ughh, kind of mid too. But anyways hope you enjoyed it

[azurlily]

Please write more Annie x fem reader

Our Unparalleled Love for You is being discontinued. It didn't get the traction I wanted and some people unfollowed me because of it(someone dmed me). Things like that will only be written upon request. If you're worried just please be upfront about what you want and ask anonymously.

Anyway I'm sorry it's short, I've been in the hospital and the other writers aren't writing on the acc anymore.

Yan!Annie x Colossal Titan!Reader

What happened?

Those words were desperately trying to leave Annie's mouth, but she was failing herself. Beretoldt is dead, and you inherited his titan. The girl whom Annie had saved from titans more times than she saved herself.

Why you?

The idea that someone like you, someone so...human. Normal, kind, willing to save others. How could someone like you be a titan, and the most destructive one at that? How could someone who hid behind Reiner when she(Annie) was mad do this? It doesn't make sense.

When did it all go wrong?

Annie is no idiot, she knows that to an extent, you were acting. You always had that look in your eye, like you knew something was wrong with what you said. You never truly said anything, therefore she never acknowledged it.

Why did you do this?

It was you or Berthold- why did she choose you? Why did she choose a girl she barely knew, when Beretoldt was the one she grew up with? It doesn't make sense, it doesn't add up. Why do you make her smile, why do you make her feel things shes never felt before?

Could it have gone differently?

Annie wanted to tell herself it could have gone differently. The idea that she could have chosen Beretoldt in another universe, it gave her clarity clarity that was stripped away when she saw your face: fear, anger, anguish, and confusion. You didn't get what was going on.

What is doing to herself for you?

Anything; Annie would do anything for you, and no matter what she tries to tell herself, you both know it. The look in her eyes isn't one of anger, she isn't as scared as she's deluding herself to be. No, she's not stupid. One of the thing she prides herself on: she knows what to do. But in that moment, she didn't. She could save herself or save you.

"Trust me."

Annie- despite telling herself differently- will always trust you. Until the day she dies Annie will put her life in your hands. With no regard for her safety, and no idea of what to do. She'd kill them all, just to save you. Armin, Reiner, her father. If it must be done, then so be it. Their just more blood spilled, more stains on the ground.

Monster or not, you'll still love her right?

Of course you would. Annie is risking everything for you, the least you can do is love her unconditionally. No matter what you feel, you know you're indebted to her. No matter how mean she is, no matter how mad she gets, no matter how many she kills. It's in your name, it's for you. You have to accept it, you will accept it right?

It's just a few bugs, why are you so scared to kill them, better yet, why do you help them?

They're not you. Annie doesn't care because they're not you. So why, why do you care about them? Your titan is made for destruction, yet you use it for protection. Not just of yourself or her, for others. Eren. What do you fucking see in a man, what does Eren have that she doesn't? Is it his titan? His power? She'll give it all to you, just stop staring at him. He's a bug. Not a person, not you.

You still wont leave her?

After everything she's done, you're still by her side. Even as she fights for someone she hates, even as she kills her former comrades. You still love her? Well, you're just as fucking crazy as she is.

[jeanbie]

WAYS TO SAY I LOVE YOU #6 ★ masterlist.

pairing: reiner x reader

genre: werewolf au | warnings: abo themes, forbidden romance, sexual references | wc: 2.2k

⏤ imagine the first time they say i love you. imagine it repeated, quietly, with desperate eyes and a defeated voice.

Reiner considered himself just and fair, thinking with his brain and his heart in every situation. Due to this, he’s branded as one of the nicer higher ups amongst the eight great packs of Marley, the wolf who people wanted to talk to when they were in trouble, who they could talk to when there was nobody else. As heir presumptive, it was mandatory for Reiner to make his mark, and show himself as strong and thoughtful and selfless, able to carry the pack should his older brother prove unworthy. To be honest, that would be the only thing he could think of that could change his life; if by chance, his pack brother should be shunned away, or killed or exiled, that would change things for Reiner indeed.

Of course, that’s what he used to think. Those were trivial matters that actually mattered, way before Reiner’s father passed away and Zeke took the role as lead alpha, enforcing new laws and reforms that set everybody on edge. Reiner originally wasn’t bothered by these changes, until a strict and firm law on rogues was enforced, making it difficult for Reiner to differentiate between his head and his heart when he stumbles upon one outside of the camp.

Every year, the eight great packs of Marley merge together on sacred grounds, setting up camp in The Brush, otherwise known as the mainland for the packs, who merge on treaty purposes. That’s how his parents met; at a merging in the eighties, over the campfire and with tribal music and paints, their wolves compatible by the moon and the fireflies lighting up a pathway back to his father’s cabin. It’s also how his brother met his mate- it was at the Gathering, over supper, over the bear that a Paradis pack member had slaughtered near the creek, the pups escaped with the mother but the father was hereby declared as food. It should have been how Reiner met his mate.

It wasn’t.

In the outskirts of the forests, surrounded by pine and ferns and chunky blood, Reiner found you littered with wounds and burns, the pine jagged in your furs. Something had happened in transition; a complication, with your wolf injured to the point where you couldn’t return. By happy miracle, he had gotten the medic from his pack out to you in secret, and overwatched the treatment to your wounds; his wolf, however, raged. The sour smell of clementines and an oriental scent of wood filled his nose and the wolf inside of him clawed to be free- on the small bench, with pants, was his mate. His mate- a solid black wolf with a missing ear and bloodshot eyes- a rogue.

Somehow, he had managed to keep this secret. To his friends, you were a wolf from his pack who had gotten in an accident attacking a bear that got the best of you. To his mother, you were a wolf from the Hizuru pack, with Reiner’s close friend Berthold as an ally to his lie. And, to his pack brother, the alpha of his pack, you were his mate. 

It had taken Reiner some time to get it right; you were quiet and standoffish, only transforming into human form when he had turned around, and one day he caught sight as he turned back of gashes marking your skin, one white ghastly scar across your face, a branded tattoo on your collarbone. A rogue, descendant of the Akzlar Clan exiled to the North.

What little you said, you made up for with your wolf. There was a security in being exposed in wolf form that you enjoyed, and that Reiner embraced with his own. To outsiders, you were flashes of ghost white and ebony black, running through the pines to the stream and back to the lavender meadows. Reiner couldn’t get enough of the tightening pressure in his chest as he bounded after you, cautious of how close you got to the cliff sides, how long you stayed underwater to bring him a fish. He enjoyed these fleeting moments of courtship, taking what he could get; and when his wolf tired and he transformed back, he welcomed your wolf’s soft furs to lay over him protectively until he regained the energy to transform back.

Wolves can mate more than once, Reiner knows this. But he never wants to. In mornings, he does his duties around the campground, and on the evenings, he howls his thoughts to the moon and returns to the retreating spot in the meadow, searching for the cluster of black fur he had grown to care for. 

There, under the moonlight and surrounded by a circle of dusty white flowers, Reiner’s wolf could curl next to yours, his snout in your ears or neck or between your legs, testing the waters. His ears would prick as he heard your quiet whimpers, perhaps the only noise besides groans of pain and snarls when he misinterpreted a look as inviting that he had heard from you. One morning, after the sun shone into his eyes as he wakes, in human form, on the bed of flattened flowers, Reiner turns and is startled by the sight of your human laying beside him, black hair spread over his arm as you look up at the clouds and then back at him.

When he rustles, you look over at him gently and notice his staring. Reiner is careful to collect you, wrapping an arm around your waist and slightly dragging you to him, his eyes in wonder as you smile through your eyes and say: “Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

Reiner gapes slightly, smiling. “Reiner Braun.”

Your eyes search his face for an invitation, and Reiner actually feels his chest tightening and his eyes watering when you push up next to him with your hands on his face, “my love” on your lips. What happens next is what Reiner considers to be progress; his wolf and yours are intertwined with the flowers, mounted and brought together under the moon; your human becomes more open, allowing Reiner’s hand in your own as you sit by the stream, and eventually inside the camp. 

People stare- you’re unfamiliar, they’ve not seen you before, but if Reiner says so, then it must be true. Nobody bats an eyelid when Reiner brings you to campfires, or takes you to his cabin and dresses you in his clothes, his scent on your skin and marks on your neck once he invites you to his bedroom. Reiner’s wolf loves you through his skin under the knitted blankets, your fingernails like claws on his shoulder-blades as he fucks you, kisses you, worships you. It’s bliss, for a bit.

On the day that Reiner prepares to make you his- on the day that Reiner is ready to have you by blood and oath, Zeke says something at breakfast.

There was an attack in a village that happened a few weeks ago, word only just got to them from a messenger wolf. A rogue did it, big black one with a missing ear.

Reiner’s stomach drops.

From across the tribal tent, Berthold gives Reiner a wide-eyed foul look; if he’s found out having protected the same wolf who slaughtered an entire village, he’ll be exiled. Reiner would be too, maybe worse done to him, if Zeke found out it was the rogue that Reiner was trying to mate and court.

He left quickly, advancing with haste towards his cabin where to his alarm, there was nothing; you had vacated, leaving his robes in a messy folded pile on the bed, with his family pendant on the kitchen counter. Following your scent across the forest, Reiner, to no surprise, found you in the meadow, standing looking up at the sky.

“Tell me it wasn’t you,” was the first thing Reiner said. “Y/N, look at me and tell me you didn’t slaughter that village.”

Slowly, you turned to him. “I can’t tell you what you want to hear. I’m sorry.”

Reiner wants to scream. “What, why? Why? Why would you do that? How could you do that?!” You don’t flinch as he raises his voice, your inner wolf standing tall. You won’t cower to anybody, not anymore: “There were children in that village. Innocent people who you murdered!”

“They got what they deserved,” you explain, in a calm voice.

“How can you say that?” gasps Reiner, taking two steps backwards.

“Was it okay for them to murder my family? It was them, and your family founders who slaughtered my entire pack- when we were pushed up to the North, dozens of us died in the winters. Innocent children went hungry and freezing and women died, carrying pups that could have repopulated our entire pack. Alphas went crazy, attacking each other, running from those who came after them- running from wolves like your pack. For me, it was either be killed with the rest of them, or run, and live. And so I ran- I ran away, forced myself to become rogue. I had to watch my entire family line be destroyed, so tell me again how anybody could do or say something like that?”

This time, Reiner takes several steps forward. He shakes his head, momentarily speechless. “Y/N, I had no idea-”

“No, you didn’t,” you say. “Even if you did, you would still protect them. You’re a good man, a good alpha. Which is why I have to go.”

“Go?” Reiner repeats, confused. “No, you can’t leave? I just got you, you can’t leave now.”

You pluck a tall flower from its roots. “I have to. I’m gonna die here if I stay.”

Reiner shakes his head. “No. I’ll protect you. I’ll- Look.” Frantically, he takes your hands into his and forces your eyes up to his own; they’re pleading, guilty, his wolf whimpering inside. “Please. Don’t go. I want to be with you- I’ll do anything for it. We’ll figure it out, and by law, you can stay.”

“It’s not worth it,” you reply quietly. “I’m not worth it.”

“You are,” he says firmly. “You are to me.”

For a moment, Reiner thinks you’re considering it. A flash of regret passes your eyes and Reiner gently holds your face in his hands, the snow from the January sky fluttering down and clinging to your hair and your lashes. If only he had brought the fur robes back with him…He stops thinking when you carefully remove his hands from your face, attempting a smile that he barely sees.

“I can’t,” you tell him, shaking your head. “I can’t be who you want me to be, who anybody wants me to be. This is who I am- a rogue, a killer.”

“No, you’re not. I’ve seen it, you’re better than that.”

“What did you see?” you ask lightly. “Saw me pick flowers? Look at you in a different way? It’s better for everyone if I just go.”

“And where will you go?” Reiner questions, his tone confrontational. Inside, your wolf bristles; he’s getting awfully brave. “Back to villages to murder people?”

“Home,” you answer.

This is it; Reiner picks up on all the little details, as you shrink back and turn away, moving across the thin layer of snow towards the direction of the stream, towards the great North, where he suspects home is for you. For you, this is destiny, but for Reiner, it’s now or never. He bursts forward with desperate energy, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards him. His skin and body is on fire, his mind reeling as he brings you to him with a kiss, one that breathes pleas into your mouth, quiet and muffled words escaping between each pucker.

“Please, don’t do this,” Reiner begs, “please. Please, please, please, don’t leave me.”

“I have to.”

“Please stay,” comes his quiet and defeated voice. All he can do is beg, force his wolf into submission before you. “Please, baby.. I just got you.” Reiner opens his eyes, looking at you desperately: “I love you. Please. Please don’t do this.”

He makes it so much harder for you. Feeling the chances of you staying rising, you smile at him and press a small, fleeting kiss to his hand. “I’m sorry.” He sinks.

As you move away towards the edge of the meadow, you take one look back at him, feeling your own wolf churn with grief as Reiner stands and cries, the ties and bonds made by stolen moonlight kisses strained and stretched painfully and you snatch your gaze away, leaping into a scream that echoes into a howl, your wolf on four paws in the snow. Riding past the stream and in the snow, you never look back to Reiner, never feeding the urge to go back to him.

You always were better off alone, anyway.

[kriz-fics]

The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Nine: Stakes and Matters

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters)

Length: 11.5K

CW:  Slightly graphic description of injuries / brief mentions of masturbation (F, non-explicit), underage sexual exploits (non-explicit) / prostitution

“Your Majesty, Father Robert of Feyhill,” the herald (of the courtly sort and not the priestly) announces from the entrance to the king’s presence chamber, banging his staff hard on the gray marble floor.

The loud, steady stream of conversation from the gathered courtiers quiets to low murmurs as the priest strides forward, straight-backed, head held high, and eyes fixed resolutely forward on his king. Outside, a curtain of rain blankets the city. The soft pattering of raindrops against the glass of the tall, mullioned windows of the circular chamber blends with the court’s murmurs, and for the nonce, they are as one.

His Majesty Rod Reiss, the First of His Name, is sitting upon a throne at the front of the hall, this one less grand than the one he keeps in the throne room. Around him stands his Conclave, still as statues, looking at the approaching lawyer with varying degrees of interest. The whole scene makes for an impressive tableau, Jean thinks, watching closely from his place amongst the audience.

To complete the picture, on the wall behind this stately lot hangs the visage of the vanished glory and pride of the Eldian lineage. Berthold the Great’s Founder glares down at those assembled within the chamber, taking pride of place at the center of the massive tapestry; its purple eyes are immense, yawning and flaring from atop its monstrously skeletal face. To its right stands the Warhammer, wielded by Berthold’s queen, Malenia Tybur, the Hammer of Eldia. While not as outwardly grotesque as her king’s mount, there is something still uncannily eerie about the deathly white behemoth clutching its equally proportioned weapon from whence it takes its name. The way its pale flesh parts in striped bars around its eyes and mouth to show ruddier skin beneath lends much in the way of its eeriness. The Beast, last of the three Eldian Titans, completes the tapestry from its place at the Founder’s left. This one had belonged to the king’s cousin, Karl Fritz the Golden, and his mount had taken the form of something horrifically leonine; for this particular Titan was said to have the ability to change its beastly shape depending upon who wielded it at the time.

Jean has always thought the tapestry the blood royal’s way to inspire humility and awe within those who will pay them court. It is a reminder of the strengths of the Royal House of Reiss, their power, their might, their origins, without which they could never have united the whole realm. And oftentimes, it succeeds in its quest to humble and awe; if there is any image that can lower men’s gaze, it will be this one. Jean himself has never truly liked the way the Founder’s eyes seem to follow him everywhere he goes inside the room and usually does his best to avoid glancing at the bolt of cloth for too long.

And yet, a bolt of cloth is not the real thing, however much it aspires to intimidate. The sentiment it invokes will have been a thousand times more potent if the subjects it depicts are still actually alive and extant in these present times.

The three-hundred-year threat of the Titans to the realm ended a century ago when the Eldian Houses turned against one another in one of their frequent bids for power. This one would be the one to cost them all, as they learned to their grievous sorrow.

The War of the Ancients saw all three Titan wielders perish without passing on their most prized legacies, thus making Lovaya the Titansbane in truth and allowing a certain ancient prophecy to come to pass. With humanity having lost their numen due to the Sundering, any hopes of recreating the potion which birthed the Eldians’ chiefest font of power had been lost.

There were attempts by the next few Reiss kings to restore their former glory, yet all had ended in death and tragedy. Ulrich V - the Enlightened to some, the Guilty to others, the Gormless to those of an academic bent - put an end to further attempts by burning all books, tomes, scrolls, any source of information there was about the Titans as part of his ‘penance’ for the sins committed by his House using ‘those monsters begotten from the deepest level of hell itself.’

The monsters from hell do not seem to have much of an effect on the old lawyer, though, Jean notes, looking on with the rest of the court as Father Robert goes to one knee before his king. Once more, Jean is struck by the resilience of this holy man. The northman in him cannot help but swell with pride, though they belong to opposing factions; they are a tough lot, whatever else the rest of the realm thought about them.

Silence falls upon the courtiers as all and sundry hold their breath, waiting and watching. Outside, the rain continues to pour. The king looks exceptionally weary today, it seems to Jean. But then, he seems to be much wearier these days, understandably so. Anyone in his place will feel likewise, and His Majesty is hardly a young man. Beside Jean, Lord Richard Kirschtein stands to attention and leans forward a little, expression rapt.

The king stares at the priest a while longer, regal mask in place, before smiling. “Father Robert.”

“Your Majesty,” the lawyer answers, bowing his head deferentially.

“I bid you welcome to my court. We are most glad to have you here, Father, though it grieves me that we should meet under such unpleasant circumstances. However, having read your full and honest account of the sentiments of our northern subjects, I am most persuaded to give you fair hearing.” The king gestures to his left, where the Lord Commander of the Royal Guard is standing beside the throne. “You have much to thank our Lord Commander for as well. He has spoken most highly of you.”

Sir Erwin Smith acknowledges the priest with a slight incline of the head, which Robert returns civilly. Jean feels a chill run through him at the sight of the very empty right arm of his master’s armor. It has been a little over a month since the Lord Commander lost the limb, and yet Jean is still finding it difficult to reconcile himself with that image, exposed though he was to it for all that time. He will not soon forget all that pus and the dark, rotting flesh of his master’s arm, and the smell… His gorge rises at the memory of the overwhelming stench of corruption that clung to the Lord Commander before the herbman took his limb off.

Jean quickly averts his gaze from Sir Erwin, choosing to stare instead at the kneeling priest, who is by now being addressed by the rest of the gathered Conclave.

Some part of him, small yet enduring, still grudges Eren for the Lord Commander’s loss. But the better part of him has let it go, in a way. The weeks after the northmen’s assault had been most enlightening, especially where it concerned his opinions on Eren. Seeing the other boy grow more and more distraught every day Sir Erwin’s wounds worsened opened Jean’s eyes to the fact that Eren Jaeger is not someone to be envied after all.

The boy in question is on the other side of the chamber, lowering his head slightly to whisper something to his betrothed, who has joined him and his older brother for the day’s audience in the absence of her own kin. A fortnight has passed since that day with the barrels, the day that saw a shift in Jean’s and Eren’s relations with each other. While barbs still fly between them as of late, these lack the edge of their preceding abuses. Jean does not know what to make of that, yet something in him is glad of the change; he never realized just how exhausting it is to carry so much bile for one person all these years until his load had lightened.

The king stands from his throne, drawing Jean’s attention once more. His Majesty strides toward the kneeling priest, stretching out his right hand, which Father Robert takes, placing a reverential kiss upon the large amethyst ring circling the third royal digit. “Come, we have much to discuss,” Rod Reiss says, lifting the older man up and gesturing to the entrance of the Conclave Hall toward the left side of the chamber. “My lords,” he addresses his foremost advisors, and the men of the Conclave file after them, led as always by the Magister.

The court erupts into conversation the very moment the Conclave doors swing shut behind the Quaestor, and Lord Richard Kirschtein releases a breath, drawing Jean aside toward one of the windows. “Well, the day has come. I don’t need to remind you of the importance of discretion for this undertaking, do I?”

“No, Father, I’ll be discreet.”

“Good lad. Well, the man is as interesting as you made him out to be, I grant you. I must say, I like him already. A true northman, through and through. But I’ll like him regardless, if only because the sight of him seems to rankle that Braun creature.”

It certainly has. A glance at the aforementioned man across the hall shows Jean the dark look on his face as he silently converses with his liege, the Lord David Fritz, whose expression mirrors his vassal’s quite impressively. They have a deal to rage against, that is true enough; any victories the lawyer will have is death to their ambitions of further territorial expansion.

Yet the Lord Fritz is not a foe to be taken lightly. As the richest man in the realm, the custodian of the most active gold mines in Lovaya as well as one of the kingdom’s most thriving ports, he can lend his weight to any designs against the North. Being close kin to the king is no small matter either. With him and Tybur in the field, things look to be rather grim indeed.

And so that night sees Jean stealing along one of the smaller castle gardens adjoining the guest wing, which lodges other nations’ ambassadors in addition to the court’s callers. The rain has finally stopped falling, much to his relief. This endeavor is hard enough as it is without the weather further complicating things for him.

The sound of footsteps echoing down the nearby corridor instantly gives him pause, and he retreats further into the shadows, pressing himself against the wall of the nearby keep and tugging the hood of his black cloak further down his face. The smell of wet earth assails him, rich and pleasant. There is a lingering chill in the air, and he huddles deeper into his cloak, drawing it tighter around himself.

For the second time that night, he curses the lack of convenient secret passages to this part of the castle as he impatiently watches a servant amble down the hallway, which opens up to the gardens. The passage he used took him only as far as these grounds, and so he must needs skulk like a thief through the greenery, all discreet-like. He supposes there are other more convenient passages that lead directly to the wing itself (and possibly a couple of its rooms), but having not been educated in all of Midford’s secrets, he has to make do.

He hurries forward the instant the servant vanishes further inside the palace, rushing past the pools of orange light coming from the surrounding lampposts and creeping into the relative darkness of the guest wing. The tension in his body eases somewhat now that he is safe within the hall, and he proceeds toward his destination, alert yet calmer than he was before.

This sneaking around and prowling is little to his taste yet he understands the need for it. It will not do for busybodies to see any of his House liaising with their northern guest. They can’t risk being implicated if the Zhelevic rise again; they will be accused, like as not, of fomenting unrest and providing further succor to the outlaw cause, as the Proctor feared. As it is, it was all Lord Pixis could do to prevent similar uprisings in his neck of the woods. Jean and his lord father strongly suspect the Lord Skaryn’s hold on the leash he keeps around his folk’s necks isn’t as tight as it can be, no matter his very convincing display of rage against the Consul once he was accused of such.

A large part of Jean does not want to further the blood feud any more than it already has, yet filial piety guides his steps toward the lawyer’s rooms. Assuring the priest of their clandestine support shouldn’t lead to outright bloodshed between Braun and Kirschtein, should it? It is not as if they have aims to fund and arm the Zhelevic or their own folk…

The sixth door to the right of the corridor. He quickly locates the room and continues down the dimly lit hall. Charming words and a couple of copper caps bought him that useful bit of information from some chambermaid. It is an astounding thing, this business of information the servants have entered into. And highly lucrative. Trivial or significant, very little escapes the lowborn hirelings and they have learned to use that to their advantage. Jean has to admire the ways with which they would swell their meager coffers. He wonders, not for the first time, who is in the employ of who and silently shudders to himself.

He reaches the right door at last and knocks softly. “Holy Father,” he says, the moment the door swings open.

The priest looks up at him in surprise, which is exacerbated as he lowers his hood. “Young Master Kirschtein! I-I did not expect to be graced with your company tonight. Please, come in, if you will.”

“My thanks, Father.” The quarters the steward has housed the lawyer in are comfortable enough. A great canopied bed is standing to the left of the room, its posts draped with pale velvet hangings. A lavish Abhanese carpet covers the floor, illuminated by a stone fireplace and its merrily crackling flames; otherwise, the place is dark and murky. The only other source of light comes from the lamp hanging from a sconce on the wall. The light from this one washes over a desk placed in front of the only window in the room, its dark curtains drawn closed. On the tabletop, a pewter jug and goblet sit beside a wooden likeness of the Father Above in his bull-headed form. “I’m sorry if I disturbed your prayers.”

“Oh, no, it is no trouble, my lord. Lord Amos is good and just, he will not begrudge you my attention. And,” the priest closes the door softly behind him, “a late-night visit is a most curious thing indeed.” Father Robert steps closer to him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I come at the behest of my father, Lord Richard, who wishes you and your- our cause well,” Jean answers, slipping back into his own northern brogue and feeling his sense of kinship with the holy man deepen. It is wearisome work to keep up that stuffy, high-hat court accent all the time, he finds. “I must also apologize for the lateness of the hour, and the secrecy. People talk, and some have the most inconvenient habit of remembering things they shouldn’t.”

“Aye, that they do.” The priest walks past Jean toward the desk. “Might I offer you a drink?”

“Thank you, but no.” As Father Robert pours himself a goblet, Jean ventures, “May I ask how it went with the king and Conclave?”

The lawyer chuckles lightly at that. “It went well enough, lad, considering the circumstances. Of course, there will always be opposition but I think, with the right words, there is hope of swaying the king yet. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for some of his council.” A dour look descends upon the priest’s face. “Tybur’s influence must be diminished, there is no question of that now, not when he drowns out the voices of other, better men.”

“I think you’ll find that a hard ask, Father. Tybur claims kinship with the royal line and he’s Eldian besides, that lot tends to hold each other in higher esteem.”

“It seems to me that a good king must put his kingdom before his kin or he is no true king at all, not one I will gladly follow, at any rate.” Father Robert sets his half-emptied goblet down upon the desk once more.

Jean hums his assent and reaches inside the pocket of his pants. “Please, accept this, Father. A token of our support, what little of it we can give you openly, in any case. You have friends at court still, remember that.” The sunstone gleams upon the priest’s palm like a smoldering ember, the light of the lamp reflecting off its fiery surface. “May the gods, both old and new, bless and keep you, Father. Our minds and prayers are with you. If the gods are good, we can resolve all of this peacefully.” For all of our sakes.

The Woodisle is a blue-gray serpent undulating through the stone forest that is Belris, long and winding. The wind that blows across it is cool, carrying the many scents of the city. It smells of Mercy’s Cap and rain trees and greenery from the royal gardens above. It smells of wet stone and wet earth and water. Underneath that is smoke and sweat and something savory, staler smells yet familiar for all that.

You breathe it all in, invigorated, yet part of you cannot help but think that all of that pales in comparison to the scents of home. Nothing is as sweet as the salty, sharp, crisp air of the sea.

“-consummated the marriage before the marriage!”

The cakes you brought with you come close, though, you think, nibbling on your forkful of light, airy confection. The ganso - the white, flaky meat of some exotic Mi Anese fruit - is an interesting addition; it gives the cake a delightful texture and a distinct toasted flavor from the browning the baker subjected the fruit to. You take a sip of the light, golden vintage in your cup, studiously ignoring the hot, burning sensation Historia’s eyes impart on the side of your skull at the turn of your conversation. I should not have told her about Eren.

It is not as if the both of you have plans of consummating your own betrothal.

Suddenly, hands are slapping hard at your back as you hack and cough, spilling wine all over your skirts and the blanket beneath you. You bat the hands away, throat sore and eyes watering. “I-I’m fine.”

“Are you all right?” Isabelle Seitz and Hannah Kefka gaze at you, worry clear upon their faces.

“I’m fine,” you croak, hand on your chest and wheezing out one last cough as Historia rubs your back soothingly. “Wine went down the wrong way, is all.” You grimace at the wet spots of it on your skirts, thankful that the lot of you had chosen the gold and not the red. You can just imagine the mortifying ordeal of having to walk back through the castle with a suspicious red stain on your white underskirt (your overskirt is black, at least).

Isabelle looks at you doubtfully, before continuing her tale. “And so, as I was saying, the Lady Veronika and-”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Historia whispers to you as an aside. At your affirmation, the princess smirks. “Is our little chat hitting a little too close to the mark, sweeting?”

“Oh, hush.” You look away, feeling heat creep up your neck. Three weeks ago saw a certain game of qaxan end in a most interesting way, and you have thought of little else since. Eren gave you little cause to think he meant all the things he said then, afterward. In all important respects, it had simply been his attempt at turning the tides to his favor, much like you yourself had done to him earlier. And yet… Warmth prickles up your cheeks. Is it possible to affect that much heat in one’s gaze if he does not truly mean it? Inwardly, you shake your head, annoyed. As far as you are concerned, you have never teased him that badly. Since when did he get a silver tongue?

And if he does mean it… You stuff the rest of your cake into your mouth, downing it all in two bites. That will mean coming to terms with the fact that he wants to-

“Oh, hush, I’m more than certain the thought has crossed his mind more than once,” Historia whispers, voice devious. “As it has crossed yours, I’m sure.”

“Hannah, you’re newly wedded and bedded,” you abruptly address the girl in question. “Was it worth it, waiting for the wedding night? Lady Veronika certainly doesn’t seem to think so.”

The redheaded girl blushes to the roots of her hair, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, what a question! But,” she glances sneakily at the two Royal Guardsmen standing some feet away from the apple tree you are picnicking under, silent sentinels flanking both sides of the stone stairway that leads back up to the royal gardens, “between you and me-”

You smile as Isabelle and Historia turn to the other girl with exclamations of interest. That got her out of my hair, thank the gods. You hum and react to Hannah’s tale where necessary, but only half your mind is truly paying attention.

It will be a lie to say you do not think about the prospect of an… earlier bedding, true enough. You are no stranger to lust; your flowering saw to that. It has been years since last you’ve known the touch of man, and Roman had not even been a man grown. His clumsy little boy’s fumblings seem feeble now compared to your own touch.

As it is, you do not find much occasion to give yourself pleasure of late. Guilt became a constant bedmaid once you and Eren were matched; the longer you had been betrothed, the less comfortable you had been thinking of other men to bring you to peak. And the thought of pleasuring yourself to Eren seemed discomfiting at the time. Yet now…

You fidget a little in your seat, absently pressing your legs closer together. You cannot remember ever reaching such heights of pleasure as you did that night you first touched yourself to him, the day of that momentous game. You had only to recall those long, slender fingers of his, the green fire of his eyes, and his voice… his voice most of all, and you were arching on your bed, moaning loudly in the confines of your chambers as you clenched hard around your fingers, wishing they were his. Afterward, you lay staring blankly at your ceiling, naked, sated, and marveling at how long it had been since last you'd climaxed.

Your years as a courtier enabled you to face your betrothed the next day without stumbling, adding to the unspoken consensus between the two of you that acknowledging certain avowals made from the previous day’s game was a subject best discussed for another time. When you are both better primed to face it. One thing is for certain, though; that game has irrevocably changed how you see him now, and you do not know what to make of that.

Nor do you know what to make of the other, decidedly less lustful feelings that day brought on. The little girl inside you, who has grown quiet of late, giggles like a milkmaid in springtime.

Once you fall…

“Flo, get back here!”

You turn and receive an armful of particolored fur.

“Flo!” The Princess Florian runs up to the picnicking party, doubling over with her hands on her knees, panting. “When I say seek, I didn’t mean the girls!”

“Hello there, Flo,” you say, petting the little butterfly dog gently and giggling as she stands on her hind legs, placing her paws upon your shoulders and pressing kisses. The pup was a gift from the Ambassador of Aviçon for the royal twins’ sixteenth yearday the earlier winter. Florian, as Historia’s elder by a full minute, claimed the right to give the dog a name and insisted they call the pup after her own royal self.

She straightens up at last and reaches out to you. “Give her here.” Her two companions catch up to their mistress at last, both equally as winded as their charge had been earlier.

The sudden influx of femininity somehow reminds Isabelle of the royal pleasure barge the rest of your party had taken for a sail down your side of the Woodisle, and pronounces her impatience and need to take a turn with the vessel.

As the other girls chatter and fawn over the royal pup, Historia catches your eye and gestures to the riverside with her head.

Sir Stafan inclines his head respectfully as the both of you pass and offers you a small smile, which you return. You are glad to see him risen so high, for one who is secondborn. The Anasenkos are loyal vassals to your House, and true; qualities that will serve him well in the Royal Guard. Sir Julian Halkin is standing on the other side of the stairway, face as still as the monument towering over you all across the waters. Old Blood both, from the North and the South.

Historia sits down upon the stone quayside, legs submerged to the knee within the deep blue waters of the river. You follow suit, hiking your skirts over your legs and toeing off your black leathern slippers; all at once, you grow desirous of the shorter tunics and sandals of home, garb more fitting for such wet pursuits.

The water is cool against your skin, pleasantly so. You wriggle your toes, gazing up at the gray skies above. It does not look to be breaking any time soon, thankfully.

“How is Prince Urklyn faring these days? And the little princess?” you ask after you have both settled.

Historia sighs. “Ah, Gisela, poor mite… she still cries for her mother, they tell me. Urklyn, though…” Her expression dims even more for a moment. “He’s grave, solemn, the perfect picture of a grieving husband but… I know he never truly loved the Lady Mariya, gods rest her soul. It was all duty between the two of them. At least they weren’t a pair at war, I’ll grant them that much.”

The Lady Mariya Tarasava, wife of five years to the future Urklyn Reiss IV, Crown Prince and Prince of Crownglen, had died of the sweats over a week past. The court erupted into panic then; while not immediately contagious, the sweats are almost guaranteed to be mortal to those who catch the feared disease, and the next few days saw the highborn flock to the Gardener’s temples and drain the Healers’ stores of preventative tonics. There have been no further cases of the illness thus far, though the court remains on tenterhooks.

“Father and daughter are healthy enough, thank the gods. But, argh, the vultures! Already circling around my brother, and Lady Mariya not even cold in her grave! The gall, I tell you!” Historia seethes, hands curling into fists on her lap.

You smile sympathetically and reach over, grabbing your princess’s hand and squeezing gently. You know some of those vultures well, as it happens. “They were bound to come out of the woodwork at some point. At least His Majesty is deferring, as he should for the moment.” As is Father, for that very reason.

Amiable and good-natured he may be for the most part, but Lord Alexander Rhyzkov has a streak of ambition in him as high as the most grasping of lords’. If you are not promised to Eren now, you know your father will be planning to offer you up in Lydia’s stead once the king grows more amenable to a new match for his heir.

You would have been content to marry Roman Meledin, if given the choice; you grew up together and are good friends besides, what more can you ask for? Yet it was not only the scandal of having his daughter fondled by his ward that drove Alexander to turn the boy away. Had you fallen pregnant with a Meledin bastard, he would have been forced to wed you off to his erstwhile page, and he has higher plans for his heir. The second son of the second-most powerful man in the realm is as fit a match as he can hope for for the prospective Lady Rhyzkova, for want of a prince. Better that than just a mere son of a vassal.

Historia returns your gentle grip, though the smile that graces her lips vanishes as soon as it has come. She sighs and glances up at the gigantic stone woman looming before you from the side of the building opposite your part of the Woodisle. Some founder of some institute, you think distantly, gazing up at the great gray face with mild interest.

“Speaking of Father…” Historia hesitates a little, then persists, “He’s been acting rather… strangely these days. Well, more strangely than his norm, in any case.” You chuckle slightly, prompting the princess to continue. “You know how I’ve told you about the vaults, yes?”

You sit up straighter at that, intrigued. You do not know how much of the court, outside of the royal family, is privy to this particular pastime of the king’s yet it is no common knowledge. The Conclave knows, for a certainty; Lord Alexander complains enough of His Majesty’s absences on the council’s worst days, that is for sure. The Royal Guard, as the king’s protective shadows, will also know. Perhaps those of the Conclave’s respective circles, like you, are privy as well, along with the handful of Priors His Majesty has employed to better educate him on the new arts, that which they call the ‘sciences’.

“Father’s been spending more and more time down there lately… this deal with the North must be affecting him worse than he lets on,” Historia confides in a hushed voice.

You chew on that a moment, considering. You suppose that is to be expected; if these sciences (apart from his whores) bring the king even some semblance of peace and diversion, as Historia once claimed, it will stand to reason he will spend longer hours in the vaults where he tinkers with his curios, especially in these more troubled times. “Well, I’m not entirely surprised. If I may speak honestly, he made things a great deal more complicated for himself. But I suppose there is no pleasing everyone… he’s bound to offend one side or the other whatever he does. I am surprised that he’s willing to deprive his favorite at all.”

You and the court both, yet none was as spectacularly taken aback as the favorite himself when the king declared a pardon to all the northmen who laid down their arms. To add salt to the northern opposition’s wounds, His Majesty further promised that Tybur’s hold and influence in the North shall henceforth be revoked; he and his folk are expected to cede their foregoing lands and return to the Tyburs’ seat of Herstadt within the year.

The lawyer Robert left court a happy man a week after his arrival. Though the sudden death of the Crown Prince’s wife delayed his audiences, he did not go home empty-handed and returned North laden down with good news and the promise of a royal visit during the summer progress, when the king himself will deliver his written terms to the Lord Skaryn in sight of his folk and formally offer his pardon to the northmen in his own royal person. The lords Kirschtein and Pixis have much to rejoice as well. Egstatten should be well clear of midlanders by year’s end; the added expense of a royal visit to Pixis lands is a small price to pay for that much-longed for boon.

That session at Conclave was as entertaining as a masque, to hear your father speak of it. It will seem that Willy Tybur has overreached himself at last. Apparently wearied by the constant coercions of his Consul (and perhaps having to endure a family funeral), His Majesty chose to deal with the man as he oft dealt with his Magister and put his lot in with the northmen.

When Tybur had the temerity to balk at the final royal decree, the king had, in no uncertain terms, reminded the man of his rightful place. “You forget yourself, my lord. Kin we might be, but you presume much to think that gives you power over me. I am the king. It is my word, my law, my realm. And you would do well to remember that.” This uttered in front of the very man His Majesty had said much the same thing to a decade past, the Consul’s greatest adversary, and an outsider to the court who has little reason to love the Tybur lord.

There is much to be said about this king, but one thing is for certain: he will not suffer threats to his rule, kin or no, real or imagined.

“Ugh, politics,” Historia wrinkles her nose, making you laugh. “You’re right, dealing with all of that at once would drive anyone to the deepest, darkest pit they could find to toy around with magic.”

“This coming progress is sure to be a very interesting one indeed,” you remark, eyes landing on Sir Julian and wondering how he feels about this recent development, before remembering that as a Royal Guardsman he is not permitted to have an opinion about this at all. If he does have one, it’ll certainly be much better than the opposing faction’s. The Midland lords who stand to gain with Lord Tybur’s rise now find themselves greatly diminished. Tybur’s star is exceedingly dim nowadays, to his enemies’ considerable delight.

But this is all for the best. Peace will return to the North once more (for the moment, at least; they always are such an unruly bunch, these northmen) and be made safer for all. Perhaps you may be able to visit the Godsway of Elibai a second time. If the South has the largest godstone in the realm, the North has its godsway in the Forest of Livda in the Province of Elibai, Zheletov’s neighbor to the northeast. It has oft been said that one of the Old Blood has not truly lived if he has not seen these two wonders, and you are fortunate to have seen both. It will be pleasant to walk through the Woods of the Whispering Pines again after all these years and see the hundreds of godstones lining the forest path.

And this time, Eren will be with you. You smile at the thought and paddle your legs dreamily through the cool river waters.

“Flo!”

The princess and her maid turn as one at the shriek. Historia gasps in abject horror. “Flo!” she cries shrilly and stands up in a rush, heedless of your own squeal of shock as a huge wave of water washes over you from the princess’s headlong dash, soaking your dress and lap.

Flo, the little menace, had thrown herself into the river chasing after her errant ball and had to be scooped up by the returning pleasure barge, which fortunately for her was nearby when she made the leap. The riverside party troops back into the castle sometime later with a sodden dog, a drenched princess, and a dripping maid, much to the confusion of the palace staff.

“And bugger off, ya whoreson, if ya know what’s good fer ya! Ya can get yer cunt by the walls.”

Guido the guard lumbers angrily past the gilt and alabaster pillars of their chartered chambers, cursing pricks, sots, and troublemakers all to the deepest level of hell. A pair of whores, swathed in tiny wisps of silk, titter as they walk by, looking back at the man as they whisper. A most familiar face makes itself present moments later, and Eren narrows his eyes over the rim of his goblet as he watches Porco Galliard- Sir Porco Galliard, he mustn’t forget that most illustrious title, mosey by with a whore under each arm.

Eren rolls his eyes to the frescoed ceiling, his left arm resting behind his head as he lays upon a velvet divan, an embroidered cushion bolstering his neck as he takes another sip of his drink and feels annoyance course hot through him like the rum that burns a track down his throat. The Galliard boy is a bellend of the worst kind; the prat has taken it into his head that being knighted much earlier than his peers gives him the right to lord it over all of them, though this is most pronounced in his relations with Reiner, who he holds a special loathing for.

The annoyance mellows in Eren at the thought of that bitter enmity. And its cause.

Loud laughter bursts from Reiner’s lips just then, the sort that can bleed into screams at a heartbeat’s turn. The man has much guff to flee from nowadays, to be sure. So flee he did to the one place he can escape from it all, even for just a moment, bringing the whole lot of them with him. As always.

And, as always, the Timid Cushion does not fail to entertain. Participant or spectator, the place makes sure its distinguished custom of the rich and powerful are well-satisfied by night’s end. It is whispered that the Magister before Lord Grisha, the late Lord Linse, had invested heavily in the pillow trade and owned several houses in the upscale Red Walk, the Cushion being one of them. That will certainly account for the tasteful (and costly) decor and the size of the establishment, second only to the Celesta further down the street (another establishment of his incidentally, and his most expensive, according to court gossip).

Recent court tensions have played upon many a lord’s nerves, including the elder Braun’s, who seems to be foisting his ill humors upon his heir. The heir, in turn, foisted his own consternation to his circle, though they at least are benefiting highly from it.

Bertolt and Bethany are sitting on the wide window seat before the leaded glass window playing at cards. And forfeits. Thus far, Bertolt has lost his coat, his belt, and his right boot; Bethany has lost her shawl and her own beaded belt, and both have undone their tunics to the navel. Connie is off in one of the two rooms in the chamber, making Melody sing. Faint gasps and moans of pleasure can be heard from behind the closed door if one cares enough to listen.

On the divan to the left of Eren's sit Jean and Poppy. Being cunt-struck for the Lady Mikasa has never stopped Kirschtein from flirting with the Cushion’s girls; all the same, it never goes farther than that, to his credit. He lost his virtue to Saskia, nevertheless, a couple of years back, much to his complete and utter devastation. Eren had laughed himself sick at the sight of Jean, naked as his yearday, drunkenly blubbering his grief to the Abhanese carpet he lay on and lamenting his regrets about not remaining pure for his beloved Mikasa. He had forsworn bedding whores ever since.

But tonight, Mikasa is in the palace, far from sight (though never from mind, knowing Jean), and Poppy sits curled up against the horseboy, eating grapes from his hand and giggling as he whispers pertly into her ear.

It is striking, really, how much Poppy resembles his betrothed, especially in this light, Eren thinks, resting the pewter lip of his goblet upon his own flesh one and looking on as the girl tosses her head back, laughing at one of Jean’s anecdotes. It is in her hair, her eyes, even the way she smiles…

Eren averts his gaze swiftly and drains his cup in one. His head swims at the abrupt intake of liquor yet he welcomes it, the better to take his mind off the budding tension in his groin. Perhaps he can drink himself to impotence instead of dwelling on thoughts of you wearing Poppy’s exceedingly short gauzy shift, which hides everything and nothing. He wonders how short your shifts truly are, though. You always wear a bedrobe over them whenever you steal out on your nights, robbing him of the alluring sight of your scantily clad nubile body. He had been blessed by the sight of your shapely legs once, as you clambered atop Klesvar’s forehead; brief it had been but he is thankful for that much, at least.

He tilts his goblet to his mouth and frowns at the miserly drop of rum that coats his tongue. The jug is sitting on the wooden table beside his perch, just within arm’s reach, yet it had as well be on the other side of the room. His body feels like it weighs twenty stone, and the divan is getting more and more comfortable by the hour. It won’t be the first time he’s spent the night in this brothel, but a large part of him better desires the comforts of his own bed.

His arm drops limply to the carpeted floor, still clutching his empty goblet, and his head lolls to the side, watching but not truly seeing Reiner pour wine down the nude front of his girl (Lavender or some such) and slowly lap it off.

“D’you like redheads, milord?” May the Maid leans over the back of Eren’s divan, smirking down at him, all seduction and naked as her yearday. She has clearly come from a tumble, by the look of her. Her hair is artfully tousled, her skin flushed and gleaming under the lamplight; bruises and bites litter her pale throat and full breasts, and she smells of lavender, sweat, and sex. “If I’d known, I would’a dyed me hair for you. Might be you’ll like me better then.”

Eren returns her smirk with his own. “I don’t suppose you’re still a maid?”

“Hmm, 'course I am, milord, why wouldcha think otherwise?” May giggles. “Oh, how much we’ve missed you, milord.” She reaches down to brush back his fringe, giving him a better look at her ample charms. He finds it more than passing droll that the barest hint of your breasts excites him more than any whore’s exposed ones, no matter how plump and pretty.

“Have you changed your mind 'bout fuckin’ us?” May glances at her redheaded peer, who is by now busy devouring Reiner’s mouth on the divan right across Eren’s. “Violet’s new. Came to us a maid, a right proper one this time,” she smirks once more, then continues. “‘Course, Talinia asked twice as much for her but she’s well broken in now and should be cheaper. Not by much, though. I dunno why men love reds so much,” she scoffs, tossing her own honeyed curls back haughtily. “They’re no better’n any other girl here. Hell, I’m better than her. She hasn’t been fuckin’ that long, anyways, not like me. Milord’ll have a better time with me than Miss Half-A-Maid, methinks.” She trails a finger down Eren’s jaw to his chest, partly bared by the loosened laces of his shirt.

“And methinks Milord has no desire to spend his time with the Cushion’s maids, half or whole, as you should know by now.”

The Maid pouts her fleshy bottom lip at him. “Milord’s just cost me me precious lapis flower necklace and Poppy’s emerald bracelets.”

“You shouldn’t be wagering on me, then.” He glances at the forenamed girl and spots her eyeing him and May closely from her place beneath Jean’s arm.

May shrugs one lovely bare shoulder, offhand. “‘S worth a try. Any girl’d want the privilege of havin’ Sir Pretty Eyes’ pretty eyes on her.” She touches the golden pearl upon his chest. “Your girl’s a lucky one.”

The corners of his lips turn up a little at that, and Eren moves his arm from behind his head, gently grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from the pendant.

“Oh, my, what’s milord been doin’ with his pretty fingers, hmm? Get in a fight? Trainin’ too hard?” May takes his hand in hers and presses a slow kiss to his bandaged digits, brown eyes dark and inviting.

Eren can feel himself responding to the touch and withdraws, sitting up and swinging his legs off the divan, turning his back on her. He closes his eyes against the spell of lightheadedness that besets him, then slowly opens them again once he is certain the danger of retching half his insides onto the richly carpeted floor is not forthcoming.

“Got in a fight with a knife taking up a new pastime. As you can see, I’m no good at it yet.” He had not thought to enjoy woodcarving so much. What started as a ploy for an Elena’s Day gift for his niece turned into something more personal, and he often finds himself of late whittling away at a block of wood in his slower hours. It gives his hands something to do, at any rate, and skill will come with time, he knows. He will be glad of it, then; mistakes are painful and enduring, as his fingers can attest.

At the least, he can make recognizable figures, according to you, though something tells him that was you attempting to spare him his feelings on the matter (he is still sure Ymir's present can pass for a falcon). The thought of you makes him place his goblet on the table. He reaches into his pocket for his pouch of coins.

“Here,” he says, turning back to the whore and tossing her a silver crescent, which she catches, surprised. “Coin you would’ve made if you actually fucked me instead of talking. I’d hate to have you come out the poorer for wasting your time and attentions on me.” He nods at Reiner, whose girl has apparently vanished to the other room in the chamber. “He’ll make a more willing fuck. Gods know the poor sod needs it. Make him forget his name for the night and teach Half-A-Maid a thing or two.”

The Maid simpers, rolling the coin between her slender fingers. “Always a pleasure havin’ you here, milord.” She leers at Reiner, who responds in kind, and saunters off to join Violet.

“You,” Reiner slurs, pouring himself a cup of rum, “are the best mate a bloke could ask for.”

Eren chuckles. “Happy to please.”

“Truly, you are.” Reiner takes a long, healthy swig of his drink. “Mother’s Tits, that’s good.”

“Easy there, Reiner, you still want to perform for the girls,” Jean puts in, arm draped around Poppy’s smaller form and carelessly toying with the ends of her tresses.

“Ah, sod off.” The big man throws himself against the back of the divan, head tilted to the ceiling. “If it can drown out the image of overbearing fathers, the better.”

Jean and Eren glance at each other. Nothing is more like to sober a man up, Eren thinks, eyes trained carefully at the Braun heir.

“You’re a good lad, Jean,” Reiner continues, still staring at the ceiling. “And I’m glad you'll get to keep what’s yours by rights. We should all just be content with what we have in this world. If only he could see that…”

Jean has tensed a little, Eren sees, and even he himself is starting to feel rather wrong-footed. Neither of them, it seems, truly grasps the depths of their friend’s distress. Bertolt, who is by now shirtless, looks over at them all with his brow furrowed, game and girl forgotten.

“Reiner-” Jean starts, but the older boy cuts him off by getting ponderously to his feet.

“Well, I mustn’t keep the girls waiting. Be free to do as you like. I’ll shoulder it all, as I said.” He vanishes into the second room soon after, leaving the lounge in a still silence.

Jean breaks it with a sigh. “And now’s as good a time as any to leave.” He pats Poppy on the shoulder. “I thank you kindly for the scintillating conversation, my lady, but alas, I must take my leave of your lovely presence.”

The whore giggles as she kisses his cheek and stands. “I’m no lady, milord, but I’m glad you like my yammering. It’s a nice change, it is.”

“A crescent for your time, in the manner of my friend here,” Jean grins, pressing the coin into the girl’s smaller palm and tapping her lightly on the hip.

Since when have we been friends? Eren wants to know, but the thought comes without spite. It isn’t such an appalling notion, that. He knows immediately then that he’s had three cups too many.

“You heading back?” Jean directs at him as he laces on his boots. He nods his affirmation and the two of them are soon departing the grandiose halls of the Cushion, leaving Bertolt and Bethany kissing hungrily over their game of cards as Poppy slipped into Reiner’s room, clearly looking to make most of her own night as well.

“Well, that was… an interesting way to end the night,” Jean comments as they make their way through the Red Walk and into the Golden District proper, home to the richer populace of the capital who just falls short of true nobility.

“I’ll say.” The cool night air is even more sobering than Reiner’s sad little speech, and Eren breathes it in, letting it wash away some of the dregs of his inebriation. He can still walk straight, he is pleased to note. In the distance, the city clocktower tolls Alyrya’s hour, the hour of the cat. “The Northern Matter haunts us all these days. I never thought it would follow me to a brothel, of all places.”

Jean makes a sound of assent. “I’ll be glad when it’s all over. Father’s quite strung up but he’s in much better spirits these days, thank the gods. Summer can’t come fast enough for him.”

“The progress’s only a week away, it’ll come soon enough.” They walk through the Lane of Kings, passing three stone Bertholds, an Ulrich, and an Urklyn before descending a set of steps, which Eren traverses gingerly for fear of tripping over his own feet and rolling down painfully the rest of the way (he does not roll, to his elation). “You northmen and your unruliness. Everything seems to happen because of you lot. Riots, uprisings, sedition, we get those from you every few years. I’m sure there are better ways to warm the blood up there than constant violence.”

“At least we have blood in our veins instead of the milk you have in your little southron bodies,” Jean rags, all northman all of a sudden, complete with brogue and inflection.

Eren blinks at him, thrown. “It’s so strange to hear you speak like that.”

“As opposed to the uppity midland court accent?” Jean laughs, speaking in kind once more.

“I suppose it’s easier to forget where one truly comes from in court.” The towers and turrets of Midford loom ever closer as they walk through the emptying streets.

“Not all the time. Times like this like to remind the lords of where their interests lie,” Jean says, as they slip down the more hidden side street to the west wing of the palace. A surly guard is on hand to greet them at the postern gate, which he swings open irritably with a quick jerk of his head. Eren hears him muttering something about cocksure lordlings under his breath once he and Jean are several paces away.

The palace is emptying as well. Dinner’s last few stragglers are making their way to their respective apartments, trailed by servants extinguishing chandeliers and lamps, and lighting smaller torches for the night. Lord Dot Pixis and Jean’s own father stroll by on the lower landing, deep in conversation. Where their interests lie, huh… “Times like this make you want to step away from all of that drivel.”

Jean follows Eren’s gaze to his father, and something flits across his face. “A pleasant thought but hard to realize. You can’t tell me your own lord father doesn’t have a stake in this whole matter.” He leaves Eren to his own devices then, descending the purple-carpeted steps they have just passed to hail Lord Kirschtein, vanishing into another hall with him and their lord vassal.

All that talk of stakes and matters is enough to turn anyone’s head, Eren thinks, a little peeved. I’m not drunk enough for this. He continues down the hall; he had as well sleep everything off. It is only when he passes a familiar tapestry that he realizes where he is headed.

The sight of the golden orb of Rhyzkov flying above the jagged teeth of a mountain range gives him pause.

He had told you about his night’s excursion with the lads earlier that day so you will not be expecting him tonight. And yet…

Eren presses on. He hopes you are awake and in your rooms, not gallivanting off with the Princess Historia in some obscure corner of the castle, giggling and whispering secrets. He goes down a bypath for a privy and takes a much-needed piss, feeling lighter once he empties his bladder. Sometimes, a piss really does feel better than a climax, especially on days like this.

Your face, when you open your door, is one of surprise. Robbed again. Your bedrobe tonight is a pretty confection of blue and violet satin embroidered with cranes and flowers in gold thread. The blue bleeding into the violet gives off the effect of a night sky, fitting for a nighttime garment, and for a time he stands before Ryneas herself, one half of the Lover’s whole and most beautiful of all the gods. Part of him (the part somewhere below his waist) still laments this very much covered-up vision, dazzling it may be.

“I thought you said you’d be out tonight,” you say, puzzled, one hand on the doorframe, the other on the door.

“Yes, but I decided to head back early.” He places a hand on the frame, just a bit above your own.

You frown at him. “How deep into your cups did you get?”

He pshaws at that. “I’ve only had the three cups.” He pauses, considering. “Maybe four.”

“Right.” You glance down the empty hallway and back at him, expression suddenly wary. Your grip on your door seems to tighten. “Perhaps you should head to bed, I don’t think you're-”

He interrupts you with a slow utterance of your name, leaning closer. His proximity makes you step away from him, and the wary look on your face deepens. You drop your hand from the frame; both hands now clutch at your door, poised to slam it shut if he so much as moves another inch. “I’ve drunk myself to impotence, so you don’t have to worry about me trying anything. And I did ask. My lady. If you would let me,” he adds, smirking a little at your sharp intake of breath. “I won't do anything without your express leave.”

Dragons and rain flash through his mind, as did yours, he can see as you stare at him with that most delectable look on your face, the very same you had given him all those weeks ago when he all but confessed to wanting to fuck you. Not that that went anywhere, he made sure of that, averse as he was to discomfit you with such attentions too soon (and too abruptly). The both of you have yet to address all of that in a more… abstemious environment, but it is more than enough to know that his suit is a long way away from being hopeless. At least, he believes so. If your responses to him then and now are any indication, though… he can trust to hope.

He pulls back at last, but not by much. Your grip on your door loosens. “You have nothing to fear,” he reiterates, more solemn now. “You’re not in danger of any rough wooing from me, I give you my word.”

A brief stillness shrouds the air between you. “I’ll hold you to your word,” you say finally, emerging from behind your door and closing it softly.

He smiles, triumphant. “I’d really like some company while I recover.”

“Recover how?”

“Tea, ice water, brandy, the best remedy for the grape. Or any sort of liquor, really,” he announces in the dimly lit silence of the servants’ dining hall sometime later, cradling his mug of tea as he sits across from you on the cornermost table on the left side of the room. The both of you were fortunate enough to catch Lisa’s girl, Sasha, sending some freckled squire off with an armload of foodstuffs as you entered the kitchen, and she had obligingly fixed you up with your drinks of choice before bidding you a good night, slipping out with a custard bun between her teeth.

“You’re surprisingly clearheaded for someone who’s had three, perhaps four cups of rum,” you observe, your hands wrapped around your own cup of tea, goldenglow as always.

“It’s ‘cause I pissed half the stuff out earlier,” he quips, giggling at your scrunched nose. “I could stand to be more clearheaded, though.”

“Yes, you can,” you mutter, taking a sip of your tea. “Did you leave the Cushion alone or did someone come with you?”

He finishes off his own tea and makes a start on his water. “Only Jean. The others were enjoying themselves too much to want to leave with us celibates.”

“Did you not enjoy yourselves, then? Slatterns weren’t charming enough for you?”

Eren has to stop himself from grinning too widely lest he further incurs your wrath, but the way you practically spat out the words of your last sentence is most amusing. “Have I told you that jealousy becomes you?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “I distinctly recall giving you leave to take your pleasures where you will. If you do decide to make good on that, where you choose to dip your wick makes no matter to me.”

Why does it sound like it does? “And I distinctly recall telling you not to play that hand with me, Lady Rhyzkova.” Your eyes flash up to him, and he presses on, “I already told you, wed or no, I won’t do that to you. And it’s no weakness to admit to those feelings with someone you’re already in confidence with. I can admit the thought of you being that familiar with another man doesn’t sit well with me at all.”

Your little cough strikes him dumb, for some bizarre reason. It is a harmless enough sound but for the way Lady Rhyzkova seems to settle herself more firmly on her seat across from him, where moments ago he had thought her like to vanish at last. It seems a great deal hotter in the room all of a sudden. Dimly, he wonders who lit the furnaces.

“Who was he?”

Lady Rhyzkova takes the measure of him momentarily before answering, “Some boy.”

He lets a few heartbeats pass. When it becomes clear that nothing else is forthcoming, he pushes, “I suppose this boy has a name?”

“Like most boys, he does.”

I don't think this is a good time to play coy with me, my lady. “Dare I ask how far Some Boy got to play around with my lady?”

Your expression freezes over at once. “Not far enough, you can rest assured of that, my lord. Have no fear, I’ll still come to you a maid.” Disappointment flickers across your face so fast he almost misses it. “I didn’t know those things meant so much to you.”

The livid growling beast inside him shrinks back at your words and that briefest hint of dismay on your lovely features. “N-no, it’s not that, I’d never think you spoiled. You’re anything but! It’s just-”

I want you only for myself.

He tenses, his mouth drying more than it already has. In truth, the subject of maidenheads means less to him than a rat’s ass. Yet, somehow, yours matter, but not in the way you think. He is slowly coming to find that the matter of your maidenhead is less about you needing to be as pure as the driven snow for him and more about his need to be your first and only one in all things carnal.

Eren’s fingers tighten around his cool mug, as though the chill may help him sort out his feelings. But the more he thinks about it, the more he finds himself wanting to be the first to kiss you, the first to know every curve and dip and inch of you, the first to have you. And to learn that someone else has the privilege of claiming even one of those firsts for you angers him more than anything else ever has.

“It’s just…?”

Your voice breaks him from his contemplative trance, and he looks up into Rhyzkova’s cool, beautiful mask-like visage. Another sense of stillness settles over you, this one more pregnant than the last.

“It’s just as I said earlier,” he says finally. “You being that familiar with another man doesn’t sit well with me. You can never be despoiled for me, never. A hundred men could have had you and I’ll still call you unspoiled. But knowing someone else had the honor to know you that way… it doesn’t sit well with me at all.”

“He never went that far, Some Boy,” you state, after a while. “Kisses, a touch or two, but he never went that far. He was never bold enough.” The way you look at him as you say those last few words strikes a chord with him. Why, it sounds almost like a challenge…

"I-I see." The mug of water is rapidly losing its chill. He downs it all in a couple of gulps, miraculously never spilling a drop, and tosses back the half-filled glass of brandy. He almost wishes it is stronger.

“It didn’t sit well with me, you visiting the brothel tonight.” You look down at your cup, mouth pursed. “I may give you leave but it will never sit well with me should you choose to take me at my word.” You smile a little then. “I’m glad to know that words are more than wind with you. And that you think me still unspoiled. Most men would turn their noses up at even half-used goods.”

He frowns at you. “You’re not chattel, why should I treat you like it?”

Your smile widens into something more real, and it is like watching the sun break through gray drabness after a week’s worth of rain. The silence that falls then is as comfortable as a feather-down quilt.

“I want to show you something,” he pipes up when you finally finish your tea. At your curious look, he tacks on, “It’s in the kitchens, you’ll see.”

He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the servants’ dining hall into the adjoining kitchens, taking one of the two torches Sasha had lit to guide your way. The faint smell of food lingering about the place makes his stomach rumble. He ought to have asked the girl for some nibbles, he thinks regretfully, but perks up once he notices a barrel marked ‘apples’ beside the very spot he wants to show his betrothed.

The barrel’s lid is already loosened, to his delight. He grabs a couple of apples and pitches one to you. “You wanted to show me apples?” you sally, and grin at his look.

“No, my exceedingly witty friend, I wanted to show you this perfectly made stone ledge.” There it sat between a wooden rack of baking tools and the apple barrel, perfectly gray, square, inconspicuous. A couple of empty wicker baskets perch atop it, adding to its perfect inconspicuousness.

“It is… certainly well-made,” you remark, running your fingers over the smooth stone before looking at him quizzically.

He grins as he searches for that third stone on the right, finding it and pressing; he snatches the baskets off cat-quick, carelessly depositing them atop the nearby barrel as the ledge sinks down into the ground with nary a sound and jerk to reveal the entrance to a dark passageway.

“That it is,” he replies, grin threatening to split his face at your shock as you stare at the passage with your mouth open.

“When did you find this?” You take a step closer, eyes flashing around the black cavern.

He grabs your hand once more and leads the way into the tunnel. The ledge slides quietly back into place as you proceed further forward, plunging you into complete darkness broken only by the orange light of Eren’s torch. “Armin and I found it some years back. We don’t usually go through here since it leads outside of the palace.”

“Where does this one lead?”

His smile, when it comes, is as mysterious as can be. “You’ll see.”

You step out into the blue-white wash of lamplight, on the quayside by the Woodisle, right beneath the royal gardens. You gasp in astonishment. “We’re in the riverside below the gardens.”

Eren mumbles his agreement, placing the torch on a sconce beside the hidden entrance behind the stone likeness of Richard I, the mind behind passages such as the one you just slipped through. The cool night air is refreshing, and it helps ease the liquor’s hold on him just that bit more.

“We just picnicked here the other day, there by the apple tree,” your voice floats back to him as you stand by the riverbank, gazing up at the huge black mass that is some woman’s monument.

“So you said.” He goes to join you, then bends down to unlace his boots and roll up the legs of his pants. “Flo is quite the character.” He sits beside the lamp’s plinth, shins sinking deep into riverwater.

You do likewise, sliding your white silk slippers off and lifting your robe to your knees as you settle down. Eren eyes the smooth perfection of your calves as they dip down into the black waters, and averts his gaze. He reaches into his pocket for his apple and takes a large bite to distract himself. The juice bursts on his tongue, sweet and tart in equal measure.

“Flo’s a sweet little thing but she can be such a handful,” you laugh, starting on your own apple. “Gave her mistresses quite the scare with that lark in the river.”

“If I pass out and get washed away by the river now, will you come and rescue me?” he asks, all guileless eyes and unaffected looks.

“You’re too heavy. We’ll both drown.”

“So you think me fat.”

Your gaze roams down his form a moment, lingering at his partly bared chest, before you look away. “I didn’t say that.”

His apple is now down to its core. Eren chucks it into the river and watches as the current bears it away, bobbing and turning. “Progress starts next week.”

“It’s that close already, huh… before we know it, autumn will be upon us again.” You take your last bite but do not discard your apple, turning the core over your hands slowly as you speak.

“Autumn and home, for you.” Lights still burn amongst the many buildings of Belris, banked and less numerous than its waking hours.

“I can’t wait to show you,” you beam, and your excitement feeds his own. He paddles his legs against the current, the water swirling around his limbs. “Speaking of the progress, though…” You pick at the remaining flesh of the fruit in your hands. “This one’s going to be momentous.”

It really is haunting us all. “And the North’ll finally quiet down and leave the realm in peace for another couple of years until their next grievance.”

You snicker. “If the gods are good, they should.” The wind runs light fingers through your hair and sends the pale ghostly petals of the apple blossoms flying into the air like unseasonal snow. “That lawyer must be an astoundingly good one to sway His Majesty so. That or the king’s finally tired of his favorite pet. That’s better for you and yours, yes?”

“Father did say the man has a silver tongue.” Having been well-acquainted with it himself. There is no doubt that the man is interesting, interesting enough to have a private audience with in his own solar. Eren can only imagine what manner of intrigues and propositions they spoke about then.

You lob your own core into the river, which makes a small splash as it hits the water before tumbling away. “Of course he does. Lawyers can’t do without one of those, after all.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

***

A/N:

The Northern Matter is looming larger and lurks in all POVs, no matter what they're focusing on at the time - it'll still be sometime when true hostilities rise but they have to start somewhere...

But I did love getting inside alcohol-affected Eren's mind - he's an entertaining boy when he's had a drop or so, haha. Made him admit to really, truly wanting YN (for himself) - and a jealous Eren is a rather risky thing. Tread carefully 👀

Also, ajsdjashdsdhsks I am REALLY toying with the idea of writing a smutty one-shot about EreYN if they did consummate the relationship much earlier than planned... but then idk if that'll take away from the actual scene when they finally do it... but then The Smut is... a LONG way away, lmao, so would the one-shot matter??? Idk, I'll think about it... I WILL write it, but we'll see if I post, ahahaha... 😅

Oh, and I thought I'd post (finally, idk why I didn't post the thing earlier) a very simple map of Lovaya instead of letting it gather dust in my Trello board. This better gives one an idea of what Tybur has to lose:

And I can't post Lovaya without posting the Known World. Just for scale. We have the 7 living continents (Eldia is darkened out and dead), and a hint of Paradis in the Anderven continent. Basically, think of Lovaya as something like Australia, both a continent and a country divided into 8 States.

Thank you so, so much for reading and taking an interest!!! ❤❤❤ I hope I can still deliver the rest of the story well and I'm really looking forward to what's coming next and I hope you guys are, too!

Tagging: @princess-jaeger @lukepattersin​ @erentoes

[misscoolisback123]

Ships that I like from my favorite animes:

Naruto- Sasuhina, Narusaku, Nejisaku, and Shikahina

Bleach- Ichiruki, Byahime, Byaren, Byasoi, and Ishinemu, along with Renjihime and Ulquihime

Attack On Titan- Erehisu and Jeankasa

Ships That I hate from these shows

Naruto- Sasunaru, Sasusaku, and Sasukarin.

Bleach- Byaruki, Renruki, Ichihime, Shunsui x Nanao, and Aizen x Momo

Attack On Titan- Yumikuri, Reikuri, Levi x Petra, Levi x Eren, Eren x Annie, Armin x Annie, King Fritz x Ymir and Eremika.

Weird ships that I like:

Byakuya Kuchiki x reader, Byakuya Kuchiki x Ymir Fritz as an adult, Naruto x Historia Reiss, and many more

Why I don't ship it:

Naruto- Sasunaru because they were basically brothers

Sasusaku because Sakura only liked Sasuke for his appearance and was obsessed with him

Sasukarin because it's the same as Sasusaku but worse

Bleach- Byaruki because Rukia is Byakuya Kuchiki's adopted sister. The same goes for his deceased wife Hisana because she never loved him, and he's over her. So basically, I don't ship Byahisa. People need to understand that she never loved him.

Renruki because they had more of a brother and sister dynamic

Ichihime because it's similar to Sasusaku

Shunsui x Nanao because she's his niece

Aizen x Momo because he stabbed her

Attack On Titan- Yumikuri because Historia was never gay and 104th Ymir only liked her as "Krista" and Historia only saw her as a sister and mother figure, and Historia is most likely bisexual or aromantic

Reikuri because like 104th Ymir he only liked "Krista" and he thought that Historia would be the same he's a simp for her.

Levi x Petra because she wasn't a major character and admiration can mean different things.

Levi x Eren because Levi was an asshole towards him, and he was more like a father figure for him

Eren x Annie for various reasons I can't explain

Armin x Annie because he never showed interest in her up until he inherited the colossal titan. This leads people to believe that Armin inherited the characteristics of Berthold as a result of inheriting the colossal titan because anyone who is a titan shifter, and once they shift into a titan some of their human characteristics stay with their titan form such as eye color, hair color and sometimes facial features. This could probably apply to personality as well.

King Fritz x Ymir Fritz because he enslaved her as a child, cut her tongue out, and used her as a weapon after she was saved from death by the creature in the tree after it gave her the founding titan. He also did awful things to her as she got older, and not once did she crack a smile, and the ending of her being in love with the king was an ass pull, and it contradicts chapter 122

Last but not least is Eremika because they were adopted siblings, and Grisha has acknowledged her as his own daughter. When the show was still being produced by "WIT," a majority of the scenes with Eremika were actually supposed to be Eren and Armin and their friendship. It's like Sasusaku in a way, but at least Sakura doesn't go around acting like a creeper when Sasuke is talking to another girl or woman, especially if said girl is a child and said woman is an elderly woman who is in a wheelchair.

There you have it! If you want to discuss these ships with me, feel free to message me unless it's around 8:00 pm. Sorry if I came across as a homophobe for some of the ships.

[adhdpandas]

What artist I think they'd listen to

Marley Warriors Edition :)

Annie: Something tells me she's an Ariana Grande stan. Her top song would probably be "34+35" or "Dangerous Woman".

Berthold: Ricky Montgomery. Berth is more of a calm person. He loves indie music. He will listen to music at any moment of the day, especially when doing homework or schoolwork. His favorite song would either be "Out Like a Light" or "Settle Down"

Colt: He loves any artist. As long as he's happy dancing around vibing he loves any song. He loves Pitbull. He's all hype jumping up and down with an arm around any of his friends, Mostly Reiner or Porco, which they get annoyed with easily. Half of the time Colt is drunk but it's hard to tell if he's hyped or just drunk.

Falco: Cavetown listiner. Just like Berthold, he's more of a calm person who likes indie. He would also enjoy Ricky Montgomery or any other artist that's indie. "Sweet Tooth" is probably his favorite song. He will listen to BTS and Harry Styles ocasionally because of Gabi.

Gabi: Crazy BTS stan. The one time her friend invited her to a concert she fell in love. She was the one to say she hated them because everyone else liked them but that concert changed her. Her favorite song by them is "Permission to Dance" the song that changed her mind about them. Her bias is Suga. She's also a Harry Styles fan, her favorite song being "Watermelon Sugar".

Porco: Arctic Monkeys. He's a huge fan of them. If you became close to him just know you'd be listening to them all day with him. Porco is kinda like Gabi with BTS. "Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?" and "Do I Wanna Know" are the top songs that got him his obsession with them. He also listens to rap and any other music but to him, Arctic Monkeys is superior to all.

Pieck: Big Billie Eilish fan, and Mitski as well. She's not a mega fan like both Porco and Gabi but she enjoys listening to them. But she listens to other artists as well. She has more of a calm music taste. "My Future" by Billie is her favorite song.

Reiner: Queen, Mother Mother, MCR fan. I kinda see him loving rock to an extent. "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen is his favorite song.

Zeke: It depends on his mood honestly. When he's calm he likes Mitski and Coldplay. When he's angry MCR, Maneski. When he's sad or upset Cigarettes After Sex. But most of the time he listens to everyone no matter the mood.

Extra:

I was thinking about Spanish music since I myself am Hispanic and I feel like Reiner, Porco, and Colt would be the ones listening to Hispanic music as well.

Small Porco x Hispanic Reader moment

If you ever invited him to a Hispanic Party your parents would love them. He'd be the type to drag you to the dance floor once Romeo Santos starts playing. He knows how to dance bachata, holding your waist as you both dance. You would just be surprised at how good he is at dancing probably even better than you. Whenever someone looked at the both of you (especially if it was another guy) he'd pull you closer to him, making surprise moves here and there to show off.

[youfreakinturltle]

Meet Me on the Battlefield

Reiner x Reader one-shot

Summary: (Y/N) and Reiner were in the 104th cadet corps together, both being in the top 10, having fallen for each other before graduating. (Y/N) was originally planning to join the MP’s after graduating but changed course once realizing Reiner was signing up for the Scouts. When the truth came to light of Reiner, Berthold, and Annie’s origins, and the plan to capture them was underway, (Y/N) secretly saved Reiner’s life. Now 4 years later, the two meet again when Marley launches their attack on Paradis and the walls begin to crumble.

Warnings: Rated M for the following: violence, language, mentions of death and betrayal, spoilers for season 4!

Eren… Tell me you aren’t…

Just as the thought entered your head, you heard an awful splitting noise coming from above you and Mia, whom you found after she was separated from the Braus family. You looked up in horror to see the walls beginning to crumble. Before you can even think, you’re yanking Mia into your arms in attempt to shield her from the rocks that will surely crush you. But somehow they don’t. You look up in shock as the rubble falls around you.

Reiner.

Keeping your arms tightly wound around Mia, you realize with a start that he’s shielding the two of you. But his titan looks different now and it doesn’t take you long to figure out why.

His armor, where did it go? I distinctly remember it being in tact while fighting Eren…

As the rocks stop falling you feel the ground begin to shake. Looking around his titan’s arm you see titans the stretching into the sky, countless surrounding you. And as much as you pray otherwise, they begin to move, making their way to the coast.

Above you, you hear a release of steam and are startled back to your senses. Releasing Mia you tell her to stay put as you run out from under the titan. You engage your ODM gear and go flying up to Reiner who is in the process of detaching himself from his titan. You come to a stop a few feet away from him and can do nothing but stare at the man who has held your heart in a vice grip for six years. Rising to his feet, Reiner turns to face you, his eyes widening when he sees you standing there.

“(Y/N)… Are you okay? You’re not hurt are you? I tried getting here-“

Before he can say any more, you fly at him, throwing a punch into his jaw. Reiner goes skidding back and holding onto his jaw, looks at you with pain in his eyes. The same look he gave you that day.

“You left me.” You can think of nothing else to say, overwhelmed with the old wounds that were being torn open. “You promised. Why?”

You see a tear leave his eyes when he hears the pain in your voice.

“We should get back to the ground. It’ll be gone soon.” Upon hearing this, you take notice of the increasing steam rising around you. You stomp over to him and throw an arm around his waist, engaging your ODM gear to get you both back on solid ground. As soon as you land you start to let go of him. Instead though, Reiner throws his other arm around you and pulls you closer.

“I’m sorry. Truly, (Y/N/N). I wanted more than anything to but… Zeke, he… Well, he wouldn’t allow it. It was safer to leave you behind.” Despite him having buried your face into his chest, you can still hear the tears in his voice. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N/N). I missed you so much. I understand if you hate me-“

At this you shove him away. “You understand? Do you really though, Reiner? Do you think you’re the only one that noticed I missed that shot?”

“Of course not. Everyone knows you’re second only to Mikasa. You made the rest of us in the 104th look like chumps.”

“Exactly!” You see him jump a little at your outburst, but you’re too overwhelmed with rage and hurt to care. “Do you have any idea what I went through after you left?! Everyone accused me of being a traitor! Even Sasha and Connie didn’t trust me! I was interrogated for weeks by MY OWN COMRADES!! It took me over a year to be allowed back in the elite squad! Did you ever even realize I joined the Scouts because of you?! I could’ve been an MP and not been involved at all!! But I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you. Even after everything. And I hated myself for it. Even I didn’t know if I was a traitor for a long time. All I knew was that I loved you so much I was willing to become one. And… Shit. You know, I don’t care anymore. I’m too tired to keep caring. Traitor or not, I love you.”

By the end of your rant, both of you have tears streaming down your cheeks. Before you realize what’s happening, Reiner has rushed forward and crashed his lips onto yours. Closing your eyes, your hands feverishly grip at his shirt, kissing him back with reckless abandon. Every emotion you had buried over the past four years comes bubbling to the surface and suddenly, you’re not sure how you could even breathe without him. As you part you feel his warm breath ghost across your lips and for the first time in years, you feel yourself smile.

“Uh… Reiner?” You hear Mia say from behind you, causing you to jump away from Reiner. “I take it this is the ‘girl from your childhood’?” Despite the slight unease in her voice, you also catch a little snicker.

“Wait… How do you two know each other?” You ask looking between the two, catching a slight resemblance.

“Um… My name is actually Gabi. I’m Reiner’s cousin. And well… I’m the one who… I killed-“

“No. You don’t need to say it. I may not have been there on the mission, but I heard. We’ve already forgiven you so there’s no need talking about it.” As you finish you see her let out a breath and her shoulders slouch a little.

Poor kid. It’s bullshit what she’s been through.

“Come on, we should find cover somewhere for the time being,” you say, taking Reiner’s hand and turning to walk down the street.

“Thank you. She’s a good kid.” You turn to look at him with a small smile on your face. Giving his hand a squeeze you tell him you could see that. “I love you, (Y/N/N). I hope you can give me another chance when this is all over.”

You sigh before saying “Hmm… Nah.” Out of the corner of your eye you can see the shock register on him before you quickly follow up with, “but I could do so now. I’m done wasting time worrying. I just want you. That’s all. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Reiner stops in his tracks and just stares at you for a second until you turn to look at him. He abruptly blurts out, “Marry me.” A blush immediately spreads across his face and neck as he tries to backpedal, “I mean- uh- I- well- shit.”

You open your mouth to reply when you both hear an outburst of giggles come from behind you. Looking over his shoulder at Gabi, you let out a laugh with a toothy grin before turning back to Reiner.

“Do you even have to ask? Of course. Now come on, you’ve always been terrible at hiding injuries.”

You take hold of his hand again and begin walking, this time holding on a little tighter.

[bluebirdsboi]

Attack on Titan/Shingeki no Kyojin Masterlist | Last Updated: 6/12/23

Key

Fluff = 🥰 | Angst = 😢 | Smut = 🥵| Hurt Comfort = 🩹 Platonic = 🤝 Headcanons = 📝 | ABC Headcanons = 👩‍🏫 | Oneshot = 📘 | Series = 📚 AU = 🌎 | Songfic = 🎵 Male Reader = 💙 | Gender Neutral Reader = 💜 | Female x Female = 💖 Story on hold = ✋ | Character on hold = 🔒

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Berthold Hoover

Coming soon... 

Eren Jager 

When they catch you singing 34+35 🥵 | 📝 | 🌎 | 💙

Erwin Smith

When they catch you singing 34+35 🥵 | 📝 | 🌎 | 💙

Jean Kirshtein

When they catch you singing 34+35 🥵 | 📝 | 🌎 | 💙

Levi Ackerman

When they catch you singing 34+35 🥵 | 📝 | 🌎 | 💙

Marco Bodt

When they catch you singing 34+35 🥵 | 📝 | 🌎 | 💙

Mike Zacharias

When they catch you singing 34+35 🥵 | 📝 | 🌎 | 💙

Fluff Alphabet Headconanons 🥰 | 👩‍🏫 | 💜

Erwin’s Inner Circle & Squad Levi 📚 | 💙 | ✋: Prologue

Porco Galliard

Coming soon... 

Reiner Braun

Coming soon... 

Zeke Jager

Coming soon...

[sunriseflamesart]

So

Since my last Dom reader idea was liked I decided to try and write more sub Levi because he needs pampering.

I think Levi would be a titty man. Like. If you’re taller than him (unlike me lol) expect him to just. Faceplant on your boobies.

He loves both woman and man tits. Doesn’t matter if they’re big or small. Soft with fat or hard with muscles.

He lives by the “world hard and cold, tiddies soft and warm” creed.

Even when you’re not doing anything sexual he’d use them as a pillow, letting you hug him from behind, his head firmly on your chest. He just melts against them.

I know y’all love rough Levi, but I think he’d be gentle while touching you. He won’t bite your tits or pinch them. Boobies are sacred to him.

You just don’t disrespect the Tits(™).

Let him try to suffocate himself between your boobs as you slowly ride him.

Cradle him and let him suckle them as you gently jerk him off.

Offer him a boob job when he’s especially stressed, the sensation of your tiddies against his cock is enough to make him short circuit.

Levi.exe stopped working.

He won’t admit it but he always cums super hard and fast when you do that. Just keep going until his eyes are rolling back and he’s a gasping mess and he’ll be able to sleep like an angel.

************

So I know that everyone looks at Erwin and all of you think “daddy dom”. I mean. FAIR. But. Hear me out. He’s the Commander that sends young soldiers to their death and it weighs heavily in his conscience. I think he’d love to let go of all that responsibility, so I offer you…Sub Erwin that just wants to be told what to do and be a Good Boy.

I think he’d love to have a bit of pain in the experience.

Make him kneel and tie him up with cute red ropes. Tie his cock too, so that he won’t be able to cum unless you tell him to.

Then, tease him.

He’ll probably love to have you spank him or use a riding crop on his ass until it’s red and it stings to sit.

I think he’d love to be pegged too. Because you can’t tell me they didn’t have sex toys in canon. Human kind had their oldest dildos made 28.000 years ago, you telling me these people wouldn’t have them? I doubt it.

So. Pegging. He likes it a bit rough, but please praise him during it.

Pound him on the mattress as you tell him he’s so beautiful, letting you have him like that. Or have him ride you at a slow pace and just thrust in him every now and then to watch him arch deliciously.

He’s really disciplined so he’ll come only when you tell him to, so feel free to use him as your personal sex toy. Have him eat you out/suck you off or bounce on his cock until it’s beautifully red. The longer you tease him the harder his orgesm will hit him when you say he can let go.

He enjoys cuddling after coming so hard he almost fainted.

******

I would love to write more headcanons. Especially Bertholdt x reader because there’s not enough big baby around. Or Porco x reader because let’s be honest: he’s the brat and you’d have to be the brat tamer. I’m not good at brat taming tho.

I wanted to write a Riner x reader too but it was too similar to Erwin to be honest.

Actually it takes quite a while for me to be even remotely in the mood to write these things lol. Messages are appreciated :)

[adalz]

until death do us part - chapter 1

pairing: Bertholdt Hoover x Reader | Cottagecore!Bertholdt x former soldier!Reader

setting: Takes place in a distant land in Marley, around 853 / everyone in this is 18+

genre/tags/warnings: sfw, canonverse, friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/confort, mention of depression

world count: 3.6k

<< prev. chapter | series m.list | next chapter >>

Lulling in a sleeping daze, you could feel the sun gently stroking your skin, warming up your body, all wrapped up in the padded duvet. Your limbs felt numb from the night and you stretched out a bit in the creaky bed as you rolled onto your back. As you made your way to the other side of the bed, you felt the empty sheets beside you - the lack of contact with another familiar body made you realize you were all alone under the sheets. 

You squinted toward the window of the small room. The sun must have been up for a while now and you wondered if you had overslept. In the distance, you could hear distant bursts of voices, and occasionally, a steady, thumping sound. You usually woke up all snuggled up in your best friend’s arms, but that morning, it was just you, the birds chirping in the massive trees surrounding the cottage and the late-morning sunlight dancing on your bare skin.

Lazily, you rubbed your eyes and sat up with a yawn, but the movement made you grind your teeth - discomfort and soreness slowly stirred in you, a manifestation that revived memories of the night before. Memories of him around your body drew a smile on your lips. The two of you were used to sleeping in each other's arms, ever since you had run away, yet last night had been the first time he had truly held you.

To the slight pain echoed the raw, vivid memory of pleasure that had unexpectedly crept in you while you surrendered to his warmth, to his body and to his lips. You couldn’t help but repress a slight embarrassment when you remembered how your burning desire had won over your supposedly sensible mind. Looking around you, you wondered why he was not here, softly snoring and contorted next to you as he usually was. Your gaze turned to the half-open door of the room.

You pushed aside the covers and balanced your weight on the edge of the bed. It took you a couple of seconds to get used to the discomfort of your limbs. Your back and shoulders were stiff- however your legs were shaky, an uncomfortable weakness pumping in your veins. You lowered your head, looking down at your thighs, and proceeded to carefully massage the side of them, expecting to get used to the feeling of raw nerves running under your skin. From your calves, you could feel muscles running up and down in your legs, sharp and twitchy in your thighs, all the way up to your lower back. Like a carving path in your body, you felt each throb as they reached your core, awakening a stirring flutter between your legs. Overwhelmed by the sensations, you took your head in your hands, allowing yourself a couple of seconds to gather your thoughts. 

You shifted your weight on your legs and slowly raised up, bare feet padding against the floors, where discarded clothes had been picked up and neatly folded on the wooden chest. You spared a look at your crumpled shirt and skirt from the day before and deemed it better to toss them later in the laundry basket. Shaky fingers opened the drawer to retrieve fresh undergarments and a button up dress. Raising your arms above your head to put the nubby clothing on, you winced.

Your footsteps led you into the main room, deserted and silent. In the sunlight filtering through the windows, dust swirled around in the air, underlining the absence and caressing the empty space, dancing above the blackened fireplace. A ray of sunlight landed on the wooden table, enlightening a long-forgotten breakfast left on it. In a chipped plate, slices of bread had been cut neatly and next to it, the enameled porcelain teapot. You wondered how you hadn’t been woken up, sleeping in the next room while he got up, cleaned the room, made breakfast, boiled water, and left. You imagined him, getting all worked up after a sweet night of rest, already busying himself around the house and yet, as you sat down at the table, all you could notice was the prevailing solitude in the house. 

Your mind quickly drifted away, and as questions flooded you, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was going to be alright. What if he had realized it was all a mistake and decided to leave - what if he hadn't known how to reject you and woke up this morning, full of regret and had seen fit to leave you there, alone, as if nothing had ever happened. Lost in thoughts, you grabbed the teapot and poured yourself a cup of tea. Amber liquid flowed into the stained cup and splashed on your finger. The lukewarm droplet slid down, running down the hollow of your wrist. You raised the cup to your lips and the bitter taste of your thoughts filled your mouth - he was your dearest friend, your only friend in fact, considering the current situation you both were in. Even when you had turned a blind eye on the conflicted feelings blossoming in you, you couldn't help but wonder - was it really fair of you to still call him a friend?

It had been six months now that Bertholdt and you had settled in this cottage, secluded from the village, hidden by the tall trees of the forest. It had been your idea to flee, to make the two of you deserters - you knew, even right at this moment, that they would never leave you alone. They were certainly determined to hunt you down until the very end, for the three remaining years of his life, over and over, to finally get their hands on the most destructive weapon in the Marley Empire -- perhaps, in the world. 

The Colossal Titan was indeed the centerpiece of Marley's military, essential in the eyes of the Marleyan authorities to assert their domination over the world and reclaim their sovereignty over the people of the island of Paradise. Marley knew how to use the titans’ curse, breaking Eldians minds to do as they pleased. They knew how to corrupt both people and countries. Worldwide nations had learned to defend themselves from the curse of the subjects of Ymir so they adapted to the threat. At first, they erected walls, built fortresses but as time passed, titans came flying down from the sky to take the lives of their children and the lands of their ancestors in the name of the Marleyan Empire. Coalitions and alliances were formed and promptly, anti-titan weapons and technology were developed and implemented to existing infrastructures. Yet, as powerful as they were, these weapons could be thought of as toys facing the size and power of the Colossal Titan. Its very nature made it as much a deterrent as a destructive weapon.

You never had the chance - or the misfortune, you thought - to see the extent of the Colossal Titan powers with your own eyes. However, stories were plentiful, particularly among soldiers you had met during your years of training and service in the Marleyan military. Some of them spoke of a bomb so powerful, it could wipe out entire cities in the span of a few seconds, others of a demon made of fire, striking and burning down everything in its path. 

Perhaps you had expected to see that the very first time you had met the Warriors. When they had appeared among officers and soldiers, you thought you were finally seeing these infamous heartless demons, deadly assets of the Empire. And yet, as you had laid your eyes on them, you were taken aback at the sight of him. He was the tallest of them, yet his head was hanging low, his eyes exhausted, his hands fidgeting. He was dressed in his military uniform, his red armband proving his status as honorary citizen and fellow Warrior. Despite all this, you didn’t even see a soldier. You had spent the meeting looking at him, listening to the few words he spoke and all you saw, all you heard was a broken boy hiding behind his stature and his war titles. 

No matter how you looked at it, you couldn’t see any of what you were told he was. Everything you thought we knew about him was based on the blood running in his veins, and on the curse that controlled his whole life. You weren’t there when he first laid his hands on this power, on this burden, too heavy for a boy to carry by himself - you knew nothing.

Every single step of your relationship had been a long and intricate process. He was withdrawn and silent, leaving decisions and choices to the others. But when he had let his guard down for you, when he had let you in, you saw him, this little boy who had seen hell on earth, who had been dragged in something too big, too cruel for his own sanity. 

You always liked to look at him, particularly when he was not paying attention, lost in his thoughts. It was better that way, avoiding unnecessary outpourings of embarrassment. As much as he was nice to look at, there were things that you could only perceive from the way he tilted his head when you talked, how he narrowed his eyes while disagreeing, or the way his lips would curve when you were being silly. 

Yet, sometimes, when you looked at him, you couldn't help but imagine the deadly power contained within him, the raw, devastating strength concentrated in his long, slender fingers. 

Humanity’s deadliest weapon, whose eyes were so melancholy that they sometimes filled with tears for no apparent reasons. Humanity’s deadliest weapon, who was crying in your arms after nightmares that would wake him up in the middle of the night, screaming and shaking, leaving him so miserable that he could not sleep for days. Sometimes, regret flushed over you for dragging him into this. All he had ever wanted was to rest, and he deserved peace more than any other soldier. However, you had forbidden him to die that day, you took his hand in yours and made him swear and ever since then, he was suffering his own life, because of you. Because you had asked him. Of course, he had followed you, but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was really what he had wanted - perhaps what you bargained with him may have been more appealing than death.

When he had agreed to run away with you, you made a promise to yourself - you would protect him as long as he was alive. No one knew what would happen in the span of three years, his last three years. Three meaningless years of your life in exchange for the rest of his existence. That, you were more than willing to give to him. He could take all the time you offered him and use it as he wanted to, as they are entirely his. 

In the bottom of the cup, tea leaves whirled in the cold liquid. You got up from the stool, shook off your dress sprinkled with crumbs and headed to the kitchen stove, empty cup and plate in hand, setting down the dishes. You made a mental note to heat up some water later to wash the dishes. 

Near the window, the birds were singing again, and you let your gaze wander around the shady yard. From this side of the house, you could see the small stable sheltering the dapple-grey horse you two brought when you arrived.

You remembered fondly the welcoming farm, outside of the town where you got off the train. You had mentioned during the trip that it would be a two days' ride from the railway town to the village in which you spent some years of your childhood. The both of you had been lucky enough to meet a farmer willing to give up one of his horses in exchange for a few coins, the remains of the money Pieck had slipped into your pocket before watching you from the platform as the train left the station. 

The mellow horse had grown more acclimated to you, as Bertholdt refused to ride her on most of the way. When you finally arrived, you knew he was exhausted, despite the usual breaks and the rare moments when he would accept to let you walk by the horse. You knew Bertholdt was a skilled horse rider, if not excellent, for you had had the chance to see him ride, back at the capital, during the military parades. Yet, from the gloaming expression on his face when he did, you could tell he was not fully appreciating the discipline, but you knew better to keep your mouth shut about it. 

The uncomfortable absence of the sweet-tempered man was starting to weigh on you. Despite his silent nature, you liked having him close-by more than anything else in the world, the soft warmth of his body next to yours when you cooked in the small kitchen, his scent filling your senses when he fell asleep next to you, his hair and skin still damp from the hot bath he took before going to bed.  

As if responding to birdsong, you heard the steady, thumping sound you had first perceived when you woke up. You decided to turn around, grabbed the woolen shawl lying on either side of the wooden chair by the fireplace, sending dust flying in the process, and headed to the door. The early autumn air blew in your face as you opened the door, your cheeks immediately warming up from sunray. You walked down the few steps of the porch, leaning on the railing as you felt your legs respond to your movement with giddiness. Near the small wooden steps, you noticed a neatly cut pile of wood. 

As the realization hit, you went around the small wooden house, past the bedroom window, down the small dirt path. The steady sound of splitting wood echoed a little more in the high pines around you, and as you came around the corner of the cottage, you finally saw him. His tall figure loomed in the small, bright clearing, his back to you. You leaned against the house for a moment, finally relieved to know he was around. Taking advantage of his inattention, you let your eyes draw his beautiful figure.

His hair was a mess, sticking to the back of his neck, revealing the sweat on his skin. The white shirt was stuck to his back, rising at each breath he took. He had rolled up his sleeves above his elbows, revealing the thick lines of his muscles. You glared as his moves were calm and steady, mesmerized by the control he was expressing through his chopping movements.

He stood still, took a breath, swung the axe above his head, his broad shoulders flexing, balancing the weight of his body, suddenly cleaving neatly the log sitting on the chopping block in front of him. As if he was answering to a peculiar rhythm, he leaned down to grab another log, placed it on the block, stood, breathed, swung, and brought the axe down one more time. The log split in half, splinters and pieces of bark hovering a moment in the air around him. From where you were standing, you could almost smell the faint scent from the wood as it fell, drowning your scent, feeling the splinters sprinkled his forearms on your skin, his hands strong and tight around the shaft of the axe. You could swear the pulse in your chest was his, your body reacting to the quick pace of his heartbeat, exactly like you felt it when he held you as you two kissed for the first time the night before. You brought your fingers to your lips, eyes still stuck on him, on the frenetic rise and fall of his chest, on his parted lips, on his focused eyes.

His jaw tensed-up, his body jolted, suddenly facing you. For a second, he peered at you, eyes panicked but when he realized that the presence he felt was yours, his shoulders softened. A gentle smile appeared on his face, cheeks wearing a slight blush from his effort. Your breathing was shallow as vibrant thoughts besieged you. He gently placed down the axe on the ground, running a hand over his forehead to get rid of beads of sweat. 

He took a step toward you, but he stopped abruptly. From afar, you watched him looking back at you, frowning as you unfolded your arms. He turned quickly on his heels, his broad back now facing you and he pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing some of his lower back as he wiped his face with it, before straightening up, smoothing his cloth, and turning back to you. 

“Good morning,” he greeted you, a smile in his voice when he finally got closer, his dark green eyes sounding yours, “how did you sleep?”

“Great, thank you”, you answered, lowering your eyes on the ground between you. Stupid as it was, you didn’t know what to add, as it was usually a one-way question, which you were not used to ask back. It was not unusual for him to lie in the bed next to you, as the sun rose, his eyes staring at the ceiling, dark circles under his eyes betraying a sleepless night. As weeks went by, you had learnt to watch your greetings and your words around him, as you understood the direct impact of your words on his moods. Yet, at this exact moment, after everything that had happened, and how it somehow managed to take over all your thoughts, even greetings felt awkward. You let a sigh escape from your lips. 

You regretted that almost immediately, looking up at him, but it was too late, and all you could see was the twitch in his jaw, his eyes already down. 

“Thank you for the breakfast,” you heard yourself say, quickly, words louder than you would have liked. He nodded, slightly shrugging at your words.

That was beyond stupid, you were the one who was always trying to encourage communication, addressing things, however insignificant they might be. And yet the two of you were there, standing in front of each other, uncomfortable and embarrassed like teenagers, unable to address whatever had happened - and was still happening. 

So, bluntly, you said “I thought you were gone”.

His eyes went up to yours, frowning, visibly confused. “I- Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, raising an eyebrow. His breath was now buzzing in your ears. Quietly, he said, “You were sound asleep, and I was having a hard time going back to sleep, you know how it gets, I’m sorry if I worried you.” 

“Oh, no, not at all,” you lied, hiding it with a chuckle, reaching for his arm to dust splinters on his shirt, “I thought you ran away because of what happened last ni-”

“No!” He said loudly, grabbing your hand. “I mean- no,” his voice was softer now, taken aback by the sound of his own voice, “that’s not it.”

Your joined hands fell between your bodies, and you cautiously looked at him, probing his eyes. The blush on his cheeks was getting darker and darker. 

You gave him a moment to find his words, never rushing him. It was easier now than it had been when you met him, as he had gone days without saying a word. But since you had been living together, he had slowly learned to use his words. When he was upset about something, you could tell right away by the way he withdrew into himself, looking grim.

However, as unpleasant as this discussion was going to be, it was inevitable. You couldn't pretend nothing had happened- it would have destroyed all trust between you. You were ready to hear him say that it would not happen again, and to accept it too, as painful it would be. You preferred things to be clear.

You heard your name slip from his lips, and he gently squeezed your fingers in his hands, pulling you into him.

“What happened… I don’t regret it. I mean, do you… regret it?”

You watched him for a moment, processing his words. His gaze was restless, waiting for your answer. And yet, all you could think of was how beautiful he looked in the sunlight, his cheeks rosy, tired eyes looking back at you, a worried pout on his lips. For a second, you recalled his lips on yours, on your skin, and, stuck by your thought, you remembered that none of this was new. You had wanted him for so long, slave to your own desires, unable to ever express them. You wanted him again, you wanted him so much it hurt. You wanted to wipe the tears from his cheeks, to kiss the palms of his hands, and to stroke his hair for him to sleep tight. All you had ever wanted was to love him unconditionally, and he finally seemed to let you.

“If you knew how much I’ve wanted it. Give me permission, and I'll do it every day.”

A laugh escaped his mouth, his eyes suddenly shy. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, visibly embarrassed. You filled the space between the two of you, placing your hand on his cheek, tiptoeing. He met you halfway in the movement, your noses touching, and in a silent permission, your lips took his, tenderly, as his hand slid to your waist. 

“I won’t go”, he breathed against your lips.

You thumbed through his hair, humming at his words, your heart fluttering.

“Until death do us part then, Bertholdt.” 

[cafedanslanuit]

LMAO can u do part 2 of aot characters awkward things they did during sex. with like bertholdt, marco, jean, etc? i’m really interested, i got a good chuckle out of the first one.

i included jean in the first one!!! but here are those two just for you <3

bertholdt   —   you queefed and this mf looked at you in the eye and said “it’s okay baby, it’s natural, we ate a lot today-- do you need to go to the bathroom for a minute, though?”

marco    —   he swore you got the apartment to yourselves. he pinky swore. yet jean still walked in on you doing it on the kitchen counter. you were all screaming and you couldn’t look at jean in the eyes for a whole month.

[titanheadcanons]

HI! Your blog is amazing! (I'm a bit new to tumblr, and is considering having a aot blog of my own too! Currently going through the basics like making rules and figuring out what works best for me Xd) But anyways, can I request a tickling scenario with Reiner and Bertholdt? I just feel like having some fluff thrown at me ;)

Reiner:

insists on not being ticklish at all.

which is kind of true as well. if they went for his torso and sides, he wouldn’t even flinch or budge.

will grab them by the wrists and hold their hands tightly as he returns the favor.

teasing them and laughing about it. “look who’s in charge now, huh?”

however, he hwas his weak spots. he hates having the soles of his feet tickled, please don’t. he’ll kick out of reflex and will be scared to hurt them in the process on accident ):

but the nape of his neck? makes him break out in a giggle fit. that is, if they can reach it. they’ll have to make up an excuse of wanting to cuddle with him and go for the sneak attack >:3

Berthold:

i think it’s generally assumed among the squad that berthold is probably not ticklish. nobody knows, honestly, it’s a mystery.

he doesn’t know himself.

like... no one has ever tried tickling him. so how would he know?

i imagine his s/o would just straight up ask him “can i try to tickle you?” and he’d be so dumbfound “try to what??? why??? i guess, but why???”

actually ticklish though, but not very much. he feels some tingling around his stomach area and softly chuckle at the sensation, but it’s not very extreme.

[simpywriter]

Favourite position during sex

Universe: Any Characters: Levi, Eren, Jean, Reiner, Berthold Warnings: smut, 18+

Levi

Our fidget spinner is reserved and it’s obvious that he wouldn’t want you to see his vulnerable side. During sex he’d probably let all his emotions out, so he's most likely to to hide his expressions from you; sex wouldn’t be just a way to let out steam, but also to feel a physical contact to someone, just give some love to this man, he deserves the world. I feel like his favourite way to take you would be lying on your side on the bed and hugging you from behind; this way he’d be able to control the speed and the force of his thrusts by reading your body language, kiss you and also hide his face against your shoulder if he feels the need to. Also… he’d be ready to spoon you right after your climaxes. He’s so precious.

Eren

He would definitely take you against a wall. It’s difficult to think about S1-S3 Eren (not only because of his age but also because of his personality, he gives so much innocent vibes), so we’re going to analize man-bun Eren only. He’s absolutely a dom and I can picture him as one for mainly one-night stands, better still if we’re talking about public sex. He’d fuck you against a wall lowering his pants just a bit and putting your legs around his waist while he pounds into you with harsh passion. If you are particularly loud, count on finding yourself biting his hand.

Jean

He’s a switch, you can’t change my mind. He’s so cute and he would like you taking control in bed, but that doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t be willing to pin you against the mattress. Like Levi he needs to feel loved, he needs affection but unlike the captain he won’t have any problem with facing you. Jean is so cute, I love him. He would have you on top of him, hugging you and lifting his hips to meet your movements, all this kissing your lips or your neck, leaving hickeys on your collarbone and chest and whispering how much he loves you in your ear.

Reiner

This big guy is so down to any position in bed: with those strong arms he can easily lift you on or against any surface, he’d enjoy a slow and passionate rhythm with you under him and he would also love feeling your back against his chest as he pounds inside you doggy style. But his absolute favourite way to fuck you is with you on top of him. He loves to see you bouncing on him as he guides your movements with his big and firm hands, and he can cum just by the feeling of your nails scratching his abs. He’d die happy if his last memory was of you riding him and moaning his name loudly.

Berthold

Berthold would certainly want to see his SO’s face. I think he's more likely to like a really vanilla-type position, like the missionary. He'd be soft and delicate and sweet during sex, interwining his fingers with yours or bracing himself on his elbows to be able to take your head between his palms. Berthold is also the type to hide his face in the crook of your neck out of embarrassment as you look at him with rosy cheeks and half-lowered eyelids, at the same time whispering sweet nothings as he keeps giving gentle but intense thrusts.

[Maybe I can do a part two, let me know who you'd like to add :)]

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked this headcanon you can leave a like or a comment and if you have time you can check my Ao3. Hope you enjoyed!