Wqnsho - VEN ᐢ..ᐢ

revolver | the salesman x fem! reader

*.✧ synopsis: what's supposed to be an early day off with your coworker, gong ji-cheol, turns into a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and russian roulette. as danger escalates, so does the magnetic pull between you, blurring the line between survival and sexual desire. *.✧ word count: 7.1k *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, reader smokes descriptive fight scenes, guns, sucking on guns, gi-hun dies instead of the salesman, the salesman is a warning on its own, reader is also craycray like the salesman, use of gong yoo's real name (do let me know if i should not), co-workers eye fucking, sexual innuendoes, tbf its hinted they fuck after the end. 18+ SCENES (no actual smut, just your typical moaning and sucking of the gun). *.✧ note: not my proudest work but i hope u like it! chances of part 2 is close to none btw, I, for the love of god, was stuck for an hour on that goddamn gun sucking scene, but who knows. masterlist | request here

You let out a heavy sigh as you sank onto one of the worn benches in Tapgol Park. The air was crisp, and the faint hum of city life surrounded you. You were currently waiting for Gong Ji-cheol, your one and only co-worker. He had asked you to meet him here, promising to wrap up his final task for the day before heading to his humble home together.

Your cheek throbbed as you pressed a small bag of ice against it, wincing at the sting. The last girl you played against had been a real piece of work. Not only did you lose much faster than usual, but her slap had left an unforgettable impression—literally. It was as if she had mistaken you for her runaway fiancé who had left her high and dry.

“Damn, she packed a punch,” you muttered under your breath, the memory making you scowl.

With another sigh, you brought a cigarette to your lips, holding it between your fingers as you lit it with practiced ease. The familiar burn in your lungs was oddly comforting. Crossing your legs, you leaned back against the bench’s headrest, letting the smoke escape in a slow exhale that curled into the night sky.

‘Where the hell is he?’ you thought irritably, your foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the pavement. Your eyes scanned the park, catching glimpses of couples strolling by and the occasional jogger.

Just as you were about to pull out your phone to check the time, you spotted a familiar figure entering the park. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Gong Ji-cheol strode in with an air of nonchalance, his hands laden with paper bags that seemed ready to burst at the seams.

You didn’t call out to him, opting instead to watch as he navigated the park with his usual flair. His expression was focused as he finished whatever errand had delayed him. You leaned back further, cigarette perched lazily between your fingers, content to let him finish his business before approaching him.

The two of you had met as guards in a sick, twisted game designed to bleed people dry for the amusement of the elite. Starting out as a lowly Worker, you two slowly climbed the ranks—first a Soldier, then finally a Manager. It wasn’t common for guards to bond, no. Trust was scarce in a world built on deception and survival, yet somehow, Ji-cheol had cracked through your armor. Maybe it was his sharp wit, or the way he could read you like an open book, but whatever it was, you found yourself gravitating toward him.

Just as you were about to take another drag of your cigarette, you noticed something unusual: two men standing awkwardly at the park’s edge, their attention locked onto Ji-cheol like predators stalking prey. They weren’t subtle, either, holding up newspapers as flimsy disguises that barely hid their faces.

You cocked a brow, biting back a chuckle at their obvious act. Amateurs. Still, their presence made your senses sharpen.

Your attention shifted back to Ji-cheol just in time to see him come to a halt in the park’s center. He looked at the bags in his hands, before dropping its contents to the ground with deliberate carelessness. One by one, he stomped on the bread he’d been carrying, flattening each loaf under polished shoes.

You’d seen him do it before—hell, you’d done it yourself—but something about the way he carried out the task tonight was different. There was a certain sharpness in his movements, an edge that hinted at more than just routine. Was he putting on a show for the two men who were watching him, or was this his way of venting the frustrations of the day?

Either way, you couldn’t deny that he looked downright intoxicating as he stood there—his jaw clenched tight, shoulders tense with barely contained aggression, and his eyes gleaming with something dark and dangerous. The raw power in his posture was magnetic, and you felt a jolt of lust rush through you at the sight.

You smirked, taking in the scene. Slowly, you stood, your movements deliberate as you reached for your suitcase. You tossed the cigarette to the ground, watching it fall with the finality of a decision made, before crushing it under your heel with a swift, confident stomp.

With a casual flick of your wrist, you brushed yourself off, smoothing your clothes. Then, you gave a small wave, your fingers barely lifting, but the motion was enough to catch Ji-cheol’s attention. His gaze snapped to yours instantly, the fire of the moment in his eyes briefly shifting to something more focused, more intent. He stomped on the pile of wasted bread one last time, before fixing himself and walking in your direction.

“Good day, [Name]. How are you? Have you finished your rounds?” he asked with a smile, his tone formal, almost mechanical.

You rolled your eyes and stepped closer, brushing back a stray lock of his hair and fixing it with a familiarity that always seemed to catch him off guard. “Drop the formalities, Ji-cheol. It’s me,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

His posture eased, the stiffness leaving his shoulders as he allowed himself to relax in your presence. “To answer your question, yeah, I’ve finished my rounds. It was a fast day for me.”

“Is that so?” he replied, his tone warmer now. But as his eyes landed on the swelling on your cheek, his smile faltered. Concern flickered across his face. “That mark wasn’t on your pretty little face before. Trouble today?”

You let out a soft laugh, dropping your hand from his hair. “This? It’s nothing. Just a parting gift from my last client—a pregnant girl scammed by her ex’s fake cryptocurrency. She was better than I expected, though. Won more rounds than me.”

He tilted his head, his lips curling into a teasing smile. “Did she really win more, or did you let her? I know you, [Name]. You find pleasure in pain—don’t even try denying it.”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice to an alluring murmur, your lips barely brushing the shell of his ear. “Oh, Ji-cheol, pain is only a pleasure when it’s coming from you. You should know that by now.”

His eyes darkened at your words, and a slow, rich chuckle escaped his lips. “Careful, [Name],” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, his hand brushing against your lower back. “You keep teasing me like that, and I might just test your theory.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smile turning into a sly smirk. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly, challenging him.

His lips quirked upward, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’d be surprised at what I can deliver,” he said, his voice dropping a notch.

Before the tension could spiral further, you stepped back abruptly, breaking the moment with a grin. Turning on your heel, you called over your shoulder with playful finality, “Come on. I’m done for the day, and I need a drink—or at least a cigarette that doesn’t taste like stress.”

Ji-cheol let out a chuckle before falling into step beside you, his presence a constant heat at your side. As you walked, a flicker of curiosity tugged at you, and you subtly turned your head to check for any sign of the two men from earlier. But before you could get a proper look, Ji-cheol’s hand reached out, firm but controlled, gently turning your face forward again.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and calm, though there was an edge of authority beneath it. “I know what you saw—I saw them too. Just keep walking like a good girl. Let them think we’re clueless about their little act.”

His fingers lingered for a moment before he let go, stepping ahead of you to hail a cab. The gesture was quick, efficient, and almost as if he’d done this a hundred times before.

When the taxi rolled to a stop, Ji-cheol turned back to you with a grin that was equal parts mischief and charm. “After you,” he said, his tone teasing as he bowed dramatically. He even went so far as to open the door for you, gesturing with exaggerated politeness like a chauffeur entertaining a particularly important client.

You played along, rolling your eyes but stepping into character anyway. “Why thank you, good sir,” you said with a mock curtsey, gathering the hem of your imaginary skirt as you slipped into the cab.

Ji-cheol followed closely behind, settling in beside you as the driver glanced over his shoulder. “Where to?” he asked, his tone flat, his gaze flicking between the two of you in the rearview mirror.

Saying a quick thank-you to the cab driver, you followed Ji-cheol into a narrow alleyway. The quiet buzz of the city surrounded you, but your attention was on your co-worker’s back as he strode ahead.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Wanna play a quick game? Whoever guesses why those clowns are following us treats the other to dinner.”

Ji-cheol cast a glance over his shoulder, one brow arched in confusion.

“What? It’s a good pastime, no?” you added, shrugging. “Humor me a bit!”

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he turned a corner. You followed close behind, your grin fading as the sound of hurried footsteps behind you grew louder.

“Hey, you two! Stop!”

“Stop right there!”

Ji-cheol didn’t respond, instead quickening his pace. But you could hear it in his voice when he muttered, “Idiots.”

The chase ended when Ji-cheol led you into a dead-end alley. He stopped abruptly, spinning around with a calmness that felt almost unsettling, while you turned to face your pursuers. They were close now—two men, one in a dark blue shirt and the other in red, both with the kind of looks that screamed trouble.

“Well, well,” you said, tossing your briefcase from one hand to the other. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves some company. Lucky us.”

Ji-cheol didn’t say a word. He simply adjusted his grip on his own briefcase, his eyes narrowing in calculation.

The men didn’t waste time, rushing toward you with the reckless aggression of people who thought they had the upper hand. Big mistake.

You locked your focus on the man in the dark blue shirt, narrowing your eyes as you sidestepped his first swing with practiced precision. The moment his fist whizzed past you, you didn’t waste a second. Your briefcase swung through the air, connecting with his ribs with a satisfying thud. He grunted in pain, stumbling back, and you let out a small, mocking laugh.

"Hey, handsome," you teased, your voice dripping with playful mockery. "You should really think twice before picking a fight with us. I’m a sucker for a challenge. But..." You grinned wickedly, dodging another wild punch as you leaned back. "...I’ve got a thing for aggressive men, you know? My type."

The man’s face twisted in frustration and fury. His lips curled, and he spat, “Shut up, you bitch!”

You grinned even wider. "Ooh, getting personal, huh?" you teased, barely dodging another wide swing. “You should take me to bed and that’s where I’ll show you how much of a bitch I can be…”

Your dirty quip was abruptly interrupted when the man unexpectedly grabbed your arm, twisting it painfully. You winced as a sharp jolt of pain shot through your body, forcing you to drop your grip on the briefcase. The metallic clatter of it hitting the ground echoed in your ears.

"Hey! That’s expensive, dumbass!" you snapped, frustration flaring. You wrenched your arm free, trying to shake him off, but his grip was firm.

Before you could fully react, the man kicked your briefcase, sending it sliding towards Ji-cheol, who was tangled in his own fight with the man in red. The sound of metal scraping across the concrete grated on your nerves, a surge of irritation washing over you. That briefcase was yours—nothing was going to ruin it, not even this asshole.

You didn't hesitate. In a flash, your foot shot out, landing a perfect kick right into his shin. He yelped in pain, releasing your arm as he staggered backward. You wasted no time. With a burst of energy, you shoved him hard into the wall behind him. His back collided with a pile of scrap materials with a satisfying thud, the sound reverberating through your body.

You stood tall, brushing off your clothes with an air of nonchalance. As you bent down to retrieve your briefcase, your attention shifted for a moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a flash of metal—a glint of something sharp catching the light. Your heart lurched in your chest as you realized what it was.

The man in the red shirt had drawn a knife. Worse, he was heading straight for Ji-cheol, the blade aimed directly at his back.

“Ji—” you started, your voice cutting through the tension, but your warning was abruptly cut off as something hard slammed into the side of your head.

The world tilted violently. A burst of blinding pain exploded through your skull, and you staggered, your vision blurring. You brought a hand to your temple, trying to steady yourself, but your legs felt weak. Through your dazed vision, you saw him—a cruel grin on his face, the bloodied stone still gripped in his hand.

Before you could do anything, he struck again, the stone connecting with your skull with a sickening crunch. Pain blossomed across your face, and your legs buckled beneath you, sending you crumpling to the ground. Darkness rapidly encroached upon your vision, and the last thing you registered was the faint, mocking sound of his laughter as everything went black.

Ji-cheol’s eyes snapped to you the moment your body hit the pavement, the sickening thud reverberating in the air. His heart hammered in his chest as his gaze locked onto the sight of you: crumpled on the ground, limp, with blood trickling from a wound on your head. His breath caught in his throat. The man in blue, still standing over you, clutching the stone with a sick grin on his face, and the man in red, knife gleaming, were the last things he needed to process before his instincts took over.

Without thinking, his body moved with a kind of ferocity that stunned even him. His muscles tensed, adrenaline coursing through his veins, making him feel like a machine, unstoppable and unrelenting.

In an instant, he spun around, his hand flying out to disarm the red-shirted man. The knife wrenched from the man’s hand with brutal efficiency, and he followed up with a lightning-fast blow to his temple. The man collapsed instantly, crumpling like a ragdoll, out cold before he even hit the ground.

After dealing with him, Ji-cheol's gaze shifted to the man in dark blue standing with the bloody stone in his hand, looking as if he were ready to take another swing at you.

And that was the last thing he would allow.

He closed the distance in two strides, his fist launching toward the man’s jaw, a punch so hard that the stone slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground uselessly. Without hesitation, His fists continued their brutal onslaught. He delivered blow after calculated blow, his knuckles connecting with the man’s ribs, and face, each hit precise and unforgiving. The man in dark blue crumpled, gasping for breath, barely able to comprehend what had happened to him before another punch landed, and he slumped unconscious to the ground.

Once he was sure that the two were passed out, Ji-cheol immediately dropped to his knees beside you, the panic rising in his chest. Seeing you like this, the blood marring your face—it felt like a punch to his gut. His stomach churned, nausea rising with each passing second as guilt seethed through him like poison.

He reached out with trembling hands, carefully wiping the blood from your face, his fingers lingering on your features, brushing along your jaw and hairline. The blood made it worse—it made everything worse.

His thoughts crashed into him like waves. He should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve known this was a bad idea, that taking you into this mess had been a mistake. He should’ve canceled the hangout, he should’ve protected you better. But here you were—hurt, unconscious, vulnerable—and it was his fault. Every pained breath you took, every soft exhale he could hear, was a reminder of how badly he had failed you.

“Damn it, [Name],” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with guilt and frustration. His hands moved to gently tilt your head, checking for signs of serious injury. You were breathing, thank God. But the blood on your face made him feel like he was drowning.

His fingers hovered near your lips, then slid down your neck, checking for a pulse. Steady. A little too fast, but steady. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

As he sat there beside you, his body still trembling with adrenaline, something cold and hard settled in the pit of his stomach. The scene around him—the violence, the bloodshed—it was all becoming a blur. There was only one thing that mattered now, and that was you.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, just kneeling beside you, watching for any signs of life, his mind racing. All he could think about was how much he had to make this right. He couldn’t lose you—not like this. Not because of his own damn mistakes.

“It’s been a long time, Mr. Seong Gi-hun.”

Ji-cheol’s voice carried a calmness that felt unnervingly detached, but his words were deliberate, each syllable measured. He stood with an air of nonchalance, a drink dangling loosely in his hand, as if the weight of the situation didn’t faze him in the slightest.

Gi-hun’s sharp gaze fixed on him, his face a mixture of anger and suspicion. Ji-cheol stepped aside slightly, revealing the passed-out figure slumped in one of the chairs behind him. Gi-hun’s eyes immediately darted to them, worry flashing across his features as he took in the bandaged state of their face.

The sight unsettled him. Like a caring father, he instinctively wanted to rush forward, to check if they were alright, to ensure they were still breathing. But he stopped himself, forcing his feet to remain planted as he redirected his focus to the man standing in front of him.

“I hope you don’t mind another visitor,” Ji-cheol added with a faint smirk, watching Gi-hun’s reaction with mild amusement. “Anyways, you should’ve gotten on that plane.”

Gi-hun’s hands curled into fists as he turned back toward the towel he’d been using to dry his hair, his movements slow and deliberate. “I changed my mind when I saw you,” he said, voice low and simmering with anger.

With an approving nod, Ji-cheol tossed his now-empty can into the trash with a casual flick of his wrist. It clanged loudly, the sound echoing in the tense silence. He gestured toward a map pinned to the wall, annotated with markings and notes, pointing at it with his revolver as if he were holding a pointer in a lecture.

“It looks like you’ve been trying hard to find me,” He remarked, his tone laced with mock praise, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the map.

“I wanted to thank you.”

The words made Ji-cheol stop mid-motion, his head snapping toward Gi-hun. He blinked, genuinely taken aback, before narrowing his eyes. “Thank me?” he repeated, the disbelief dripping from his voice.

Gi-hun stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. His movements were calm, but there was an undercurrent of malice in every step. Ji-cheol noticed it immediately—the tension in the way Gi-hun carried himself, the suppressed fury barely held in check.

“For inviting me to the game,” Gi-hun said, his voice tight and edged with bitterness. He settled into one of the empty chairs, sitting across from Ji-cheol. The anger burning in his eyes completely contradicted the words spilling from his mouth. “I won. I made it out with a fortune. The decent thing to do would be to thank you for it.” He dragged out the words, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Ji-cheol chuckled softly, a hollow, humorless sound. He leaned back against the table, swirling the liquid in his glass before looking at Gi-hun with feigned delight. “I, no— we—are just messengers who deliver invitations,” he replied smoothly, as if dismissing the very weight of the accusation.

Gi-hun’s jaw clenched as he turned his gaze back to the unconscious figure. The sight of them, bandaged and vulnerable, only seemed to stoke the fire in his chest. He whipped his head back to Ji-cheol, his voice firm and unwavering. “Who had you deliver those invitations? Let me meet him. I have something to say.”

Ji-cheol’s face didn’t change, his expression neutral. “Give me the message,” he said casually, his tone as smooth as silk, “and I’ll pass it along.”

Gi-hun didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing as his voice grew sharper. “It’s not something I can discuss with an underling like you.”

For the first time, Ji-cheol’s expression shifted—just slightly. An eyebrow arched, and a flicker of amusement danced across his face as he tilted his head.

Gi-hun pressed on, his voice growing colder. “You prey on people who are hanging by a thread, conning them at subway stations with your pathetic games. Someone like you wouldn’t understand what I’m trying to say.”

The words struck a nerve. Ji-cheol’s smile turned razor-sharp, a glint of something darker flashing in his eyes. He straightened up, stepping closer to Gi-hun with calculated precision. “Mr. Seong,” he began, his voice low, the edges laced with venom. “How do you think I got to where I am now?”

“I don’t care how you became their dog,” Gi-hun spat back, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his body taut with anger. “Bring me your master. Now.”

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Ji-cheol’s grip tightened slightly, his knuckles whitening as he stared down at the man in front of him. The tension crackled between them like a live wire, each word loaded with unspoken challenges.

But he didn’t break. Instead, he calmed himself down, his lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Mr. Seong,” he said coolly, his tone almost taunting. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Gi-hun’s glare didn’t waver. The air between them was thick with unspoken threats, the weight of their animosity pressing down like a storm waiting to break.

You didn’t know what had happened. One moment, you were grappling with the two men who had been tailing you and Ji-cheol, your pulse pounding in your ears as you threw every ounce of strength into your movements. The world had been chaotic, filled with sharp grunts, the scrape of shoes on concrete, and Ji-cheol’s distant voice cutting through the noise. Then, just as suddenly as the fight had started, everything had gone dark.

Now, consciousness crept back slowly, each sensation arriving in fragments. Your head throbbed, a deep ache that pulsed in time with your uneven breathing. Your body felt heavy, as though weighed down by something unseen, and your surroundings were a muddle of indistinct sounds and shadows. Somewhere nearby, a voice pierced through the haze—clear, calm, and chillingly familiar.

“Let’s play a game,” You hear Ji-cheol say, his voice unnervingly casual. The words broke through the thick, suffocating silence, pulling you from the disorientation. Your senses sharpened, snapping into focus as you locked onto the sound of his voice. Slowly, other details began to bleed into your awareness, each one clearer than the last. A faint melody lingered in the air, haunting, delicate, a melody that sent a shiver down your spine. The tune grew clearer with every passing second, and then it hit you—Time to Say Goodbye by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. One of your favorites.

“I’m sure you’ve seen this in the movies,” He continued, his voice floating through the tension of the room. There was no urgency in his words, no thrill of danger—only a casual amusement. It was as if he were describing a mere game, a joke, instead of a life-or-death scenario. “It’s called Russian Roulette.”

The unmistakable click of the revolver’s cylinder spinning sliced through the thick air, sharp and metallic. It was the kind of sound that clawed at your insides. The revolver clicked again, a sound that seemed louder, more pronounced in the silence of the room. Ji-cheol’s voice returned, light and nonchalant. “Usually, you load one bullet, spin the cylinder, and…”

You dared to open your eyes just a crack, curious on what was happening. What you didn’t expect was your gaze being met with the barrel of the revolver, inches away from your face. A rush of anger surged through you, sharp and electric. The nerve of this bastard.

Across the room, Gi-hun stirred. You could hear him, his breath ragged and loud. He moved forward, instinctively, as though to intervene, to stop Ji-cheol, but his feet faltered. He paused, his whole body tight with tension. His eyes locked onto the weapon, his posture rigid.

“Hey—” Gi-hun’s voice cracked, faltering under the pressure. “Don’t do this—”

Ji-cheol silenced him with a smoothness that only made the threat more chilling. His voice slipped through the air like silk, but it carried an edge that cut deep. “...And pull the trigger.”

The sound of the revolver’s cylinder clicking into place reverberated around the room. Ji-cheol’s finger tightened on the trigger, and for a split second, the world seemed to freeze.

Your eyes remained steady, focused, determined. Your pulse quickened, but you forced it into submission, grounding yourself in the stillness of the moment.

Click.

The sound was deafening in its emptiness, an echo that reverberated in your skull, louder than any bullet could ever be. The revolver hadn’t discharged. Ji-cheol lowered the revolver with a smirk, his gaze flicking between you and Gi-hun. His movements were unhurried, his demeanor calm, as though this had been nothing more than an amusing game.

“And before the next round,” Ji-cheol said smoothly, the revolver spinning in his hand with a sharp flick of his wrist, “you spin it to reset the odds back to one in six.”

The metallic click of the cylinder spinning reverberated through the air, the sound sharp against the eerie backdrop of soft music. It was a calculated move, each spin designed to remind everyone in the room of what was at stake. Ji-cheol’s grin stretched wider as he leaned back, as if savoring the power he held.

Gi-hun’s face was carefully neutral, but his body betrayed him. His jaw was clenched so tightly that you thought his teeth might crack, and his fingers drummed a nervous rhythm against the edge of the table. He exuded frustration and unease, barely restrained beneath his calm facade.

“But,” Ji-cheol continued, leaning forward slightly, his eyes glinting with malice, “I like to make the game a little more interesting.” His tone was playful, almost conversational, but the words carried a sinister edge. “Because you’re special, Mr. Seong.”

“Cut to the chase,” Gi-hun snapped, his voice hard and brimming with irritation. He was done playing along, his patience stretched to its limit.

The salesman chuckled, low and mocking, clearly reveling in the tension that crackled in the room. He thrived on it, his grin widening as though Gi-hun’s defiance only added to his amusement. “Fine,” he said, the word drawn out, almost lazy. “We’ll take turns pulling the trigger without spinning the cylinder again. The bullet will be fired within six attempts, and the game will be over. What do you say?”

For a moment, silence stretched taut, the weight of Ji-cheol’s words pressing down like a physical force. Gi-hun hesitated, you could see the gears turning in his head, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The hesitation was brief, but it felt eternal. After a while gave a sharp nod. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, his voice tight, his resolve brittle but intact.

“Wonderful.” Ji-cheol’s tone was dripping with delight as he placed the revolver in the center of the table. The polished metal gleamed under the dim light, catching your eye like a predator’s snarl. With another flick of his wrist, he sent the revolver spinning.

It slowed, the barrel’s alignment seemingly random until it stopped. The revolver’s menacing end pointed directly at Gi-hun.

Gi-hun’s hand moved toward the gun with a reluctant slowness, as if even touching it might curse him. His fingers trembled when they wrapped around the handle, and he lifted it with a carefulness usually reserved for handling fragile, dangerous things.

The room felt smaller as he raised the revolver to his temple, the weight of the weapon mirrored by the crushing silence that followed. His breaths came quick and shallow, each inhale louder than the last as he steadied his hand. The barrel pressed into his skin, a cold kiss of steel. He hesitated, his knuckles white as his grip tightened.

Just pull it, get it over with. You could almost hear the mantra running through his mind, though the beads of sweat rolling down his temple betrayed the fear he tried to mask.

Finally, with a sharp intake of breath, He squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The sound was deafening in the stillness, a hollow, empty note that echoed in your chest. Gi-hun released a shaky exhale, his body sagging slightly as relief flooded through him. For a brief moment, the gun felt lighter as he carefully set it back on the table, as though handling a venomous snake.

Ji-cheol didn’t wait. The second Gi-hun’s hand left the revolver, he snatched it up, his grin unwavering. He pressed the barrel to his temple with none of the reluctance Gi-hun had shown, but there was something in his movements—subtle, fleeting—that contradicts with his confidence. His hand trembled just slightly as he adjusted the weapon, his knuckles tightening.

He took a long, measured breath, his cocky grin faltering for a brief moment as a flicker of uncertainty passed over his features. Then, with an almost feral determination, he pulled the trigger.

Click.

The sound hung in the air like a thunderclap, Ji-cheol’s shoulders visibly relaxing as his grin returned, sharp and triumphant. He laughed softly, the sound devoid of any real humor, before setting the revolver back in the center of the table. His gaze flicked to Gi-hun, and his eyes were practically alight with sadistic glee.

Gi-hun’s expression tightened, it was his turn again. As his hand started inching toward the revolver, Ji-cheol raised a hand suddenly, halting him mid-motion.

“Wait,” He said, his voice lilting with a mockery that sent a chill down your spine. His gaze shifted—predatory and deliberate—landing squarely on you.

“[Name], would you like to join us?”

Ah. Ever the gentleman.

A low groan escaped your lips as you finally stopped your act, breaking the stillness with a deliberate slowness. Your head throbbed as you shifted upright, every movement calculated, every second drawn out. Gi-hun’s gaze landed on you with a mixture of disbelief and shock, his mouth parting as though to ask how long you’d been awake.

You met his eyes with a faint, sardonic smile, dipping your head in acknowledgment. “How thoughtful of you, Ji-cheol…” you murmured, your voice light but edged with mockery.

You didn’t wait for anyone to respond. Your hand reached for the revolver on the table with a startling calmness, fingers curling around its weighty grip. The tension in the room thickened, every breath measured and shallow as you lifted the weapon.

The barrel’s cold steel kissed your temple, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. Your heart raced, the adrenaline flooding your veins almost intoxicating. Was it courage or recklessness driving you? You couldn’t tell, and you didn’t care. All that mattered was the here and now—the sharp, electric rush that drowned out everything else.

Your finger tightened on the trigger.

Click.

The empty sound was deafening, a hollow echo that filled the room. Your breath slipped out, slow and steady, though you weren’t sure if it was relief or something far darker that made your chest feel so tight.

Lowering the gun slightly, you glanced at Ji-cheol. The edges of your lips quirked upward, your expression sharp, your voice cutting through the silence with quiet venom. “... Allow me to return the favor,” you said.

Before anyone could stop you, your finger pulled the trigger once more.

Click.

The second dry sound rang louder than the first, and you felt the weight of every pair of eyes in the room. Gi-hun’s voice erupted in the stillness, a harsh, disbelieving shout. “Are you insane?!”

His words crashed into you, but they were distant, unimportant. Your focus stayed locked on Ji-cheol, and the smirk plastered across his face. It had widened—twisted with something primal, something that mirrored his love for chaos.

But as you shifted the gun in your hand, as the barrel turned from yourself to your lovely coworker, the room seemed to shift. Ji-cheol’s composure faltered, his smirk flickering like a flame about to die. The odds had changed, and now they were against him.

For the first time, his confidence wavered.

“Come on, Ji-cheol,” you teased, your voice dripping with mock affection. The words rolled off your tongue with an ease that felt unnatural, but the thrill of the moment made it all too satisfying. “Don’t tell me you’re scared now?”

For the first time, the salesman hesitated. His usual cocky demeanor faltered, the confident smirk slipping away as doubt crept into his eyes. Was this how it ended for him? Was he about to face the cold reality that he had pushed things too far?

His gaze fixed on you, wide and searching. You could practically see the wheels turning in his mind, but there was no escape. Your words had hit him where it hurt. The balance of power had shifted, and he could feel it. It was a strange feeling, one he hadn’t experienced with you before.

“What’s the matter?” You pressed, your voice now almost playful, but laced with venom. You could see the shock in his eyes, the disbelief that you—someone he thought he knew—had turned the tables in such an intimate, dangerous way.

He stared at you, mouth agape, unable to form words. His breath quickened, chest rising and falling, as if trying to figure out how to respond. Slowly, you stood up, each motion deliberate, your legs aching from the stillness. But the tension, the palpable charge between you two, made your body feel alive.

In all honesty, you were annoyed. Your day has already been a mess, from the last heated match to the delay in the promised hangout to the injury that will definitely cause weeks to heal from. You just wanted peace—just a moment to collect yourself. But instead, here you were, playing this twisted game because of your annoying coworker.

You moved closer to him, your presence towering over him in a way that felt almost suffocating. With a push of your hand, his back hit the cold wall with a thud. The barrel of the gun remained unwavering, still aimed to his face, as you maneuvered yourself closer, your body brushing against his with precision.

One leg was planted firmly on the ground while the other was pressed between his legs, the proximity undeniable, intense, and erotic. You could feel the heat of his body beneath your fingertips, the tension radiating from both of you. Your breath was shallow now, your senses heightened in ways that made you almost dizzy. You leaned closer to him, your mouth dangerously near his, your lips only inches apart. Your breath mingled, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear.

Then, using the barrel of the gun, you tilted his head back slightly, forcing his mouth open just enough for you to slip the cold steel inside. Below you, Ji-cheol's body started to shake, and you felt it. The tremor in his form wasn’t just from fear. There was something else there—something deeper, primal, as if the situation was pushing both of you to the edge of something neither of you could fully comprehend.

The power was in your hands now.

A part of you reveled in it—how easy it was to rattle him, to strip away the confident exterior. But that other part of you, the part that longed for release from the mess of emotions you were drowning in, just wanted it to be over.

You pulled the trigger, the sharp sound of the click ringing in your ears, and for a moment, everything went still.

Click.

It was a dud.

The tension broke, but only for a moment. Your gaze immediately snapped towards Gi-hun. The final bullet was in play, and you could feel the man's eyes burning into the back of your neck. His hands trembled violently, his whole body shaking with anticipation, fear, and death.

Without removing yourself from Ji-cheol, you extended your arm out, offering the revolver to Gi-hun, expecting him to take it and end it all. To live up to the end of his deal. However, any possibility of that happening changed when his wide-eyed stare locked with yours, and you saw the raw terror in them—something you hadn’t expected from him. He wasn’t just afraid of the situation, but of you.

“What's wrong, Mr. Seong?” you asked, keeping your voice calm, though there was a sharpened edge to it now. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Gi-hun opened his mouth to speak but faltered. His lips parted, then pressed together tightly, as if wrestling with the storm of emotions raging inside him. You could feel his hesitation thickening the air between you both, a heavy tension that pushed you closer to the brink. Finally, he stood, his anger spilling over, his voice rising.

“You’re insane!” he snapped. “If you hadn’t pulled the trigger twice— if we followed the damn order, you would be the last one to shoot. You’re the one who’s supposed to die!”

The words hit you like a slap. It was true after all. But his fury, his concern—it didn’t matter. You were the one who risked it, and you were the one who will be rewarded. The game had already ended, and there was no turning back now. His words, even if they were meant to stop you, only served to push you further, deepening the anger seeping in your chest.

“And you think that’s my fault?” you said, voice cold as ice, your gaze never wavering from his. The words stung, but you didn't flinch. “You think I give a damn about that?”

Without warning, you aimed the revolver at him and fired. The final click rang out, breaking the heavy silence with cold, brutal finality.

The room held its breath. Gi-hun’s body jerked once, his wide eyes still locked onto yours in disbelief as the realization hit him. His legs gave way, and he collapsed, blood beginning to pool beneath him. There was no more struggle, no more fight. Just the soft, final exhale of his breath, leaving the world in silence.

Below you, the voice of your coworker pierced the thick air, a low murmur in your ear. “Well done, [Name].”

You turned to him. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by something darker, more dangerous—something like admiration, but tinged with something possessive.

You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, like a tangible pressure. The heat between your bodies simmered, an undeniable force that threatened to pull you closer. You didn’t need to say anything, because at that moment, everything was clear between you two.

“Really?” you said, your voice lowered in a husky sultry tone, as if you were challenging him. Your fingers tightened around the revolver, the weight of it no longer heavy, but oddly comforting.

Without a word, Ji-cheol moved with swift precision. One moment, you were standing tall, the next, his hands were beside your head, pinning you against the wall with a force that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Don’t think for a second I’m done with you, [Name],” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, but there was something else in it now—a layer of hunger, an edge that felt almost possessive.

Slowly—as if to test him—you raised the revolver to your lips, your eyes never leaving his. Ji-cheol watched with intensity as you seductively sucked on the gun's barrel. His eyes trailed down, watching as saliva began dripping on your hand as you swirl your tongue around the barrel with such intensity that he wished you were doing it to him instead.

Watching his throat constrict as he swallowed deeply and feeling his bulge harden on your thigh. You pulled the gun out your mouth with a satisfying pop before throwing it to the ground. Without wasting any time, Ji-cheol immediately grabbed your chin forcing you to look at him. And instead of hurt, his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through your body.

He placed his knee up against your crotch—the action earning a low, hungry moan from you—before using his free hand to pull your body closer to him, his hard bulge colliding with your thigh. Ji-cheol released a low, and drawn-out moan before leaning in closer, his breath, which was just a hair away from your lips, was weak and warm—full of yearning and lust.

“You’re playing with fire, and I can’t promise you won’t get burned,” he murmured, the words dripping with an unsettling mix of desire and threat.

The heat in his voice made your pulse quicken in excitement. Your body responded to the proximity, to the rawness of the moment. Every inch of you was alive, and Ji-cheol, for all his calm control, couldn’t hide the dark hunger in his gaze. You could see it, feel it, as though it were an invisible thread pulling you together.

For a fleeting moment, it was almost as if the rest of the world had disappeared. It was just you, Ji-cheol, and the dangerous, magnetic pull between you both. With his lips hovered just inches from yours, you knew this was the moment that would change everything between you two.

read it here ༊*·˚

hopefully it was to your liking, tysm for the support!

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3 years ago

Traitor

Reiner Braun x f!reader

Summary: All the times Reiner found a home in you that he will never be able to return to again.

Warnings: angst, fluff, aot spoilers if you haven’t watched season four pt. 1?? cursing, panic attacks, Reiner’s self-deprication and poor mental health, suicidal ideation - Reiner’s, implied reader death but is it true? Me thinks not. Also in good me fashion, I haven’t proofread this teehee.

A/N: Season four Reiner had me in a chokehold.

wc: 9k+

aot mlist

God I wish you thought this through before I went and fell in love with you.

He didn’t think devils were supposed to be beautiful. Not when, for the majority of his life at least, he had pictured them to be vile and cruel monsters, with grotesque faces that snarled down upon him and his people — cursing them to deal with the consequences of the evil-doers actions. Those, only an ocean away, were grimly cackling at what was left of the Eldian’s sheltered in Liberio; the demons were howling so loudly at how his people failed to run away, instead choosing to take responsibility, that the force of their laughter was what pushed the wind inland, towards Marley. That is what everyone said to him as a young boy, anyway, and he figured it must’ve been the truth.

However, within the few years he spent hiding in the devil's den, he found that those scary stories weren't exactly true. At least not in present terms. What he was taught — ever since the early days of his life where he questioned why he had to wear an armband and why he wasn’t allowed to leave the walls — about the devils on the island was a lie.

He didn’t understand how history and all those lessons could be so wrong. These devils, who he had lived beside and shared smiles with, weren’t the ones he had been forced to learn about. It was a bitter truth he was certain of.

And sure, maybe the way they acted was questionable. Perhaps their customs and ways of living were a little strange and primitive, but when he turned the pages of a dictionary to look upon what would fall under the definition of ‘savage’ and ‘evil’ never did he see their faces underneath the printed words.

Because according to all those lessons and stories that had been drilled into his mind since birth, devils were not supposed to be kind, or caring, or funny, or beautiful… but you were.

You were beautiful in how you made his heart sing, his cheeks glow, and his body float. You were beautiful in how you were strong, in how you were attentive, and in how you were determined. You were beautiful — inside and out. So no, Reiner did not think you to be a devil; how could you be when every fiber of your being resembled that of an angel instead?

And he missed you, his angel, with every long, bleak day that dragged by.

“Say, Reiner, when are we going to finally meet the girl in your sketchbook?” His mother asks from across the table, and Reiner feels as though he was young, naive and in training again — the wind completely knocked out of him as he lands flat on his ass.

His tongue feels heavy and dry, as if he had swallowed buckets of sand -- God knows he had done plenty of that for the past few months -- a sensation that was unpleasant and choked him of every word he had.

Although it doesn’t distract him from the fact that his family were all looking at him expectantly. Everyone always looked at him like that and he despised it; big brother Reiner, so reliable, dependable, and always knowing what to do.

Naturally, he wonders how they have seen his sketchbook, the one hidden in his room and under his pillow; the one he constantly drew in out of fear of forgetting what you looked like. Why did his family know of its existence and more importantly, why did they know that a poorly sketched angel danced within the pages?

It was unfair how they thought it was ok to breach his privacy… but, considering how fragile his mind has been lately, he can somewhat understand his mother’s spying.

“Since when did you have a girlfriend, Reiner?” Mushed broccoli and potatoes sputter across the table as Gabi yells out, “you work all the time, I thought you were too busy?”

Fuck, he is busy; run down and beyond worn out. There are days where his limbs refuse to move and all he craves is a few extra minutes of pretending to be somewhere, anywhere, else.

The war in the east only made his suffering worse, with each devastating blow his body received, and as much as he was glad he was out of the line of fire, he still didn’t feel safe and at home. Not a soul would ever hear him admit that though, he didn’t deserve a second of pity for what he had done. This was his repentance.

His uncle scolds Gabi and yet she does not ease on her stare. In fact, none of them do, their eyes eagerly awaiting a response, still so expectant of him -- he wishes he could still look at himself with that much hope.

Reiner clears his throat amidst the noise, “what?”

“Oh, honey, don’t play coy with us” — his mother smiles — “it’s perfectly ok for you to have a crush.”

His brows furrowed further, restraining against correcting her because it was so much more than a crush. A crush was childish, a miniscule moment of affection, a simple spark compared to the all-consuming fire that burned in his heart for you. It was so much more than a crush.

“No, I am just curious as to how you found it,” he instead chooses to say.

“Oh, I was cleaning whilst you were away and it fell” — a lie, he knew that was a lie — “all the pages have the same girl in. She is beautiful, Reiner, don’t be shy, bring her over for dinner sometime.”

“No, uh, that won’t be possible. She’s not… she’s not available.” Reiner says, his words a solemn slew that seemed to reach the hearts of those across the table. He hates that pitying look.

Whilst his mother is right, you are beautiful — no, more than that, shit, he didn’t think there were enough words to describe how good you were — the truth is you hate him, most probably. No, most definitely. And whilst he stays up late at night imagining you, here, smiling with him at those around the dinner table, a ring shining proudly on your fourth finger soon to claim you as another Braun, he knows it all will remain just a naive dream to indulge in when the intrusive thoughts become too much.

You would probably try to kill him if you were to ever meet again… though at this point, time seems to be leaning towards when. He never thought he would dread seeing you but anything would be better than watching your eyes burn with hatred for him. Although, maybe dying by your hand would be ok; Reiner thinks that would be a good way to go, taken out by an angel, his angel. He would let you. The real question, however, was if he deserved such a merciful end.

His mother grimaces with her typical sad and old eyes that begged for something to remain of her only son once he passed on, “Oh… she’s in a relationship then?”

God, he hopes not.

“Yes.”

And that was that. Pitiful looks are shot his way, maybe a few simple apologies too -- even the bitter “well, there’s plenty of fish in the sea, Reiner,” as if anyone else could compare to you, as if he even had time to think of looking for someone else with his scheduled death right around the corner.

He didn’t care to listen as they moved back to talking about Gabi and the whole warrior program, his fork instead prodding at the food still on his plate. They move on and he sits there for the rest of the night with his tongue craving to speak your name, of how alive you made him feel. His family wouldn’t find it so easy to talk down on the island devils -- like they were now -- if they knew you; if they knew your kindness or your intelligence.

In some ways, Reiner comes to envy them slightly, the way his family remains so unaware of how truly ethereal life can be. Remaining oblivious means that they can continue going about their normal, bleak day, but not Reiner who merely survives knowing that there is a taste of sunshine out there he can no longer bask in.

Reiner? Why would you do this? Reiner, tell me you’re lying?

Violently, he jolts, the chair screaming loudly against the wood floor and amber eyes are panicked when all he sees are walls surrounding him along with those he betrayed. He could feel the wind whipping at his cheeks and the dull throbbing of his arm. He could remember the harsh yellow light that shadowed the pained look on your face.

How could you do this to us, Reiner? I thought you loved me?

No, not again, please not now, he begs. He didn’t want to hear your voice, not like that, not now. Chest heaving, he does anything but meet his family’s concerned gaze, grabbing at the shirt material over his heart as he harshly pants out, “I’m going to bed, I’m tired. Thank you for dinner.”

They don’t call after him as his footsteps roar against the stairs, they never do because they know better after four years of the same shit; he wouldn’t tell the truth, a rushed ‘I’m fine’ half-hazardly thrown over his trembling shoulder as he flees to his room. His heart thunders at a worrying pace, choking him with fierce regret.

He can’t breathe. Then he stumbles. Weak feet thudding against the wood floor, looking for the soft comfort of blankets. It’s hard to focus but he knows that he can’t breathe. Not as he falls against his bed, hand frantically searching under his pillows.

Reiner, I hate you.

No. Please don’t say that. I’m so sorry.

His aching fingers find leather. Gripping the book tightly as he opens the pages. He still can’t breathe. And it hurts. Even as he looks at your face printed in graphite on the pages of his sketchbook, it hurts. Fuck, it hurts so much -- missing you. He misses you so much. So, so much. The burning of his eyes makes his vision fuzzy, but he knows the paper is getting wet. He hopes he hasn’t obscured any of the details of your face, because what if he forgot? God, what if he forgot? He can’t forget you. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

His mind is screaming, his heart, his eyes. It is all so loud. Clutching his ears he sobs into his pillow, wails like the infant he is until he can no longer see, think or feel.

Yet, even as his body surrenders to sleep, he cannot escape that final pitiful howl that reverberates through the four walls of his room.

Let me see her again, please.

But he only does in his dreams.

If there was any way for him to die, Reiner didn’t think sunstroke would be it.

The mid-summer sun bore down intensely as it watched the soldiers that lined the dirt ditch. With him were maybe fifty trainees in total, if he had to make a rough guess. A sea of naive faces; children who didn’t know the meaning of what it was to fight, to sacrifice. It was easy to laugh at the stupidity of those he stood with — the fact that they truly thought they could stand a chance in battle. At least here, Reiner can see that the rest of his fight should be an easy one.

With that being said, he still couldn’t help the way his knees trembled. Only a small movement, barely noticeable to the normal eye, but he still felt it was obvious to those who knew what to look for. This was the lion's den, and ultimately, these were the evil bastards he would have to fight. Kill. Surrounding him from every side were past, current, and future soldiers, all worked to the bone for the name of a battle they were set to lose.

Although, despite how pitiful he saw them to be, Reiner was anxious. What if they figured him out? He knew it was an outrageous thought, hardly likely to actually happen. But, as Commander Shadis stands in front of him with his ugly teeth bared and demanding a name, Reiner cannot help but fear that the lion's jaws were about to snap down on his neck.

Golden eyes glared at him, daggers nearly piercing through his resolve. If anyone here could blow his cover, then this wrinkly bastard would be it.

Luckily -- Reiner never thought he would say this -- he had encountered far worse than Shadis in his relatively short lifetime. Training for years within the deadly observation of the Marleyan elite, had taught him what it meant to be a warrior. He didn’t struggle to introduce himself with a steeled face, no stutter or nervous shift in his eyes to be found. A warrior wouldn’t do either of those, and Reiner refused to be the exception. This was nothing compared to what he had done, and what he would do.

He refused to lose now, there had already been enough of that.

The Commander says nothing more to him, and Reiner steadily exhales through his nose in relief. He had passed, and now all he had to do was blend in. Blend in and kill these evil Eldian devils, for the sake of his home, for the sake of his people.

Shadis struts out of his line of sight, instead moving on to the person standing to his left. Curiosity gets the better of him as Reiner finds himself sneaking a small glimpse towards the next cadet, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N L/N, sir.”

Reiner’s eyes widened like dinner plates as he spotted you. He almost had half a mind to grasp at his heart with the way it betrayed him and stuttered in his chest.

Because fuck, you're pretty. Like, super fucking pretty.

Almost instinctively Reiner’s cheeks flare up against his will, no matter how much he tries to remind himself that you are a dirty island devil. A desperate attempt is made to remove his gaze from you, before you caught him staring, and yet, no matter how hard he tried to steer his gaze forward -- to look for Bertholdt or Annie’s reassurance amongst the crowd -- Reiner just couldn’t take his eyes off of you, as if you had bewitched him. He wouldn’t put it past you, considering what you were.

Although, he had to admit, staring at you was like staring at the sun; he knew that he shouldn’t, that he would only be burned by it, yet the call was practically irresistible.

He watched your lips move, unaware of the dopey grin on his face as they formed another slew of candied words, “from Shiganshina, sir.”

His smile drops. Nevermind.

Even if he wanted to, Reiner had no chance with the pretty girl whose hometown he had willingly destroyed. He couldn’t really picture dinner with your family going well. Shit, imagine that, sitting down and saying ‘hi, yes, I’m Reiner Braun and I’m the armored titan that forced you to give up everything you had.’

Sure, that would go over with no issues at all.

It was probably a good thing, Reiner sighed to himself as Commander Shadis moved on to the next cadet to interrogate, the heavy weight of his footsteps drowned out by the orchestra of crickets in the fields above. They weren’t here to make friends, Reiner would have to kill you when the time called for it. So, the thought of future dinner plans with you and your parents -- if they were even still alive after the mess he and Bertholdt made -- really was stupidity at its finest. Nothing will ever develop that far during his time here, he refused to house the disgusting thought.

Still, he can’t help the small quirk of his lips as he hears you mutter a baffled, “is she seriously eating a potato?”

And he most certainly didn’t mean to mumble back, “at least potato girl is taking one for the team; number one spot on the shit list. Makes it easier on us.”

It got a smile from you though, and shit, it really was like looking at the sun. Reiner quickly decided in that one moment, he loved your smile, and he was going to continue making sure it stayed on your pretty face…

Yeah, it’s most definitely a good thing Reiner wanted nothing to do with you…. Right?

“I’ll never get this,” you complained, flopping down against the grass with a loud huff.

Sweat dripped off his forehead as he fought to catch his breath. The fabric of his now slightly sheer button up uncomfortably clung to his skin and he thinks perhaps he should’ve chosen different attire for this.

“Yes, you will. Come on, just a little longer, you are already so much better than before.” He smiles as he sits down beside you, electricity enticing shivers throughout his body as your shoulders lightly brush.

The sun was setting, painting your face in a golden glow. It was almost funny how much he envied how the sun could so openly and confidently kiss you. Though, he knows he shouldn’t be thinking that; he shouldn’t want to give a devil affection, not when he now trekked the long road to repentance. Feelings towards you were no more than your evil heart casting webs in his mind. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to deny it, you looked beautiful. You always looked beautiful, even whilst covered in sweat and grass stains.

“You’re just saying that, Reiner. You’re one of the best at hand to hand combat so you have to be nice to me.”

“I don’t have to say anything, you are improving. Don’t disregard your progress. Besides, you are better than the rest of us with the ODM.” He says and bumps your shoulder. Though, he didn’t expect the force to send you flat on your back, his heart dropping to his stomach as he watched you do so. Apologies lined the tip of his tongue yet they were cut short as you unexpectedly laughed.

Your laugh was something he also quickly grew to love; a beautiful melody, so deeply enchanting like the chiming of wind. He had quickly found that whenever you laughed, his eyes would soon find you and refuse to leave. Especially in moments like this: the grass was your halo as you lay there and he wondered -- even as you fell to the ground so ungraciously -- if the color green had ever been prettier. No, probably not, he thinks with a flustered grin.

It is then that Reiner, as much as he envied it, also thanked the sun for concealing the red of his cheeks. If it hadn’t dusted the fields you both lay in within a golden glow, he was sure the fire behind his face would have been enough to light the whole world, sun be damned.

Honestly, he doesn’t know what he would do if you were to catch onto the fact that his blood was hot and racing around his body at a million miles per hour because of you. The friendship you had developed over the past two years of training was… remarkable. If anything threatened or imposed on it then, as much as he hated to admit, Reiner knew he would be devastated.

Instead, you both sit there, still trying to catch your breath from vigorous training in the summer heat, and watch the sun set behind roaring hills. The wind starts to cool and the birds stop their chirping in favor of listening to the crickets sing out from within the long strands of grass. It was as if Reiner was living within a dream, blissful and sweet like a person his age should.

“I used to be scared of you.” You say, eyes closed and smile wide. Your voice was nonchalant and yet he still frowns. The mere image of you being scared -- of him nonetheless -- unsettled his stomach, as if he had eaten a bad slab of meat.

Lightly grasping at his gut, Reiner realizes there that he never wanted you to be scared, especially of him, “why?”

Sitting up, your body leans against him and he isn’t sure whether it is subconscious or not but he doesn’t care, “well, you know… you’re big and strong and you kinda had that face that screams” -- you lower your voice and dramatically puff up your chest -- “I’m big and strong don’t fuck with me or I’ll kill you.”

If only you knew how true that statement was.

“I do not sound like that.”

“You do sound like that” -- you giggle, lightly swatting at his arm -- “but anyway you aren’t like that at all. You are basically just a huge ball of…” You pause then, eyes coated in a warm, far off haze and a faint smile on your face. Your head comes to rest against his shoulder as you wistfully sigh, “you are one of the nicest people I have ever met, Reiner Braun, and I’m so glad I met you.”

And in that one moment Reiner felt as though he had swallowed the sun. With only a few simple words you had lifted the weight of the world off his heavily burdened shoulders and instead placed a smile so large on his face. It was a smile put there because of you.

Truly, you had no idea of the power you wielded over him, and yet even if you did, Reiner knew you would never exploit it -- not that he would care if you did, he would still be proudly wearing the same old giddy smile he was now.

Confidently, he held your hand and a flurry of flowers bloomed within his chest. Reiner delighted in the size difference of your soft hands in comparison to his -- it always made him feel like he was made to be by your side -- softly playing with your fingers as if they were made of glass. He doesn’t think twice as he places a chaste kiss to the center of your palm and embraces the heat that licks at his heart. Your body shudders at the gesture causing his own to explode with fireworks… he hopes he gets the chance to show you them in the future.

“I’m glad I met you too.” He breathes, transfixed as you peer at him from behind fluttering eyelashes. He meant it, every single word.

Magnetized, you both get closer and closer and he feels hotter and hotter as you do. Your lips were all he could focus on, the mere thought of their sweet taste simply too divine to ignore. He hoped you couldn’t hear his heart thundering like that of a race horse in his chest. Though it would all be worth it when he finally gets to kiss you after so many months of longin-

“Reiner!”

But he doesn’t get the chance to kiss you like he desperately wished to, not when Bertholdt calls for him across the field. He wants to ignore him, wants to finally crash into you like a wave to the shore, like he had dreamed of for all these months, but no matter how many extra minutes he spent by your side nor how many times he glanced at your pretty lips, Bertholdt kept on calling his name like a broken record to which you break apart. Once again he was cold.

You huffed as you stood, offering him your hand, “I guess that’s our training done. We both know he won’t shut up if you don’t go, Reiner.”

He lets you pull him up, touch slightly lingering on your hand before finally drifting apart after his name is called once again. Reiner groans, “he has his timing and I’m going to strangle him.” A silent message that he doesn’t regret what was about to happen, he doesn’t want you to think of it as a mistake on his part.

Your laugh blesses his ears once more as Bertholdt's figure gets closer and closer. You hug him again, quick and warm, and his heart stutters at the unexpected affection. He hopes he adapts to it sooner rather than later.

“Then let me know when you are going to do it so we can both ring his neck and put my training to use,” you wink before you leave -- your silent, coded response to let him know that you didn’t regret it either -- before joining Mikasa, Armin and Eren with a loud cackle as you retreat.

Although he cannot reflect on your words nor the lingering tingle he feels shooting up his spine from your touch for long, not when Reiner is met with stern disappointment as Bertholdt frowns, “you are getting too attached, Reiner. You have to stop whatever you have with her.”

He pushes past his friend, his blood boiling,“I’m not getting attached, I’m just blending in.”

Bertholdt’s hand grips his shoulder, spinning Reiner to meet his eyes, and with hushed fury Bertholdt says, “Blending in doesn’t involve falling in love with someone, especially the enemy. Get it together Reiner, you know what the goal is.”

The weight is back on his shoulders and the world crushes his spirit once again. Bertholdt is right, Reiner shouldn’t be fond of you like he is. If this was left unchecked, to grow like the weed it was, then Reiner would surely fall in love, if he wasn’t already and that was dangerous…

But as you both walk away, back to back, he can’t help the way his heart yearns for your comfort.

He sighs, defeated, “yes, you are right. I’m sorry, Bertholdt.”

“When we graduate, what branch are you going to go to?” You whisper as you fiddle with his hands, tracing the shape of them lightly with your pointer finger.

You were both sitting on a roof, the night sky alive with millions of stars -- you like to think of them as fireflies, it made the nighttime seem not so lonely. There was a chilly breeze, one that sent goosebumps flaring up across your skin. He must have noticed because no more than a second later, he gently drew you into his arms.

It was hard not to fluster as you sat there against his chest. The sonorous beat of his heart made it hard to stay awake as your breath started to even out and eyes fluttered shut.

“Hmm, I always said the military police would be it for me but” -- you look up at him to see him already dazedly smiling down at you -- “I think I may reconsider depending on a few things.”

Smiling into the material of his shirt, you shake your head a little at the implication of his words, “well, if I told you I was going to join the Scouts, what effect would that have?”

It was well known amongst the 104th that after Shiganshina, you, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin were going to the Survey Corps. There was no way you could forget the screaming and the blood that rained down upon the streets that you grew up in; no way you could erase the image of your family crushed by debris and eaten alive. Although, it was mainly due to Eren that you all decided to join, after all, the small group of you were all you had left. There was no way you couldn’t follow, even if it meant your own demise would be met out there, though you tried not to think of that.

But to imagine that Reiner would give up his safety to join you out there… well, it made you feel like you mattered; cozy and complete.

Reiner chuckles, the sound rumbling deep within his chest, “I would tell you that I always thought I looked good in green.”

Your laugh echoes throughout the air as you lightly shove him, although he is quick to grab your arms and pull you back towards his chest. The two of you fall silent then, his hands gently gliding up and down your back as he blissfully sighs.

“You’re stuck with me,” he finally says, placing a familiar kiss to the crown of your head, “I don’t think I can leave your side, even if I wanted to.”

“Reiner,” you breathe, a gentle smile taking over your face, “I guess it’s a good thing for you that I never want you to leave me then.”

The arms around you squeeze a little tighter and you can hear the smile in his voice as he agrees, “yeah, that’s a good thing indeed.”

Eren had truly caught Reiner off guard. The way he harshly grabbed him and pulled him into a shadowed corner between two cabins with a glare that had never once been directed towards anyone other than Jean.

“You like y/n, right?” Is what he says, and the question causes Reiner to choke on his spit. He had only wanted to go to sleep, the day was tiring and the food had only pushed him further towards exhaustion. However, he still made sure you walked back to your cabin safely, even if there was no need for him too — you both knew he did it just so he could spend an extra few minutes with you. Reiner only wanted to sleep, but it seemed that Eren wanted to pick a fight instead.

Coughing, he hits his chest a few times before croaking, “uh, what?”

Eren rolls his eyes before scoffing, “I’m not stupid, Reiner. You like her, it is written clear as day over your stupid face.”

Reiner had never considered his feelings for you to be embarrassing, no, they were quite beautiful actually; equated to a field of flowers or a roaring sunset. Although, being forcefully confronted about his liking towards you was another matter, right now it felt as though he had been punched in the gut.

Sighing, he sees no other choice but to give in to Eren’s probing stare, bashfully whispering, “I think I more than like her at this point, Eren.”

It’s quiet between the two for a while, awkward and tense. The silence causes Reiner to shift uncomfortably on his feet, looking anywhere but the green eyes of the boy before him. No one would have expected a sight like this: Reiner cowering at the sight of a maniac like Eren Jaeger, it was almost funny.

However, that soon ends when Eren sighs, placing a hand on Reiner’s shoulder and awkwardly mumbling, “if you hurt her, I’ll kill you Reiner.” That was all the younger boy — one of the only people important enough to be considered family by you — said before quickly turning on his feet and walking back towards their shared quarters.

And as Reiner watched Eren kick a few rocks as he left, he smiled because he knew that was as close to a blessing he was ever going to get. Somehow, that little threat, well, it meant the world to him.

For a moment he forgot about who he truly was, because in that second he was excited for what a future by your side entailed. It was a shame Reiner was who he was, because fuck did that future look utterly divine.

They had done it, Bertholdt and him.

They had easily broken through another wall and let carnage descend upon Trost. Many were already dead and more about to join the fallen. All that was left after Rose was Sina, and once that final barrier was destroyed the mission would be complete. They could go home. After so long in this hellhole they could finally leave and be heroes. He should be joyous, excited, thrilled. Yet, Reiner couldn’t understand why instead his mind flooded with panic; refusing to leave your side for even a second since he had joined you all.

You were a spectacle, that was to be sure. Graceful but deadly as you danced through the air and sliced every titan unfortunate enough to stumble into your path.

If Marley had a warrior like you, then fuck, this mission would have been so much easier. Marcel would probably still be here and enemy nations would be nothing but rubble beneath your feet. Marley didn’t have you though… and you were an enemy. Reiner tried his best to remember that.

“There are too many, shit,” you seethe, a murderous glint lining your eyes, “I don’t have much gas left, fuck, fucking damnit it to fucking hell.”

Unfortunately, you were correct. All of you -- him, Jean, Connie, Sasha, Annie, Bertholdt, Armin, Marco and a few others -- were practically running on fumes by this point, with no shelter and far too many meat headed bastards littering the street, picking people off one-by-one. HQ was plagued with titans and supplies were looking to be unoptional for the foreseeable future. They had already lost a large number of friends during this battle -- including Eren, which he knew hit you hard despite how calm you tried to remain -- and it was only a matter of time before someone else joined the rest of the corpses lining the titan’s bellies.

So, as much as Reiner refused to believe it, with the way things were looking, you were going to die. He couldn’t risk transforming to save anyone, even you. Not that he should, because the mission will always come first. He just hoped he didn’t have to watch as your blood stained the streets below, your body torn apart and crunching under the force of a titan’s jaw.

You're pacing back and forth now, hands pulling at the skin of your face as the shock begins to set in. Shivering hands are easy to spot, and it is even easier to conclude that the action likely isn’t caused by the rain. Marco tries his best to comfort you from his spot by Reiner’s side, but you are completely unresponsive to him; muttering wildly under your breath as you continue shakily stumbling across the rooftop. This is grief, Reiner recognizes, grief and acceptance of your death.

“Hey,” he grabs your arms as he watches you tear up, “we’ll get out of this ok? We aren’t dying today. I’ll make sure of it.”

No one else around him says anything. He is, of course, aware of Bertholdt and Annie’s burning stare focused on the back of his head but he tries not to fixate on it. Instead he chooses to concentrate on the smallest movements and changes in your face, awaiting the moment you finally break.

“He’s gone, Reiner,” your voice is wobbly, so uncharacteristically gloomy, and it pulls hard at his heart, “my best friend is- he’s dead, just like..” Just like your family is what you’re going to say but choke before you could even begin to form a single syllable. Armin had broken the news to you through a slew of tears -- you hadn’t reacted then, too caught up in the current situation. He was eaten by a damn titan with only an arm left of him, shit, what an awful way to go. Eren didn’t deserve that.

Reiner’s thumbs quickly wipe away the tears that fall, and he quickly pulls you into a tight embrace. This wasn’t the place or time, he knew that comfort was the last thing he should be offering right now but… but you needed it. Reiner wasn’t completely fucking heartless.

Soft hushes escape his lips as he lightly rocks you back and forth, “I know, and I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

This was his fault, your pain, your anguish. He did this, he was guilty.

Sniffling, you slowly pull back from where he held you to his chest. You smile at him, a tragic thing that doesn’t reach your eyes and he has half a mind to think that he may have preferred it when you cried, at least then he didn’t have to see you force being ok for him. You shouldn’t have to comfort him in a moment like this. You should let yourself grieve and not force a mask of solace to ease the harsh frown on his face, because you always knew how much he liked your smile. God, you were such an angel.

Lightly patting his chest, your voice is completely exhausted as you utter, “don’t apologize, Reiner, this isn’t your fault.”

But it is, it is all his fault, he thinks as he brings you into another hug. Wincing against the top of your head, he silently begs for your forgiveness because he hurt you, he hurt your family, he hurt your friends, and he is so, so fucking sorry.

Reiner has ruined your life and yet here you stand, nuzzling into him as if he were deserving of such tender affection. You had no clue of the crimes he had committed… Just like Reiner doesn’t know if the wetness on his cheeks is from the rain or his building regret.

“Have you seen, y/n?” Reiner asks as he finishes bandaging Armin’s head.

His body ached slightly, nothing he wasn’t prepared for or wouldn’t heal from, and thus something that became a second thought in comparison to the anxieties that were slithering in his head. He was thankful that the small, little group had found shelter beneath the trees. The heat was messing with his brain, it made him see all kinds of things and think all kinds of thoughts. The sweat practically dripped from his forehead like a leaky tap, he felt disgusting, and he really hoped you had a spare handkerchief on you for him to use. He smiled slightly at the thought, you were always prepared when it came to stuff like that.

Jean stops whistling as both he and Armin shoot anxious glances at each other, and Reiner’s smile falls. Their mutual hesitation does nothing to settle the sinking of his gut, nor does it quell the boiling of his blood. Although Reiner was a patient guy -- he had to be in order to keep a cool head, to lead like he had promised his fellow soldiers -- the longer their shared silence continued the shorter his fuse got. Images of you being torn apart, eaten, scared, trampled, screaming for someone, for him, to save you plagued his mind.

Broken and bloodied, the idea of you in that state became nothing but clearer in his mind the longer they allowed the silence to tick by. Nausea overwhelmed him as he could practically smell the iron-y scent and taste the bitter copper tang. Shit, what if you got mixed up in this mess? What if you encountered the female titan?

Annie… she wouldn’t kill you, right? There was no way, you were both friends, surely she would take mercy upon you…

He prayed to whatever God there was that she was sympathetic towards you, towards him.

“Well? Have you seen her?” He snaps, far harsher than he should but he cannot bring himself to utter an apology, not if he didn’t know whether you were ok or not.

The land was open for miles, only the grass and bordering trees could be observed from the acres of fields. Yet, Reiners eyes didn’t once stop inspecting the area around him, silent pleas screaming to see you riding towards him and diving within the safety of his arms. Only, there was nothing there. You weren’t there.

Armin stutters slightly before finally and timidly uttering, “no, Reiner. We haven’t, but-”

What did that mean? What did that mean? What did it mean?

“Damnit,” he seethes and desperately tries to withhold the tears that were prodding at his eyes. He couldn’t stop himself from hunching over as if struck, hands on his knees as the acidic taste of bile washed his tongue.

“She was stationed on the right wing…” He chokes and the air is tense as he watches both his comrades tense.

“Maybe she is fine, Reiner. She is tough, you know that from training and… Trost. Besides, we need to figure out how we are getting out of here first.” Jean speaks between piercing whistles.

The noise was infuriating. A constant high-pitch ringing that battered his brain with excess noise that overwhelmed his every sense. Reiner truly wanted to scream at Jean that his stupid horse wasn’t coming back, to cut that shit out incase more titans come. Fuck, he wanted to claw at everything and anything around him; rip his ears off, punch a tree, something to get rid of all this stress.You were out there somewhere, possibly fighting for your life, and he was standing here doing fuck-all.

Of course, whilst the what ifs would continue to flood his mind in a constant taunting loop, he knew his anger towards Jean was stupid and heavily irrational; not an act a soldier should be engaging with. After all, emotions do not save lives when it comes to missions, in fact they make them deadlier. So, as much as Reiner is appalled by the suggestion because there was no way he could prioritize his escape when you could be out there in need of help, he supposes he can’t help you if he is dead.

Sighing, Reiner stands straight before finally stating what he knew the three had been thinking since their encounter with the female titan, “no, you’re right Jean. Anyway we look at it, one of us has got to stay here. We need to figure out who.”

He couldn’t afford to stay behind. Whilst he could ultimately survive out here, there was no way he would be able to look for yo- to finish his mission if he were assumed dead. Although, he didn’t exactly feel comfortable leaving Jean or Armin behind either -- especially Armin, you would be devastated if anything were to happen to the blond.

However, that doesn’t make anything easier. Someone has to stay behind, and Reiner doesn’t want to play a part in choosing who.

“Wait a second” -- Armin protests before coming to a wobbly stand -- “shouldn’t we fire a signal? If everyone kept going straight then the final row should be in close proximity by now,” he reasons.

It was a valid option, something that wouldn’t hurt to try. After all, what could really be worse than this?

The three look between themselves before Jean retrieves a canister from his satchel with a sigh. Loading the emergency flare into the gun, Jean fires it into the air, and the three watch it paint the sky. Reiner watches it travel, and as much as he knows safety is unlikely, he really hopes someone sees the purple smoke. A naive part of him hopes you see it too.

“There we go, but I highly doubt someone is going to see that and think someone is in need of a horse,” Jean laments, walking off to once again whistle for his missing horse.

“We stay here three minutes tops, Armin. After that, we are making the decision.” Reiners' words hang heavy in the air.

“Wait, someone is coming.” Jean interrupts.

Jean wasn’t wrong, someone was coming, emerging from the fields of red and green. The world had taken pity upon the three wounded soldiers and sent them, him, a guardian angel… because there you were, riding full speed towards them.

Reiner doesn’t realize he is running until he is right before you, a blinding grin on his face. “Are you ok?” He asks, grabbing your hand.

There were no visible wounds to you, at least not ones he could spot as he frantically inspected you for the nth time within the short seconds you had arrived. Your eyes were slightly watery and your brows furrowed far more than he would like them to be, but you seemed fine. He was so fucking glad you were fine.

In that moment he wanted, needed, to kiss you, though really he had wanted to do that for a long time, knowing you were safe and ok convinced him to finally admit his fond feelings.

“I should be asking you that.” You exclaim, squeezing his hand before bringing it to rest on his cheek, “are you all ok?”

Reiner nuzzles into your palm, a subconscious movement, and places a sweet kiss to the center of your palm, a habit he had picked up within your presence.

The boys behind him are thanking you, he can hear the desperate sounds of relief floating through the air. No one would be left behind because you had seen their call for help and you had brought them horses, Jean’s as well. You really were an angel.

He hears you cry out from above as you fling yourself down from your horse, “oh my God, Armin, your head!”

Within seconds Armin’s face is cupped gently within your hands, a nasty, green feeling settling in Reiners gut. Your fingers lightly trace the bandage covering his forehead, relieved to find that the bleeding had stopped a while ago and no longer seeped through the white material. Although, it was a battle for Reiner to contain the urge to pull you away, to hug you again and ward Armin off with a glare; ugly possessiveness rearing its head at the sight of the two of you. He clicks his tongue in frustration, more than aware that feeling this way wasn’t fair -- you both are just friends, he reminds himself, nothing more.

But as you turn back round to face him, striding over and gripping him tight within your embrace, he can’t help but indulge in the fact that you never hugged anyone like this, nor did you ever place a gentle kiss to their cheek like you are doing right now.

Since when did anyone under the terms ‘just friends’ act like this?

You pull back, only a little bit, but when you whisper the sacred words, “you don’t know how devastated I would’ve been if anything had happened to you,” he feels as though he is complete.

Reiner only feels it right to respond with a light kiss to the crown of your head, and against the warm skin he smiles, “oh, I’m pretty sure I know.”

“Reiner?” He hears your shaky voice mumble, the weak sound prompting him to quickly turn around. Within the shadows of the cold Survey Corps hallways, he can still make out the tear stains on your cheeks.

He races towards you, only a few short steps, but a distance traveled as fast as he humanly could. Grasping your face gently within the comforting, protective hold of his calloused hands, his thumb traces over the watery paths, his own eyes burgeoning with tears as he rasps, “hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Hazel eyes are quick to analyze every minute detail of your body, looking for scrapes, or blood, or bruising, or-

He jumps when you cup his face, similar to how he does you -- gentle and loving. Beneath your hands he can feel his cheeks burn, as if your skin were a match and he was gasoline. You pull his head down towards you, a gentle tug that is futile to resist, and as your foreheads rest against each other you confidently say, “Reiner, I love you.”

For a moment, he truly believes he misheard you. In his broken, twisted mind, there was no way you could love him back. You deserved the world and all its treasures, so why would you ever decide to settle for a man like him instead? He was broken, evil, and a murderer. Selfishly, he couldn’t find it in himself to tell you that, selfishly, because he had wanted for so long to hear those sweet words tumble from your mouth.

At his silence, he watches your face wince, panicking as if you truly believed he hadn’t been obsessed with you since day one, “I just had to tell you, after the last expedition and hearing you almost died, I- I just-”

“Say- say that again,” he smiles, eyes watering.

You smile back, “I love you, Reiner.”

“Again.”

“I love you, Reiner.”

He whispers, “again.”

“Reiner,” you groan, throwing your head back with a roll of your eyes.

Although, he doesn’t give you much time to complain. Instead he laughs brightly, louder than he had in years, picking you up and holding you close as he spins you around, “I love you too. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The words easily fall from his lips, bursting like water through a broken dam. He would say them over and over again, millions upon millions of times if that is what you needed, wanted. Reiner loves you, he loves you, and is certain that for the rest of his life -- a life not long enough -- he will continue to love only you. How could he not?

You were perfect in every definition of the word, a perfect blend of kindness, determination, strength, and empathy, all drizzled with the sweetest layer of honey. Loving you was easy, Reiner found. He doesn’t believe he could ever regret such a beautiful thing.

Then he catches it, through the dizzying spins he catches a glimpse of your smile -- a smile he still adores to this day. It begs him to end the years worth of pining, longing for your lips on his. Your smile, a smile he has loved since he first lay his hazel eyes upon it, hardly needed to do much convincing.

After years of waiting, as he places your giggling self back to the ground, he finally gets to kiss you like he wanted that late afternoon in the field. He kissed you to convey all those millions of words he could not say; kissed you to show how long he had desired to love you; he kissed you like it would be your last…

Funny really, considering that when a scout came to collect Reiner, and only Reiner, a minute later to venture off somewhere down South, that single moment truly would be your last shred of shared happiness until you both rejoined on that wall after the events of Utgard Castle. Before Reiner finally and fully broke both of your hearts.

If he had known, he wouldn’t have left.

“So, you’re telling me… Reiner and Bertholdt are…” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, your throat burning under the acidic taste of bile.

You couldn’t believe it, how could you? Reiner? A traitor? No, Armin had to have this whole thing wrong. Reiner had been nothing but kind, and sweet, and loving. A traitor wouldn’t care as much as Reiner did, a traitor would never show you love like the one you had known with him. If everyone could maybe just listen, maybe they would understand how good Reiner was.

Because he bandaged your scrapes and kissed them better. He protected you from titans when Trost fell. He helped you improve with self-defense when it seemed like a hopeless task. He told you stories when you couldn’t sleep, even if he was so tired all he wanted to do was pass out. Those weren’t the actions of a bad person. So maybe, if they just listened to you, they would see that Reiner Braun could never, ever be a traitor… right?

Collapsing to your knees, tears singe your eyes red. It seemed Eren was also having a hard time with this. Denial pouring out of his mouth faster than the tears escaped your eyes. The more Armin spoke, the more he explained everything, as much as she tried to drown everything out, the more it made sense… and you hated yourself for it.

If Reiner was the traitor… the armoured titan like they believed then that meant… that mean he murdered your family… Eren’s family… everyone’s family.

Oh God. He… he killed them.

Bringing a hand to your mouth with a gasp, you gag at the thought that you had fallen in love with the man who ruined your life. All the times you wept in his arms, sobbing about what you saw that day… he knew the entire time.

He knew what he did to you, and yet… oh God.

A hoarse voice echoes throughout the room, it belongs to you, as you numbly say, “if Reiner is a traitor” — you gasp, sniffling as the sobs threaten to break free — “I will kill him.”

It was a promise. You would, even if the thought of his blood staining your hands shattered what was left of your heart. If Reiner was the traitor, you would kill him… you had to… you hoped you had the strength to at least.

Although something deep inside you whispered that you didn’t.

It was dark, damp and putrid within the basement walls, thick layers of mold crusting over the beige stone. Water dripped from the ceiling with a slow yet incessant pace, similar to that of a ticking clock -- the continuous sound was a taunting reminder that time was quickly running towards its end. So much was happening, so much to be processed. He truly felt as though he had finally gone insane. After all, it was only a matter of time until he did; the breakdowns, nights of plagued dreams, the thoughts of craving death. This was bound to happen, yet he was terrified at how real it all was. Could it be that this was actually happening? He never thought he would hope so, but that seemed far better than the other option, that this was all real.

Falco remained shaking against the wall, silently gasping in shock. Reiner wished he could reassure the boy, tell him that this wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what sending those letters meant, he didn’t know that the supposed injured man he was trying to help was the enemy from overseas. Reiner so desperately wanted to tell Falco everything he needed to hear, but the words were stuck behind the lump in his throat. He burned with an unholy fire, tears singing his skin as he begged Eren for forgiveness that he knew he didn’t deserve. His knees were beginning to hurt as they dug into the stone ground, the material of his pants growing wet the longer he bowed.

Reiner babbled like the infant he is, words an incoherent slew of snot and tears. He was just a kid too, he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Eren had to understand that he really didn’t want to hurt him, hurt his friends, hurt you.

How could you do this to me, Reiner? I loved you.

God, he was sorry. So, so sorry. He didn’t want any of this to happen, not anymore. You had to understand that, right? You had to know he never wanted to hurt you, that he didn’t think of you as a devil like everyone else here did. Not when he knew you to be better than anyone who walked this pitiful world.

“You want to know how she is, right?” Eren’s voice is a monotone drawl, all hints of the once familiar fight that lit his bright eyes was gone. This person, this man, sat before Reiner was a stranger; the vacant shell of an old friend turned enemy. Maybe this was one of the consequences of his betrayal, and Reiner wonders how many of the others are like this too. He ignores the voice murmuring in the back of his head that he had made you into one of these numb soldiers, that his betrayal shattered you for good.

Even so, Eren is not wrong. Reiner craved to know every detail about you, for the past four years all he wanted was you. The medals, the praise, the recognition, to hell with all of it -- you and your beautiful smile was all he needed. It was the air which he was desperate to breathe.

Nodding his head, fast and vigorous, he brings his palms together and prays to hear your name. He wants Eren to describe everything: how you had changed and how you had stayed the same. Was your favorite color still that of the blue sky? Did you still always drink a cup of tea before walking around the fragrant fields? Were your eyes still vibrant and full of stars? Did you smile whenever you thought of him? Reiner knows he still smiled when he thought of you.

“Reiner,” Eren says, looking down upon his trembling form. There was a weak pause, full of tension that detained his airways in a vice grip. Reiner sits up, quivering beneath Eren’s detached gaze.

“She’s dead.”

He was shot. Reiner didn’t see a gun but Eren must’ve had one. There was no other way to describe how his flesh felt as though it had ripped in two, the way his lungs were suffocated and choked, the way his body went into a painful shock. Finally breaking down, Reiner screams, at least he thinks he does with how his throat ignites in furious ache; He wouldn’t know of the dreaded noise he unleashed within the cold walls -- like a wounded animal cornered and about to die -- because Reiner cannot hear anything beyond the shattering of his chest.

Refusal was all he had, complete and utter denial for the vile words that slithered from Eren’s lips. He shakes his head back and forth, a fast paced movement that causes his brain to rattle painfully within his skull. You couldn’t be dead. Eren was lying. Reiner had heard you, with the group, with Jean and Hange as they detained him. He had heard you, seen you, protected you. You couldn’t be gone, not you, anyone else but you. No, this had to be another nightmare. A lie he had no choice but to suffer through for how he had sinned.

“You’re lying, Eren” -- he gasps, like he had been submerged under water for far too long and now he finally breached the surface for precious air -- “Why would you say that? She’s not dead. She can’t be. Please, Eren, tell me you’re lying.”

The green-eyed boy glared down at Reiner’s trembling form, lips slightly curled into a vicious snarl. It was the first hint of emotion that had been seen on Eren since the beginning of this interaction, and Reiner shivers at the intensity, “you have no right to cry after what you did, Reiner. You have no right to ask of her, not after what you did.”

Pitiful whimpers echo throughout the walls, “I love her, Eren. I swear, I love her.” The defeated words repeat over and over again like a broken record, in hopes that eventually he would get Eren to understand that his feelings for you had never been a lie.

His skin prickles as Falco’s concerned, or perhaps curious, gaze falls on what’s left of Reiner. He knows what questions the young boy wants to ask, he knows that Falco wants to know who you are. How was Reiner supposed to say that this was your best friend, here to bring the dreadful news that you, his soulmate, was dead? Falco wouldn’t be able to understand how Reiner fell in love with a ‘devil’ nor would he ever know just how easy you made falling to be.

“I suppose that is one of the many ways we are alike,” Eren stands before grasping Reiners hand with an iron clad hold. It was just enough to gain the fleeting remnants of Reiners attention as Eren continues, “we both have lost people we love… to you.”

To… me? Had he heard Eren right? Did that mean he had… Did he kill you?

You’re killing me Reiner, how could you do this?

“How?” Reiner croaks, he couldn’t understand it, he couldn’t understand what Eren was saying. Reiner needed to know, he desperately needed to know.

But Eren ignores him, doesn’t offer any closure or solace, only the familiar words of a monster, “I told you what would happen if you hurt her didn’t I?” — Reiner gasps at the haunting, far off voice of his resurfacing memories ‘if you hurt her, Reiner, I’ll kill you — “and just so you know, I will keep moving forward” — Eren’s grip on Reiner’s hand tightens, a painful constrictor refusing to let its prey flee. Amber eyes widen as Eren’s begins to glow, and within the split second of time he has, Reiner tries to rush towards Falco before it is too late — “until I exterminate my enemy.”

You killed everyone I loved. You’re a murderer, a traitor. I hate you, Reiner. I hate you.

Reiner once upon a time thought the island devils across the sea were the most vile and cruel of creatures to walk this earth, but when a bright light followed and as he felt the burning heat scorch his skin, Reiner understood that the cruelest of monsters had been him all along.

And as he falls with the ghost of your name on his lips, Reiner truly wished he was dead too.

Maybe then he could finally feel safe and at home once more.

1K notes View Post

wqnsho

11 months ago

clueless, kuroo tetsuro

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ kuroo tetsuro has a thing for girls with long hair. so what if you're a girl with long hair? that doesn’t mean anything!

➼ pairing! kuroo tetsuro x fem!manager!reader

➼ warnings! none, just fluff and humor. maybe ooc because i haven't written in years??? unfortunately, because this is based on the scene of kuroo and yaku arguing about their preference, this is really for my long haired girlies 😣 i apologize to the short haired readers

➼ word count! about 1.4k

➼ author’s note! "haikyuu renassiance!" we all cheer in unison. anywho, this is my first time posting in two years. please be nice to me 🫡

"So, you prefer girls with short hair then, Yaku?" Kai asks, shedding off the white button-up of his school uniform and revealing his black practice t-shirt. The three third-year Nekoma players had found themselves in an empty classroom, deciding to use it as a makeshift changing room. Luckily for them, they had all worn their clean practice clothes under their school uniforms. Doing so allowed them to save time and cut back the number of minutes they were already going to be late to practice, thanks to Yaku getting distracted by a group of girls, which Kai noted all had short hair. Hence, his question.

Yaku paused his work of ridding himself of his tie to send Kai a proud grin, pointing towards him with both hands, “Yesss!

"And you, Kuroo?" Kai turns to him, now curious to know his captain's answer as well.

"Long." Kuroo's answer is firm, leaving no room for debate. Still, he glances at Yaku, as if daring him to try.

Yaku only snorts, shaking his head in amusement as he too turns to look at his captain, "Like that wasn't obvious."

"Ehh," Kuroo's eyes narrow, head craning down to peer at the libero, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Yaku starts, taking a step closer as he peers right back up at Kuroo, "Everyone knows you have a crush on our manager, who just so happens to have the longest hair I've ever seen!"

"Ehh?" Kuroo repeats, louder this time as he cranes his head down even more, "Who says I have a crush—"

"Hey!" The door to the classroom slides open with a shocking force, startling the boys and drawing the attention of all three of them to it. Kuroo and Yaku both grow rigid as they find you standing in its opening. Quiet pants slip past your lips, and you take a moment to catch your breath as you stare at the three of them before you begin speaking, "There you guys are! I've been looking for the three of you everywhere."

"Hello," Kai greets kindly, the only one not left in a stupor at your sudden appearance, smiling as you make your way into the classroom. "We apologize, we're running a bit late."

"Yeah," You huff, coming to a stop a few steps away from them as you cross your arms, "It was your guys' turn to set up the nets. So when you guys didn't show up in time to do so and none of you answered your phones, Coach sent me to find you guys. Didn't know I'd be going on a wild goose chase."

Your words leave you in a huff before your eyes land on Kuroo, raising an eyebrow at the captain. His shoulders tense even more at the sudden eye contact and he's quick to snap his head in the other direction. Kuroo suddenly feels warm, realizing how you could have easily heard the conversation transpiring between the three of them. Stupid Yaku, Kuroo curses the libero in his head, doesn't even know what he's talking about.

"Sorry, Y/N." And of course it’s Yaku who disrupts his thoughts, pulling Kuroo's eyes to him just as he sends you an innocent smile, "We got carried away, talking."

There's a teasing tone to Yaku's voice, and Kuroo knows it's directed at him. Why is he friends with him again?

"I don't even want to know," You speak, and Kuroo can envision you shaking your head at the three of them, "Just get dressed and get to the gym as quick as possible, please."

All three boys give some noise of recognition in response to your words, and Kuroo takes the chance to glance at you then. He's quick to regret it. Your hand rises just as he locks eyes with you, reaching up to tuck some of the more unruly pieces of your hair (which most likely came undone due to your seemingly frantic search of the three third years) behind your ear and out of your face. Kuroo's eyes follow the movement of your hand, trailing downwards and taking in the long strands of hair that fall well past your shoulders. Once again all too aware of the conversation he was just having with his teammates, the tips of his ears burn as he pulls his gaze away from you once more. He shakes his head, trying to get Yaku's words out of his mind. Just because he liked girls with long hair, and just because you so happened to be a girl with long hair, did not mean he liked you.

Right?

A snort of laughter suddenly leaves Yaku, having caught the interaction, and Kuroo turns to him with a heated glare. You don't miss the exchange between them either.

"Are you two having one of your petty arguments again?" You accuse, eyes glancing between Kuroo and Yaku who are suddenly staring back at you like two deers caught in headlights. "Seriously, you've been fighting like this since first year. What topic could you guys possibly still be discussing?"

Yaku's smirk returns as he glances at his captain with an all too knowing look before he turns back to you, "Well, if you really want to kn—"

"Nope!" Kuroo is quick to interject, speaking for the first time since you entered and drawing your attention away from Yaku and back to the captain himself. Your eyes widen as he begins to take long strides in your direction. "No arguing here!"

Your lips part, confusion taking over your features at the odd behavior your captain is displaying. You don't get the chance to say anything, however, as Kuroo makes a show of glancing at the clock on the wall before turning back to you with a dramatic gasp, "Oh, would you look at the time! We should really be heading to practice."

"You still have your school shirt on, Kuroo.” You point out when he stops in front of you, pointedly glancing down at Kuroo's attire, which consisted of his practice shorts and white button-up, with his red school tie hung loosely around his neck.

"I'll just change it once we're in the gym," Kuroo responds, waving away your interjections before he drops his hands onto your shoulders and forces you to turn around and back toward the door. You attempt to dig your heels down when he begins to push you in the direction of the door, but you're truly no match for his strength. Stupid volleyball training.

"Kuroo," You voice your protests, attempting to swat at his hands in order to get him to release you. Once again, your attempts remain futile, "Let go of me!"

"No can do! As captain and manager, it's our job to be on time to every practice. What would our team do without us?" Kuroo shakes his head, clicking his tongue as if he's scolding you. He turns back to Kai and Yaku, flashing them a warning smile, daring them to say another word. Yaku merely watches on with an unamused look, while Kai holds a placid smile. There's extra sweetness in his voice as he practically chirps out, "Bring my stuff to the club room, will you?"

"I was on time!" You retort, not giving Kai nor Yaku a chance to respond to their exasperating captain as you send them a pointed look, all the while succumbing to your fate and allowing Kuroo to push you out of the classroom. After all, he did have a point. It probably wouldn't be long before Lev managed to push somebody's buttons (most likely Yamamoto’s) one too many times and ended up in hot water. "The only reason I'm not there right now is because I came looking for you guys!"

"Ah, now is not the time to deal blame, Y/N. Our juniors are waiting on us." Kuroo argues back, shaking his head as he removes one hand from your shoulder to slide the door shut behind the two of you. Still, Yaku and Kai face the door as the sound of your guys' bickering persists. It grows quieter and quieter with each passing moment, and it isn’t until they can no longer hear your guys' voices does Yaku glance away with a shake of his head.

"He's clueless." Yaku deadpans, glancing back down at his tie as he continues to work on untying it.

Kai nods, neatly folding his button-up before placing it in his bag. "Completely."

6K notes View Post

wqnsho

11 months ago

My Brother’s best Friend

Mattsukawa x Reader - requested by @shoulmate for the Haikyuu Request Game

Mild Angst to Fluff, 3700 words (my hand slipped)

You’re not all that fond of your teenage years.

But maybe that’s just he curse of teenage life, to cringe looking back.

You're the little sister, two years between you and Toruu, twelve between you and Suzu.

With that age gap, it's only natural that you’d cling to Toruu more and beg him to take you on his adventures.

There are times you think he only did that because Iwa had a soft spot for you.

“Can you stop?” Toruu’s standing in the door to your room, wiping dirt of his trousers as you cry.

“But I wanna come!”

“I don’t want you around all the time! We’re going to catch bugs and you think they’re disgusting.”

“Do not!”

“Do too! You just want to come because you think Iwa-chan is cute.”

“Do not!”

“Do too! You’re in love with him.” He singsongs the last part and you grab your pillow, throw it at him with all the strength a six-year-old can muster.

“Guys!” Your mom calls up from the doorway. “Iwa-chan is here. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready. She’s not coming.”

Toruu races down the stairs but you’re quick to follow him, wiping away your tears as you run.

“But I wanna come.”

Iwa’s wearing jeans that have been cut off at the knees, something you’ve begged your mom for two weeks already with no avail.

He’s sending you a tooth-gaped smile, offering you a lollipop as if he’s handing out secrets.

“I don’t mind.” He says. “Besides, she behaves better than you, Oink-kawa.”

“She does not!” Toruu exclaims with his usual dramatics, getting more into it when he sees Iwa roll his eyes and smile at you as if you’re sharing a joke he’s not in on.

“Do too.” You stick out your tongue.

You see the Volleyball under Toruus arm and jump out of your bed.

“Training? I’m coming with you.”

He rolls his eyes in mock annoyance.

“You’re not even interested in volleyball. You’re just coming to see Iwa-chan.”

“No, I’m just there for Kageyama.”

Toruu fake gags and you throw your shoe at him, regretting it right away when he catches it and flings it up the stairs.

“Well, looks like you won’t make it in time.”

“Toruu, you ass!” You yell but he’s already out the door.

You do make it in time, mainly because Toruu keeps forgetting that you’ve joined the track team.

Kageyama is cute.

Not as cute as Iwa-chan, but no boy is worth the hissy fits Toruu throws when he thinks you’re spending too much time with his best friend.

Calling Kageyama cute or agreeing to pass the ball to him still riles your brother up, but in a much safer way.

You don’t want to wake up with a shaved head or anything like that.

Somewhere along the lines you’ ve become a babysitter.

To Toruu, because he keeps neglecting his health in favor of beating Shittyjima and to Kageyama, because no one else is willing to spare him a minute of their time.

You know you’re not the right fit for either role.

After all, you can only handle so much.

You know Toruu doesn’t really mean to push you away whenever you come to his room. To remind him that he needs to eat, or get to bed on time, or to ask if he minds passing the ball to you.

It still hurts.

You know your parents don’t really mean anything by it when match after match passes without them attending. They’re busy, especially with helping Suzu now that she’s back at work and needs help babysitting.

But it hurts, even more when there’s no match of Toruu they’ve ever missed.

You know that Kageyama isn’t as mean as everyone pretends him to be.

His social skills are worse than his grades and you’re the one tutoring him in your freetime.

But it still hurts when he’s yelling, reminding you that whatever you do, no matter how hard you try, you’ll never measure up to your big brother.

Seijoh is good for Toruu.

He’s still a dick when it comes to volleyball, but he’s got more friends than just Iwa now.

There’s Hanamaki and Matsukawa now, or Maki and Mattsun as they like to be called.

They seem to have a soft spot for you too, but unlike Iwa they dare to tease you too.

“Oi, princess, you have dropped something.” Mattsun calls out when you walk past them studying in the kitchen.

“What?” You turn, confused. The only thing you were carrying was the glass of water that’s still firmly in your hand.

He bows down to pick something from the floor and holds it up to your face, hand closed around it.

His voice is nasally as he speaks, the dramatic flair almost too overdone. “My heart, mylady.”

When he opens his hand, he’s holding a bug.

The first time it happened you’d squealed in surprise.

But you grew up with a nuisance for a brother and recognize that plastic shine everywhere.

“Oh, I missed you.” You tell the fake bug, pick it out of his hand and fling it into your mouth, swallowing it whole.

An impressed smile dances around Mattsun's lips while Toruu gags in the corner.

“Nice.” Makki whispers somewhere on your side while Iwa brings out the important information.

“That one was real.” He says.

You roll your eyes and take a sip from your water, pretending to be less grossed out than you are.

“Grow up, boys.”

“Oi, Oikawa-chan.”

Makki’s leaning in the doorframe, one arm up to showcase his biceps - the little fucker knows exactly what he’s doing. Half your class is ogling him already but you ignore him as you trudge over.

“What?” You ask.

He stretches out one hand, too quick to dodge, and pinches your cheek.

“Is that the right way to greet your senpai?”

You’re just as quick to stab your hand into his side, aiming for his sensitive ribs.

“Fuck.” He curses when you hit him where it hurts.

“Language.” Class president yells somewhere behind you and you push Makki out the door before you can get detention for his wrongdoings.

“What do you want?”

“Can’t I just come see you when I want?”

“You can, but that way I’ll never get a boyfriend. Now, spill.”

He grins and offers you a piece of chewing gum before actually telling you what he came for.

“I was sent to ask if anyone wants to apply for the manager position. We want to do it lowkey since Shittykawa is so popular.”

“Yeah, no, not doing that. I’m already part of the Girl’s Volleyball Club.”

He grunts. “Not you. The boys want someone pretty- Stop that!” He steps away just in time to avoid another hit.

“You know your peers. Pick someone who’s not going to faint at the sight of your brother.”

“Easy. Oba Makoto. He’s got heart problems and can’t do sports but he knows a lot about Volleyball. He’s tried hitting on me twice, so he’s probably got some taste and won’t fall for my brother.”

Makki pulls a face. “A boy? Ah, well, okay, I'll bring it up. We’re going out for ice cream after school. Do you want to pretend to be Mattsun’s date?”

“Again? Toruu’s not going to buy it.”

“True, true. We can put fake spider’s in his ice cream?”

You ponder the offer for a moment. “Eh, it’s too soon to pull that kind of prank again. Besides, I should hit the gym after school. First years have to make an impression.”

“Fine. But you’re going as Mattsun’s date this weekend. There’s someone from my class who thinks he can’t pull girls and we have to set him straight.”

You roll your eyes. “Why would I do that?”

Makki grins deviously. “I have blackmail material?”

You shudder. “Fine. Text me the details later. I’ve got to get back to class.”

Iwa has the decency to say goodbye before he leaves for America.

It crushes the tiny bit of hope you’d nursed in the week - or so - since the news of Toruu’s upcoming departure. Without your brother here to supervise you, you could have explored what was left of your crush on him.

“You did a good job.” He says, awkwardly rubbing his neck as he stares at the trophies littering your shelves.

“Yeah, sure, I’m not bad.” You agree halfheartedly but he shakes his head.

“Not Volleyball, or the other stuff. I mean… with Oikawa. And Kageyama. You did what you could, I know.”

“Don’t.” You get up before he can tell you more stuff that you don’t need to hear. You don’t want him to talk about things like that. It makes you feel like you’ve done it all for his approval. In reality, you did it to have friends, to stay close to your brother.

And look how that turned out.

“Just hug me.” You tell Iwa, well aware that Toruu’s going to barge in any second, still immensely jealous of his friends. Well aware that your parents only allow Iwa in your room because there’s nothing going to happen. Ever.

You allow yourself to cry a little bit over it, but only when he’s gone and Toruu’s bedroom door has closed behind him too.

College is so much harder than you thought it would be.

You barely make it onto the Volleyball team, you’re behind on your reading, your assignments, cleaning your room.

All you want is to go home for the weekend and hide under your sheets until mom calls for dinner.

Instead you dress up for a party you don’t want to go to, invited by a guy you can’t even remember the name off.

But he’s two years older than you and the thought that he could be interested - and that Toruu’s not here to ruin it - is exhilarating.

Hours later you stumble down the stairs outside, the world spinning around you.

You’re going to throw up any second, you think, or crash into something.

Someone grabs your arm instead and you turn, hand raised to slap whoever’s daring to touch you.

“Whoa, princess, chill! It’s me.”

There’s only one person in the world calling you that.

“Mattsun?” You blink up at him, half of his face light up by a streetlamp. It’s him, but he looks concerned.

“You’re not okay?” You ask him, your tongue struggling to form the words.

“I should ask you that.”

“‘m fine.” You stagger a bit. “Just… need to throw up, I think.”

“When’s the last time you ate something?”

Why does he wanna know, you wonder, as you try to figure out the answer to his question.

“Well, I had breakfast. And they had some crackers inside, but they tasted awful.”

“Yeah, come on.” He pulls you forward slightly, slinging one arm around your back to keep you upright. “Let’s go get you something to eat. What do you think of Chicken Nuggets?”

“Yay,” you sway slightly as you try to do a happy dance, “Chicken Nuggies!”

Maybe it’s the bright light or the fact that the world has stopped spinning after Chicken Nuggets, fries and two cups of coffee, but Mattsun looks worried as he watches you dip the last of his fries into the ketchup.

He also looks older and taller, if that’s even possible.

“Why were you at that party?” He asks.

You shrug. “Got invited.”

He sighs. “But drinking? You’re what-”

“I’m nineteen,” you remind him, “Two years younger than you.”

He looks unconvinced and you lean forward to glare at him.

“You threw up on Toruu when you were 17, piss drunk after trying my father’s sake.”

He has the decency to blush at the memory.

Silence falls over the two of you.

It’s a comfortable silence, even after so much time passing.

You’ve barely seen Mattsun in the last two years. He’s been at your graduation, Makki too. But it had always felt a bit forced, wether it was them watching one of your matches or taking you out to ice cream on a random tuesday after school because they were College boys and could afford it.

It always felt like the shadow of your brother kept looming over you, reminding you that he was supposed to be at the table with you, Iwa included.

Mattsun clears his throat and you look up, surprised at the serious look on his face.

“Oikawa is going to kill me for this,” he mumbles before raising his voice to a normal volume. “What’s your schedule like? We could go to the cinema this weekend. There’s this new movie from that series you’ve always watched?”

You blink, surprised that he noticed that. He’s never been one for movies, not like Makki and you. He’d always rather stayed in and watched a rerun of his favorite series or blackmail Toruu to let you play Mario Kart with the four of them.

“Sure. Makki coming too?”

He blushes again, but this time without obvious reason.

“No. It would be just the two of us.”

You blink again. “Do I have to pretend to be your girlfriend? Do you know someone working at the Cinema?”

The sigh Mattsun lets out could move mountains.

“What?” You ask, defensively.

“I’m asking you out. On a date. A real date.” He presses the words out between his teeth, his hands already in his hair, pulling at the strands in thinly veiled despair.

“Oh.” You make. Then. “Oh?” And “OH!”

“Yeah.” The smile he’s giving you looks painful.

“But-” You start, but close your mouth again, too stunned to speak.

Mattsun rubs at a spot of dried ketchup on the table, his face the colour of Makki’s hair.

“Like, I’ve been trying to for years, but you always ask if Makki’s coming too. And I thought I’d have more time to get you to like me like that, but you’re already going to parties you probably shouldn’t be at and, well, better shoot my shot now and get an honest reaction than just keep hoping, right?”

There are a million things you want to say, and a million more you want to ask.

But in a way, it all makes sense, looking back.

How he’s always called you princess, has always been the only one doing it.

The fact that he’s never missed a game of yours or had a really good excuse.

Makki always having an excuse to get you to pretend you’re Mattsun’s girlfriend.

Iwa might have been your first crush but you’d always been closer to Mattsun than any of them, even your brother.

You laugh at the absurdity of it, how you’ve been to blind to see it until you.

“Toruu would hate that.” You say and realize, just as you say it, that you don't care. "Sure. Let's go out."

You stretch your hand out to shake his, to press his absurdly large hand, and grin mischievously back at him.

“But let’s keep it a secret from him. Just for now. I want something just for the two of us.”

The smile that’s growing on his face now, slow at first, but faster by the second, is something you’ve never seen before. Something you want to see again and again and again.

"Makki knows," Mattsun tells you as you wait in line for the popcorn.

You'd been obsessing over what to wear for hours, even going as far as to text some of the girls from your high school Volleyball team.

"So you finally started caring?" One of them asked and you'd chewed on that thought up until the moment Mattsun knocked on your door, his hair messed up just the right amount, his cheeks a little pinker than usual.

"He's not going to tell Toruu or Iwa, is he?"

"Nah." Mattsun shakes his head and if his hand brushes yours on accident, it stays where it is, the warmth of his hand seeping into yours.

You kiss him in the middle of the movie, not caring for whatever is happening on the screen.

He tastes like the candies you used to share on your fake dates in High School and the hopeful thrill of the future.

"Hey, Princess." Mattsun's waiting outside the gym, his large hand enclosing yours as you step closer and he bends down to press a kiss to your lips. "Great game."

"Thanks, I know." You wave at the girls leaving, some of them waving back at you.

"You look tired." You tell Mattsun as he leads you down the street towards the bus station, your hands swinging between you.

"That internship is kicking my ass." He tells you, his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand. "And I still need to write that assignment I told you about."

"You haven't finished yet?"

"No." He yawns loudly. "But I took some notes while you were warming up."

"Babe." You stop in front of the subway entrance and look up at him. "I love that you come to all my games, but that assignment is more important."

He smiles. "I love when you get all serious."

"I love you."

Pink floods his cheeks at your words. You're surprised, that they slipped out just like that, but you're not taking them back, too sure of their truth.

"You know." He mumbles awkwardly, "I always thought you had a crush on Iwa. Makki was the one shipping the two of us."

“I did have a crush on him.” You agree, your hand pressing his to let him know there’s more coming. “When I was, I don’t know, seven years old?”

Mattsun’s face lights up with one of his cheekiest grins. “What? You were not into his biceps?”

“Nah. Turns out I’m more into idiots who tell me fun facts about embalming.”

His smile turns wicked. “Yeah? Guess what; I’ve got some you probably haven’t heard yet.”

It’s one of those mornings where not enough sleep does not mix well with trying to act human.

A phone rings somewhere on your left and you grab it, trying to silence the alarm without looking. Instead you hear the well known sound of a video call connecting.

Your brain isn’t as quick as the internet these days and you’re still blinking into the camera as Iwa blinks back, less tired but more confused.

“I thought I called Mattsun-” He starts at the same time reality introduces itself to your brain. You fling the phone through the room and it lands on the carpet next to the door, the call still connected.

You scramble out of bed, well aware now that you look like you’ve spent the night not sleeping - it’s the upcoming exams, you swear - wearing one of Mattsun’s old shirts.

Iwa’s still calling your name and you pick up the phone again, staring at him with as much determination as you can muster.

“No word to Toruu.”

He looks as tired as you’ve felt just minutes ago. “Sure. Sure. I don’t even wanna know. Can you bring Mattsun on the call?”

“Hey Princess,” Mattsun greets you when you stumble through the door of his shared apartment, bags of groceries in your hands.

“Hey.” You stand on your tiptoes to kiss him on the lips, handing half of the bags to him. “I got the new Ramen you like.”

“Get a room.” Makki groans from the kitchen table where he’s working on assignments.

“Sure.” You tell him, “But the walls aren’t soundproof.”

“Not fair.” He whines. “Why don’t I have a girlfriend?”

“No clue.” You tell him as you start unpacking. “Maybe it’s because you have no job?”

“An unflattering hairstyle?” Mattsun offers.

“Because you chew with your mouth open?”

“Because you always lose in Mario Kart?”

Makki huffs at that. “The disrespect I have to endure in my own home. Oh, Shittykawa is calling.” He picks up before you can tell him not to, leaving you to dive under the kitchen counter.

Mattsun is left standing next to you, hiding his laughter at your situation in his palm as he nudges you with his foot.

“I’m gonna bite you.” You tell him, showcasing your teeth.

“Sure, if that’s your kink.” Mattsun teases, only for Makki to yell “I told you to get a room!”

This time, however, Toruu hears it too.

“Who’re you talking to?”

“Eh. Mattsun’s girlfriend.”

“Mattsun has a girlfriend?” You can hear your brother’s voice clearly, the curiosity in his voice.

Just above your head, Mattsun wiggles his fingers, a silent sign for you to take his hand and get up, to let go of that secret. After all, everyone else already knows.

And what’s Toruu even gonna do? He’s all the way in Argentina.

That’s the thought that pushes you to grip his hand and shoot up from behind the kitchen counter, mischievous grin on your lips.

“You called?” You ask.

“Is that my sister?” Toruu’s voice reaches a height you’ve never heard before.

Makki looks at you, sees you nod and turns his laptop so that you and Mattsun are in full view.

“If you don’t like it, that’s your problem.” Your voice is calm but your heart still races.

“But I thought you liked Iwa.” Your brother just looks confused.

You laugh, wholeheartedly, mountains toppling off your chest. “Dude, you’re so bad at reading women, it’s no surprise you’re still chasing a ball.”

Toruu gapes at you. “The disrespect.” He calls out. “Mattsun! I thought you were my friend!”

“Nah.” Mattsun grins and pulls you closer. “I know which Oikawa I’m picking.”

“Makki?” Toruu asks, his pout even audible in his voice.

“Depends on if she’s cooking tonight,” Makki tells him. “I can be bought with good food.”