A moon-lit birthday (a Marco Bodt x reader oneshot)
SYNOPSIS: you and the gang need to come up with a last-minute plan for Marco's birthday party. When the time to make a wish comes, he knows exactly what he wants.
CW: none! this is just cute fluff :)
a/n: made this one for a friend on Marco's birthday back in June because he's her favorite (header found on Pinterest, all creds to the creator)
w/c: 2740
Potato baddie
you: So Marco’s birthday is tomorrow…do we have any plans?
Potato baddie: SHUT THE FUCK UP, I TOTALLY FORGOT
you: right…get the gang, we need to come up with something
Potato baddie: aye aye, captain. getting ConMan rn
It wasn’t easy to find a way to distract Marco so you and the gang could come up with something to do for his birthday tomorrow. Ultimately, you decided to exploit his too good of a soul to your advantage and ask him to run multiple errands that would’ve kept him busy for the whole afternoon. Armin asked him to go fetch some books at the library for him; Jean sent him to get a last-minute package of art supplies; Ymir told him to go feed Historia’s pet bunny. That gave you enough time to meet up with everyone somewhere he couldn’t have possibly caught you, so you settled for a small busted diner downtown. It met everybody’s needs– it allowed you to plan his birthday party, and it also allowed Sasha and Connie to stuff their faces with greasy fries and respectively a strawberry and a chocolate milkshake that would’ve caused an unpleasant bathroom situation.
“So, what are we going to do?” Jean asked, swirling his straw around his cup. “Man, that’s your best friend, shouldn’t you know?” Connie argued, mouth half-full. Sasha agreed with a grunt, making Jean roll his eyes. “I say we keep it simple.” Historia offered meekly, leaning back against Ymir’s arm slung around her shoulder. “He’s not one for grand stuff, and all he’d want would be for his friends to be there with him, you know?” You observed silently, but agreed with Historia: Marco didn’t even come up with something for his birthday himself, so it was better to keep it on the low. “Well, then we can just decorate Jean and Marco’s apartment, nothing lavish, and we just have a little party between us.” Everyone seemed to agree, while Jean was already foreseeing the mess he would’ve been left to deal with after the event. Once you had finalized the part related to the party, what was left was figuring out how to keep him out of the apartment tomorrow. “I think we all know the only logical answer to this…” Sasha offered, a shit-eating grin spread over her milkshake-stained mouth. Mikasa stifled a laugh, while Jean and Eren exchanged a knowing look, like an inside joke you didn’t seem to be a part of. “Am I missing something?” You eventually asked. “I think they’re talking about how you guys seem to be…closer, lately.” Armin answered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Your face changed shade, licks of flush turning your cheeks a bright pink. “W-What?” You looked at the others, wide-eyed. “C’mon!” Connie lightly nudges his shoulder against yours. “Man’s been drooling over you like a damn dog.” He said, following his statement with a howl, which had everyone else at the table laughing. You, on the other hand, were still trying to find it in yourself to breathe, worried that your heart might’ve actually stopped pumping blood through your body. Sasha leaned over, a wide smile on her face. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice? And don’t worry, everyone can see that it’s mutual.” That last sentence had your eyes almost fall out of their sockets. “It is?” You asked, voice barely above a breath. “The only ones who seem to be oblivious are the two of you, honey.” Mikasa interjected from the other end of the table. “Which is cute, but you’ve been dragging it for way too long.” You sank into your shoulders, your cheeks still at an excessive temperature. Jean and Eren were still snickering, definitely aware of something they weren’t disclosing to the rest of the group. You cocked up an eyebrow, watching them. “Got something clever to say?” You asked, your voice coming out more snappy than intended. They stopped immediately. “Apologies, m’lady.” Jean held up his hands in mock surrender. “We promised.” Eren finished for him, pretending to zip his lips shut. You wished he could do it for real. “Just spend the day with the guy!” Ymir finally said. “I’m sure he won’t mind, y’all are tight. Also it would give us enough time to do everything undisturbed. We’ll shoot you a text when we’re settled.”
And that’s how you all went your separate ways.
All of you had also agreed to pretend to forget his birthday. It killed you, since you didn’t want to accidentally upset him, but it was the best way to build up the anticipation until the surprise party. So the next day, you sat next to him in class, like you always did. You wanted to bust the operation when you saw the hope slowly fade from his gaze when you didn’t wish him happy birthday, but forced yourself to push through the plan. As the teacher’s words turned into background noise, you started to write on one of your sticky notes.
Are you free this afternoon?
You passed the note to him, initiating a quiet exchange.
I think so, why?
Thought we could go to the library together, maybe get some coffee too? I need all the caffeine I can get my hands on.
You know that’s not very healthy…
Okay, dad. So are you coming or not?
Of course I am.
When class was over, you shot Sasha a quick text to update that everything was going smoothly, to which she replied with a picture of a cart overflowing with alcohol and snacks.
Potato baddie
you: Do you want to give us all alcohol poisoning??
Potato baddie: girl, this is the bare minimum to pregame!
you: I’m not going to hold your hair if you get sick
Potato baddie: oh man, you know I like it when you do
You and Marco went to grab coffee together, and met up with Eren and Mikasa briefly. Neither of them wished him a happy birthday, and you knew that Jean hadn’t, either, since he pretended to sleep in until after Marco had left their shared apartment. He didn’t complain, he never did, but you could tell that his mood was starting to be affected by it, especially in the way his attention seemed to drift often during studying. “I probably didn’t sleep well.” He would brush it off when you asked him if he was feeling okay. Seeing him like this was the worst, especially because you were the reason behind it. You couldn’t lie to yourself anymore, your feelings for Marco were undeniable, and apparently the rest of the gang had caught up before your own mind. What you still couldn’t wrap your head around was that the guys had said that his feelings were mutual, but you had always seen him being this friendly with everyone else. Although, on a second thought, you couldn’t help but fixate on certain details: the way he remembered your order, no matter the place you’d get food from; the fact that you were the only girl he hung out one-on-one with, but you used to think it was because the others were already dating. Along with some other instances, you began to realize that maybe, just maybe, your not so small crush wasn’t as one-sided. At around 6pm, you got an update from Sasha.
Potato baddie
Potato baddie: so, have you kissed yet?
you: did you text me just to ask irrelevant questions?
Potato baddie: girl, get that stick out from up your ass! also, no, we’re done decorating Kirstein’s place, so find a way to get him back
You stared at the phone, then at Marco, who was diligently highlighting down the information in his textbooks in different colors– something to help him memorize better, he said. “Are you tired?” You asked, locking your phone and placing it back down on the table. “Well, I’d say we’ve done enough work,” he replied. “But if you want to stay here longer, it’s not a problem for me. I’ve got nothing to do, anyway.” Your lips twitched into a pout, your heart breaking at the poorly concealed sadness in his words. But he still managed to put on a smile, always. “Is Jean home?” You asked. “I don’t really feel like ordering takeout by myself, so maybe…” You offered innocently, and immediately saw the way his freckled cheeks started to grow redder. “As in…eating together? At my place?” You shrugged your shoulders, suddenly overcome by a wave of confidence. “Yeah? It’s just dinner.” Marco’s Adam apple bobbed visibly, but he recollected himself quickly. “I-I think he texted me earlier saying he’ll be out,” he nodded. “So yeah, yeah, you can come over.” Your bag was already slung over your shoulder. “So, what are we waiting for?” Your walk back to his apartment was relatively silent, except for some small talk, mainly you judging people’s poor choice of dressing. Your hands brushed a few times, yet none of you were brave enough to just grab the other’s hand. Walking up the steps to his front door, he halted. You looked up, puzzled. He seemed to be pondering his words, hand stilled mid-action of sliding his keys into the lock. “I…look, did I, well…did I do something?” He eventually muttered, his voice so quiet, a crease between his brows that made him look like a kicked puppy. “What?” You asked. He shook his head. “Nothing.” As soon as he unlocked the door, the lights turned on. “SURPRISE!!” Everyone, including you, exclaimed as the others appeared from behind the wall, hands in the air and wearing a party hat.
Marco looked stunned. “What is this?” He whispered. “You thought we could forget? Happy birthday, Marco.” You grinned, gently nudging his shoulder. “C’mon man, don’t stand there like an idiot!” Connie walked over, holding party hats for the two of us. You put on your, and so did Marco, albeit a bit clumsily since Connie was already dragging him further into the apartment. Everyone took turns to wish him, exchanging hugs and other custom pleasantries. You stood to the side, content with just watching him. He looked to the side, a smile sitting on his lips, so soft and gentle it had your knees turn to jelly for a second. The drinks followed shortly after, and everyone was just enjoying their time, music playing from Eren’s speaker, but not too loud, as to not bother the neighbors and getting Marco and Jean in trouble. Marco was pouring you another drink, the two of you standing in the kitchen, taking a break from the chaos. “So this was the reason why you were acting weird today?” He asked quietly. You shrugged your shoulders. “We had to find a way, I’m sorry. You know I would’ve never willingly forgotten your birthday.” You replied. He shook his head, handing you the drink. “No need to apologize.” Your fingers brushed his as you grabbed the cup, and both of you blushed. “You…seriously thought you had done something to upset me?” You asked, looking up at him. He swallowed before he opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off. “Come on, what’s taking you so long?” Connie called out. “We need to start playing truth or dare!” Marco sighed, murmuring a soft “Damn game”, to which you giggled. You joined the others sitting on the floor of the living room, taking a seat between Sasha and Mikasa, while Marco sat next to Jean, and the game began. It started off with the usual stuff, embarrassing questions for the people who chose truth, and even more embarrassing dares for the people who chose dare, like Ymir daring Armin to prank call a pizza joint and order a phantom pizza for “Ben Dover”. When it was Connie’s turn again, he pointed at Marco. “So, birthday boy, you wasted your two truths, you gotta go with a dare now.” He almost choked on his soda, then sighed in resignation. “I guess that leaves me no choice, huh? Alright, dare.” You never saw Connie’s face contorting in such a mischievous grin so fast. “As you see here-” he opened his arms “-we have a fine selection of ladies and you, my man, are now required to choose the one who’s going to receive your sweet kiss.” Everyone’s eyes widened, just for their expressions to mirror Connie’s smug ones. It was so damn obvious. Your fingers tightened nervously around your cup, and Marco’s face reached the same shade of red as Mikasa’s top.
He gulped, his eyes nervously meeting yours. He was two beers in from earlier, and you’d had your fair share of shots, yet it was like you both went back to being stone cold sober, Connie’s words like a bucket of iced water being thrown right to your faces. Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, and you were wondering if the fluttering in your stomach were butterflies or your digestive system rioting against the undercooked pizza rolls Jean had attempted to make. Everything was quiet, except for the music still playing, but it didn’t help. Your tongue involuntarily darted out to wet your lips, and you saw Ymir elbow Marco right in his ribs, hissing: “kiss her, goddammit.” He took a big breath, mustering enough courage to get up from his spot, before he knelt down right next to you, after Sasha had left him a convenient spot to fit in. Everything happened too fast. His face was level with yours, then his hand was on your cheek, angling your face to press a peck to your lips. It was nothing standoffish, he couldn’t, not in front of all these people. He definitely wished your first kiss would’ve happened under different circumstances. Still, it was enough for your whole body to go limp, melting into the feeling of his lips against yours. Everyone started to cheer, and the kiss was over, leaving you yearning for more. And it seemed it was the same for him, too, his soft smile failing to conceal the hunger that had grown in his gaze. “That’s how you do it, man!” Connie yelled. “About damn time, buddy.” Jean joined, along with a “Whoop, whoop!” from Sasha and Eren.
Once the general enthusiasm had died down, you resumed playing, but Marco stayed sat next to you, the two of you exchanging timid, giddy looks. When your fingers brushed his, he didn’t shy away, letting his hand rest on top of yours. Once everyone got tired of playing, you all went back to just chilling together, until Marco pulled you away from the group, asking you to follow him. The kitchen had a set of french windows that opened onto a fairly large balcony. Jean and Marco had decorated it with a set of two plastic chairs, a small table, and a two-seat garden sofa. He sat down, then patted the space next to him. Once you had settled, you raised your head to look up at the sky. There were no clouds, and you were high enough for the streetlight to not interfere too much, so you had a clear view of the moon and stars. “It’s beautiful.” You murmured. “Yeah, beautiful.” He said just as quietly. From the corner of your eye, however, you could see that he was looking at you. You turned to face him, and got lost in the way the moon reflected in his dark eyes, how his face was illuminated by a blue-silver lick of light. “Thank you,” he began, never breaking eye contact. “This…even though you didn’t have to bother doing all this, I’m still grateful. It means a lot, being with you guys, and seeing you enjoy yourselves as well.” You smiled, your heart swelling at his sweet words. “It was the least we could do,” you replied. “It’s only right for you to have a day where you can celebrate yourself. It’s okay to be selfish, sometimes. Especially when you always put others first.” He nodded, mulling over your words. You saw his eyes flitting down to your lips for a split second. “Then…can I be selfish again?” He whispered. “It’s the only birthday gift I truly wished for.” When you nodded, both his hands came to cup your face, and he finally kissed you, and this time it was real. No prying eyes or ears, just him and his girl under the moonlight.
All your life, you had known how cruel humans could be, the sheer heartlessness they could commit atrocities with, as if stripping themselves of their very own nature. You had been aware, yet, the betrayal had come like a sudden slap— sharp, brutal, and with no regard for your feelings, for the way your heart would feel like it was being crushed by dark, uncaring claws.
He had been lying on his bed, the same you had laid in countless times, enough to memorize the creases in the sheets when left messy and rumpled up during a slow morning with no classes, enough to still carry a faint ghost of your scent even after washing them. She was on top of him, straddling his lap, laughing like your face wasn’t staring back at her from the picture hanging on the wall. Because it wasn’t, your eyes cleverly shielded, tucked inside some drawers, under a pile of clothes. Because you were never meant to see.
A chasm had cracked open inside your chest at the sight, every last particle of air violently knocked out of your lungs. His eyes had betrayed no regret, not even an ounce of pity for the helplessness etched over your face. If anything, his expression barely hid the irritation he must’ve felt, as if you had snooped in a territory that didn’t fall under your jurisdiction.
You slammed the door shut, he made no move to come back out to explain himself for the entire ten minutes you spent outside his dorm room hyperventilating, trying to gather some strength back into your legs, enough to drag yourself out of the building. You couldn’t cry, not yet, not when anyone could’ve walked by and witnessed your pathetic attempt at holding yourself together.
December air sting enough to hurt, freezing cold rushing up your nostrils and forced out of your lips in a ghostly puff of humidity. Nowhere to run to, there’s no place that can make for an adequate enough of a shelter for you to get to. No one to turn to, except for— no, you can’t call him. Trembling fingers reach for your phone anyway, scrolling down the contacts until you spot the name.
It rings once, doesn’t make it to the second before he picks up. “Hello?” Silence. The warm lilt in his voice is like a wrecking ball against a house made of paper, tears welling up instantly, and you have no way to rein them back in. “Hello? Hey, is something wrong? Are you—”
“Marco.”
A sob breaks his name in half, a sharp intake of air that fractures the syllables, nullifying every earlier attempt at composure. There’s a scrap against wood, then a rustle, a jingle of keys. “Where are you?” It comes out calm, but you know that what’s boiling under those collected words is anything but. You know him too well. If it weren’t for the situation at hand, you’d probably be biting back a small smile of endearment right now.
“West wing, uhm—” you gulp and choke on another sob, “—fountain.” You manage to sputter out. “Don’t move, I’ll be right there.” He’s about to hang up, but you don’t want him to. If you felt like you could handle this alone two minutes ago, now he can’t be here fast enough. “O-Okay, yeah.” You let him hang up anyway.
The hollow in your chest grows, void eating at your organs. Your eyes dissociate on the spot where a lonely snow flake melts against the marble of the fountain. It’s turned off in the winter, the usual sloshing of water is missing, and the silence seems to be amplified around you. You’re not even sitting on a bench, standing in an awkward spot right in the middle of the paved path that branches around the big quad in different directions. You can’t even be bothered to wonder if anyone’s around to see you. If you were to form a thought right now, you’d break down.
The distant, familiar rumble of an engine snaps you out of the apathetic trance you had fallen in only when it becomes loud enough for you to actually pick it up. By the time your body starts moving again, the car has already stopped by the sidewalk that lines the quad, a figure slipping out of the driver’s side.
Raven hair, a constellation of freckles sprayed over flushed cheeks, a thick scarf covering a portion of the lower half of his face, not enough to hide the worry and the million questions written all over. Your steps are slower than his, shoes crunching dead leaves as he cuts through the trimmed grass, stops in front of you and his hands instinctively reach for your shoulders. “Hey,” he tilts his head to invade your vision, but you can’t look at him. Not now. You don’t need to explain. He sighs. “Okay, c’mon, you’ve probably been freezing yourself out here for way too long.”
The walk to his car is silent. He doesn’t ask. You don’t even have to open the door for yourself, sliding into the passenger seat with a curt nod of gratitude. He settles inside a moment later, hands hesitating over the leather of the steering wheel, waiting for a sign, anything.
“Marco.”
His name, again, is all you can force out of yourself before the dam breaks. You don’t reach for him, head falling into your hands as you fold yourself forward. Your back hiccups with pitched sobs, the heels of your palms digging into your eye sockets, but you can’t stop the tears from flowing past, coating the cold, dry skin, carving themselves a path down your face. A gentle hand rests on the back of your head, thumb brushing over your hair. It’s comforting, you don’t care that his fingers are cold, your tense muscles relax for a second.
And that’s what you do, cry until there’s no more tear in your ducts, until there isn’t enough oxygen in your lungs or enough strengths in your body to support another sob. He’s quiet the whole time, cornering his own feelings for later unraveling once he’s alone again, because now all he has to worry about is comforting you, not getting lost in thoughts of how he should call everyone and plan on jumping your, now thankfully ex, boyfriend.
Tension melts in your stiff shoulders with a deep, shaky inhale, fully deflating when you exhale. You don’t really want him to see your face, you’re sure you look a mess right now, but lift your head up anyway, let your back rest against the seat. Cold has crept through the cracks, and the car is cold now, enough to prickle your spine with a shiver. No words leave your mouth just yet, and Marco waits, patiently, for a sign, a command, anything.
“I’m sorry.”
The murmured apology takes him off guard, but he should’ve seen it coming. He can also easily guess that you hesitated before calling him, weighing both the options of getting through this on your own or seeking his support. He’s glad you chose the latter. It doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to reply, but time dilates in his mental perception as he looks at you.
Your eyes have a dull light in them, they’d look completely empty if it wasn’t for the stubborn sun trying to peek out from heavy white clouds, weak yet relentless. Crimson paints your cheek in watercolor tones for different reasons, and Marco wishes it would be just the cold coaxing your blood vessels to constrict. Then there’s your fingers, fidgeting in your lap, nails picking at cuticles, pinching your knuckles.
“You know you don’t have to apologize,” he finally says. “Do you want to go back to my dorm? Or I could drive you back to yours, drop you off at—”
“My dorm, please.”
You still haven’t looked at him, too ashamed to meet his gaze, full of worry and pity and everything genuine that you still restrict yourself from getting abandoned in. Your mind’s waging a war against itself and you find yourself fighting between the urge to withdraw and sink into solitude and clawing at the only support you’ve every allowed yourself to receive.
Marco nods, turning to face the wheel as his hand finds the key, still lodged in the ignition. The engine stammers to life, the air that must’ve blasted from the AC on his way to you, scalding hot, is now a freezing jet hitting your face like thousands of microscopic needles. “Oh, shit, sorry—” he find’s the intensity controls, turning it down to a minimum. The panic in his voice and his clumsy, hasty moves, so endearing and so indubitably him make your lips curl up in a smile, a giggle bubbling in your throat. It’s the best sound he’s heard in the past twenty minutes.
The ride is mostly silent, except for the soft playlist humming through the speakers. It’s not a long journey, but the car is toasty by the time you reach your dorm on the opposite wing of campus. your building is right next to Marco’s, so it does make you feel better that he doesn’t have to waste much gas.
He climbs out with you, hand lingering on the door before closing it. Your eyes finally veer in his direction, and you can see the hesitation in them, all the words he’s keeping confined in those golden pools. He’s not expecting an explanation, his expression is one of utter servility, like he’s ready to rewrite the very own fabric of the universe, if it means you’re not going to be sad ever again.
“Do you mind coming up with me? I-I…I’ve got tea.” He nods before you even finish the sentence.
Warmth envelops the two of you as you step inside the small dorm, the sight familiar to Marco as if walking into his own. It’s neat, as always, and your scent fills the space as well as his senses. You both take your coats off and discard it at the foot of the bed, and you slip into those comically large, elephant-shaped slippers Sasha gifted you last Christmas.
He settles as well, mattress dipping under his weight, and watches as you start the kettle sitting on the tiny makeshift kitchenette.”I think I can already imagine what happened…” His words are careful, weighed on his tongue and watching you closely for any reaction. “And I’m not asking you to talk about it, you’ll do that when you’ll feel like it. I just need to make sure you’re going to let me help you.”
You still, hand stopping mid-action of dropping tea bags in the two mugs you picked - a dark blue one with the moon and stars painted on it for Marco, and a handmade one that almost resembles a frog for you - and just let his words sink. Accept his help, it’s all he wants, because he would never judge you for finding yourself in a situation where you need it. That’s how he’s always been.
“Yeah, I don’t really want to talk about it now. I’m scared I’ll just start crying nonstop again.” You force out a chuckle, but it comes out broken and wrong. Even though your back is facing him, Marco’s lips still stretch in a fond smile, but his brow twitches with a tinge of worry for you, and pure rage for that bastard. “You could fill my shirt with snot and I wouldn’t mind.” He replies softly.
“Ew, Marco!” You chide, but this time your laugh is real, ringing through the room as you throw your head back, and he can see your eyes squinting and creasing at the edges. Once it dies down, a small smile lingers. “Thank you,” you murmur quietly, putting the tea bags into the mugs before pouring hot water in. “I…really didn’t want to be alone. I’m glad you came.”
“Well, you called.” He says, leaning back on his palms. You look over your shoulder at him, and for some reason, your heart stutters. His golden eyes are filled with something so tender that your knees turned to jelly for a second. You snap your head back to the mugs, feeling the heat creeping from under the collar of your sweater. By the time it reaches your cheeks, you hope you can make it look like it’s the steam’s fault.
Before you know it, the mugs are empty and sitting on your nightstand. Marco keeps you entertained with things he did during the week with Jean, how his classes are going, anything to keep your mind off bad thoughts. You sit criss-cross opposite to him, your back against the thick wooden headboard. You don’t even notice the streaks of orange stretching through the sky right now, until your phone lights up with a notification a you catch the time on the screen.
“Oh my god, I’ve kept you so late!” You almost spring up, watching the sun set on the quad. “It’s fine,” Marco shrugs his shoulders. “I didn’t have plans, anyway. And even if I had, I would’ve canceled. I take it you don’t really want to be around the others yet?”
With a heavy sigh, you sink back into the pillows. “No, not yet,” you shake your head. “They’d try to drag me out to some bar to drink and get over it and…I can’t be bothered to do all that right now.” You shift your legs to hug them to your chest, arms circling them and chin resting on your knees. Marco’s head tilts just a fraction.
Your eyes find his for a second, and you fall apart all over again. He catches the moment your lip trembles, shoulders stiffening when your tears well up. He opens his arms just in time for you to fall into them, face burying itself into the soft fabric of his sweater. His hands gently guide you until you’re sitting in a more comfortable position in his lap, holding you close as your back spasms under his palms, sobs ripping through you.
It’s an instinct, he does it before the spark of the thought even has the chance to be analyzed, and presses his lips to the crown of your head, closing his eyes. He should probably not let his selfishness get in the way, but he’s be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for this to happen. Of course, he would’ve wanted the circumstances to be different, but he can’t pretend that he isn’t elated to finally be holding you like this. Different emotions thread together to grapple his heart, wishes and reprimands tied together in a turmoil he can’t let himself show. You need time, and he can’t overstep.
Your fists are gripping his sweater like it’s the only thing that can keep you grounded, and you keep curling into yourself, like an animal finding the perfect shelter for the winter to hibernate in, a safe haven that grants it protection from all harm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” it rings like a mantra against his chest, and to Marco it feels like a blade is lodged inside at every fractured apology.
“I’m here, I’m here…” he whispers back into your hair until the tears stop, your breathing going from staggered to a more even pace. When you finally relax, you don’t protest when a freckled hand cradles your face, guiding it upwards. The stutter in your heartbeat happens for a drastically different reason now. His skin is warm, soothing like soup on a cold day, and the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, it’s the steady soundtrack of something that was always meant to be.
Your lips part, but neural signals tumble one another and air struggles to strum your vocal chords. You knot very well what this is, it only slides into place now that it might’ve been there all along. “Please,” it’s barely a breath, tongue merely brushing against your palate to articulate the words. “Stay?”
Headcannons. - All in collaboration with the wonderful @perfectly-m1saligned , based off of her TikTok video
Contains: (In order) Reiner, Bertholdt, Jean, Marco, Armin, Eren, Mikasa, Porco, Pieck, Colt, Niccolò, Levi, Erwin, Hange.
All characters are over 18.
✩ Reiner Braun
One thing about Reiner is that he adores the outdoors. Whether your date is a simple walk through the snow – the quality time is what really matters to him. Though, at your suggestion of attending the Christmas market in Marley; he could simply not deny. The day was spent wandering, weaving between people and different stalls, always stopping whenever you wanted to look at something.
He’d hand you his gloves and buy you warm drinks and various snacks, ensuring at every chance he got that you were warm and safe. All and all, he ended up with a cold – claiming it was worth it as you were kept warm and happy with what you’d brought.
✩ Bertholdt Hoover
Bertholdt had made it abundantly clear from the moment you’d met him that he hated the cold, and while you’d respected his wishes in staying inside around the colder months; it’d gotten to a point where you’d taken it upon yourself to book the two of you in for an ice skating date.
The rink had – luckily – been relatively quiet when you’d gone, Bert slipping as soon as he made it on, causing you to laugh a tremendous amount at his expense, almost slipping yourself in the process. However, he did eventually get the hang of it (Five slips and a bruised back later.) It was safe to say he ended up cheering you on from the sidelines, leaning against the railing – skates by his side as he watched you slowly but surely lap the ice.
The evening ended with lots of hugs, fresh coffee and cinnamon buns in your local cafe. A sulky man with a bruised ass and a happy partner. What more could he possibly ask for?
✩ Jean Kirstein
The coming of winter meant Jean’s love language of gift-giving was increased by tenfold, though, this year he’d gone all out. A two day trip to the most stunning Ski resort. A gorgeous cabin with a view over the mountains, skiing in the mornings and fancy restaurants for dinner where he looked at you like you were his everything.
The trip was filled with constant laughter and love. Though, the highlight was surely Jean sliding down on his skis and attempting – and succeeding – to drag you with him, a wide, boisterous grin on his face at the unimpressed look you gave him as you landed at the end. (All was compensated for with kisses and lots of hugs, a night spent by the fireplace.)
✩ Marco Bodt
Marco has always loved the snow, the sound of it crunching under his feet and the freshness of the earth that came with it. And so, when it snowed in Jinae he practically jumped for joy – begging to go out for a walk. The two of you walked down to the fields by your flat and you were immediately instructed to go and gather sticks and pebbles.
You gathered estranged twigs and holly for hair, coming back to two lumps of snow, stacked on top of each other in a sort of tower. Marco helped you bring the snowman to life, placing holly on as you ran off – sneaking up behind him with a snowball, delivered straight to his face as he turned at just the wrong time.
You’d cleaned off his face with your scarf – apologising profusely as he pouted, feigning upset at your actions.
✩ Armin Arlert
Loves to stay inside, the two of you make a pillow fort with blankets and teddies to stay huddled together. He’d created a snack platter with fruits and sweeties, creating a massive bowl of popcorn as you searched for a movie. It took some convincing – though after peppering your face in smooches, you finally agreed – a Star Wars marathon.
You only actually made it through the first two films due to the fact that after each one you spent at least an hour nerding out about it, speculating and theorizing every detail and easter egg you’d seen. All snacks were demolished and the two of you ended up falling asleep halfway through the third film.
✩ Eren Jeager
Calling it a date was a bit of a stretch. More like a competitive snowball fight in which you’d been captured for the last hour. Though, much to Eren’s dismay, you were winning. When one too many snowballs finally met his body he lunged. Chasing you through the snow and tackling you, strategically twisting so he would take the brunt of the fall.
Groaned every time you brought up your win, gets fussy when you refuse a round two purely because you know you’ll be pelted and he can’t accept losing. Warm baths together as soon as you arrive back at the house, thoroughly soothing the cold ache within your bones.
✩ Mikasa Ackerman
Dating Mikasa had taught you many things about her, and one of those was that she absolutely loved to be busy. She presented you with two tickets to an amusement park that goes Christmas themed during the winter seasons. Absolutely adores walking around with you and will be obsessively checking wait times for lines.
Agreed to wearing (Subtly) matching elf jumpers with you, both being green, though they had different ribbons used for decoration. Expresses the joy she had throughout spending the day together, though claims her favourite part was buying candied apples from a stall you’d found tucked away.
✩ Porco Galliard
Adores being outside when it’s snowing, insisting you lay down in the snow with him to make snow angels. Hot coffees were brought beforehand to warm up. You both enjoyed a beautiful walk through the woods, everything glistening in the snow. You’d managed to get a photo of him drawing a heart in the snow.
Tackles you (lovingly) to the ground when you make fun of his softness – trying to keep his manliness. Laughs as the two of you sit in the snow for a while, gossiping while trying not to freeze your asses off. Both of you ended up getting sick, but the joy of the moment had managed to override the less than fortunate outcome.
✩ Pieck Finger
Found the most adorable Christmas themed workshop to attend together. There was a range of activities to choose from but you both settled on a pottery and wine experience. The two of you spent the afternoon cackling away while your artistic skills failed to translate onto the poor mug you had chosen.
Pieck ended up having a glass of wine too many, and the Christmas tree on her mug ended up with a peenar on top instead of star. It still looked pretty. When you took it home you placed it on the shelf next to the cringey couples photoshoot she had insisted you took a few years ago. Both smiles on your faces were reflective of the true joy within your soul.
✩ Colt Grice
Woke you up to the sound of him shouting “Baby, oh my God it’s snowing! Hell yeah!” then essentially getting zoomies and running around in your local field for 15 minutes straight, jumping around like it’s nobody's business. After said 15 minutes are up he waddles over, nose red and cheeks flushed as you wrap his scarf back around his neck, mumbling;
“I hate the snow. I’m cold, please take me home.” While having the look of a neglected puppy on his face. You took him home and the two of you decided to try out the mulled wine kit you’d been gifted by Bertholdt and his Girlfriend when they came back from their recent trip. Long story short, both of you got absolutely smashed and woke up sat by the backdoor in wet clothes, leant against each other. Worth it.
✩ Niccolò
Loves a foodie date. The two of you went down to the local farmers market and picked up several ingredients to make a soup. It was cold, but he ensured you were properly wrapped up before you went out. He tied your apron and the two of you got to work, making croutons to go on the side. The house was warm and smelled fresh, homely.
Dinner was eaten on the couch under blankets while you watched the next episode of your favourite show together, washing up and having a night of comfort.
✩ Levi Ackerman
Told you as soon as he saw the snow outside that he didn’t want to leave the house. Instead he helped you to bake and decorate some cute cookies. You did most of the baking, he hovered around and stopped you from making too much mess. Levi did, in fact, ask you to help clear up. You complained and so he pulled up a chair and told you to keep an eye on the cookies and so they wouldn’t burn.
Was done cleaning by the time that the cookies were done. Helped you make the frosting while they were cooling down. Didn’t mind when you almost fell over laughing after smearing frosting on your face, instead he wiped it off his cheek with his thumb and attempted to dot it onto your nose.
✩ Erwin Smith
Erwin had already planned several dates at the beginning of December, scheduling around seeing family and friends. At the beginning of the month he had planned to go and see an outdoor art exhibition, looking at stunning glass garden works. One thing he hadn’t planned ahead for was the weather. So when he saw the (thinnest) layer of snow on the ground he came up to you and insisted you to wear what felt like a million layers of clothes.
You complained that you were sweating despite the low temperature, however, at the end of the day you did end up saying he was correct. Feeding right into his ego which made him light up almost as bright as your Christmas tree.
✩ Hange Zoe
You honestly hadn’t heard from them in about a week, though, that was relatively normal for such a “mastermind.” Though, when they missed the date you had planned you showed up at their apartment, ready to wage war. Instead, you were met with an unshowered and very excited partner, holding up a small glass box.
They dragged you into the house, the place looking a mess, but when they placed the box into your hand all was forgiven. A tiny, gorgeous snowflake lay rest, labeled “To my love.” etched on the front of the glass in messy cursive. It was so unique, and so unbelievably Hange.
a/n: If you've stuck around this long, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. <3 And if you just found this for the first time, also thank you. <3
♪ first day of my life by bright eyes
♪ dog days are over by florence and the machine
➷➷➷➷➷
The atmosphere shifts. Gravity is different. You’re not tethered to the Earth; you’re tethered to Marco.
You wish you could lie there in the afterglow with him for hours, but you have no choice but to clean up, get dressed, and head to dinner with your secret. People can probably guess—Ymir for sure knows and keeps trying to catch your eye—but only you, Marco, and the dull ache in your hips truly know what happened between you. Under the table, he holds your hand in his lap.
You can’t stop looking at him. Every time you catch his eye, you smile, and he blushes. You linger close to him when you can, brushing his hand or bumping his knee with your own every chance you get. His palms find your shoulder or lower back when he talks to you.
You never stop thinking about what he looked like naked, what he sounded like when you moved against him, what he felt like inside you. Every time Marco comes near, you remember with a pleasant shiver, and you wonder if anyone can read it on your face. You might not look the any different, but mentally, you feel like you’re wearing a sign that says We Fucked.
Nevertheless, life goes on as normal even though everything has changed.
Two days later, you’re daydreaming about kissing across Marco’s collarbone to his shoulder when Hitch starts oversharing before bed.
“Ladies, I have something to report.” She stands up on the footboard of her bunk, one leg wrapped around the bedpost as an anchor. “Zeke Jaeger ain’t shit.”
“I could have told you that for free,” Ymir says. Even Mikasa snorts.
Hitch sticks out her tongue. “Rude. What I’m trying to say is that I gave it my best shot, but I’m done with him. Even after we hooked up, he couldn’t stop talking about all his other ‘options.’ Like he was trying to neg me or something.”
“What the hell? He can’t just do that to you.” Historia puffs up with anger. When something really pisses her off, she looks like a feisty little pomeranian, and even you have to admit it’s kind of cute. Ymir puts a steadying hand to the back of her neck.
Hitch scoffs. “I’m over it. Supposedly, he still talks to Pieck. AND he thinks he has a shot with Levi? He’s out of his mind.”
Your jaw drops. “He told you all that?” Hitch is prone to hyperbole, but this is Zeke you’re talking about, after all.
Hitch crosses her arms. “Right after going down on me, yes.”
“...Was it good oral, at least?” You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered, especially with that well-groomed beard of his.
Hitch grins. “Oh, incredible. It’s just the man attached to the mouth I can’t stand.”
Mikasa claps her hands over her ears. “Ew.”
“Girl, he’s practically your brother-in-law. You’re gonna have to get used to his nasty ass,” crows Ymir.
Mikasa’s brow creases. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Historia slides onto Mikasa’s bunk. “Babe, I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this. Everyone knows about the canoe. And the porch swing.”
“The porch swing?” you and Hitch gasp in sync. Mikasa glares.
“Well, now everybody knows,” Historia replies.
“Eren is…” Mikasa admits, her voice low. “Really important to me.”
Hitch plops down on her other side. “We know, honey. And if you wanna bone him, then bone!”
Mikasa looks down in her lap, processes, and then, impossibly, starts to laugh. You’ve seen it before, but it’s rare, like a shooting star or a shiny Pokemon.
Ymir recoils. “Who are you and what the hell have you done with Mikasa? Hisu, get away from her.” Historia shushes her.
Once Mikasa catches her breath, she says, “Ok, I’m sorry. But I feel like I have to say it now. I’ve been stealing condoms from some of you for weeks, and I don’t think you ever noticed.”
Ymir puts a finger on her nose. “Not it.”
Historia bursts out laughing, and so do you. Of course you haven’t noticed. You haven’t touched yours.
Hitch scoffs but laughs too. “Honestly, I was this close to accusing Reiner. I thought we were going to walk into the lodge one day and find strips of them hanging from the ceiling.”
You dig through your suitcase and find the box of condoms you packed—opened but carefully resealed—and hand the whole thing to Mikasa. “What’s mine is yours.”
Her eyes narrow on you. “Don’t you…want…?”
“Her boo thang bought his own schlong socks,” Ymir hoots.
Nobody has brought it up, but you know they’ve all been wondering. Your little secret, while precious, is also burning a hole in your subconscious. Since everyone else is sharing, you decide you might as well confirm their suspicions.
You tilt your head toward Ymir. “Yeah, but we borrowed your lube.”
Ymir gags dramatically, which only makes Historia giggle harder.
Hitch scrambles to you on her knees, hands pressed together like a prayer in front of her. “Ok, you just say when,” she demands, then starts spreading her hands apart, inch by inch. You just stare back.
“Jesus, did that thing rip you in half?” she teases, her hands well over a foot apart. You grab Mikasa’s pillow and whack Hitch with it. Mikasa snickers.
“Everyone’s pairing up, babe,” Historia teases, flicking one of Ymir’s stubby pigtails. “Who’s your next victim going to be?”
“Meeeeeeeeee,” Hitch whines. “It’s embarrassing how hard I’ve been striking out.”
“Well, if Zeke is off the table…” Ymir muses, stroking her chin like she has an evil goatee. “I don’t know. Does Kenny have a girlfriend?”
Hitch looks at Mikasa, who shrugs. Then Hitch shakes her head. “I want a daddy, not a grandpa. At least not yet.”
You decide to say the quiet part out loud. “What about Miche?”
Hitch’s mouth flaps open and closed a few times. “Huh. I mean, yeah. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Maybe because he obviously has a big crush on you, but you were too busy looking for a challenge,” you counter.
“Damn. Read someone else like a book, why don’t you?” Hitch scoffs before tossing you a sly wink. Oh, Miche is going to owe you big time for this.
“If you’re trying to play matchmaker, Ymir, I think Jean could use some help,” says Mikasa.
“Stinky men don’t deserve my magic touch,” Ymir says.
“Jean isn’t stinky,” you correct. He might be a bit of a grouch, but to his credit, he always smells good.
Ymir turns up her nose. “They all stink.”
Historia crawls into her girlfriend’s lap, bullying her way into a kiss. “Good thing you have me, then.”
–
On Friday morning, Annie’s unmistakable SUV (a white Volvo that is, frankly, much too big for someone her size to be driving) rolls into the parking lot outside the mess hall. You have to assume she planned it this way—arriving just as everyone is leaving breakfast—down to the minute if she could.
You feel the whoosh of air as Bertholdt runs past you to greet her. A few veteran campers spot her and follow along to say hi, but Bert’s long legs get him there first. He scoops Annie up in his arms and swings her around, his face buried in her shoulder. He might even be crying. Annie’s expression doesn’t change, but you can tell by the way she clings to his neck that she missed him just as much.
However, you notice she didn’t arrive alone when an unfamiliar blonde emerges from the passenger’s seat.
“Armin!” Eren rushes up to hug him, only a little less affectionately than Bert and Annie. Mikasa stops short beside you, but calls his name and waves.
An even bigger surprise tumbles out of the back seat. The door slides open, and Sasha and Connie, two of Jean’s friends you’ve met at school, practically crawl over each other to get out. They stampede Jean, who is not at all prepared, and tackle him to the grass.
“Who set up the carpool?” you wonder aloud. You’re pretty sure most of these people have never met each other.
“I did,” says Mikasa with a shrug. “I talked to Bertholdt, we connected Armin and Annie, and I asked if they could pick up the other two on the way.”
You bump her shoulder with your own. She must have known Jean needed a pick-me-up. “That was really nice of you.”
She shrugs again. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”
While Jean gets up and brushes the dirt off his shorts, Connie and Sasha are already talking his ear off. Marco strolls up, and maybe in an attempt to belay them, Jean introduces his friends. Though the other two barely stop talking, they pull Marco into a group hug, thrilled to have another person to yap with.
“Well, isn’t this a nice little family reunion!” Hange’s voice rings out from a screeching megaphone. Some people even cover their ears, but Hange continues, unphased.
“Guests, please check in with Director Nile inside. Everybody else, get a move on to your first activity! Let’s go! Chop, chop! Woah!”
The megaphone screeches again as Levi appears, links his arm through Hange’s, and drags them across the parking lot. Hange laughs the whole way.
–
To your surprise, the woodshop is closed for the day. Instead, Miche has organized a game of sand volleyball on the old court off to the side of the football field. Though he’s one of the only people tall enough to spike over the net, Miche lets his head dangle over the back of a camp chair, dark sunglasses perched on his nose. A cloth bandage wrapped around his middle holds a large bag of ice to his lower back.
You plop down on the grass beside him. “Don’t tell me you gave your old man back a spasm hauling all that sand up here to refill the court.”
“No,” Miche scoffs. “This was a preexisting injury. Therefore, the reason I had to set all this up.”
“Oh my god, like how teachers show a movie when they’re hungover.”
Miche snorts. “Exactly like that. Kenny was pissed he had to shovel it all out, though.”
You don’t skip a beat. “So what happened?”
“Huh?”
You tap your shoe against the ground a few times, thinking. “I seem to remember your back being fine yesterday.”
“How would you know?”
“I saw you practically dangling off the back of the golf cart when Moblit peeled out after snack.”
Miche rolls his head to the side, lifting his sunglasses and narrowing his eyes at you. “What are you saying?”
You shrug, feigning complete disinterest. “Nothing! Just wondering what you were doing last night. After bedtime.”
Miche says nothing. He just stares. His face doesn’t even twitch.
So you needle a little more. Keeping your voice low, you drawl, “Or should I say, who you were doing?”
That’s when his face scrunches up at you. “She told you?”
You shake your head. “No, I told her.”
“Told her what?”
“That you’re in love with her.”
Miche sits up straight so quickly, then grimaces and grips his lower back. He falls back in his chair. “Please tell me you did not use those exact words with Hitch. She’s already way out of my league, and I hope she continues not to notice.”
“I didn’t. But you’re welcome, by the way.”
He can’t hide his smile. “Thanks.”
“Now, for the matter of my fee.”
“Fee!?”
“For my services. I want the keys to the van. We’re going to the bar in town tomorrow night since Annie and everyone are here.”
Miche sighs. “Did you ask Erwin?” he asks in a tone that sounds a lot like ‘did you ask your mother?’
“Bert did, and Erwin said we could as long as there are still going to be chaperones here. There’s Nifa, Nana, and Nile, plus some kitchen staff and probably Kenny and Levi, at the very least.”
Miche purses his lips, pretending to think deeply. “And just how do you think it’ll reflect on the camp when people notice our van parked outside Bar Maria?” Now he’s just pushing your buttons.
“Miche, you grew up like 30 minutes from here. You know nobody cares. Plus, Marcel promised that they don’t card. We’re not gonna get in trouble.”
“You can’t promise that. I bet Mikasa could start a barfight if she really wanted to.”
“Miche, please.” As long as nobody starts a fight with Eren, you’re pretty sure she can keep her hands to herself, but you don’t say that part out loud.
“Someone has to DD.”
“Annie and Bert both volunteered. Annie said she wants to stay sober enough to see if Erwin gets wasted.”
Miche pauses. “Erwin’s going with you?”
“Oh, did I not mention that part? Is someone jealous?” As a last resort, you can always rely on Miche’s overwhelming FOMO.
“Fine, I’ll get you the keys at dinner. Is Hitch going?”
You shrug. “Maybe. Guess you’ll have to wait and see.”
With that squared away, you kick off your shoes and head to the sand pit to play a few sets with your campers. Over your shoulder, you tell Miche, “You’re welcome to come too if you can walk straight by then, grandpa.”
“I’m not old, I am twenty-nine!”
—
Marco and Jean agree to chaperone a hike with Hange during free time, but you opt to stay behind and catch up on all the reading you haven’t been doing so far this summer. Sprawled out on a blanket, you choose a sunny spot high on the hill, overlooking the lake, and make some decent progress on your paperback to the sounds of children running and screaming. Somehow, it’s paradise.
You’re sufficiently sticky and sweaty by the time you start to pack up, and your water bottle is empty, so you swing by the mess hall first to refill your bottle with the good water. The showerhouse water is fine to shower in, but it tastes like old pennies.
At the water fountain, you find Connie, Sasha, and a large rubber tote full of water balloons. So many questions, but you ask if you can take a turn filling your cup.
“These are for later,” Sasha is practically bursting to tell you while you wait.
“I see,” you agree conspiratorially. “And just who is going to be the target of this prank?”
Both of them break into cheshire cat grins. “Meet us at the top of the hill after dinner if you don’t want it to be you,” Connie grins.
“Jean told you about the tradition, I imagine?” You screw the lid back onto your water bottle.
“Indeed, and we were kind enough to volunteer to get everything ready, so he better be grateful,” says Sasha.
“This baby can fit so much water in it,” Connie remarks. He slaps a balloon on the top of the pile and it breaks, flooding the inside of the tote.
“Stop! We need as many as we can get!” Sasha scolds.
You promise to help them lead the strike later, then head out to drop your stuff at the cabin and clean up a little in the sink since you don’t feel like taking a full shower. (Ymir calls it a “whore bath,” Hitch calls it “pits and tits.”)
With ten minutes left before dinner, Marco stops you outside the lodge. He reaches for your hand clumsily. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. Wanna head to dinner?” You give his palm a squeeze. He twitches at the pressure.
“Um.” His eyes dart around the room, checking the doorway behind him. “I thought, uh. Since we have a few minutes…” His voice drops to a murmur. “Do you know anywhere we could go?”
You’re about to ask if he means on a walk when Marco draws in close. He presses your clasped hands between you, and you understand. It’s a good thing he’s wearing stiff denim, because he’s rock hard.
“Marco!” You scold playfully, stepping closer to ensure nobody sees anything. You want to cup his bulge so badly, but you know you can’t. Not here, where little eyes can wander.
“I’m sorry!” He pleads. “I tried taking care of myself in the shower and it barely helped.” He drops his chin, putting his lips right up to your ear. “I need it so bad. Please.”
It’s sexy and pitiful and sends a flash of heat directly between your thighs. He’s wrecked. You’ve ruined him. Instantly, you want him just as badly.
The cabin is too risky; people will be stopping by before dinner. The chapel is too far away, and you don’t have time for the shower. You briefly consider the closed woodshop, but that feels like an Eren and Mikasa situation waiting to happen. Plus, the kids are all over the showerhouse and the mess hall, so bathrooms won’t work either.
In your most desperate moment, inspiration strikes.
“Come on, quick.”
Marco shuffles behind you around the far side of the lodge, toward the basketball courts. There, you take the staircase that leads up to the attic storage room. You pray it’s not locked. Your karma must be good because the door swings open easily, and you drag Marco inside.
You’ve been told that years ago, the storage room used to function as just another cabin, but they stopped using it after someone broke their ankle on the stairs in the dark. Now, the vaulted ceiling and its slanted skylight rise over stacks of extra bunks and mattresses, odd furniture, and boxes full of who-knows-what.
You latch the door behind you and throw your arms around Marco’s neck for a kiss. Much like that night at the edge of the woods, he envelops you in his arms, meeting your lips with need. Unlike any time before, however, he grunts in his throat, and without breaking the kiss, lifts you from under your ass, your legs hooked around his waist.
Marco carries you to an old table pushed up against the wall, sets you down, and slots himself between your legs. He reaches down, fingertips sliding under the hem of your shorts and teasing at your panty line.
“I’m sorry,” Marco pleads. “I can stop if you want me to, just say so. But oh my god. I can’t stop thinking about how bad I want you.”
You gasp. “I didn’t know you had such a filthy mouth. Who are you?”
“Fuck,” he chuckles, then steps closer, grinding himself against your pelvis. “Look what you’ve done to me. I feel crazy.”
“And to think, not a week ago, you were just an innocent little angel.”
“Good pussy will do that to you, I guess.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” you sigh.
Then Marco drops to his knees, eye level with your cunt.
“Can I?”
“Please.”
Before you really process what he’s doing, you curl your legs around Marco’s neck. He nudges the thin fabric of your shorts to the side then groans deeply as his mouth lands over your core. His tongue presses against you, wet and hot over your panties, and you see stars.
It crosses your mind that you’re probably kind of sweaty, but if Marco notices, he doesn’t seem to mind. He hooks your underwear to the side, humming through his nose before laying a sloppy kiss to your center before dragging his tongue over you again and again and again. By the time he comes up for air, he’s literally panting.
You throw your head back with a soft moan while Marco fumbles with a condom he pulls from his pocket. With his jeans hanging open and his erection pulled out over the waistband of his boxers, Marco rubs tight, fast circles over your clit with one spit-slick finger.
“I’m sorry there’s not more time to get you wetter. Is this gonna be ok? I can just try—“
A delighted hum drags from your throat. “No, no, it’ll be ok. I want you like this.”
“Fuck.”
Marco doesn’t waste another second. Thankfully, you’re pretty well soaked with spit, and despite the fact that he’s standing over you, Marco isn’t half bad at angling his hips and teasing his tip inside. He’s patient—bless his heart, he’s so patient—as you slowly spread open for him. He’s not as deep this time, but even the shallow pumps he gives you fill you nice and snug.
Marco looks down, mesmerized by the way he disappears inside you. You’re busy trying to keep your eyes from rolling out of your head.
“Not gonna last,” he warns you.
“Yeah?” you moan. “Give it to me, then.”
You wrench your eyes open, watching Marco’s adam’s apple bob and his pupils dilate as he races desperately toward his peak. He hits it hard, one side of his mouth curling up high enough to show his gums when he groans through it. The throbbing in your core tips you over the edge, everything going tight before a sharp twitch rattles your spine.
Marco braces both hands on the table, bent over you while he catches his breath. “Thank you,” he says. “Oh my god, thank you.”
Every cell of your body feels like it’s vibrating, the comedown from the quickie hitting you like a shot of adrenaline or Red Bull. “Believe me, I’m the lucky one.”
Carefully, holding the condom in place, Marco slides out. You let your legs dangle off the edge of the table, resting, while Marco manages to locate a roll of toilet paper with his dick still in one hand. It’s better than nothing, at least enough to wipe yourself dry and wrap up the condom until Marco can get to a trash can.
“I just…” Marco says, stopping by the door. “Is this real? Am I dreaming?”
Honestly, you remember the feeling, back when you first started having sex. Every time felt special, and memorable, and unreal. You can understand where his head is at, processing the thrill of knowing he can do it all again soon. It feels illegal in the best way.
So before heading out the door, you give his chin a little squeeze and steal one more kiss. “It sure is, big guy.” Marco shivers.
You’re only about five minutes late for dinner. Marco hangs back and appears a minute or two after. As much as you try not to be obvious, you don’t even make it to the table with your tray of spaghetti before the illusion shatters.
“You’re walking funny,” Hitch teases.
Your cheeks burn, but you can’t help but smile. “Shut up,” you reply, playfully shoving her arm before fetching one last cup of coffee for the day. You’re going to need the caffeine boost for what comes after dinner.
As dinnertime ends, Hange stands up on the ledge of the fireplace at the far end of the room, microphone in hand. They start explaining the rules to a game of their own concoction, some kind of mix between a science quiz and charades. You stick around for a while, just spectating. Falco does an incredible impression of a bald eagle while Gabi pretends to be a poacher, illegally hunting him for sport. Udo and Zofia pair up to create some kind of interpretive dance representing dinosaurs becoming fossil fuel beneath the earth.
What matters is Hange agreed to help kill time before the campfire and draw the campers’ attention away from the doors. As the game progresses, you and your fellow counselors quietly leave the mess hall in small groups.
Outside, the sky is fading into dusk, streaked with red and orange and on the horizon, dark blue and purple. You could just make out the dark silhouettes of those who left before you at the top of the hill. Hand in hand with Marco, you climb up to meet them.
Connie and Sasha wait at the top of the hill with two totes full of water balloons. Jean stretches out on the grass behind them. “Wake me up when it’s time,” he said, folding his arms over his eyes.
“Are we not going to strategize?” Connie asked, dumbfounded.
“As long as we spread out down the length of the field, it’s fine. They’re not gonna know it’s coming,” Jean explains as Reiner and Mikasa appear carrying more buckets of balloons.
“We’ll take the end zone,” you offer. Marco grabs a bucket, and Hitch tags along with you.
Ymir and Historia are the last to crest the hill when it’s almost too dark to see. Historia waves a flashlight over her head—the signal that Hange’s activity is ending and it’s almost time for the ambush.
“How good is your aim?” Marco asks quietly. He’s crouched down behind the bucket while you and Hitch flank him on either side.
“I’d give myself a 6 out of 10.” You scoop a balloon out of the bucket in each hand.
“Maybe you can make up for it with power and speed.”
“Actually, you can usually get a better splash if you hit the ground instead of the kid.”
“A likely story,” Marco nudges you.
“You two are so cute it’s disgusting, now SHUSH,” whispers Hitch. You and Marco exchange a cheesy smile. You can’t see it, but you can feel his blush in your very bones.
You hear the campers leaving the mess hall before you can see them. Any veteran camper knows this night is coming, but they have no idea when. A few of them must suspect, however, as they start their climb at the far side of the hill, at the other end zone where Reiner, Bert, Ymir, and Historia are locked and loaded. The rest think they’re hiking up to the same old smores roast as always. Those sweet, summer children.
Someone in one of the middle groups takes the first shot, so to speak. Your money is on Sasha because the aim is dead on, and you know she’s been trained in target archery and trapshooting since childhood. The balloon explodes directly in front of the closest group of campers, who squeal and scream when they get splashed by the impact.
Then all hell breaks loose.
The “vets” start giggling and running, knowing they have to make it to the top before all the balloons are gone if they want to pay any of you back for the prank. The stragglers start to catch on as water balloons come flying at them from multiple angles. Is a water balloon fight on a steep incline at sunset the safest activity? No, not at all. But it's been a camp tradition since the late 80s, and Hange—a former camper in their own right—refuses to let the legacy die. “What’s the use of having a nurse on staff if you don’t let things run a little wild once in a while?” you’ve heard them say on multiple occasions.
Kids laugh and scream and run every which way, some thinking they can avoid getting wet but most making themselves willing targets. Meanwhile, you do your best to launch balloons far and accurately enough to appease them.
As the fastest campers start to reach the top of the hill, the tide begins to turn. Gabi is far and ahead the first to get her hand in a bucket and grab a balloon, and despite the fact that she’s not a counselor, nails Sasha square in the stomach. Connie squeezes a balloon over Gabi’s head in retaliation, and she just giggles harder.
SNAP!
A balloon hits you between the shoulder blades; the kids never think to aim for the ground. You screech, surprised, and spin around to find Zofia waiting behind you on the football field. Clearly, she hunted you down specifically to drench, which is one of the highest honors your campers can bestow. They always attack their favorites first. So you lob a balloon back her way, making her jump when it splashes at her ankles. Before you know it, her little hand is digging in your bucket for more ammo.
It’s chaos. It’s beautiful. Bertholdt is once again being mobbed, slowly slumping to the ground under the weight of children hanging off his limbs and Falco on his back while Gabi orders them all around.
You step away from the bucket, content to let the kids have the rest of the fun until the balloons run out. You’re just distracted enough by the absolute circus around you not to notice that Marco has disappeared. When you do notice, it’s too late; he’s already squeezing two balloons over your head, soaking your hair while he does his best evil cackle. Unintentionally, you laugh just as maniacally because you have one more balloon in-hand, and you know just what to do with it.
You lean in to Marco, lifting up on your tiptoes to get your face as close to his as possible. You give him your flirtiest look, let him feel your breath through parted lips against his own mouth. And then you strike, slamming the balloon in your dominant hand against his shoulder. You take some of the spray to the face, but it’s worth it to hear Marco laughing, to watch the water drip off his nose while his bangs are stuck, flattened, to his forehead.
You don’t think you could ever get tired of seeing him smile.
—
The town of Marley has a post office, a bar, and a single stoplight. Halfway between camp and the Walmart, it’s one of those sleepy little places where nothing much happens but everybody knows everybody.
Your three car caravan passes under the green light and park all in a row outside the bar. The Galliards are waiting outside, Pock leaning against a vintage Coke machine and Marcel looking at his phone, nonetheless ready to lead your oversized group inside.
The door creaks open, and even though you’ve never been to this dive before, you feel like you recognize it. It’s an amalgamation of every small town watering hole you’ve seen: vinyl wood grain paneling tacked with beer signs and sports posters, sticky linoleum floor, a pool table flanked by lit-up arcade cabinets and gambling machines, and a light film of smoke that makes everything look just a little blurred around the edges.
A few older guys are already parked at the bar, but only one or two of the tables are occupied.
The bartender looks up and you file in the door, eyebrow raised. He looks tough, weathered for his age, but tan and with close cropped hair. He wears dog tags around his neck.
Marcel takes the lead. “Hey Theo, we brought some friends!”
Theo shrugs, his voice gruff when he says, “As long as they’re drinking.”
He knows the Galliards are underage, clearly. And he’d rather serve you and make more tips than deal with a bunch of kids who are just here to order shirley temples and loiter. That’s just fine by you.
Connie and Sasha head directly to the TouchTunes and start scrolling for songs. Eren claims the rounded corner booth and Mikasa, Armin, Bert, and Annie fill it in. Erwin claims a pool table and Levi follows, perching himself at a high top against the nearest wall. Miche and Hitch are already nowhere to be seen (only god knows). Everyone else heads for the bar.
You have to go to the restroom first thing, but you tell Marco what he can order for you at the bar. You find Ymir double fisting vodka crans when you return.
The Galliards turn away from the bar with matching draft beers, and Ymir wrinkles her nose. “Twins freak me out.”
“They’re not twins. They’re just brothers.”
She squints at them. “Close enough.” Then she moves to intercept them.
You can’t tell what she says to them, but she nods her head toward the booths that line the far wall, where most of your friends are sitting. Porco rolls his eyes and pushes past her, while Marcel raises a quizzical brow before following after him.
The brothers slide into a booth with Reiner and Jean. Marcel takes the outside seat next to Jean, grinning as he taps his heavy pint glass against Jean’s rum and Coke. Marcel is so obviously flirting when he stretches his arm across the booth behind Jean’s back, who is blushing bright red.
“Really?” you ask Ymir.
She elbows you toward a booth where Historia is sitting. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Doesn’t Cupid ever take a night off?”
Historia follows your gaze, then breaks into a smile. “Aww babe, it’s nice of you to help Jean out.”
Marcel subtly brushes Jean’s shoulder with his fingertips, and while it could just be the alcohol talking, the gesture is sweet.
Ymir scowls. “It’s not a favor. It’s a punishment. For both of them. They deserve each other.”
“You really are cruel, sometimes,” you laugh.
“Who is Ymir torturing now?” Marco asks, finally dropping in beside you with your drinks.
Before you can answer, Connie and Sasha appear.
“We want to know your intentions,” Sasha demands, putting both her hands on the end of the table.
“Are you gonna marry our little boy?” asks Connie over her shoulder.
“You met Marco yesterday,” you remind them. Marco laughs nervously, sinking down into his seat.
“And I would kill everyone in this room and then myself if anything happened to him,” Connie vows.
“Even me?” Sasha pouts.
“You don’t count as everyone. You’re the one that’s left behind to care for him.”
“Yippie! Ok, I’m ordering potato skins.”
Connie invites himself to sit down. “Are you two related, by the way?” He gestures between Ymir and Marco. You get the feeling he might have forgotten her name.
“No,” Marco replies.
“Yes,” Ymir says.
Connie chooses to hear Ymir. “Thought so. You have the same face,” he says, crossing his arms proudly.
Marco opens his mouth, but Ymir reaches in front of you to swat him. “He was my dad’s secret lovechild. He’s shy about it.” She says it so smoothly, even you wouldn’t know it was a bold-faced lie.
You glance at Historia, who fondly rolls her eyes. “Let her have this,” she mouths to you. Marco shrugs. He knows better than to ruin her fun. Plus, Connie is a harmless victim.
So you let Ymir spin a tale about her father who “disappeared for years at a time” but actually went to prison for murder and some DNA test results that led her to find out she had a secret brother all along. Sasha returns with only half a basket of potato skins and snaps at Connie when he absently tries to take one while listening to Ymir’s story with amazement.
After your first round of drinks is gone, Marco leans down, his voice low in your ear. “You wanna go for a walk?”
You turn your head to peck his cheek. “Is that a proposition?”
Marco laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Not like that. There’s something I want to talk to you about though, if that’s ok.”
“Hate to interrupt, but we’ll be back,” you announce.
Ymir whistles. “I hope the bathroom stalls are clean enough to get dirty in.”
Historia takes her by the cheeks, pinching them together in one hand so her lips go pouty before stealing a kiss. “Leave the lovebirds alone and pay attention to me,” she teases.
“But how can I when Hitch is literally in Miche’s lap over by the pool table!”
“Who?” asks Sasha.
“Where?” asks Connie.
You glance over to confirm that Ymir is correct, and not only do you catch Hitch dragging a finger down Miche’s chest, but Erwin is also leaning over Levi, arms engulfing him, showing him how to shoot pool while Hange and Moblit rerack the pool balls. You wonder if maybe their lives and love triangles are as messy as the rest of yours sometimes, and it brings you a strange comfort.
Marco holds the door for you, his other hand falling to your lower back as you step outside. It’s quiet but alive outside: the evening crickets are chirping and the streetlights crackle slightly above you as you walk down the deserted sidewalk.
“So,” you prompt. You have no real reason to suspect that Marco is about to break your heart or something dramatic like that, but it’s not impossible. Your stomach flips, considering that he may have asked for privacy in order to let you down easy. And if that’s not it, then you have just as much to be anxious about. You want to get it out there.
“So,” Marco echoes. “First of all, to be absolutely crystal clear, in case I haven’t said it in the right words yet, I really like you. In a romantic way.”
You exhale. “Thank goodness. Because I feel the same about you. You know, romantically.”
Marco hums appreciatively. “Ok, good. And second of all, if I’m about to ruin a good thing or put too much pressure on it, please be honest with me. I won’t be upset.”
You want to stop in your tracks, spin and hug Marco, crush your cheek to his chest and tell him he’s not ruining anything, but you don’t. You want to give him the space to say what he needs to say. “I’ll be honest. I promise.”
After a pause, Marco starts again. “So.” He reaches for your hand. He’s nervous, and you can’t help but find it cute.
“I just wanted to say that I hope this thing between us isn’t just for the summer. I’ll understand if that’s what you want, and I’m not asking to be your boyfriend or anything right away. But I realized that I’m not sure where you’re at, so I wanted to tell you what it’s like for me.”
He clears his throat. “And it’s not just about the sex. Though that has been a definite plus,” he chuckles a little. “You’ve been so patient with me. I would like to keep getting to know you better. Even when we go back to classes in the fall. And frankly, I would like to keep having sex with you in any position you’ll have me.”
You can tell Marco is trying to hide the smirk on his face, that he knows this is serious and he means it, even if discussing your blossoming sex life in no uncertain terms is a little funny. And it’s possible you’ve never admired him more.
“Marco,” you confess, “I would take you to meet my mother right this literal second if it were possible.”
Marco laughs. “Now that’s high praise.”
You swing your hip against his. “But yes. I would like to continue to date you. Indefinitely.”
“Indefinitely,” he repeats warmly. “Ok, I’m good with that.”
He pulls you gently to a stop at the street corner. Marco wraps you in his arms, and you nuzzle into his worn red hoodie, the one you’ve borrowed and would like to continue to steal every time you get the chance. He presses his lips affectionately to your hair, then your forehead, then your mouth.
If he’s not your boyfriend, he’s more than halfway there. You don’t want to rush this either.
Instead, you want to be right here in this moment, on the cracked sidewalk of a nowhere town in the mountains, and in indefinite unknown moments ahead, safe and happy in his embrace.
imagine college baseball star marco n his choir girl gf :(
Summertime - M. Bodt
BaseballProdigy!Marco who never missed a single one of your choir concerts, even if it meant he was late to practice. Yes, he may have gotten in trouble every time, but it was worth it if it meant he could be in the crowd supporting you.
BaseballProdigy!Marco who always cheered the loudest after a song you had a solo on– clapping at such an extreme level it was almost embarrassing. He would never turn down an opportunity to be your biggest fan.
BaseballProdigy!Marco who would sing around your dorm with you, dancing in the kitchen in such a domestic manner, someone looking in might think you were married. If you ever asked him about it he’d just shrug it off, arguing that you enjoyed singing– and he enjoyed listening to you.
BaseballProdigy!Marco who gave you his jersey and the best seats in the stadium. You loved being able to see him play, especially the smile on his face when he caught your eye. He always claimed you were his lucky charm, and that he played a hundred times better when he knew you were watching him.
BaseballProdigy!Marco who ran to the stands at the end of every game, hugging you over the fence as you kissed him.
BaseballProdigy!Marco who shone at any chance to show you off, you were his life, and he seriously couldn’t imagine himself without you. He felt as if he owed his career to you, you were the one who pushed him to stand out to scouters.
BaseballProdigy!Marco, who was offered a contract with Jinae’s baseball team as soon as he finished college. Instead of immediately accepting he came to you– proposing you both move back to his hometown, helping you find a choir and looking for your dream apartment. After all, he’d never make a life changing decision without talking to you about it.
BaseballProdigy!Marco who came home after every gruelling practice with his new team and crawled straight into bed with you. He’d press his nose into your chest and allow you to pet his hair soothingly until it eventually lulled him to sleep.
BaseballProdigy!Marco who lost his game and was devastated. He was sweaty and frustrated and damn, you barely made it home before he was kissing you, pulling his shirt over his head and running his hands over your hips.
BaseballProdigy!Marco who woke up the next morning absolutely destroyed, back stinging from your nails and his whole body aching. Though it was worth it to see your blissed out face, body curled against him as you slept peacefully. He snorted to himself, stroking his hand over the side of your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
Diary entry: the song and art was hard to pick for this... anyway i decided marco was mcr coded (emo marco nation rise up)
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Watching Kuplinov is twice as fun when you literally imagine every single one of his random ideas and quotes
This was supposed to start as a harmless joke and some quick sketches, but as always, I got completely carried away yeahh...
Anyway, any spy would envy such a disguise hahah
+ according to tradition- a version with a different color treatment
Btw, below is the original design from the developers, which they somehow forgot to add to the final version of the game
