Being perverted strikes naturally within Gojo, so when the idea of being a step brother comes to mind during sex he can’t help but act upon the roleplay. You think he’s gross for it, but his questionable passion for it keeps you engaged (oddly enough).
☆word count: 6.3k+
★tags/tw(18+): dark content + stepc*st roleplay + foot f*tish + toe sucking (f!recieving) + dubcon (because reader is unsure at first) + reader is college-aged/gojo is 28 + squirting + age gap + vanilla sex + pubic hairs + scent kink + implied ass eating + hesitancy + reader is afab using she/her pronouns + mentioned latex kink + use of 'satoru-nii' + established relationship + gojo is a lil' mean + and sassy + lots of kissing + nipple play + creampie + getting caught having s*x + exploring kinks + praise kink + pet names + skull fucking + gag reflex + snot + we're talkin' 'big beefy whore with black compression shirt' gojo here + reader is a bit inexperienced + questions of certain kinks.
☆a/n: hey alexa, play 'poundtown by sexyy red' ayyye come suck a bitch's toooes. enjoy y'all, this shit nasty af.
You’re not a kink shamer.
You understand the sexual thrills of getting off to something that turns one on to the point of fulfilled ecstasy–weighted breaths and skin coated with a sheen of sweat from the unorthodox fantasies that provoke the human mind and manipulate the human body, keeping them bound to the shackles of pleasure as their perversion engulfs them whole. It feels beautiful–ethereal, dare you say, and you get that. Who wouldn’t want to feel blissfully satisfied just by mere thought alone?
Now, exclusive of the deranged fetishes involving children, scat, or whatever fucked up shit out there that's befitting for a lowlife, you would say that you're a pretty open-minded individual. Always tolerating the naughty anecdotes told by your friends’ concerning their past hookups, distinctively remembering the giggles you all shared when reciting one of the stories from a particular friend that had them clad in a latex suit, lips decorated with ruby red, and three-inched heels coming into contact with the cheek of their previous partner as they squirmed in shameless arousal.
‘It was pathetic to see, but I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t get me going…’ And that mutuality between both parties is what makes it even more fun. They both get a kick out of something they enjoyed, so what’s to hate about it?
You’re not a kink shamer–not at all.
You and your boyfriend of a year and four months, Satoru Gojo, always carried the qualities of a couple depicted in unrealistic romance movies: the nuzzle of the nose that tickled your cheek before delving in for a peck, the surprise hugs he’d startle you with as you prepared an early morning breakfast, as well as the intertwined fingers while you both make your way to his favorite bakery (his kisses are even more sugared after scarfing down the kikufuku he’d order no more than a minute ago).
You always felt like the princess to his prince, stumbling over your gown to keep up with his hurried footsteps as you both venture through the gracious evergreen of a mythical forest. You have no time to remove the pastel violet and pink petals slotting themselves in your locks since your hand remains occupied with Satoru’s, moving exquisitely to the melodic song of the nightingales. It was a dream from a childhood storybook.
Moreover, what was revealed in public was, undoubtedly, the same in the comfort of your bedroom, living at your university’s on-campus apartment that you shared with two indifferent roommates. He would frequently stop by after work to spoil you with his affection. Always asking how your day was and whether or not you finished your assignments.
He was a tad bit older than you–twenty-eight and going, but you didn’t mind the age gap, it gives you all the more reason to tease him for his ‘old’ age, to which he responds with a pout and furrowed eyebrows, ‘Oh, how mean! Who would’ve ever thought that my darling angel could be such a devil…?!’ He’d say with faux anguish. He knows you’re only playing around–such the jokester.
Though, he couldn’t say the same for you in bed. Protected by the warmth of your sheets, you relished at how accustomed your body and soul were to his heartfelt transactions, vanilla-flavored sex, so sweet and tasteful on your tongue as he kissed you with want. Tongues twirling a sensual dance as your lips combine in rhythmic harmony. You also loved it when he coos in your ear, reminding you of how you’re so good to him before wrapping his lips around puffy areolas in a way that makes you writhe.
He’s so gentle with you. Handling a fine china cabinet with the utmost care, he makes sure he touches you in ways that wouldn’t break your fragile body. And when your nude skin presses against his as a result of his thrusts to your core, he reminds himself to get you moaning in his ear and get your hands gripping against the muscular curvature of his back.
It feels good. It always feels good. So, why does a part of you feel…bored?
The love is there, you won’t question that. When you come, you feel as though you’re one with the stars. And above all, he praises you. It’s nothing new, but in this context, you like to be his ‘pretty girl’ whenever the tip of his nose pushes against your wet clit. So, why do you feel like something is missing? You don’t know.
You haven’t been in many relationships. The last one you remember was in high school, dating a boy who only loved you out of teenage fever, and you shamefully admit that you reciprocated his confession. You were both young and unknowing of what the aspects of ‘love’ really meant. You never went past the boundary of hand-holding and cheek-kissing, so it remained stagnant until the moment you both broke up.
None of it was mutual, however. You can recall how distraught you were as you bawled in your mother’s arms, asking her what you did wrong while she soothed you with maternal pets to the crown of your head. That being said, it’s safe to say that you really don’t know what’s missing from you and your boyfriend’s intercourse–like, really.
But, thankfully, Satoru makes up for what you lack, telling you not to fret since he knows a lot and letting you know how much he’s been wanting to get to this point of intimacy with you–wanting to whisk his girlfriend away from the comfort zone that you’ve grown so attached to.
Satoru is without exception, enthusiastic to portray more during times of intercourse, yearning to teach you more than just the fluffy, domestic sex you both indulge in. It’s lovely and all, bleh bleh, whatever, Satoru gets it, but, man, what he wouldn’t do to see you on your knees, between his sinewy thighs parted for your form as he hovers above you, your head tilted upwards to take in his thick shaft through wet lips.
He’d make sure his red, throbbing tip hits the back of your throat so he can hear that sickening gag scurry out your mouth paired with the sloppy froth of your saliva slapping against his heavy balls with each quick thrust. He’d be too occupied to find the snot dribbling from your nose revolting because you’d be taking him in so deep.
That’s forever been his little fantasy–that amongst the vast amount of others. And to try each and every one of them with you would be a delight.
After you confessed to Satoru, you couldn’t help but notice how peculiar his ministrations started to get. It was gradual–starting with spanks on your ass to eating said ass. You’ll even bring up the time he used your feet to get off. It caught you off guard, you’d admit.
That day he had you pliable–on your knees with the left apple of your cheek flushed in the pillow beneath you and arms resting idly on your sides as you allowed your enthralled boyfriend to take the lead.
You assumed he was just gonna spit on your already-soaked pussy before massaging your puffy clit in the teasing, clockwise motions he likes to test you with, cock oozing with leakage before languidly gliding upwards to push in-between your cunt lips, but what you didn’t assume he’d do was trace his slimy precum against the soft skin of your toes to then rub his tip across your soles.
You tried to retract your feet away from him (toes wiggling in the process which had them accidentally graze across his balls. You could’ve sworn you heard him hiss) and protest his weird behavior but Satoru was already three steps ahead, firmly gripping both feet and nearly squishing them together if it wasn’t for the thick base of his cock preventing them from touching.
Each thrust he made ached with raw fervor and fuck him from being incapable of suppressing his passion because he couldn’t help but look down and see your cute pussy pucker and asshole twitch. What a sight for sore, cerulean eyes. Just as sore as your ass after he slapped it with an ever-so-firm hand, silently thanking his calluses for the rough impact.
He found it adorable how your shimmering entrance craved for insertion, winking rhythmically at him as though it’s saying, ‘Please fill me up, ‘toru! ‘M so lonely without you…’ (he chuckles to himself at the personification when done in a high-pitched tone).
But your pussy always gets his attention. You have another hole too, ya’ know–one that sits right above it, unused and virginal. Just imagine his excitement as he leans forward, cock still buried at the innermost part of your feet, to take a closer look. He’d smile at your coyness when you felt his hot breath blow on your skin, unsure of his next move.
In this new position, he can trace the faint smell of sweat emerging from you, and God, does that turn him on. More than it already does. So of course he had to steal a taste, trailing a fat strip of saliva against the rim, you squeal at the warm and wet feel of his tongue touching a place it had never been before,
“S-Satoru…what the fuck!” You jolted before moving from your position, migrating to any spot as long as it's far from your lover. You’ll never forget the sleazy look on Satoru’s face as both corners of his rosy lips tilt upwards for a cocky grin–yuck.
It grossed you the fuck out.
Not in a way that antagonizes your boyfriend, you love him too dearly to feel as such, but in a way that questions his morals. Why on earth would someone like Satoru want to be minimized to using the bottom of your soles for pleasure or savor the briny taste of sweat that builds up around the tight ring of your ass? I-I mean, you excrete from there, for God’s sake! That’s gross, especially in a place where the sun doesn’t shine.
You understand that he likes doing it, but why? How could something so perverse and dirty get him hard so quickly? Where’s his shame? His humiliation? His guilt? Were they not present whenever he sneaks a lick at your toes?
Perhaps you are trying to understand–who wouldn’t want to indulge in their lover’s feet, to caress the tough surface of their heels, and lead up their toes, to draw soft lines against them with plush lips as their medium before dipping them inside the wet cavern of their mouth and sucking the small digits before swirling their tongue and–ugh!–no! No, no, no, that’s sick! How can one do such a thing with ease? You can’t possibly imagine that.
But you’re not a kink shamer…right?
Your question remains unanswered, though, as you’re interrupted by Satoru’s moistened kisses trailing down the curve of your neck. You must’ve been in your daze for quite some time considering that the camisole top and loose shorts you lounge in took their positions on your bedroom floor.
“Come back to me, baby.” You hear your boyfriend murmur and you deliberately oblige by running your digits through the white sea of his mane, wild and free as your fingers feather against his roots. He hums with love before leaving a kiss that's sloppier than the previous one. It starts with your usual routine, with soft and tenderhearted sex.
He pecks at your clavicle and you whimper in return as silvery lashes tickle the most sensitive areas of your skin. The passionate atmosphere continues to flow within the four walls of your room–containing your moans and your kisses and your touches, reverberating them in your heated figures while filling you both with distinct pleasure. It was good so far.
“Have any ideas in mind for tonight, sweetheart?” His voice is muffled as he joyfully sucks at the skin between the valley of your breasts, teeth clasping over the hot flesh to induce a mark darker than what your skin tone provides. You hold onto the fabric of his black shirt, soundlessly wondering why he is still garbed in unbreathable polyester while you remain bare save from your panties.
Lolling your head to the side in thought, you dwell on his question. Should you have something in mind? This isn’t the same as getting asked where to eat for dinner, per se. And owning to your inexperience with sex and fetishes, you’re incapable of bringing anything to the table in this sense.
You open your jaw, mouth filled with saliva due to the raunchy actions performed by your boyfriend onto your supple body, ready to speak your retort as you lick your chapped lips in preparation, but, Satoru knows you better than you know yourself.
“Yeah, I know you don’t,” It’s like he was born to study you. Your eyes travel to his person again, orbs resting upon Satoru’s scalp as you wait for him to finish. “Nothing in that gorgeous head of yours. It’s okay, though. I don’t blame you. I know an amateur like you wouldn’t have anything planned.”
As might be expected, your brow raises at his comments slightly glazed with a patronizing drip, it’s gotten your attention, all right, as you turn your head to glare down at him. He’s sucking on your nipples this time and you forge a jerk but don’t falter, perked up by this newfound attitude from your loving partner.
“Oh?” You start and it carries the same uppity weight as his tone. “And I suppose you have it all figured out?”
He nods right after gazing up at you with arctic globes saturated with a heavy rush of sincerity and you can already feel the dreamy sigh materializing in your throat but never emerging. Satoru immediately sniffed out the indignance behind your words like a trained bloodhound. He rises from his spot upon your heaving chest to travel his way to the swoll of your chin, apologizing with a quaint kiss.
“I do,” His smile is affectionate. “You know I always do, sunshine.” You gasp once something hard nudges against your squishy thighs before poking the outermost part of your panties.
“-Always think of something for that little cunt.” It isn’t long before it's cast to the side for clear access to your glimmering slit, doused in slick because your boyfriend had a remarkable way of handling you. He didn’t miss the embarrassed mewl of his name when he used filthy words.
He also didn’t miss the pull of air you took in as his thick finger swept up your bodily remnants, coating the fingertips of his middle and ring finger. You voluntarily buck your feeble hips in desire for him to push through your entrance but you know he wasn’t going to give it to you that easily. “You know, it gets me going when we do stuff like this when others aren’t around–when we do something so forbidden.”
What–?
“Forbidden…?” Each syllable muddles your tongue as you ponder on its meaning: something that typically isn’t allowed or accepted–you’re not unaware, it’s a simple word, but is that the word he meant to say? “Why would it be forbidden? You’re my boyfriend, are you not?” Unless there’s something you’re unknowing of.
Perhaps he has a wife that he kept hidden in the shadows of his past. What if one wife turned into several wives? Maybe he’s a bloodthirsty murderer, ready to indulge in his next killing after getting you to trust his charming blue eyes and pink-liped smile. You don’t exactly know what the forbidden aspect of it all that he’s keeping from telling you-
You hear him ‘tsk’ and you assume it was meant to be taken seriously but it seems covered in mockery.
“Hah, Boyfriend? Have you no shame?” And he chuckles deep and grimy. “Don’t act like don’t know, dear.” You honestly don’t. “What would our parents think if they saw you, my sweet, little sister, grinding her greedy pussy against her older brother’s fingers?”
Oh.
Oh God.
Gritting your teeth for an evident cringe, you hurriedly toss your head to the side to break eye contact (how did he even manage to hold it for that long despite what he just said?!). There’s no way he’s doing this. Out of all kinks…
“For the love- Satoru. Stop, that’s fucking-” A sharp whine halts your sentence, stressed to the point of exaggeration. You don’t bother looking back up at him, already imagining his brows creasing with complaint at your disgusted remark.
“Ehh, what happened to ‘Satoru-nii’?” You almost would’ve forgotten the fingers sketching light circles on your sensitive button, going in for a pinch before tapping it aimlessly due to its slippery surface.
You clench your thighs together but Satoru’s heaping form prevents you from doing so. He’s a big mass of muscle reminiscent of a bull–broad shoulders along with thickened veins peeking through tough skin in the forms of streams, carrying the pulsing blood flow of adrenaline and transporting through each significant section of the body to energize his raging carnality.
“Are my fingers dwindling your vocabulary already? I just started using this pussy, sugar plum.”
A part of you wanted to believe he was joking–trolling like he usually does on literally every occasion. He knows how acquiescent you were in situations like these. So easily obedient to follow his golden rule when clinging to his hip, taking full advantage of your attributes to get you to do the perverted shit that spoiled his brain to corruption.
Of course, there’d be times when you’d retaliate, shouting out a brief ‘no’ before leaving the conversation unfinished, but it’s okay because he can butter you up to your good side. Use his words and his hands to do the convincing. Satoru has attributes of his own too.
But gazing into his eyes and seeing how aquatic blue dissolves into crimson red, only driven by lust, tells you he’s serious.
You look off to the side once more because staring at your nightstand is more soothing than staring at your deviant boyfriend. Out of all kinks, why this one?
“I don’t,” You close your eyes in an attempt to rid yourself free from his piercing glare. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You weren’t about to do this. You weren’t about to play into his wicked fantasies of being a relative of any sort. That doesn’t sound appealing at all.
“Don’t be like that, babe.” He mutters softly as if other people were in the room, prying with open ears to catch whatever dialogue is being transmitted between the two of you. A fingertip taunts at your sloppy entrance, just barely shoving past its tight grip. Sexual anticipation surged through your core at his ministration (his giggles at your hopelessness didn’t help you any). “You won’t know unless you try. Come on, do it for me?”
He’s too cute to refuse when your peripherals pick up his bottom lip raising upwards for a pout and feather-like lashes fluttering over glossy, blue orbs. Practically, begging you to follow through with this look alone–if only he wasn’t so handsome and used his charm against you in every way possible. God damn it-
“You’re sick, you know that?”
“Then you’re my antidote.”
You exhale in defeat since you unfortunately realize there’s no way out of this. Satoru’s too adamant to get you to play along with him, it’s insane. Turning your head to fully face him, which feels like the one-millionth time you’ve done so, you look him in the eye before aiming at the button of his nose, upturned and perky. Mentally getting ready to produce the God-forsaken words you are about to utter.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” You start and the way Satoru’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas irks you.
You still feel mortification swirl in your skull like second nature. Your cheeks feel hot and it hurts–were you really about to do this?
Satoru was still teasing you to no end. Teasing that doubtlessly wet pussy with expertise. He was killing you by not giving you what you craved, only remaining on the surface as he waited for your verdict. Just one more push, one more shove and you’ll get there.
“And why is that?” He inquires.
Your bottom lip quivers with hesitation before an erotic groan escapes you. He’s so close to putting them inside. “Because you’re-” You pause to wait for a sliver of courage to finish your sentence. You’re not sure if you can-
“...I’m?” He continues.
You both catch on to the shaky breaths you’re letting out, two separate bodies feeling two separate emotions, one agitated and the other electrified.
“You’re my,” You tense but Satoru loosens. “-my b-brother.” He’s the Cheshire cat as of now. You wail once two fingers invade your thirsty hole, entering with a mushy squelch.
“And what is it that we’re doing, huh? What is it that we’re doing that would be so revolting to the public eye, hm? Tell me.” Can he stop pushing you already, for crying out loud?
“You fingering my, my,”
“You got it, keep going.”
“...fingering my p-pussy.”
Satoru cherishes your hesitance and rewards you, his obedient puppy.
Digits curl upwards in search of that sensitive g-spot resting amongst your gushy insides. If applied enough pleasure, he’d be able to see how your back arches off your cotton sheets. Your mouth opens for a silent scream as the force of his fingers supports the buildup of liquid passion, pounding the area in addition to his palm rubbing your stiff clit the deeper he goes.
“There you go, my sweet girl, my gorgeous, little sister.” He fingers you harder and sucks at your erect nipples–when did they get so hard? As a matter of fact, when did your body feel so hot and needy? As though you’re deprived of something.
Your boyfriend sucks at your tit before biting the small nub, grazing his teeth along sensitive skin for a chomp, causing your hands to fly to his head and grip the fur of his undercut, all while wincing in pain. He retracts his head with your nipple still in his mouth, giving it a stern tug like an elastic rubber band. You would have cursed him out if it wasn’t for the fingers still beating at your nether regions.
“Ah, S-Satoru!” He bites harder and you remember his request from earlier. “Satoru-nii.”
As if you hear a winner's buzzer, he hums in approval and releases before gorging his lips around the other one, gently guzzling it this time, skillfully whirling his wet appendage around the nub in combination with hungry sucks. He unloosens with an obnoxious, wet pop!
“M’so glad your mom married my dad. If it wasn’t for that, I wouldn’t be able to take care of my little sister’s pussy like how I’m doing now. Wouldn’t that be so sad?!” He inquires gleefully. “I’d be so miserable–jerking myself off to meaningless porn when I could be stuffing my big dick deep inside your aching cunt. Hearing you moan out how much you love your older brother for making you squirt your sticky juices all over me. You even got your hairs trimmed in the way you know I love.”
The sound of fabric grinding against fabric fills your ears as he maneuvers his head to reach down to your pelvis, stuffing his nose on top of the shortened pubes, his mouth hangs dangerously over your clitoris.
He takes in a deep breath like he’s smelling the fresh air of healthy trees and freshly cut grass, basking in your heady scent while feeling his cock go rigid in the plush of your mattress.
Too aroused to feel embarrassed, you buck your hips so you can finally get his mouth on your itching button and he finally compels, switching between sucking in your clitoral hood and tonguing your labia. Satoru moves his fingers faster in hopes of provoking your climax. He knows your proximity by noting the way your thighs tremble and toes spread across your sheets.
You finally get to the stage you’ve been craving since the beginning of this session. Releasing your fluids onto your awaiting boyfriend, the grip at the nape of his neck more powerful than before, you squeal a brief ‘Satoru-nii!’ as he proceeds to lap at your overstimulated pussy. He’s now sparkling with your juices. Satoru sits up on his knees after wrapping his buff arm around the width of your shoulders to hoist you up and get you closer to his thighs, your figure remains seated as you process what he wants you to do–he wants you to suck him off.
So you lean your sweat-stained face over his clothed member and unwrap it like a Christmas present you’d save for last because it's so big. His cock springs up rudely and smacks at his now naked abdomen (when did he take off his shirt?) with a loud clap. His abs are so detailed and his pecks puff out in pride while he looks down on you, like his little servant.
He controls the length of his cock with a stern hand and traces ivory white lipstick over the plump of your mouth, a hazy web of precum connecting to your upper lip.
“Wrap those beautiful lips over my cock, darling angel. You know it makes me happy to see you stuffed full with my dick, no matter the hole.” He cheeses when he hears a quick scoff come out of you.
You listen anyhow, swallowing the tip of your big brother’s rod, hallowing your cheeks like a skeleton to circling your tongue around its rosy circumference. You feel your remaining cum dribble onto your bed when you hear him make a guttural moan from above. Clenching his ass cheeks as fingers place themselves on top of your head like an armrest, laying idly as of now.
“Oh shit, baby, yeah, just like that. Keep sucking me off juuust like that.” He bucks his hips impatiently once you decide to devour him up to the mid-base, continuing the actions of sucking in your cheeks to tighten around his cock. “Fuck!” He mewls before chuckling humorlessly.
He stares down and you look up. Your eyelids roll back til they’re just below your brow ridge to catch sight of azure undertones. You were just about to wonder why he was tittering until pressure made its way to both sides of your head. When his pearly white smirk twinkled under dim lighting, that's when you knew-
“Hmphh,” The noise was pitiful when subdued by the heavy weight of Satoru’s cock.
“Hold still, pretty girl.” He coos before pushing his hips back and applying the same manner to your head as he controlled you effortlessly and then thrusting forward and forcing your head to do the same. His balls slap on impact with your chin when he buries himself deep into the hot cavern of your throat, you have your nostrils planted on the silvery wisps of his pubes, reeking of potent masculinity. He leaves you in that position, powerless as he ignores the smacks to his meaty thighs.
“Hold it,” He warns. His voice is pitched below the Earth’s surface. “Gotta teach you how to please big bro properly.” You fight hard as his tip keeps irritating the thing that hangs at the back of your throat, trying to oppose your body from naturally activating your gag reflex but it ends up being fruitless. Your throat convulses as it bulges with his cock print and you cough out an ugly sound. Your vision blurs once you feel your eyes start to water up. You want him to move back already!
“Good.” It’s like he heard your thoughts because he finally retracts from his perfect spot lodged in your gullet. His swollen tip tickles the surface of your lips as you gasp several breaths of air. Just what was he thinking? You could’ve puked!
“What the hell was- mmph!” Halted by another intrusion of his cock burying itself in the pits of your throat, you muffle out a sound of surprise. You couldn’t believe it.
Satoru starts, “Less talking from you, sunshine. I wanna hear you slobber on my dick. Think you can do that for me?” He quickens up the pace of his thrust, going at the speed of someone walking. You gag disgustingly at each thrust and you can feel snot starting to leisurely slip from your nose (just what he wanted to see).
“That’s a messy girl, my messy sister. Got you, hah, so worked up you even got snot dripping from your nose and your spit running down my balls. Oh, you don’t know how much I longed for this.” He resumes his praises and tips back his head for a howl, feeling himself approaching his end as he hears you glurg, glurg, glurg on his veiny member.
“Oh shit, shiiit…!” Suddenly, you’re abruptly pushed off of him, freeing your esophagus from the restraint. Your back lands on the bed with a thud, your landing protected by your doughy comforter. Satoru stands motionless as he recovers from edging himself to oblivion. Biting his lip, his cock twitches up and down before it gradually remains unmoving.
You don’t even remember it happening, but you’re already restricted underneath Satoru’s panting body, thighs folded backward for a mating press, squeezing your squishy tits together, and feet perched on top of his shoulders. He takes his infamous spot between your legs, his overworked hands, decorated in calluses and scars, cuff around the underside of your knees.
He gifts you a heated kiss on your lips. “‘Toru-nii-” You say while struggling to keep up with his tongue. He breaks away from you and the string of saliva snaps into two.
“I hear you, baby, want me inside you already, I know, hear you loud ‘n’ clear.” His tip finds your entrance and it's sopping wet tenfold. He’s never seen you so needy in his life. He pushes in slowly and smoothly. Relishing your moans as he delves within you inch by inch, his thick cock stretching you out deliciously. You squirm in lascivious desire each time he enters you.
“I know, sugar, I know…” He soothes you upon hearing your sobs go up an octave. His head rests at the empty spot next to your neck and his hair tickles the crevice. “Almost there.”
As soon as he sinks deep in your warm cunt, he pecks your cheek with a softness that resembles duck feathers in a pillow before plummeting into you. A pornographic squelch resounds through your room.
“Hnn, T-Toru-nii is, so deep, ah, in my pussy!” You yelp. He’s so glad you’re still following his gross footsteps. So dazed by his cock hitting every ridge nestled within you.
“Yes, that’s right, little sis. And you’re gonna be a good girl and take it for me, right?”
You give a nod, “Yes, I will. I always will. Just f-for you.”
“Mmm, that’s right. That’s what I like to hear.”
He inclines his torso backward, finding his attention on the feet placed at each side of his shoulders, more specifically, the one to his left as he grabs your ankle with ease, stroking the bone and putting your pedicured toe between wanting lips, your french tips hitting the roof of his mouth while lapping at your salty skin.
His pelvis hammers into you at a steady rate in combination with the gushes emerging from both sexes, it's so damn loud, you’re quite sure your Resident Assistant will come banging at your door frantically, telling you to lower it down because of the noise complaints that lead to your room.
You giggle, not just at the thought but at how much it tickles to feel Satoru’s tongue swirl around each toe.
“Satoru, that tickles.” You quip and the aforementioned man stares at you with knowing lids, purposely tasting your soles which have you trying to take your foot away, but the position you’re in makes it impossible.
You feel as though hours go by as your older brother pushes on with fucking you silly and having a makeout session with your foot. His v-line collides with your poor pussy on every steady beat and you can’t help but let your earlier accusations fall from your mind like slippery soap.
The revulsion, the distaste, the discomfort–all of which were confined in a silk-woven case, trapped and compacted hitherto its evolution of approval. Although tentativeness plagues its cycle, the result remains beauteous as a cherry red butterfly protrudes through the rotten surface of the cocoon. The successful escapee finally swarms the sky with a setting sun.
It feels good. You feel good. Your pussy feels good as your step brother pounds it with intent–with purpose. You wiggle like a fearful worm ready to be eaten once the need to release creeps up slowly.
“My little sister always manages to feel so good. This pussy is just gripping me so fucking tightly and-” He stops abruptly and so do your moans as you hear your front door creak open.
The sound of jiggling keys and the chaotic trembling of plastic bags alert both your ears as you hear the door slam shut accompanied by a relieved sigh. You glance at the digital clock on your nightstand–‘10:35 PM’. One of your roommates is back from work. Coming home to rest easy from their enervating shift, she wants nothing more than to take a scalding hot shower, laze in her bed, and listen to nothing but silence as she drifts off to sleep.
But before those temptations come into play, she first wants to check up on you to see if you’re still in your room. Walking up sluggishly to your door, she raises a hand to prepare a few knocks while you and Satoru both stare wide-eyed at the shadow that occupies the crevice beneath your bedroom door–still like Michelangelo's statues.
“Hey, (Name), you in there?” The pause is long as you look up to Satoru and see his gaping mouth transform into a smirk before turning your attention to the door.
“Uh, yeah, I’m here. What’s up?” You ask, slightly hoping that your answer will satisfy her queries on your safety before retreating to her room.
“After work, I took a quick trip to the store for some wings and frozen pizza if you’d like some. Even got honey-barbeque-” You smile at her gentle antics. She remembered your favorite flavor.
“Oh, thanks, I really appreciate th-oh!” You’re stopped once Satoru resumes pounding your sloppy pussy. You cover your mouth in an attempt to conceal your yap but a strong hand grabs both wrists to cuff them above your head.
“Keep talkin', sis. Can’t leave mom pondering, now can we?” He whispered with precaution. That devious little-
“H-Hey? Are you okay?” The squishy slaps of both Satoru’s precum and your wet fluids compose a cacophonic symphony. Shit, if he keeps going, you’ll-
“Yeah, m-mhm. I-I’m, fuuuck, fine.” Satoru grins maniacally above you his hot breath pasts your cheek and into your ear. The tip of his cock abuses your cervix as he compacts you tightly under giant muscle, arms littered with bulging purple and blue veins as he keeps you steady. His pubes tickle your clit whenever his hips kissed yours. Both breaths were getting heavy.
“Are you sure, you sound…sick.” Her words were laced with worry as she stood there, unmoving. “Do you need for me to come in?”
Satoru finds her naivety hilarious but decides it's time to break the barrier. He does so by raising his hips to an exaggerated extent before hammering back into you, the sound much louder than before as clapping fills the atmosphere. He guarantees your roommate will pick it up. Which she does.
“Wait, are you-” She gasps when she hears your sobbing moans echo in her ears. “Oh my God.” You’re too fucked stupid to give a reply when she blurts out an embarrassed ‘sorry!’ before taking hurried footsteps away from your door.
“Guess we scared her off, huh?” Knowing damn well he was the one who only made the effort to let your roommate know you were being pounded to oblivion. “Think she’s gonna tell everyone about this? Tell everyone how her son and daughter ruin the family name because we were caught fucking each other in your room?” He’s quick to pick up in your roleplay.
“Hnngh, I don’t know, ‘Toru.”
“I’m quite sure she will. What do you say, sweet girl, how about we both give a real reason to soil the family name and let me come in this pussy?” His thrusts start to stutter with each filthy word–cream drips from your cunt and down to the tight rim of your ass. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you groan quietly.
“Answer me now, sweetheart, or Satoru-nii is gonna-”
“Yes, Satoru, fuck. Please come inside me, please, ‘don’t care about anyone in this family but you! Come inside me, Satoru-nii!”
With that being said, he fulfills your wish by giving you one, big thrust and stilling his cock deep in his little sister’s pussy to pump his hot seed in increments. Whimpering loudly as he does so. His face contorts in the cutest grimace that you wish you could smooch. You heavily breathe in unison until he pulls out of you (fingering his remaining cum back into your fluttering hole).
He kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and lastly your lips before saying, “You did so well for me.”
And it’s after this session that have you thinking–‘perhaps you do get it’.
But also the thought of big brother Touya noticing you usually steal his shoes to run outside, and he loves it. But this one time he catches you and you hadn’t even realised that you’ve snatched Natsuo’s— but Touya noticed…
JOOOOOO this ask sent me into a fucking fit and i wrote an embarrassing amount about it i am so sorry (but also thank you for such a brilliant idea it had me reeling for days ily ily ily)
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, stepcest, noncon, touya is Awful, unrealistic amounts of cum, one (1) mention of implied underage, minimal prep, slight dacryphilia, fem!reader, implied physical abuse, rough sex
words: 2.4k
You don’t notice—and, truth be told, you wouldn’t have noticed, had Touya not made such a big fucking deal out of it.
But, as always, that just isn’t his style.
A heavy, dirty palm claps over your mouth the moment you re-enter the mudroom, smothering the scream of surprise punched from your chest as another strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against a broad chest.
“Shut up,” your eldest brother growls in your ear, though amusement tinges the edges of his words, demand spit through a grin.
Using his bodyweight, he manhandles you toward the steadily humming washing machine, spinning you around to face him just before he traps you against it, vibrating edge digging into your back.
“Jesus, Touya!” you heave out, a palm held flat over your heart in an attempt to calm it. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“Y’know, I really can’t believe you’d do this to me,” he laments, an exaggerated pout molding his scarred lips. “I thought I was your favourite brother.”
“What?” your lashes flutter in quick succession, forehead warping with confusion. “You are? You know you are, you always have been—”
“That so? Who’s shoes are on your feet right now?”
Looking down, your gaze lands on Natsuo’s tattered white sneakers—a stark contrast to Touya’s worn-in combat boots, or Touya’s fraying, battered Vans—and realization smooths your brow.
Oh no.
Head snapping up quickly, an explanation begins to bubble in your throat, stalled by the sudden ice in your veins, your heart plummeting through your ribcage.
“O-Oh! Uh, I-I’m sorry—I just grabbed them—I wasn’t paying attention—”
“So you’ll just slip your feet in anyone’s shoes?”
The innuendo infusing his snarky tone doesn’t go unnoticed and your eyes narrow, face puckered up with something sour.
“Of course not,” you spit, chin tilting up a little.
A hum of incredulity vibrates in his throat, head quirked. “Doesn’t seem that way.”
Your features flatten, fixing your big brother with an unimpressed look, though your heart is still in your stomach, pounding away irregularly.
You’re sure he can feel it, throbbing in your gut, his hips pressing further into your own, demanding an answer.
“Touya, they’re shoes. They mean nothing. It was an innocent mistake—”
“Prove it.”
“Prove what?” you frown, voice beginning to strain beneath desperation. “It was an accident, meaning that it was unintended, not deliberate, like—”
“Prove to me that I’m your favourite brother.”
A pang sears through your chest, features falling as if he had just physically struck you, appalled that he would even insinuate such a thing, as if he could ever not be your favourite, and your response comes out harsher than you intend, scathing your tongue.
“I prove that to you every fucking night.”
Sapphire flares, engulfing pinprick pupils, the hinges of his jaw flexing with a slow, controlled exhale. It wafts across your face, chills skittering after it as dread unfurls, thick and sticky, in the pit of your stomach, engulfing your heart in a tarry, suffocating embrace.
“Y’know, that mouth of yours is real filthy,” he begins, eyes lidded with a practiced indifference, not enough to hide the flames glimmering in his irises.
Of course your mouth is; it’s routinely glazed by your eldest brother’s tongue, your teeth lacquered in thick spit stained with spice and ash—irrevocably soiled, ruined, forever his.
A response blazes on your tarnished tongue—something you try to keep locked away behind two rows of ivory, something you try to snuff out, muscle pressed hard against the roof of you mouth—but it’s too hot, it’s too strong, melting past your teeth to ooze from your lips, venom and syrup.
“Oh, yeah? What’re you gonna do about it?”
You expect a backhand for such a rude response, face preemptively wincing as the phantom of sharp knuckles and metal rings caresses your cheek, but he just smirks, eyes lazily sweeping to the sink crammed between the machines, zeroing in on a thick bar of soap.
“Oh, I’ve got some ideas.”
You’re too slow, too weak, too stupid to escape it—or, rather, he’s too fast, too tough, too smart to allow such a mistake, a fluid flash of ivory and crystal as he leans forward, palm already clasping around the bar when you try to wriggle from below his body, his free hand catching your jaw and yanking you to back toward him, hard enough to give you whiplash.
Pain sears down your spine, a yelp splintering in your throat, body gone pliant beneath your big brother’s touch.
“Open.”
Head shaking, your jaw clenches under callused fingertips in defiance, molars grinding together.
“I said, open,” he growls, expertly squeezing the hinges, mouth popping open easily without your permission.
You should’ve known he’d do that, a trick he learned when you were teenagers, a trick he’s been exploiting ever since.
The bar shoves past your teeth, scraping against the edges, thick curls of soap collecting in the divots of your cheeks.
A bitterness explodes on your tongue, flattened to the underside of the bar, and your features scrunch up in distaste, nose wrinkling, eyes shut tight.
“Keep it in there,” he says, thumb pressing it in a little further, huffing out a chuckle at your responding gag. “If you spit it out before I cum, I’ll tie it to your goddamn mouth and fuck you again, y’hear me?”
Azure eyes search your face, slow and calm as they wait for you to nod your understanding. Then he’s smirking, something smug and arrogant curdling the corners of his lips, and he’s spinning you around, grip rough and harsh as he pins you between the machine and his body, and he’s kicking at your inner ankles, toes forcing your legs further apart, knees slipping between your own, keeping them pried open.
“You know,” he’s saying conversationally, hands unhurried as they creep up your dress, the hem beginning to bunch around his wrists. “I’ve always found it so cute when you act as if you don’t want this.”
Fingers crawl between your spread thighs, muscles tensing around his as if they’d like to snap shut, his own strong legs urging yours wider.
Two digits find your hole, drenched and desperate, rubbing circles into it through the lace of your panties—massaging, tips just barely dipping inside, snorting out something sick and cruel as your empty cunt pulses and flutters, a poor attempt to suck them in further.
He plays with you for a breath, gathering the fabric between his forefinger and a thumb, peeling the sticky material from where it was clinging to your folds.
Holding it taut, he lets your shame build, flushing hot through your blood, pinpricks sprouting across your skin, Touya waiting for that telltale whimper before finally allowing it to slap back wetly, another little snicker dripping from his lips.
Callused pads find your clit, puffy and yearning and jumping beneath his touch. He brushes against it—a crude apology of sorts—then clamps down on the swollen nub, something high and pitchy cracking in your throat.
“It’s always so hot,” he speaks over your cry, grip strengthening, “when you act as if this doesn’t turn you own just as much as it turns me on.”
Jerking forward, his hips grind into your ass, hard cock pressed tightly to supple flesh. His jaw latches over your shoulder, chin digging into your collarbone and keeping you in place.
“So don’t stop, ‘kay?”
Your head nods; automatic, instinctual, unable to resist even if you wanted to.
Because yeah, sure, he’s fucking sick, but you’re just as bad, ailed with the same illness, contracted from the same diseased household, the both of you growing, festering, in the same putrified environment—nurtured there, poisoned there, by each other, for each other.
And so, you obey, you perform, body thrashing against his own, palms planted on the top of the washer pushing back hard, his cock twitching in response.
Yeah, yeah, keep fighting him.
The sound that rattles in his chest is dark, dangerous, lips spread into a wide grin. One of his hands curls around the back of your neck, grip hard enough to stutter the blood in your jugulars, before he slams your head down against the machine, skull bouncing a little with the impact.
The force nearly sends the soap skittering from your mouth, eyes widening as you manage to catch it with your teeth, drawing it back in. His palm skims down your spine, splayed flat on the small of your back, pinioning you in place.
His cock breaches you suddenly, one sharp, swift thrust to bury him to the hilt, head jammed tight against your cervix. It fucking stings, delicate skin splitting as your hole stretches, strains, struggles to swallow him whole, desperate to succeed, to submit.
You choke on a gasp, the soap wedged in your mouth making it difficult to inhale, and Touya laughs, cruelness curling on his tongue.
His other hand wraps around your waist, fingertips snapping tiny capillaries beneath their touch, using the leverage to pull you back as his hips hammer forward, each drive of his cock jostling your entire body, the edge of the machine jabbing your tummy.
It’s ruthless right from the start, just as it always is with Touya, cock pounding into you hard and fast and deep, the sharp slap of his pelvis against your ass rivalling the steady rumble of the machines.
The soap is already starting to slip again, melting in the heat of your mouth, eroded by the saliva drooling in thick strings from the corners, and you whine, teeth sinking further into the softening bar, a feeble attempt to hold it in place.
Even now, you’re still so eager to please him.
But it’s hard to hone your concentration on the slick bar between your lips when Touya’s consistently ramming against that swollen patch of flesh buried deep within you, cockhead rolling over that spot in quick little motions, in time with the piston of his hips.
Sparks of pleasure quiver down your legs, each thrust sending another bout flooding through your veins, a dense, hot heat beginning to furl in the pit of your stomach.
It feels so good, muffled moans seeping past the seam of your stretched lips, fingers curling around the corners of the washing machine, nails scraping metal as you try to anchor yourself, weakly pushing back against your big brother, begging for more.
It’s a shame your big brother knows your body so well.
“Don’t you dare,” he pants out, purposefully angling his hips so he stops brushing up against that spot, his next thrust missing it completely. “Bad little sisters don’t get to cum on their big brother’s cock, don’t you know?”
The denial burns your eyes, a stringy, contorted wail of his name wavering around the soap as a thick shield of tears blurs your vision, nose twitching with a sniffle.
“Yeah, yeah, cry about it, baby,” he mocks, the edges of his letters gone wispy, sounding more like a plead than a demand. “It’s your own fault; if you weren’t such a disrespectful little brat then maybe niichan would’ve let you cum.”
You hate being told no by anyone, but you hate being told no by Touya the most.
It hurts, chest aching with rebuff, but your body does as he asks anyway, incapable of disobeying a direct order from its owner, tears spilling past your lashes to pool in little puddles on the metal.
You try to say please, to beg so prettily, with glittering lashes beaded with tears and sweet little niichan’s hiccuping your ribs, but the wiggling of your tongue causes the soap to slip again, a sweet yelp of concern trembling in your throat as your teeth dig in deeper, jaw tensing, cheeks hollowing around the bar in an attempt to suck it further into your mouth.
The agony doesn’t last long, though, your combined obedience and weeping and the grumbling vibrations from the machine enough have Touya cumming quickly.
You should’ve known that would happen, too, Touya now a seasoned pro in the art of the quickie, a feat achieved through years of practice, in family game closets and your personal shower and the backseat of his car.
Two more pumps before his cock is throbbing almost violently, his hips stammering to a stop, flexors pressed flush to your ass as he fills you to the brim with hot, thick cum.
The moment he’s got nothing else to give, finished stuffing your cunt full of his rotten seed, he’s pulling out despite your whines of protest, knees hitting tile as his hands curl around your thighs, nails dimpling plush flesh, carving crescents of angry purple as he wrenches them further apart.
Dollops of cream cascade down your inner legs, his thumbs sure to move out of their way as they lazily roll past, unobstructed.
“Don’t move,” he breathes, voice infused with a sick sort of awe as his head tilts, spine curving uncomfortably while he follows them down your calves, watching as they trickle right into Natsuo’s shoes.
“Fuck,” he nearly whines, nose nuzzling into the back of your knee, lips dragging across your skin as he speaks again. “D’y’think you can squeeze some more out f’me?”
Yes, niichan, of course, niichan, anything for you, niichan.
Empty hole contracting around nothing and muscles in your gut tensing, you manage to wring more of the sticky substance from your body, sending another torrent of cum flowing down your legs in silky streams to soak into, to stain, Natsuo’s soles.
A praise sticks in Touya’s throat, garbled and heavy, his tongue smoothing along the residual streaks gleaming on your skin, sopping up the remnants of his pleasure, painting over them with a thick salve of saliva.
“There,” he’s murmuring when he gets to his feet again, nose trailing along the curve of your neck with a single deep inhale, lips planting a chaste kiss to your earlobe. “That should be enough to remind you to never make such a careless mistake ever again, right?”
Your head turns, nose bumping against his own, wet eyes blinking twice. Waiting.
Something sinister smears across your big brother’s lips, crystal eyes shimmering as they watch his fingers dislodge the bar from your mouth, clumps of soap clinging to the edges of your teeth.
“Yes, niichan,” you say immediately, voice wrecked and raw, the confirmation grating on your throat.
A thumb rubs along your front teeth, smudging the soap in a crude caress, his gaze mollifying slightly.
The Haitani brothers who can't help but share you. Taking turns fucking you senseless, only to force themselves both inside your pussy. Living for how good you are for them, begging for more each time.
Stepdad! Steve and his Bestfriend Eddie. Innocently corrupting little girl!reader. Reader thinking playtime with Daddy and Uncle Eddie is a normal thing. Steve and Eddie coming home and being like “hey! Uncle Eddie’s here!” And reader being giggling like “im not done with homework yet!!” Getting pulled into their laps. Up to you from there. Thanks preemptively!! I love your work 💜💜💜!!!
CW: ddlg dynamics, little(ish)!reader, stepcest mentioned, dark content, stuff about taking advantage of reader
they're so touchy and playful with you at first... lifting your skirt up 'jokingly' as you squeal-- giggling when they snap your panties onto your skin. just finding any excuse to touch you or kiss you or expose your body in some sort of 'innocent' form.
when steve calls out to you that your "..uncle eddie is over for playtime!", you giggle, excitement twirling through you before responding to your stepdad with an, "m not done with homework yet!!" right before you hear the dominant thumps of eddie's combat boots on the floor as he makes his way to the kitchen table with steve where you sit, scribbling on some paper. eddie groans jokingly as he pulls your chair out, picking you up and plopping you onto his lap; rubbing his hands all over your waist as he kisses your cheek. "you're not done with homework?!" he exclaims in faux shock, and your just all smiles and giggles--blushing when eddie sighs, running his hands on the side of your upper thighs.
"she's been working all day, eddie.." steve grins, cupping your chin with his palm so he can kiss the top of your head as he makes his way around the table to take a seat on the chair across from you and eddie.
"yeah?" eddie grins, his pearly whites slowing his chewing on the mint gum in his mouth. he looks at you."you been a smart little girl today--huh, baby?"
you nod, smiling shly as he pinches your cheek with his tattooed pointer finger and thumb, scrunching his nose up slightly before kissing the corner of your mouth softly--the hair above his upper lip and chin tickling your skin.
eddie turns to look at steve, running his right hand down your shoulder and arm.
"god..she's fuckin' adorable, steve.."
your stepdad adjusts himself in his seat, tongue poking the side of his mouth as he chuckles, nodding.
"like i don't know that already.. she's my favorite girl." he winks at you, and the way they are talking about you as though you aren't in the room makes you warm.
eddie and steve admire you for a few moments more until steve pipes up. "hey, you wanna beer?"
eddie nods, "yeah, thanks, man," before steve gets up and goes to the fridge.
your 'uncle' adjusts you on his lap, his leather jacket crinkling as he plays with your pigtails, flopping them up and down, tugging lightly on your left one.
"so," he begins, "your daddy been driving you crazy, sweet girl?"
you turn to face him, a meek smile on your lips as you furrow your brows. "no..he plays with me all the time! i love him." you whisper the last part, swallowing.
eddie narrows his eyes in fake suspicion, making you laugh, your face hot.
"yeah? what uh--what do you guys do for fun, huh?"
you shrug, thinking. "sometimes he tickles me," you note.
eddie raises his eyebrow. "..tickles you?"
you giggle, thighs clenched. "y-yeah.. he tickles me in my--my princess parts.. when 'm feelin tingly 'n stuff."
you feel something hard beneath you..the belt buckle of eddie's pressed more firmly against your ass than three minutes ago.
"y-yeah?" eddie clears his throat, his left hand sneaking underneath your skirt and inching its way to your clothed cunt. "daddy makes this cute little pussy gush all over him?"
your whole body goes hot.
you aren't able to respond at his crude language as steve makes his way back to you both, handing eddie his beer and then groaning softly as he sits back down in front of you.
"what were you guys talkin' about?" steve asks, taking a swig from his beer.
eddie smiles, patting the side of your thigh as you yelp and jump slightly. "nothin' much..jus' wondering when this sweet girl's gonna be done." he mouths over your neck as you squirm in his grasp, whining.
"been waiting all day for our playdate, princess..." eddie whispers in your ear before pulling away, sipping his beer and smirking at your flustered state as steve eyes the two of you.
the metal-head beams smugly, pulling away from your neck and putting the beer on the table in front of you as you quiver lightly.
your eyes flit to the drink as you fidget with your pencil. eddie notices asking, "you wanna try, sweetheart?" he lifts the bottle to your lips.
before you can respond or open your mouth, steve does first. "hey, she doesn't need to be having that.."
"she can try a little bit.." eddie reasons, his voice gentle.
steve stays quiet for a moment so you look up at him, eyes shimmering. "can i, daddy?" your voice is soft and unsure.
your stepdad shrugs, pursing his lips and nodding once. "only a little, baby..don't want you getting a tummy ache later."
you nod, giggling lightly as eddie lifts the beer to your lips, praising you softly with a "good girl" as you drink the bitter liquid, grimacing slightly.
your daddy and 'uncle' chuckle at your reaction. eddie pets the side of your head, tucking some loose strands behind your ear. "your first big girl drink. look at you, sweetheart--all grown up." he pretends to cry, making you laugh, forgetting what he said to you earlier (but only for a moment as you feel his hand sneak between your warm thighs).
૮ ෆ ´ ˕ ` ෆ ა cw: 18+, dark content, stepcest, sending nudes, dabi has pierced nipples, masturbation.
older step!brother touya who likes to send you lewd photos when you're almost falling asleep, your eyes wide open staring down at your phone, trying to look away from the photo he sent.
he was bold enough to send 2 photos, one of them showing his perfect abs and pierced nipples, the angle perfectly picturing his long dick in his hand, black painted nails and silver rings that he loves to show off.
you can see his face better in the second photo. he looks tired, sweaty even. a lazy smirk across his face, tank top tugged up to show his chest and, the thing that you can't take your eyes off: the white and creamy load dripping down from the tip of his beautiful cock to his hand and between his fingers.
something pulses inside your panties, something deep inside your tummy that makes you tug your shorts and underwear down to rub at your clit desperately. he looks even more beautiful like that and you didn't even know he had pierced nipples.
you jump slightly when your phone rings, a notification appearing on your screen.
big brother touya 💕: i know what you’re doing, dumbass. don’t even think about touching what’s mine.🦷
tags: 18+ minors dni, stepcest, fingering, squirting, corruption, virginity, infidelity, overstimulation, mention of m! receiving oral but does NOT happen...ayato calls himself your father and calls you his daughter because he’s a freak!! mot actually related. age gap mentioned, arranged marriage.
synopsis: i’m starving, darling. let me put my lips to something. let me wrap my teeth around the world - when your mother marries a man one year your senior you begin something that will last an eternity.
When you return, you find out your mother was to marry the Yashiro Commissioner, Kamisato Ayato and that your families were to be joined - you only took the news with a stiff smile and a nod to your head. With the passing of your father, the relationship between you and your mother dissipated into something sour and mist-like. She wasn’t always like this, maybe your father was the only thing in the world that could make her happy but when he left this world it seems so did the person she was once, all that was left is the vapid and vain shell of a woman you’ve never met before.
This world gives and this world takes, it took your father away and gave you the beginnings of the next phase of your life.
One where you have to call a man one year your senior father, who married a woman only enough to be his mother. The wedding ceremony was fast and happened in a blur, something so unlike the rest of the world created by Inazuman customs and it’s only when you move into the Kamisato estate is when you finally have a moment with your stepfather and mother. It appears Lord Kamisato has set his foot down to have quality time as a family. His little sister, Lady Ayaka is a beacon of shining purity just like what the rumors say and her company is pleasant to put it lightly. Thoma is kind, and understanding of what this feels like, familiar with the experience of acclimating to this specific household.
Dinner is a meal most familiar to you, warm towels for your hands - tea with pickled vegetables is served first before the heavier courses of rice and meats, for now, your miso soup grows cold as you just stare at the murky contents that reflect your mind. Only your mother is eating her meal as if this was the conclusion of a normal day, and you find that Ayato also leaves his food untouched. Tentatively, your eyes rise from the cutlery on the table to meet his - and you find it hard to look away. The young Lord Kamistato has always been heard to be handsome, it is the whisper that leaves every heiress and matchmaker’s lips but you find that such remarks fade to nothing when in the presence of such beauty in the flesh. His eyes are the same soft violet of the lightning Her Excellency controls and the mole on his lip is like an inverted moon, the mark calling your eyes among the white skin of his glass skin.
Your eyes widen, flinching on your cushion when his eyes flickered to your mother's look to what’s before him and then they look up at yours.
You are seen.
How terrifying is that?
A small smile graces his face, blooming like a sakura petal and it feels like you’ve seen spring for the first time in your life. He says your name, it sounds poetic when he speaks the characters that make up the sacred name you were given at your birth. He makes conversation with you, and you find yourself smiling while actually eating - he asks about your studies, what cultural affairs you’ve mastered, and which season you like best. You fail to see how your mother watches this exchange, eyes narrowed in a venomous stare at how you quietly laugh at his quips and wit. Dinner comes and goes, all the way the coldness your mother regards you does not thaw or melt - it’s as if her heart has frozen since the day her husband was buried and nothing could change the everlasting winter that lived within her body.
It is like this when the dinner ends and she leaves first, leaving her plates there for Thoma to clean up and she stalks to her shared room with the Lord of the House and Ayato frowns, for once looking like his age and no longer like the master everyone expects him to be since the loss of his own parents. The atmosphere that was once pleasant, and almost happy faded the moment your mother stepped away from the dining room, and now the air is tense with all things unsaid.
“I’m sorry about her, my mother…she - she has not been the same since my father’s death. Please don’t hold this against her.” You say, voice quiet and polite in the way you’ve been taught to speak since you could walk. Ayato turns to look at you, and you shiver in your seat again as you are trapped by those lovely eyes once again. Is this what a butterfly on a corkboard feels like? You find his gaze terrifying as it is lovely.
“It’s quite alright, I hope you don’t mind me speaking plainly but this was an advantageous match for me. I have no intentions of loving your mother, like the way your father did. I do not think there will ever be another man for your mother that could fill the hole of a husband as he could.” He explains, wiping his mouth with a napkin in the smooth and pristine way men of his class only could and you find yourself nodding.
“You would be correct in that assumption. She was changed much by the loss of my father and I understand this was arranged, all that I can ask is that you take care of her to the best of your abilities. I pray that is not too much to ask.” You say, inclining your head to show your respect to him, both as the husband to your mother and as the master of your new home. You can’t see how this makes him ball his fists under the table, knuckles growing white at your soft and delicate speech. Your mother was known for her ways, grief made her lose all her wits, and many men find her not to be a respectable match despite the wealth she carries both from her own blood and that of her previous husband. It is because of how she carries herself it has made many men, many fine suitors turn their eyes away from you despite how well of a match you would make for another man. Mayhaps that is why he took this match, you now being…his daughter in the legal sense could make you find a good match, and take you away from your mother and her wretchedness.
He blames his sympathy for women on his little sister, finds much of her traits that people love in you, and wants to sponsor your own growth so you may grow into a finer woman than you already are.
“Of course, and please do understand that I will take care of you in any capacity. I understand that me being your father may be uncomfortable for you but I do believe that every young woman should have a male figure that she could rely on entirely. I will do my best to fill such a role for you in the most respectful capacity. I do not wish to replace your father, I just want you to know I am here for you in any way you would like me to be.” He explains, rising from his position as head of the table and reaching out a hand to help you rise from your own seat.
He lets you fit your arm into the crook of his elbow and begins to lead you away from the dining room and to the bed chambers part of the manor and he nods when he sees Thoma once again taking the cutlery away. Ayato finds it difficult to walk faster, your company is so sweet it reminds him of the red bean mochi his mother made for him on his 12th birthday before she grew too frail to see him for his 13th. Your perfume fills his senses on the last turn to your new room, it sweetly makes its way past his cheek when you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, and he finds his eyes tracing the line of your neck as you turn to bid him goodnight with a smile.
You step into your room, and the shoji board slides shut marking the end to a moment he truly wished was a moment more eternal. He makes to turn and makes his way to his own bed chambers he shares with your mother, and the towering castle of Tenshukaku is all he sees. In a moment of pure weakness as he will call this moment when morning comes and he prays - prays to his god that is most closest onto heaven and prays that you could be his rather than the woman in his bed.
The night does not go well for you, despite being dressed in your favorite sleeping yukata - the fabric of soft and loose against your body and does nothing to aid you in sleeping tonight. You think of your mother, of your father, and of Ayato. You fall into a trance of almost sleep and almost awake, every time you nod off you would wake to the image of your mother shouting at you and how Ayato smiled at you. Sitting up from your futon you sigh, bringing your hands to your face and shaking your head as the all too familiar stinging in your eyes makes embarrassment fill you from the inside out.
The only thing that soothes you in times like these was a stroll through the gardens of your home, counting the petals of the tsubaki when they are in bloom but this isn’t your home and you don’t know if there will be tsubaki petals to count when you arrive to the beautiful gardens you saw when you had first arrived. The moon is full, high in the sky, and through the shoji boards that make up your window you can see the branches of the tree in the gardens move in the gentle wind almost as if it waves you, beseeching you to see the garden in all its glory and who are you to deny what is asked of you? The manor looks different in the dark than in the light of day, no candles are here to guide you but the moon and you find yourself on the porch looking out at the blue flowers that glow in the night with a soft small.
The natural beauty of the world always soothes you in a way nothing else can and it can be seen in the smile you wear as bright and as high as the moon in the sky that watches over you. You are so entranced you don’t hear the footsteps on the tatami mats behind you nor the steps on the wood paneling until you hear the voice that has haunted you tonight since dinner started.
“You shouldn’t be here so late at night,” Ayato says, voice low and firm, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks you over. Your hair is down, no longer done in the style you had it in the day and you have forgone the beautifully designed kimono instead you wear a plain white yukata made for sleeping. He finds how cruelly unfair it is that you are ethereal in this state of undress - there is a lump in his throat, your eyes shine in the light of the moon and he finds that he wants you more than he has wanted anything else before. You look back at him over your shoulder, your smile falling at how the man that has haunted you stands before you in all his otherworldly beauty and your throat aches with all that is inside you begging to be freed.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I always come out to the garden when that happens.” You apologize, hands folded in your lap as you direct your eyes to fall where it is your hands are situated. Ayato’s eyes trace your figure that is bathed most intimately by the light of the moon with the same heat of the lightning that forks through the Inazuman sky and sighs deep from within. This is a joke, a cruel twist of fate that must be punishment for either his actions or that of his ancestors - that he wants you as the ocean waves want for the shores but can’t have you but must keep you close by the title of family.
“You must not do this again, the Kamisato family has many rivals. Doing this without a guard would prove to be lethal for you.” He lectures, sounding every bit of the elder brother he is, and though he speaks of dangerous, dark things you can’t help but feel at ease with him so near. Ayato is a pillar - in the realm of a beautiful dream that is this nation, a pillar in his house’s affairs, and now he is a pillar to your family. It should trouble you how easily you trust this man that was a stranger a week ago but now you find yourself wanting for him the way fire begs for wood to burn.
“You are right, forgive my lack of foresight my lord. It won’t happen again.” You apologize, head bowing in your admittance and Ayato is not a man strong enough to not watch how your neck moves, sakura petal eyes tracing down your decolletage that is revealed by the open folds of your yukata. He takes his eyes away from the action heavily as if he has stones in his heart at the idea of not having you before him. Nudging with his head he tells you to go back inside, you only catch the mole on his lip in the light of the moon as you rise from your seat on the porch. You make your way across, until you are beside him and you freeze when you catch the scent of sakura and cypress - soft and floral but still cuts through the soft scents of the garden in which you stand.
You once heard of a story in the far regions of the Mondstat, of a snake that tempts a woman to sin the garden of the Anemo Archon and you wonder if that was not just a story but a warning. Lord Kamisato - Ayato, he requested that you call him that is so, is before you and he is as beautiful as a pearl, shining in the palm of your hand; bringing you to him like a moth to a flame.
Mayhaps the snake in the story is you - the weaker parts of you, that relish in your desire and spit on your chastity. Here, in the garden face to face with a piece of you that you aren’t familiar with and a man that brings her into the real world, you find yourself unable to leave as you drown in between the sakura petals and the cypress leaves. Ayato spoke of the danger from rival clans but really doesn’t he know he is more dangerous than any poison or assassin? With a single look, a single word, and a single passing of his perfume he leaves you in shambles, and everything about your life is swallowed by the flames and you can think about wanting him.
From his princely build to the way his hair falls and his eyes shine, he is what you most want at this moment - maybe all you will ever want for the rest of eternity. At festivals Lady Ayaka most often speaks the words most familiar to all Inazumans - We pray to our god, may all our dreams endure forever. In the past, you’d find such sentiments noble but now you can’t help but find them cruel, this must not endure - the heartbreak on your mother, the shame you both would be at the hands of should sapling bud and bloom into a flower you could never take back.
No, this must not go on from the moment you leave the garden. So why is it that you can not make the last step? You can’t leave this place, standing at his side and gazing up at him with all the wonder of first love.
“You need to go back,” Ayato says, his voice heavy when he says your name, “please go back to your chambers.” He urges, eyes locked on the shape of your lips and he curses himself for thinking about tracing the cupid bows of your lips with his tongue.
“I can’t.” Your voice wavers, shy and scared of what you are about to admit - speaking of the things that only exist in your heart makes them real and you can’t help thinking of all the repercussions this would bring if you say what is in your heart.
“Why can’t you?” Ayato asks, hand clenched in a fist and he knows the answer despite it wishing it would be anything else but the truth he knows. The Lord Kamisato is not good at dealing with the truth, all his matters are worked with the materials that lie in the shadows - deceit, manipulation, and veiled threats. All that is around you is but an illusion, only trust what is before you to be true and he desperately wishes you could be anywhere else but before him, as it is what makes the sentiment in your heart to be true.
“The same reason you came here, for me.” You say and it is like the lightning and thunder of his god have struck him down from his place in heaven to the earth. Ayato swallows, heavy and thick and he turns his gaze to look you in the eye. Oh, how lovely you are in the moonlight and Ayato does not curse himself when he thinks about how lovely you would look bathed in the candlelight laying under him in the bedding of his futon.
“Can you fault me? How do I look away now that I have seen you?” He speaks so softly you have a hard time remembering that he runs the darker underbelly of the Yashiro Commission's affairs along with the other commanders - they are the sword that Her Excellency wields in her nation and to keep the peace you can only shudder to think about what dark deals transpire in the shadows of your country.
“I feel the same, something changed tonight. I know it is for you too.” You say and it’s the best you can manage - words such as I love you, I want you, You should be mine instead of my mothers are too dangerous as if they are coated in a poison that would stop your heart should they escape your lips.
“Yes. There has been a change.” Ayato chokes out, his own admission heavy but finds whatever noble words he wanted to say do not come out. Instead, they die, turning to dust on his tongue leaving him parched for a thirst that can only be satisfied by you - your essence in him, surrounding him in a way that only the most intimate of lovers know of. All nobility leaves his lean body with each step he takes toward you, sheds off like snakeskin as he lets his hands cup your face and he finds that sin tastes of you. You gasp at the gentle touch of his kiss, the first one in life by a man and you find yourself accepting it, and the vain, vapid part of you that you have tried so hard to rein in explodes within yourself as you let your hands tremble and clutch at his own robe.
Something small and soft, an ember grows into a wildfire as his tongue swipes at your lips for entrance and your gasping mouth concedes naively as you moan into his own mouth when takes your tongue to suck on. Ayato is a teasing kisser - sucking and nipping and tracing the curves of your teeth to leave you gasping hotly at the foreign experiences that make you break out into goosebumps under the night sky in the garden.
When he breaks away because the gods have cursed him by needing to breathe and not being able to sustain himself off of you completely, he follows each movement away with a peek at your flushed mouth. Pressing his forehead to yours he looks into your eyes, hazed and dimmed with the rush he gave you; he twitches at the thought of that being your first kiss and that tonight, if you let him he will be your first everything. You are sweeter in your affections, pressing fleeting kisses to his lips and brushing your nose to his chin as he pants back his breath, his hands still cupping your cheeks. His thumb rubs at the soft skin and he laughs under his breath quietly at the observation he makes at the moment.
“Your skin - it’s soft, like mochi.” Ayato comments, voice soft and deep, coated in desire as he presses kiss after kiss on your soft cheeks that you giggle at their plushness. You quickly shush yourself and take a quick look around.
“The guards won’t be here if that’s what you are concerning yourself with.” He says, turning his face to whisper into your ear - pressing a gentle peck against the gentle shell and humming amusedly when you gasped at the ticklish sensation. His hands have long since abandoned their hold on your face and you only squirm in their descendent as one settles at the swell of your breast. You gasp, your own soft hands coming to clutch at his wrist when Ayato lets out a pleased hum at the weight of your breast in the palm of his hand, thumb swiping at where the visible pebble of your nipple in the thin fabric.
“Have you ever been with anyone else before me tonight?” Ayato asks his voice smooth as a river and it might be from how he’s touching you, groping you with expert hands that leave you muddled and but you can only give him a soft little “what?” to his question. Ayato’s other hand soon settles itself on the curve of your hip that can’t be seen from the form of your yukata so when it is found - it leaves you trembling when his fingers trail over the curvature, even going as far to make them dig into the plush of your backside.
“I’m asking - sweet little thing if a man other than me has ever been where I am? Has a man kissed you as I have, touched you here,” he is interrupted by the harsh squeeze on your breast that makes you whine,” or there.” Ayato finishes off with a hard squeeze and light tap against your flank that makes you gasp and wilt in his hold.
“No- no one has ever- been where you are before.” You hastily say, voice high and thin as you stutter when his hands grow more and more demanding. Whining when Ayato looks into your eyes and nods when his hand goes under the folds of your yukata, your pure skin shining in the moonlight. You are soft like tsubaki petals and sweet like mochi, Ayato thinks - virginal is the word to describe you from the heat in your cheeks and the doe eyes you give him. He can see your chest in full, enticing and calling for his attention which is received in quick tugs of your tight nipples that make you gasp. Squirming against his touch, you are open to the hot open mouth kisses he places against your neck.
“No marks - please,” You gasp out, your voice withering at his ministrations and you are given a soft nod from him. His hand that was busy pawing your ass has made its way to your front, where the tie of your yukata waited to be undone by his expert hands.
“We can’t have anyone know you were with your new stepfather like this can we?” He teases, hand undoing the knot, finding its way through the silken fabric and pressing against the undergarments you wear. Stuttering at how his fingers press unto the now damp gusset of your panties, you whine into his ear.
“Don’t - don’t call yourself that right now. It’s-,” you are interrupted by the soft moan you let out when his fingers roll against the flushed pearl of your clit in your panties that only grow to be soaked at his slow ministrations. Ayato is experienced and cruel in how he plucks at your strings as if he was the finest koto player in all of the world and you, his instrument.
“It’s what my dear? It appears you’ve lost your thought.” He teases, voice dark like sin and you shudder when it is poured by a kiss at your neck and his fingers making their way past the barrier of your soaked underwear to touch your bare cunt for the first time. They swipe at your folds, collecting the clear nectar you leak so sweetly for him as he waits for you to speak again.
“It’s perverse.” You speak but it comes out like a whine, voice pitched by the haze of lust and you are helpless to how he keeps his fingers at your folds, mapping out the petals of your own flower that blooms so prettily for him. When one goes inside for the first time you squeak at the intrusion, your own hands coming to clutch at his arm as his finger is curled and pumped inside of you.
“Ah, yes it is but you see dearest,” Ayato tilts his head at you with something darker than mischief dancing in his violet eyes, “that is all more reason to call myself such a title - I fear I have quite the penchant for all things perverse.” Anything you want to say next dies on your lips as the second finger makes its way inside of you, joining the first one in how it curls against the spongy spot on your walls that he found with his expert touch. You gasp and shake as you slick his fingers more and more, to the point you wonder if what it is you two are doing can be heard from on the other side of the manor.
You hate yourself for how you feel your cunt clench around him, slick now dripping onto the wood floor beneath you like drops of rain. His thumb aligns itself with your clit and it’s as if one had bottled the lightning that most commonly dances in the sky into your body and only now do you notice how it sings in your veins. Such is the manner of pleasure, one could assume.
Ayato has brought your face to his, violet eyes that will forever haunt gaze at the “o” of your mouth and the scrunch of your brow and he knows what is about to happen to you. The sea of pleasure crashes at your ankles and he will be the one to take you to its depths.
“Go ahead, pretty thing, fall apart for me - for your father.” You feel the saltwater of pleasure crashing onto you, it sinks into your bones - deep into the marrow that slips into each drop of blood that pumps into your heart. One of his hands, you don’t know which one comes to your mouth and steals every moan and cry you let out. It is too much pleasure, too much shock and you don’t have it in yourself to be quiet when everything feels too good for you right now. Ayato does not still his fingers, keeps them focused on the bundle of your nerves intent on making you spill across his fingers in ways that you’ve never done - not for anyone, including yourself.
When you whine against his hand, his palm as warm as the sun he only chuckles softly - the sound sends something hot into your blood and in your sore stomach as the band that had snapped rewinds again and it feels so good it aches.
“Pretty thing, I want something from you and I will have it - give your father what he wants. Be good for me.” It is as if the thunder god had struck you herself as light flashes across your eyes when the shut - squeezed tight as tears from your eyes and tears from your cunt slide out. Ayato - your stepfather’s hand is coated in your slick that shines like the petals in Chinju Forest in the light of the moon. You feel weak as if Ayato was a vampire, a demon that had sucked the life out of you and left you as nothing but a shell. The night does not end - when the Lord of the house himself sees you as you are before him, unclothed and washed in sin how could he ever look elsewhere? How else is he supposed to send you on your way with a satisfied cunt while his cock pulses in his own robes?
It is a mercy that he won’t have to, it seems.
Not when he sees you languidly tying your robe loosely, enough so it closes at your legs but open enough he can see your heaving breasts and tight nipples. When he wets his lips he thinks about them in his mouth and how cute you sound when you squeal from having them played with. His mind goes to a complete blank when he sees you drop to your knees, pressing your knees to the wood that was now tainted with drops of your cum - nudging your face to where the tails of the tie around his waist fall.
The hot bulge of his cock can be felt, and Ayato moans softly when you press the shape of your lips to the imprint. His hand that once quieted you, quieted him in turn and he murmured softly into the heated night air as he let another hand run through your loose hair.
“Now where did you learn this - this is what pleasure women do, did you know that?” He asks a teasing question meant to fluster you at the mention of such a salacious occupation.
“It’s also something that wives do.” You say back, voice muffled by the fabric of his robe and he half chuckles half moans at the tease of your breath against his neglected cock that seems determined to break free of the confines of the fabric.
“Oh? Is that what you want from me - is being my daughter not enough? I never would have mistaken you for a greedy woman.” You whine pitifully - face warm when he mentions what it is that binds you together.
“Stop calling me that when we are like this - it’s a cruel joke.” You say, allowing yourself to be manipulated by him until you realize that you are no longer on your knees but rising to your feet, and pushing yourself in the direction of your chambers.
“Why are you sending me away? You still haven’t-”
“I know, and I won’t, at least not tonight.” Ayato cuts you off, voice firm as he watches you stumble with shaky legs like a newborn fawn. You’ve clutched the opening of your yukata closer to yourself, it reeks of sex and sweat, and things better left unsaid. You tremble as you stand and Ayato finds himself back at your side as he puts a hand on your waist to keep you steady.
“Why?” You ask and he finds it most amusing how your voice has now grown timid, it’s sweet almost and he has always delighted in sweet things.
“Because you aren’t a whore, or my wife - I won’t fuck your cunt or your face like one. You are a lady and I will fuck you one like another time and in another place.” He announces, voice unwavering as he keeps on the right path of sending you to your chambers. It’s later than it once was and the chill will soon take you now that you are not partaking in any strenuous activities - you are open to being taken by it.
“You want to do this again?” You ask, voice as soft as an owl’s wing and Ayato can’t help but coo at you - such an innocent little thing he has in his grasp. How will he be able to focus on other matters with you in his home? He has no idea but he has always found a thrill in the sadistic game of wanting what’s right before you.
“Dearest now that I have had you, I fear there is no one else I could want. So let’s do our best to enjoy it while it lasts.” He teases and he pushes you forward, into the halls that lead to your bed and you find yourself looking back at the man that in a single night has you in his web. Ayato smiles at you, and you fear something wicked this way comes.
“Get some rest, daughter dearest. I’ll see you in the morning.” with a shiver running down the notches of your too-delicate spine, you run back to your chambers and find that sleep takes you in her arms much more openly than before.
And when you wake up and sit across the periwinkle-haired man you find that the night before was not a dream but rather the reality upon which eternity is built on.
In reference to the auction, imagine this random person no one recognizes is able to keep up with the high bidding wars. He isn't a villain or hero, and everyone wants to know where this money is coming from. And then he wins!
Step Daughter is just waiting nervously in the hotel for him when Endeavor steps in. She's surprised and tries to shoo him out, saying her "suitor" is due any minute. Turns out the stranger was a proxy for Endeavor as he couldn't stand the thought of some unworthy guy taking his precious step daughter's innocence.
SCREAMS!!
It’s almost like when you drop a fishing line into the sea to see what bites. Endeavor offering up his pretty step-daughter to the highest bidder while he gets to sit back and watch his colleagues, friends, foes all fight over her. Like he hasn’t noticed the way they all look at you whenever you’re around, hungry eyes drinking you in. He makes bets with himself on who will be the highest bidder, and who will be the most desperate to win.
Meanwhile he’s safe in the knowledge that he’ll win the prize.
Warnings: stepcest (reader is a young stepmom (30) & Reiner (24) is her stepson), female-bodied reader, short-coded reader, hurt/comfort/smut, infidelity, mentioned past suicide attempt, depression & anxiety, therapy, a lot of nipple and breast play, induced lactation and adult nursing, explicit sexual content, Rei is strong enough to lift you, sneaking around, handjobs, fingering, vaginal sex, mommy kink, mentioned breeding kink, general softness, bathing, heavy conversation, nobody gets caught, ending is happy but not resolved
A/N: this fic upturned my life for several days, and now it is here. big thank you’s to @whats-her-quirk and @ghost-party for reading and editing and being generally wonderful, and an extra big thank you to @itsleese for putting up with all my questions about milk and breastfeeding in general. you are a saint. every woman is different and blah blah blah but i definitely felt better having your perspective.
anyway, everyone knows i adore reiner and just want him to be okay, and i, uh, really accessed that part of me while writing this fic or something. okay, enjoy~
If you’d asked Reiner when he was younger what he wanted to be when he grew up, he would have been able to give you a straight answer—a positive answer. When he was nine, he was going to be a pro football player with thousands of fans. When he was thirteen, he was going to be a rockstar with platinum albums and groupies across the world. When he was sixteen he was going to be a marine with countless medals and honors bestowed upon him.
He had dreams. Dumb as some of them may have been, they were still goals, ambitions. They were what kept him motivated.
Now, at twenty-four, all he wants is to be happy. That’s his new dream. One he isn’t sure will ever actually come true.
He’s taken meds, started healthy habits–meditates and journals and makes sure he isn’t putting utter shit in his body–and still, he just can’t seem to overcome this weight that’s been holding him down. It’s the weight that caused him to flunk his last semester of college, the weight that pushed his friends away, and ultimately, it’s the weight that landed him in the hospital after swallowing too many pills.
And, now he’s here.
All grown up with nothing to show for it—no degree, no job, living with his dad despite their complicated relationship. They really don’t know each other at all, not after the fifteen years Roland had spent as something of a myth to Reiner. Then, he reached out on Facebook, and started at least trying to care, and now, after a handful of birthday cards and strained meet-ups over the last few years, it turns out Roland is the one most equipped to deal with Reiner as he is now.
“I don’t recommend you go back to living alone,” he can remember the hospital psychiatrist telling him. “Not for a while at least. Do you have anyone close you can stay with?”
His first thought had naturally been his mother who he’d lived with up until college, but truth be told, now that she’s retired, she just doesn’t have the money to feed two mouths and help with his bills until he gets back on his feet. And, there’s no way he would ask any of the friends he neglected for the last couple years. Which left him with Roland. Leaves him with Roland.
And, of course, you–his new wife.
You are number four, if Reiner’s count is correct, the youngest so far, a whole six years older than himself and eighteen younger than his father.
He’s in no place to judge, and it’s not like Roland is the worst guy on the planet, but Reiner still can’t help but cringe a little. Mostly because you’re just… sweet. You’ve been so incredibly kind to him since he arrived at your doorstep, always making sure he’s doing okay, that he’s had enough to eat at dinner, that he never leaves without some kind of jacket or flannel whenever it’s chilly outside.
And because of this, Reiner has taken a shine to you, perks up just a little bit when he’s around you. Some people (his therapist) might even say he’s forming an attachment.
“So, everyone is getting along okay at home?” Dr. Ral asks, gently pressing her pen to her clipboard where she sits across from him.
Reiner shrugs against the couch cushions he’s pressed himself into. “Yeah, no arguments or anything.”
“Are you and Roland communicating well then?”
He makes a face at the question, a little grimace as he thinks about the awkward meals the two share every morning when Roland first wakes up and Reiner still hasn’t gone to bed: just the two of them sitting in silence save for the occasional comment about an athlete or the weather.
“We’re not pouring our hearts out to each other or anything, but, like, we talk sometimes, I guess.”
Dr. Ral keeps that soft expression on her face, totally impassive, but Reiner bets she wishes she could sigh and say something about men being emotionally stunted. While Roland might be, Reiner has been wearing his heart on his sleeve for the better part of his life, so he wouldn’t call himself stunted at all. He’s just fucking incapable of dealing with how he feels, hence trying to get rid of those feelings altogether.
“Okay, and what about your stepmom? Are you still talking to her?”
For a moment, all he does is suck on the inside of his cheek. Then, “Some.”
“And, what do you talk about?”
Reiner looks down at his hands as he recalls the conversation he had with you before leaving for this appointment–nothing special, just you getting to pet a couple of dogs on your morning walk around the neighborhood. He likes dogs (more than he likes most people if he’s being honest), but the most interesting part of the story was the way you smiled thinking about them. You had Reiner’s rapt attention.
It’s a potential problem but one he’s not looking to deal with any time soon. He has enough shit on his plate as it is. It’s not like he has a crush or anything. He just likes the way you look when your eyes light up and the way your soft voice sounds when you wake him up at three in the afternoon after he’s slept the day away once again. It’s a comfort thing. You’re comforting to him.
“She saw some dogs when she went walking this morning, and then I told her about when I used to run track in high school.”
“Good,” Dr. Ral nods. “That’s good. I’m glad you two can engage comfortably. I was afraid that might be difficult considering who she is to you and how new she is in your life.”
“I mean…” He lets his eyes wander as he mulls it over, supposes it was a valid fear, but, “I probably have more in common with her than I do with my dad since we’re, like, close in age and all.”
“That’s very true. It may be hard for you to see her as a maternal figure, but at the very least, maybe she can be your friend.”
Reiner forces a tight-lipped smile and nods, not really knowing what else to say on the matter. Luckily, the hour session is coming to an end, so after making sure he’s still free for his appointment next week, Dr. Ral lets him leave.
He drives back to the house listening to the playlist he’s had on repeat basically since getting out of the hospital–a feel good mix that has all of his favorite songs on it, songs that make him bob his head and even sing along on the few days he actually has the energy to do so.
It’s a quarter past three when he gets home meaning Roland won’t be around for another few hours. Reiner makes a beeline for the fridge, having not eaten anything all day, and just like every Wednesday, he finds a sandwich inside a ziplock bag, his name scribbled on the plastic.
It’s a little routine you started for his sake. You know that he usually wakes up with barely enough time to shower, get dressed, and make the drive to the office (today being a slight anomaly), so you always have a sandwich waiting for him when he gets back.
And, that’s the shit he’s talking about. That’s what has him attached. This kindness from you he doesn’t deserve.
But, he still grabs the sandwich and a glass of tea, then shuffles out to the living room where you’re folding clothes on the couch, only half paying attention to the silly medical drama you watch nearly every day.
He mumbles his appreciation as he sits in the recliner, and you look up from the t-shirt you’re folding and flash a smile.
“Of course,” you tell him just like you do whenever he thanks you for anything you do for him. “I splurged and picked up some deli turkey earlier today, so it should be a nice little treat.”
It is noticeably fresher than usual—not that the sandwiches you make him are ever bad by any means. Even if they were, Reiner would probably still eat them simply because you prepared them, but that’s irrelevant.
“You went shopping today?”
His attempts at small talk are always dismal at best, but you humor him anyway, picking up a towel from your pile and folding it in half one way, then another, then tucking one end under your chin to make the last two creases.
“Mhmm. Not a big trip. Just what was on the list, stuff we were running out of.”
Reiner hums and turns his attention to the TV, watching vaguely familiar characters perform surgery and whine about their love lives. It’s sappy shit, but you obviously like it, so he doesn’t mind it being on.
“Did your appointment go okay?” you speak up again.
Reiner starts to chew a little faster so that he can answer, “Yeah,” but he doesn’t offer anything else and you don’t pry him for more.
He appreciates that. Appreciates being asked—checked on, really—but not pressured. He’s pretty sure you’re really wondering if there’s anything else he needs to talk about, making sure he knows that door is open for him if he ever decides he wants to take it, but so far Reiner has kept himself from crossing that threshold.
You shouldn’t worry about him the way you do. He’s glad that you care, but he isn’t your burden to bear.
The two of you sit in silence for several minutes, watching the drama and folding clothes. He stares pointedly at the screen when he sees you grab a couple pair of panties from the basket, quickly tucking them under a neat stack of shirts.
Reiner is in your space, he thinks, interrupting a task so mundane yet ritualistic, that you should be able to perform without worry, but he’s here and—
He hurries to finish his sandwich, but when he gets up to leave, you stop and look at him.
“You don’t have to go. I was just gonna finish this episode, and then you can pick a movie or something.” He blinks at you, a little confused, and then you add, “I hate you staying cooped up in your room all the time,” and it makes sense why you want him to stick around.
Try to off yourself one time and suddenly no one’s comfortable with you being by yourself. Imagine that.
“Oh, um…”
“There’s maybe ten minutes left, and while I’m putting these up, you can decide on something, yeah?”
“I, uh… Yeah, sure…”
He still gets up to throw away his napkin and refill his tea but returns, finishing out the episode and taking the remote from you when you hand it to him. You make a few trips to the bedroom you share with Roland, arms full of clothes every time, and Reiner just clicks through the different lists on Netflix until settling on Starship Troopers which has been known to make him crack a smile here and there. Plus, all the action should keep his attention well enough.
When you take your place on the couch again, you tuck your legs up underneath you, leaning on the armrest as you mumble, “Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve watched this.”
He glances over at the way you’re curled, humming in acknowledgement as he does his best to ignore the way your thighs look pressed tightly together, outlined in leggings that cut off mid-calf so that he has view of cute, bony ankles poking out over slipper socks. Even worse is the way your arms are framing your chest. You’re not wearing a revealing top or anything, just a thin little t-shirt, but this reposed position has your tits all pushed up, and Reiner has to swallow and look back at the TV screen.
He used to flirt with girls similar to you back in college–his first couple semesters anyway, before it all went to shit–and it’s strange to think that if one were to knock a couple years off the gap between the two of you, he could have easily been picking you up instead of Stacey and Maggie and Ann and so on.
Is it strange for you too, or does it not even cross your mind? It shouldn’t be crossing Reiner’s, that’s for sure, but… Sweet. And, cute. And, soft. He imagines you’re so, so soft.
“I know you just ate, but are you okay with Thai later?”
Reiner tears himself from his thoughts and clears his throat. “Whatever you and Roland want I’m fine with.”
“Mm,” you nod. “Been cleaning and running errands all day, and I just do not feel like cooking.”
“I don’t blame you.” He tries for a small smile, but it probably just comes off as pained.
Still, it makes you grin back at him, worn out and relieved, as if you thought he might demand a home-cooked meal from you or something.
“Alright, I’ll text your dad and order it in a couple hours. Just…” you let out a quiet laugh and rest your cheek in your hand, “You might have to wake me up.”
“If you’re tired, I can let you nap,” Reiner is quick to tell you, not because he wants to be away from you. He just doesn’t want to be in the way of your routine.
“No, no, I sleep better with the TV on anyway. Just… Just stay and watch the movie. Relax, sweetie.”
Something warm and soothing licks at the base of his spine at those words, that name. It’s stupid because you don’t mean anything by it, but it sounds fond, and that is his weakness right now. Just someone being fond of him. You being–
He stays quiet, sitting very still for about ten minutes until he chances one more glance over at you to find your eyes shut and lips parted as you breathe too deeply to be awake.
He stares, admires the way your eyelashes fan over your cheeks, the subtle twitches of your face and hand, and then he decides that’s enough and gets up, grabbing the throw blanket that hangs off the back of the couch and laying it over you as gently as he can. It doesn’t wake you which he’s grateful for, one because you obviously need a bit of rest, and two, it’s less likely you’ll catch him looking at you every ten seconds if you’re asleep.
So, this is how he spends the rest of the movie. Watching his favorite scenes only to turn back to you and fixate on the way the shoulder you’re not laying on rises and falls in time with each breath and how the wind of the fan is making little flyaway hairs dance around your face.
You only wake up toward the end of the movie’s climax, rubbing sleepy eyes then checking the time on your phone. It isn’t until you snuggle a little deeper under the blanket that you ask, “Did you cover me up?”
Reiner just motions to the spinning blades above and says, “Didn’t want you to get cold.”
You tap away on your phone for a bit, about dinner, Reiner guesses, considering a few minutes later you’re calling the Thai place in the nearby shopping strip, placing orders you know by heart now. Reiner gets the same curry dish every time you order in from there, only this time he has the pleasure of listening to you try to pronounce everything over the phone, stuttering little um’s and sorry’s in between until you finally tell them you’ll be paying in cash once it arrives.
It gets to the house a few minutes before Roland does, and the three of you spend about half an hour eating while listening to the man decompress. Restaurant work is hard–Reiner remembers working at one for a couple years in high school–but damn, some of the shit his dad has to put up with is unreal. That said, Reiner definitely wouldn’t want to work under him. Apparently, it had been Roland’s dream to open up one of his own for as long as he can remember, but… things aren’t quite as bright and shiny as he wanted them to be.
“–and if that wasn’t bad enough, fucking Jacob put in the damn liquor order wrong, so we’re missing four of our usual kegs.”
“Well, that’s not gonna work,” you comment. “Will you be able to get more in time for this weekend?”
Roland grunts as he sits back, his chair creaking underneath him as he does. “Yeah, but they’ll be more expensive that way.”
“Still make more money with them than without, I assume.”
“You’re right about that, but anyway,” he pats his stomach before pushing himself from the table and asking, “Reiner, you mind doin’ the dishes tonight?”
“Oh, no he doesn’t have to–” you try.
Reiner cuts you off with a nod, though, “Sure,” then glances at you. “You’ve done enough today. I can handle it.”
You look like you want to argue, but Roland puts a hand on the back of your neck before you can say anything else. “Need to shower to get the day’s grime off me, but once I’m done, you wanna catch up on a few episodes of Yellowstone?”
“Of course, love.”
Reiner’s stomach feels squirmy, and it’s not from the Thai. He shoves that feeling down as deep as possible, gathers everyone’s plates, then takes them to the sink to get started on rinsing them and loading the dishwasher as the two of you retreat to the bedroom.
Another long night he’ll spend upstairs.
Another long night alone with his thoughts.
He recognizes that they’re spiraling again. Just not in the way they used to.
~ ~ ~
You were late to marry. Or, you felt like you were.
As you watched friends from high school get engaged one after another, the same happening during and after college, you stayed stagnant. It was strange considering you were usually who they would go to for advice back in those days–despite your record of failed relationships, they still seemed to trust your judgment.
Emotionally intelligent, they’d call you. Sympathetic yet unbiased. You picked your girlfriends up after bad dates and, in a couple cases, drove cities over to rescue them from big fights with shitty partners.
They relied on you. And, you were happy to help and give your perspective, but… it’s not like you had a ton of experience in the area yourself.
A mixture of being focused on your studies as well as a slew of personal issues, you just couldn’t ever seem to hold a man down. They gave up. You were too distant, too guarded.
And then, at twenty-nine, you met Roland Braun in his newly opened restaurant. You went frequently enough to secure your own table, usually around lunchtime. You would eat while going over your graduate material, and you don’t know if it was because he appreciated your regular patronage or enjoyed the short conversations you’d have with him, but somehow over the course of a few months, he formed an interest in you.
You didn’t mind. Much older than you, he seemed stable–safe. You were more than happy to go on a date with him when he asked, and you found that despite there being an obvious gap in age and therefore life experience, Roland was still charming.
You knew his history–the first wife he left and the two to follow in her wake, but there was no denying his attraction to you, very flattering to say the least. He had–has–his own appeal. Confidence as well as a certain wisdom you still lack, and though he’s not the type you’d usually go for physically, there’s something nice about the lines around his eyes and the gray that grows in with his stubble. Plus, while he’s brawny, he isn’t entirely fit–decades of experimenting and eating his own food. It makes him nice to cuddle with.
Not to mention, he’s a pretty decent fuck. Doesn’t have the energy or libido that younger men do, but he does care about your pleasure which is a pretty big checkmark in your book.
Six months into your marriage, and there’s still a bit of a wall between the two of you–a disconnect–but it’s to be expected considering you dated for less than a year before tying the knot.
You’re very thankful to have found him, and though you’re not quite sure if you love him, you do have a deep affection for him. Besides, it’s not his fault; you just have some hangups.
The conversation regarding Reiner had come as a bit of a shock. You knew about Roland’s son, that their relationship was strained, but your husband was extremely concerned about him when he got news of the suicide attempt (as he should have been), and that care multiplied tenfold when Reiner actually reached out to him personally asking for a place to say.
“I haven’t been able to be there for him his whole life,” he had told you, “... and I’d really like to start now. If you’re okay with it.”
He made it seem like you had the final say, but it was a request you couldn’t turn down even if it did have the potential to put a strain on the fresh marriage. How could anyone ever say no to something like that?
“Of course, Roland. Of course he can come stay.”
And, then he’d arrived a few days later, packed bags and sad eyes, and you knew you’d responded to your husband the right way. You knew you wanted to help Reiner in any way you could.
Living with him even now, two months after he first stepped foot in the house, is something you’re still getting used to. It’s a little jarring having him here, mostly because it’s a constant reminder of your age. You’re the same generation as Reiner, able to share pop culture references, familiar with the music each of you listen to and shows you both grew up watching. You can remember a few things he can’t, but mostly the two of you are able to relate to each other. Meanwhile, poor Roland is left out of the loop, and the fact that he wasn’t present for Reiner’s childhood and adolescence only makes it harder for him.
There’s also one more thing you have in common with your new stepson–and God, isn’t that weird to say?--and it’s that you have been very close to where he is now. Family expectations paired with college pressure and a simple lack of certain chemicals in your brain landed you in a hospital ward once upon a time. The only difference was that you were placed there as a preventative measure rather than after a failed attempt.
You had been so close at one point, though. Fuck, you’d been so close.
It isn’t something you talk about. Roland doesn’t even know about it, and you have no plans of telling him.
But, sometimes… sometimes when Reiner trudges downstairs from another sleepless night or returns home after a therapy appointment with puffy eyes, you have the urge to sit him down and open up. Let him know that he is not alone. That he can talk to you if he ever needs to. No judgment. No pity. Just understanding.
You want to be there for him. You want to help get rid of those dark circles and chronic fatigue. You want to lift his shoulders instead of letting them sag in defeat. But, he has to be the one to make the first move. You refuse to overstep. You refuse to make him uncomfortable.
These are the thoughts running through your mind as you stand at the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. It’s nearly two in the afternoon, but Reiner should be getting up soon, and you know he likes to start his day with caffeine whenever he can (you also know his psychiatrist has likely warned him that it’s not good for his anxiety, but you can be an enabler in this one instance).
You only have a few things on your to-do list today, and you already worked on your thesis for the time you allotted for it, so that’s out of the way. Now, you just need to run and pick up a gift for a friend’s baby shower that’s coming up, then get started on dinner.
Reiner ends up padding downstairs just as you’re grabbing your purse to leave, and he stops on the bottom step, looking at you in question. Blond hair is sticking up haphazardly, and he has a few days worth of stubble casting a light shadow on his jaw. Just on the border of rugged and unkempt–a look only few can pull off, not that Reiner is really trying.
“Goin’ out?” he asks, voice still rough with sleep.
“Yeah, I need to run to Buy Buy Baby. Coffee’s ready, though.”
“Thanks.” He rubs his eyes for a second, then, to your surprise, adds, “Mind if I come with you?”
You’re stunned that he wants to, at a complete loss for words because why…
Apparently, he can read your expression because he explains, “Kinda wanna get out of the house today, but if you’d rather go alone–”
“No, no, you can definitely come! I can wait for you to wake up a little more if you need.”
He waves you off then makes his way into the kitchen, sniffing the air like the mere smell of coffee will do the job.
“I can just take a thermos, but I probably need to hop in the shower real quick.”
“That’s totally fine. Take your time.”
He makes quick work of pouring his coffee into an insulated cup, leaving it on the counter so that he can just grab it and go, then disappears back upstairs. Ten minutes later, he’s standing in front of you again, fully dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a plaid button-down rolled up to his elbows and left open. A dark beanie is pressing still-damp hair to his forehead, and as he clasps a smart watch around his wrist, you have the stray thought that this is the type of guy you used to go for. This is what you used to find attractive, still kinda do, but the notion is quickly shaken from your head because it’s too disturbing considering this is Reiner.
“Ready?” he asks after retrieving his coffee, and you nod.
The car ride isn’t long, and it’s mostly spent in silence save for your playlist quietly filtering through the speakers. Reiner gently bobs his head to each of the songs which is satisfying in an odd way, and you restrain yourself from humming or singing along so that he can enjoy the music.
When you step into the store, his eyes go wide, and you have to stifle a laugh.
“This place is like a damn Walmart, what the hell?”
“Baby stuff will stay high in demand s’long as people keep makin’ ‘em,” you tell him.
“True. What are we here for exactly?” he questions, and then, as if it’s only just occurred to him, he suddenly asks, “Wait, are you–”
“Jesus Christ, no,” you cringe with a vehement shake of your head.
“Oh, then why…”
“My friend is having a baby shower next week. Need to get her a gift.”
“Ah, okay.”
“You sound relieved,” you snicker as you grab a handbasket.
Reiner makes a noncommittal noise, tells you, “Just surprised for a second. Thought the old bastard knocked you up. Didn’t know how to handle it.”
You laugh as you start toward the many aisles, passing baby room displays and some of the larger toys to get to the clothes.
“I don’t see that happening,” you tell him, and when he glances at you curiously, you segue away from the topic of Roland getting you pregnant because he really shouldn’t be thinking about that. “Also, your dad’s not an old bastard.”
Shrugging, Reiner cracks a smile–the rare kind where his teeth show–then jokes, “Okay, maybe not a bastard, but he is old.”
“He’s not–” you clear your throat for a moment, voice dropping in very slight embarrassment, “--he’s not that old.”
The quiet, “Mm,” of a response sounds strangely smug, but that can’t be right. That would make it seem like Reiner is teasing you, and that is… unlike him. You wouldn’t mind if he was, even if your face is a little warm, but it’s out of character for him, too relaxed.
Maybe getting out of the house is already doing him some good, though. Lifting his spirits a bit.
“Anyway,” you press on with a click of your tongue. “I’m looking for cute baby clothes and diapers. Maybe some of those bottles that keep air bubbles from forming.”
“They make those?”
“They make so much shit for babies now, it’s unreal,” you snort.
The two of you make some small talk as you walk around the store. You tell him a little about the friend whose shower you’re going to, and he tells you about the one time he ever babysat, or really helped babysit–an ex-girlfriend’s baby sister.
“It was honestly a fucking nightmare. Just… noisy and kinda gross…”
“Yeah, I am not a huge fan myself.”
You grab a couple little onesies then find the section full of pacifiers and bottles and nursing covers. Reiner seems quizzical of almost all of it, maybe even a little fascinated, but you don’t comment on it, figure he’s probably never even been in a store like this.
The specific bottles you’re looking for are easy enough to locate, and you take a two-pack from the shelf, drop them in your basket, then walk back over to Reiner who has his head tilted to the side as he examines a medium sized box.
You recognize the product only when you peer around him, eyes falling on two clear cups connected to what you know to be electric pumps.
Reiner doesn’t look at you but clearly senses your presence because he speaks up like he knows you’re there beside him. “These look like they hurt.”
“From what I’ve heard, pumping isn’t exactly enjoyable,” you tell him, recalling the stories your mother has told you about all the discomfort that comes along with breastfeeding in general.
“Then why do women do it?”
You shrug. “Some doctors say it helps babies’ development better than formula does, but I don’t know about that. There’s also, like, the bonding nature of it, though. Hormones and skin on skin. Forms a better emotional connection between mother and child. Supposedly.”
“That’s… interesting,” Reiner says, a somewhat odd reaction, you think.
He puts the box back on the shelf then looks at you and asks, “Okay, ready to go?”
“Lemme grab a pack of diapers, and I will be.”
Once you have everything, you check out, and soon you’re back in the car on your way home. For some reason you’re not surprised when Reiner pipes up over the music to ask the same personal question you’ve been asked so many times before: “How come you never had kids?”
Most of the time, you get a little snippy with whoever is prodding into your life in such a way, but you suppose it’s natural to be curious about after being in a baby store with you.
Still, you feel the need to remind him, “I could still have them if I wanted. I’m only thirty,” and Reiner chuckles.
“I am all too aware of that fact.”
“But no, uh, I just never wanted any. I didn’t have the same urge a lot of women do, and honestly, I never thought I’d be a good mom.”
Reiner frowns. “Why’s that?”
“Just don’t think I have that maternal nature that comes naturally to others. I care about other people and their well-being, but… I don’t think I have the right head to be a parent.”
“I’d say you’re dead fucking wrong,” he tells you, and the assuredness in his voice makes you glance over at him in something close to alarm. Reiner is staring at you, then breaks line of sight and sighs, “You’ve been taking care of me since day one. I dropped in out of nowhere, and you just… I just think you’re wrong about not having the instinct. Not saying you should, like, have kids—not wanting them is valid—but… you’d be a good mom. I guess you are a good mom technically.”
It is a very sweet sentiment, actually makes your throat tighten up a bit, but you think the story might be a little different had Reiner come into your life at a younger age.
“I’m… glad you think so,” you’re slow to say, touched by the thought but also a little befuddled at the idea that he does see you as somewhat of a mother figure. “I just want you to be comfortable with us.”
“I am mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Like, aside from feeling like a burden twenty-four-seven, but that’s not your fault. Or, Roland’s.”
“You are not a burden,” you almost yell, but even as you say it, you know there’s no way to convince him because you remember feeling the exact same way. Useless, taking up space, pulling others down with you, but the reality has always been that people want to help. It took you a while to catch on, but that had always been the truth. And, it’s the truth now as you pull into the driveway.
“Reiner, look at me,” you command after too long of a silence, and he very slowly raises amber eyes to meet yours. “I promise, you’re not ruining anything by being here. We’re happy to have you and happy to help you get back where you need to be.” His mouth twists as he starts to chew on the side of his lip, obviously unsure of how to respond, so you just continue. “Brains are weird, and sometimes they don’t work the way they should, but that doesn’t make you useless or less human. It just means… sometimes you need help. And, that’s okay. You can ask for help.”
He nods, looking a little dazed now as if his mind is getting away from him, but you think you got your point across well enough because he forces his lips into an almost-smile and utters a barely audible, “Thanks.”
“Just remember that. On the bad days, remember we’re here. I’m here.”
You turn the car off and reach into the back to grab the shopping bags, and the two of you head inside, the conversation having come to a close. Reiner heads upstairs, and you start on dinner just like you’d planned, nothing fancy, just turkey spaghetti. At half past six, Roland gets home, and the three of you eat in front of the TV so that he can watch his favorite crime show.
Afterwards, you gather dishes and take them to the sink, scrubbing sauce and food particles from each before loading them in the dishwasher. The counter still needs to be wiped down, but as you turn to the separate set of drawers and cabinets to get a fresh rag, you find Reiner leaning against them.
“Dinner was good,” he says, then, “I’m glad I went with you today. It felt good going somewhere that wasn’t a doctor’s office.”
You can feel your face soften, have the urge to grab his hand or hug him or something, but you control yourself.
“Sweetie, you can run errands with me anytime you want.”
Reiner’s cheeks turn a little pink at that, and it takes you a second to figure out why, but then you feel your own face heat and stumble over a clumsy apology, “I didn’t mean to–just a habit I picked up in college, I usually don’t even realize–”
“It’s okay–”
“The names just sorta slip out. I’m not trying to be condescending or anything–”
“It’s not condescending,” he’s quick to correct, then, “... It’s kinda comforting, honestly. Just catches me off guard, is all.”
You stop and take a breath, relieved you didn’t offend him but still embarrassed for it happening in the first place. It started in college, all your silly little girlfriends calling everyone ‘sweetie’ and ‘honey’ and ‘love’, and it just stuck with you, and anyway, it seems like a natural name to call your son, but maybe not your twenty-four year old son who’s staring at you a little too closely now.
“Okay, I will…” You’re wringing your hands now, unable to look him in the eye, but, “I will keep that in mind.”
He nods, still not blinking, and a tingly feeling settles in your spine, one you can’t tell if you like or not.
“Um, anyway, yeah, thanks for letting me… come with you… uh…”
“Like I said, any time. I know what it’s like just… needing something to do. Sometimes just leaving the house feels like being productive, so.”
“Yeah, exactly. It felt like I didn’t just do nothing all day.”
The cop show must end because Roland comes walking into the kitchen then which signals the end of the awkward chat, Reiner dismissing himself to his room while you follow your husband into yours.
Not a bad day all things considered. It was nice spending time with Reiner, getting to know him more and learning how to better help him. You think you’re getting an idea of what he responds to best, and as you settle into bed that night, a very small plan forms in your brain about what else you can do for him.
~ ~ ~
It starts off very simple. Reiner finds a note taped to the refrigerator asking him to dust the fans and high shelves in the house. He does without question, and when you get home from being out and about, you gift him a sugary, “Thank you, sweetie,” that he’s quickly grown to like too much.
A couple days pass and then, as you’re working on something for your classes, you ask him, “Could you do me a big favor and run to the store to get an onion? I need it for dinner tonight and completely blanked.”
So, he does, and you thank him, then ask him to do something else the next day and the next day and the next. They’re all very small tasks–household chores, running short errands. It’s not much, and he knows that you’re doing it on purpose, but it gets him moving, gives him something to do, a very small goal. And, when he reaches it, you reward him with basic appreciation that should not make Reiner feel the way it does.
But, it does make him feel. Makes his head go a little fuzzy, warmth pooling in his gut.
For a while, Reiner convinces himself it’s nothing or maybe some distant cousin of anxiety. That would account for the fluttery sensation in his stomach, right? Then, after an accidental touch while passing in the kitchen–nothing obvious or provocative, just your body grazing against him as you slide past to get to the stove–Reiner realizes it’s not nothing, and it’s not anxiety. It’s that attachment he had been so quick to form, and it’s morphing into something else.
His brain is wired against him. Now, instead of all of his intrusive thoughts being about putting a fucking gun in his mouth, they’re about what it might feel like to have your arms around him or his around you, his nose pressed into your neck, tracing collarbones with lips and—
It’s gross. He shouldn’t be thinking these things. You’ve been nothing but kind to him, and all Reiner can do in return is complete all the little to-dos that you give him and fantasize about how soft your skin might feel against his.
The best course of action is to distract himself somehow. At first he just binge-watches some TV shows in an attempt to numb his brain, but then he takes inspiration from you and starts assigning himself daily tasks.
Reiner creates a new schedule out in his journal, making sure to leave himself ample downtime since he gets burnt out so much quicker these days. He plots it around his current sleep schedule with the intention of slowly making adjustments to get his circadian rhythm back on track, but right now he’s most comfortable at night, and his therapist told him to prioritize himself, though she still makes sure he is getting up and partaking in human interaction when he can.
His days start around two, and the first item on his list is some stretching, then a small breakfast that sometimes consists of lunch foods instead. Therapy if he has it, a break afterward to recuperate–either a nap, TV, or some calming video games. Then, he ventures downstairs to maybe (hopefully) spend time or run errands with you. Sometimes he even helps with dinner. Roland will get home around the time, and all of you eat together and usually watch something, and Reiner spends most of that time trying not to glance at the two of you in an attempt to keep that ugly feeling from blossoming in his stomach–a newer development but… familiar.
He experienced the same feeling when two of his friends got together despite Reiner having a crush on one of them for a few months, but he got over that just like he’ll get over this.
You’re making it extremely difficult, though–not that you’re meaning to, of course. It’s just the way you take care of him and the subtle ways you’re helping him, a little unsure when you tell him one day, “I don’t mean for this to come off as condescending–”
You’re always so worried about that, and Reiner doesn’t understand entirely, but he assumes it might be because of the way you’re only a few years older than him yet in a parental position.
“—but I’ve seen the way you’ve been pushing yourself more, and I’m… I’m proud of you. I know it’s hard. My old psychiatrist once told me that my antidepressants would only do so much in terms of getting better and half the battle is actually wanting to get better.”
And, that opens up the floodgates.
Alone in the house one afternoon, the two of you sit on the couch just a little closer than normal, and Reiner pries, “You were on antidepressants at one point?”
It shouldn’t come as a surprise, a lot more common these days considering how shit the world is, but you’re so… he wouldn’t say bubbly, but you’re light, content, and that’s way more than he can say for himself.
You nod, “Not just at one point. I’ve been put on them a couple times in the last few years, and then once I think I can handle things on my own again, I get weaned off them.” You look at him very seriously and add, “But, a lot of people stay on them indefinitely, and that’s also okay. Mood stabilizers are… pretty fucking great.”
“Is that possible? To even get to the point of thinking you can do it on your own?”
You sigh, sinking back into the cushions, and it causes your arm to brush against Reiner’s.
“Sometimes. Like I said, my psychiatrist told me you have to want to, but that’s a fight all on its own. Eventually, that sadness or numbness you get so used to feeling starts feeling safe. Like, you can guard yourself with it.”
Reiner’s eyes widen, your words hitting him straight in the chest because yes. Yes, absolutely, it feels so much safer than pulling himself out of that darkness. The fear of failure is just too strong to wrestle sometimes.
“But, life will keep going on with or without you, and I think, in my case, I got more scared of being left behind. The gap between semesters in college just kept widening–all my friends graduated and settled into their careers and families, and I just felt like there was no way I would catch up, and that started to motivate me more.”
That makes sense. Reiner is all too aware of his friends who graduated while he was struggling, all the people he still hasn’t congratulated due to his bitterness.
The world carried on as he stagnated, and it hurt. It hurt to watch them help as much as they could until they had no choice but to focus on themselves, their own studies and goals. He couldn’t blame them, but it added fuel to the fucking dumpster fire that was his life at the time, and for that, there’s a small part of him that remains a little upset about it.
If they had just stayed a little longer, would that have helped? Would he have been able to hold out long enough to join them in walking across that stage?
Dr. Ral had offered one of those sympathetic smiles when he’d brought it up in therapy a while back, voice level when she’d told him, “I think it was a long time coming. Based on what you’ve told me about your childhood and school history, I think it was a matter of time before you buckled, and that’s okay. You’ve probably been showing signs of depression since grade school, but it’s hard to diagnose at a young age, and it only gets harder with the onset of puberty. The fact that you held out for as long as you did is impressive, Reiner. You’ve been strong for so long.”
That was one of the sessions that resulted in him coming home with a red nose and swollen eyes, the kind that led you to cook his favorite meal without saying anything about it.
Now, he sits next to you, slumping forward with his chin resting in the palms of his hands as he stares blankly at the black TV screen.
“You think I’ll ever get motivated like you did?” he mumbles, and when your hand settles right between his shoulder blades, Reiner feels some of the tension leave his shoulders.
“I think you’re well on your way. I’ve seen you carrying around your notebook. It has lists in there, yeah? Schedules and reminders?”
He nods, turning just enough to look at you, and his mouth pulls up on one side at the sight of you smiling softly at him.
“Got the idea from you. Leaving me those little chores helped get me started… helped a lot.”
“I thought they might,” you tell him with a little twinkle in your eyes.
Reiner wants so much to reach over and cup your cheek because he is so, so grateful you came into his life when you did. He understands the kindness now. He understands why you’ve been looking after him the way you have, and it’s making his throat a little tight.
Then, in a strained voice, he tells you just that, how much he appreciates you, eyes beginning to sting, and it seems he passes his emotion onto you. Suddenly, you’re the one with misty eyes, swallowing thickly and looking away before basically whispering, “Kindred spirits or whatever.”
“Yeah,” he says, huffing out a laugh. “Something like that.”
Reiner isn’t sure who initiates it that night, but someone is hugging someone, and then you’re leaning back into the couch’s throw pillows, and he’s leaning with you, legs stretched out, hands tucked under the small of your back. You guide his head so that it’s just pillowed enough on the bottom swell of your breast but not buried in them, and he gets it, the hesitance and censorship (for lack of a better word), but fuck, being this close and this vulnerable, Reiner wants–he wants–
But, he doesn’t move, just reaches for the remote and turns on the doctor show he’s been watching even without you.
At some point, maybe halfway through the episode, you start carding a hand through his hair. Reiner thinks it seems natural, like an impulse for you. It threatens to put him to sleep, but he knows Roland will be getting home soon, and he’ll need to move before that happens.
Just a little longer, though. He wants a little more time like this, lying on top of you, your scent dancing in his nose, supple skin as close as can be yet too far away. He’d be lying if he said his mouth wasn’t watering some, those intrusive thoughts running wild in his brain, but this time Reiner doesn’t bother trying to block them out.
Wanna snuggle deeper, wanna kiss her stomach, lift the shirt, leave a mark, bite, lick, suck–then the mental image of his lips wrapped around your nipple, tugging it into his mouth, fingers digging into your plushness and massaging. He wants to taste you, wants lap at you, drool and slurp and suckle–
Nurse, he realizes with a deep inhale, and it’s that epiphany that makes him sit back up. He doesn’t just want you to care for him, he wants you to nurture him, wants you to nurse him like a god damn–fuck, it’s weird. It’s–it’s–
Reiner thinks back to the conversation in the baby store when he was holding the breast pump. That’s probably where it all started. Helps development but also helps the bond between mother and child. Is that it? Does he want the emotional bond? Is it some primal part of his brain wanting to be fed in the most basic, human way?
Or, is he just horny?
It’s very likely the latter, but… he can’t help but think about the way it would make him feel—safe. Smothered in the best of ways.
Reiner knows he should make his exit upstairs, half hard in his jeans, so he feigns drowsiness and thanks you for listening, talking, and telling your story (or part of it, he guesses), then tells you he’ll be down for dinner in a bit.
“I should get started on that,” you nod, lazily pushing yourself from the couch, and fuck, shit, he’s zeroed in on your tits again, lips parting, hand flexing at his side until he swiftly turns and jogs upstairs before you can notice how his cock is straining against the zipper of his pants.
Okay, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, just stop thinking. Forget about it. It’s weird, why are you so fucking weird, Reiner, the fuck is actually wrong with you? She’s your stepmom. She’s married to your literal father–
That evening after dinner, Reiner overhears you and Roland in the bedroom, the creaking of a bedframe and squeaking of springs. Every once in a while, he can make out the sound of a muffled, high-pitched moan, and no matter how hard he tries, all Reiner can think about is how desperate he is for you to make those noises for him.
Stepmom or not, he wants you. He isn’t sure how exactly, but the desire is there, and it’s burning him up.
~ ~ ~
You end up picking up a part time job to help out a bit–nothing particularly demanding, just a few hours spent tutoring at the local community college every other week day. Roland insists it’s not necessary, that the restaurant is bringing in enough money, and he’s fine with supporting you and his son, but it really just comes down to wanting to pay a bill or two on your own, be a little more independent.
When you and Roland were dating, he told you up front that he wanted something of a housewife in terms of spouses, and honestly, you had no problem with it. Staying at home meant time to complete your masters online, maybe even a PhD if you stayed motivated. Of course, you told him that eventually you would have to move forward and into a real career, but for the next few years, you’d be content being his young trophy wife. The two of you still joke about it.
But, asking him for money is hard, like a kid asking for allowance, and even though he gives you basically anything you want (within reason), you can’t help but feel like you’re in a position of helplessness.
Tutoring will give you some pocket money, “Just enough to, you know, get my nails done and put gas in the car and stuff… pay the phone bill maybe.”
Roland argued for a while but eventually gave in, backing down as he came to the conclusion that, “Spending time with people other than me n’ Reiner will probably do you some good.”
And, he was not wrong—hit the nail on the head without even trying. Part of the reason you want the job is to put some distance between you and Reiner. You aren’t upset with him or uneasy, but you do think that he could benefit from a bit more independence just like you.
The two of you are only getting closer, and it’s… slightly troubling. There’s been a natural progression of getting more comfortable and opening up to one another, but you wonder if maybe you’ve gotten too comfortable.
Because… he touches you now.
It’s never inappropriate, but it’s a huge difference from the way he used to keep his hands shoved in his pockets at all times. Gentle fingers skimming your waist as he maneuvers past you in the kitchen, splaying across the small of your back when you walk into a store together. At first you think he’s trying to guide you like so many men do, then you have the idea that maybe it’s his way of holding onto you, the way children hold onto their parents’ hand or shirt. Once that crosses your mind, you find that you’re more than willing to let him continue. He needs an anchor, especially in public, and if he’s chosen you as his grounding point, you can live with it.
Reiner has told you more than once that he finds you comforting, and that’s fine. You’re glad to be here for him in any capacity. It’s why you let him cuddle up to you on the couch, why you let him weave his long legs with yours and rest his head on your chest. It’s intimate, yes, but it all comes down to giving him a safe space.
You’re just a little concerned at the fact that you feel the need to hide it. You both seem to think this is something Roland should not know about, and that is definitely a red flag.
Reiner is an adult after all—an adult male with needs and urges, and it’d be a shame if he ever acted on any of those with you, not only because it would change the nature of your relationship but because you don’t know… if you’d be able to tell him no. The second red flag.
So, the job is necessary. The distance is necessary. And, when you see the hurt in Reiner’s eyes as you tell him, you know you’re making the right decision. You still feel the need to reassure him, though, coddle him.
“It’s just a few hours in the afternoon, and it’s only Monday, Wednesday, Friday.”
That seems to ease most of his worries, a deep breath leaving him where he lies over you. “Prob’ly for the best,” he mutters, words slightly muffled from the way his cheek is pressed into his teeth. “Maybe I’ll finally nut up ‘nd text Bertl or somethin’. Won’t have anything better to do.”
Your hand settles on his head, just above the shell of his ear as you stroke his hair. It makes him shiver, and you stop only for him to protest with a soft, “No, feels good,” so you pick up the idle motion again.
“How long’s it been since you talked to him?”
Reiner shrugs as best he can and answers, “Few months–probably close to six at this point.”
“Are you scared of reaching out to him?”
“A little. He’s been my best friend since freshman year, though, so… hopefully he wants to talk to me.”
“If y’all were that close, I’m sure he does. If he hasn’t tried to get in touch with you yet, he’s probably just worried about being pushy or overbearing or something.”
“Maybe,” Reiner sighs. “Wouldn’t blame him if he just gave up on me, though. I… may have told him to fuck off last time we talked.”
You snort, gently scratching the back of his head and smiling at the way he seems to melt against you a little bit more. “Best friends understand stuff like that. And, he’ll understand even better if you decide to tell him what all happened.”
The two of you go quiet as a particularly dramatic scene plays on the TV, an episode you’ve seen countless times, yet it still manages to get your attention even now. You can feel each of Reiner’s breaths as he inhales and exhales, the steady thump of his heart, how he nuzzles into you in a way he probably thinks is subtle but is absolutely not, especially when his nose brushes along the curve of one of your breasts. You give him the benefit of the doubt for about two seconds, think to yourself he probably doesn’t even realize, and then you remember that mental illness aside, Reiner is still a hot-blooded male and probably knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Heart’s beating fast,” he comments, and it makes you roll your eyes.
You try to sound casual as you tell him in an airy voice, “Yeah, ‘cause your face is basically in my boob.”
Embarrassing him isn’t the goal here, but he should know that you are very aware of his current position.
Reiner snorts quietly, a short, “Sorry,” falling from his lips as he scoots back down just a bit. “Didn’t even notice.”
He’s probably lying, but you tell him, “It’s fine,” and just focus on the show again.
It’s not something you want to worry yourself over because Reiner has been nothing but respectful toward you and maybe he really didn’t notice. Maybe his head is so full of the thoughts he’s constantly trying to fight that tits and sex are the last thing on his mind. You remember your libido being completely shot when you were struggling, so maybe…
But, when the two of you sit up and break apart, you catch his eyes lingering on you, staring just a beat too long as you stretch your arms above your head and arch your back in a deep stretch. It’s natural, you tell yourself. You were pushing your chest out, so of course his eyes were drawn there. He doesn’t actually find you attractive, you don’t think. You’re just here, probably the only woman he sees outside of his therapist. It’s not like he wants you.
There’s that tiny voice in your head that questions it, though, wonders just what you are to him, and it’s the only thing that justifies the decision to perform… a test of sorts. By the end of it, you think you’ll have your answer, and based on that, you can gauge just how much distance you should put between yourself and your stepson.
As the weekend passes and you’re able to spend a bit more time with Roland during the evenings, you second guess yourself. This new idea of yours could very well just fan the flames of whatever might be brewing within Reiner. But, it could also prove that there’s nothing there or that, even if there is, he’s more than capable of ignoring it.
It’s just that… it’s not lewd, but you’ll be crossing a line.
Monday you have tutoring sessions from eleven to four, so you only have a couple hours at the house where it’s just you and Reiner, but Tuesday, your schedule is free. You get up at around nine, take your shower and get ready for the day, then slip into a pair of leggings and a light pink t-shirt that your darker bra definitely shows through. You’re covered up, still modest, something you can pass off as oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even look in the mirror today. Just laugh it away.
You spend the morning tidying the house and working on the paper that’s been looming over you since the semester started, and when Reiner ambles downstairs, all he offers is a gruff greeting, eyes flicking to your chest for a flash before he makes his way into the kitchen. That’s good.
He goes through his own daily routine, doesn’t talk to you until he eventually pokes his head into the makeshift office which is actually the dining room and asks, “Wanna watch a few episodes of Grey’s?”
“Yeah,” you nod with a grin. “Always.”
So, you both get into your usual positions on the couch, first sitting too close until lying back feels better, and that’s that. One day down. He passed with flying colors.
Wednesday you have tutoring again, but Thursday is laundry day. You actually ask Reiner to help out with it, tell him to just bring his dirty clothes downstairs, and the two of you can knock it out in one afternoon. Today you’re in track shorts and a scoop neck t-shirt that dips low enough to show a bit of cleavage, and Reiner has a bit more trouble keeping his eyes to himself. He’s not blatantly drooling, but you see the way his gaze flits back and forth too often to be passed off as casual.
It just so happens that he is in a particularly good mood today, though, so you don’t mind the hurried glances–not when he’s smiling and teasing and bumping his hip into yours. It’s not often you see him like this, and it troubles you just how much you enjoy it.
“Polka dots, eh?” he says, and when you look over at him, your face heats as you see him folding a pair of your panties.
All the loads got thrown in together, so you figured he’d see a few pairs, but this whole time, you’ve been sliding boxer briefs over to him to fold, not wanting to make him uncomfortable by touching all over his unmentionables.
But, here he is, mouth curling into a smirk, and when he sets the panties on top of one of your stacks, he tacks on a playful, “Cute,” before picking up a towel.
“Reiner,” you say, hoping it comes out as more of an admonishment rather than the whine that echoes in your head. “You don’t have–let me fold those!”
“I don’t mind,” he snickers. “Doesn’t bother me or anything.”
“Maybe it should.”
He looks at you, something on the tip of his tongue, but instead of saying anything, he just searches through the laundry for a couple seconds before finding the little purple thong you were so hoping you’d get to before him.
Light brown irises look a shade darker than usual as he stares at you, folding the skimpy article as best he can given the lack of material there. Then, he plops it on top of the last pair and says, “I don’t care.”
The ambiguity of the statement has you warm all over. You want to glare at him or at least squint like you’re skeptical, but all you can do is look up at him with–with–god, you hope they aren’t those big doe eyes Roland pokes fun at you for.
You decide water is what you need. Go into the kitchen, cool off with a glass, then come back and finish the rest of the clothes and act like what just happened wasn’t fucking strange.
And, you do just that. Act like there’s no tension whatsoever between you and Reiner. Keep laughing, keep teasing, and end up on the couch again.
You can feel every outward breath, hot as it reaches bare skin, and you try not to move at all because you’re not sure how you want to move, how your body wants to respond. Reiner’s stubble is scratching over the place where t-shirt meets flesh, and his fingertips are digging into the small of your back just a little harder than usual, and you are quickly realizing that you may have gotten yourself into trouble.
You have the weekend to think about it. The things you were trying to blow off before are suddenly impossible to ignore, but it’s not because of Reiner or that dark look he had in his eyes for those few moments. It’s because of you and your reaction to him. Because of how much you enjoy not only being around him, but pressed against him.
Monday passes, and you’ve made up your mind. You’re going to back away, put up new boundaries, encourage him to depend more on his therapist and maybe get in touch with his friends again. That’s the plan.
Then, Tuesday morning rolls around, and you’re in the kitchen at your usual nine AM wake up hour, still clad in pajamas as you wait for your bagel to finish toasting. Footsteps on the stairs make you reel around, surprised to see Reiner up this early (or late in his case).
He pauses at the bottom step, and even from here you can see the dark circles under his eyes, assume he hasn’t actually slept yet, and fuck, that soft feeling washes over you, the one you simply cannot fight when it comes to him because you worry.
“Why haven’t you been to bed yet?”
He grunts, making his way into the kitchen and tells you, “Just couldn’t sleep.”
Personal space doesn’t seem to be high on his list of priorities this morning because he crowds you against the counter just to reach over your head and grab a coffee mug from the cabinet. When he steps back, he looks down to see your expression–wide eyes, lips parted in bewilderment.
It must look like concern to him, because he puts a hand on the top of your head and assures, “I’ll be fine. I’ll probably just crash early tonight.”
You shake him off with a little pout, but when he drops his arm, his fingers graze over your chest, just the right angle to catch one of your nipples on the way down, and it makes you suck in a sharp breath and push yourself into the edge of the counter.
Reiner’s gaze is locked on your face but not for long. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or maybe it’s the pressure that’s been building between the two of you, but now he doesn’t bother to hide his gaze as it travels to your chest, no doubt taking in the pebbled buds poking against the baggy t-shirt you’re wearing.
Your body pulses under the attention, blood rushing and thoughts racing as you think the worst just might happen… any second now…
But, Reiner just clears his throat, apologizes, and steps over to the coffee maker. You squeeze your eyes shut, let out a slow breath, then straighten up and start walking toward the bedroom just in time to hear the click and pop of the toaster.
“Bagel’s ready,” Reiner calls.
Not interested in eating anymore, you tell him, “You can have it,” wanting nothing more than a quick shower to rinse off your confusion as well as Reiner’s touch.
It was an accident. It was an accident. He didn’t do it on purpose. It was just an accident.
You have no intention of watching TV on the couch with him later today–time to break the routine–but then hours pass, and Roland texts you that one of his assistant managers left for a family emergency which means he’ll have to stay to help close. It will be another several hours until he’s home, and when you tell Reiner this, he looks at you with that exhausted expression and asks, “Grey’s?”
It takes maybe three seconds of contemplation before you cave. He’s probably having a rough day. You know he hasn’t taken a nap because you’ve been able to hear him shuffling around up in his room all afternoon, so it’s likely he’s unfocused, having a harder time wrestling with his own thought processes. Being overly tired always seems to make you sad, like you’re about to get sick but are helpless to stop it.
You don’t want Reiner feeling helpless, and maybe, if he relaxes next to you for a while, he’ll end up drifting off. That’s the best case scenario.
You’re not entirely sure what the worst case is, though.
It’s been a while since you sat on opposite ends of the couch, but tonight, that’s exactly what you do. You lean against one armrest as Reiner takes the other, chin resting in his hand as he blinks slowly at the screen. You can tell he’s drowsy, but he’s fighting it, glancing over at you every once in a while until you finally sigh and hold a hand out to him.
Reiner’s face breaks out into one of his softer smiles–grateful–as he grabs your hand and lets you guide him to your chest. He gets situated the way he likes, hands underneath you, legs twined, and you can feel the coarse hair on his calves, Reiner having opted for the comfortable athletic shorts he wears when he’s feeling especially shitty, you’ve noticed. He’s warm and heavy. You think he’s gained a little bit of weight over the last month which is fantastic considering how thin he was when he’d first come to the house.
All awkwardness aside, you’re glad he’s here. You’re glad he trusts you. You’re glad you can care for him.
The drama plays out on TV, and Reiner’s breath falls in and out of rhythm as he dozes for a few minutes only to wake back up. You stroke down his back with one hand, fingers trailing down his spine, and with the other you lightly scratch his scalp.
“Just go to sleep, sweetie,” you coo when he pushes his face against you. “Still have a couple hours before your dad gets home.”
He hums, but you can tell he’s blinked himself awake by the way his shoulders draw up higher once again. You breathe out, more disappointed than exasperated. You just want him to relax. If you could only soothe him enough–
The scene on screen catches your attention, one of your favorite characters crying loudly, feet in stirrups as another doctor examines her, and despite knowing what’s coming, your stomach still flips when you watch the material of a pink shirt dampen in such a particular way, there’s no mistaking what it could be. It isn’t the image itself that makes you nervous, and honestly, you wouldn’t even call it being nervous–more like… anticipatory.
It’s the way Reiner’s fingers twitch, the way the warm air seeps through your top only gets hotter as he turns his face into you, nose prodding the very bottom of your sternum. Then hands are moving, sliding between you and the couch cushion, dancing at the hem of your shirt.
The, “Rei,” that falls from your lips in a murmur serves no real purpose. You’re not telling him to stop or start. You’re not telling him anything.
The pads of his fingers are scorching against the small of your back, every unique print burning against your skin, leaving trails as he moves just a little higher… then a little more… a little more…
Thumbs brush over your ribs, hands curling around your front, catching on your shirt and tugging it upward until Reiner can push it up over your bra, croaking out a desperate, “Please,” as he goes.
You’re nodding before you realize, eyes shut so tightly they’re beginning to hurt, but your own hand is still holding the back of his head, encouraging him further as he hooks fingers into the bottom of your bra and stretches elastic just enough to push it up over your tits.
The deep groan that sounds from Reiner’s chest makes your mouth run dry, a huff of air pushed from your lungs when he settles more of his weight on you. He wastes absolutely no time in lowering his face to you, one kiss placed on the swell of your breast before he latches onto a nipple, and something about it causes him to make another noise, though this one isn’t as much a groan as it is a whimper.
Your mind is a mess, no way to pick out even a single coherent thought, but it seems your subconscious takes over, a quiet, “Shh, baby, it’s okay,” sounding from you without your consent.
Reiner breathes in deeply, sucking on the bud in a way that’s just shy of painful, but stroking his hair seems to calm him down some, and he falls into something gentler, the flick of his tongue making you hold back little moans you don’t want him hearing.
This isn’t about pleasure. This is about comfort. Nothing more, right?
He massages both of your tits, large hands kneading plumpness like he’s guiding it to his mouth. When he releases the nipple he’s been working, you watch as a string of spit spans from the bud to his lower lip. Reiner doesn’t seem to care about any messes, though, as he just leans back down to lick at the other.
You do your best to remain calm, to think of this in a non-explicit way. He doesn’t seem to be taking things any further, his hands staying on your chest, and while there is a subtle rock to his body, you can’t tell if it’s because he’s pressing his hips into the couch or just due to the way he keeps dipping and tugging and pushing against you.
Honestly, you don’t think he’s actually trying to get off. It’s more like—
“So soft,” he mumbles, nibbling sensitive skin then circling it with his tongue. “Knew you’d be so…”
But, he doesn’t finish, just pulls you back into his mouth with a content sigh.
You move in a way that leaves both of you on your sides, Reiner’s head lower than yours so that he can bury his face in your chest. Despite the tingle in your spine (and between your legs) Reiner seems… calm. Sinking into the couch, lazily suckling on you like he could do it forever.
His hands stop moving so much, the pattern of his tongue growing slower and slower, and you don’t know how much time has passed, but you hear familiar credit music playing from the TV.
By the time the next episode starts, Reiner has stilled, Your nipples are wet and now cold, one of them brushing against his lips as he breathes steadily. He’s out—face in your tits, sleeping soundly. It’d be cute if…
No. No, it’s still cute in a strange way. You don’t know why, but it is. He is.
Another episode comes and goes, and when your phone chimes with a text, it jolts Reiner awake. You can feel him blinking, eyelashes brushing over your skin, and for a moment, you think he might panic, like this short nap would bring him back to his senses.
That is obviously not the case, however, as he buries himself in you all over again, murmuring into your skin, words you can’t make out as you text your husband back that no, you don’t need anything from the 24 hour fast food place, just get home safely.
You let Reiner take what he needs for just a little bit longer, glad you didn’t decide to resituate your clothes the way you’d considered earlier. It probably would have woken him up anyway.
He sucks and gropes and covers both of your nipples with gossamer spit until you scratch at his head a little harder than before and tell him, “Roland’ll be home soon.”
A mournful groan vibrates against your flesh, ricocheting in your chest cavity, but Reiner still pushes himself up on one arm, pausing only to kiss right between your breasts before sitting up fully and rubbing his eyes.
You don’t say anything about what just transpired between the two of you, just pull your bra and shirt back down then stand up.
Reiner looks up at you, questions dancing in his eyes, insecurities and fears, and though you are also full of absolute confusion, you still bend over and kiss the top of his head, softly telling him, “Go get some sleep, sweetie.”
He forces a smile, so so tired, then gets up and trudges upstairs.
Watching as he goes, you wonder how it is that you can feel like everything has changed between the two of you while also getting the impression that nothing’s changed at all.
~ ~ ~
Reiner is a pretty big fucking fan of routines these days. The predictability is nice, keeps him on track and on a schedule even if said schedule is fairly basic. He has a wake up routine—simple stretches, teeth brushing, showering. A specific Wednesday routine when therapy threatens to throw him off. An eating routine that took a while to get used to considering how screwed up his hours are. And then, he has a bedtime routine.
That one is probably his favorite (is definitely his favorite).
At around seven AM, Reiner sits at the kitchen table and eats a bowl of cereal across from Roland who is still waking up with his coffee, then once his father leaves and that front door is locked into place, Reiner rinses out his bowl and the sugar from his mouth and shuffles into the downstairs bedroom, the one you’re still asleep in.
It was probably extremely fucking weird for you the first time—it was weird for him too—but now after a few weeks, you’re familiar with it. Reiner slides under covers next to you, slinging one arm over your hips and resting his head on your shoulder. You’re slowly stirring, just awake enough to hum in acknowledgement, awake enough to shift, awake enough to lazily pull up whatever big t-shirt you chose the night before.
That’s what he waits for every time. The permission. You have to be the one to say okay, go ahead, otherwise Reiner will just lay and wait and possibly fall into a restless sleep.
But, he much prefers this. Not only because he enjoys it more but also because it makes him drift off even faster. He’s already tired, hands moving over your tits slowly, lowering himself to one and sucking in a way that isn’t even a little hurried or frantic.
Reiner sighs happily, nibbling for a moment before pulling your hardened nipple further into his mouth, and he can feel himself stiffening in his joggers, but it’s not something he’s about to take care of. He’s not here to get his dick wet. He’s here to come down, to relax and be cared for, and as you sleepily card fingers through his hair, he is just that.
A puddle next to you, Reiner licks and suckles, trying not to pay attention to the way your hips twitch every now and again. You seem so casual about it, he doubts you’re actually aroused by this frankly pathetic display of need, but he does have to keep in mind this is an erogenous zone for you, so maybe…
Doesn’t matter. He’s fantasized about you enough, and if he lets his mind get away from him here and now, it’ll only lead to disaster.
So, he just lays and grunts and sucks on you as if he were made to. Kinda feels like he was.
That’s how it goes almost every morning. Both of you usually end up dozing again until your alarm goes off at nine, and you either leave Reiner to sleep as you get ready for work at the college or you leave him to sleep as you putter around the house, saving errands for later so that he can come with you if he wants to. Newsflash: he always wants to.
You still watch TV together, still let him mouth over you as he pleases, running a hand over his scalp or down his spine, and he wonders how you justify it. What’s going through your mind while he takes and takes and takes from you?
Reiner feels genuinely bad about it, well aware that this is not normal, but he can’t deny that his mood has been better since you started doing this—whatever this is.
In the past four and a half weeks, he’s gotten in contact with Bertholdt and Annie, come up with a new workout regimen that is slightly more than just yoga poses, and has started opening up more in therapy. He’s obviously keeping specific details to himself, but Dr. Ral is aware that he’s found a haven within you, and that his sex drive is back. She just doesn’t know that the two are related, and he’s definitely not about to tell her about how often he jerks off in the shower while thinking about suffocating in your tits, the frequency of which only increasing since he’s pretty sure they’ve grown a little. Maybe you’ve gained a bit of weight he hasn’t noticed anywhere else. Maybe it’s Reiner’s lizard brain playing tricks on him.
Anyway, he’s getting distracted now. The original point is that things are changing and for the better. ‘Happiness’ isn’t the right word. Reiner knows he’s far from that, but he’s… adjusting. In his own way. He’s been living with you and Roland for almost five months now, and he can honestly say that it’s gotten easier, that his brain isn’t quite as mean to him as it was before. The ideation is most certainly still present, but it’s not as loud as it was before.
His doctors are impressed in a hesitant sort of way, like they’re expecting this very mild high to come crashing down, and he gets it. He isn’t exactly stable just yet. But, they also don’t understand the kind of support he’s getting at home.
“What would you say is, like… the correlation between how I grew up and how I ended up here?” Reiner asks Dr. Ral during session, picking at the string hanging from the hole in his jeans. “Like all that nature versus nurture bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit,” she laughs. “It’s a widely respected theory. Though, I will admit it’s a little harder to differentiate these days since home lives aren’t the only difficult part of childhood. The world itself is hard to live in, so a lot of anxiety and feelings of hopelessness stem from our environment today. A kid could grow up with doting parents, good friends, and the best dog ever, and still end up struggling.”
“But, how much of that is the world, and how much of that is just your shitty brain not making the right chemicals?”
“Reiner,” she sighs with a little smile. “It could be that your brain has always functioned differently, and it’s only recently become obvious. Or, it could be because you were born into a crappy world full of war and recession and tragedy. Or, it could be the way you were raised at home.”
“You think my parents have something to do with it, don’t you?” Reiner asks with a bitter smile.
Dr. Ral shrugs, “They play an integral role in a person’s life, but I don’t like placing blame unless the fault is obvious.”
Abuse, Reiner can assume. He didn’t grow up dealing with anything like that, thank goodness. Probably wouldn’t have made it anywhere near this far if he had, but he did spend a lot of time alone, and he’s not surprised when the doctor across from him highlights that.
“We haven’t talked about your childhood in length, but we’ve touched on the missing father and the overworked mother.”
“You make them sound like self-help books,” he snorts. “For real, though, I was fine. I learned how to take care of myself.”
“That’s it, though, you shouldn’t have had to. Not at the young age of…?” She lifts an eyebrow in question, and Reiner ruffles his hair out of place as he thinks.
“I don’t know, like, four or something? When Mom had money, she’d pay the neighbors to take care of me, but that was… not the case most of the time.” He looks at her seriously, probably pleadingly as he tells her, “She did her best. It wasn’t her fault.”
“I’m not trying to imply anything was her fault, Reiner. I’m sure she did everything she could to make sure you were okay. I’m just saying that when you grow up like that, without a strong parental figure, it means you haven’t been nurtured the way that most humans need to be.”
Reiner sucks his teeth, tries to fight the smile that’s threatening to split his face. If she only knew.
“Haven’t been nurtured, huh?”
Her expression is sympathetic. “It could be a contributing factor. You’ve had to take care of yourself for such a long time. Neurochemistry on your side or not–eventually, you were going to hit a breaking point.”
He drives home mulling it over, tuning out his music and apparently the rest of his surroundings as someone behind him honks when he sits too long after a light has turned green.
There’s not even a tiny part of Reiner that’s angry at his mother for the way he was brought up. There were many lonely evenings and weekends, a lot of cheese sandwiches and juice spills, but it always seemed like she was doing what she could to make ends meet after her shitty husband left her.
It almost felt like betraying her, coming to live with Roland, but Reiner knows his dad has means of supporting him that his mother does not. Besides, irritated as she would get when Roland would come take him to lunch (the few times that he did), she still seemed to support it, happy that Reiner was getting to know the other person responsible for his being put on this earth.
His usual Wednesday sandwich is waiting for him in the fridge when he opens the stainless steel doors, and even though he was fully expecting it to be there as always, Reiner still finds himself chuckling given the subject of his last conversation with the therapist.
You won’t be home for another half an hour, so Reiner finishes eating then switches out the laundry you left earlier, thinking too hard about that one afternoon he spent folding clothes with you, the way you’d looked so flustered…
Before he can get too lost in the fantasy of what you might look like in nothing but those polka dot panties or that skimpy purple thong, the front door opens and you walk in–bag slung over one shoulder, thermos in hand, flashing a bright smile at Reiner when you see him.
“Hey, you,” you greet easily. “How was your appointment?”
Reiner makes a non-committal noise, striding over and taking your bag, putting it on one of the dining room chairs then following you into the kitchen where you rinse out your cup.
“Same as always. Talk about feelings and plans and progress and shit.” He pauses, feels his lips begin to curl again as he leans against the counter and utters, “Doctor Ral thinks I wasn’t nurtured enough as a kid.”
The laugh you let out is a little startling but so, so genuine as you grin widely and nod, “Yeah, I, uh–I think I could’ve told you that, baby.”
Sparks–from the crown of his head all the way to his toes. Reiner watches you wash your dish for a few moments before stepping up behind you, arms locking around your waist as he lowers his head to rest on your shoulder.
“That why you let me get away with so much shit?” he asks, only half joking.
You scoff, wiggling a bit and claiming, “I do not–” but stop when you’ve turned all the way to face him. “Okay, maybe,” you concede, features softening when you raise a hand to touch his face. “I just like knowing you’re okay, and the only time I know you are is when… I’m with you, so…”
He’s too close. He knows it, and you know it, nearly touching, and fuck, you’ve gone this far, so–
Your body goes stiff when he kisses you, no movement but no objection either, and once Reiner presses just a little harder, you give in and let your lips move against his.
It doesn’t take him long to get light-headed, blood rushing south as he pushes you against the cabinets and grinds his hips into yours. A small sound of discomfort rings loud and clear in his ears, though, and he can assume a knob or corner is digging into you, so he leans back enough to give himself the room to lift you off the tile and sit you on the lip of the counter.
Your thighs squeeze his sides as he stands between them, his hands roaming until they find what he always seems to be looking for. You mewl when he paws at your tits–soft and plump, so pretty when they glisten with his spit–and Reiner makes quick work of your shirt, only breaking away from your kiss when he has to pull the material over your head.
He meets your wide eyes, his own probably looking a little wild as he unclasps your bra, but he does manage to croak out an almost painful, “Tell me to stop–”
“No,” you breathe, straps sliding down your arms until you drop your bra on the floor.
Reiner holds your head in both hands as he kisses you again–deeper than the last time, teeth pressing against lips and tongues burning one another, and only when you start to pant does he let go and move downward.
The rush of emotion that always comes with latching onto you floods his system–the closeness, the connection, the intimacy of it, and Reiner groans as he sucks you into his mouth, fuck, he loves the feeling, loves the way your little bud hardens against his tongue, how you shudder when he licks at the velvety ring around it, and you’re arching your back and wrapping your legs around him as he sucks and sucks and sucks.
“Reiner–I–”
Something in your voice is a little off, but he doesn’t stop–couldn’t if he wanted to at this point. His cock is throbbing in his pants, and he can feel that his neck and face are flushed with want. He’s so lost, so lost, and doesn’t want to come back, half-crazed and delirious and–
The first taste is a shock. A tiny drop of what could be sweet cream, but it’s gone so fast–nothing more than the ghost of flavor–that Reiner thinks he may have hallucinated it.
Then, there’s another, and Reiner knows that something new is definitely hitting his tongue. When he pulls back, his eyes go wide, taking in the thick droplets beading around your nipples, and as he gently tugs on the bud he hasn’t been sucking on, a couple more pale dots leak out.
“Holy fuck,” he huffs, absolute reverence lacing his words, because you’re–this is–he did this to you. He’s no master of anatomy, but Reiner is pretty sure that it’s because of him that your body thinks–
You whimper a shameful, “Oh, god, I–” but he’s already lapping at your tits again, gathering anything he can and moaning at the saccharinity.
Sweet, so sweet, so sweet, Reiner repeats to himself, hips rocking into nothing as he grows impossibly harder, and he thinks if he can drink just a little bit more from you, he might be able to come untouched. This is his secret fantasy come to life. He doesn’t fully understand it, but it doesn’t matter because he is in ecstasy, trying so hard not to hurt you while doing his best to pull every drop of ambrosia from your perfect fucking body.
It doesn’t take long at all for your dripping to cease, your savory taste on his tongue now only in essence as Reiner raises enough to look you in the eye. Your chest is heaving, smaller hands coming up to cup your breasts as you gaze down at them, then back at him, concern morphing your expression, and for the first time since he met you, Reiner gets to comfort you.
“I’ve got you, okay?” he tells you with a certainty he has no right to claim.
It feels like his head is swimming, and his words are too thick in his mouth, but you still nod, allowing Reiner to tilt your chin up and kiss you softly. It’s only when he braces himself on the countertop that he realizes he’s shaking, affection swelling inside of him, and he can’t help the next string of clumsy words that tumble from his mouth straight into yours, “I’ve got you, okay? You’re so good to me, you know that, so perfect, just let me–”
You pull him closer to you, press against him, and when Reiner grunts at the way it makes his trapped cock rub over the lip of the counter, you trail shy fingers down his chest and to his waist.
“One touch from you, and I will come,” he warns you shamelessly.
It makes you giggle against his lips but does not deter you, so Reiner unbuttons and unzips his pants, pulling himself free and hissing at the cool air that hits him. He isn’t sure he’s ever been this hard before, his tip an alarming shade of red, a string of precum stretching from his swollen head down into his boxers where a small puddle has been left.
He’s a fucking mess, and when your fingers close around him, his eyes immediately roll to the back of his head. It’s an awkward angle for you, and he knows this, but he also knows you won’t have to be in this position for long.
Pleasure builds in his gut, his balls lifting and tightening, and when you swipe a thumb over his leaking tip, Reiner’s voice breaks on a swear, and he comes on the spot. Lines of white splatter over the cabinets and your legs where they’re hanging over the counter, and he twitches in your grasp, the blood pounding in his head waning just enough for him to focus on your face again.
You’re watching him intently, lips parted and tilted upward as you keep stroking him softly. Reiner shudders, grunting when you give him a light squeeze, then covers your hand with his.
“Fucking Christ.”
A few more full-body shivers, and he’s able to tuck himself back into his pants and walk backward on weak legs to help you slide off the counter. You’re quick to wet a paper towel and wipe both yourself and the cabinets down, making sure nothing is left behind, and once that’s taken care of, you pull your shirt back on.
Reiner tracks your movements the whole time, still in his post-orgasm high as he admires the way you look bending over, thinks he can see the folds of your pussy through skin tight leggings and wonders if you’re wet right now. God, he hopes you are.
“You know, I can–I mean, you should let me–”
You turn to him and shake your head. “No, it’s okay. I just…” You must see the way his face falls a bit. It isn’t just that he wants to return the favor; it’s that he wants to make you feel good. He wants to take care of you. Fuck, he wants to watch you come, knows you will be beautiful letting go like that.
“Rei, I just need to think for a second, okay?” you try, then as if you’ve just remembered, you raise your hands to your chest again and add, “And, I need to do some fucking research apparently.”
“I can help,” he’s too quick to offer. “I mean, I can also… it’s my fault, and I don’t–” he chews on his bottom lip, glancing from you to the floor then back to you at lightning speed. “I don’t want you to do anything to stop it. Please.”
“You…” Eyes narrowing in skepticism, you look at him curiously. “You don’t mind that? Like, you want it? The mil–”
“You have no fucking idea how much I want it.” The confession makes him blush furiously, but Reiner doesn’t regret making it.
“Why?”
He holds his arms out like he doesn’t know. And, he truly doesn’t, but he is getting a vague idea of where some of his motivations may lie.
“All I know is that it feels good. Physically and… emotionally, or whatever.” You stare at him like you’re waiting for him to elaborate, but all he gives you is a casual, “Plus, it tasted good. Wasn’t expecting it to taste that good.”
You keep watching for a while, gears turning in your head, hands still on your own tits, then nod and relax some.
“I’ll, um… I’ll look into it, but if my mom friends are anything to go by then I will probably need assistance with, um–”
“Anything,” he cuts you off. “I’ll help you with anything, just ask, I’m right here, I promise.”
That deer-in-the-headlights expression doesn’t leave your face entirely, and Reiner guesses you’re going over all the ways this can go wrong, but he’s past that point. He knows what the two of you have been doing for the last several weeks is wrong, or at the very least, frowned upon, but his default state is untempered anxiety, so this is nothing new. You, however…
He paces over to you, takes your hands from your chest, and stoops to look at you.
“If this is a hard no, if you wanna just stop and pretend nothing’s happened or happening, that’s fine. I’ll understand,” then he adds a purposeful, “I will live,” because that’s what this really comes down to, isn’t it? You don’t want to hurt him and leave him teetering again.
“I’m…” you swallow. “I’m not saying no. I’m just saying I need to… prepare.”
Reiner gathers you to his chest and hugs you tightly, relieved when you wrap your arms around him. You stand like that for too long, and when you peel yourself away, he grins at the way you rise onto your tiptoes and kiss him.
“I need you to recognize, though, like…” You pull back from his lips to look at him and finish, “This is fucked up. You know what we’re doing is–”
“It’s weird as shit, I know,” he confirms with a nervous chuckle. “Had no fucking intention of anything like this happening when I moved in.”
“Okay, just as long as… we both feel guilty.”
Reiner snorts. “Is that supposed to stop us or something?”
“No, but at least I know we each have a moral compass.”
Reiner leans down again, slotting his lips against yours and grumbling, “A moral compass doesn’t mean shit if it’s busted.”
You laugh, a little melody muffled by his kiss, and Reiner does everything he can to memorize the way your smile feels.
~ ~ ~
Never in a million years did you think you would find yourself in this predicament–standing in your bathroom, grimacing as you look at yourself in the mirror, massaging your breasts. You had noticed they’ve been particularly tender, but you figured it had something to do with your cycle, possibly hormone changes that are coming with age.
But no, it’s… induced lactation, as Google explained, and you brought it on yourself completely by accident.
One of the biggest reasons you never wanted to have children is the stress it would put on your body, and though you won’t get the full fucking effect of pregnancy, this development is alarming to say the least.
You aren’t angry, especially not after the way Reiner had reacted to it, but you’re not exactly thrilled. The whole situation is unprecedented, absolutely did not see this coming, but you suppose you may as well make the best of it. You could stop the process if you really wanted to, but you’re not sure you’d be able to bear the disappointment Reiner would no doubt try and fail to hide.
So, you decide you’ll give it a trial period, at least try for his sake, and who knows—maybe you’ll grow to like it and fall deeper into the mess the two of you have made.
For now, though, there’s definitely a level of discomfort, much of which being a direct result of your breasts. You had to pump several times since this started yesterday, but after an almost full night of not, you aren’t feeling great.
As soon as Roland had left the room this morning you’d rolled out of bed and into the bathroom to examine yourself. He should be finishing up his breakfast soon, and you consider just getting in the shower to have an extra private space to relieve some pressure, but before you can do that, the bedroom door is opening, and Reiner is calling your name.
“In here,” you respond, and when he peeks around the corner, you try not to look as uncomfortable as you feel.
To no avail, apparently, because Reiner frowns immediately, taking in your expression and the way you’re holding yourself.
“Sore?”
You make an unsure noise, chewing on your bottom lip.
“Maybe? I’m not sure if it’s all in my head or not. Like, I’m thinking too hard about it.”
“Couldn’t hurt to squeeze some out,” he shrugs in an attempt to look casual, but his mouth is twisting a certain way as he fights a smile.
“No,” you sigh, “Definitely couldn’t hurt.”
He paces into the bathroom, guiding you by the hip to turn you around then lifting you onto the counter like he did the day before.
You thought you might get used to this tingling considering how many times you had to do this yesterday, but Reiner was only able to help a few of those times before his father got home, so the pull of his mouth and swirl of his tongue still makes you gasp. He makes a little noise in the back of his throat as he sucks, hands careful as he massages your tits, and it makes you let out a whimper.
Like the day before, not much comes out of either one, but Reiner acts like every drop is precious, eyes hazy when he eventually pulls away and looks at you.
You’re tender and assume you’ll remain so for a while, and when Reiner cups the swell of your breasts, you have to admit his warm hands feel very nice. It does leave you feeling extremely vulnerable, though–a position you’re still not used to being in when around him.
Just these past twenty-four hours have shown you how strong he is, how large his presence can feel even if he doesn’t mean it to be. He can lift you with ease, steady hands either wrapping around your thighs or settling under your arms to move you wherever he sees fit. There’s no shyness in the way he presses his hips against yours, and the only question he seems to have is something along the lines of ‘are you okay with this?’
He’s kind and respectful and very concerned with what you’re feeling, but… he obviously knows what he wants.
“So, I read a lot last night,” he starts, looking toward the ceiling like it has a script written on it, and you have to laugh because you also read last night–more than your brain could even hold. “Apparently, what you’re producing right now is, like, not exactly milk? It’s–”
“Colostrum, yeah. It’s really important for newborns. Give it a few more days and my–” you pause and glance downward, stuttering as you finish, “–my milk will… come in.”
“Exactly. And, there will be… more of that?”
“A lot more if Google is to be trusted. It’ll, um… It’ll take a little longer for you to… But, they need to be, like, drained, or they’ll start to hurt.”
“I can set alarms on my phone, or–” Another giggle stops him, and Reiner smiles and asks, “What?”
“Nothing,” you shake your head. “You’re just really gung-ho about this.”
“I’m stoked,” he tells you, grin widening before he places a quick kiss on your lips. “I’ve maybe thought about it before. There’s just so many–like, I can’t even explain—it’s sexy and soothing and just fucking triggers something in my brain that…” He exhales heavily, has that look about him that means he’s about to say something that’ll knock the wind out of you, and you’re absolutely correct.
Leveling big, amber eyes at you–so deep and painfully earnest–Reiner breathes, “I am so ready to worship you.”
Your body heats, a familiar stinging sensation making you blink frantically and try to look away, but he catches you with a finger under your chin, the sudden bounce of your abandoned tits making you wince, and Reiner mutters a quiet, “Sorry,” as he kisses you again and again and again.
He has legitimate feelings, you think. Legitimate, big feelings. It’s worrisome, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have any in return.
It’s all the damn time spent alone. The bearing of souls and endless cuddling. You should have stopped it before it even got started, but it is far too late now.
After sniffling away tears you’re a little mortified by, you thank Reiner and tell him to go get some sleep.
“I’ll try, but promise you’ll wake me up when you need me.”
“I promise,” you nod, trying not to snort when he walks away awkwardly, a little stiff between the legs.
Of course, keeping the promise is a little harder than making it. It’s somewhat humiliating asking for help with something so personal—doesn’t matter how much Reiner may enjoy it. After living life thinking you’d never once have to utter the question ‘hey, can you help me with my boobs?’, it’s extremely difficult working up the moxy, may as well be asking ‘would you mind milking me?’.
There’s also the added stress of having to sneak around at night in order to do it. With Roland fast asleep in bed, you tiptoe out of the room as quietly as possible and make your way upstairs where Reiner pulls you into his lap and sucks on your tits until nothing comes out. Then, depending on his mood, he might keep going.
Nothing progresses past the quick handjob you gave him a few days ago, but… that changes.
After a six-hour day of going over essays with clueless freshmen, you shuffle into the house and drop your bag in the dining room, gnawing on your bottom lip as you glance around for Reiner.
When he’s not in your immediate view, you call for him and immediately hear a fumbling upstairs followed by the loud pounding of feet as he rushes to meet you.
“Yeah, sweetness?”
The new pet name has made you blush and smile every time he’s used it the past few days, but today it does not, too bothered by the heaviness in your chest as you gaze at him in a silent plea.
“There’s too—something feels different,” you mumble. You’re not quite in pain, but you are sore and feeling a little swollen.
The look of sympathy Reiner gives you is enough to make your throat tighten. You still don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, and you’re embarrassed and overwhelmed, and when he murmurs an understanding, “Baby, come here,” you take his hand and let him lead you to the couch.
The dynamic is odd—definitely shifted within the last week. Instead of pampering him, he’s the one treating you like glass, cooing at you and holding you closely. You hadn’t foreseen this when he’d first moved in, truly viewed him as nothing more than Roland’s estranged son, a lost boy looking for a home.
He is so much more than that, though.
Reiner arranges you in his lap before ridding you of your shirt and bra, ogling your chest before biting his lip and palming your tits. That tingle you’ve only just recently gotten used to is ever present, but this firm pressure that seems to be stretching your skin is a new sensation.
So gentle when he latches onto your nipple, Reiner soothes you with his soft tongue first, slow to start sucking. When he does, though, his eyes shoot up to yours, wide and excited.
“It’s—”
He squeezes both of your tits just hard enough for fluid—lighter than what you were producing before—to drip from you in a very slow, very thin stream.
Milk leaking from your own nipples is such a strange sight to behold, but Reiner is more than happy to lick away the tiny rivulets and pull you back into his mouth. His eyelids flutter as he laps and suckles, and you can feel his cock growing beneath you, pressing right between your legs and distracting you from any of your insecurities.
You rock your hips, dragging your covered pussy over his bulge and pushing his face further into your tits. Reiner groans deeply, lifting to meet the motion then releasing your nipple to tell you, “Keep moving like that, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
It only makes you rub over him again, and Reiner stares at you with half-lidded eyes as he slides a hand under you to caress your aching cunt.
“You feelin’ needy, baby?” he questions, voice somehow playful and dark at the same time, and you nod.
There is an undeniable feeling of lopsidedness now that he’s partially drained one of your breasts, but as odd as the difference in weight is, you can’t be bothered by it when Reiner is grinding his cock up against you.
It’s hard to say what has you so desperate—the idea of relief possibly, or maybe just the fact that the two of you have been tiptoeing around this for what seems like fucking forever. Whatever it is has you trembling on top of him, begging, “Please, Rei, I wanna feel—”
He shushes you, twisting to lay you on your back then grounding himself with one knee on the couch and a foot planted on the ground. It gives him more than enough access to pepper kisses down your naked torso while slowly pulling down your jeans and panties. You lift off the cushions to help, heart beating erratically as he spreads your legs and gazes at your bare cunt.
Fingertips trace down your thighs then in-between them, just barely brushing over your sensitive folds. The touch makes you jerk, knees falling further open, and Reiner watches your expression as he teases you again.
You make a pathetic noise of dissatisfaction, and Reiner grins in response, relenting with a low, “Okay, I know,” before he runs a finger down your slit and slowly pushes it into your quivering hole.
Every digit slides in with ease, but Reiner’s hands are large—fingers long and much thicker than your own—so there’s still a stretch that accompanies the intrusion. Even so, you moan his name and let your head fall back.
“You’re so fucking pretty, you know that?” he breathes, moving to hover over you while pumping in and out of your pussy. He bends to catch one of your nipples again, his grunt reverberating inside of you, and all you can do is whimper and move your hips to meet his shallow thrusts.
“Another?”
“Please—yes, yes, Rei—”
He pushes the second in even slower than the first, but once his palm is flush with you, Reiner strokes and presses into your walls in a way that has you arching into him. His stubble is rough against your tits, the complete opposite of his velvet tongue, and between his endless suckling and the thick fingers filling you up, you think you might cry.
“Reiner, oh my god, I’m—okay, I’m r-ready, just…”
You feel him scissor his fingers apart for a moment, one last effort to prepare you, then he’s pulling away and tugging his clothes off, pausing momentarily to lick the slick from his hand.
It’s only been a week since you saw his cock for the first time, but now that it’s about to be inside of you, it looks bigger. The length makes your stomach flip, well above average with a pretty little curve, but it’s his girth that makes your mouth water.
He gives himself a few strokes, precum seeping from his flushed tip, and it’s only when he’s lined up with your entrance that he asks, “Wait, do you want me to wear a condom?”
You should say yes—should absolutely take a breather and get protection because you’re not on birth control, no need since Roland had a vasectomy long before you came into the picture—but you’re already here, splayed out and boiling from the inside out, so you tell him, “Just pull out, please, it’s fi—”
You’re cut off when he pushes in, breaching that ring of muscle and making you hiss saliva back from your teeth. You’re plenty wet and well-stretched—Reiner is just–there’s so much of him.
Fortunately for you, he knows it and stays still. Even as you shift your hips and squeeze the head of his cock, all he does is shut his eyes and run his fingers down your body. You rock into him, taking him by the centimeter, wondering how you’ll fit every inch, but then he starts rubbing circles into your clit and after the initial clench of every muscle in your fucking body, you open up for him in full.
Legs spread, arousal leaks out of you and coats his cock, and your jaw drops as Reiner pushes in as far as he can, panting heavily while you moan beneath him.
His first thrusts are torturously slow, dragging his hips back then pressing them forward at a pace that makes you want to scream, but you need it. You need to get used to him because Reiner is filling you up in ways you never have been before.
Your husband—Jesus fuck, his father—isn’t the smallest, but Reiner outclasses him in every possible measurement. Your hole stretches around him and your walls mold to his shape, and as he finally picks up speed, you can’t even think straight.
“Ohfuck—oh—”
“Feel good?” he teases, breaking into a groan when he glances down at your bouncing tits, unable to keep himself from attaching himself to one of them again.
You lock your ankles behind his back, nails digging into his shoulders as you try to pull him closer—pull him deeper, and when he snaps forward at a particular angle, you cry out and beg him to, “Keep doing that, right there, right there…”
“Fuck—okay, I’ve got you—”
Reiner fucks into you so perfectly, making your eyes roll and your toes curl. A smile breaks out on your face, and he must be watching from where he’s sucking down milk because he lets your nipple pop out of his mouth just so he can tell you, “Keep smiling like that, baby, so sweet for me, fuck, so good to me.”
He slides his hands under you and scoops you up only to fall back with you in his lap, and it forces him further inside of you, the fat head of his cock kissing your cervix and making you choke. Reiner bounces you like that for some time, reaching up and groping you, admiring the way white leaks from your hard nipples and over the curves of your breasts.
Then, he’s sitting up and running his tongue over you, lapping up everything he can and growling, “You sure you want me to pull out?”
You whimper in response. The idea of Reiner coming inside of you makes you throb around him, and he must feel you clench tightly because he groans and keeps going, “Could fuck a baby right into this perfect pussy, make you a real mommy…”
“Fuck, Reiner!”
Even out of your mind like you are, you know you don’t want to get pregnant, but god dammit, the way he says it makes your body ache for him.
Reaching down, you play with your clit, the position causing your arms to push your chest up, and Reiner busies himself with draining the rest of the milk from your tits, his grip on your hips unforgiving as he moves you to his will.
He’s been slamming into your g-spot since he pulled you on top of him, and you can sense pressure building inside of you, a bloated sort of feeling. It isn’t until Reiner tosses you on your back once again and folds you in half that the seal bursts and you start to squirt, soaking his pelvis as well as your own, the fluid dripping down your ass.
Reiner swears and leans over you, pressing into you further as he rests some of his weight on your bent legs. You’re pinned underneath him, so full of cock you might gag on it. Sweat is beading at his hairline, his cheeks pink, lips red from being bitten, and as you stare up at him, you’re overcome with more emotion than you can process—he’s so handsome and so sweet, and you can tell he adores you, can see it even now in his lustful eyes.
He makes a desperate sound when you pull him down into a kiss, sloppy and heated as he drives himself into you over and over.
“I can do it,” he pants. “Just tell me you want it. You’d be so pretty—a fucking goddess, my fucking goddess—just let me fill you up with cum, please—”
“Rei, you can’t,” you try, words thick, eyes teary from so much stimulation. His fingers find your clit again and you whine only for him to muffle it with another kiss. “I want you s-so—mm—so bad, but—”
He nods, and when you crack an eye open you can see he’s squeezing his shut, brow furrowed as his hips start to stutter.
He’s close—so close and fighting it, and you reach behind his head to scratch his scalp the way he likes so much. Amber eyes finding yours, you try to smile, distracted by the flick of his fingers over your swollen clit.
“You can come anywhere else you want,” you huff. “Wherever—just not—”
“I know,” he nods. “I know, I know.”
A groan rumbles from his chest but quickly dies off when his mouth opens, jaw sliding, and for one, terrifying second, you think he’s actually going to ignore your plea, but he pulls out all at once, leaving you devastatingly empty as he tugs your legs back down and swings one of his own over your hips.
He aims for your tits, stroking his wet cock like his life depends on it until he comes. Thick, hot lines paint your chest and even catch your lips and chin, the sheer volume of cum giving you the impression that yes, Reiner absolutely has the ability to fuck a baby into you—probably many of them—and your body reacts by making your cunt pulse.
Once he’s finished, Reiner drops to his forearms and slots his lips against yours, his cum smearing between your mouths and tongues. It’s filthy—you both are—but you don’t want to stop, least of all when he slips his fingers into your hole and starts pumping them back and forth.
“You gonna come again, sweetness?” he asks, hovering just over you and licking the mess from your lips.
You nod, eyebrows knit together as you dig your heels into the cushion. You can feel it building, heat spreading up your legs, but it all disappears when Reiner pulls out to resituate himself between your thighs.
You suck in a huge breath when he shoves his fingers back inside, then another when he pulls your clit into his mouth. A similar pattern to when he plays with your nipples, Reiner sucks on your clit until your muscles seize up and you moan his name, squirt dripping into his palm as he fucks you through your orgasm.
You feel utterly wrecked. Thoroughly fucked and covered in sweat and cum. You’re probably gonna have to clean the couch or, at the very least, flip the cushions until you can get the proper supplies.
Catching your breath, you try to calm down, fingers carding through damp, blond hair as Reiner kisses all over your thighs and pelvis. You feel the tilt of his head as he looks up at you, then hear a whispered expletive before he starts crawling up your body, eyes zeroed in on your tits.
Glancing down, you laugh quietly when you find the tiniest bit of milk dribbling from your nipples again. You reach up to guide Reiner’s face to your chest, smiling lazily when he latches on to one and lets out a satisfied sigh. So quick to fall back into a more vulnerable state, he suckles and squeezes, eyelids drooping as you drip into his mouth and stroke through his hair.
“Sweet boy,” you hum, tracing around his ears and down his neck. “You’re so sweet.”
The two of you have a lot to talk about, but for now you’re happy to bask in your afterglow, high off of hormones as you gaze down at Reiner and feel your heart swell for him.
~ ~ ~
The bathwater is so warm, soothing Reiner’s aching muscles as he sits with his back to the porcelain and you against his chest. He’s honestly still a little sore from a couple days ago–it has been a while since he’s participated in physical activity of that sort, and he can feel it in his abs and thighs.
The two of you have acted as heavy pendulums the last forty-eight hours, swinging back and forth between desperate touches and quiet processing. There is pleasure and there is guilt, and then there is Reiner making it even more confusing by drinking from you and triggering who knows what (he knows what–it’s oxytocin, and it’s making you impossibly soft for him).
He would feel bad if he wasn’t down so bad, but fuck, the way you watch him when he helps you, how you come into his room late at night all bleary-eyed and tender–he can’t stop, and he doesn’t want to.
Now, soaking in the tub, he brushes his lips over your shoulder and murmurs, “What’s on your mind?” You’ve been silent for too long, and Reiner wants to know what’s going on in your head, if it’s anything he can help with.
“Not much,” you sigh, shifting against him. “I think this is about to get a little more complicated, though.”
“How so?”
“Scheduling conflicts,” you say with a little laugh, and Reiner frowns because he doesn’t understand until you explain, “Pumping. Milk production increasing means I’m gonna have to find the time–”
“We are gonna find the time,” he corrects, slow as he draws his hands out of the water to cup your tits, lightly thumbing over your nipples.
Reiner grins when you let out a tiny squeak, your hips jerking and causing ripples. He knows you’re trying to be serious, though, so he doesn’t tease any further, gently massaging your swollen breasts as you relax into him and continue.
“Rei, you can’t be everywhere I am.”
“Wanna bet?” he challenges with a snicker. “But, really, what are the alternatives besides stopping altogether?”
“I guess just pumping at regular intervals like normal mothers do. It’s just like… do I just waste it?” Reiner’s stomach drops at the thought. “Can I give it away? Find some place to store it?”
“Store it, please, for the love of god–”
“What?” you giggle. “You just gonna, like, thaw it out and pour it in with your Raisin Bran? Fill a thermos and take it to your doctor appointments?”
He retaliates by nipping at the shell of your ear and growling, “Maybe.”
“You are…” You shake your head, laughing again when Reiner has to resituate the way his cock is pressing against your back. “So strange.”
“It’s endearing, though, right?”
“Unfortunately,” you answer, feigning annoyance.
He sinks back into the ceramic, resuming the mindful kneading that pulls the occasional little moan from you. Reiner could do this all day. All day and night. Being this close, making you feel good in the most basic way.
A few minutes later, you speak up again, a meek, “Rei?”
“Hm?”
“Do you… the other day when we were–and you were about to… do you actually wanna get me pregnant?”
“Oh, uh–” He was wondering when you might bring this up. Truth is, he doesn’t really know where that came from. “Short answer is no…?”
You tilt your head to get an off-kilter view of his face and frown. “Why do you sound so unsure?”
“‘Cause, like…” Reiner sighs, rests his head against the tile behind him and tries to get his thoughts in order. “I don’t want kids. Just–I don’t. They would be irreparably fucked up, like–... No.”
“Okay, but?”
“But…” He slides one of his hands down to lay on your stomach, stroking over it with his fingertips and quietly confessing, “The idea of not only getting to come inside you but then watching you get fat with my baby–”
You inhale sharply, lips parted but unmoving, and despite the way he’s getting hard, Reiner feels the need to clarify, “I don’t want kids. But, the fantasy is nice.”
“So, it’s just a sex thing. It’s not, like, you legitimately wanting–”
“Yeah, no, I’m not gonna baby-trap you or anything,” he chuckles. “It’s just my fuckin’ lizard brain.”
“Instinct to breed,” you joke, but it makes Reiner’s grip tighten on you, teeth scraping against your shoulder.
“Can’t just say shit like that,” he grumbles. “I am a very simple, very stupid man, okay?”
“You are not,” you laugh. “Everyone has their thing.” There’s a pause, and then your voice drops a bit when you add, “And, it’s sweet in a twisted sorta way.”
“Hm?”
“That you think I’d be… pretty like that.”
“So fucking pretty,” he agrees, pressing his face into your neck. “And, I don’t care what you say, you’d be so good at it–” he mouths over your pulse point, whispers, “–such a good mommy.”
Reiner hears you breathe deeply, pushing yourself into his hand, and he squeezes one of your nipples until a line of milk squirts from it.
He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to seeing it, white fluid dripping down into the water–your tits so full for him, fuck–
“You about ready to pump?”
You nod, and Reiner helps maneuver you until you’re facing him and straddling his thigh. It’s nearly ritualistic now, the way he wraps his lips around your hardened bud and sucks. There is no difficulty in pulling milk to the surface, sweetness hitting his tongue and rolling down his throat. He can feel some of it dripping from your other breast, running down his hand, and when he squeezes more out, you whine and rock your hips forward, rubbing your cunt over the muscle of his leg.
Reiner grunts and flexes, doesn’t understand his own need to be taken care of while wanting nothing more than to take care of you instead. He wants you to feed him, wants you to coddle him, and stroke his hair, and at the same time, he wants to hold you close and dote on you, reassure you over and over that he’s got you, he loves–
Once you’re drained on one side, Reiner moves to the other, breathing heavily, matching the way your hips are moving and making water slosh over the side of the tub. His cock is straining against his stomach, no friction to be found until you take pity on him and wrap your fingers around him.
Both of you growing desperate, Reiner fucks up into your hand while you rub against his thigh like an animal in heat, and the whole time, he remains attached to you, sucking you down until you come on his thigh and leak your last bit of milk straight into his mouth. A few more strokes and he’s bucking and spilling all over your hand, the two of you stilling save for the steady rise and fall of your chests as the water washes away the mess.
It takes several minutes and a lot of effort, but eventually the two of you are able to drain the tub and stand up, the new spray of the shower getting rid of any excess suds or fluids.
Reiner watches you towel off, tries to keep his hands to himself as you bend over to dry your legs, and he does a good job doing so, but he breaks when you start to blow dry your hair–on full display, and he can’t help but press up against you. You don’t seem to mind, just smile at him in the mirror and occasionally blow hot air in his face.
You change into jean shorts and a soft v-neck, and Reiner guesses the padded bra you put on offers more support than the ones made of t-shirt material you used to wear. He could offer even more support, but that’s irrelevant.
“Hey, while you’re getting dressed, think about what you want for dinner,” you tell him as he makes his way to the staircase, towel wrapped around his waist.
“Why?” he looks over his shoulder at you. “I just ate.”
The way you squint at him makes Reiner laugh loudly, your unimpressed, “Har har,” falling on deaf ears as he pats himself on the back for his awful joke.
“I’ll think about it, I promise.”
He jogs up to his room and tugs on a shirt and some sweatpants, pauses to reply to a couple text messages, then gallops back down to help you cook a meal neither of you have decided on.
“I have some shredded chicken ready to go, so what… pasta? Some kind of buffalo chicken dish?”
“Oh, I’m down for buffalo chicken,” Reiner nods, opening the pantry and asking, “Sides?”
He works with you like he has many times before, moving around each other, trading places, poking fun and laughing, and Reiner thinks that this is how it should be, isn’t it–this easy joy that just comes so natural to him when he’s around you. Is this what normal people feel all the time? Is life easier for them because they found what brings them this kind of happiness? Did he even have a chance before meeting you?
“Alright, your dad should be home soon,” you say, washing your hands, “and until then we can just watch something.”
Reiner is fine with that but not before tugging you close and kissing you. He needs to get it out of his system since, for the next few hours, he’ll have to act like he doesn’t want every part of you every minute.
Your fingers curl in his shirt, and you stand on your tiptoes and press into him like it’s exactly where you want to be. It’s where you should be, Reiner thinks, and if he had the means he would make it so, convince you to pick up your life and run away with him like a couple of dumb kids.
That’s not possible, though, so for now he’ll just have to do what he can to show you how much he cares for you–how much he loves you because fuck, it is a lot.
Roland gets home and goes about his evening routine of kicking off shoes and loosening his tie. When he bends to kiss you, Reiner looks away and runs his tongue over his teeth, waiting for the two of you to break apart before he gets up and helps you bring food to the table.
Chit-chat about the restaurant takes over, two cooks almost getting into a fight, how incompetent the hosts are, and Reiner wonders why his father does it if it’s all so tiresome, but then Roland begins talking about the birthday party that came in and the way everyone was laughing and cheering when the servers performed their little celebration song.
“Girl couldn’t have been older than thirteen, and you could see how embarrassed she was–” he chuckles.
“At that age, having that many people looking at you is mortifying,” you add, and Reiner agrees. He doesn’t even know if he could handle a restaurant full of people staring at him at this age.
“Yeah, well, even with her hands covering her face, I could see her smiling, so… I think she had fun. Definitely seemed happy about the big slice of cake I brought out.”
“As she should be, that cake is so good,” you say wistfully.
Roland laughs, reminding you, “You can have it any time you want, honey, you’re the one who told me to stop bringing it home.”
Reiner watches the two of you go back and forth, you claiming you had to stop because you were gaining weight and Roland insisting he didn’t care, and then Reiner watches as his dad’s gaze dips to your chest, and he has to bite his tongue.
“I mean, you look great now. I don’t know what it is, but your tits are–”
“Roland!” you shout, going wide eyed and stiff, and even Reiner’s cheeks heat up.
“What? I’m just trying to say they’re bigger, and if the cake will make them even–”
“Would you–! Your son is right here!”
Reiner just tries to hide his grin, gathering his empty plate and standing up. “Yeah, I’m just gonna…”
“He doesn’t mind talking about it, do you, Reiner?” Roland calls out, voice airy with laughter.
“I mean, I’m a guy–” who has spent an absolutely inordinate amount of time playing with those tits, “–so, no, I don’t mind, but uh…”
At the sink, he looks up and levels his gaze with yours, smiles at the way you’re crossing your arms over your chest and pouting.
“I don’t wanna embarrass you or anything,” he finishes, winking at you before turning the water on and rinsing his dishes.
Roland resumes his light-hearted teasing, making sure to tell you that he loves everything about your body and all kinds of bullshit Reiner has to tune out, but it’s easy to ignore.
Because Roland doesn’t really know shit, does he? He doesn’t know exactly how perfect your body is. He hasn’t seen the way it can nurture someone, and he doesn’t know the way you taste. Not like Reiner does.
If you’d asked him when he was younger what he wanted to be when he grew up, Reiner would have given all stupid answers–athlete, musician, soldier. Dreams of a child.
But, now he is grown, and if asked again, he would say that he just wants to be happy. He wants to be happy, and he wants to be happy with you.
