He didn’t want him, not at first — Obi-Wan was barely more than a boy himself, grieving a master he couldn’t save, and suddenly there was this wild, stubborn, terrifyingly powerful child put in his hands with a dying wish and a promise he didn’t know how to keep. It was duty, at first. Duty and fear and clumsy responsibility. But somewhere between the battles and the lessons and the laughter that only they shared, Anakin became his brother.
Not his student, not his soldier, not his burden — his brother.
And Obi-Wan loved him with a fierceness he didn’t know he was capable of.
He laughed with him.
He fought with him.
He bled with him.
They grew up together in the fires of a war that asked too much of both of them, and through it all, they held onto each other — stubborn, relentless, unbreakable.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re going to be the death of me?” Obi-Wan had said once, laughing, not knowing how true it would be.
Maybe some part of him knew even then.
Maybe some part of him had already made peace with it.
Because what else do you do for a brother but stay by his side, even if it kills you?
And for a while — for a while it worked.
Through the worst the galaxy could throw at them, they stood back-to-back, lightsabers drawn, trusting each other beyond reason.
Anakin called him “Master,” but it wasn’t about rank anymore.
It was about faith.
It was about family.
And then.
And then the cracks came, hairline fractures Obi-Wan tried so desperately not to see. The war had eaten at them, hollowed them out. Anakin was hurting, scared, desperate for control over a life that never gave him any, and Obi-Wan — Obi-Wan thought love and loyalty would be enough to save him.
He was wrong.
He was so terribly, heartbreakingly wrong.
When he saw the holos, when he saw what Anakin had done, the world ended.
And when Yoda said, “You must destroy Darth Vader,” Obi-Wan broke.
“I can’t kill Anakin,” he said, voice cracking wide open, because he couldn’t.
He couldn’t lift his blade against the boy who once grinned at him across battlefields, the boy who once called him “brother” with a smile that could have outshone a thousand suns.
He couldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
But he had no choice.
And on Mustafar, with fire raining from the skies and the ground splitting open beneath them, Obi-Wan begged him — begged him — to stop.
He didn’t want to fight.
He never wanted to fight.
“I will do what I must,” he said, but his heart was already breaking.
And when the battle was done, when Anakin lay burning and broken on the black sand, Obi-Wan looked at him — not a Sith, not a monster — his brother, the boy he had raised and fought beside and loved — and the grief tore him apart.
“You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you,” he said, and it wasn’t anger, it wasn’t hatred, it was grief so deep it hollowed him out.
He left him there.
Not because he hated him.
But because he couldn’t kill him.
Because he couldn’t finish what the galaxy demanded of him.
Because even when Anakin burned with hatred, Obi-Wan still saw the boy he loved.
And so he carried that wound — that failure — into exile.
Into the desert.
Into endless years of silence under twin suns that burned but never cleansed.
He watched over Luke from a distance, guarding the last fragile hope of everything he had lost.
Because he couldn’t save Anakin.
But maybe he could save his son.
And when fate dragged him back into Anakin’s path, years later, when Vader towered before him in darkness and rage, Obi-Wan still — still — didn’t hate him.
He stood there, alone and beaten and so, so tired, and when Vader’s mask cracked open, when he saw the scarred, ruined face beneath, it wasn’t Vader looking at him —
it was Anakin.
Still there.
Still his brother.
And Obi-Wan sobbed out “I’m sorry, Anakin… for all of it,” because after everything, after all the death and pain and failure, he still loved him.
Still.
Always.
And Anakin — gods, Anakin, broken and half-buried in rage — gave him the only mercy left:
“You did not kill Anakin Skywalker. I did.”
And Obi-Wan understood.
He had tried.
He had loved.
He had loved so much it destroyed him.
But in the end, it was Anakin’s choice to fall.
And Obi-Wan’s choice to still love him anyway.
He left him again, because he had to.
Because love doesn’t always mean standing beside someone.
Sometimes it means walking away, weeping, and never, ever forgetting.
He passed that love onto Luke like a torch in the darkness.
Taught him to believe, even when it hurt, even when it seemed hopeless.
And Luke — Luke did what Obi-Wan could not.
He stood before Vader and said, “I am a Jedi, like my father before me,” and refused to strike him down.
Refused to give up.
Refused to let go.
And because of that —
because of that faith, that stubborn, reckless love —
Anakin came home.
Anakin came back.
And when his spirit rose, free and shining, it was Obi-Wan waiting for him.
a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! this story takes place following the events of revenge of the sith, where obi-wan kenobi is in exile on tatooine. i hope you enjoy reading! 🤍
˚ ༘♡ the sun was high, an oppressive white orb hanging in a sky bleached of all color, and the scorching sand outside your family’s shop shimmered akin to heated glass. mos espa breathed slow in the midday lull, its usual clamor hushed beneath the burden of the heat. only the fools or the desperate braved the streets now, those with credits to chase, or errands to run, or no home worth hiding in.
˚ ༘♡ you were behind the counter alone, the air inside dry but not quite suffocating, cooled just enough by the old condenser hissing gently in the corner. your mother had gone to barter for oils at the distillery two stalls down, and the shop, lined with bolts of cloth, spools of thread, sun-bleached leather satchels and imported moisture filters, rested in your care for the day.
˚ ༘♡ you wore ivory-white, the fabric was gauzy, sheer in the sleeves and hem, trimmed with pale gold thread and small mother-of-pearl beads that clicked when you moved. the heat was no match for the thin layers, and you relished the lightness, how it made you feel almost unreal, like some desert mirage wafting through your family’s simple walls. and you knew how you looked. it wasn’t vanity, it was fact. your skin gleamed in the sun, your hair loose, a sheen of sweat catching along your collarbone where it dipped into your dress. you knew what the boys in the square whispered when they saw you. you simply didn’t care.
˚ ༘♡ but him. he was different.
˚ ༘♡ you knew the shape of him before you saw it. of middling height, cloaked in rough robes that hadn’t been tailored in years, boots worn to the sole. he moved like a man who did not want to be perceived, who took no pride in posture, who walked with a quietness that only came from someone who had spent too long alone.
˚ ༘♡ the old wooden chime rattled as the door creaked open, and when you looked up from the counter, there he was. kenobi.
˚ ༘♡ you had only ever heard him addressed like that, “mr. kenobi,” when your father was being formal, or just “kenobi,” in the clipped, disinterested tones of market vendors who didn’t care much for names unless they owed you money. no one knew much about him. he lived past the edge of the dune sea, near the cliffs, in one of the carved-out stone huts that had belonged to the miners before the sands took them. he kept to himself. came down once or twice a month, sometimes less. bought little, said even less. no family, no friends, no history anyone could confirm. only a man with tired eyes and sun-leathered skin, who worked part-time at the meat station carving carcasses with a precision that never quite fit the rest of his appearance.
˚ ༘♡ “kenobi,” you said with a soft smile, brushing the wisps of your hair back and standing straighter. not too formal. not too familiar. merely enough to catch his eye.
˚ ༘♡ his gaze lifted slowly. beneath the shadow of his hood, his face was the same as always, quiet, drawn, unreadable. but something in the eyes flickered. pale blue. duller than they used to be, you imagined, but still sharp beneath the troubles within. not unkind. just… unreachable.
˚ ༘♡ “miss,” he said, voice low. dry, like gravel turned over in a hand. he nodded once in greeting, then looked to the shelves.
˚ ༘♡ you didn’t speak immediately. didn’t rush him. you’d learned, over the past year or so, when he’d happen to appear, that he hated questions. hated chatter. but he never left without a word if you were the one behind the counter. there was something in your presence, something in your voice, or your serenity, or perhaps just your curiosity, that he never quite refused.
˚ ༘♡ “looking for anything in particular?” you asked, letting the hem of your sleeve drift along the counter’s edge. the fabric glimmered softly in the light.
˚ ༘♡ he hesitated, and then, with a slight shift of his hand, pulled a list from his pocket. creased. small. you stepped forward to take it, brushing your fingers over his as you did, feigning casualness. his hand jerked slightly at the contact, not violent, but startled. like he hadn’t expected warmth.
˚ ༘♡ you pretended not to notice.
˚ ༘♡ the list was simple. thread. canisters for water storage. a replacement coil for a condenser unit. nothing lavish. nothing even remotely indulgent. all of it mundane, all of it necessary. the kind of list made by someone who spent most of his days thinking only about survival.
˚ ༘♡ you glanced at it, then back at him. “we’ve got most of this. thread’s in the back, though. i’ll have to grab it for you.”
˚ ༘♡ he nodded again. “thank you.”
˚ ༘♡ no smile. no change in his expression. but he was still watching you, and that was enough to provoke something in your heart.
˚ ༘♡ you moved through the curtains behind the counter and into the backroom, biting your lip, the heat following you like a second skin. he was handsome, even if the desert had worn him down. handsome in a way that wasn’t youthful or polished, but weary. carved from stone. a man who had suffered something he would never speak of aloud. and yet… you couldn’t help it. every time he came in, something in you stirred like a story waiting to be told.
˚ ༘♡ you returned with the thread, letting the beads on your sleeves chime faintly as you walked. “this’ll hold for repairs,” you said, setting the spool down gently before him. “strong, too. doesn’t fray.”
˚ ༘♡ he picked it up, turned it once in his hand. “that’ll do.”
˚ ༘♡ he did not compliment you. he did not flirt, or even linger. but when your eyes met his again, there was something behind them. recognition. a kind of restrained gentleness. and beneath that, you sensed it again, the weight of something vast and terrible. the sorrow of a man who had lost everything but was alive enough to feel the ache.
˚ ༘♡ “how’s the station?” you asked, more softly this time.
˚ ༘♡ “untroubled.”
˚ ༘♡ you veered your head. “you don’t like questions, do you?”
˚ ༘♡ his jaw tightened. then, after a pause, “no.”
˚ ༘♡ you smiled at that. “i’ll remember that.”
˚ ༘♡ and for the briefest moment, his gaze did not look away. it stayed on yours, searching, tired, cautious. but not cold.
˚ ༘♡ you gave him the total. he paid in imperial credits, all properly counted. he did not make excuses or offer barter, simply accepted the number as it was. and when he turned to leave, you let your voice follow him, softer than before.
˚ ༘♡ “come back sooner next time, sir. i get bored with the scorching sand and uncivilized creatures as company.”
˚ ༘♡ he paused at the door. the light framed him in gold. he did not look back.
˚ ༘♡ yet you saw it, the barest incline of his head. like acknowledgment. like thanks.
˚ ༘♡ and then he was gone.
˚ ༘♡ you waited five full minutes.
˚ ༘♡ five minutes of pretending to rearrange the baskets. five minutes of glancing at the empty street beyond the shutters. five minutes of pretending you were not already gathering your courage like folds of your sheer skirt, not already bracing yourself for something unwise. no one had come by. the heat still reigned. your mother was still at the distillery, your father still at the hangar. and kenobi, he was already disappearing into the blinding light beyond the plaza, heading out toward the low hills of sand that marked the beginning of nowhere.
˚ ༘♡ so you did something reckless.
˚ ༘♡ you flipped the “closed” sign, ducked beneath the counter, and slipped out the side door. you didn’t lock it. you didn’t leave a note. you simply went.
˚ ༘♡ sand tugged at your slippers, the wind catching at the hem of your gauzy dress, turning it into streamers of white and gold behind you. your shawl fluttered loosely over your shoulders as you picked your way through the narrow alley behind the shop and emerged into the outskirts of mos espa. no one saw. or if they did, no one cared. maybe they thought you were off to visit a friend. or chasing someone. which, in a way, was true.
˚ ༘♡ kenobi was far ahead by then, a lone figure drifting over the dunes, headed away from the town like a ghost returning to its tomb. he moved steadily, not fast, not slow, just with the practiced gait of someone who had made this journey too many times to count. he didn’t notice you.
˚ ༘♡ you followed at a distance, heart loud in your chest, half expecting him to turn around at any moment and catch you in the act. but he never did. he just kept walking. farther and farther from civilization, from stalls and shouting and spice-sellers and moisture farmers, from everything that tied you to the world you knew.
˚ ༘♡ you had always wondered what he did out here. the hermit beyond the dune sea, they called him. stay away, your parents had said. men like that don’t come to town unless they need something. and you don’t want to know what they’ve done to end up that way.
˚ ༘♡ but you had wanted to know. desperately.
˚ ༘♡ the ground rose gently beneath your feet as you climbed the low ridge where he had gone. by now, the market was a distant haze. here, the world was empty and gold, a vast stretch of sand and sky. the atmosphere was thick. only the wind moved.
˚ ༘♡ and then you saw him.
˚ ༘♡ he was just the crest, sitting beside a cluster of jagged rock formations, his cloak drawn around him, not to guard from cold, but perhaps to guard from memory. his shoulders were hunched forward slightly, his hands clasped. his face was turned away from the sun, but you could see the line of his jaw, the vague downward curve of his mouth. and for the first time, you saw not just mystery, not merely enigmatic allure or rugged charm.
˚ ༘♡ you saw sorrow.
˚ ༘♡ not simple grief. devastation. the kind of sadness that hollowed out the soul. that silenced men. that turned warriors into wraiths.
˚ ༘♡ he didn’t cry. he didn’t move. but the look on his face…
˚ ༘♡ something ached in you.
˚ ༘♡ he looked like he was listening to something no one else could hear. like he was waiting for a voice that would never come. the wind stirred the edges of his cloak and rustled his uncut, auburn hair, but he remained still. so still, you almost believed he was made of stone.
˚ ༘♡ you didn’t step closer. you stayed hidden behind the rocks, breath caught in your throat, unsure what you had expected but knowing it hadn’t been this.
˚ ༘♡ you thought you’d find answers.
˚ ༘♡ you found a man grieving something far too large to speak aloud.
˚ ༘♡ and it made your heart twist, not out of pity, but something else. the same thing you’d felt when he touched your hand in the shop. the same thing you felt whenever his eyes flicked over your face, too quickly to be anything but deliberate.
˚ ༘♡ you whispered, barely loud enough for the wind to carry.
˚ ༘♡ “…what happened to you?”
˚ ༘♡ but he didn’t hear. or maybe he did, and he just had nothing left to say.
˚ ༘♡ you stayed there, beneath the twin suns, watching the man the galaxy had long since forgotten.
˚ ༘♡ and for the first time, you understood why he lived alone. why he spoke so little. why your parents had warned you away.
˚ ༘♡ not because he was dangerous.
˚ ༘♡ but because he was broken. and maybe he was beyond repair, too far gone in desolation to be saved.
˚ ༘♡ and yet, even now, especially now, something in you ached to try.
˚ ༘♡ you weren’t even trying to get closer. not really. you only meant to shift your footing, to find a better place to crouch, to watch without being seen, to satisfy the reckless ache in your chest without pushing your luck.
˚ ༘♡ but the sand beneath the ridge was loose. your slipper grated against the coarse sand. your ankle contorted. and before you could catch yourself, the ground rushed up fast and sharp beneath you.
˚ ༘♡ you landed hard on the side of your knee, right against an outcrop of jagged rock hidden beneath the dune’s surface. pain seared red-hot through your leg, a tearing, ugly kind of pain that wasn’t just a scrape, it dug in, sharp enough to punch the breath from your lungs and make your vision bloom black around the edges.
˚ ༘♡ you gasped, and then you cried out. it wasn’t a scream, a sound ripped straight from your throat, raw and involuntary and sharp with pain.
˚ ༘♡ you clutched your leg, hand stained crimson against blood already seeping through the fabric. the gash was deep, slashing through the muscle in a way that made your stomach churn. the kind of wound that wasn’t going to clot on its own.
˚ ༘♡ and before you could even attempt to rise, before you could hide the stupid, childish mistake you’d just made, you heard it.
˚ ༘♡ footsteps. brisk. precise. heavy against the sand.
˚ ༘♡ you looked up, expecting fury. expecting a storm.
˚ ༘♡ you found him.
˚ ༘♡ kenobi stood over you, robes whipping in the wind, cerulean eyes fixed on yours with something unreadable in their pale depths. not anger. not exactly. something taut. something pulled tight between alarm and discretion.
˚ ༘♡ you opened your mouth to explain, to apologize, to say anything.
˚ ༘♡ but then he knelt.
˚ ༘♡ “let me see it,” he said, already pulling a fold of his outer robe free, already reaching for your injured leg.
˚ ༘♡ you blinked, stunned.
˚ ༘♡ “what…?”
˚ ༘♡ “you’re bleeding,” he said flatly. not unkindly. focused. “deeply.”
˚ ༘♡ “i didn’t mean to… i was only trying to…” you winced, teeth clenched as his fingers found the edge of the torn fabric. “i’m sorry. i know i shouldn’t have followed you, i wanted…”
˚ ༘♡ “stop talking.” it wasn’t cruel. it was the voice of a man who had seen worse than this. much worse. his hands were steady, rough-palmed but gentle, and his brow furrowed with concentration as he pressed the fabric to the wound. “you’re going into shock. breathe slowly.”
˚ ༘♡ you did. because something about the way he said it left no room for refusal.
˚ ༘♡ the blood was soaking fast, and you saw the frown that flickered across his face. you weren’t imagining the tension in his shoulders, the way he exhaled through his nose, as if trying to smother the heat beneath his skin.
˚ ༘♡ “does it hurt here?” he asked, fingers trailing just above the torn edge. your leg jerked involuntarily.
˚ ༘♡ “yes,” you hissed. “sorry… yes.”
˚ ༘♡ “don’t apologize.” his voice was soothing now. almost soft. “try and relax.”
˚ ༘♡ he tore another strip of cloth from his robe. his fingers worked fast, binding it tight with an efficiency that betrayed a history you didn’t know, of medpacs and battlefield wounds and makeshift triage in places far from here. he tied it off. it wasn’t pretty. but it was secure.
˚ ༘♡ you watched him as he leaned back, hands braced beside your leg, his head angled only narrowly.
˚ ༘♡ his hair was tangled with sweat. his jaw unshaven. and yet there was something beautiful about the way he looked at you in that instance, not as a burden. not as a foolish girl who trespassed where she didn’t belong. but as a person. as someone in pain. as someone he wanted to help.
˚ ༘♡ “…you’re not angry?” you asked, your voice barely above the wind.
˚ ༘♡ he blinked. the corners of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile. more like surprise.
˚ ༘♡ “no,” he said, finally. “but you shouldn’t have followed me.”
˚ ༘♡ “i know.”
˚ ༘♡ “this isn’t a place for…”
“for what?” your eyes held his. “for stupid girls who ask too many questions?”
˚ ༘♡ his jaw flexed.
˚ ༘♡ “for people who haven’t seen war,” he said, after a long pause. “for people who still think the world is kind.”
˚ ༘♡ the words landed more forceful than you expected. but you didn’t look away.
˚ ༘♡ “i don’t think the world is kind,” you said.
˚ ༘♡ his gaze dipped. to your wound. to the vermillion blood leaking between the translucent fabric. to your dress, white and gilded, stained now with desert dust and red.
˚ ༘♡ “…you should go home,” he said. “once you can walk.”
˚ ༘♡ but he didn’t move. neither did you.
˚ ༘♡ you were too close now. his hands hovered near your leg. his knee brushed yours through the fabric. and the wind had grown quieter, the sun slanting low, washing him in the rays of the sun akin to the ruins of a statue no one had dared to bury.
˚ ༘♡ you swallowed, heart suddenly loud.
˚ ༘♡ “you live out here all alone,” you said, barely a whisper. “why?”
˚ ༘♡ his eyes didn’t meet yours. not yet. but the silence between you bent beneath the weight of the question.
˚ ༘♡ and for the first time, you saw it again, the sorrow. raw and endless. buried beneath a mask of duty. something sacred that had been shattered and never remade.
˚ ༘♡ “because i have to,” he said.
˚ ༘♡ and you understood, even if you didn’t know why.
˚ ༘♡ nonetheless, you said delicately, “you don’t have to be alone forever.”
˚ ༘♡ and this time, when his eyes locked onto yours, they stayed.
˚ ༘♡ you sat beneath the long shadow of the ridge, your leg bound in rough cloth and streaked with red, the sting of it slowly dulling into something hot and deep. the pain was real, but it had altered, muted by the ache that now pierced somewhere else entirely. somewhere beneath your ribs.
˚ ༘♡ kenobi hadn’t spoken again. not after he’d wrapped your leg. not after he’d said you should go. he had simply sat beside you, silent and distant, the wind tousling his hair as if to remind you how far from home you’d come. his body was still, posture controlled, but his thoughts, his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. you could feel it, heavy in the air between you. he was somewhere else entirely. somewhere you couldn’t reach.
˚ ༘♡ and yet, you tried.
˚ ༘♡ “you don’t have to be so distant,” you murmured finally, the words fragile in the vast quiet of the desert. “i know you didn’t ask me to follow you. i know it was stupid. but i’m not sorry.”
˚ ༘♡ he didn’t turn to face you. but his hands, those steady, calloused hands, curled somewhat in his lap.
˚ ༘♡ you looked down at your leg, at the blood soaking through his robe’s fabric. “i just wanted to know why you always look so… so sad. why you never talk to anyone. why you disappear.”
˚ ༘♡ kenobi gave no answer.
˚ ༘♡ “but now i see it’s more than that,” you said, your voice straining with emotion you didn’t fully understand. “you look like someone who’s been through something no one else could survive.”
˚ ༘♡ his shoulders grew rigid.
˚ ༘♡ and finally, he turned. not quickly. not sharply. but slowly, as though it pained him to meet your gaze.
˚ ༘♡ when he did, you almost wished he hadn’t. because the misery in his expression was unbearable. not cruel. not angry. but filled with something older than grief. remorse. resolve. restraint. something carved into the marrow of a man who had once been something else, someone else, and had buried that self in the sand years ago.
˚ ༘♡ “you shouldn’t be here,” he whispered. “you don’t understand what you’re walking into.”
˚ ༘♡ “then help me understand,” you said. “i’m not afraid of you.”
˚ ༘♡ “you should be.”
˚ ༘♡ “why?” your voice cracked. “you’re not like the others. not like the ones who leer at me in the market, or spit at the sand because i won’t smile for them. they scare me. but you…”
˚ ༘♡ he cut you off, gently. “i am not what you think i am.”
˚ ༘♡ “you’re kind. and you didn’t have to be. not to me.”
˚ ༘♡ “that doesn’t make me good.”
˚ ༘♡ “then tell me what does.” your voice caught as your fingers clutched your gown, crumpling the sheer fabric where it pooled around your knee. “tell me why you live out here like a ghost. why everyone calls you the hermit. why you look at the horizon like you’re waiting to die.”
˚ ༘♡ he flinched. it was slight. but it was there.
˚ ༘♡ you softened then. not out of pity. out of wanting. wanting to be let in. wanting him to let himself speak. just once.
˚ ༘♡ but instead, he exhaled, long and slow, and stood. his shadow fell over you. he looked taller when he did. broader. older.
˚ ༘♡ more like a myth than a man.
˚ ༘♡ “you’re young,” he said, not unkindly. “you see what you want to see. you believe that there’s good in everyone. you think… because i helped you, that it means something.”
˚ ༘♡ you looked up at him, chin lifted, defiant even through the pain.
˚ ༘♡ “it does mean something.”
˚ ༘♡ his expression ebbed scarcely. not from anger. from something closer to sorrow.
˚ ༘♡ “i can’t give you the answers you’re looking for,” he said. “there are things i’ve done, things i’ve seen, that no one should have to carry. i’ve buried people i loved. failed people who depended on me. i’ve lived through the fall of something that once stood for peace, and watched it crumble into war and ruin. and every day since then, i’ve woken up alone. because that is what i deserve.”
˚ ༘♡ the solemnity that followed was deafening.
˚ ༘♡ you blinked hard, your throat tightening.
˚ ༘♡ “that’s not true.”
˚ ༘♡ “you don’t know me.”
˚ ༘♡ “i see you.”
˚ ༘♡ “no,” he said, quieter now. “you see a man who held your hand when you were bleeding. you see someone who speaks warmly because he’s forgotten how to shout. but that doesn’t make me righteous. it makes me tired.”
˚ ༘♡ you swallowed, heart stinging in a way your knee didn’t.
˚ ༘♡ “i still trust you, kenobi.”
˚ ༘♡ he closed his eyes.
˚ ༘♡ the wind moved between you again. the sand danced in lazy spirals around his boots. and when he opened them, he looked at you, not as a stranger, not as a young girl , but as someone he wished had never stepped into his life. not because he didn’t want you there.
˚ ༘♡ but because he couldn’t bear it.
˚ ༘♡ “i’ll take you back,” he said. “when your leg stops bleeding.”
˚ ༘♡ you started to nod, but he kept speaking.
˚ ༘♡ and then,” he said, voice stripped of everything but control, “you’ll forget me.”
˚ ༘♡ your breath caught.
˚ ༘♡ “kenobi…”
˚ ༘♡ “you’ll go home. you’ll tell your mother you slipped on a rock. you’ll forget my face. you’ll forget this place. and the next time someone says my name in town, you won’t look up.”
˚ ༘♡ you shook your head slowly, eyes glassy.
˚ ༘♡ “i can’t…”
˚ ༘♡ “you must.” his voice didn’t rise, but it grew sharper. not callous, never callous, but firm, like he was building a wall between you and him brick by brick, and hating himself for every one. “you deserve to be happy. to care for someone who isn’t carrying the end of the galaxy in his guilt and shame.”
˚ ༘♡ you didn’t respond. couldn’t. not with words.
˚ ༘♡ so you just looked at him, body trembling, pain blooming somewhere far deeper than the wound in your knee.
˚ ༘♡ and he looked at you, too.
˚ ༘♡ as though he wanted to remember you.
˚ ༘♡ just once.
˚ ༘♡ before he had to let you go.
a/n: this is my official trial to be the kenobi fanfiction writer for tumblr!! please let me know if you have anymore requests for obi-wan kenobi, he is definitely my favorite star wars character!!! 🤍
“ ”One Jedi, then,” Padmé offered to the others. At least let me speak the truth to my love. At least. Please, she pleaded with them silently. “There is one Jedi—one whom I truly know all of us can trust absolutely…”
Her voice trailed off into appalled silence when she realized that she wasn’t talking about Anakin.
This had been all about him when she’d started—all about her love, all about her need to be open with him, the pain that keeping this secret stabbed her heart at each and every beat—but when the thought had turned to trust, when it became the question of someone she knew, truly and absolutely knew, she could trust—
She discovered that she was talking about Obi-Wan. ”
#do you ever get sad bc padme and obi wan’s relationship was never explored
#that he gave a knowing smile to qui gon when padme was revealed as queen
#that he gave a faint smile after padme looked away from him and anakin at the ceremony on naboo
#that padme recognized obi wan immediately
#that padme rushed to help obi wan on geonisis
#that they fought alongside each other on geonosis
#that obi wan understood what padme would do when it came to duty more than anakin did
#that obi wan was the only one that padme could trust
#that he knew about her and anakin and promised not to tell anyone
#that he trusted padme enough to tell her what anakin had done
#that when anakin was ranting on mustafar obi wan made sure padme was alright
#that when padme asked if anakin was alright and then passed out he once again made sure that she was alright
#that supported her while she was in labor
#that he was present during the birth of luke and leia
#that he showed joy in seeing the both of them
#that he showed that he genuinely cared about padme while she was in labor and after she died
#that he watched over luke his whole life
#and their relationship was never explored
#not even in the clone wars (tags via @nabooqueen)
This is so fucking devastating. Here Obi-Wan is, holding the children of the man he just had to fight, maim and supposedly kill because he fell to the dark side, committed genocide and destroyed everything they ever knew. The man he promised Qui-Gon he would train. His brother.
He’s looking at a woman, his friend, who just lost her husband, in more ways than one, and who will now never see her children grow up. She didn’t even get to hold them once. And Obi-Wan just has to keep going because what else can he do? These children have to be protected from the very empire their father helped create.
you finally have a moment of rest, what better way to spend it with the people you love most? Fluff <3 reassurance and slight jealousy, but most of all a breath of fresh air
wc: 9k ish :p
Your breath catches in your throat, the warmth of the indoors suddenly paling against the flicker of cold that creeps through your chest—not from the chill outside, but from those simple, offhand words.
"Captain is coming to drop off a drink for me."
It echoes, again and again, as you stand there just inside the door, your boots still half-caked in melted snow. For a second, the comfortable chatter from Sasha in the background, the gentle flipping of Mikasa’s notebook pages, and the hum of life in the common room dulls into a muted blur. Your eyes remain trained on Mikasa’s calm expression, her tone so casual it almost felt careless—but not unkind.
You’re not sure what emotion clenches harder around your heart—jealousy, fear, or the quiet ache of doubt. But something sharp nestles into your ribcage all the same.
The snow from your coat drips silently onto the wooden floor, your fingers twitching at your sides like they’re trying to figure out what to do—what to hold onto. You try to remind yourself that Mikasa’s close with everyone. That Levi often did things like that—small, quiet gestures that didn’t always mean what people thought they meant. You tell yourself you have no right to spiral. No right to jump to conclusions.
But still… your heart feels tight.
Sasha glances up from the couch, eyebrows raising slightly when she sees the shift in your face. “You okay?” she asks, voice still drowsy from a midday nap and muffled by the blanket draped over her.
You blink and force a smile, tugging off your gloves and tossing them into the basket near the entrance. “Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Just cold. I wasn’t expecting it to get this chilly today.”
Mikasa hums in agreement from the hallway, flipping a page in her notebook with one hand and scribbling something with the other. “You should make tea,” she suggests without looking up. “Captain said it’s good to warm your hands that way.”
You nod absently and move toward the small kitchenette tucked near the corner of the common room, every step feeling strangely robotic. The kettle clangs slightly as you fill it, the water hissing as it pours. You keep your eyes down, focused on the mundane task in front of you, but your mind drifts—frantically searching for meaning behind Levi’s actions, behind those few words Mikasa said.
Why her?
Why now?
Did he—
No. You stop yourself. You weren’t going to become that kind of person—the type who turns love into suspicion and affection into competition.
Still, your chest aches.
A knock sounds at the door.
You turn too quickly, heart leaping into your throat as Mikasa walks calmly to open it. You already know who’s there before the door swings open. The soft creak of hinges is followed by boots stepping in—cleaned of snow, as always. Levi stands just at the threshold, a simple cup in his gloved hand.
“I brought the ginger tea you like,” he says to Mikasa, voice quiet, matter-of-fact. His tone doesn’t carry any special inflection, no softness or warmth that makes it sound like anything more than a gesture. Just Levi being Levi. But still…
Mikasa gives a polite nod and thanks him, reaching for the mug. There’s a flicker of recognition in Levi’s eyes as they shift toward you—standing stiffly by the counter, hands curled around the edge of the table, the kettle still whistling softly.
Your eyes meet his for a second—longer than you mean to. And in that second, something passes between you. A subtle change in the air. A question unspoken.
He sees it. You know he does. The way your shoulders tense, the way your fingers twitch, the faint tremor in your smile. And for a moment, Levi lingers.
He nods once to Mikasa, turning slightly toward the hallway—then hesitates.
You can’t move. You don’t even breathe.
Then—
“I’ll be back,” he mutters to Mikasa, but his eyes are still on you.
And before anyone else can respond, he steps past the couch, past Sasha’s wide eyes and Mikasa’s inquisitive glance, walking right up to where you stand in the kitchenette. His presence settles beside you like a cold wind—sharp but grounding.
“Outside,” he says lowly. Not an order. Not a command. An invitation.
You nod silently, grabbing your coat without another word, and follow him through the door and back into the snow.
The world outside is quiet. The wind bites at your cheeks, but the cold doesn’t reach you—not fully. Not with him walking just a few steps ahead, glancing back once to make sure you’re there.
Finally, he stops beneath the bare branches of the tree that overlooks the training grounds—quiet, distant from the noise of the barracks.
“I’m not seeing her,” he says flatly, hands tucked into his coat pockets. “If that’s what you were thinking.”
You swallow, your breath curling in the cold between you. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to,” he mutters, eyes scanning the horizon but not quite looking at it. “You looked like you’d been stabbed through the chest when she said my name.”
The honesty makes you flinch.
You glance away, your throat tight with embarrassment and ache. “Sorry… I just— It caught me off guard.”
There’s a pause. Then—
“I said I’d try.” His voice is quieter now, almost fragile. “But I never said I’d be perfect at it.”
You look at him then, really look, and in that moment you see how much he’s trying. How much he’s fighting against his own silence, his own demons, just to say these words aloud.
You step closer. Just enough that your shoulder nearly brushes his.
“I didn’t ask for perfect,” you whisper. “I just wanted to feel chosen.”
This time, it’s Levi who breaks the distance.
His hand finds yours—slowly, deliberately—and he laces your fingers together, glove against glove, cold still pressing in around you, but his grip grounding you like firelight in a storm.
“You are.”
Your face immediately flushes and you bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling. You nod silently, daring a glance at him before looking away to the training ground. You watch the snow fall silently. "I trust you... Levi." You nod softly, the jealousy in your chest dulling from a sharp blow to a muted ache.
He doesn't speak at first. Just stays there beside you, shoulder to shoulder, hands still laced together as if your fingers were the only lifeline he had left in the world. His grip is steady—not too tight, not too loose—but enough that you feel the intent behind it. Enough that the unspoken tension in your chest loosens, little by little.
When you whisper his name—Levi—his breath stirs in the cold air like smoke, and his eyes finally shift to you. The sound of it from your lips always does something to him. Something quiet and internal and seismic, like the shifting of the earth deep beneath still ground.
“…That’s the second time you’ve called me that,” he murmurs, voice low, unreadable.
You can’t help the small smile that pulls at your lips now, warmer this time. Real. “You noticed?”
“Tch.” His brow twitches, eyes narrowing faintly. “Of course I did.”
Your eyes meet his again, and for a moment the snowfall feels like it slows around you—soft flakes tumbling down like ash in a world that had forgotten how to burn. The whole sky is a quiet canvas of grey and fading light, and in the silence, you feel his gaze like a steady pulse under your skin.
“I don’t blame you,” he says suddenly, like it’s been building in him all day. “For feeling what you did. For the doubt. I just… didn’t think it would matter this much to me that it hurt you.”
The ache in your chest returns, but this time it’s different. Gentle. Like the sting of a wound starting to close.
You watch a flake land on the curve of his coat sleeve and melt slowly, leaving a damp mark in the shape of a star. “It matters to me too,” you whisper. “What you feel. What you choose.”
A pause. Then, so softly it almost disappears in the wind—
“I’m choosing this,” he says.
Your heart stumbles.
Not you. Not this relationship. Just this—because Levi never makes declarations he can’t uphold, never promises more than he knows he can deliver. But that word from his mouth… it means something. A slow-burning vow. A weighty admission wrapped in restraint.
You don’t realize how tight your throat is until you exhale, your shoulders dropping a little from the tension you didn’t know you were holding.
You squeeze his hand gently. “Thank you,” you say, not needing to say more.
His free hand shifts in his pocket, and you see the hesitation before he moves it. Slowly, carefully, he reaches toward you, tugging the scarf at your collar just a bit tighter, fingers brushing the skin beneath your jaw. The contact is brief, but it sends sparks of warmth crawling across your skin like embers through cold veins.
“You looked cold earlier,” he mutters, almost like an excuse.
“I was,” you admit with a small laugh, your voice catching just slightly. “But I think I’m okay now.”
He lets out a soft, almost inaudible hnn, eyes flicking up to the grey sky for a moment before returning to you. “Let’s go back before Sasha eats everything.”
You snort gently at that, a welcome ripple of humor grounding you again. “She probably already did.”
He finally releases your hand, but not without letting his fingers linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary. And even as the cold air rushes in to take its place, you feel the residual warmth of his presence humming in your chest.
You walk side by side back toward the barracks, snow crunching under your boots, silence stretching between you like a second skin. But it’s a good silence now. A full one. The kind that holds understanding, not absence.
And just before the door creaks open, before the voices of your friends spill into the hallway again, you feel the ghost of his breath at your ear—low, meant for only you.
“I missed you too.”
Then he’s gone, walking ahead into the warmth and light.
The grin spreads across your face before you can stop it—warm, uncontrollable, the kind that climbs straight out of your chest like sunlight breaking over a frozen field. Your breath curls in the cold as you linger in the threshold, half-lost in the memory of his words just moments ago.
I missed you too.
He hadn’t looked back when he said it. Hadn’t needed to. It was just like him—quiet, composed, understated. And yet it hit you with the force of a cannonball right through your ribs.
You flex your fingers at your sides, the buzz of warmth still lingering in your palms where his had held yours. With a quiet laugh, you rake a hand through your hair, suddenly shy despite the giddy rush dancing under your skin. You can still hear the faint murmur of conversation inside, the low hum of Sasha teasing someone over food, maybe Jean groaning about something again, Mikasa quietly scribbling in her notebook near the window.
But it’s not any of that that pulls you in now. It’s him.
You step back into the barracks, letting the heavy door shut behind you with a dull click. The air inside is warmer, laced with the scent of woodsmoke and something sweet—probably Sasha’s doing—and the soft thrum of laughter, conversation, life. Your boots thud gently against the wooden floorboards as you trail into the common room, the fire crackling low in the hearth.
And there he is.
Levi stands near the corner, half-shadowed by the orange glow of the firelight, his coat already unbuttoned and folded neatly over one arm. He’s speaking with Mikasa, his voice low, calm—just passing her a mug of something steaming before slipping his hands back into his pockets. He doesn’t glance your way, but somehow you know he’s aware. Of your eyes on him. Of the hitch in your breath.
The way your grin softens into something smaller. More sacred.
You hesitate for only a heartbeat before walking toward him, feet light, like the floor might crack if you move too quickly.
As you approach, Mikasa casts a glance between the two of you, something unreadable flickering behind her steady gaze. She gives you a quiet nod and takes her drink, moving wordlessly toward the window again. Always observant. Always kind in her own way.
Now it’s just you and him.
Levi’s eyes flick to yours, a silent question there—You okay?
You nod, still smiling. “You made that look too easy.”
He raises a brow. “Made what look easy?”
“Walking away after saying something like that,” you say, voice just above a whisper. “You can’t just say something like I missed you too and leave me standing in the cold with a grin like an idiot.”
A breath of amusement escapes him, subtle. Almost a smirk. “You’re still standing here with that grin, aren’t you?”
You laugh, shaking your head as your arms cross loosely. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am.”
For a moment, the sounds of the room fade—the fire, the chatter, the creak of wood—and all you feel is him again. His eyes on you. The calm storm he always carries with him like a second skin.
“Are we good?” you ask gently, quieter this time. “Like… really good?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just reaches out, fingers brushing your sleeve near your elbow, like he’s checking to see if you’re real. Then, slowly, he nods.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We’re good.”
You exhale, that grin threatening to return full force. And before either of you can say anything more, Sasha calls out from across the room with her usual cheerful bluntness, “Hey! Are you two just gonna stand there forever? Food’s gonna get cold!”
Connie snorts in laughter beside her, nudging her with an elbow. “Don’t act like you aren’t the one who already stole a roll off Jean’s plate.”
Jean protests in the background, loud and indignant, and the room fills with soft chatter and laughter.
Levi glances toward the table with a quiet sigh, muttering under his breath, “Tch. Brats.”
But when you catch his eyes again, there’s no real edge in his tone. Only the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth. A rare, quiet ease.
“Come on,” he says, brushing past you gently. “Before they burn the place down.”
And when you sit beside him at the table—shoulder to shoulder, the scent of warmth and bread and snow still clinging to both of you—it settles deep in your chest:
You’re good.
And maybe, just maybe… you’re starting to feel like you belong.
You nod and nudge him softly on the shoulder. Not enough to mean something, but enough to acknowledge. "Hungry, Captain?"
Levi doesn’t look at you right away.
Instead, he picks up a mug—tea, by the faint scent of it—and blows on the surface once before taking a slow sip. He swallows, eyes flicking up just as you’re pulling your hand back from the soft nudge to his shoulder. There's a barely-there pause.
Then:
“Tch.” It’s the most noncommittal sound imaginable, but the glance he gives you says more. His eyes linger for just a breath longer than necessary. Not irritated. Not unreadable. Just… there.
“I haven’t had anything since morning,” he admits finally, tone low and simple, like the words are begrudgingly dragged out. “So. I guess that counts.”
Across the room, Sasha is already stuffing something into her mouth, eyes darting toward the two of you like she’s watching a drama unfold but pretending she’s not. Mikasa sits cross-legged on the floor with a blanket across her lap, casting only the briefest glance your way before returning to her notes.
You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing in a teasing smile. “That’s not an answer.”
Levi raises an eyebrow, reaching across the table to pick up a plate without replying. His movements are neat, efficient—yet there’s something almost… relaxed about the way he moves now. Like the exhaustion of the week has worn down the edge of his usual strictness. Just a bit.
He sets the plate in front of him, then turns to glance at you again.
“…Fine,” he mutters, tearing a roll in half and handing you one side without looking at you directly. “Happy?”
You blink, surprised for a beat, before the smile spreads across your face again.
“Very,” you murmur, fingers brushing his as you take it. And even though he pretends not to notice—eyes already fixed on the plate again—there’s a flush of warmth blooming quietly between you.
Outside, the wind is still whispering snow against the windows, but inside the common room, there’s a calm that settles. The gentle chatter of your squadmates hums in the background, the soft clinking of plates and mugs.
And in that moment, as you sit beside him sharing a split roll in the soft lamplight, it feels—without fanfare or force—like enough.
You nod slowly as you savor a bite of the roll and how the butter melts on your tongue. "Mmmm..." You sigh, smiling once more. "Good food, good company. I thought I'd be pretty low energy today but... Well maybe I am," you remedy, "but even in my tiredness there are still things to be grateful for."
Levi sits with a lazy lean against the armrest, fork turning absently through his plate as he glances over at you with that unreadable, half-lidded stare. “Tch. I’d say you’re still low energy. You’re just better at hiding it today.”
But the tone isn’t biting—if anything, it’s mellow, like the snow drifting past the window panes behind him. He takes a slow bite, not even pretending to savor it like you do, but something about the quiet chew of bread and butter seems to settle him.
“You did good,” he mutters finally, almost like an afterthought. “For your exams. I heard from Miche.”
You blink.
“Don’t look so surprised. You think I don’t check in on my soldiers?” He sips his tea with a soft clink. “Miche said you held your own, even with the nerves.”
There’s a pause as the sound of Sasha laughing in the kitchen drifts through, a pot clattering in the distance. Levi looks down at his cup, steam curling against his face. “You’re right, though. There’s still things to be grateful for. Moments like this. Quiet. Warm. Not covered in blood for once.”
He doesn’t smile, but there’s a softness to the edge of his voice.
Then, after a pause, dry as ever, he adds, “Enjoy it while it lasts. Knowing our luck, some shitstorm’ll start tomorrow.”
And yet… he doesn't move. He stays there with you, sitting across the table, the faintest pull at the corner of his mouth like he’s just a little less tired around you.
You let out a laugh at his unexpected candor.
"Miche's exam was fine, though I think that's because I've simply admitted defeat. But," your eyes light up with renewed hope, "Hange's physics exam? I passed it! My first one."
You breathe out a sigh of relief. "I thought it wouldn't be possible, but I finally passed. Took me two failed exams though."
You shrug, clicking your tongue. "Maybe it helped that you weren't there to distract me."
You shoulder him teasingly, your eyes lifting from his gaze to look at Armin and Eren who had just stepped into the common lounge. Catching eyes with Armin, your gaze softens and smile brightens, mouthing a silent 'hi.'
Levi lets out a quiet, nearly imperceptible snort at your teasing, your shoulder nudging against his arm. He doesn’t lean into it, but he doesn’t move away either. That alone is something. His eyes narrow faintly, side-glancing you like he’s gauging whether you’re actually implying he’s a distraction… or if you’re flirting again. Maybe both.
“Tch. If my presence is what’s screwing with your grades, maybe I should just avoid you altogether,” he mutters dryly—but there’s a quirk to his tone, the kind that betrays a subtle smirk buried under all that stoicism. “Or maybe you just need to learn how to focus.”
Then, without looking, he flicks a small crumb of bread at your sleeve, the closest thing to playful Levi ever gets.
As your gaze drifts to the doorway, Armin and Eren walk in from the corridor, both brushing flakes of snow off their cloaks. Eren’s already mid-complaint about the cold, dragging his boots across the floor, while Armin’s hands are cupped around a steaming mug that’s too big for his palms. His blue eyes catch yours, and in that second—while Eren’s still talking about how the training dummies are frozen solid—Armin lifts his brows in quiet surprise and recognition.
Your silent ‘hi’ reaches him, and his expression shifts instantly—his eyes soften, his lips part just slightly in return. A small smile blooms, a silent one made just for you. Not overdone, not forced. Just warm. Armin lifts a hand, halfway between a greeting and a fond wave, and then glances away, cheeks tinged with the cold—or something else.
Levi follows your gaze for a beat, taking in the moment with that unreadable expression again. His voice lowers just a little, more thoughtful than sarcastic this time. “Arlert’s a good kid.”
He doesn’t say anything else.
The fire crackles faintly nearby. Sasha’s started humming something off-key in the kitchen, and Jean’s voice echoes from another hallway, arguing with Connie about whether or not they should start a snowball fight outside.
You feel it then—not just warmth, but something heavier. The weight of peace, rare and fragile as it is, pressing gently on your shoulders like a wool blanket.
You passed.
You’re here.
And for a little while longer… you’re allowed to rest.
You breathe in slowly, deeply, trying to absorb whatever air it is that was putting your mind at ease. Maybe it was the scent of Levi right next to you. Humming a song to yourself, you sit in silence for a bit as you simply... be. Your mind tugs back to a passing comment before biting your lip and nodding.
"Yeah, Armin has grown to be one of my closest friends here." You pause. "I suppose I resonate with his curiosity and desire for truth. Or, it could be the fact we end up studying so late together and he's always explaining class material to me or helping me last minute cram for exams." You add with a laugh, your gaze searching for him fondly.
Levi’s gaze flickers over to you—just for a moment. You feel the weight of it even before you look, that sharp yet quiet awareness of his settling somewhere over your shoulders like a coat you didn’t know you needed. He doesn’t interrupt. Just listens.
The quiet hum of your voice hangs in the air, layered over the soft clink of Sasha putting dishes away and the wind murmuring outside the frosted window.
You watch Armin across the room as he sits at the far end of the couch, tucking one leg beneath him as he flips through notes he’d probably been reading all morning. There’s a certain way his brow furrows when he’s focused, like the world falls away around him and only the pursuit of knowledge exists in that moment. When he notices you looking again, his eyes lift. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, the kind that says you’re not bothering me—stay if you want.
Levi follows the direction of your gaze and exhales faintly, barely more than a breath. “He’s always had that in him,” he says, low, rough like a rumble against the wood-paneled silence. “That damn stubborn heart. Too smart for his own good sometimes.”
There’s a fondness buried beneath his tone, though it’s so subtle you’d almost miss it if you didn’t know what to listen for.
“I see why you gravitate toward him.” He looks down at his own hands, thumb brushing an invisible crease on his glove. “Tch. You both talk too much.”
You grin.
The fire pops and shifts beside you, the golden light dancing along the contours of the room, throwing warmth across your legs, the table, and part of Levi’s shoulder. His scent—tea leaves, fresh air, something older and grounded—lingers close, and you realize how rare it is to sit like this. Not in urgency. Not in command. Just… together.
He doesn’t say anything more. But he doesn’t move away either.
You catch Armin watching again—this time not just you, but the space between you and Levi. A flicker of understanding passes behind his eyes before he looks down at his book, hiding the barest trace of a smile as he turns the page.
And in that tiny pause of the afternoon, between the weight of past exams and the promise of the next mission, you let yourself be. Just as you are, with the people who’ve made the heaviness of this world a little easier to carry.
Even if only for now.
Outside, the wind shifts through the trees like a hush, like the whole world is trying not to intrude.
The fire crackles again. You pull your knees up to your chest and rest your chin there, warm from the gentle heat, the presence beside you, the casual chatter of Sasha and Connie arguing over rations in the corner. It feels like being wrapped in something wordless—this kind of quiet isn’t born from silence, but from safety.
You feel it in the ease of your muscles. In the way your breath doesn’t catch in your throat anymore. In how Levi doesn’t move away when your shoulder brushes his again, the second time in the last ten minutes. If anything, he settles deeper into the couch, almost imperceptibly—like your nearness has become part of the atmosphere. Expected. Welcome.
Armin glances up again, catching you watching him this time. He flashes you that half-smile that only your closest friends can give—tired, knowing, a little amused.
Eren walks by behind him, yawning dramatically before flopping onto a beanbag near the fire, groaning like he hasn’t slept in days. Mikasa steps in behind him, brushing snow off her scarf and shaking her head softly at his antics. She notices you and gives a quiet nod, her eyes trailing toward Levi for a split second before moving on. No judgment, no smirk. Just… acknowledgment.
The camaraderie of it all wraps around you like a soft quilt. Not perfect, not easy—but yours. These moments between the chaos, between the duty and danger. You can feel how precious they are by how gently everyone holds them, even the loud ones.
Levi’s voice cuts into the quiet, low and deliberate.
“You passed Hange’s exam?” he mutters, keeping his gaze forward, but there’s the slightest tilt of his head—curious, maybe impressed.
You nod with a proud little hum. “Took me long enough.”
“Tch. Two failures before you got it right?” His lips twitch. “That’s some real determination. Or stupidity. Maybe both.”
You scoff, nudging his knee with yours. “I like to think it’s charm.”
He huffs out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. Almost. Then, “You’re not the only one who had to retake Hange’s physics test more than once.” He sips from his mug without looking at you, but the admission lands like a secret you weren’t supposed to hear.
You blink. “Wait—you failed?”
He says nothing, which is as good as a confirmation.
A grin splits your face. “I’m never letting this go.”
He finally turns to look at you then, deadpan. “You try saying that again after she makes you build a functional pulley system using nothing but scrap metal and a broken pen.”
You laugh—loud, free, and honest. And the sound melts into the warmth of the room like it belongs there.
Levi doesn’t smile, not fully. But there’s something softer at the edge of his eyes now. Something proud, maybe. Or just at peace.
You lean your head gently against his shoulder again, sighing through your smile. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch or tense or pull away. Just exists beside you, solid and steady.
The room settles into that bubble again. The fire crackles. Sasha is now arguing about who ate her bread from two days ago. Jean is trying to prove it wasn’t him, but he’s losing that battle fast. Eren is snoring quietly. Mikasa turns another page.
And for just this afternoon—for this small, unremarkable pocket of time—you let yourself believe that maybe peace doesn’t have to be far away. That maybe it's tucked right here, in the stillness between people who’ve seen too much but hold on anyway.
You stand up, walking to the window and place a hand against the pane. The glass was cool to touch, but not unbearable within the shelter of the barracks. "Hm, let's do something fun guys. Not crazy spontaneous, but I haven't had a chance to be with you guys and simply play in so long."
Connie immediately perks up from his spot near the hearth, one of Sasha’s knit socks dangling from his hand like he’s unsure whether to wear it or eat it. “Play?” he echoes, brows lifting as if you just said something revolutionary. “Like—childish, no-responsibilities kind of play? ‘Cause I’m so in.”
Sasha sits upright so fast her half-eaten roll topples off her lap and onto the floor. “I second that! Let’s play something fun,” she grins, eyes wide. “Let’s do something where Mikasa can’t kick our asses in under five seconds though.”
Mikasa, still quietly flipping through her notebook, doesn’t even look up. “That’s only because you two refuse to follow basic instructions.”
Jean, from the far couch, makes a dramatic ugh noise and tosses a small pillow at Mikasa, which she dodges with ease and zero attention diverted from her page.
You press your hand a little firmer against the glass and smile at the familiar rhythm. “Seriously, though,” you murmur. “No sparring, no studying, no strategizing. Just… one night off. Something silly. Something easy.”
Eren, still half-dozing, grunts. “Like cards?”
“Or charades,” Armin suggests thoughtfully. “We used to play that when we were kids. Back in Shiganshina.”
“Ugh, that game brings out the worst in people,” Jean groans. “Last time we played that, Hange mimed a decomposing titan and Sasha guessed ‘fermented cheese.’”
“I was close!” Sasha huffs, pointing at him indignantly. “You weren’t even trying to guess!”
Levi, still beside the couch, watches all this unfold with his usual half-lidded, unimpressed stare—but something about the way his arms are crossed, the slight tilt of his head… he’s not disengaged. Just listening.
You turn from the window and look at him. “Even you, Captain. No work. No forms. No brooding. Just…” You lift your hands with a shrug, your smile a little mischievous. “Play.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re awfully bold tonight.”
“Because I passed physics,” you say proudly.
That earns a huff of something halfway between amusement and disbelief. But he sets down the clipboard anyway, very slowly and deliberately, as if to make a point of it. “One round.”
You beam.
Fifteen minutes later, the common room is transformed. The desks are pushed to the side, pillows and blankets strewn across the floor, someone has brought down a battered deck of cards and a random assortment of game pieces—some of which probably aren’t even from the same game.
Sasha and Connie have elected themselves “Chaos Coordinators,” which means they’re mostly running around arguing over rules and setting up pieces in the wrong order. Armin’s trying to organize something coherent while Mikasa sits cross-legged on the floor beside him, correcting Sasha’s attempts at shuffling. Jean’s already made himself comfortable with a mug in hand, declaring himself the future champion of whatever this becomes.
You sit back against the arm of the couch, knees tucked in, watching everyone fall into easy banter and laughter. And across the room, just outside the fray, Levi leans against the wall—arms crossed again, but no clipboard this time. Just him. Present.
His eyes find you through the mess of movement, and for the smallest moment, you share that quiet again. A wordless thread that stretches across the room, stronger than any game.
He doesn’t smile.
But he nods once.
You smile for the both of you.
“Alright!” Sasha yells, standing on the couch. “First round is a game of guess the weird object! We’ve gathered six mystery items from our rooms, and your job is to guess what the hell they are with your eyes closed!”
“What the fuck kind of game is that?” Levi mutters, under his breath.
But he doesn’t leave.
No one does.
Tonight, the walls of the barracks hum with laughter. The cold remains outside the windows. And inside—where your hand once pressed to the glass, wishing for something light and playful—you find it blooming, alive and real, in the warmth of your friends’ voices and the steady, silent presence of the Captain who chose to stay.
"Wait! Wait!" You spring up from your seated position, running to the door. "Let's ask the others if they want to join. The Commander might be busy, but it can't hurt to try at least." You stick your tongue out and laugh. "Or maybe Miche, or Hange squad leaders?" You bounce on your feet, restless and giddy with happiness, hoping to be fast enough so the moment wouldn't pass by the time you return.
“Oi—careful, you're gonna trip over your own feet,” Levi calls out flatly as you nearly stumble slipping your shoes back on. But there’s no sharpness to his voice—only the same dry tone that somehow always carries just enough weight to make you glance back at him.
The corner of his mouth quirks up, barely. “Don’t take too long.”
Your cheeks warm. You throw him a salute, two fingers to your brow with exaggerated flair. “Yes, Captain.”
Sasha hoots from the other side of the room. “Go! Go! Before the energy dies and we all remember we have essays due!”
“Speak for yourself,” Jean grumbles, sprawled across a cushion like a bored cat. “I’m not doing work tonight.”
“That’s because you never do work, Jean,” Mikasa says without missing a beat, still organizing the cards neatly by suit in front of her.
You’re already halfway through the hallway before the echo of laughter dies down behind you, your feet light against the floorboards. The barracks feel quieter out here, empty and cold again—but the memory of warmth from the common room seems to linger like smoke on your skin.
You pause outside Hange’s door first, catching your breath. Soft shuffling sounds inside—something being knocked over.
“Yeah, just a sec!” Hange’s muffled voice calls out before you can even knock. The door opens moments later and she blinks down at you, glasses slightly askew and a pencil tucked behind her ear. “Oh! It’s you. Is this about the sulfur experiment I forgot about? Because technically—”
“Nope,” you grin. “We’re playing games. No strategy, no studying, no explosions. Want to join?”
Hange’s mouth opens—closes. Her entire face lights up like a lamp. “Are you kidding? Absolutely I want to join. Let me grab my socks with the toes—those are my lucky game socks.”
You giggle as she spins back inside her room with wild energy, already muttering about battle formations for charades.
Next, you knock on Miche’s door.
It takes a moment, and when it opens, he’s already chewing something—dried jerky, probably. He blinks at you slowly, tilting his head like a very large, vaguely confused dog.
“Games?” you offer with a grin, bouncing on your toes. “Just for fun. Thought it’d be nice to get everyone in the same room without a mission or a meeting for once.”
He chews thoughtfully.
Sniffs the air once, in classic Miche fashion.
Then shrugs. “Why not.”
It feels almost like victory.
You dart back down the hallway, grinning so wide your cheeks ache. The warmth builds again in your chest as you hear voices growing louder from the common room.
The moment hasn't passed.
It waited for you.
The room erupts into cheers as you return with Hange in one hand, who’s now holding a strange rubber duck claiming it’s going to be her “good luck charm,” and Miche right behind, stoic but present.
“Nice!” Connie fist-pumps. “This is gonna be the best chaos yet.”
You reclaim your spot by the couch just as Sasha slides a new blanket toward you. “We saved you the coziest one,” she whispers like it's a secret.
“Damn right you did,” you say, dropping into it with a satisfied sigh.
Your eyes meet Levi’s across the room again.
He hasn’t moved much—still leaning near the wall, arms crossed. But he hasn’t left. And when he sees you settled, surrounded by laughter, eyes bright and chest rising with breathless joy—he looks away quickly, like he’s afraid he might be caught staring too long.
But not before you catch the faintest twitch at the edge of his lips.
A not-quite-smile.
You lean back against the couch, the noise of your friends enveloping you like a soft tide. And for tonight, you let go of every burden. The walls of duty. The expectations. The worry.
Tonight, you play.
The laughter in the common room is climbing now—rising in waves as Hange insists the rubber duck gives her “unparalleled deductive reasoning” in the card game she’s currently losing miserably. Sasha’s crying from laughter on the floor, face buried in a pillow as Connie dramatically reenacts Hange’s “moment of defeat” with flailing arms and sound effects.
“Behold, the genius falls!” he wails, pretending to drop dead with the deck of cards raining down like confetti.
“Unbelievable,” Jean groans, half-smiling despite himself. “We’re adults.”
“Speak for yourself,” you murmur, barely containing your own laughter as you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye.
Mikasa chuckles under her breath. Even Armin's shoulders shake in quiet amusement as he watches the chaos unfold with fond exasperation.
Levi stands at the edge of it all—arms still folded, expression unreadable, but there’s a certain softness to the set of his shoulders now. Something easier. Something lighter. And though he doesn’t join in the games, he stays. Close.
You feel it like a quiet weight beside you. Not heavy. Just... grounding.
And then—there’s the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. A hush falls, briefly, as boots step into the barracks. Heads turn.
Erwin.
His broad figure fills the frame, wind-chilled and dusted faintly with snow, the ends of his coat damp from the outside.
“Evening,” he greets simply, eyes scanning the room.
It’s surreal—seeing him here, outside of the strategy tables and early morning briefings. Not in uniform, just wrapped in a dark wool coat with gloves tucked under one arm.
Hange’s eyes go wide. “Erwin!” she gasps, scrambling upright and nearly knocking her duck off the table. “Did you actually show up for something not involving a war council?”
He smirks faintly. “I heard there was a gathering.”
“More like a temporary lapse in sanity,” Jean mutters, dodging the cushion Sasha throws at him.
“Games,” you chime in, smiling up at him from your blanket nest. “Cards, jokes, hot tea. You can join if you want.”
Erwin’s gaze drifts over the scene—the circle of soldiers seated on the floor, the half-eaten snacks, the candlelight flickering warm against the windows—and something subtle shifts in his posture.
“I won’t stay long,” he says. “But I think I can afford a few minutes.”
Connie jumps up like it’s an emergency. “SOMEONE GET HIM A MUG. NOW.”
“You act like he’s royalty,” Mikasa deadpans.
“He is!” Sasha argues. “He’s the Commander. And now we have the Commander and the Captain here! That’s double morale boost!”
“Double the scary,” Jean adds.
Erwin finally settles down on one of the floor cushions, nodding politely to Armin as he accepts the mug someone hands him. “Thank you.”
You watch the crew slowly reorganize around the new addition like puzzle pieces shifting. It’s not tense, not rigid—just... a rare thing. Everyone sharing a moment that isn’t laced with battle cries or marching orders.
Across the room, Levi meets your gaze again.
He hasn’t smiled, not truly. But there’s something in his eyes. A softness around the edges of his silence.
Something that says:
Thank you.
Not with words. Not with declarations.
But with presence.
The way he stayed.
The way he didn’t need to say he was here for you—because he already was.
The night stretches on with card games and whispered jokes, the occasional howl of laughter echoing down the hallway. Even Erwin ends up losing a round to Sasha, who claims it’s divine intervention.
You rest your head back against the couch, heart warm and full.
And for once, there is no need for titles.
No need for ranks.
Just you, and the people who have somehow carved their way into your life like light slipping through a battlefield.
And Levi—watching, nearby, saying nothing.
But still... there.
You quietly make your way to him amidst the playful atmosphere, standing silently beside him, though your fingers twitch to brush his for a brief second. You look at him and smile before sliding your gaze back to the random group of people who had gathered in a moment of reprieve.
Levi doesn’t move at first—not even when you step beside him. He just watches the group, expression as unreadable as ever. His arms remain folded, his shoulders steady. But after a moment, you feel it: the slightest shift. His hand relaxes by his side, no longer closed into a fist, no longer held in tension.
Then, as if caught in hesitation, his fingers twitch once. Almost like a question.
You don’t answer it out loud. You don’t need to.
You simply let your own hand linger near his—not touching, but close enough for him to feel the warmth.
And maybe that’s enough.
His head tilts the smallest degree, and though he doesn’t look at you directly, his voice comes low and quiet, meant only for you beneath the distant echo of laughter.
“…You look like you needed this.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement, like he knew all along. Like he watched you—shoulders tense for weeks, heart heavy, eyes darting too often toward things unsaid. And now here you are, barefoot in wool socks, firelight dancing across your skin, surrounded by laughter and chaos and friends.
You nod softly, smiling at the distant sound of Sasha making Erwin taste her terrible tea blend.
“I think we all did,” you whisper back.
There’s another pause. Another beat of silent understanding.
Then, gently—like a secret passed between soldiers on the eve of something bigger—his pinky nudges yours.
It’s subtle. Barely there.
But the contact sends a quiet current through your chest, one that makes your breath catch just a little.
It doesn’t linger long. Just a second. Maybe less. But it’s enough.
Levi looks away again, but you catch it—
The faintest upward twitch at the corner of his lips.
And for the first time in a while, you realize...
It’s okay to feel this safe.
To laugh.
To be held in a moment.
To want.
And even if you’re not sure what tomorrow holds—
Tonight?
He’s here.
"Thank you for your affirmations," you whisper quietly, "I don't think I'm a very secure person. I… I apologise. I'll probably continue to need your affirmations to retain trust in... us."
His eyes flick toward you this time, sharp but not harsh—like he’s scanning every word as it leaves your lips. You feel it before he even speaks: the shift in his attention, the full weight of it, like standing under a heavy snowfall that somehow feels protective instead of cold.
“Tch.” A soft exhale. Not quite annoyance. More like… regret. Something caught behind his teeth.
He turns just enough to face you. “Don’t apologize for needing something real,” he says, voice low and even, but edged with something quieter underneath—like emotion sealed in iron. “Not in a world like this.”
The flickering lantern light casts gold shadows on the side of his face, and when his gaze settles back on yours, it’s steady. Grounded.
“I’m not good at this shit,” Levi admits bluntly, voice softening only a fraction. “Not at saying what I feel. Or proving things the way people want them proven. But if I give you my word... if I say I’m here…” He lifts a hand—slow, deliberate—and presses two fingers against his own chest, just above the strap of his harness. “Then that means I am. No fucking games. No half-hearted promises.”
He lets that sit in the space between you, the unspoken warmth of it heavier than any embrace. Then his hand drops again, brushing slightly against your own—this time on purpose.
“You need my affirmations?” His voice lowers another notch. “Then you’ll have them. Again. And again. However many fucking times it takes.”
For a long moment, you just breathe—because there’s something in the way he says it. Not romantic in the traditional sense, no flowery warmth or soft poetic turns. But Levi’s love was never a blooming thing. It was forged. Earned. Fought for. Like iron wrapped around a heartbeat.
And now, you hear it in the steady cadence of his words.
In the quiet spaces he makes for you.
In the way he chooses to stay.
He glances away, then back again. “But you better give yourself a little goddamn credit too.”
You smile gently, throat tight with something that feels like relief and ache all at once.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay. I will.”
And for a moment—just a moment—the snow outside keeps falling, and time feels like it’s holding its breath. Safe. Suspended. Yours.
"Do you need anything from me? What am I lacking? I want you to be assured of me too."
Levi’s eyes flick to you again—this time slower, more lingering. The cold air seems to still between you both, muffled by the walls of the barracks and the hush of the snow pressing gently against the glass panes.
He studies you, but not like before—this isn’t the sharp gaze of a soldier, or even the narrowed squint of someone on guard. It’s quieter. Thoughtful. His lips part like he’s about to answer quickly, but then he hesitates… and looks down.
“No.” His voice is quiet—softer than you’ve heard all day. “You’re not lacking anything.”
There’s a breath. Not a sigh. Just space for honesty to land. He leans his elbow onto the edge of the window beside you, arms crossing lightly over his chest as he stares out at the snow, jaw working once, twice before he speaks again.
“You’ve already given me more than I thought I’d ever let myself need,” he says, blunt but not cold. “And that scares the hell out of me sometimes.”
He glances at you from the corner of his eye, tone flat but purposeful. “That doesn’t mean you scare me. You’re… the opposite of that. You’re the calm in all the noise.” He pauses, then adds under his breath, “The fucking ache I look forward to.”
It’s a strange thing, being someone’s ache. But from Levi, it sounds like the highest honor.
He shifts slightly, and this time his hand brushes yours deliberately again. The pressure is featherlight, not quite a grasp—just a whisper of skin against skin. “If I need anything,” he murmurs, “it’s just for you to stay. And keep being real with me. Keep showing up like you do, even when I’m a cold bastard.”
He finally turns fully to you, standing so close now that the edge of his cloak brushes the side of your arm. The heat from him is subtle but grounding.
“You’re not lacking,” he repeats. “Don’t twist yourself up wondering how to be more for me. Just be you. That’s what I need.”
A silence hangs. Warm this time.
And in that space, the wind outside picks up just slightly, carrying the snow in swirls past the windows. Somewhere behind you, Sasha laughs—loud, breathless—and you can faintly hear the thud of someone slipping in the snow, followed by Jean cursing under his breath.
But right here, in this still moment with Levi, everything else fades.
You look up at him, breath caught in your throat, and he offers something rare. A glance—not quite a smile—but soft at the edges. Almost… proud.
“C’mon,” he says quietly, his voice nearly a murmur. “Let’s go join the others. Before those idiots hurt themselves out there.”
But he doesn’t move just yet.
He stays right there, with you.
"Wait, Levi. But I can't ask this of you, to need more than what you give. How can I be okay with it when you just accept me just so? Isn't there anything I can improve on?"
Levi blinks once—slow, unhurried. The pause that follows is quiet and heavy, like the snow settling on rooftops, like the weight of everything he hasn’t said lingering just between your words. You feel the space close in slightly around you both, not suffocating, just... intimate.
He exhales through his nose. Not annoyed. Not distant. Just thoughtful. His gaze doesn’t flick away this time. It stays fixed on you, eyes darker in the low light, softer somehow.
“You keep asking that like this is some kind of fucking transaction,” he says, quiet but pointed. “Like you’re meant to match me blow for blow. Like we’re tallying something.”
There’s no judgment in his tone—just a tired kind of honesty. The kind that makes your chest sting a little because it’s true.
Levi shifts his weight, shoulders relaxing only slightly, and looks down for a beat. “You want something to work on?” he asks, glancing up again, one brow lifting in that dry, sardonic way that makes your stomach tighten. “Start by letting yourself be loved.”
The words are soft, almost hidden behind the rasp in his voice—but they land like a stone in still water.
He turns to lean fully against the wall now, arms crossed, boot scuffing lightly at the floor. “I know what it looks like when people beg to be more,” he mutters, tone sharper at the edges now—not at you, never at you—but at some ghost of his past. “When they twist themselves trying to be something that someone might choose.” His jaw tightens. “It eats them alive.”
Your breath hitches.
“And you?” he adds, finally looking at you again, really looking—his eyes steady, unblinking. “You’re already enough. I don’t say that to coddle you. I say it because it’s the fucking truth.”
You feel your throat tighten, but you hold his gaze. Because there’s something steady there. Something weathered but unshaken. Like stone beneath a storm.
“I don’t need you to give more. I need you to believe that what you give is already something I want,” he says simply.
And then—quietly, more gently—he adds, “I don’t love you because you’re perfect. I care because you’re you.” A pause. “Clumsy words, overthinking everything, biting your damn lip every time you hesitate.” His tone softens. “The way you show up even when you’re tired. The way you never fucking stop trying.”
Another beat.
“You keep doing that? That’s all I’ll ever ask for.”
You blink quickly, breath shallow.
Then he tilts his head, eyes narrowing with that small, familiar smirk—subtle but sure. “...Unless you want to stop losing your damn boots in the snow. That, I wouldn’t complain about.”
A laugh cracks through your chest like sunlight through heavy clouds.
Levi just watches you, quiet satisfaction flickering in his eyes—still leaning casually against the wall like none of this cost him anything to say… even though you know it did.
And as the voices of your friends echo from the distance—Eren yelling something about a snowball truce, Sasha howling with laughter, Mikasa sighing fondly—you feel a warmth settle deep in your bones.
This wasn’t a confession made under moonlight or roses.
But it was real. Solid. Steady.
And for Levi, that’s as close to poetry as you’ll ever get.
You bite your lip before you even realize, then laugh once more. Nodding your head in satisfaction, your chest blooms with unfiltered, raw warmth. Your fingers reach out to grasp his, but you restrain yourself, letting them drop and twitch at your sides. "Levi, I-" You scratch your ear self consciously. "Thank you. Really."
Levi’s gaze lingers on you, his stance relaxed but never without edge—hands half in his pockets, shoulders squared just enough to remind the room who he is. The common lounge hums around you, the warmth of the fire casting a soft glow over the knot of mismatched chairs and the cluttered coffee table strewn with Armin’s books and half-finished tea mugs.
But his eyes aren’t on any of that. They’re on you.
He watches your fingers twitch at your sides, gaze following the movement like he noticed everything—because he does. Levi doesn’t say anything at first. He just breathes in slowly, nostrils flaring a little as if weighing the moment, judging the gravity of your restrained reach… and then acting in that quiet, calculated way that only he can.
He steps forward—just slightly. Enough to erase the distance, enough for the cold air between your bodies to dissipate. And without a word, he lifts his hand and brushes two fingers against yours. It’s not a full grasp. Not a tug, not a demand.
But it’s permission.
It’s presence.
You glance up at him, and the weight of his gaze is steady. There’s nothing overly tender or theatrical about it. It’s Levi—rough-edged and raw, but never careless. His fingers linger just enough to say: I’m here. Still here.
“Tch.” He clicks his tongue faintly. “You don’t have to thank me for saying what should’ve been fucking obvious.”
But the way he says it? There’s no venom in the words. Just that worn-down affection, so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t already attuned to the shape of his care.
His hand drops slowly back to his side. “You already fight hard enough out there. Don’t fight me too.”
You swallow, blinking back a wave of something that rises—grateful and shaky and so deeply seen that it almost steals your breath.
A laugh rings out in the background—Sasha, probably—and Armin’s voice follows, light and bookish, explaining something to Eren. Mikasa shifts in her seat, her scarf tucked neatly around her neck, silently watching over it all like a silent sentinel.
And yet, none of it pulls you away from Levi.
He leans his weight on one leg slightly, head tilting, eyes narrowing in that way he does when he’s reading you—like you’re a battlefield he’s already memorized but revisits anyway, out of quiet obligation or something else he hasn’t named yet.
His voice is lower now, private beneath the buzz of the lounge.
“You’re not lacking. If anything, I…” He stops, then scoffs under his breath. “Forget it.”
You arch a brow, giving him a look that’s soft but inquisitive.
He exhales slowly, shoulders rising and falling.
“I just don’t want you thinking you have to change to earn anything from me.” His jaw flexes slightly. “What I give you, I give because I want to. And I don’t hand that shit out easily, you know that.”
You nod. Words too fragile to speak without cracking. Instead, you shift a little closer—shoulders brushing—and let the comfort of that proximity settle in your bones.
Outside, the snow continues to fall softly against the windows. But inside, inside the common lounge, with its peeling wallpaper and threadbare blankets tossed across old chairs, it feels like the kind of warmth you could actually believe in.
Like maybe, even in a world this broken, you’re not alone.
What Genshin Vision AOT Cast Would Receive and Why
Mikasa: would certainly have a cryo vision. Her entire story develops around love and grief. She's very protective of her loved ones and at the same time quite reserved
Eren: he is a devious one. At first sight it seems he should have an anemo vision yet, as the story progresses, his relation with the concept of freedom reveals itself more of an obsession rather than the practice of said concept. Just the same, he worns himself out for his goal. That would give him a pyro vision. To support this idea, he’s constantly associated with fire, war and destruction
Armin: mostly likely to be gifted a dendro vision. He uses his vast knowllege and intelligence to save the day regardless of the consequences it brings to his own being
Levi: anemo vision, obviously. Due to him having a very uncertain childhood, he often makes sure to take matters into his own hands. This leads him to inadvertently become the hero he wishes he had had. His whole story focus on looking and fighting for freedom. Futhermore, he’s the symbol of the wings of freedom and often associated with tidyness, the open sky and fresh air
Erwin: geo. His sense of duty overcomes his curiosity about the truth of the world leading him to his death
Hange: apt to receive a bunch of visions like pyro for passion, electro for being the weird one, geo for carrying their duty till the end. but I believe, just like Armin, dendro suit them best for seeking to vast their knowledge of titan science, the people and the world beyond and still sacrifice themself for others
Ymir: electro vision for always seeming to be living a life that’s not hers to live (despite her efforts to change fate) and for staying true to herself even if others consider her manners rude or improper
Historia: a debatable one. She should be electro. At one point, she abandons her fake "selfless goddess" persona to become her natural, human self which she has been desperately trying to hide. This would be liberating if only her real self hadn't been assigned a part no other could play. She has royal blood. She is set to be the queen, the highest symbol of the nation. Despite everything, she decides to embrace her role and use its power to save children and does her best to ensure Eldia's future. This very much fits the profile of a hydro vision bearer
Love, after all, is the only way God can be known. In the stillness of prayer, the heart and the will can accomplish what human reason never could attain. While God cannot be thought, God can be loved, the Cloud author declared. This capacity of love to grasp what the mind cannot is emphasized repeatedly in the tradition. "Love,” says Merton, "enters the darkness and lays hands upon what is its own! Love astounds the intellect with vivid reports of a transcendent Actuality which minds can only know, on earth, by a confession of ignorance. And so, when the mind admits that God is too great for our knowledge, love replies: 'know Him.'"
Belden C. Lane, The Solace of Fierce Landscapes: Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality
Levi never liked the term 'family.' It was a word too easily thrown around, stretched to fit anything from blood ties to a makeshift squad, hollowed out until it meant nothing. But somehow, it had found its way into the spaces between you and him — not because of obligation, not because of shared history, but because it was the only word big enough to explain what you had become to each other.
It started years ago when you, a fresh recruit, had looked him in the eye after a particularly bloody mission and said, "You need to eat something, or you'll collapse. I don't care if you’re a captain." He had scoffed, barely giving you a glance, but later that night, when exhaustion kept his body heavy and unmoving on the edge of his bed, he found a plate of food on his desk. Still warm. No note. But he knew it was you. And he ate.
From then on, you just... remained. Not a subordinate in the traditional sense. Not a friend in the casual way. Just a presence that filled in the gaps when no one else dared. When his tea ran out, another tin would appear in his quarters. When he missed sleep for too many nights, you'd pass by and toss an extra blanket onto his chair without a word. You never expected gratitude, and he never gave it. It was an unspoken agreement that neither of you needed to put into words.
You were stubborn in ways that reminded him of himself. Always in the thick of battle, always standing despite the weight on your shoulders. But it wasn’t admiration that tied you together — it was understanding. The first time you had gotten injured, he hadn’t said a thing. Just sat beside your bed, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, as if watching over you was the most natural thing in the world. And when you woke up, you only said, "Are you seriously standing guard over me? That’s creepy." He smirked, just barely, and left without answering.
The others noticed, of course. They whispered about it, trying to put a name to whatever it was you shared. Some called it camaraderie. Others thought maybe there was something more. But the truth was simpler, yet harder to explain.
One evening, long after the mess hall had emptied, you sat across from him, both nursing cups of tea. Comfortable silence stretched between you. Then, you broke it.
"Do you ever think about what happens after all this? When we’re done fighting?"
Levi exhaled slowly, staring into the swirling liquid. "Not really. No point."
You nodded, considering his answer. Then, with that infuriating nonchalance you always carried, you said, "You should. You’re gonna need someone to keep your grumpy ass in check when we’re old."
He rolled his eyes, but something about the words sat differently in his chest. Because as much as he avoided thinking about a future beyond bloodshed, the idea of it being one where you still existed — where you were still throwing extra blankets at him and forcing him to eat — didn’t seem so bad.
He didn't say anything else, but later that night, when he passed by your quarters, he left a fresh set of bandages by your door. No note. No words. And when you found them the next morning, you didn’t say thank you. Just like he knew you wouldn’t.
And so it continued. Years passed, scars multiplied, and yet, you remained. Through battles, losses, promotions, and sleepless nights, the quiet rhythm between you never wavered. When he grieved, you never told him it would be okay. You just sat beside him, silent, steady. When you were exhausted, he didn’t lecture you — he simply slid a cup of tea into your hands and kept you company.
One day, in the aftermath of yet another battle, as you stitched a wound on his forearm, you said, "If I go first, don’t you dare turn into some bitter old hermit. Find someone else to keep you in line."
Levi scoffed, gaze fixed on the flickering lantern light. "Not happening. No one's stubborn enough to put up with me like you."
You grinned. "Damn right."
For once, he didn’t argue. Because deep down, he knew it was true.
a/n: angst angst angst angst, with a side of angst? will be multi part, but not sure how many just yet. I've been feeling an overwhelming urge to die for love, but this world has called me to live for love... so I guess this is the only way I can cope. Enjoy friends!
wc: 660
The night before battle is always the quietest.
The world feels unnaturally still, even the wind holds its own baited breath. The fire in the center of camp flickers weakly, casting long, wavering shadows over the scattered forms of soldiers lost in their own thoughts. Some sharpen their blades, others murmur hushed conversations, clinging to the illusion of normalcy.
You sit a short distance away, rolling a small rock between your fingers. It’s a pointless action, a way to keep your hands busy when your mind won’t quiet.
Tomorrow might be the last.
The thought isn’t new. You’ve faced death a hundred times over, accepted its lingering presence like an old companion. But tonight, something about it feels different. Heavier.
You glance across the dying fire.
Levi sits alone, as he always does.
He’s perched on a supply crate, arms crossed, his ever-present frown deepening as he stares into the flames. He hasn’t spoken much today. Then again, he never really does before battle—but this silence is different. It isn’t composed. It’s tense. Brittle.
And it’s been directed at you.
You exhale slowly, pushing yourself to your feet. Your boots barely make a sound against the dirt as you cross the short distance between you.
He notices before you even get close.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” His voice is low, edged with something unreadable.
“So should you.”
A noncommittal grunt. His eyes don’t leave the fire.
You hesitate, shifting your weight. There’s an ache in your chest you can’t quite name. Something restless, something unsettled.
You sit beside him.
For a long moment, neither of you speak.
The fire crackles softly. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots.
Then, quietly—
“You’re avoiding me.”
Levi’s posture stiffens. It’s barely noticeable, but you see it. You always see it.
“Tch. Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” you murmur, studying the side of his face. He looks tired. More than usual. “You’ve barely looked at me all day.”
A pause.
Then— “You should go to sleep.”
You swallow, your throat dry.
"Captain."
A moment of silence.
“Levi.”
He exhales sharply through his nose, finally turning to face you. His eyes—storm-grey, impossibly sharp—are unreadable, but there’s something in them. A fracture beneath the surface.
“This mission.” His voice is quieter now, but firm. “You don’t take any unnecessary risks. You don’t play hero. Do you understand me?”
The intensity of his gaze roots you in place.
You should agree. Nod, say yes, Captain, let it go.
But instead—
“What if it comes down to that?”
His jaw clenches.
“It won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
A flicker of something dark crosses his face.
“I know you.” His voice is low, nearly a growl. “I know you’ll throw yourself into the fire without thinking twice. But this time, you don’t. You stay alive. That’s an order.”
Something inside you twists.
Stay alive.
Like it’s that easy.
Like it’s something you can promise.
Your fingers tighten around the stone in your palm. You wish he didn’t care. It would be easier if he didn’t. If you were just another soldier to him, if you could convince yourself this was all for duty, for humanity.
But it isn’t.
And you think—maybe, for him, it never was.
The words are right there, teetering on the edge of your tongue.
You could say them.
You should say them.
But instead, you swallow them down, let them sink deep where they can’t be reached.
You shift slightly, forcing a small smirk.
“Didn’t know you worried so much, Captain.”
His lips press into a thin line.
“Oi.” He looks you, eyes dangerously dull, before trailing back to the fire. “Just follow orders.”
You don’t miss the tension in his shoulders.
Or the way his fingers twitch like they want to reach for something—like they want to reach for you.
Levi thought your long hair was impractical as a soldier in the Survey Corps. Even though you always kept it in a neat braided updo during training and expeditions, he doubts it’s an easy task. There’s also the fact that hair fall sounds like hell for a clean freak like him—he shivers imagining the shower drains after your turn.
He shuts up about it when he finally witnesses your skills with the ODM. You were a decent soldier at the HQ but an even better titan killer outside the walls.
He learns from someone(Hange) that you kept it that way since your mother adored your thick hair and taught you how to do all sorts of hair styles growing up. When she passed away after the fall of Wall Maria, your father learns to do your hair for you as you both grieve. It becomes a routine to commemorate your happy times. So, you go through the painstaking daily trouble of wrangling you hair with a brush and spending a good chunk of your hard-earned money on hair products. It’s all worth it when you get your leave to visit your father and he happily tells you he’s been practicing with the neighbors’ kids.
After the Battle of Trost, you had no more reason to keep your hair long anymore.
Levi catches you just as you motion to slide a knife across your hair. He admonishes you for being outside after curfew but then surprises you when he offers to cut your hair.
Just before he starts to slice away, he sees the hesitation in your eyes. You talk and explain why you kept your hair long after all these years and he pretends it’s his first time hearing the story. You break down and he does a very shit job at comforting you.
“When you braid your hair in the morning, will it remind you of their deaths or will it remind you of their love?” He asked you.
The question felt like a slap to the face when you realize the moments of peace when your parents did your hair was one of the happiest memories you had of them. And like a fool, you were about to rid of the only reminder of those times.
Years later, Levi would visit you with your favorite flowers at hand after the war.
He’d apologize if he didn’t have enough fingers to braid your hair anymore. But ruminates that you wouldn’t mind;
Farewell, Captain. (Levi Ackerman x injured!reader)
Cw: mentions of blood.
Summary: Levi Ackerman finds you in the verge of death.
-
It was going to rain
You bit down on your lip in worry. This was bad.
The expedition was supposed to be a small, short one. Just to catch a new titan or two for Hange's experiments. Go out, catch them, come back.
It was a small squad, about 15 people only. Section Commander Hange had picked out only a few to accompany. Being Levi's second, and one of the most treasured soldier in the military, usually they wouldn't call you for such simple tasks. The only reason you were asked to tag along was because you were also section commander Hange's assistant, you helped them in conducting the titan experiments. You didn't really mind as you had nothing better to do anyways. And by now, these small expeditions doesn't scare you as much as they used to.
You were ranked at the rear of the formation, along with two more. On one side, Sasha rode besides you, deeply focused. Captain Levi had, for some reason ordered her to come as well, to your joy (Though you suspected it was more of a punishment to stop her from stealing food, since banning her from meals only made the problem worse). You were glad hearing your best friend's coming too as the journey would be far less boring, although Sasha wasn't too enthusiastic. She kept groaning about how hungry she was and how she'd have to wait a couple more hours before she gets some food. (Irritated also because captain Levi had stripped her out of all hidden snacks before setting out.)
On the other side of you were a new recruit. She was in Section Commander Hange's squad, recruited because of her apparent brains in therotical knowledge. But Hange wanted her to have a bit of experience on the outside world too, so there she was. First ever expedition. Poor thing was shaking like a leaf.
Two nights ago, the special operations squad was sent out to clear the area out of any titans, baiting them towards where the trap was set along the South-East abandoned Tsuchou town. So the route was expected to be safe. And though precautions were taken, you and your teammates were much more relaxed, as you rode along, joking and laughing.
Except the new girl. She'd been rigid as stone since you've set out.
Suddenly, the girl closed the distance between you, pulling her horse so near, your legs almost touched. You looked at her, surprised. She'd been keeping noticable distance from you and Sasha until now.
"It's... it's going to rain, won't it?" She muttered quietly, glancing at you from the corner of her eyes.
You looked up and nodded, eyes shifting to the sky. "It appears so, yes."
"How long are we going to go on for?"
"Just a little further. We should be by the traps in about an hour."
The girl's shoulders visibly sunk, her face falling. "Another hour?"
"Hey," you called out softly, noticing the fear in her body language. She looked pitiful. "It's going to be fine. I know exactly what you must feel like but I promise you nothing's going to go wrong today. It's just a short trip, so hang on okay?"
Sasha shot an encouraging smile to her following your words.
She pursed her lips, giving a tight nod. Her hands gripped the reins tighter.
"I know..it's just..it feels so wrong." She whispered. "The sky was fine when we came out, then it turned dark within moments."
You understood. It really had been a good day. Or so it had seemed when the expedition began. Bright blue sky without a single cloud. Then half an hour in, it turned dark, thick black clouds appearing out of nowhere. And wind was blowing so heavy you could barely keep your eyes open, the dust that was getting kicked up by the horses kept flying into them.
It did feel wrong.
You thought about it for a second as you watched the girl gradually shifting further, regaining the distance. Her eyes unfocused, a worried expression settled.
"Sash, think I'm gonna go ahead." You told Sasha.
Sasha immediately started shaking her head but she barely had time to got any words out before you squeezed the horse's sides, telling her to speed up. She did, hooves clashing against the ground, leaving small clouds of dust. You passed through your comrades, ignoring their side eyes.
Breaking ranks was absolutely unpermitted unless in life threatening situations. But when you're favoured by the higher ups and second to none but Levi Ackerman, you get a lot of free passes and unspoken privileges—which, needless to point out, you abused whenever you could.
You speedened up until the familiar figure caught your eye. Nudging your horse, you manurvered it towards him, catching up to him in moments
Levi glanced at you sideways with narrowed eyes, annoyance flashing through his features at your appearance.
"Tch." He clicked his tongue. "Why the hell did you leave your post? Just because it's not an actual expedition doesn't mean-"
"Yeah, yeah" You cut him off, not in the mood for a lecture. Levi's eye twitched, but he didn't say anything. He never did.
If it was anyone else but you, Levi would have taught you a lesson right there. And if it was anyone but Levi, you would for sure at the very least be demoted for speaking in such tone. But though none of you would admit it, the relationship between you and Levi were much casual than it should be between a commanding officer and a soldier.
"It's going to rain, captain." You pointed towards the sky. "I don't like this. Can't we camp out or something? We've cleared out the area two nights ago anyways, there shouldn't be titans around. It'll be safe and we can continue later."
Levi sighed. "Tell that to four-eyes. I tried. They won't listen to me. Keeps saying, 'its not much further'."
You grimaced. When it came to titans, section commander Hange lost all rationality. "It won't be a light rain either. Looks like a fucking storm is coming."
Levi nodded in agreement. "I'll see what I can do." He huffed "You don't have to worry about it. "
"I'll be hella pissed if I get drenched, I swear."
"No one asked. And go back to your damn post, you little pest." He finished sharply, giving you a warning glance.
You obligated, even you knew when to step back. Pulling down on the reins, you slowed your horse down, turning it around to go back to your original spot. Sasha and the new recruit were staring wide eyed.
"You really need to stop doing that. One of these days, captain Levi will just go batshit on you." Sasha shook her head, a grin on her face.
"We'll see." You snorted.
"Seriously, I don't even know why he lets you screw around like this, if it was any of us-"
"Did you ask him about the rain?" The rookies high pitched voice cut Sasha off. She was staring at you, face contorted in anticipation.
"Yeah, kid." You responded gloomily. "Don't think they'll stop unless it actually starts raining."
She didn't say anything, just looked away, distancing herself with her horse again, knuckles taut on the reins.
"She's just scared." Sasha muttered, glancing at her.
"Weren't we all?"
"Don't remind me." She shuddered at the reminder of our first expedition—the one where more than half of us were massacred by the female titan.
You watched the sky with squinted eyes, as the clouds had covered the last rays of the sun, creating an eerie dark ambience, even making you shift warily in your position.
The kid was right, it felt wrong.
Somewhere far away, thunder rolled. Once. Twice. The rumbling sound was almost deafening.
That's when the first drop of rain hit your face. It rolled down your cheek and fell on the ground.
And then the sky crashed down upon the earth.
A curse escaped your lips, completely unprepared for the sudden phenomenon. Surprised yelps from others joined yours. Hastily, you wrapped your cloak around yourself tightly to regain some warmth that you lost.
Oh dear. This was definitely bad .
Within seconds, the world was white. You couldn't see anything. Only faint outlines and blurred green. Somewhere far front, you heard Hange groan and Moblit screaming out to move out to far right to the forest to take shelter underneath the trees.
Despite being half blind, you followed the orders, pulling the reins. You felt the thuds of Sasha's and the new recruits horses match yours.
Then Sasha gasped.
She hissed out your name, her voice terrified.
"Titans." She whispered.
Your heart fell. No.
"What?" You yelled out, praying to God you heard wrong.
"I can hear titans!" Sasha said louder this time, the panic in her tone clear. "From everywhere!"
Damn Sasha and her extraordinary hearing abilities.
"Shit. Shit shit shit!" You cursed out. Why? How? The area was supposed to be clear. Why were they swarming on you then?!
"We have to let the others know!"
"How!? The rain is too thick and loud for the signal guns to be seen or heard! Hell, we probably won't even hear titans come up until they're breathing down our damn necks!" You were losing your cool, the panic settling in.
Scouts did not go out in expeditions when it rained. It was a rule. Never.
But here the fuck you were.
You heard the rookie whimper right beside your ear. Your head turned to see her almost over your shoulders, eyes wide with terror as she heard the conversation, eyes switching from Sasha to you.
"It'll be fine." You said to her, trying to calm down for her sake. But you knew as well, the chances of it being fine was next to fucking zero because Sasha's ears were too fucking accurate. "It'll be fine, just stick close to me-"
The terrified yelps of several people up front cut you off and your blood froze.
A huge, enormous figure standing before you, staring down with wide, hungry eyes. A creepy smile on its face.
You stilled, right there. Your breathing stopped.
No no no.
Not here.
Your horse reacted before you processed it, throwing itself to the side just as the titans feet slammed against the ground just where you've been, sending tremors down the earth. It's grubby hand swooshed over your head.
The mount flailed wildly as you tried to keep balance. You were about to whip the reins and get the hell out of there when another cry pierced through your bones.
From much, much close.
The rookie.
You whipped your head to see the girl running the exact fucking opposite way, the titan following right behind with big, heavy thuds.
You didn't even care where Sasha might be.
She was experienced, she'd be fine.
The kid won't be fine.
In a split second decision, you turned your mount around, grabbing it's neck as it charged in full speed following the titan, speedily crossing it.
You were going in the forest.
Not the wisest decision you've made because you still couldn't see anything except for the outline of the titan behind you, you could crash into a tree any second.
But fuck.
"Hey, you moron! Come back here!" You yelled out to her in frustration and desperation. She didn't even turn around, only speedened up. "That's the wrong fucking way! Turn around!"
You moved, fast as the wind, raindrops stabbing your face like tiny little frost needles, making you wince.
You entered the forest, deeper, deeper.
This was bad.
And then it got worse.
It was the red that caught your eyes. The type of red you could recognize anywhere.
Blood was splattered all across the ground, the rainwater washing it away.
Oh no no no.
The crunch of human bones jolted you awake as you looked up to see the titan that had been the cause of it. You stared. Stared. Stared as it stared back at you.
You looked down, right there on the foot of it, rolling around was the detached head of the girl.
You gazed back up.
And then you saw two more. Slowly, steadily coming out of the forest, disturbingly enlarged organs swinging with every steps.
3 titans in front. 1 in the back.
What have you done.
You had barely turned your gear switch on when the first titan struck, stomping down your horse. Just in time, with the gap of a second from being smashed, you pressed on the triggers, the wires shooting forward, planting to whatever surface they had found and pulling you with it.
It was reckless. Stupid. Using ODM gear when you couldn't see shit. But you were in a forest so hopefully it'll randomly latch onto trees. Or it could fucking slip because of the rain and you could die. But you took your chance, not that you had a choice.
One of the advantages titans had was that they could see clearly in the rain. Their enormous pupils followed your movements, hands reaching out to grab you. You twisted just in time, releasing the wires and shooting them again, using them to swing yourself further and faster.
And you did that. Every time the wires shot out, your heart caught in your throat thinking it'd miss and find nothing to latch onto but fate must've had your back because it didn't.
Until it did.
Perhaps it was the stupid rush of confidence you gained from moving so perfectly, that you had speedened up. That was the downfall. Though one had latched, the other anchor slipped, missing the branch and instead going over it. The moment you realized it, you knew it was over.
The momentum from before and the pull of the wires, you slammed against the trees, hitting your head so hard, you felt your skull crack, the pain ripping through your brain. The anchor that had latched onto the tree didn't bury itself properly and you clashed right against it. The metal hook went straight through your shoulders. And nothing could ever have prepared you for the agony that panged through.
You dropped, back clashing against the ground. You lied there, sprawled and bleeding out, the rain pooling in your eyes, blurrying your already hazy vision from hitting your head so hard. But you watched the titans surround you, an almost giddy look crossing their stupid expressions.
Those little fuckers.
And so you watched, helplessly, as one of them reached out, pulling you up by your legs, your head dangling upside down.
And all you saw was big wide eyes and gaped jaws.
One of the other reached out, wrapping it's fat fingers around your midsections, pulling you towards itself. The one holding you groaned, pulling you back, as if it didn't really want to share. Your abdominal muscles and organs strech to the point you thought you'd split in half.
What a shit way to die, you thought.
You survived Shiganshina, you survived Trost, you survived that damn 57th expedition.
And you were going to die here.
Alone.
While four fucking ugly as hell titans fought about who got to eat you.
'Second to none but Levi Ackerman', your ass.
But your friends, you thought. Eren had yet so much to go, that you won't be there to see. Before you left, when you've said goodbye to Connie and Jean, you smacked both of them in the head, that wasn't a good farewell, was it? Sasha would go hungry during meals because you won't be there to share half your food.
You wondered if captain would be the slightest bit of sad.
Had he noticed you missing by now? Would he miss the little banters and bickerings you had every day with him? Would he be disappointed that you were going out in such a lame way?
You closed your eyes, dangling upside down was not helping your case. Your head was starting to get empty as you felt the blood pool down in your head.
That's good. At least you won't be conscious while you die.
It wasn't a gentle drop You hit the ground again, full force. And this time you felt your leg bend awkwardly, a bone snapped.
But it didn't hurt, not really. You were too numb by now.
You felt the ground shook as something heavy impacted. Four times. Followed by loud, gutteral animalistic growls of a titan.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
One. Two. Three. Four.
But it was the sharp metallic sound of a sword clanging was what woke you up.
Your eyes opened and you saw steam.
Ah. Were the titans dead?
But who killed them?
Your head turned sheepishly and you found the answer.
There was Levi, staring at you with wide, wide eyes, mouth slightly parted. His swords were discarded by his side and he just stood there. Was his hands shaking?
Oh, that's funny. That's the first ever time you've seen captain react that much. He looked funny with such big eyes. Was it because of how filthy you were? You couldn't see yourself, but you knew. You must've been caked in blood and mud. Is that why captain was so shocked?
Your mind was so fuzzy, you wanted to go to sleep. Would the captain mind if you fell asleep here? In this filth?
Levi finally registered the sight. He shifted, still in a daze, and then he dropped, straddling you. Careful enough to not let any of his body weight touch you.
He looked so scared.
"Shit." He muttered. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Oi brat—" His hands closed around your arms, shaking you. Your brain felt as if it rattled in your head. "Fuck–can you hear me?"
His hand pressed against your face and he flinched at how cold you were. You only stared at him through half-lidded eyes.
Then, weakly, with all you had, you parted your lips, the words barely audible.
"...welcome to the party, captain. Bit late though I'm afraid." You mumbled. "You do realize shaking me doesn't actually help, don't you? Unless you want me to throw up or something."
Levi felt his heart hitch.
"You little shit–" he took a sharp breath. Then slowly, carefully, he slightly shifted you holding your hair back to inspect how bad the damage was, and it wasn't a pretty sight.
"I'm a goner, aren't I?" you muttered quietly, wincing when one of his fingers accidentally grazed against the injury. Levi immediately pulled his hand back, his hand stained red.
"Shut up." He hissed, trying to keep his growing anxiety from showing. "You're bleeding like shit. Thats way too much blood."
"I'm aware, can't help it." you groaned when your leg moved a bit too much, "Got it on your clothes too."
"I could care fuck less about it right now, you dumbfuck." Levi snapped out. The he shifted off of you, kneeling beside. He unhooked the green cloak around him with fast fingers. The green surface was smeared with dark red in places.
Carefully, he pulled you up by the shoulders, cradling you against his chest. You almost cried at the sudden feeling of warmth, and the sharp wave of pain that shot through your bent leg. Tears stinged your eyes. "Bite me. I knew you cared." You joked, an attempt to lighten the dire situation and to ignore the way your whole body ached and how you already felt the lack of oxygen in the air. Levi let out an irritated breath as he used the cloak to wrap around your head to stop the bleeding. His breathing loud and heavy beside your ear. "Can you shut up, you ungrateful brat? I'm trying to save your damn life."
Levi worked so gently, it was unfamiliar. You wondered as your head rested on his shoulder and his hands worked around you, every movement slow and careful, trying his best not to hurt you more.
Ah, so even the harsh captain can be this gentle. And despite emptiness clouding your head, you felt slightly glad. At least you got to see this side of him. This is a nice way to die.
As if he had somehow heard your thoughts, his jaw tightened. "Don't even think about dying. That's a fucking order."
If only the world worked like that.
Levi knew he wasn't doing a good job. His hands shook too much, and it was causing you unnecessary pain. He froze everytime you winced, taking a few seconds until you stilled, then continuing. He was also aware of how dirty the fabric was, with dirt and mud, but this'd have to. It's either this or watching you bleed out to death.
"Okay," he whispered quietly under his breath, more to reassure himself than you. He turned you so he could see your face. An absolutely panic stricken look passes him when he sees the tears. "Fuck, Did I hurt you too much? Does it still hurt?"
You sniffled, mouth twitching to a grin. You tried to ignore the pounding in your head. "It's not your fault. You didn't do anything."
Levi nodded, his eyes shifting to your shoulder. "How the fuck did this even happen?" He hissed sharply, seeing the metal anchor buried deep in the flesh. "Even when you get injured, it's in the stupidest ways possible." He thought about it for a second, biting the insides of his cheek. Unsure what to do. Then he sighed. "Shit. It's best to let it stay there. If I try to pull it out, might accidentally tear something. And the bleeding would be too much to handle."
"Nice." You groaned, then all of a sudden, broke into a fit of coughs, blood spilling out with each jolt. Levi's eyes widened at the sight, pupils blown out.
"The titans." You coughed, trying to explain. "Must've fucked up my insides. The grip was too tight."
Levi frustratedly ran a hand through his hair, uncaring of the grime and filth. His face screwed up and eyebrows knitted together, the fear in his eyes wide and clear. Internal bleeding was much, much concerning.
"Captain," the word was a groan. Your eyes were so heavy, begging to go to rest. Would that be so bad? "...I don't think I can make this one out. I'm dying, aren't I?"
"No you're not. But if you don't stop talking, I might actually make you a goner." Levi deadpanned while going over your leg. You snorted, the slight action paining you. But it was nice. With him fussing over.
"Come on, we gotta get you back-hey–" he slapped your cheek, seeing your eyes flutter. Gentle but sharp. "Don't pass out, kid. Better keep those damn eyes open. Stay awake. Stay the fuck awake, you hear me?"
His fingers fiddled with your uniform straps, removing the gas tanks and the overall gears. He had to cut down the wire that stuck with hook that was latched to your shoulder since he couldn't take it out. The removal of the extra weight made you feel slightly better.
"Alright," Cautiously, he hooked one arm over your shoulder, the other under your knees. "Brace yourself, this is going to hurt as fuck." Then, though carefully, with one sweep pull, he picked you up. And despite his warning, and the mental preparation, he was right. It hurt like shit. A soft cry escaped your lips. "I'm sorry, just–just hang on." He mumbled, cradling you close to him, adjusting your head so that it rested against his shoulder. He knew it wasn't the most ideal position as it'd be hard for him to move with ODM while holding you like this, not to mention your leg would not probably be in the best state either. But he couldn't think of a better position, your head needed support, he couldn't let any weight on your abdominal muscles either.
Then without moving his arms from beneath you, he reached for the ODM triggers with his hands and pressed his fingers down.
The takeoff was the final push. The jolt as he kicked off the ground and the pain that followed right after was the limit. You knew you were going to die.
"You pretend like you don't give two shits, but you're going to miss me once I'm gone aren't you?" The words escaped you without thinking. You weren't really thinking at all, it's just this urge that took over. But if you're going to die, you wanted to keep talking. You wanted to hear his voice. You wanted him to scowl and snap at you to shut up. So until you can't, you wanted to keep talking. One last bicker. Never in your life had you thought he'd be the one to hear your last words or that his ones would be the last you'd hear. And you didn't mind. At all.
"Fuck off." He responded coldly.
"I'm serious."
"You're serious? Now that's a shocker."
There he went, from one tree to another. You grinned, looking up at his contorted face. He was trying so hard not to panic, his eyes flicking from you to the route.
"Captain."
"Can't you just keep your mouth shut for once in your fucking life?"
"Said life's on the verge of death, so I'd rather not."
"Stop saying shit like that. You're not dying on me."
You sighed. He was wrong. You were indeed dying on him. Despite the warmth of his body pressed against you, you could feel your own temperature lowering dangerously. The cloak he had used as a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding weren't helping much better either as you felt blood trickle over your eyes. You felt weak, dizzy, disassociated. You could barely remember where you are and where you're going.
"Captain. Thank you for choosing me."
"What?" Levi's eyes shifted towards you, surprised and confused. It was such a strange sight. The bangs he so carefully kept were now all messy and disheveled, some strands sticking to his face with sweat. You returned his silvery gaze.
"Thank you for choosing me. Letting me be a part of your squad. Saving my ass everytime I fucked up. For everything, really. You weren't the nicest, but you have a good heart. And I'm not the best at expressing gratitude but I had to let you know."
"Shut up." Levi hissed through gritted teeth, his voice cracked ever so slightly. The rain had lessened into a drizzle.
"Once I'm gone, there won't be anyone to nag you to go to sleep. Remember to take breaks, won't you?"
Levi wouldn't look at you. He couldn't look at you. But his hold tightened. "Shut the fuck up. Keep talking and I'll drop you." Oh, but you had to keep talking. Your breaths were numbered you could tell. And you wanted to spend them on talking.
"And hydrate. Don't drink too much tea. Stop being mean to Hange and Eren. Let Sasha eat, don't ban her from meals when she fucks up.." the words slurred, your voice becoming quieter with every words and each were punctuated with heavy and heavier gasps. Your eyes closed. The light was too bright for you. And blood was pooling inside your mouth, choking you. "..they care for you. I hope you know that. So be nice every once a while. It won't kill you I swear."
Levi sucked in a breath. "Oi, brat." His voice was so far, so far away. You wanted to reach out and hold on to it, somehow wrap yourself around it. So unlike the usual stoic and dry comments he'd send through your way.. "...I take it back. Don't shut up. Keep talking. Keep blabbering whatever the fuck- Don't die on me, not like this–shit–not like this—" Guess he did care after all. "—stay with me, come on, stay with me.–"
You were fading. Drowning. Floating. But you heard him. His words a broken record, repeating over and over in your brain—staywithmestaywithmestaywithme…
You apologized silently. You would if you could. But the air was choking you and you couldn't stay any longer. You'd stay with his mean ass for life if you had the choice, didn't he know? Didn't he know you dedicated your heart for him?
Thinking about the first time you hear Levi laugh. Really laugh.
Of course you've heard him give little chuckles and scoffs, but the first time something really gets to him it's both unexpected and completely wonderful. He's sitting in his chair, head back, one arm draped across his stomach and the other hand covering his face; shoulders shaking, creases at the corners of his watering eyes. He looks so carefree, so boyish, so utterly lovable, and you didn't think you could love him or want him any more than you already did but he proves you wrong.
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