I'll also write about one piece and jujutsu kaisen but will not be taking requests rn
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where you disrupt ushijima wakatoshi’s morning schedule, but he was okay with that.
fluff !! | reader is gender neutral
Ushijima Wakatoshi had a schedule he followed.
Everyday at exactly 5:30 in the morning, he would wake up, toast two slices of bread to a golden-brown hue for his breakfast, be out of the dormitory building by 6am for his morning run, and be back by 7am, sometimes 7:05 if he felt like taking an extra lap but never after that. He then gets ready for a full day of classes and a full night of volleyball training.
Ushijima Wakatoshi followed his schedule to a T. It became routine and he never found himself straying away from his repeated morning schedule.
That was, until he saw you.
You, with your tired eyes and homemade onigiri in hand, sitting on the bench along the path Ushijima takes for his daily morning run. You, still in your sleepwear and slightly tangled hair — Ushijima wonders, how could anyone come out into public view looking like that?
Ushijima pondered that thought to himself the first morning he saw you sleepily drag yourself to the bench, back facing him and eyes looking upwards toward the sky.
The second morning Ushijima saw you at the bench, he followed your eyes up to the morning sky; that was when he saw something different. Your half-opened eyes turned into ones that gleamed of wonder and delight, a beam formed on your lips and you stare at the sunrise.
Ushijima had never noticed the colours of the sky before. He had never noticed how the sky was a beautiful blend of orange, pink and yellow and how it painted the entire sky above the Shiratorizawa campus. But most importantly, he had never noticed how beautiful you looked — with the colours of the sunrise giving you a soft, orange tint and how if he looked close enough, he could see the sunrise swimming around in your eyes.
Ushijima did not understand why you looked so happy and content by the mere sight of the sunrise. After all, the sun rises everyday, it’s nothing special. Ushijima did not understand the smile that crossed your features as you looked up into the colourful horizon — but how could he blame you when he himself was rendered speechless just by the mere sight of looking at you too?
From that day forward, Ushijima slowed his pace and took his time when he approached your bench. He would, without fail, find you there everyday at 7 in the morning, staring up into the sky with your messy hair and wrinkled sleepwear. Ushijima would often take multiple laps around the area just so he could come running past you at your bench.
Ushijima started to arrive back to his dormitory late after his morning runs. 7:10, 7:20, some days even 7:30.
Ushijima Wakatoshi had a schedule he followed, but he couldn’t care less if that meant he could spend an extra 15 minutes or so running past you looking at you.
He started to notice the small things around him after knowing you. Ushijima noticed how the colours of the sky started to fade into its average periwinkle blue at 7:28am because that’s when you started to leave your bench. Ushijima noticed you in school, taking mental notes of your class and which side of the campus you and your friends frequent to the most. Ushijima noticed how after a month or so of you two seeing each other every morning, you started to smile at him — the same beautiful smile you always wore on your face whenever you stared up into the sky. Ushijima never smiled back, but he had grown a fondness for you even though you two had never spoken to each other once.
But Ushijima knew he was too quiet, too stoic, too introverted. He told himself that the smile you offered him was one out of courtesy, not because you actually see him the way he saw you, every morning.
“Is this going to be an everyday thing or what?”
Ushijima slowed down, head turning to see whether he heard that correctly.
It was his first lap around your bench for that morning and it was exactly 7 in the morning at that very moment.
There you were, in all your glory. You sat criss-crossed on your bench, holding a bento box and with your signature smile plastered on your face.
“Pardon?” Ushijima deadpanned, a surprised glint in his eyes.
You smile even wider, scooting over so that there’d be extra room on the bench. “I see you everyday, here, running past me as the sunset plays in the background. Would you like to join me today?”
Ushijima thought you never noticed him. He thought wrong.
Everyday with no fail, at exactly 7am you would see the captain of the Shiratorizawa volleyball team run by you. At first, you barely noticed him, paying all your attention to the sunrise you wake so early to catch. But after awhile, you take notice of the way things changed. He passes by the bench more. He tries to act like he’s looking past you and at the sunrise everytime he runs by, but he’s not great at acting.
After awhile, you don’t come for the sunrise anymore. You come to the bench every morning just to be with Ushijima Wakatoshi. You come to hear his breathing as he runs by, taking notice of how he starts a slow jog when he approaches your area. You come to be in his presence as you assume he comes to be in yours as well.
A light blush dusts Ushijima’s cheeks as he accepts your invitation and sits down beside you. You offer him an onigiri from your bento box and he replies that he already ate two slices of toast earlier that morning. You raise an eyebrow at his rejection of your onigiri. Ushijima gets the hint and takes the onigiri anyway despite being slightly full from his breakfast at 5:30 that morning.
As he took a bite into his second breakfast that morning and listened to you start to talk about something else, Ushijima Wakatoshi felt okay with not following his schedule anymore if it meant more mornings like this with you.
hi! Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. I don't know if you're accepting requests, if you not, just ignore. But I'm wondering how you would write something related to a jealous Arthur Morgan, high honor of course (with smut or without smut sincerely you know what looks best). the way you write is addictive and passionate, i believe anything you write from this would be great.
OUR DEAR, GREEN LITTLE FRIEND
Pairing | Arthur Morgan x Fem! Reader
Summary | Oh, jealousy. When the thought of you straying too close to the comfort of Charles, the green monster claws its way into Arthur's head.
Tags | sexual content 18+ minors dni, tiny bit of angst, description of violence and wounds, fluffy at times, smut
Word Count | 10k
A/N | Hi everyone! I just HAD to write this request, hope you like it! Also, thank you dearly anon♡
While many found the biting cold of the climate north of West Grizzlies to be bitter–sharp air seeping into your very bones–you saw it oddly liberating despite the current predicament. The circumstance was dire, indeed, and you pondered many times if this would finally be the end for all of you, thinking of the incredible luck you had managed to have so far. Fate, or an astonishingly fascinating knowledge on how to escape the grappling arms of the law with a suspicious amount of people trashing through the roads in utter, sheer panic.
Glancing around you as you huddled closer to the fire, hands rubbing furiously against the wool of your gloves to gain even the slightest warmth to your biting fingers, you were met with the flushed cheeks of your comrades. The skin that now glistened from the melting snowflakes was caressed by the warm, orange glow from the flames lighting up the small hut you had taken residence in.
The road leading to here had been long, and the time spent in the wagon that did nothing to shield you from the penetrating wind that howled into the night, your thoughts had been entirely focused on the man who now lay dead a few meters away, tucked in some fabric to shield the paling flesh of a corpse. While the thought might not make you uncomfortable, it did its thing on the others who looked weary at the covered man.
You had done your best to tend to him amidst the severe trembling of your fingers and numbness spreading through you the longer you rode in the worrying storm, finding his blood still staining the cotton of your gloves–a reminder that you had done what you could to help the poor fellow. Despite not knowing him well enough to shed a tear, death was still a death, and a slight melancholy set its claw in all of you as you tried to regain some warmth.
“Stupid man.” Glancing beside you, you took notice of the dark-haired woman muttering angrily as she held a sleeping Jack close to her body.
“What’s wrong?” You inquired quietly, curious of her obvious disdain.
“John Marston is what’s wrong.” Blazing heatedly into the fire, you could almost see the depths of hell through her furious eyes. “He didn’t come back with the rest.” Shifting her eyes to yours for a quick moment that, although short, showed the worry hidden beneath her anger.
Nodding slowly as you leaned against her slightly in comfort, you realized you hadn’t taken notice of the man’s absence until now. Returning with empty hands and another mouth to feed had instead been the case, no Marston as far as the eyes could see as he probably whirred around in the blizzard somewhere.
“Do you think he…” As you spoke, you trailed off, growing unsure of your words while realizing your comments might be prodded into a sensitive subject.
“No.” Firmly, she sniveled harshly, shaking her head in protest. “No, he wouldn’t leave again.” Although her words were sure, you still felt a lingering doubt cloud your mind, remembering being told of his earlier departure from the gang that caused more scars in their relationships than good–not that it wasn’t faulty from the very start.
As you were about to let your prying win against your common sense, you were interrupted by the door being audibly slammed open, the noisy winds from outside growing louder as snowflakes whirled inside. Walking inside was the prominent figure of Charles, nodding respectfully to its residents as the door shut behind him, once more letting the warmth settle.
“Folks.” He mumbled quietly, treading through everyone huddling by the fire as he glanced curiously at the new woman before settling beside you. You glanced up at him, taking in his snow-covered self before lingering on his hand that rested motionless on his legs, bandages visible under his gloves.
“It’s not too bad; the cold seems to numb the pain.” A slight smile graced your lips at his observance, finding it unique to the man to be so tentative to everyone around him. Letting out a small laugh, you reach to remove your gloves before taking his hand in yours so you could lay it in your lap, unwrapping the bandages to examine the burns covering his skin.
You had given it a quick look-over before you had to tend to Davey, doing the best you could to ease his pain you were sure would be unavoidable. Although the sight was quite gruesome, it didn’t look as bad as you had expected.
“You’re stronger than me, that’s for sure. I would be a crying mess if I burned my hand like that.” Your voice was gentle as you started to rewrap the fabric around his hand, finding it increasingly irritating you didn’t have the tools you usually did that would indeed do a fine job at lessening his pain.
You had managed to gain a slight smile from the otherwise aloof man, probably finding your words humorous. “Let’s hope it’ll never come to that.”
Sharing a look, you heard the door open once again, the irritated voice of Uncle damning whoever was letting in the cold for the second time. Both you and Charles laughed slightly, and as you looked up, you were faced with a pair of squinting, blue eyes, the icy cold from the outside seemingly enhancing their sharpness although making a welcomed warmth spread through you as they gazed over you in a quick motion–departing to look at the hand that rested in your lap.
“A sad loss, folks,” Hosea stated as he stepped onto the wooden planks, speaking out loudly in the otherwise calm hut, groaning as he helped Arthur lift Davey’s lifeless body, limp like a ragdoll.
Glancing subtly, you observed him as Arthur’s bulky form lifted easily, unlike Hosea, admiring how he made it seem so effortless. The others called him the camps workhorse, and you didn’t fail to see why, keeping your eyes firm on the man as he carried him towards the door.
He shrouded you in uncertainty; he did, and you weren’t sure how to behave in his bold presence. You often felt like a goody two shoes, and even though you weren’t the perfect picture of a law-abiding citizen, you could honestly say you were a wimp compared to Arthur.
You should be embarrassed, you really should, but there was something in his eyes– something that made your heart race. Utterly shameless, yet desperate to lock gazes again despite contradicting yourself and avoiding them every chance you could. Before you could get caught this time, you directed your eyes, focusing on tightening the bandages so they wouldn’t come loose.
“Try to be careful, will you, Charles?” You spoke quietly while patting his hand, motioning that he was all set to go, but his hand stayed, giving you a grateful look.
“Thank you.” His soothing voice was hushed as the loud bang of the door slammed shut not long after, ridding you of the tumult after their departure.
–
Oh, it burned. It burned so deep in his loins that it felt like he would erupt into flames any second. Despite the cold surrounding him, he was sure it could be possible the more he was left with his thoughts. The hushed whispers, the soft touches, and the ever-so-gentle look in your eyes made him want to empty the little food in his stomach.
“Sneaky little rat,” Arthur grumbled to himself as he shoveled his way through the deep layers of snow. Here he was, out in the cold, tortured by the howling winds of the snowstorm, while Charles remained inside the warmth of the hut, seated next to you, all because of a slight burn.
He knew what he was up to–what any man would do if it meant getting your attention–and he wasn’t humored. Taking advantage of your good nature was downright uncalled for, bordering on immoral, which Arthur would probably realize wasn’t Charles’s character if his mind didn’t seek to find faults with the man the more his blood boiled.
He scoffed to himself, stabbing the ground maliciously, imagining your warm hands around his instead, the nimble fingers of yours tending to him as you moved in closer, your sweet smell reaching his nose as you gazed up at him, face blushed from the cold with lips begging him to warm them up with his. The thought did nothing more than cover his whole body in shivers, only to be reminded that it wasn’t him that received that attention from you.
“What are you huffing about over there, Arthur?!” Hosea’s strained voice attempted to shout over the loud winds, standing up to rest momentarily.
“Why don’t we just bury him when the storm has settled?!” Annoyance was apparent in his voice, the green jealous monster still wreaking havoc in his mind.
“I told you, the snow will be too heavy tomorrow, so we need to finish it while we still can!” He groaned, starting to shovel once more. “And I’ll be damned, we are going to give Davey a proper burial. He deserves that much!”
As Hosea blabbered on about justice and other forms of respect Arthur had no intent on listening to, he zoned out, feeling sorry for himself as he imagined you might be keeping close to Charles right this moment, warming yourself to his body in a desperate search of bodily heat. Rubbing the melted snow off his face, Arthur damned the heavens above for making him the unluckiest bastard in the West.
Despite Arthur seeming dead set on you being lovey-dovey with a man you barely knew, Charles had left you after making some small talk, mentioning that he would try and get some well-deserved rest after the tumultuous past few days. Many others did as well, attempting to ease their minds from the constant threat against their back amidst the terrible cold.
Although, as days passed and John being back rid you of Abigail’s constant muttering, the cold only seemed to take its toll on you, unlike the others who quickly got used to the environment. Furthermore, the days only seem to get longer up in the mountains, and you wondered obsessively when you would get the chance to leave–damning everyone who thought seeking out Colm O’Driscoll in your compromised state a good idea instead of moving forwards.
Despite your dismay, you put yourself to use like the others, preparing to help Pearson in the grim act of cutting through the poor deer that had been brought back. While the sight gladdened you, knowing you would finally get a meal in your stomach, the brooding aura of a chestnut-haired, blue-coated man seemed to rain over you endlessly.
What could you have done to gain his stinging glare? It was almost cutting through you entirely from the burning that resided deep in his eyes, watching you ferociously, making your hair stand on edge. When he had returned with Charles, it had been nothing short of unpleasant ever since, although thankfully–despite his glare–his harsh words were directed towards Pearson instead of you, which you were glad for.
“How’s the cold treating you?” Glancing away from the two men bickering, you laughed slightly at Charles’s innuendo, dressed worse for wear as you pulled the thick, woolen scarf tighter around your neck, hugging yourself to keep warm.
“Could be worse, I guess,” you said, clouds like smoke surrounding you as you talked.
“I suppose. Still, I don’t want you freezing your fingers off.”
“Mhh,” you nodded thoughtfully, speaking up after silence. “Who would look after your hand if that happened?”
He chuckled heartily at your unsuspected joke, and you glanced up at him bashfully, a light smile covering your face at his apparent amusement. While your embarrassment of being so easily swayed by the cold, it felt nice having someone take notice of your obvious discomfort, even though you would say you were pretty good at keeping it to yourself. You couldn’t be surprised, though, well aware you and Charles were both tentative to your surroundings, always knowing but rarely telling.
“Here.” Taking off the large gloves covering his hand, no doubt doing an excellent job keeping him warm, he grabbed your trembling hands in his, rubbing them between his pleasant temperature hand and bandage-covered skin before gliding the fabric over yours.
“No, Charl-” you protested, trying to stop him from continuing.
“They’ll do you more good than me, I promise. They’re just in the way.” Stubbornly, he planted your hands back into your lap, petting them like you had done to him some nights ago before raising with a huff.
“Thanks for the help, Arthur.” Charles nodded at the now grumpy man observing him as he rested against the wood of the wooden wall with arms crossed, seemingly ignoring Mr. Pearson’s lecture about the navy he felt so strongly about, only providing a quick tilt of his hat before heated eyes were set on you.
Your gaze faltered, the blush on your face from the cold only intensifying the spread of warmth you felt from gaining his profound stare–something you rarely took notice of. It wasn’t that he didn’t look at you; he probably looked too much at times, but he was never so ardent with it, scrutinizing you under their heavy weight–making you feel ten times smaller under his towering height.
“Well, why don’t you skin the deer, Arthur? I’ll help you cut them up in a while, miss.” Mr. Pearson’s words were hasty, and you didn’t miss the bottle glistening under the sunlight as he tried hiding it behind his coat, scurrying away. He would, in fact, not be back; you were sure of that much.
It wasn’t often you found yourself alone with Arthur, and you never strayed too close, finding his presence somewhat daunting. Not that you’ve had many chances to speak amidst all the chaos surrounding you, and being relatively new to the gang meant the trust lacked significantly from both sides. But, the intrigue was always present in every glance and movement.
You felt his gaze fixed on you a moment longer as you stared heedlessly at your hands, rubbing them together anxiously, having no clue what to do with yourself. While you weren’t one to speak the ears of others, you never had any problem socializing with those around you–but Arthur, he was something else entirely. Finally, though, he moved, approaching the hanging carcass.
“How are ya?” His sudden words surprised you, hanging awkwardly in the air.
“Oh, um. Good?” You cringed at yourself, finding the words stuck in your throat as his voice rumbling was loud and confident.
“Cold?”
“A bit,” you said softly, staring at his back as he heaved the skin away from the animal, movements rigid and harsh. “Charles gave me his gloves, so it’s a little less chilly now.” You stumbled over your words, admiring his strength unabashedly as he hauled the skinned deer over his shoulder, slamming it down the table with a loud bang. He gave you no answer, instead bringing out the knife in his belt to do the job you were assigned to.
“Oh, let me!” Standing abruptly from your seat, you stepped towards him hurriedly in shame, feeling like you were just lazying around while Arthur was doing all the hard work.
Grabbing his thick coat to let you take his position, you found him staying right where he was, looking down at you when your hand rested on his bicep. It was unusual for him to be so close, and a blush warmed your cheeks as his towering frame became more apparent when standing a short distance from one another.
“S’alright.” He spoke lowly. “I’ve got it.”
Your breath got caught in your throat as he gazed wholly at you, letting you know he had no problem with helping you. It warmed you, finding his action kind–just like the small acts of kindness he reserved for the other girls. You would sometimes glare after them, intensely jealous that Arthur seemed to have a soft spot for them, yet acting like you didn’t exist.
“Anything else I can do to help since you just did my job for me?” A shy smile found you, peering up at him as he sniveled, glancing at you while you sat on the bench again.
“Well, you’ve already done your charity work for the day, so you’re fine.”
“Charity work?” You wondered, staring at him curiously as he cut through the meat. “What do you mean?”
He only sighed heavily, like you should be able to understand his cryptic words.
“He won’t die from a small burn; it ain’t enough reason to coddle the man like a child,” he grumbled.
It took you a while to get the gears turning, but when you did, you felt yourself grow shy from his statement. “Charles? His hand isn’t looking too good…”
“Yeah? Well, you shouldn’t be so forward. You’ll give the poor man false hope.” He scoffed, stabbing the poor carcass harshly.
Staring at his back in disbelief at the sudden hatred, you had trouble understanding where it came from and why he suddenly grew so invested in whom you diverted your attention. You and Arthur rarely spoke, only changing quick words occasionally ever since you found yourself staying with the gang, and for that reason, you had failed to understand the reason for his hatred.
It seems all you ever did was look after everyone else, paying attention to their various troubles and tribulations regarding bodily harm. It wasn’t strange to you, and by no means did you give anyone false hope, merely trying to find your place with these people, an attempt to prove your usefulness.
“False hope?” You questioned, baffled. “I’m trying to help; I fail to understand how that is a problem.”
“It ain’t a problem!” He grumbled, voice roaring hotly in his chest as he resheathed his knife and began to make his way out, repositioning his hat without glancing at you. You followed him, stopping short by the table as you didn’t want to stray too close to the fuming man.
“Well, it is since you are so angry about it?!” If this was how he carried out every conversation, you were glad the exchange of words wasn’t typical between you, more so the simple fact that your company had never seemed to bring him any enjoyment. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Wha-” He stops short, suddenly turning around and stalking towards you in significant strides. Gasping at suddenly having him so close, you backed away; his sharp eyes penetrated you as the warm blue of his orbs turned ice cold, glaring daggers into your own.
“What’s wrong with me?” He spoke dangerously low as his brows raised, grabbing your upper arms as he hoisted you up the table without an ounce of struggle. “I’m not the one taking every small, insignificant chance to take advantage of your good nature.”
“Charles’s not like that. He’s very kind.” You spoke in his defense, leaning back from his prolonged stare that seemed to cut through you deeper the more he stared. You had always pitied the people who got on Arthur’s lousy side, finding his presence at those times unnerving.
Now, it seemed you were at the receiving end of it, and while it chilled you to the bones, you weren’t sure if your beating heart were because of fear or the thought of him being the closest to you he’d ever have.
You had never quite got to admire his eyes, always hidden under his furrowed brows and squinting eyes. Now that it wasn’t because of the blazing sun down west, it was from the blaring whiteness of the snow surrounding you as you found his eyes glaring at the current climate more often than not–displeased.
His eyes being dead set on you didn’t help as you could hear his breathing grow heavier, the warmth of his breath hitting your cold cheeks as his broad frame blocked the chilly winds from reaching you.
“Kind, huh?” Although momentarily distracted, you recovered as you heard him speak in a low voice, still finding his assumptions wildly out of reach while insulting you and Charles. Times were hard, and if you couldn’t look after one another, it would surely lead to your doom–Arthur, if anyone, should know that.
“Yes, kind.”
Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he backed away from you, shrugging his shoulders while walking away–like your conversation hadn’t happened in the first place.
“Sure.”
–
It wasn’t like Arthur didn’t know how to restrain himself, for he applauded himself for avoiding his apparent anger when Charles had, yet again, stolen away your attention–not that Arthur had any plans on striking up a conversation with you anyway.
It became clear to him that when you two were left alone, you almost turned into a living statue, barely responding to him. It was unlike you, for the time he had spent observing you, you had no problem talking to anyone else–and although it was usually calm, it never deterred you from gaining the likes of the others and liking them in return.
Why did you cringe away from him and not Charles, he pondered, glaring at the picture that plagued his mind. The reason he knew, deep down, but his stubbornness didn’t let him justify your actions. In all honesty, Charles was a more reliable man than himself, intentions often apparent with a slight sense of, well, goodness perhaps—something Arthur didn’t possess in the slightest.
Goodness, in all honesty, wasn’t something he was too familiar with, and he didn’t doubt one second that you found his character to be callous, seeing as the dirty work no one wanted to do fell upon him; work everyone else found to be too cruel to do themselves. He could almost feel your disapproving gaze when he picked up his slack from Mr. Strauss’s poor victims that he always tried to prolong, and while it wasn’t his most favorable way of lending a hand, sometimes he did it out of spite.
If that’s what you thought about him, then he couldn’t do much to sway your opinion, finding it much easier to continue with his ways than realize that your sudden carefulness off him wounded him more profoundly than he let on.
And, he was indeed a harsh man in your eyes, and although his company wasn’t entirely unwished for, he was still grim–ignoring your presence like you weren’t there most of the time. It made you wildly unsure of him, but the allure he had kept bringing you back, always wondering when you would see a glimpse of him again. You chastised yourself for it, more so now that you got a taste of his famously sullen mood that pestered everyone around him, but your eyes were still drawn to him when he was nearby.
Maybe it wasn’t what everyone else would describe him as, but you thought of him as mysterious. Gods, you have stayed with this group for quite some time now. Not once had he spoken to you more than the standard greeting, and you didn’t know much about him besides the sharp-shooting, brutal force of a man who had no problem letting his thoughts be voiced, even though the listeners might be less inclined to its harsh deliverance.
He had been cruel, sure, but you couldn’t help but remember how close you had been before when he spewed words that clung so viciously from his tongue. Faintly, you remembered the deep scent of gunpowder and smoke, something you were certain probably penetrated his skin by now, but also the slightly musky scent hidden underneath. Your head raced in curiosity, wondering how his hands would grab you if it wasn’t in anger. Was he even capable of that, you pondered.
It’s ridiculous you knew those thoughts were born from misconceptions and assumptions. You had heard how he behaved amongst the camp women, forever gentle and careful, and you had sharpened your ear when you’d been told timidly about his earlier flings. He could be more heartfelt than your head let you acknowledge, and the thought made your head spin even more with your endless imagination.
Despite the inner turmoil that filled you from your earlier argument, you had avoided him for some days now, and it seemed to grow easier the colder you got, huddling close to the fire with every chance. It was the only thing keeping your thoughts occupied, wondering when you would get to leave this desolated mining town that grew more covered in snow the longer you chose to stay.
“Do you need help, Hosea?” Just after you spoke, heavy blankets were handed to you, the fabric made from a thick wool that looked heavenly. “Yes, thank you. I take one step outside; I fear that it will be the end of me.” You only stared warmly at Hosea, who patted you on the back. “Don’t you worry, miss. We found more blankets we thought had been lost in that dreadful storm, so we all will sleep warmer tonight.”
“Oh, of course, I’ll help-” Despite the whistling winds that had picked up as the sun shone its last tendrils, you didn’t oppose the idea, but you were interrupted by a mischievous look handed to you by the older man.
“Make sure Arthur grabs one, too; you know how he gets.” Before you could question his meaning, he slunk away, pulling the warm fabric tighter around his shoulders without a glance at you, chuckling merrily. You chose not to ponder too hard on his strange ways, instead making your way to the door, shivering badly as you stepped outside.
Smiles were all you were greeted with as you handed them off, and it was no surprise as it was a welcome sight to everyone to gain some extra warmth to wrap around themselves. Although feeling content by being of help, you couldn’t help but wonder where Arthur could be, a single blanket now left in your hands.
Grumbling to yourself, you stepped out from the hut Dutch and Molly resided in, glancing at a smaller building some paces away, finding the orange glow of a candle lighting up the smaller barn where the horses were kept. A small smile found you, finding it very fitting for him to be where there were fewer people.
Although slightly fearing what could come to be an awkward encounter, you found yourself being too forgiving many times, and you damned yourself for it. What he said hurt you deeply, making you ponder if you had given Charles other signals than intended. It could be a possibility, yet you had never had too many romantic dealings with men to presume that that was the case, but his eyes held something tender the last few times you spoke as you recalled it.
“Arthur…” As you stepped inside after pulsing through the thick snow, you searched for the blue coat you had grown familiar with in this weather. “Are you here?” You asked quietly, wondering if he could hear you.
You cautiously stepped further into the barn, placing your feet steadily on the ground before you so you didn’t slip and embarrass yourself. It was friendly out here, you could admit, the snow muting every sound and almost making every slight sound caress your ears.
As you stepped further inside, it turned out he was here, and he took no notice of you as you rounded the corner to gaze at his seated form, seemingly writing something in his journal. It was an unusual sight. Sometimes, you observed him as he wrote in his journal back at camp, yet you didn’t make a habit of it, too shy to question him at the time.
How he didn’t freeze to death in this climate was beyond you, his fingers bare as he scribbled, fingertips red from the cold and dirty from the chalk. You made a motion to speak up once again but found yourself tongue-tied as you took him in, and as you did, the thought struck you that he wasn’t writing but drawing.
How unlike him, you thought, watching his brows furrowed from time to time, fingers moving expertly while the soft glow of the candle beside him almost softened his features. Your presumptions might be harsh, but you had never found him to be a man well-versed in the creative aspect of life, and while the brutal ways of his life spoke for him, you found it to make him slightly more approachable.
“I didn’t know you draw.” You stated fondly, his eyes fitting into yours the moment the first word left your mouth, growing visibly stressed as the journal was planted into his coat pocket. A rough cough left him as he did, eyes faltering when he saw your observant gaze linger on him unabashedly.
“I don’t.” A small laugh left you at his abrupt words, not teasingly but perhaps warmly, choosing not to bug him since he grew uncomfortable before your questioning eyes.
You were given an expectant look that reminded you of your actual business here as you stepped inside the building, closing the barn door behind you to shut out the wind that somehow managed to find its way through the cracks in the walls.
“Here, we found some more blankets. Hosea asked me to bring you one.” You met his eyes briefly as you stretched out your arms for him to take the blanket, eyes faltering to it at his piercing gaze.
“Hosea, huh?” A scoff left him, resuming his arms to cross over his chest, shaking his head slightly. “You keep it.”
“No, I-”
“Nah, you chattering your teeth keeps us up at night. Take it.”
His words should have taken you back since his voice was stinging, but a light laugh left you, knowing he was right. Wrapping yourself in the soft, warm blanket, you surprised Arthur by sitting beside him, heavily clad shoulders touching each other as you did.
“I don’t understand.” You stated, staring at the large shadows that flickered on the wooden wall before you. “How can you not be cold? I feel like if I spend one more day out here, I’ll freeze to death.”
You turned your head towards him, caught off guard when you felt his gaze already set intensely on you. Your eyes faltered to his chest, growing shy as you always did when you had his attention on you. It wasn’t unwanted, but you didn’t know what to do with yourself in moments like that, unused to the fire that always burned so deep in his eyes.
“Used to it, I guess.” His voice rumbled hotly in his chest, fingers flexing against his will as he took the chance to observe you. He had never had the opportunity to see your face this close. Your wet lashes clung together as you blinked, undoubtedly from the heavy snowfall outside, framing your eyes that Arthur always noticed were so very easy to read, yet at many moments also locked away.
“I don’t believe you.” How could anyone possibly get used to this? It was raw, pure torture.
You didn’t get an answer, and as you returned your gaze towards the wall, Arthur’s eyes found your features again. He had indeed been cold before you came, but it was his only chance to find a moment of peace; the thought of spending another night in that god-forsaken hut with his dear friend and his lover giggling the night away grew incredibly distasteful.
Here, he could finally hear his thoughts, the solitude of the snow muting every sound heavenly; the only noise was the familiar scribbling in his journal as he wrote about the past few days. Though his head was calmer than before, he still dreamt of your fingers encasing his like they had done Charles, the small, elegant touches rising his arms slowly, making him shiver wildly as the scene flashed before his eyes.
He knew he shouldn’t think of you like that, and he certainly had no right to be angry at Charles since he felt so unabashedly filthy things about you, but he couldn’t help it. Your every scent, every motion set his blood afire; small deeds of good you always found yourself doing so harshly contrasted his actions he couldn’t help the fact that you intrigued his whole being.
So good, so… soft and warm. As he stared at you, all he wanted was to reach out and pull you closer to him so he could feel your shivering body close to him, knowing many ways to warm you up. Sighing, he removed his hat, running his fingers through his hair as the thoughts took a turn he always hated himself for.
“Hey, I uh…” Arthur trailed off, finding the words he wanted to speak stuck in his throat. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, like I did back then.” He stared before him, yet he felt your eyes heavy on his.
He did feel bad, and it had been the reason for his brooding temper since then, not coming to terms with his wrongdoings until now. He had probably scared you, he concluded, and could only assume he was right as you had done your utmost to avoid him as of late.
“Don’t be,” you said with a light smile, not expecting his apology, even though he didn’t say sorry directly. “It’s a lot right now, I understand. But I still don’t understand why you’re so angry at Charles.” You were briefly met with a light sigh, eyes flickering to yours before diverting the flickering candle.
“Nah, forget it. Just me being stupid is all.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid. Maybe you’re mean sometimes and grumpy,” you said, giving him a teasing glance. “But not stupid.”
A scoff left him at your words, yet you could see the corners of his mouth chirp up lightly. “You’d be surprised.”
As your snickering died down, you rested your head on the wall behind you, not wanting to leave the quiet comfort you found yourself in nor the conversation that panned on longer than you had anticipated, much to your surprise.
“Why are you out here if you are so cold, girl?” He questioned you, catching a glimpse of your almost blue lips. “Go on inside; you’ll freeze to death if you stay here.” It would be best for you to return because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if his thoughts progressed like they did before in your presence. As he placed the hat on his head again, he glanced down quickly, doing a double take as he found you staring at him.
Was the cold finally getting to your head, or was it simply being in the presence of the man you were so unsure of but wildly intrigued by? You couldn’t tell, but the warmth spreading in your stomach as he glanced down at you spread ferociously through your stomach, almost warming you to your fingertips.
Suddenly, Arthur moved his arm slightly, and the motion made you jump, leaning away from him as you unconsciously drew closer to him. You couldn’t tell, but it almost felt like your body sometimes contradicted your mind, defying your sense of morality.
“Are you afraid of me?” He questioned, gazing at you unexplainably. Both of your breaths were audible in the quiet night, blowing like smoke out your mouths as the world around you blurred. It wasn’t like Arthur couldn’t contain himself around women, but you were something else entirely. Only in his wildest dreams did you stare at him like that, like you were expecting–waiting– for him to do something.
Yet, you looked guarded, like a cornered lam, waiting for the right moment to sprint away. You pulled away, only to lean in further, the cogs in your head turning something so awful in your mind, observing his every move yet not registering your own that reached out to him.
And gods, did he want to do the same; his internal battle proved to be more difficult as your hand gripped his coat tightly, only wanting to warm your blue lips with his own and show you how he could warm you up better than Charles’s damned gloves ever could.
“Sometimes.” You let on, voice shaking from both anticipation and uncertainty.
Leaning down towards you hesitantly, he felt hot all over when he realized you didn’t shy away from him like expected, mouth only parting further as he drew closer. As you did, you felt your breath hitch when a hand was placed on your upper back, Arthur’s weight only making you glide further down the wall until your head was resting in the crook of his elbow.
“Arthur…” He was so close now you could almost feel his heartbeat through the vast amount of clothing, breath hitting your cold, blushing cheeks as he leaned closer, the calling of his name only drawing him in. He was sure you had bewitched him, for not a single thought in his mind was about anything but the woman in front of him, entirely and utterly overtaken by what was solely you.
And through those few moments between frustration and desperation, all senses of logic disappeared as the skin of your lips conjoined, drawn together like magnets that snapped together like they never wanted to be apart again. Eyes grew shut, the only sound now the deep humming in Arthur’s chest as your hands found his cheeks, caressing the chilly skin under your palm with your thumbs.
It was ragged and scarred, a deep contrast to your own that had never tasted the metal of a gun and the blood of a foe, and the thought made a gasp rise in your throat as his weight fell heavier onto yours, pressing you into the hay-filled, snowy ground.
“Tell me to stop.” He grunted against your now wet lips, only taking a second before joining them again. He was covering your entire body as he lay above you, resting his weight on his elbows as your head rested on his arm.
“No…” You mumbled, words almost not audible against his desperate mouth, feeling just as affected by the desire as he did. You felt his face scrunch up almost painfully before he took the hand that rested on your back to glide under your coat, resting it on the side of your waist as he stroked gently, feeling the curves that hid underneath the damned fabric.
It was torture. It was an unexplainable torture that you would freeze to death if he removed the clothes that covered you, and he would surely go insane if he couldn’t feel the skin he imagined would be so very soft under his rough fingers. Just a taste, he thought sinfully to himself, slowly lifting the fabric of your shirt from under your skirt’s waistband, worming a freezing hand inside to feel the warmth that hid underneath.
You gasped at the sudden sensation but were quickly silenced as his tongue massaged your own, and the slight moan that left you only made a groan rumble loudly in his chest. The feeling of his cold hand rose your skin, stroking every bit it came across as if memorizing it to his brain, mapping out every single inch.
It was too much for you, the sheer desperation and want, not knowing what to do with yourself or how to dampen the intense feelings that nailed your firm to the ground. Every bit of you grew into static, and every touch from Arthur sent shockwaves through your body as his fingers caressed you.
“Come here.” Opening your eyes, you found his, although lidded with desire, gentle eyes gazing into yours, pulling his hand reluctantly from your waist to help you sit up. “I won’t let you lay on the ground.”
You only stared at him as he seated you on his lap, chest flush against his as his hands stroked along your arms as if to warm you up, tightening the blanket around your shoulders. You felt your heartbeat pick up at his actions, your stomach fluttering fiercely as he ensured you stayed warm.
You could tell he grew wildly unsure as you remained silent, clearing his throat as if he had been in a daze before speaking.
“If you’ll have me, that is.” You didn’t give him a chance to say more, hands finding sanction in his hair as the motion knocked off his hat, exposing the sandy locks he always kept hidden underneath it.
“Stupid question.” You mumbled softly against his mouth, pressing yourself closer to him as your fingers started fiddling with the buttons on his coat. You could already feel the heat emitting, and your fingers grew hasty as you tried to move faster, the motion of your lips faltering against his eager ones.
You would have been ashamed if it weren’t for Arthur being just as stressed about getting the buttons of your coat loose, hands wounding their way around your waist and pressing you closer to him the moment they became undone. Likewise, you wormed your arms under his shoulder, gasping as you felt the heat buried underneath the fabric, hugging him close as you placed your face into the crook of his neck.
Breathing in your scent, Arthur revealed in the way you nuzzled against him, feeling a warmth spread in his groin when the thick coat didn’t keep the pressure of your middle away from him any longer. It was heaven, he concluded, trailing his hands down to your backside as he caressed the curves, pushing you flush against his.
Oh, how he reveled in it. He was selfish; there was no denying it any longer, but he craved you so profoundly it would eat him up bit by bit if he couldn’t have you. It wasn’t about Charles any longer; it was about the fact that you had never spared him a glance, almost bordering on fearing him, deciding that everyone else company had been much safer than his own.
He knew it and had seen it in your eyes countless times. Arthur wasn’t unfamiliar with the look of utter horror plastered on people’s faces, for he faced it every day, and he wanted nothing more than to show you that you had no reason to feel that way with him, for he would never put a single finger that was unwished for on you.
And he couldn’t possibly hold it against you, for he wasn’t a good man, quite the opposite actually, and every lingering touch made him hate himself even more, wishing you would find it in you to push away from him–let him know that if he ever touched you again, you would kill him.
But, he would find that you didn’t, instead only pressing yourself even harder against him in the cold of the night, breath shaking something so terribly as he moved your lower region against his in a gentle movement. It only fueled his want for you, hands struggling their way up your skirt, caressing your stocking-clad legs as he did, reaching your undergarments with a content sigh.
His touch lighted a path up your legs, the cold nothing but a memory now even though the brisk air found its way underneath your skirt, following his hands that caressed your inner thighs in soft motions.
It was suspenseful, waiting for the skin to touch the skin, for his strong hands to wound around you as he had already wormed himself around your heart. And as he did, the coil in your stomach grew so incredibly tight you felt like it was too much like his touch alone wounded your every fiber, but instead of hurt, it was an undeniable pleasure that hit you tenfold.
The hand that had crawled its way inside your undergarments stroked alongside your tender parts, never touching you where you wanted him the most–the place that longed for his touch. He had to be teasing you; there was no other explanation as he smiled softly at your expression, gasping for air as you gripped the sides of his arms, trying to push against his fingers.
“Ah, sweetheart.” He only cooed at you, gripping your wrists with one hand as his other finally glided over the wetness of your heat, gazing directly into your eyes with his sharp gaze, admiring your pleasure-filled face that begged him to give you more, to provide you with his all. And, as he spread your folds with his fingers, the filthiest whimper of pleasure left you, laying its noise into the quiet night with no worry about anyone hearing, only fools deciding to stray outside in this bleak, frigid night.
Falling into his arms yet again, you let him enter a finger into your warm cavern, gasping desperately for air as the unfamiliar stretch widened you, dragging wonderfully against your clenching walls. It was vile, the way Arthur reveled in how tight you felt against his finger, and as he pondered on how you would feel when he pushed it you. The thought made a striking, white pleasure shoot through him, making him grunt out against your neck.
“That good?” He spoke out, adding another finger into you while placing wet, hot kisses against your blazing neck, wanting nothing more than to hear your heavenly sound of approval.
You attempted to nod, but the motion was interrupted by the increasingly more extensive stretch from both of his fingers; gasping like a madwoman as you moved against his hands, wishing to pull his fingers even deeper into you, dissatisfied when you realized it didn’t do the job.
He could only groan when he realized your intention, slipping his coated finger from your warm heat, bringing them to his mouth quickly while his other hand found the zipper of his jeans, fumbling in a stressed fashion to get rid of the constraint.
A dissatisfied moan left you as he did, wishing for nothing more than to feel the delicious stretch yet again carry alongside your walls. But, as he fumbled with his zipper, you quickly got your senses together. You helped him undo his suspenders, then slipped underneath the fabric to trail your hand alongside the apparent bulge that stretched underneath, finding his groans to fuel your actions.
For a short while, your eyes met amidst the hurry your bodies experienced, and the moment slowed down to a halt as your lips found each other once more, moving against one another like starved men. You couldn’t be closer to him, and he couldn’t possibly be closer to you, and while you earlier had pondered that this was a good idea, you couldn’t imagine anything else at this moment.
And, as your hand wrapped around him momentarily, Arthur could feel his brain’s short circuit, like he had never been able to hold a single thought in his mind his entire life. You had to have bewitched him, for he complied to your every touch, body moving against your every move like your hand was glued to his body.
“God,” he mumbled against your lips that massaged his own, thrusting against your hand as you stroked him tenderly, gasping against him quietly. It wasn’t hurried but warm and slow, basking in each other’s presence like you had never before discovered the feeling of another’s touch against your own.
“That good?” You replied teasingly, mimicking his earlier words as you smiled a toothy smile, feeling him chuckle lowly at your apparent teasing, giving you a playful slap on your behind as his breathing picked up.
Suddenly, you felt a hand encase your own. As he removed it from his throbbing member, he only grabbed you closer, wounding his arms around your back as he pulled you into a hug, the feeling of him underneath you wonderful as you glided along it–moaning wantonly as the friction shot sharp streaks of pleasure up your body.
“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll warm you up.” As he spoke, he could feel himself shudder as your wet lips encased his tip, groaning audibly as he thought you rubbing against him. You were illegal, he concluded, for nothing could ever be allowed to feel this good–it wasn’t possible.
“Please,” you gasped against his lips, moving your hips slightly as you felt his hands circle your waist. “Please, Arthur.”
He hushed you quietly, finally feeling you wrap your lips around him as he slowly entered your warm cavern, the walls fitting him snugly as a grunt left him unexpectedly, lost in the pleasure you brought him.
While it felt too good to imagine, you could only keep your mouth open at the sensation, wondering how something could ever fill you up quite as good as this. Without a single thought, you sat down entirely, feeling him stretch you wonderfully as you wrapped around all of him, wounding your hands around his neck.
You didn’t need to move much, for he thrust up into you when you had gotten used to his size, feeling yourself being hitched up to his body as the motion made your whole body rise to then fall back down on him, once more filled to the brim. His grunting in your ears filled your senses, and while the slight consciousness entered your mind, wondering what you were doing, you pushed it far back, relishing in how your body responded to his.
Despite the cold that was surely creeping into your bones the more you stayed out here, the sound of skin against skin filling the empty spaces around you made you feel more connected to each other than you had ever felt with anyone else.
You started to move with him, bringing down your hips to meet his while he thrusts into you, growing more desperate by the minute. You found the hands hugging your waist, circling their arms around it, pushing you even further against him as you rested your hands on his cheeks, having no choice but to stare into his lidded eyes as he grunted roughly underneath you.
God, how he wanted to push you down onto the ground and drive into you, damning the snow that covered the ground. Instead, he glided down further from the wall, feeling your weight press against him more as your head found sanction in his neck, feeling his thrusts grow more in power as he pistoned into you harder from the new position.
“Arthur.” You breathed out, feeling the stretch of him grow as the position made him reach even deeper inside you, one arm reaching down to grab your bottom so he could hold you firmer against him.
“I know, honey.” He murmured, head growing dizzy as you clenched around him so wonderfully, mewling sweetly into his ears as you let him take control.
Did it make him an evil man for reveling in what he knew Charles would never gain from you? Maybe it did, but those thoughts were placed far back in his mind as your lips found his, small moans now muted as you grew desperate for his affection, growing insatiable to once more feel the fondness that laid in his every touch.
He had been so angry that someone else had gained the courage to do what he couldn’t, realizing he had been too late. Yet now, as you remain unknowing above him, it only made his lips plant themself firmer against yours, determined to make you understand that nobody could make you feel this way except him.
Grabbing the blanket off your shoulders, he threw it down towards the ground as you gasped, stroking your waist tenderly before slowing his movements.
Your breath heaved something so terrible, your voice shaking as you spoke. “Don’t stop, Arthur. Please.” He felt his stomach coil at your words, throbbing inside you as he moved to a seated position.
“I ain’t stopping, sweetheart,” he let on, leaning you backwards lightly. “Lay back for me, okay?” You did as he said without a protest, the cold now gone as your legs spread from him.
He almost groaned from the sight, taking a moment to observe you as you stared at him through lidded eyes, blushed cheeks so wonderfully red against the whiteness of the snow you almost looked like an angel–your hair spread like a halo around your head where you laid on the blanket.
Crawling over you quickly, he grunted as he felt your hand encasing itself around him, stroking slowly as you guided it to your clenching hole. For a moment, he felt a relief spread through him at the feeling of your walls surrounding him before the sheer and utter desperation set in, beginning to move into you at a faster pace than before.
Your breath hitched at the sudden movement, yet you gripped his arms to keep him there, not baring the thought of him stopping again. Being over you gave him more control, and his primal instincts set in as the coil in his stomach shot burning flashes throughout his body, wanting nothing more than to feel your warm walls around him forever. Maybe it was the desire talking, but he swore that the thought of you being like this with any other man than him would make him heave.
Encasing his arms around you as your hands found his hair, he felt your legs wrap around his waist, now so close he was grounding into you relentlessly. Rough yet tender, he moved into you with care, but you could feel that he was holding back as he panted above you.
“Don’t stop!” You begged him once more amidst his thrusts, pulling on his strands as his lips found the softness of your neck. Why you were begging, you couldn’t say, oblivious to the words leaving your mouth in utter bliss.
“Hm?” He mumbled, smiling lightly from hearing your ruined voice beg him. He felt like a sick man gaining pleasure from it, but his mind was too hazy to take notice, longing to hear those words leave your sweet mouth once more. “What was that?”
“Don’t stop,” you voiced breathlessly as his hand found your breast, rolling the nub softly between his rough fingers. Despite your begging, for his own sickly twisted pleasure his hips ceased their movements, moving torturously slow as he raised his elbows to stare at your tear-filled eyes.
They shot open as he slowed his pace, displeased he didn’t listen as you already felt shameful for sounding so desperate. You couldn’t help it, for it felt too good, and now that he had stopped, you wished he never had. Was he teasing you? The thought made you blush from embarrassment and annoyance, pleading with your eyes.
“No…” You mumbled, trying to move against him, yet his hands held you firm against the ground.
“Say it.” Arthur’s voice was coarse as he spoke, grabbing your hand to place tender kisses on it as your displeased sounds reached his ears. He only got a confused look, smirking slightly at the longing and apparent dissatisfaction plastered on your face. A biting shadowed lust replaced his usually sharp eyes as he watched you, carnal written deeply in his eyes.
“My name, sweetheart. Let me hear you say it.” Suddenly, he pistoned his hips against you, driving up your wet walls as a mewl left you from the sudden force. You felt his intense eyes on you as your eyes shut momentarily, and through your blurred vision, they didn’t stay open for long.
“Arthur,” you moaned, eye-rolling into the back of your head as your back arched, a wave of pleasure shooting through you at his demands. He held the same controlled yet sensual pace, knowing he’d slip out of you if he went any harder. Still, his accuracy was wicked–hitting the right spot with every move.
“That’s it,” he praised you, placing another kiss on your palm as his thrusts increased, grunting roughly as your walls squeezed him tightly. You break into sobs as you reach out to grasp his arms, tilting his head up just enough to let you know he’s watching you, his hazy gaze roving over the devastation on your face.
The snow around you mutes the sound of skin hitting skin as he sets a brutal pace. “I didn’t tell you to stop, sweetheart.” The deep rumble in his chest as he spoke the words laced with possessiveness made your heartbeat pick up faster than it already was, the light ringing in your ears increasing as your body was hoisted up with each of his thrusts.
You call his name like a prayer amidst the pleasure, and satisfaction at hearing his name come so sinfully from your mouth made his eyes roll back, knuckles turning white from gripping the ground so harshly. Oh, you had no idea that every noise you let out from his advances made his heart soar with pride, feeling the softness of your skin under the palm of his hands.
Arthur feels the abrupt stop of movements from your hand, gripping tightly on his arms as you spasm around his cock, clenching tightly as the pads of his fingers come down to rub at your swollen nub as your orgasmed, a loud whine leaving you at the contact. It’s too much for you, the sensation too unfamiliar yet devastatingly addictive–not knowing if you wanted to drive your hips away from his brutal assault or enjoy him even more profoundly.
Even if you had decided on the prior, he didn’t let you, pushing you firm against the ground as he twitched inside you at the noises you let out, groaning lowly as he came inside your warm walls, planting himself deep inside you.
“Christ-” He grunts out, teeth clenched as you feel his cock throb inside you, cum gathering at the base of him as his hips slow to deep thrusts, grinding into you in sheer pleasure as the knot in his stomach unleashed, feeling you placing small kissed on his neck.
The slight motion made him smile amidst his pleasure-filled mind, caressing the curves of your waist as he nestled his head into your neck, still panting heavily. As you both calmed down, it didn’t take long for your hand to find his, fingers wounding themselves around the others in the blissful aftermath.
As you opened your eyes after catching your breath, you found a pair of blue ones already gazing at you. You didn’t speak for a while, both of you trying to digest the situation as tiny snowflakes could be seen falling from the sky through the cracks in the walls. It reminded you of how cold you should have been, but with Arthurs’s broad chest covering you, it felt like you were clinging to a furnace.
“Shit, you must be freezing.” He suddenly let out, shaking his head slightly as if in a daze before rising to pull you with him. As he pulled your skirt down your legs, rubbing them between his hands to warm you up, you could only stare at him in quiet wonder.
“What?” He grumbled out, sniveling lightly as he glanced at you. Had you not wanted this, he wondered, doubt starting to fill his mind. You were too quiet for his liking, only staring at him as he tried to prolong touching your soft skin, fearful of the hurtful words that were sure to come.
“Are you jealous of Charles?”
If crickets had been this far north, they would surely be the only thing audible as Arthur stopped. Bear of a man, hardy and stubborn to many, yet a faint blush could be seen rising to his cheeks as his face lowered–wishing so dearly he could find his hat that had seemingly disappeared so he could hide.
If he had been looking at you, he would have seen the toothy smile covering your face, a tender laugh leaving you as your assumptions became reality. You had to give him credit, though, for he had you completely and utterly fooled.
“No.” He stated firmly, rising on his legs to pull up his pants. He found himself unable to, though, your hand grabbing his suspenders to pull him back down. The same heat that had lessened in his stomach came back as he felt your nimble touch caress him through his pants, gaining a mischievous look from you as you widened your legs.
“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll give Charles his gloves back if you stay here and keep me warm.”
Oh dear, that would do it. Whatever thoughts that filled his mind flew out the window, wholly consumed by you as your hands caressed his back, staring expectantly up at him.
The Genshin Characters reuniting with you after being separated for years, or just a long time.
Characters: Xiao, Zhongli, Beidou, Raiden Shogun/Ei, Kaeya and Eula
Inspiration? Idk.
Fluff? Angst to fluff
Xiao
Xiao couldn't believe his eyes when he saw a familiar figure walking into Wangshu Inn. It couldn't be you, you left years ago. He waited every day for your return, but you never came, so why would you return when he lost hope? Why were you toying with him like this?
"Xiao, are you here?"
You asked him as you walked onto the balcony where he always was, not expecting him to grab you half roughly.
"Why are you here after all these years?"
He's hurt. No messages, no calling his name, no visits, and then you suddenly show up?
"I'm sorry. I had to... do something."
You told him, knowing he would understand, and understand he did, because he pulled you into his arms and held you close. He wasn't going to let you go after you two just reunited now. Yet with you having missed him? You wouldn't be leaving just yet.
Zhongli
Predicted your arrival somehow the moment you stepped onto Liyue. Patiently awaits your arrival, but also frets as he does.
"Do they still like the things they did years ago?"
"Will they still drink osmanthus wine with me?"
"Ostmanthus wine tastes the same as I remember, will the one who shares the memory return?"
Hu Tao forces him to leave the funeral parlor from how much mistakes he's making on the documents, but he doesn't complain. He immediately goes to the entrance of Liyue Harbor so he's the first person you see from the Harbor.
"Zhongli? Why are you all the way out here?"
You ask him, wide eyed at the man in front of you before he pulls you into a hug.
"I'm here to see my beloved, if you still want me."
And if you say you still love him, his heart flutters with joy. He places a gentle kiss on your head and leads you to his home, your shared home.
Beidou
"Kazuha, do you think they're still mad at me?"
Beidou looks at the boy as The Crux pull in to dock, her heart pounding with nervousness. You asked Beidou many times to stay and to not go to Inazuma, but we know how that went. You two had an argument and she left, something Beidou regretted very much.
"Why don't you ask them yourself, Beidou?"
Kazuha asked her with a mischievous smile as he glanced somewhere near the dock. Following his gaze, Beidou met your worried eyes. She jumped out of the boat and ran to you, pulling you into her arms.
"I'm sorry for arguing with you before your journey."
"I'm so sorry!"
You and Beidou spoke in sync, her clinging to you for dear life in fear you would leave her, but you heard of what happened in Inazuma.
"Beidou, I'm proud of you."
You told her with a gentle smile, and while Beidou was flustered by your words, she was happier to be in your arms again.
"Let's go home."
You told Beidou with a gentle smile, but she kissed your forehead and whispered to you.
"With you, I am home."
Ei/Raiden Shogun
You left before the borders of Inazuma closed, and Ei felt that she had lost a part of her, but what she did what she had to do.
"For eternity."
She mutters to herself on days and nights she misses you worse than usual.
After Inazuma's travel ban was lifted, she doubted you would ever want to see her again, but she heard Yae call her.
"There's someone here to see you."
Yae told her, and she's never run out of the Palace as fast as she did that day. She ran so fast that she crashed into you.
"Beloved, are you alright?"
Ei asked as she quickly pulls you up and inspects you for injuries, only to sigh in relief when you began to laugh.
"Are you....?"
She trails off, almost afraid of hearing you reject her, so she doesn't finish her question. Silence lingers in the air a moment too long for her liking before you cup her face.
"I'm here to stay."
And she smiles at your response, shoulders relaxing as she is no longer tense.
Kaeya
"Get out of my tavern, Kaeya."
Diluc ordered, not letting Kaeya inside today, but Kaeya simply laughed, believing his brother is annoyed with him again.
"What's one drink, Diluc?"
Kaeya asked smugly, but all his smugness left him when Diluc handed him a letter from you. Kaeya quickly read it and discovered that this was the day you were returning. Diluc didn't want Kaeya to be drunk when you've returned, and Kaeya appreciated that.
"Thanks, Diluc."
Kaeya told his brother with a nod before going to go and pick you up. He wasn't going to let you walk to Mondstadt yourself, he was going to walk you. Somewhere he met you, halfway from Mondstadt and you were surprised.
"Kaeya, I said you didn't have to come pick me up."
You told him, raising an eyebrow at him in slight suspicion over his antics, but he pulled you into a hug, and you hugged him back. Was he going to tease you now?
"I missed you."
Kaeya told you, as serious as you've ever seen him, not at all teasing you like you thought he would. Your absence must have taken a toll on him. So you stayed in each other's arms for a while.
Eula
I'm about to hurt you all.
Eula was used to people leaving her, so when you left, she was expecting it. She was hurt that you did, but at the end of the day, she knew everyone left her.
"I... Will have vengeance on them one day for leaving me like everyone in my youth."
She would often proclaim to Diluc after drinking a bit too much at Angel's Share, mistaking him for Amber due to her inebriated state.
"They will come back, Eula."
The Ragnvindr felt pity for the Lawrence girl, so he would always try comforting her whenever she was in such a state. He would walk her home like a gentleman, or have Kaeya do it when nobody else (such as Amber) could do it.
"Welcome, Eula. Why don't you go to the top floor first today, and I'll come up with your drinks?"
Diluc asked her one day when she stepped into the tavern, a warm smile on his face.
"Deceive me, and vengeance will be mine."
Eula huffed and followed his request, but she froze at the top when she saw you.
"I'm back, Eula. I didn't leave you forever."
You told her with a gentle smile as you gazed at her with love. Eula exacted her vengeance that night by not letting you out of her arms. She's gone years without you, so she feels it's fair that you only let her have her vengeance by not releasing you.
"I told everyone I would have vengeance upon you, and I am keeping my word."
I just... the thought of your young son coming into your room on Father's Day morning with one of Levi's cravats like "I wanna be Daddy's daddy for Father's Day because he's a good daddy and I want him to know what it's like to have one!" 😭
I AM GETTING SO MANY DADVI ASKS & I AM ABOUT TO COMBUST FROM THE CUTE 🥹
***
Your son has always been an inquisitive child, asking you both about anything and everything.
Levi insists he takes after you with the annoying, shitty questions as your eyes roll and his playful smirk breaks across his features.
You both have been taking his simple, yet relentless questions with ease even though they’ve caused a few headaches here and there. But he’s brand new to this world, and you meet him in kind. He deserves to reveal the world’s secrets.
Maybe this whole parenting thing won’t be as difficult as you both thought.
That is until your son asks you both a question that has you and Levi desperately pleading for the other to take control on the eve of Father’s Day.
“Daddy, how come we never see your mommy and daddy?”
Levi’s eyes dart to yours in one final desperate plea, but you squeeze his hand under the table in reassurance with a nod.
He always seems to find the strength with you.
“My mother isn’t with us anymore, but don’t worry…She…she’s at peace now.”
Your son knows Levi’s resolute tone all too well, and even though he doesn’t understand how a person could be so near and far away, he accepts his father without another word. His Daddy always tells the truth even if it’s hard. Mommy always say so.
“But Daddy, what about your daddy?”
“I, um,” he bores into the table, searching for the words, “I…didn’t have one.”
You watch on as your son’s face of utter shock drops into a deep frown and you marvel at the uncanny resemblance the two share with their shared expression. His brow furrows even further and his eyes begin to widen with tears gathering in his lash line as uncontrollable hiccups bubble forth. He bites back his sobs, trying to keep his composure the best he can to be strong in his Daddy’s presence.
Your partner just got really good at hiding it, but if the silly questions come from you, your son’s bleeding heart comes from Levi.
Levi has a hard time finding the words, but when his son falls apart like this, he melts and always knows exactly what to say. Pulling from his pain, his solitude, his isolation as a child when he only had himself to soothe him.
“Shh…don’t cry, baby,” Levi whispers into the air between them, “It’s okay to be upset now, but don’t carry this with you. Daddy’s okay now, alright? I promise. I have you and your mother to take care of me now.”
He can’t stand to see another tear fall down his son’s cheek, and he slides the backs of his hands across the table with palms open wide before him. Head low and eyes turned upward, searching his little face.
His baby places his tiny hands in his father’s weathered palms. Levi’s hands gently close over top, squeezing him in comfort.
“I’m not going anywhere, okay my love? You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll always be right here.”
The boy blinks back tears and a small smile begins to form at his father’s tender voice. Daddy never lies and he always has a way of putting things plainly, so that he can understand, speaking to him as an equal.
Your son reaches upward towards the white fabric draped over the worn wooden table hanging from his father’s neck. His fingers run through the soft cravat and then travel further upward to his father’s cheek, stroking him in comfort.
Levi turns into his tiny palm and plants a kiss that slips into playful nips after his retreating fingers, sending your baby into a fit of giggles. A smile sets on both of their faces with a glassy look in their eyes as they hold each other’s gaze in their own little world.
You look on in wonder as his strength never seems to surprise you. See Levi, I knew you could do this. Your musings slip into the air between them both.
Your son’s fingers return back to the neck tie.
He never wanted to sleep with a stuffed animal or blanket, but would only accept the humble cloth as a companion in the night, the fresh smell of linen and tea leaves lulling him to sleep.
You don’t know when the love of the tie began, but it had to have begun when Levi would rock him to sleep at night against the warmth of his chest when he was just a baby.
Tucking his son into his covers, he slips off the cloth again, draping it over his baby. The boy nuzzles into it, taking it into his hands.
“See, my love? I told you, I’ll always be right…,” he whispers and presses over his heart through the fabric, “here.”
He looks up into his father’s eyes and knows he means every word, but the impending loneliness from today’s revelation continues to eat away at him deep into the night. He has to make things right.
***
Levi wakes with the dawn and can feel your warm embrace with your arm draped lazily around him.
Puffs of air fan out over the back of his neck as you slumber on. He melts into your touch behind him as your chest presses into his back with each breath.
He can see the morning light creeping in underneath the room’s door, and then, something entirely new…
He spots two little feet nervously padding up the door and two tiny knocks sound against the wood.
“Baby, are you okay?” Levi gently calls out to his son.
“I…I, um,” Levi chuckles internally at his stammering.
“It’s okay, just come in,” and as the door opens you rise to look over Levi’s shoulder. The sight before you has you gripping Levi’s waist, hiding your smile in his neck.
It isn’t that your little boy brushed his own hair and dressed himself at 5 years old…It’s the anxious, downcast eyes over the white fabric hanging from his neck…Levi’s cravat tied clumsily around him.
“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!” He beams and you look over to Levi to catch his expression with the biggest shit eating grin on your face.
Levi is at a loss, lips slightly parted with an unreadable look.
It causes the boy to retract his excitement just a little with eyes shifting down, “Sorry, Daddy…S’not as good as yours, but I…” He bravely looks back up to his father, “I know you said it’d be okay, but I wanna be Daddy’s daddy for Father’s Day because he’s a good daddy and I want him to know what it’s like to have one!”
Levi’s jaw closes immediately.
A beat passes and he covers his eyes with his hand, running his fingers through his hair with his head tilting back. A shaky sigh leaving his nose.
Looking up at the ceiling he whispers, “Come here.”
His son takes tiny steps forward and his anxiety blooms in his chest.
“M’sorry, Daddy…If you don’t like i-“
“-Stop, saying sorry…” He drags his hand away from his eyes and the boy gasps at tears threatening to spill over his dark lashes.
“Daddy, don’t cry…I’m right…” He pokes at his father’s heart, “here, remember?”
Levi takes his little hand in his again lifting it to his lips for a kiss.
summary: requested; when the knight in shining armor realizes he’s in love with his clumsy girl
warnings: best friends to lovers, talk of injuries
word count: 2.1k
Beauty can be found in repetition. In the comfort that comes with it, the assurance that life is going exactly as it is supposed to. That all the pieces are falling into place without fuss or feathers. That is what life felt like for Benedict Bridgerton.
There was nothing quite like coming home to a life that revolved around and around like a pretty little carousel after a long day of tedious painting, worrying over the works of his own mind and hand. Predictable life was so beautifully mundane and peaceful at times.
Warnings: mutual pining, mention of parental death, breaking of societal rules (this sounds so serious gosh, they hug and whatnot)
Summary: your horse falling ill derails your traveling plans and leads you to dinner with your childhood best friend and his family, what confessions will be made when anthony aims to comfort you?
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The living room hummed with laughter as Anthony descended down the stairs, confused as to what could possibly have encouraged such joy on an otherwise quiet night, no more planned than a simple dinner with Lady Danbury, though all made sense when he turned the corner to see you rocking his nephew on your hip, laughing at something that Colin said.
“Miss Y/n,” he smiled, moving his hat to his other hand to prepare himself for your embrace, your lips mimicking his as Daphne took the baby from you.
“Am I to address you as Lord Bridgerton or Anthony while I curtsey?” you mused as you sauntered towards him, knowing that your smile would merely grow the closer you got.
“Anthony and you shall do no such thing, please, less you offend me greatly,” he warned and laughed lightly when you fell into his chest, an action so familiar, so comforting that he almost wished to keep you there for a moment longer. “You look lovely,” he noted as you pulled away, actions clearly as hesitant as his own as you stepped back to remain as proper as possible despite your relationship.
“You charm me.”
“Only slightly. I did not know that we would be having you as our guest.”
“Neither did I, I am afraid. I was traveling from the funeral and heading towards France when one of the horses fell ill, I thought all hope to be lost but was surprised to find we were but a town away from here,” you explained and was aware of the way the gentle buzz of excitement floated from the room almost instantly. “My mother would have scorned me for not writing to inform you of my plans to stay, I hope I am not imposing.”
“You could never,” Anthony promised, and your fingers fiddled with the hem of your gloves as his eyes raked over your face, carefully sifting through the emotions it held to determine what to say next, knowing you well enough to decipher which expressions were true and which were merely for his family’s benefit. “We were saddened to receive news of your parents,” he began and lifted a hand to your arm, squeezing lightly. “I wished to ride down and see you- “
“You need not explain yourself to me, Anthony,” your fingers formed around his wrist, thumb moving slowly against the material of his blazer. “Your letters were comfort enough,” your words though sincere, felt incredibly empty as they met his ears, and he would be sure to press you for the truth when he had a moment alone with you.
“Will Y/n join us for dinner?” Hyacinth asked after the silence in the room grew heavy, excitedly turning around with her knees planted on the sofa to see you. “She must come, Anthony, please?” she added and managed a perfect pout to sway the both of you in your answer.
“I do not wish to be any more of an inconvenience than I already am,” you objected for only him to hear, both of your hands falling out of reach as you cleared your throat.
“You are doing no such thing, Y/n. I am sure if Lady Danbury knew that you were in town, she would have invited you on her own accord, we shall be delighted to have you accompany us,” he promised and nodded lightly to encourage you to not decline the offer any further before you turned to his family with a smile.
“Very well, but I shall insist on riding with this little angel,” Daphne smiled as her son reached for you, giggling as you placed him on your hip, small hands gripping your dress as he giggled.
“It seems he insists as well, though I fear we are to be late,” Benedict noted as he ushered everyone out of the room, Anthony’s gaze lingering on you as you fell into step beside him, far too distracted by the child in your arms to notice him inspecting you once again and it was as though he could feel it, your pain, feel how tired you were from hiding it and he wished nothing more than to take it away from you completely.
There was an odd understanding amongst the Bridgerton family that no one was to say a word of the love you two shared until one of you were to acknowledge it. It seemed that despite years of friendships and countless troubles passed only by the other’s comfort, neither of you had the slightest idea that you were helplessly in love. There were moments where Violet would see it so clearly, in the way he held you but seconds longer than he should, in the way he smiled when you said his name or laughed when you acted silly and there were moments where she could feel it, in the way you lingered at his side as if you belonged there or the way he felt what you felt without much thought. She saw it tonight more than ever as you trudged through dinner with them.
You had no appetite, barely had the stomach to eat a single thing since your parents passed, but aside from that, it was clear that you were tired, there was no wit in your replies, no skip to your step, the children were the only ones to earn a true smile from your lips, the others were merely a notion, a gesture that was expected of you. You had grown up with her own children, she had considered you part of her family and if it hurt her seeing you like this, she dared not imagine what her son must have felt. He had not looked away from you all night, had not added to the conversation except for speaking on your behalf and he was dreading every second he could not pull you into his arms and promise you it would pass, the darkness would pass, and your light would return- his light would return.
Once the table had been cleared and compliments had been given to the cook, everyone had departed to the lounge for a drink and you stole a moment to get some air in the gardens, eyes closed, and arms wrapped tightly around yourself as your head leaned back to appreciate the wind that cut through your dress. It was not long before Anthony joined you, you had expected as much, but it was a relief to know that he was still a constant in what felt like a whirlwind.
“You looked as though you were cold,” he breathed as he stilled behind you, tapping your arms to guide them into his coat and you smiled as you fixed the collar, hands falling into the pockets as soon as you were done.
“You could not see me.”
“I had no need to, I simply know you,” he protested, and you shook your head at the loving arrogance, closing your eyes once again as you looked back to the sky, waiting for him to begin speaking, he had been waiting to speak since the moment he saw you and you had denied him of such for long enough. “I wish you would allow me to assist you in this time,” your eyes opened at that, head turning to look at him, dare him to say more though he did not, only frowning lightly at your state.
“You have, Anthony. I know it may seem trivial, but your letters have kept me sane, kept me grounded, truly, I need no more from you than to know you are here.”
“I can do so much more, Y/n, if only you would not object so stubbornly. If you would allow me your hand- “
“I do not wish to be pitied, Anthony, not by you.”
“You think this an offer of pity? I could never pity you, not when I know you. You persist on denying that fact, but it does not make it any less true. It is because I know you so well that I can tell you have reached your end, you had been strong and you had been graceful, but you cannot continue down this path on your own. Allow me the opportunity to be strong on your behalf?” you could see the tenderness in his eyes, the care, you could hear words spoken from a place in his heart he reserved only for you and it was yet another moment of many in which you doubted your friendship, because how could this be merely two people who care for each other when his words felt like an invite home after years lost at sea.
“Do you love me, Anthony?”
“What?”
“There are times that I convince myself that you do, that this persistence you have to take care of me is harboured out of love, but I can never be sure,” you sighed, turning away from him as you started down the trail of rose gardens, knowing that he would follow. “I echo the seconds we are alone and the world around me fades away, ponder the times you call me darling in your letters or write to tell me you miss me, I wonder if every lingering gaze or wondering hand means more to you as it means more to me,” you shook your head, turning to him in a rush as your gestured to him with a sigh. “I wonder if loving you would feel any different than it does right now, for I cannot remember a time when I did not feel as if I would crumble without you, without your presence in my life and I am terrified by the thought that you do not share my devotion, do not share this maddening, almost sickening desire to never part from you as long as I live,” your voice had been louder than you intended, desperate eyes meeting with his as you furrowed your brows. “So, I must know, before you ask me that question ever again, I must know if you love me, Anthony Bridgerton.”
“I do,” he began and stepped towards you slowly, trailing his eyes over the features of your face as he nodded, “But only when I look up at the stars. Only when the sun creeps into my windows when I wake. Only when the birds sing your song or the butterflies hover around the daisies mother had planted just for you. Only when I hear your voice as I am reading your letters or when I see your face in my dreams. Only when the children ask for you or mother tells me to invite you for dinner. Only every waking hour of every single day. Only when my heart beats in the cages of my chest. Only when I breathe,” he smiled as he gently removed your hand from the flower, holding your fingers within his own as his other hand tugged gently to free you of your gloves. “I knew love to be a myth, a feeling exaggerated for purposes of art or poetry. I had considered any man a fool for playing victim to a force so strong it robbed them of their rationality. Only, I was the fool, for I had not merely played victim to it, I surrendered to it so completely that I could no longer identify where I ended and where my love for you began. All my life I had loved you, Y/n, it was merely the question of when you would allow me to confess it.”
“All the times you asked me to marry you?”
“Were sincere,” he smiled, lifting your bare hand to his lips as he kissed your ring finger two times, looking at you through his lashes as you released a shaky breath.
“I am not a viscountess, I have not the faintest clue how to run a household.”
“It does not matter,” he protested and reached into his coat as it hung around your frame, shrugging at your questioning gaze. “You are what my family needs. You are what I need,” he pulled a small velvet box along as he retrieved his hand, flipping it open to reveal a ring you had heard multiple stories about, had adored from afar as Violet showed it to you while growing up. You gasped softly as you realized that he had it ready for you, waiting for you, always. “Allow me to be what you need.”
“You could have any woman in the world.”
“None of them would be you,” he protested and dropped the box to the floor as he held the ring in his hand. “Marry me?” he began and shook his head when you wanted to say more, only smiling as delicate tears cascaded down your cheeks. “Marry me, Y/n.”
“You love me?”
“More than a rational man should,” he noted and laughed softly when you rolled your eyes at him, breathing out lowly as you nodded, allowing him to slip the ring onto your finger, another kiss placed to the area as he squeezed you hand softly, humming when a gloved hand lifted to his chest.
“I love you,” you breathed and leaned into him carefully, throwing caution to the wind as you connected your lips with his, the feeling was magnificent, addictive, his hands moulded around your cheeks, attempting to savour the softness of your lips, the taste of you, the way your body melted against his as if he was created merely to be this close to you. He had no desire to end the kiss as you pulled away to breathe, soft pecks left to the side of your mouth, the peak of your cupid's bow, he wanted to have you like this forever and it drove him mad knowing that he could.
“Do not go to France,” he mused once you pushed him away slightly, needing a minute to ground yourself as he looked at you in the way you had only seen if your dreams. “I do not think I could bear watching you leave.”
“Am I to cater to your demands now, Lord Bridgerton?” you teased, and he scoffed, shaking his head as his hand managed to find yours once again.
“Only the ones that make you happy as well, Miss Y/l/n,” he teased in return and relished in the little gasp that fled from your lips when he stole another quick kiss from your lips, smirking as you hummed at the sensation.
“I have merely been your betrothed for a few seconds, and I am already under your spell,” you sighed, looking up at him as you rested your forehead against his. “Whatever have you done to me?”
“The very same that you have done to me, darling.”
The sound of mixed conversation, music, laughter and clinking glasses filled your ears as you entered the large room. You swallowed hard, and took a deep breath, your chest tight with anxiety.
"See? Isn't it lovely?" Your mother asked as she ushered you further into the room.
"Yes. Lovely." You smiled at her, trying to subdue your anxieties.
Your first proper ball for your first proper season. You had managed to delay one year, but your parents would never allow you another year off. You had delayed as long as you could, now, you must find a spouse, much to your dismay.
As your eyes grazed over the crowds of people, you felt a rush of anxiety when you met the eyes of an approaching man. Bowing to your mother in greeting he stepped towards you.
"Well, don't you look...shiny." Benedict said, trying to hide an amused smile.
Quickly, you reached out and pinched his arm, unnoticed by anyone else. Letting out a soft gasp he smiled even wider. "Manners." He teased as he reached out his arm for you to take.
Looping your's through his, he lead you further into the room. "I don't need your incessant teasing Benedict, not tonight. I have enough I need to deal with." You attempted to sound playful, but Benedict could easily pick up on your anxiety.
Leaning his head a bit closer, he spoke softly. "You'll be fine."
You locked eyes with him, and he smiled encouragingly at you. Returning the smile, though it held mostly anxiety, you looked out into the crowd of people, wondering how many, if any, would wish to dance with you.
Benedict felt anxiety in his own chest as he saw your nervous eyes flicking around the room. He knew you had been dreading your first season, and he in turn had been anxious for you. Though, the pit in his stomach seemed unusually intense. Just because it is your first season, does not mean you will meet someone.
Maybe it wont happen. Though, surely he wanted it to? For you to meet someone you could fall in love with? Why did that thought seem to terrify him so? Was it the fear of losing his best friend? What if your marriage lead to you being whisked off far away? Yes, that was why he was anxious. He did not want to lose his friend.
"Alright. I think I best be off. I don't want to scare off all your suitors." Benedict said softly as he stepped away from you. Smiling one more time at you with an much encouragement as he could convey, he walked away, leaving you alone in the crowd.
As you watched him walk away, you felt your stomach knot. You wanted to reach out and drag him back to you. Beg him not to leave your side. But more than that, you felt pain shoot through your chest as you forced yourself to accept that those years spent waiting for him to see you as anything more than your friend was over. Time was up.
Letting out a soft breath, you looked around, meeting the smiling faces of some of your friends. Suddenly, your eyes locked with a handsome man you had never met. He smiled at you, and you felt your face grow hot. Then, he began to approach you.
Benedict let out a drawn out breath as he settled beside his brother. The further he walked away from you, the worse he felt. He convinced himself it was his protective bond over you. And an unusual guilt and fear of leaving you to the wolves in a way.
His eyes immediately looked up to find you, but you were lost in the crowd. Feeling eyes on him, he looked to his left, to see Anthony staring at him.
"What?" Benedict started.
Anthony stuck out his lip a bit and shook his head. "Nothing. How's Y/n?"
Benedict instinctively looked out at the crowd again. "Stressed."
Anthony nodded his head. "And you?"
Benedict looked over at him and furrowed his brow. "Well, I suppose I am anxious for them."
"Is that all?"
"What do you mean?" Benedict asked turning towards him.
Anthony shrugged his shoulders a bit. "I'm just wondering if that's all you feel. I expected you to feel...more, is all."
"More? More than wh-?" Benedict questioned as his eyes flicked to the crowd. Suddenly his words dies on his lips when he spotted you arm in arm with a man he did not know. You had a shy smile on your face as you moved to the dance floor with him.
Benedict watched as you began the dance. The man circled you, keeping his eyes on you in an intense stare. He said something to you, and you laughed. Benedict felt his gut clench and his chest tighten.
"Ah, Viscount Hawthorne." Anthony commented, seeing who you were dancing with.
"A Viscount?" Benedict asked. "Surely Y/n wouldn't be interested in him."
"What's wrong with a Viscount?" Anthony asked definsively.
"I just mean Y/n doesn't want a title, nor would they want the duties that come with it. Surely there is someone better they could be dancing with."
Anthony smiled as he watched his brother. "And are you going to tell Y/n that?"
"Well, no. I don't know. Maybe. If I did, I would be acting in Y/n's best interest."
"Are you sure you're not acting in yours?"
"What does that mean?"
"I just mean, maybe you don't want to let go of Y/n."
Benedict looked back at you, watching as you smiled and danced with the Viscount. He felt his heart pounding at the sight. Shrugging his shoulder a bit he looked at Anthony. "Well, I mean, who would want to watch their best friend be taken away?"
Anthony rolled his eyes and shook his head. Lightly patting his brother's shoulder, Anthony gave him a small incredulous smile before walking off, leaving Benedict confused and speechless.
Benedict found himself looking for you again. His eyes watched you as you gracefully danced among the crowd. You were by far the most attractive person there. He found himself smiling fondly at you, admiring the smile on your face. This was the first time he was seeing you dance from a distance. Usually he was the one across from you, the one smiling and talking with you while dancing.
Realizing that the song playing was different than before, he figured out you were dancing twice in a row with the Viscount. If that was so, then you must truly be interested in him.
Benedict felt his heart drop at this thought. Suddenly he thought forward in time. Seeing you less and less as you spent your days with the Viscount. Him courting you. Then you getting married. Him never getting to dance with you again. Benedict watching you smile and laugh for him instead. Watching you love another man. Another man that wasn't him.
Just then, your eyes stretched out along the room, locking with Benedict. Your eyes seemed to brighten a bit, your smile widened, just for him. Only for a moment, but he saw it. For the first time, he saw it.
'Oh.'
Benedict stared at you, his heart racing, his head spinning. The realization coming over him that what he had been feeling all this time wasn't love for a friend. It was more, it was romantic love.
Suddenly everything else flashed through his mind. The way he would seek you out in every room. How you knew all of his secrets, his dreams, and fears. And how you were never afraid to tell him yours. The sudden desire he would get to take your hand in his when you were walking together. The way his heart would race when he saw you enter a room. How happy he was when you danced together. How you could make each other laugh and smile like no one else.
How had he convinced himself that he still only saw you as a friend? When did it change? When had you become more important to him than anyone? When had he fallen so deeply for you?
Suddenly it donned on him what Anthony meant. 'Are you sure you're not acting in yours?' He was. He did not wish to drag you away from the Viscount for your own good. He wanted to do it for his. So he would not lose you. So he would not lose the love of his life.
Anthony had seen it when Benedict did not. Looking across the room, he locked eyes with his brother. Anthony's face changed as he could see the realization in Benedict's eyes, and the uncertainty. Anthony motioned his head towards you before looking back at Benedict and nodding encouragingly.
Benedict's eyes landed back on you. The song was over, another would be starting soon. You were smiling and talking to your friends, sparing a glance or two at the Viscount, who watched you closely, as though you were prey.
Benedict felt another knot of jealousy in his gut, and before he knew it, he was striding across the room. He noticed the Viscount making his way back towards you, and noted another nearby man watching you. Swiftly Benedict stepped up beside you, and your eyes shot up to meet his.
"Ben." You greeted with a smile.
Reaching out his hand he smiled at you. "Dance?"
He could see you were surprised at his actions, having thought that he would stay away from you throughout the night. Leaving only suitors to approach you. But unbeknownst to you, Benedict now saw himself as such.
Though you were surprised and a bit confused, you took Benedict's hand with a smile. You would always be ready to accept a dance with him. Though suddenly, a sad thought passed through your mind, telling you this might be one of the last.
As you began your dance with Benedict, you noted the way his eyes seemed to shine a bit differently. There was something there, that hadn't been before. His eyes never seemed to leave you, and he looked at you in a strange way. Not an unwelcome one, but it was new.
Stepping closer, your hands hovering in front of each others, faces close, you spoke softly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Benedict's smile grew a bit more as you stepped away from one another, circling with the music. With a step closer, came his answer. His voice low, but strong, his smile bright, but not teasing. "You look amazing."
Your voice caught in your throat at his compliment. He had never once complimented you like that. He had told you you looked nice, proper, elegant, or he would tease your tailored shiny clothes, or un-moving hairstyles. But never once had he said you looked "amazing" Why was he saying it now? And why did he say it like that.
He noted your loss of words, and the slight change in tint of your face, and smiled to himself. He kept his eyes locked with yours throughout the dance, relishing in the soft touches of your hands or shoulders as you crossed paths during the dance.
Every time he had danced with you before, he hadn't picked up on the electricity that ran through his skin every time you touched. But he knew there was something that always made him want to dance with you, and never stop.
Much sooner than he wanted, the song ended, and you were now standing in silence across from each other. His eyes were still steady staring into yours as he found the courage to speak again. But just as he opened his mouth, he was interrupted when your mother approached.
"Me and your father have someone we want you to meet." Sparing Benedict a smile, your mother began to drag you off before he could say anything.
As you were pulled away, you looked over your mother's shoulder, locking onto Benedict's eyes one more time before he disappeared in the crowd.
Benedict felt his courage falter as your mother took you away. She must think he was working with you to avoid suitors. And though in a way that was what he was doing, it was not for the reason she would think, or expect. For she had long since given up hope that you and Benedict would become betrothed, though the thought had many a time crossed her mind over the years.
Benedict sought you out various times throughout the night, but was thwarted each time. He suffered throughout the rest of the ball, watching as you danced with man after man, and the Viscount two more times by the end of the night.
His mind was racing the entire time, as he pleaded for the ball to end. And by the time it did, he was tormenting himself with 'what if's' and 'what now', as he saw your carriage speed off into the night before he had to chance to see you again.
Anthony must have seen, or understood what had happened, for he did not bother or question his brother. But patted him on the back as he passed.
Benedict thoughts kept him up throughout the night. He sat alone in the studio, paper and pencil in hand as he sketched his thoughts away. At his feet sat a pile of crumpled and thrown out drawings.
Ripping off another page and tossing it to the floor, Benedict sighed, looking around the room at the paintings on the walls. His eyes paused on an old painting, a portrait. As Benedict stared at it, he noticed similarities to you. The eyes were a similar color, but the shape of the face wasn't right, nor the color of the hair.
Suddenly feeling the inspiration to draw you, he began to sketch, quickly, yet precisely. He had drawn you before, when you agreed to help him study the curvature of hands, or how to properly draw a nose. But now it felt different. Your face appeared on the paper from memory, every delicate feature he didn't know he knew so well.
By the time the morning light began to fill the room, the drawing was done. He smiled at it, as he looked at the familiar profile. Every curve, every feature, every freckle or spot, directly from memory, where you lived so permanently. It was perfect. It was you.
Looking at the clock, he began to feel restless, he wanted to see you, needed to. You would be waking soon, and then you would be getting ready to meet your suitors. Rising, he looked down at his disheveled appearance before rushing to his room to change.
-----
You spent your morning watching as your mother paced in and out of the room, making notes on your appearance. Reminding you of the do's and don't's of meeting suitors. All while you sat in a silent panic, worried for what was to come. Looking out the window, your mind wandered to Benedict.
Throughout the rest of the ball the previous night, you often saw him watching you. The look in his eyes, his demeanor, it was different. Your mother even noticed and commented on it, saying he was being protective of you. You knew that could be it, but something in you told you it wasn't, that it was something more. The way he looked at you when you danced, he had never looked at you like that before.
You kept catching yourself imagining he had finally seen that you had feelings for him, causing him to feel them in return. You shunned the thought, thinking it childish. Those kind of feelings, those deep feelings that you had for him, took years to build. Surely he couldn't have suddenly developed them over night.
No, surely not. You would have to accept it. This was it. Your feelings for him would have to be pushed away. You had to accept someone else in exchange. Perhaps the Viscount? He was nice, handsome, and certainly interested in you.
Sighing you shook your head. No, it didn't matter who walked through those doors with compliments and flowers. None of them could hold a candle to Benedict.
"Are you alright Mx.?"
You looked up, seeing the reflection of your maid in the mirror, looking at you with worry. You had known her for so long, she was one of the few people who knew of your feelings toward Benedict. You even mentioned his odd behavior last night.
You smiled, and nodded. "Just nervous."
She smiled at you. "Yes, I can imagine." She paused, seemingly thinking for a moment before she spoke cautiously. "Do you think he'll come?"
You met her eyes in the reflection and then looked down, feeling an ache in your chest. "No. No I don't think he will."
-----
Benedict ran through what he was going to say as he marched down the street. His stride was long and fast, and his face must have been one of determination as people watched him past with wonder, or stepped quickly out of his path.
Walking up to your door, he let out a breath of relief as he saw he had arrived before any suitors. He knew he was far earlier than anyone was expected at the house, but he could not wait any longer.
As you sat in the sitting room, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve, your mother fitted around the room with a servant, preparing for the suitors. Both of you wre surprised when the door swung open, and a visitor was announced
"It's much to early, who would come at this time?" Your mother asked only moments before Benedict appeared in the room. "Oh, Benedict." Your mother exclaimed as she let out a breath of relief. "What on Earth are you doing here so early?"
Your eyes were wide with surprise and uncertainty, waiting for his response. His eyes passed over your mother and landed on you, you saw the nervousness in his gaze, and you held your breath.
Before he could speak, your mother began to talk again. "Oh, is it that you are worried about who will come? Protective as ever. With you here, the suitors might all run off." She joked.
"That's not why I'm here." He finally spoke. "I mean, I'm not here as a friend."
"Has something happened?" Your mother asked, missing the point of his words.
You however understood them, as you stood up quickly, your heart jumping in your chest. His eyes stared past your mothers shoulder, and straight into yours.
Your mother noticed this, and turned to look at you, seeing how your eyes were locked with his. Suddenly realization crossed her features. "Oh. Oh I see. Very well then, I will step out and give you two a moment."
You stood nervously by the couch as your mother all but sprinted from the room, giving you once last glance as she closed the doors behind Benedict.
You and Benedict stood in silence, and for the first time ever, you felt awkward around him. Taking a step forward, you opened your mouth, but faltered.
Seeing that you were unsure of what to say or do, Benedict cleared his throat before reaching into his coat. "I have something for you."
You watched as he pulled out a rolled piece of parchment paper. Walking up to you, he gave it to you. Slowly, you unraveled the paper, and stared wide-eyed at the beautiful and detailed drawing of you.
"Ben, th-this is amazing." You smiled down at the drawing, and he felt his heart flutter.
"I would...like to put it down in paint some day." He said softly.
You looked up, meeting his eyes. "How long have you been working on this?"
He let out a soft chuckle. "All last night. I started it, and didn't stop until it was done."
You looked down at it again, noting the detail in every spot. You wondered how he could have done it in one night so perfectly. "Why?" You asked suddenly, looking up at him. There were so many questions all tied into that one word.
'Why now?' 'What does it mean?' 'Why are you here?'
Benedict smiled at you, it was faint, almost guilty. "Because I love you."
'As your friend' is what you expected to follow, but it didn't. And the look in hi eyes told you that was not what he meant. Your heart seemed to stop for a moment, your breath stopped, your chest clenched. This was too good to be true.
You shook you head and let out a scoff. "Don't say that."
Benedict frowned. "Why not?"
"Don't say it unless you mean it." You reiterated, your voice held a tone of desperation.
Benedict shook his head as he took a step closer to you, he was so close. You looked down at the ground, and closed your eyes in desperation as you felt him place his hands on your arms "Y/n. Look at me."
Taking a breath, you looked up, meeting his eyes. You spoke softly, afraid to speak any louder. "Please don't lie to me."
Benedict felt his heart ache in his chest. "I would never lie to you."
"If this is just some- some, ploy to get me out of having to marry someone I don't know, I, I can't handle that. You can't do that to me. Not after all this time, I've been pushing away these feelings, telling myself you could never feel the same. So don't- don't lie to me Benedict please."
Suddenly, before you could say more, Benedict pulled you forward. His lips crashed against yours, and you fell completely still. His hands cupped either side of your face as he deepened the kiss. Your mind went blank, and you felt yourself begin to give in, just as he pulled away.
Your eyes opened, and met his, as he still held your face in his hands. He whispered softly. "I'm not lying to you." He smiled reassuringly. "I was lying to myself. All these years I convinced myself what I was feeling was just friendship, but it wasn't. Last night when I saw you dancing with that Viscount, I realized I might lose you. And I was so scared of that. And then I realized why. I wasn't just scared to lose you, I was scared I was too late in realizing what I was feeling was love. I love you Y/n, I have for so long. And I am so sorry I was so blind to it. You are not just my best friend Y/n, you are the love of my life."
You felt your eyes beginning to tear up as emotion washed over you. "I was so afraid to lose you too Benedict."
Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You wont lose me, now or ever."
You smiled at him, bright and gleaming, as relief and happiness washed over you. Seeing his eyes flick to your lips once more, you both leaned in, meeting in another kiss.
You felt as though your body was blanketed in electricity as you kissed. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you leaned against him. His arms wrapped around your waist as he held you close to him.
When you finally parted, you were all smiles as you pressed your foreheads together. Hearing a knock at the door downstairs, you and Benedict shared a similar thought.
"Oh no." You muttered.
"Suitors." Benedict finished.
You both let out a soft laugh. "Do you think your mother would listen if I told her to have them sent away?"
"I guess there is one way to find out."
Smiling at you, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips before pulling away. Walking away from you and towards the door, you watched as he left, sparing you a smiling glance as he disappeared. You stood in silence for a moment, looking down at the drawing of yourself.
Suddenly, from a nearby room, you heard your mother gasp, followed by a loud clap of her hands and a familiar joyous laugh. You laughed under your breath, knowing this was what she had wanted from the beginning of your friendship with Benedict. And a desire, just like you, she had begun to give up on.
xx End xx
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Concept: You're gravely injured during an expedition that goes wrong, and in the confusion you're abandoned in Titan territory.
Pt. 5 Summary: Home is not the steaming cavern of warmth you made for survival in the one docile titan in existence. Home is not chewing on snow for water or rationing jerky made from your own horse. Home is not a limping gate and flashes of your dead comrades in the edge of your vision. Home is his fingers grasping your wrist so you know he's real and the look in his eye when he realizes you aren't Hailey Mitchell.
Home is not the empty bed that frightens him more than gnashing teeth the size of people. Home is not his desk piled high with paperwork he either avoids or uses as a distraction, in perfect view of a warn-in and soft blue reading chair. Home is not bleeding knuckles and broken pinkies and grief-filled conversations with his fellow soldiers. Home is you, a little worse for wear, but alive and in reach and fuck - he really hopes this isn't some new nightmare rearing to tear the floor out from under him.
Warnings (if you made it this far, you know the drill, but just in case): Angst, cursing, graphic descriptions of injury, injury recovery, hallucinations, frightened violent outbursts, sedation, needles, aftermath of dehydration and starvation, threats, trauma, dissociation, suicidal ideations (If I missed anything, please let me know)
A/N: Did I make myself cry writing this? Yes, yes I did. I briefly debated make this into two parts because it's so long, but I promised you a 5 part series!
The POV will be switching between characters in this one, I tried to make it as obvious as possible with page breaks (-----) so hopefully no one gets confused!
I know this is a long one (~14k words) so if you think I should split it into two parts for easier reading, let me know!
As always, thank you to everyone who has supported this story and all of my work thus far. It means so much to me that you enjoy my writing and it absolutely makes my day when I see people engaging with my work and the kind words you have. More content is coming from me, but for now this is goodbye to Left Behind!
-----
Sometimes - the kind of sometimes that's often and exhausting - when the dead members of your squad are taunting and jeering and stalking the corner of your eye, it's their corpses trailing behind you.
Instead of Benny's kind, laugh-lined smile and strong broad shoulders, his arms hang twisted and bloody at his sides with a concaved chest arching his torso forward unnaturally. Only half a crooked grin with gore between his teeth and the chunk out of his skull festering with flies. He hobbles and winks and reaches with fingers bent all the wrong ways like he wants to caress your cheek and listen to your sorrows.
Hailey has to hold tight to Benny's neck and shoulders as what remains of her torso bounces like a backpack with his every lumbering step. No hips to sway or legs to dance with. Her innards hang loose and bloody, eyes always wide and frightened despite the cheery teasing she spits between bloodied lips. She often asks for her goggles back or makes biting little comments about the endless steps you take as if you're actually getting any closer.
She makes you think of purgatory and afterlife and traps you in the one chasm of hopelessness you're desperate not to fall down. That this is your eternity. That you died that first night you fell asleep in the cold and the damp and this is the forever you deserve. Wandering and thinking and never knowing if you're actually breathing when the air tastes stale and metallic. It's hardest to tune her out.
Daryl usually hops quietly beside them, precariously balanced on the one leg, but when he wants his turn at licking insults and screaming blame, he has to bend his torso in half so his twisted around head can face the right way. He mostly stares and weeps, the tears wetting his forehead instead of his chin, and begs to trade places with you because his sister is small and kind and needs her big brother.
You're rarely sure you wouldn't trade places given the chance.
Sometimes the injuries stay the same but the faces change.
It's Hange's manic grin leering over Moblit's wilting torso as they fire question after question like bullets into the marrow of your bones. Questions about Preston more often than not that have your head spinning and your heart longing and your feet sometimes backtracking to the forest you left him in when you're not paying attention.
It's Mike bouncing and shifting on one leg, nearly toppling in a way that has you wondering if the ground would shake when he has to bend clumsily forward to sniff in your direction, but Nanaba catches him before he can with a gnarled arm bent in too many places for elbows while she buckles under the considerable weight of Erwin's severed torso clutching to her back. They hiss at you and stare and weigh you down without saying much at all.
The roles shuffle between members of your squad and members of Levi's squad, cackling and sobbing and raging. Petra screams and Oluo's split tongue lolls out of his missing jaw and Eld laughs between bouts of choking on blood and Gunther snarls passed the tear tracks burning from popped eye sockets.
Sometimes all three of them are Levi.
Sometimes all three of them are you.
Sometimes there's no injuries at all and you want to sink into a blissful ignorance as if the glimpses of their smiles or the light sound of their comforting voices are as real as the blisters on your hands or the cramping in your stomach. But those thoughts are dangerous and cruel and almost always leave your eyes twitching painfully.
You're not sure which is the greatest hell, but you find that as long as they stay at the edge of your vision, unacknowledged, unwitnessed, untouched by your attention, focusing on taking one step after another is manageable.
So when you're fresh off two titan kills and you hear your love's voice calling out taunts to the make-believe hero playing with stolen gear, you don't blink twice and instead inspect your blunted blade. The edge is jagged and dull and likely wouldn't cut through your own soft skin let alone the tough hide of a titan's nape. You decidedly toss the useless metal to the ground and reach for the final blade in your arsenal as a replacement. Levi is adamantly stomping towards you in your periphery, a characteristic frown to his brow and hands prepped near his gear, but you know he'll only get close enough to teasingly breeze by your skin before fading away like he does every time.
Close but never close enough. There but never actually there.
Your focus narrows on the reattached blade, jaw clicking and tongue like dry dirt in your mouth. Water, the last time you had water was a muddy puddle nearly half a kilometer back. It's been harder to find since the snow melted, however long ago that was, you're not really sure.
"Mitchell? That you?"
Huh? Your head tilts, brows furrowing when Levi's voice drifts closer to you. With a quick scan, you try to spot Hailey's mirage tag-teaming with Levi - wouldn't be the first time - but her ghost doesn't seem to be haunting you like Levi's at the moment.
"Hailey? Hailey Mitchell? It's Captain Levi." He says that like his voice isn't ingrained in your mind, more familiar to you than the sound of your own at this point. Levi's gotten closer, hands raised like you might jump out at him if he steps wrong. "C'mon brat, let's go home, yeah? See your mom?"
"Mom? Mom's dead," you murmur, the words are garbled and slurring between your dry sticky lips. Your tongue feels swollen, teeth too thick with plaque and gums raw. Everything tastes coppery. "Home, 'm goin' home. That - that way." Your head bobbles, satisfied with the direction you picked. Firmly planting your blade in the grass, you hobble along despite the sharp twinge that pulses in your hip with every step. For a moment, you think Levi must have faded like he always does, but then -
"Mitchell stop! I order you - tch, Hailey!" You're not sure why your brain has conjured a Levi that thinks you're Hailey, but as you absentmindedly listen to his footsteps racing closer, you think how you've lost enough control of the fragments of your mind that the why probably doesn't matter much.
You wish he'd fade away already. A Levi who can't recognize you is more painful than the one that hates you. Ignoring him is easy though when you know he'll never reach you. He never does, an eternity of reaching but never touching.
But then there's a pressure, a tightening around your wrist that you logically know must be fingers, except that's impossible so it has to be something else. Something that isn't the steady grip of a hand you know so well, fingers long and always always so gentle despite the gruffness he tends to carry in his shoulders. Your whole body tenses, rigidly freezing like stone so acutely you think you've stopped breathing. It's impossible for that grip to be real and you're suddenly terrified that you've fractured again, that your mind has gotten crueler, that you can't even trust what you touch anymore when it's been your last tether to a reality you're no longer sure is actually real.
Eyes flickering, you spot Benny, clean and unharmed and daring you to turn around with a kindness in his eyes you've missed more than clean water. You decide to trust the version of him you knew in life and brave a look over your shoulder.
It's still Levi, though admittedly a part of you thought it wouldn't be, and your chest stutters cruelly with hope when you eye the way his hand wraps your wrist. You can feel the heat of his skin, the pressure of his fingers, the small tremble in his palm when he flexes just so. Your breath catches because he's there and he's close and he's touching you.
The goggles are in the way and - and the cloak, you need them off, you need to see. Your blade drops to the ground when you reach for the green fabric, feeling unbalanced and small and terrified. The leather straps on the goggles catch in your knotted hair and the cloak is sticky with your sweat, pulling unpleasantly at your skin in your haste to take it off, your makeshift glove unraveling in the process. But then they're gone and your eyes are clearer than they've been in months and he's still standing there, holding your wrist, holding your racing pulse between his fingers.
He's so beautiful.
You risk a step closer, and another until you're nearly chest to chest. His breathing is off, silver eyes wide and sparkling and alive in a way you're sure your mind could never replicate. Not this, not your Levi. You raise your hand, fingers shaking as you hesitate half a second at the curve of his jaw. What if this is what shatters his image? What if this takes him from you again? Is that worth gambling? Your lonely heart chooses for you.
He's solid under your fingertips, warm and soft and everything you've missed about your life together. Your hand moves to cup his cheek, thumb swiping at the stray wetness under his eye when he leans into your palm, and for a moment you wonder if you've somehow crossed the threshold into a heaven you were never meant to find.
"A-are you real?" Your eyes sting when you ask the question, only slightly shocked you have any water left to spare for tears, and your voice grates like razors in your throat, but there's no room to care when salvation is in your reach. "Are you my Levi?"
You meet his gaze again, startled by the pure heartbreak you find in his eyes and you think this is it...he's going to fade and you're going to whither in this purgatory forever, always waiting, always alone, always on the edge of oblivion. Your hand drops to your side, cold without his skin beneath your touch, and your eyelids slip closed as you stumble back.
"Trick, another trick, ano - " you choke, words lodged in your shredded throat as you suck in air, in and in and in until you're on your knees and all you can do is scream...
-----
Terror holds a vice on his windpipe that Levi isn't sure he can shake because you're here, in his reach, in his hands, and if he blinks you might just disappear. Good things don't just happen, not to him, but there you are, breathing and touching him and your fluttering pulse is under his fingertips.
Except you're asking if he's real. As if the miracle is his beating heart instead of your own.
Agony rips through his chest because he knows...he knows. Good things don't just happen, and nothing good has lead you to standing before him now, broken and battered and shaking in your very skin. Before he can take that next step, hold you close and assure you that he's very real, that he's taking you home, that he'll protect you this time, you're already pulling away from him so abruptly that panic joins the cluster of emotions in his throat and he stutters forward after you too late.
Levi knows that your scream will haunt him for the rest of his life.
He's on his knees in front of you with no memory of taking the steps to do so, your name a repeated mantra on his lips as he reaches out for you. His palms find your cheeks, pulling you up just enough that he can press his forehead to yours.
"I'm real, I'm real, I'm real, I promise I'm real," he chants over your scream, hoping to soothe you with his words and his touch and your name on his lips because he doesn't know what else to do when you're unraveling between his fingers. Minutes or decades pass kneeling in the grass, trying to grasp onto any thread of calm, until eventually you quiet into small hiccupping whimpers that pull at his heart. "I'm here, I'm real. It's over, you're safe, you're safe...I've got you now, I've got you."
Your hands dance across his wrists, up his arms to grasp his shoulders tightly, and Levi knows he'll bruise under the grip of your fingers, but he couldn't care less. You're breathing and you're shaking and you're so fucking alive that Levi feels euphoria pulsing in his veins. It's a kind of relief, a kind of gift, he never thought he deserved, but this...this second chance the two of you have been given, he'll cherish every breath of it.
He can't help the small curve of his lip or the tears in his eyes when your voice joins his mantra. The repetition of, "You're real, you're real, you're real, I'm safe and you're real, you've got me, I kept my promise, I kept my promise," in your parched raspy voice is like music to him.
A wet laugh bubbles in his throat, thinking of the silver ring hanging by his heart. You came back to him, you kept your promise.
But then he's reminded where they are when Petra calls to him over his shoulder. "Captain! Captain Levi, we heard a scream, we - "
Levi chances a look behind him, not even surprised when your iron grip tightens further, as afraid of him disappearing as he is of losing you, but this is still titan territory. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Walls, he has so many fucking questions, but he bites his tongue.
His first priority now is getting you home.
Petra and the others are huddled a few meters back, as shocked into stillness as he had been, with wide eyes and gaping mouths. "C-Captain, is that - ?"
"Fire off every purple signal flare we have, I need Hange and a med cart here now!" Levi wonders if they can hear the tremble in his throat or spot the wetness in his eyes. "And Petra, my waterskin!"
It takes nearly three seconds for them to move at his orders, but Levi's already turned back to you, still mumbling that mantra under your breath.
He taps your cheek, trying to get your shining gaze to meet his own again, swallowing at the haziness he finds there, the desperation he's been feeling for months sparkling in your eyes. And then he's really seeing you, heart cracking in his chest at the hurt he finds in every divot of your face, every stain on your clothes, every stuttered breath in your lungs.
You're here, and you're alive, but you're definitely not okay.
Your cheeks are sharper than he's ever seen them, gaunt and hollow with a starvation he knows all too well. Eyes sunken into their sockets, heavy purpling bruises darkening under the curves of your lids. There are red blotchy sores along your jaw and neck from the sun or itching or both, scabs bubbling on your dry lips, dirt and sweat and blood freckling across your sallow oily skin. Your hair is longer, tangled with knots and grass and who knows what else. He's suddenly terrified what they'll find under you tailored scraps of a uniform.
"A-are they real?" You ask him so quietly he has to strain to catch the words. Brow arching in confusion, his mouth drops open to ask what you mean when you speak before he can. "Which...which ones are real? Petra...she must be because you - you spoke to her dire - directly, but the others...you - I - which ones - " You ramble on air, eyes flicking between him and the purple smoke now drifting over his shoulder, panic sharpening the tense curve of your spine.
Levi holds back a frown, tapping your cheek again in the hopes of helping you focus. Your ramble stops, but your breaths are too quick and eyes too wide. He carefully places your hand over his chest and takes a deep calming breath, finding he needs it as much as you probably do. "Follow me, breath with me, I've got you," he coaches with a soft voice. "I'm real, Petra's real, Oluo is real, Eld is real, Gunther is real. Say it with me."
"You are real," you begin hesitantly, pupils flickering. "Petra is real. Oluo and Eld and Gunther are real. They're real. Petra, Oluo, Eld, Gunther. You, you're real." You lean forward, burying your face in his neck and sighing through the stutter of a sob as his arms automatically wrap around your body. You're solid in his grasp but thin, so fucking thin and he wants to snap at whatever's taking Hange so long.
"I love you, so fucking much." He whispers into your hair he pretends doesn't smell rancid, pulling you closer. Levi can't believe he's holding you again, heartbeat against heartbeat. "I love you, I love you, I love you," he mumbles between reverent sighs of your name because he can't remember when he last said it before your disappearance and he's not willing to let another second pass without making sure you know. He hates himself for ever hesitating to say the words before.
Petra is quickly kneeling by his side, waterskin heavy in her shaking hands as she stares at you in his arms like she's seeing a ghost. Which, for all intents and purposes, she is. Her eyes meet his above your head, and the horror of what it means to find you here alive is clear on her face.
Levi reluctantly pulls back from your embrace, motioning at Eld, Gunther, and Oluo to stay where they are, cautious about overwhelming you. He takes the waterskin from Petra, who's still staring awestruck at his side, and carefully encourages you to tilt your head back.
"Drink," he orders, pressing the spout to your chapped lips, minding that you go slow. Your eyes flutter closed, throat constricting with every swallow, small drips trailing down your chin. He moves the watershin away when you push at the pouch, watching your tongue lick away the extra droplets, and for a moment he's actually startled to see tears in your eyes.
"It's so clean," you whimper through the barest of smiles. It has him both wanting to scream at the unfairness of it all and worship the joy pulling at your cheeks because maybe...maybe you will be okay. Levi trails his thumb along the prominent edge of your jaw and offers as reassuring a smile as he can.
Petra turns her head away beside him to hide the wetness he can see building in her eyes, her hands tucked between her knees to cover their shaking.
Dozens upon dozens of hoofbeats thrum the ground below them, Levi looking over to see not only Erwin's squad, but Hange's thankfully close behind as well. He's relieved to spot a cart among the herd of horses.
You tense in his hold, but he swiftly calms any rising panic with soft words and little shushes. "It's okay, it's okay. They're real, they're here to help." His brow furrows at the way you seem to shrink into yourself, shoulders hunching forward and eyes trained resolutely on the grass. "I want you to say it. I'm real, they're real, they're here to help."
"You're real, they're...are they all real? There's to-too many, not all - they can't all be - " And he watches your gaze lift, stalling on a spot behind him that he knows is nothing but grass and dirt, and you look so scared. How does he protect you from something he can't even see?
"Petra, get Hange, now." Levi doesn't even acknowledge his subordinate stumbling to her feet, keeping his eyes and his hands on you. Your name slips from his lips, attention shifting back to him. "I'm real. Hange is real. We'll figure out the rest when we can."
You nod, leaning into the palm still cupping your jaw. "You're real, Hange is real. They're here to help."
In no time at all, Hange is sweeping you up in their arms, obnoxious sobs quaking their shoulders and all but spinning you around in relief and glee and grief. Babbled combinations of your name and apologies and questions race from the scientist's quivering lip. You're clutching just as tightly to their chest, though he's not sure if it's in relief or fear as you lose any control over your balance.
Levi can feel panic crackling between his teeth when you're no longer in his reach, quickly jumping to his feet to pull you from the vice Hange has on your body.
"Damnit Shitty Glasses, be careful, she's not exactly in top fucking form," he growls, steadying you with on hand at your elbow and the other resolute between your shoulder blades. You're clearly favoring your left leg, and he remembers the heavy limp you stumbled with earlier, the now discarded blade practically the only thing keeping you upright. Levi makes eye contact with an approaching Erwin, but speaks directly to Hange with a curt order searing his words. "We need to get her in the cart so you can do a basic assessment of her injuries on the way back. We're taking her home, now."
That last bit may have been directed at more than just Hange, but he's not about to negotiate anything right now. And neither is Hange if he's willing to trust the resolute look in their eye and the uncharacteristically serious jut of their jaw when they nod in agreement. The two of them stand strong at your back when Erwin finally reaches them, ready to argue and defend and fight if they need to...but they don't.
Erwin engulfs your small trembling body in his broad hold, one hand cradling your head to the beat of his chest and the other wrapped firmly about your waist. "I made the wrong call all those months ago, but I'll make the right one this time." Levi isn't sure if he imagines the tremor in Erwin's voice when he says your name, but the shock flashing in Hange's glasses makes him think he probably didn't.
Slowly, your hands come around Erwin's back, fingers grabbing at the green fabric of his cloak for purchase. "Erwin...Erwin's real," you hum, rocking further into his arms for balance. "I want to go home."
"We're bringing you home, soldier."
Levi sticks close, joining you in the back of the cart with Hange not far behind. He's careful to settle you gently in his lap, legs on either side of your waist, with your back pressed to his chest. You rest your head just below his chin, tightly lacing the blistered fingers of your right hand with his own. He's as grateful for the physical tether as you probably are.
While they wait for the convoy to regroup and prepare to set out back towards Wall Rose, Levi encourages you to drink more water with a not so subtle nudge of the waterskin against your lip. The flicker of a teasing grin he spots, small and gone between two blinks, has his heart warming in his chest and a fresh wave of relief curving over his shoulders.
He's never been so grateful for his reality before.
As much as he tries to refrain from indulging in fantasy, there's always been a small part of himself - locked away in a tiny box at the corner of his mind with the memories of his mother's singing voice and Isabel's cackling laugh and Furlan's gentle smile - that yearns for a reality without titans. One with a quiet tea shop to his name, no blood staining his fingers, and your soft hand twined with his own.
Now all he can think is he wouldn't care if their world burned to the ground, ravaged by the beasts of burden, not as long as your heart beats and your warmth permeates his chest.
Levi's knocked from his musings when Hange rocks the cart, loudly clattering around the tight space with a medic bag at their hip. They take a cautious knee by your side, an awkward lilt to the curve of their toothy smile and tears still shining in the corners of their eyes.
"Right then, what hurts sweetie?" They ask, but from the way you squirm in his hold, Levi's sure everything probably hurts. He gives Hange a look over your head, nostrils flared and stoic brow arched just so. They laugh nervously, scratching at the back of their head. "Okay, okay, um any open wounds? Anything bleeding or in dire need of stitches?"
"Nothing life threatening or that I haven't already taken care of," you whisper, words hesitant like you're ashamed to be hurt at all. Levi bites on the scoff he wants to let out. "My um, my right leg is pretty fucked up. It's why, uh, why I was - why I couldn't..."
"It's okay, it's okay," Levi mumbles close to your ear, tightening his hold. He knows what you're saying, that your leg is the reason you didn't catch up or make your way to the wall. His lips brush against your temple, reminding himself you're here, in his arms, alive.
Hange is eyeing your leg, clearly wanting to see the injuries for themself, but they shake their head instead. "Well, best not to mess with anything as long as you're stable until we know what we're working with. The medics at headquarters will be far more thorough, but in the mean time, just tell me the most pressing parts."
You nod against Levi's chest, body stiff and uncomfortable in his arms. He can feel you twiddling with Hailey's goggles in your lap. Questions about your squad float behind his teeth. Your voice sounds far away, and he can tell you're back there, back to that day. "A titan had, um, swiped at us - me and...and Bully." Levi mouths the word 'horse' at Hange's confused brow, not wanting them to interrupt you. "Just out of nowhere in the rain, this massive hand...then I was on the ground, leg stuck under Bully's body. She was - she was already..." You take a deep breath, whole body shuttering with the flutter of your ribs. "Broken." You gesture to your thigh. "Dislocated." Your knee. "Cut open." Your calf. "Broken" Your ankle. "I did what I could...I - " You turn, looking up at Levi with wide watery eyes that have fear pulling at his throat. "I had to eat Bully."
Levi closes his eyes in sorrow, touching his forehead to yours. "You did what you had to, you survived."
Hange clears their throat, looking awkward as they pull at their collar. "Any, um, anything else?"
Levi finds himself wanting to ask about the hallucinations, about what you're seeing that has you so frightened, but he swallows the words.
"I'm pretty sure everything is bruised in some way," you actually joke, pulling half a smile from Hange. "Oh, and - um..." You pause, pulling your hand from Levi's lingering grasp to unwind the scraps of fabric on your left hand. Levi's chest constricts at the sight of two severed stumps, burned on the ends. The silver ring he gifted you all those months ago with a promise in his heart shines safely on your thumb. "Frostbite, weeks ago, before the snow melted. I didn't want it to spread."
He knows the image of you having to cut off your own fingers will appear in his nightmares. He knows every injury, every tear, every scared whimper will haunt him with the rest of his failures.
Hange stops asking after that, holding their tongue and carefully hiding the horror in their eyes with a flash of their glasses. They try to make you as comfortable as possible with spare blankets as the jostling of the cart knocks you all back and forth. Erwin heads the convoy, obviously, with Levi's squad and Hange's squad flanking the cart on either side as a protective guard. Levi spots Mike's squad joining their ranks, stationing themselves at the back of the cart with hard eyes focused intently on your trembling form in his arms. He shares an understanding nod with the larger man.
When they pass through the gate into Trost, blissfully lucky to have not encountered any titans on their retreat, Levi can feel the tension bleeding from your body, a heavy breath lowering your shoulders. A hiccupping sob stutters in your chest that has him shielding your head from the crowd that gathers in the streets to greet them home with complaints and insults and misguided assumptions.
Levi grits his teeth, holding back on the same urge to knock heads and split jaws that hits him every time ignorant assholes scream about tax dollars and wasted time and worthless sacrifices. Instead, he places his palms over your ears and wraps his body around yours as a protective barrier, burying his glare in your neck.
The medics are waiting for them at headquarters, Erwin having sent a scout ahead to warn them about their arrival, so Levi is quick to pick you up in his arms, stable behind your back and under your knees, careful about the movement of your leg. He hops off the back of the cart, jerking his head to the nearest wide-eyed medic, an older woman named Martha if he remembers right, to get her to follow him. She's close on his heels, listening to Hange as they explain the basics of what they know of your condition to Martha.
He handles you like delicate fractured glass, carefully placing you on the nearest bed in the infirmary. You frantically grapple with his arm, panic surging in your eyes. Levi traces your cheek, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here the whole time." He ducks his head, holding your gaze steadily. "Say it with me. I'm real, Hange's real, Martha is real. She's here to help."
You smile so beautifully through chapped bloody lips that his breath catches in his throat. "You're real, Hange's real, Martha is real. She's here to help," you repeat, tapping his hand on your cheek.
Martha steps up to the other side of the bed, pulling a tray of supplies behind her and shuffling a clipboard in her hands. "Okay, Squad Leader Hange has filled me in on your situation. I'm so sorry, dear." She speaks calmly and clearly, a gentle authority to her tone. He can tell she's experienced with frightened and traumatized patients, she'd have to be working within the Scout Regiment. You wilt away from her, but still offer a hesitant curl of your lips in return. "This may be scary to hear, but I think we can do our best to help you if you're sedated. I know - " she continues quickly as you stiffen with trepidation. "I know that's not ideal, but I need you to trust me. All we want to do is help."
Levi frowns, not particularly fond of the idea either, but a quick questioning look at Hange makes the decision for him. The concern in their expression is evident, nodding in agreement with Martha, and Levi trusts that Hange knows what's best in this situation more than anyone. He looks down at you, meeting your quivering eyes as he says again, "I'll be right here the whole time."
You're shaking your head, hovering between pulling back from him or burrowing closer to his chest. "I - what if I don't wake up?"
"You will," he promises with a reverent whisper of your name.
"And what if I do, but I'm...but I wake up back out there, alone. I c-can't, I can't, I can't, I - " you spiral, fingers gripping at your scalp, fist pounding at your temple that Levi is quick to stop with his own soft hold.
"I need you to trust me," he kisses your hand. "You will wake up, and I'll be right here waiting for you." Your eyes are shining, wet tracks pulling through the grime on your skin, but you nod with him and turn back to Martha despite your rightful fear.
Martha carefully rolls up your sleeve, and the sight of your too-thin arm and bony wrist splotched with sores and bruises ranging from deep purple to murky green to fading yellow has despair bubbling in his throat. The needle goes in at the juncture of your elbow. Levi holds your hand through your flinch, squeezing tight when your body shudders.
"I love you," he murmurs into your ear, caressing his fingers against your cheek as your eyes slowly close, body going limp on the bed.
Martha reaches for some scissors on the tray. "We need to start by cutting away her clothes. Squad Leader Hange, if you could help me. And you, Cadet..."
"Petra Ral," the strawberry blonde answers, stepping forward from where the rest of Levi's squad is standing at attention. Erwin, Mike, and Moblit are all there as well, hovering just at the threshold of the infirmary.
"Please Commander, we need privacy," Martha implores, saluting the Commander with the scissors held tight in her fist, tone firm and bordering on orderly. "I'll take good care of her, you have my word."
Erwin clenches his jaw, looking from your prone form to Martha before settling on Hange. "See that she does."
"Of course, Erwin, you know I will."
"We'll be on standby just outside should you need anything."
As they file out, Mike lingering half a moment longer than the others, Martha turns her attention to Levi. She stares in a manner that has his hackles rising. "Captain Levi, sir, I understand - "
His lip curls into a snarl, hands clenching at his sides. "I'm not going anywhere."
She frowns, but nods in resignation. "Right then, let's get started."
They start with removing the ODM gear, a painstaking process that he's glad you're not awake for. Then they move onto cutting away all of the belts and scraps of leather you have tied securely around your wrists, ankles, waist, and collar - probably to help insulate against the cold and wind and frost of winter. The oversized clothes and boots come off next, clothes that he's suddenly realizing came from other solders - big as they are - more questions building on his tongue.
The find a dry, wilted daisy in your pocket.
The sight of your right leg has nausea stirring in his gut. Martha carefully unstraps the belt holding together the makeshift splint on your thigh, Hange focusing on the wrappings on your knee, calf, and ankle while Petra delicately holds up the limb for easier access. Your feet are blistered and raw. Deep flowering bruises, old and new, decorate your once soft and unblemished skin, dried blood browning around half a dozen different scabs and sores. The muscles of your leg have atrophied, smaller and with none of the strength he knows you to have. Your femur clearly punctured the meat of your thigh and your calf - Walls, Levi can feel a tremor in his spine. The cauterized wound stretching the entire length of your calf has memories of burning human flesh singing his nose and mixing with the nausea dangerously.
He can count your ribs and sharpen his blade on the edge of your collarbone. Joints all red and raw from sweat and overexertion and itching from the filth of months in the wilderness. Your arms are bony, the point of your elbows fragile, and your stomach has caved inward with starvation, pelvis bones jutting forward under the sallow stretch of your skin. Levi can't help the wetness in his eyes, turning away for a moment because he knows what this kind of hungry feels like, knows it better than most.
It's something he wouldn't wish on anybody, let alone you.
"She has lice, the poor thing," he hears Martha sigh over his shoulder, glancing behind him to see her reaching for the scissors again. She's going to cut your hair, she -
"No, no don't," Levi's quick to grab her wrist. He's not sure why, but the idea of shaving away your hair feels like a betrayal, like just another thing to trap you in this experience instead of moving forward. He can't undo anything, but this...this he can fix, this he can save you from. "Focus on her injuries, I can take care of the lice."
Memories of his mother's fingers combing little itchy bugs from his scalp shift behind his eyes, the smell of vinegar and the rare luxury of steaming water linger in his mind. He goes to the hallway, looking directly to his squad.
"Oluo, Gunther, go to the kitchen. I need vinegar and two large pots of hot water. Eld, my quarters. I need towels, soap from the shower, and the two small combs in the cabinet under the sink. And," he adds after a second thought, "a t-shirt and sweats from my wardrobe for her after she's been bandaged." Levi nods in thanks to their salutes.
Mike steps forward, a rare hesitancy in the deep curve of his shoulders. "How is she?"
"Alive," Levi says because it feels like the only true thing he can say. He clears his throat for a proper update. "Mostly old injuries that need cleaning and stabilizing. Sores that need disinfecting. More than anything she needs food, water, a fucking bath, and rest."
He swipes his hand down his face, suddenly so very tired.
"Hey," it's Erwin's hand on his shoulder, holding him steady when he fears he's about to fall apart. "You brought her back, Levi. You did that."
Levi frowns, brushing away his Commander's attempt at comfort. "No, she did that. I left her to die three months ago."
"Under my orders."
"You think that matters?!" Levi hisses, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth rattle. "I could feel it, I knew - my instincts were telling me to find her, that something was wrong and she needed me. I ignored every part of me screaming to look for her in favor of being the perfect fucking soldier."
Mike steps forward, shaking his head. "We thought she was dead, Levi. We thought she was..."
"Crushed," Erwin finishes, a harsh curve to his prominent brow.
Something red and hot and violent boils in Levi's chest. "Find Oswin."
-----
Waking up is harder than it's ever been. Your body feels heavy and sluggish, something you thought you had gotten used to in the cold and the damp and the rough, but this is different. This is the kind of fatigue that blurs your vision and pulls you down into the depths of unconsciousness with kind welcomings and warm caresses.
Waking up this time is hard because you're not sure if you want to.
But then you remember silver eyes and feathery black hair and the rarest kind smile that makes your heart skip and your breaths stutter. The promise of a silver ring. You remember finding the love you've been enduring eternities of hell for.
Lashes fluttering, your eyes sting at the harsh light of the morning sun shining through the window, and you're half tempted to burrow further under the blanket to chase away the light.
Window. Blanket. You're in a fucking bed. In the infirmary. At headquarters. It was real.
You scramble into a sitting position, heart pulsing in your throat and aches pulling at your limbs with every movement. Hunched forward, hands clawing at the blanket to draw it away, your eyes flicker over the fresh clothes - a white shirt and gray sweats you know to be Levi's - and the clean bandages on your arms.
Running your fingers through your hair, scalp feeling raw and itch free, marveling at the lack of knots and tangles and dirt. Everything is sore in the most pleasant way, in a way you know is healing and safe, lacking the twinge of infection.
Levi's ring is still on your thumb, a little cold and shining like it's been cleaned. You press it to your lips, a comforting habit you've formed over the lasting months.
Looking to your left, tears spring to your eyes and warmth floods your chest at the sight of Levi passed out and contorted uncomfortably in the wooden chair by your bedside. "You kept your promise," you whisper, fighting the urge to lean forward and brush the fringe from his eyes because you don't want to wake him.
"Morning!" A cheery voice calls from your right, startling you so much your neck pops when you turn to them. It's Petra, smiling, gentle, kind Petra. She's standing with her hands behind her back, relief shining in the lights of her eyes, pink in the apples of her cheeks. "How are you feeling?"
You offer a clumsy grin, small because it pulls uncomfortably at your chapped lips. "Tired, mostly."
"I bet." A soft chuckle shakes her shoulders. "Well, we're glad to have you back. It's been...it's been hard."
You frown, brows drawing together. Something about the curve of her smile is off; the way she's looking at you has your teeth on edge. You shuffle under the sheets. "How...um how was he?"
Her face seems to crack, twisting cruelly with darkened eyes and a hateful manic grin that could never belong to Petra. "You abandoned him, how do you think he was?"
"I - I didn't - I," you stammer, head shaking. You came back, you came back. Levi knows you didn't have a choice. He knows that, right?
"You left him, you let him suffer, believing you were dead for months. It's your fault."
"It's not, it's not, I didn't - I came back," your jaw shakes, tears slipping off the curve of your chin. The sheets bunched and crinkled between your remaining fingers. "You weren't there, you don't know - "
A frantic call of your name has your words stalling, whipping to your left to see Levi sitting up with a worried curve to his brow. "Who are you talking to?"
"Pet - " you swallow the lump in your throat, looking back over your shoulder to see no one there. "Petra, I thought - she was real, she's supposed to be real. I don't - I..."
"Here." Levi hands you a clear glass of water, resting his other hand on the top of your head, a kind of understanding in his gaze that has your lip quivering. He's real, you know he is from the warmth that bleeds from his hand into your scalp. "I can ask someone to get Petra, if you want. I'm sure she'd like to see you."
"No!" You nearly shout, an embarrassed blush warming your cheeks. "No, no that's okay." As a distraction, you take a deep drink of water. It's cold and clear and clean, smoothly gliding down your parched throat. You're not used to it. It cramps in your hollow stomach unpleasantly, and for a moment you think it might make its way back up your throat, but you swallow through the nausea. The unfamiliarity, the strangeness, of clean water has you practically pitying yourself and the urge to hide your face grows.
Levi sighs beside you, leaning his hip against the edge of the bed and crossing his arms. "I'm not going to force you to talk about it, any of it. But," he makes sure to hold your eye, "it might help."
"That's rich coming from you." You wince as the words escape without your permission, an unreasonable defensiveness building in your aching joints. They were venomous and cruel and you regret them immediately. "I - I didn't mean that, I'm sorry. It's just - "
"It's okay," Levi gives you a tight-lipped smile that you're sure you don't deserve. "Like I said, I won't force you." He pauses, rolling his next words on his tongue. You almost hold your breath, shaking for the moment he pushes you away, tells you he moved on, blames you for it all. "You once told me to be patient with myself, now I'm telling you the same. What you went through..." Levi trails off, and he's never felt further away from you. "You need time to heal, that includes up here." He pokes your forehead, fingers dropping to cup your cheek soon after.
Relief floods your chest, more grateful than you have words for that this bleeding-heart of a man cares for you. Loves you even. You're not sure how you managed to trick him into it, but you cherish it all the same.
You lean into his hold, giving half a smile in return. "I sound smart, when did I tell you that?"
But then he's reaching for his pocket, pulling out a crumpled, stained slip of parchment that has your blood stalling in your veins and any content in your smile to slip away. A letter, your letter. The letter he was never supposed to see; a jinxed precaution you cursed yourself for writing every time you did it. "At first, I thought this letter was the cruelest thing you could have done to me," he says softly, tracing the aged edges of the page like he's scared it will fall apart in his grasp. "Then it became the only thing I had left and...just, thanks - for, um, for writing it."
You reach for his wrist, drawing your thumb over his pulse point and reveling in the beats you feel there. "I'm sorry you ever had to read it."
"Me too."
"I love you," you're suddenly desperate to say, to chant, to scream with all the air left in your lungs. "I love you so much, Levi. More than anything. I'm sorry I got stuck." Your vision blurs with tears, happy or sad or just devastated in every way you could be.
He taps his forehead to yours, palm still warming your cheek. "I'm sorry I left you behind," he chokes on what you're scared may be a sob.
You're already shaking your head to deny his apology - you don't need one, you don't blame him - but he's already leaning into you, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss is all that you've been craving for months. It's comfort and love and warmth. It's wet with your shared grief and sorrows and relief. It's safety and it's grounding and it's your Levi.
It's everything. It's home.
His lips are softer than yours, gently caressing the cracks in your skin like he's scared you might fall apart. You're scared of the same, but he's there and he's real and you can easily push away any lingering fear with Levi's perfect touch.
Martha finds you two a few minutes later, Levi nearly lounging on your bed beside you, hands laced in your lap, exchanging gentle loving whispers to each other. You're half-surprised he doesn't pull away when the woman comes in, but you think he's just as starved for your warmth as you are for his. A wonderful quiet has settled between the two of you that you could just bask in for a better eternity, for that heaven you've been searching for. You're almost upset to be interrupted, but you also really want a shower.
You look to Levi with a question in your eyes, and his answering nod is enough for you. She's real.
"So good to see you awake, dear," Martha greets with a cheerfulness you don't share, but you're grateful someone can manage that bright of a smile. "It's been nearly two full days of rest for you. How are you feeling this morning?"
Two days doesn't seem right when your bones sting with fatigue and your eyes are still playing tricks, but you remember the sedative and just decide your body probably needed it instead of questioning the absurd amount of time that's passed. You hesitate to offer the same answer you gave to the very not real Petra when you first woke up, but it's the truth, so you use different words that mean the same thing. "Just...exhausted I think, and achy."
Martha hums, nodding her head as she makes notes on a clipboard. "To be expected of course. Any dizziness? Nausea?"
A lie is on the tip of your tongue because the fact that water made you nauseous is embarrassing and weak, but lying wouldn't help anything except maybe your ego, but that's hardly your priority at this point. "I had some water a little bit ago, it stayed down but it didn't...feel right. No dizziness though."
Levi squeezing your hand grounds you in that moment.
"Proper hydration and sustenance is something you've been lacking, you're body is in survival mode, using every facet to keep you going. It will take some time to readjust, especially with food." Martha seems to stall as if she doesn't want to move on to the next part. You're not sure if you want to hear it. "Most of your major injuries have healed about as much as they're going to since they happened months ago. You did a remarkable job caring for your wounds despite your limitations."
She pauses again and your teeth rattle with impatience.
"But...?" Levi actually speaks up, a protective arch to his brow and back stiff like he's expecting an attack.
"But..." Martha repeats, a tired sigh lacing the words. "You need to be prepared for the likelihood of permanent damage. The break in your femur, especially, has healed enough that slight pressures won't be a danger, but that doesn't mean it healed well. Your limp has put extra strain on your hips that's concerning for your future mobility."
"What does that mean?" You think you know, but you need to hear her say it.
"You won't be able to move the same way you did before, and if you're not careful moving forward in this process, it may get worse. I'm aware - " she says before you can interject, " - that you were able to successfully operate the maneuver gear on several occasions despite your injuries. That doesn't mean you're okay; in fact, it probably exacerbated the breaks and made everything worse. You had to survive, no one begrudges you that, but you don't need to survive in here anymore. You can't take those kinds of risks if you still want to be able to walk at all."
"You're telling me to quit the military." Your breath catches, panic seizing in your chest. You can't leave...this life is all you've known since you were twelve. Leaving - leaving isn't an option, it can't be; and Levi, you can't lose this, lose him again.
"I'm cautioning you about taking care of yourself. With the state of your leg and your hand, I'm advising against any field work. You'll likely need a crutch for the rest of your life. However, you're still a valuable asset. I'm sure the Commander already has a place planned for you in his personal counsel." She may be sure, but you're definitely not.
A crutch. For the rest of your life? Useless, you feel useless. Weak. She called you valuable, but all you can think is you've lost all purpose beyond breathing.
Your hands are shaking, lips pulling down into a deep watery frown as you fold into yourself. Forehead pressing tightly to your knees as you try to catch air, hips and spine aching at the angle. "I ca-can't...I need to be out there, but I can't - "
"You need to heal," Levi's voice is stern by your ear, calm and steady and him. "Don't worry about anything else."
"B-but..." Your words are wet and so are your cheeks, sniffles shaking your shoulders. "It terrifies me - the thought of going back out there. Of seeing those things, of fighting, of getting stuck. But it's scarier to think that I can't stop this from happening to anyone else."
"That's not your responsibility."
You shake your head because he's not getting it, but you don't know how to form the words, how to make it make sense. Maybe it doesn't make sense, maybe you're just deluding yourself into thinking you'd make any kind of difference at all. Still, the idea of being benched is somehow both like acid in your mouth and warm relief in your chest.
It's not like you have a squad to lead anymore.
Martha clears her throat, drawing your attention back. "Are you feeling any significant pain or discomfort anywhere? Anything you're concerned about?"
Answering that is harder than you thought it would be. Everything hurts, everything needs time to fucking heal. You're concerned that you'll never be able to move forward from this. But you don't say that.
You clench your jaw, looking down at your hand linked with Levi's in your lap, that damn letter teasing the edge of your vision. Patience. You think of Levi's finger poking your forehead. That needs to heal too. You're starting to hate that word, 'heal'. It makes you feel weak. "I've been...been seeing things."
"Oh? Bad dreams? It's unfortunate, but certainly normal for your circumstances."
"No, I mean..." You pause, squeezing Levi's hand to keep you stable. "I got sick a few days after - " you wave around your left hand, Martha and Levi following the gesture to the bare scarred stumps. Levi swallows, but Martha only nods for you to go on. "I had this really bad fever and started seeing things...people that aren't real. I lost all track of time. And even after the fever passed, I still - they're still there."
There's pity in Martha's eyes that has shame shriveling on your tongue, as if you had any actual control in these circumstances. "Fever induced hallucinations are common for high temperatures. You know what else can cause hallucinations? Sleep deprivation, prolonged dehydration, physical trauma and blood loss, hypothermia, extreme isolation, all of which applies here. Your body has been balancing on the edge of shutting down for weeks. Whatever you're seeing, good or bad, is part of your body's way of coping."
"My body is making me see visions of my dead friends walking around to fucking cope?!" You snap, anger and frustration curling your lip. You can't look at Levi despite his steady hand on your shoulder, the upset he feels at your words clear in the frigid grip of his fingers. You can't handle this...this thing in your head that thinks it's okay to exploit your fallen comrades. Your friends. But it's not Martha's fault, so you try to curb the bite in your next words with a deep breath that threatens to turn into a yawn. Exhaustion still pulls at your eyelids and wilts your spine. "How do I make it stop?"
Martha just smiles kindly. "Time, same as all the rest. Patience with yourself. Routine would probably help. You need to reacclimate to your life here. In the mean time, I suggest you keep up whatever you've been doing to help you differentiate between the hallucinations and reality."
You focus on Levi's hand, on his pulse under your fingers. "Touch helps." You trace his knuckles, marveling at the softness you find there, looking back up at Martha. "When can I shower?"
The woman barely holds back a chuckle at your question, and you spot Levi turning away with an amused smirk. "You're well enough that staying in the infirmary won't make much difference. The rest is up to you." The words are spoken to you, but you notice the sly flicker of her eyes up to Levi. Honestly, you can't find it in yourself to be upset, you want to be taken care of so badly your nerves ache. You're sick of doing it yourself. "Before you leave, I want you to eat something. We'll start light, of course, just some bone broth, work our way up from there, and plenty of water."
After the near miss with the water earlier, you're hesitant about the idea of food, but you know you need it and you have to start somewhere. Bone broth is easy, thin like water and stale in flavor. The inner pep talk isn't quite as convincing as you want it to be. It's a hurdle you'll cross when you get to it.
"Thank you, Martha." You reach for her hand, squeezing when her aged fingers grasp your own. "Really, thank you for everything."
That kind smile is back, the one the reminds you of a long dead mother, and you feel more tears stinging in your eyes. You'd complain about being a fucking crybaby, but you decide you've earned the privilege and bask in the brush of Levi's thumb under your cheek. "Squad Leader Hange will be in with your food soon. While you wait, you have a couple other visitors waiting outside if you think you're up for it."
You offer a crooked grin with less than half the mirth you'd normally feel, but you guess that's something else to work up to as well. "I refuse to sleep until I get that shower. I'm up for a couple extra distractions."
"Of course, dear, I'll send them in." With a last lingering smile, Martha heads to the door. "Oh, and before I forget, Welcome Home soldier. You've been dearly missed." She's gone before you can say anything else, though you're not sure you could even manage half a word with the surprise blocking your throat.
Watching Erwin and Mike step into the infirmary isn't exactly surprising, but it does have you unconsciously straightening your spine. You're not sure why, but the idea of anyone other than Levi seeing your frailty is almost upsetting.
Hailey trails behind them. Hailey with legs and a smile and the goggles you know so well. Hailey who you know is dead, but she skips like she's alive.
You look to Levi, who blinks in understanding. "Erwin and Mike," he clarifies in a whisper, and when you look back, Hailey is gone.
Again, you expect Levi to pull his hand back when Erwin and Mike approach your bedside, but he doesn't. Just holds tighter and swipes his thumb across your knuckles.
Your relationship was never a secret, but it has always been private. Touches and kisses and loving words only shared behind closed doors. It feels strange, but you welcome this new side of Levi that revels in your touch despite prying eyes. Letting go, you decide, would be as devastating as losing the air in your lungs.
Mike gets to your side first, large palm engulfing the crown of your head when he leans forward to get a big whiff of the nape of your neck. He stands tall with that gentle smile you know so well. "Still you."
"Hardly," you chuff, turning to sniff at your shoulder. "I stink like sweat, dirt, and...vinegar?"
"You had lice," Levi curtly offers, looking uncharacteristically shy with the lightest of pinks on his cheeks. You kiss his hand in thanks, barely holding back a snort at the uncomfortable shuffle of his feet.
"Under that, you're still you," Mike insists, sharp eyes boring into your own.
You know what he's saying, you're thankful for it. He ruffles your hair beneath his palm like he's reluctant to pull back. You almost don't want him to, but he does, and you choose to revel in the heavy protective weight he posts at your side instead.
Looking up at Erwin feels more intimidating than it ever has before, and you're not even sure why - except the part of you that's terrified of being discharged, of being sent away, of being blamed and scolded for mistakes that weren't your own.
Okay...maybe you do know why. You wait for him to speak first because words tumble on your tongue and you're not sure how to string together a sentence yet.
And then he moves his fist to his heart, saluting you. Everything stalls, your brain has stopped working. You can only listen and try to understand. He starts with your name, you almost don't recognize it. "Under my orders, you were abandoned in titan territory. That was my call - "
"It was the right call," you interrupt, nodding at the widening shock in his eyes. "It was the right call, Erwin. We didn't plan for rain, you had to retreat with as many survivors as you could and...you didn't know I was alive, right?"
The way he hesitates has your brows pulling together, a shiver of fear pulsing in your spine when your eyes snap from Mike to Levi - who looks almost terrifyingly angry in that moment - and back to Erwin. His voice is far too professional, far too controlled, jaw locked and hard. "We were told by Cadet Theodora Oswin that you had been crushed. With no reason to doubt her account in the midst of an emergency, I ordered the information be withheld from Captain Levi until we were safe behind the walls."
"Oswin," you repeat, the name rolling off your tongue like a foreign language. A weird satisfaction settles in your mind, you knew it started with an O. You're suddenly back to that day, rain in your eyes and Bully pinning you down. "She - I...I reached out. She looked at me and...and she turned away. She was scared, I know she was, but she - she - "
"Theodora Oswin has been dishonorably discharged from the Survey Corps, held in contempt for lying in her report detailing the death of her Squad Leader."
And suddenly you can breathe again, air stuttering down your throat as Levi whispers calming words in your ear. She's gone, she's gone, she's gone. It's a harsh punishment, too harsh, but you're grateful for Erwin's protection. "Thank you, Erwin," you sigh through a fresh wave of tears.
"Tch, she got off easy, if you ask me," Levi grunts under his breath, and part of you might agree, but you're biased.
"If it's not too much," Erwin starts, tone lowering into a gentle timber that settles your rising anxiety. "Do you have any information about the rest of your squad?"
"Dead," you say before you can think, startled by the word on your lips. The three men look just as shocked, eyes wide and concerned. "They - sorry..." you shake your head, trying to get your thoughts in order. "We got separated, I um...I found them by accident when I started towards a nearby forest for shelter. I scavenged supplies and then...then I buried them."
Erwin nods like he understands, like he was there, but he wasn't and you're so fucking tired. There's a lull in the conversation that you're embarrassed to have caused, but you also don't know how to move forward from this.
Hange makes it easy, they always do, and you can't help the startled laugh that bubbles between your lips when they stumble into the infirmary, bowl of broth balanced precariously in their palm and what you think is probably a pitcher of water splashing onto the cuff of their jacket. "Food time!"
"Took you long enough, Four Eyes," Levi grumbles, reaching for the bowl when they trip closer to the bed. "If you fucking spill that, I swear - "
"Calm down, Shortstack, I got this," Hange cackles, plopping the pitcher on the table to your right and stretching the bowl out of Levi's reach. "I can handle a bowl of soup just fine, rein yourself in, Mama Bear." They wink at you, manic grin you've missed so much pulling at their cheeks despite the murderous glint you're sure is in Levi's glare to your left. "Open up sweetie, I have some deliciously bland broth for you here."
You accept the spoonful of broth Hange feeds you, half tempted to complain about being treated like a baby, but mostly your arms are tired, and you think your left hand might pose a problem with either the bowl or the spoon, so you decide not to care. The broth is thin like water as you expected, and just as bland as Hange bragged about. It's nicely warm down your throat, but settles about as well as your earlier drink of water. You fight to keep down the next few spoonfuls because you refuse to throw up in front of your friends, in front of Levi.
"So, I've been sort of itching to ask," Hange starts a few minutes later, and you just know they're going to ask about what kind of titan behavior you saw. Thinking of Preston has a complicated mix of longing and trepidation swirling in your chest.
"Hange..." There's a warning in Levi's voice, something you're grateful for but you also don't want your friends to tiptoe around you like something broken - even if you are, just a little bit.
"It's okay, Levi, really. I actually...I wanted to ask you something first," you mumble, tapping against Levi's whitened knuckles and staring at your lap. "We know titans are slower in the cold, but...do you think the temperature makes them docile?"
They're looking at you like you're crazy, you can feel it - except Hange, of course, who's practically vibrating. You try not to wince as the broth sloshes over the edge of the bowl. "Docile?! Docile how?!"
But you hesitate because Levi already knows about the hallucinations and what if he thinks you're making it up? What if you did? What if Preston was never actually there, or at least not there like you remember him to be? You don't know how to trust your own thoughts anymore.
You're not aware you're shaking or that you're clenching your hands until Levi's murmuring close to your ear. "Just breathe, it's okay. Whatever you saw, whatever you have to ask, it's okay."
A deep breath settles your fluttering heart. Hange is watching you with barely contained excitement. "There was this titan in the forest, eleven meters I think," you begin in a soft, almost timid voice. "It, uh, never stood up, but it was big. I used it to...to stay warm. Cut all of his joints over and over so he couldn't move. The only reason I didn't freeze to death was the steam, especially during the blizzards, I - " but you stop, suddenly sickened by the memory of a bloody muscular nook in the titan's stomach. The small amounts of broth you'd managed to choke down churn dangerously. "He never hurt me, never tried to eat me, even when I didn't have the strength to cut him up again. Just laid there, just watched me, for months."
Hange squeals your name, bouncing up and down on their heals. "You're a genius! Using their steam to survive the cold, absolutely brilliant, haHA!" They start rambling under their breath about the different ways a titan's steam could be useful and the benefits of holding a titan captive in a similar manner. Their index finger curls under the jut of their chin. "You said it just watched you? I wonder why...maybe it grew attached, or it was waiting for the perfect time to attack?"
"Preston had plenty of opportunity, he never - "
"Preston?" It's Erwin that interrupts you, one massive eyebrow raised. Your cheeks warm, blush brightening the tips of your ears, and you fumble through a few words as you try not to curl into yourself.
"I like that name!" Hange laughs, slapping your shoulder that hurts more than you'll admit and sending you a reassuring wink. "The beastie saved your life, deserves a strong name, I think. Good choice!"
Mike and Erwin both nod like it's obvious, but you're still fighting the fluster in your cheeks. Levi is weirdly silent at your side, and you're too scared to look at his reaction, so you just nod thankfully at the scientist and accept a few more spoonfuls of now lukewarm broth.
"I just wanted to know if the cold could have caused any of his strange behavior."
"Hmmm," Hange taps their chin, glasses flashing. "It could have, I suppose, but it's more likely that Preston is just an extra abnormal abnormal. Could be both. Redundant, maybe, but without observing him myself, I can't really say for sure." They smile kindly at you, placing their hand on your shoulder with a gentle squeeze. "We should just be glad Preston was there to help you come back to us."
"Yeah," you nod with half-lidded eyes, deciding not to mention that he's still alive, probably lounging beneath that massive tree. Thin arms and legs twitching, fat gut steaming. Sparkling white grin wide and sharp and straight. Yellow eyes stuck on the spot you disappeared into the horizon.
You wonder if he ever tried to follow you.
A jaw-cracking yawn interrupts your thoughts, wetness springing to the corners of your eyes, and you lean heavily into Levi's side when all your energy seams to drain from your limbs. His arm winds around your back, warm and holding you close to his chest, and you've never felt safer than when his heart beats by your ear.
"Tired?" You can hear the amusement in his voice, fingers threading through the loose strands of your hair that still smell of vinegar. Your nose curls.
You hum, burrowing further into his hold. "Mhmm, but shower first." You think you hear the others laugh, but you're too exhausted and comfortable to care at this point.
There's a few more muffled mumbles between Levi and the others before you hear the click of the infirmary door. It's just you and Levi, a tension you hadn't realized you'd been holding in your shoulders and the bend of your spine loosening in one fell swoop.
You can't remember the last time you talked this long. Your throat is sore from something other than thirst. It's refreshing, but still bothersome in its own way. You blink slowly, eyelids heavy and neck slouching.
"I wan' go t'bed," you slur, nuzzling the juncture of Levi's neck.
You feel one lean muscular arm bracing your shoulders, the other snaking gently beneath your knees. Your leg twinges when he lifts you and your hips dip a little too sharply, but mostly you're just glad not to be walking. "Thought you wanted to shower?"
"Tha' too, then bed. Our bed," you add, lips lingering on the silver ring on your thumb before placing your mangled hand over the beat of his heart. "Real."
"Yeah, I'm real," he says into your hair, chest rumbling with his words, grip tightening around your body. Safe, this is safe.
For the first time since you woke up, you're not so scared to let happiness in.
-----
It's unsettling the way your shoulders poke into his skin and your legs are thinner than his arms. You're weightless in his hold, lighter than the burden of fully stocked ODM gear at his hips, and it's fucking scary.
Levi's pretty sure if you weren't in his arms and he could hide from your beautiful gaze, he'd be on his knees heaving onto the floor.
He wants to kill Theodora Oswin. It's never been something he actually wanted to do, but this time he does. He wants to do it slowly; he wants to personally escort her outside the walls and leave her there with a broken leg.
As it stands, he'd only managed a sharp jab of his elbow into her jugular before Erwin and Mike pulled him off and practically exiled her from the Survey Corps. Too easy, too soft.
He wants her to know what she did to you, to have nightmares about the hell she forced on you. Because, even though you came back and you're breathing in his arms, she killed a part of you.
You had to bury your squad. People that trusted you with their lives, people you trained with, grew up with, people you cherished. Your friends, your family. You buried your family with your bare hands.
The severed remains of Furlan and Isabel dance behind his eyes and he's suddenly terrified of the images your mind conjures to torture you, apparently to fucking cope, according to Martha. He thinks the concept is cruel and unfair, but everything over the last three months has been the same. Levi just wishes this was something he could carry for you.
Your body will never fully recover, and even if he could erase the scars and the breaks and the hollow indent of your stomach that has marred your existence for the last three months, he can't even begin to imagine the mental toll. No, not that he can't...he's terrified to because you're seeing your dead friends and your living friends and they're saying things he's sure aren't kind.
Levi thinks of your scream when you thought he was another figment of your mind and he's scared to wonder what the mirage of him has polluted your thoughts with. He's thinks of not even an hour ago when an image of Petra had you trembling and mumbling and crying. He thinks of every time you've looked to him to confirm the breathing people in the room.
And you had to personify a damn disgusting titan just to compensate for the isolation. You named it Preston. It just...it makes him so sad to think of you huddled and shaking next to the steaming meat of a disabled titan, trying to make conversation because it's just so so quiet and if you don't fill the space with something you'll shatter within yourself.
He knows that kind of quiet, and the few days he spent whispering to his mother's body before Kenny came and whisked him away were a special kind of eternal hell he wouldn't wish on anybody.
But Preston was there for you when Levi couldn’t be, and he’s bizarrely grateful to a titan for keeping you warm and alive and maybe a little less lonely until the day you stumbled back into his arms. He's not used to such gray areas of thinking, not when it comes to the monsters that pick human bits of bone out of the crevices of their smiling teeth, but every beat of your heart and puff of air against his neck has him feeling indebted to the predator he's sworn to annihilate.
When you spoke of Preston, almost gentle, almost longing, Levi couldn't speak unless he wanted the sob he'd been holding back to rip through the feathered remains of his throat.
Preston was somehow kind to you and he's not about to curse that kind of blessing.
Levi holds you just a bit tighter, hoping enough of his warmth will sink so far into your skin that the you from weeks ago shivering in the snow will feel him and know...know that he loves you, that he never stopped, and he's so fucking sorry, but he's coming for you.
The corridors are blissfully empty of any stray cadets or higher ranking officers, likely because it's the middle of scheduled training. Not that he's in any way embarrassed to be seen cradling you to his chest. Hardly. He'd keep you there for the rest of his life if his arms could take the strain. But the staring would be annoying and the whispered gossip about the squad leader risen from the dead would set his teeth on edge and he really doesn't want to disturb your rest if he can.
You've already become a bit of a legend, and all he wants to do is shield you from tall tales that'll pull you back to that place.
The halls are cooler than the infirmary had been, so Levi is sure to walk faster towards his quarters when you start to shiver in his arms.
'Our bed,' you had mumbled before and he can't help the flutter in his ribcage or the pink rising to his ears. It's amazing how one possessive word can bring so much elation to his thumping heart. He's glad he asked Eld and Petra to scrub the room of dust and launder the sheets the morning before when he remembered the state of the untouched bed. You deserve clean and fresh and soft more than anyone.
He knows you're not asleep, though you're very close to tipping over that edge, because every few seconds you murmur under your breath or kiss his jaw or dance your fingers across the exposed skin of his throat. It gives him goosebumps. Your touch is something he never thought he'd feel again, he'll revel in anything you're willing to share with him.
His lips press to your forehead briefly before his focus shifts to the door to his office. It's takes a complicated stretch of his hand behind your back and a knock from his boot to push the door open, but you're seemingly undisturbed by his jerky movement, so he counts the clumsiness as a success.
It's still technically morning, so warm light filters into the stillness of his office. He holds back a snort when you try to hide your eyes in the lapels of his uniform as he steps to the bedroom.
Not as bright because the curtains are thankfully drawn, the air is particle free, smelling of the lemon cleansing solution he prefers for his rooms, and the bed sheets have been replaced. He notices the garishly colored throw blanket usually draped on your reading chair has been moved to quilt over the bed. Gently he lowers you into the divot of your blue chair, pressing his palm onto the new point of your cheekbone to get your attention. Your eyelids flutter, irises shining with sleepiness, but an automatic smile pulls at your lips that has his heart skipping.
You wiggle in the cushion, curious brow raising. "Mhm, feels different."
"It's more comfortable than it looks," Levi says instead of admitting he slept in the chair instead of the bed, too grief-ridden to subject himself to the too-empty mattress. The imprint of his body has replaced yours in the cushion.
You don't ask, just nod, and he thinks you might understand.
"I'm going to go prepare the bath." Levi stands, squeezing your hand when you grapple for his fingers like he's about to disappear. "You'll be able to see me the whole time. What do you want to wear to bed?"
"Sof' pants, big sweater," you mumble, clearly hesitant to pull your hand from his. One more squeeze to your palm, and then he makes his way to the wardrobe.
Soft pants means another pair of his sweats. Big sweater is this one specific pullover you purposefully bought two sizes too large because you like the way it covers your hands and reaches your knees. He thinks now you'll probably swim in the fabric, but he knows how comfortable it is because he's warn it several times over the last three months.
Maybe you'll notice his scent sunken into the fabric the same way you noticed the new dents in your cushioned chair.
He remembers to snag a pair of panties and some thick wool socks. Winter is over, but the chill lingers in the stone walls of headquarters, and the last thing he wants is for you to suffer any more cold.
Levi sets the clothes and two towels on the edge of the counter, making sure the bathroom door stays open so you can see him. He keeps the sensitive skin of his elbow under the running water to test the temperature in the tub because burning you is absolutely not an option.
Going back to that blue chair he's grown to cherish as much as you, he sit you up and helps you remove his shirt and sweats from your body. Part of him expected you to be mummified beneath the fabric, but you really only needed bandages on a few especially bad sores. They're due for cleaning and fresh wrapping anyway, so he removes them as carefully as possible so he doesn't pull at your delicate skin. He tries not to let his eyes linger on every detail of pain and neglect he finds on your person and carries you to the bath.
You sigh when you sink into the water, muscles visibly loosening as the warmth seeps into your flesh. Levi hands you your toothbrush that he could never bring himself to toss away, toothpaste already sticking to the bristles. Your eyes widen like he's just handed you gold and you immediately start scrubbing away at your teeth.
Eventually, your spit comes away lathered with blood and minty foam. You spit into the cup he holds in front of your mouth. He rinses the brush, puts more toothpaste on it, and hands it back to you because he knows the fuzzy feeling of built up plaque. You brush your teeth two more times before the red fades from your spit and you scrub away the film of time on your tongue. Levi cleans the toothbrush and the cup, placing both in their rightful place on the vanity.
He uses a different cup to wet your hair, pressing his hand over your forehead to protect your eyes.
"Do you think Erwin's going to discharge me?" Your question stalls him in the midst of squirting a dollop of soap onto his hand.
He huffs, lathering his hands until the soap is bubbling. You lean into his fingers scrubbing at your scalp, the vinegar smell disappearing under the soft floral scent. "You're the only person ever to have survived in titan territory for more than a few days, and alone at that, he'd be a damn idiot to let you go."
"But I can't fight anymore..."
Levi's jaw clenches through his frown, hiding behind your head as he rinses away the soap with gentle touches. "You shouldn't have to, you've fought enough."
"I just...you don't think I'm useless now?"
"What?" He's breathless, he's sad, he's angry. He takes a deep chestful of air and focuses on rubbing the citrus body soap into the sharp ridges of your spine. "Don't be stupid, you're hardly useless."
"Enlighten me then," you grumble, wrapping your arms around your legs and hiding your pout in the caps of your knees.
"You can strategize with Bushy Brow - "
You scoff, "Like he even needs help with that."
"More than you think. And besides, I'm sure Shitty Glasses would love to recruit you into their experiments and research, if that's something you want. Or you could guide training, our cadets could learn a thing or two from you." You just shrug noncommittally, moving your body as he guides so he can wash under your arms and down to your ankles. "You can do all my paperwork from now on."
Satisfaction blooms in his chest when you actually laugh. "Yeah, you got it."
He carefully rinses the suds from your body, pulls the plug for the water to drain, and guides you into a standing position balanced mostly against his side, wrapping you in one of the fluffy towels before you fully register the chilly air. "You'll never be useless, get that nonsense out of your head," he orders, dropping the other towel on your head to dry your hair.
"I love you."
Levi melts inside at the words, hoping to hear them and say them to you for the rest of your lives. "I love you more," he says against your hand, kissing the scarred knuckles.
"Impossible," you tease, and despite the little grin he gives you, he doesn't feel any amusement. He can't imagine anyone feeling anything more than the love he holds for you in his heart.
In a wonderfully comfortable silence, he rebandages the worst of the wounds and helps you into your pajamas. He was right, the sweater swallows you up, and you look so tiny. It's as endearing as it is tragic.
The bed has never looked as inviting as the sight of you sitting on the edge, watching him while he removes the bulk of his uniform. The belts he hangs on the door of the wardrobe, boots stacked next to it, while the rest gets piled into the hamper in the corner of the room until he's left in just his briefs. He's always run a bit on the hotter side, and he wants to feel as much of you as possible against his skin, swathed in warming fabric or not.
He joins you under the sheets and the knitted blanket. You're already huddling close to his chest before he has a chance to pull you in, and all Levi can do is marvel at your head tucked under his chin, hands cupping the beat of his heart, legs twining with his own.
It hits him all over again that you're alive.
You did that, you kept your promise, you came back to him. He wants to kneel at your feet in thanks, but settles for reveling in the brush of your breath against his skin.
"Levi?" Your voice tickles his ear.
"Hm?"
"Can you make me some tea when I wake up?" You say with a gentle timidity like he wouldn't bring the world to its knees if you asked him to.
He smiles, hiding the tears prickling his eyes in the softness of your hair. "Sure," Levi mumbles, holding you just a bit closer. "With a spoonful of honey." You hum contently in his arms, already drifting into sleep.
This is what perfection feels like, what home feels like.
Yaaaass Bridgerton requests! Can you please do a Benedictxwife!Reader where Bennyboi is the sweetest dad to his diamonds of children and the reader is just so proud of their little family. I want it to be tooth-rotting fluff if you know what I mean :P Thanks in advance! Xx
benedict bridgerton x fem reader!
omg i adore dad benedict let's do this!! just a baby blurb for now but i'm totally going to explore this concept in a longer fic, sometime in the future <3
You awoke to the sunlight spilling through the gaps in your curtains and cascading into your bedchamber - you instinctively trailed your fingers over the white bed cloth in search of your husbands hand, but instead were faced with his missing presence. You sat up in confusion, eyebrows furrowed together as you scanned the room, Benedict usually wakes long after you, choosing to dedicate his late nights to art. He says the starry night sky fills him with the utmost inspiration.
After finally dragging yourself away from the soft comforts of your bed, you found yourself sleepily walking to the window and pulling the heavy curtains back from the glass. Your eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the brighter light which now poured through the windows, but when you peered out into the green grounds of your home you were met with the most adorable view of Benedict and your two children.
The three of them sat on the grass under the clear morning sky - though your daughter sat atop of Benedict's shoulders, giggling in delight at the attention she was receiving. The sight made you heart swell in awe, warmth filling your body as you watched your husband play with your children in the most gentle manner.
Although the nannies often suggested leaving the parenting to them, yourself and Benedict would hear nothing of it. You both loved your children and adored spending time with them, nothing could ever change that.
You watched as Benedict played with the two of them, a smile practically plastered onto your face as he picked flowers for the both of them, letting your daughter carefully down from his shoulders in order to tuck a daisy behind her ear - he did the same for your son.
You opened the window and leaned out to get a better view, Benedict looking up upon hearing the noise of the window opening. His smile somehow grew to be even bigger after catching sight of his darling wife. Your children's loud laughter filled your ears as soon as the window opened. "Good morning my love! Did you sleep well?"
Before you had the chance to answer, two joyful voices calling your name filled your ears. "Mama!"
A giggle escaped from between your lips, you gave your children a little wave as they started explaining their morning with their papa in very excessive detail - though you were more than happy to listen to whatever that they had to say.
Benedict scooped the two tiny children up, holding one carefully in each arm. The two erupted in excited giggles as he held them. "Let's go and see your mama, shall we?" They clung onto their beloved papa as he carried them towards the house.
perfect. my first crush. perfect. childhood crush. perfect.
warnings: a little bit of smut and my english.
nymphastoria’s masterlist
first of all, he’s old fashioned
you’d probably met him at college and he would be really shy and quiet at first
but after a while he’d open up to you and would ask you to a dinner
he’s the type of guy who brings roses to the first date
he is a true gentleman
opening doors to you, pushing the chair, bringing your hands to his arms while walking
he’s so smart 🤧
you guys would stay up all night having random conversations
DARK ACADEMIA ENERGY ALWAYS
why is he always wearing suit? we dont know, but we dont complain neither
sometimes he will just pass by a bookstore and buy you a book that he thinks you’d like
on special dates, like your dating anniversary or your birthday, he would plan a whole day to you
would plan a dinner on the fanciest restaraunt ever
buys you a bouquet of peonies or roses
and a chocolate box (if it’s valentines day)
would also buy you a nice dress for the night (and a lingerie)
and during the dinner will give you a expensive jewelry to make you happy
but he knows that jewelry and such arent the only thing you like
so after the dinner he would randomly take you to the cinema or if you’re too tired, take you to a park for a little walk before going home to just have fun
he’s also the type of guy to buy you new shoes if yours are hurting your feet
he treats you like a princess
so modern!michael would be on gen z, thats obvious
i think he’s not really into social medias
his only photo on instagram is a family picture of connie’s wedding
he doesnt update his facebook since 2012
he is always typing correctly, putting “.” and “,” in everything and doesnt use emojis
he always answer you as he can, but always leave sonny on seen 💀
sometimes connie calls him randomly when she’s having an argument with her husband and for this reason he blocked her for two days
michael’s roll camera are full of your pictures, family pictures and his trip to Corleone
i think that michael would love to watch The Deads Poet Society for no reason, i just think so
sometimes you will just call him to have a nice time together and he will show up with a bottle of wine and two glasses
if you work while on college, he will randomly show up at your work to see you
and he always brings you a little treat, such as a chocolate bar or a cigarette, if you smoke
it would take him about three months of dating to have sex with you
theres nothing wrong with you, its because he is old fashioned and at first he wanted to wait until get married to you
but the boy couldnt resist to you and you changed his mind
he still wants to get married to you
100% breeding kink
he moans in italian because he knows you like it
he calls you “amore”
he’s touch starving and you cant convice me otherwise
he loves to cuddle you at night after a long day
and loves the back massage you give him after his classes
HIS FAMILY ADORES YOU
sunday lunch with his family is your favorite hobby
always gossiping with his sister and his mother
sometimes gossiping with michael
michael is really in touch with fashion
and his favorite humour tv show is the office
michael wants to have a small family with you and live in a nice house with a huge backyard to your children play around
what turns him on is you wearing a tight silk dress, it almost kills him
‣ warnings - season 4 spoilers, some toxicity, reiner wants to die
‣ pairings - eren x reader, reiner x reader, levi x reader
‣ a/n - there will be multiple parts to this! i just wanted to flex my headcannon muscles before writing for more of these characters :)
====____====_____
Eren
➼ clingy clingy clingy (and kind of toxic but shh)
➼ eren is a passionate guy, and that clearly shows in the relationship. he puts every ounce of his being into loving you, which can sometimes be overwhelming. he desperately just wants to be everything for you, like how you’re everything for him.
➼ when i say he puts everything he has, i mean he puts everything he has. he’s intense and will do anything for you. that’s just how he is with those he cares about.
Benedict being so obviously in love with his wife and making sure everyone knows she is with him? Ben is so cute i can't
A/n: I love for these Benedict’s requests.
It was obvious to everyone with Benedict’s love for you, you did not need eyes to know of the the man’s affections. He loved to dote on you, love to shower you with affection, gifts, whatever suited him at the moment. Benedict was a loving man from the moment you’ve met him and as your relationship grew so did the love you two shared.
You did not mind when the woman talked, how could a man like Benedict Bridgerton ever fall for a woman like you? Violet would always comment that they are just jealous, ignore them. Feeling a hand touch your back you were pulled from those thoughts.
“Feeling troubles dear?”
Glancing up you gave your husband a smile leaning up to meet his lips. His hold tightened on your hip drawing you in to his chest. Breaking the kiss he let his fingers run down your fabric. His hand hovering dangerously close to your ass as he pulled you for a dance. “I must save y/n….you are looking rather ravishing in that dress.”
Laughing you glanced around the throngs of people, it seemed that all eyes were on you and Benedict. Forcing your gaze away a laugh tore from your lips as he gave you a twirl, your dress flowing around you. It seemed that he could not take his hands off of you as he pulled you in for another kiss. Smiling against his lips he then nuzzled his nose into your neck. He loved everything about you, you were his everything.
Benedict did not care what the people thought or might ever think. You were his wife, the woman he loved, the woman he will spend the rest of his life with. “I love you”
Smiling you cupped his cheek pulling him in for a kiss, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “You must know that you are my everything.”
warnings: regency courting etiquette, gender roles/sexism, use of ‘lady’ and ‘she/her’ and ‘woman’, flirting, benny being absolutely in love with you, improper smooching, few innuendos, a smidge of heavy petting.
word count: 5.6k
blurb: where you care too much about what your mother thinks, much to your siblings dismay, it almost guides all of your decisions. but when you rely on what you want... you find it to be rather rewarding — starting with a simple game of fencing. En Garde.
a/n: i’ve written so many drafts, but i think im really gonna post this one lol. i haven’t written goodies about men in a WHILE so forgive me if it’s bad you guys :((
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“Mama is going to have more than a word with you when she finds out about this, Antoine.”
“Wouldn’t you rather participate in an activity you’re actually good at, than just… Promenading around the yard?” He scoffed, using an overdone posh accent.
The mama you shared was very particular when it came to the season of your debut. You happened to be the first daughter of the Sinclair Household, out of two, to debut into society. Which meant, all eyes were on you – technically. Coming from a well-renowned family, many people held many expectations for you. And, the Ton couldn’t wait to deliberate about someone who slightly strayed from tradition and normalcy. That could easily dampen the reputation your family built through years of networking.
It should also be mentioned that your father is the ultimate source for how the Ton perceives you – he’s a Marquess, anointed by the Queen. So, maybe it wasn’t only high society you had to look out for.
It was the lovely lady who governed, her grace.
Which makes this rendezvous, with your favorite suitor, all the more complicated. Antoine was very adamant about ensuring your happiness. As your brother, that was his job – so he claims. Antoine, is a very generous elder brother – honestly, better than most. Better than his own friends who happened to share the title. The season had only begun a month ago, but he’d noticed that you hadn’t caught the eyes of anyone in particular. Your family was high enough in society to at least attempt a love match – he knew you deserved that much.
So, he examined the pool of eligible men around him. Choosing to ignore their overbearing sexual history, since he himself was questionable in that department. His character was separate from his reputation with women – which wasn’t that thick of a book, by the way. Antoine was a good man who just so happened to love the company of beautiful women. He was simply a product of what society enabled – and there were more like him.
He didn’t want to be biased, so he began with Mr. Lumley. He was an attractive young man whose record was clear. Mr. Lumley had already called for you, offering you flowers and such. But, you weren’t completely sold. You accompanied him to a ball hosted by the Abernathy’s, but no flutters were felt. And, you were determined to feel those flutters.
Next, he jumped to his closest friends – the Bridgerton’s. Whom of which you met on plenty of occasions. Antoine didn’t care to consider the Viscount, being that he was familiar with how he desired his future. His first consideration was Colin. He was kind and harbored that love for adventure that you did. However, he notice a subtle glance he gave to Penelope Featherington and decided not to tread on that territory. Finally, the artist of the family, Benedict. Antoine had noticed the two of you got on nicely – more than nicely. That’s when he began to plant his seeds of love – he calls it.
When your brother found a trashed sketch of your face… He knew his meddling worked.
Antoine is more than positive he’d helped you find your match. So it didn’t matter what your mama thought, or even the Ton. He was a genius.
In a little over forty-eight hours, Lady Bridgerton is planning to host a ball at Aubrey Hall. You were invited as a noble guest, being that you were being courted by her second eldest. And, there you were standing walking down the backyard steps of the manor with your brother – complaining. He had proposed a date to your potential lover. A date that isn’t very ladylike of you to participate in – even if you were fantastic at the art of it. Your mother had come a day later than the two of you, and she’ll be in Kent sometime this day. If she saw you…
“This isn’t an activity for a future wife, Antoine.” You may have been quoting your mother, but her words often rang true. And, even if it wasn’t it’s not like you had the reigns, as a woman, to tempt fate. Spinster age was around the corner.
Fencing. What a lovely sport. If only you could proudly proclaim your love for it.
You were wearing the same beige frock you wore when playing with your siblings. It had long billowing sleeves, but the bodice was still firm to your bust. Stylishly laced at its edges. “Since when did you care what future wives did?” He grumbled, dressed in his white fencing attire, holding both of your swords. “You knew Benedict before your debut-”
“And he wasn’t interested until my debut!”
“That changes nothing, y/n. If he didn’t like you we wouldn’t be here now. And, we most certainly wouldn’t be walking across a field to go fencing behind bush-lining.”
A nervous sigh fell from your lips, as you waddled across the grass. The pair of you were meeting Benedict and his brothers a little ways from the back of Aubrey Hall. “The one thing you can trust is my word, sister. I would never steer you wrong.” He patted your shoulder, sliding his arm along them to pull you closer.
The sun was blinding your eyes as you approached the shaded area, fortunately, shaded. One of your arms slides around the middle of his back, leaning on him to gather your strength. You’ve never been the type to be insecure – maybe this season was messing with you. Not once have you ever been hesitant to show off your skills. The stress of being a debutante, even while officially courting, was changing you. Was this the path to becoming a woman – watering down your passions, or feeling bad if you didn’t?
Smile.
“Lord and Lady Sinclair,” Anthony spoke, bowing his head shallowly, while the pair of you approached. The two other brothers do the same.
“Anthony,” Antoine boyishly grinned.
“Viscount Bridgerton,” You disconnected from your brother to dip coyly. “Mr. Bridgerton… Mr. Bridgerton.” Your eyes flickered from Colin to Benedict – the artist that held your heart between his hands. Antoine joked about with the boys, patting their shoulders playfully.
Benedict leaned down to speak lowly near your ear. “How come you didn’t tell me you knew the art of fencing?” He raised an eyebrow. The sensation of his warm breath on the side of your neck and the shell of your earlobe. A dry giggle left your lips, looking up at the tallest brother. In truth, it was because of your mother’s nagging voice in your head. But, you couldn’t share that. Of course, not.
“It simply never came up – slipped my mind, forgive me.”
“No need to ask for forgiveness…” Benedict leaned closer to your ear once more. “I already knew. You can thank your brother for that.”
In response, exhaled forcefully, glaring at the back of Antoine’s head. Thanks a lot, now I look like a liar. Rolled your eyes, stalking towards him with a bit more ferocity than you walked in with. Anthony nodded his head in your direction, causing him to turn around with an absent mind – looking directly above your head. “Antoine!” You sharply called. He immediately looked down, meeting your height. “Are we fencing or not – we do not have all day.” You pull the fencing sword from his hand, turning on your heels.
“Ah, my bad, sister. We shall begin… Benedict.” Antoine looked at the man standing back behind you, a smirk curling on his lips. He prepared to step forth, but you held your hand out. Your palm hovering over his chest.
“No, not yet. Antoine…” You pointed with your dulled sword. “You first.” Benedict’s eyes never leave your frame, watching as you command his attention. He takes a few steps back, wandering to sit on the bench along with the other Bridgertons.
Antoine inhales, hanging his head briefly with a mischievous smirk. “Ah… There’s the y/n I like to see.”
“En Garde, brother.”
You place your non-dominant hand on your hip, using the other towards your opponent. Your eyes were carefully trained on Antoine, squinting intimidatingly, positioning your feet. He readies, doing just the same. Your brother and you had been in this position plenty of times, and often they ended with him laying in the grass. Rarely ever you. “Antoine, remember, this is your sister – she is a lady. Take it easy on her.” Anthony teasingly called, glancing over towards you.
A scoff fell from your lips as you lunged toward your brother, colliding his sword with yours. “Save the insults for when you’re on the end of my sword, Lord Bridgerton.” Antoine lunged toward you, but you jumped back avoiding the contact of the dull sword. You hummed, cockily swinging your weapon. The sound of the swords clashing filled the space, with little grunts from the both of you. Antoine managed to get two taps against your waist, and you managed to get one on his. However, as per, he ended up kissing the grass.
You laughed in victory, bowing to the small audience. “Who’s next?”
Minutes flew by as you tackled both Anthony and Colin Bridgerton – successfully knocking them to the ground. You actually had to go against the eldest brother thrice before he completely gave up. Which only earned giggles from Benedict as he lounged on the bench.
“Do not laugh yet, brother. Laugh when you prevail that storm of a woman – Lady y/n, I mean. My apologies.”
“Your mistake was purposeful, Lord Bridgerton.”
You responded, as your eyes followed Benedict as he positioned in front of you – sword in hand. A competitive twinkle glimmered in his blue eyes as he straightened his posture. “I do apologize for my brother’s — they’re not known for challenging their opponents.”
“Lies! Lies, you tell!” Colin exclaimed, pointing at the artist.
With a chuckle, you circled that vertically gifted man. “And… You are?” You raised a single eyebrow, hitting his sword with your own. The trace of a smile being left on your lips, batting your eyelashes at him. “A gentleman shall never go back on his word. Are you going to challenge me, Mr. Bridgerton?”
“Only if you wish, my love.”
A beat.
Your eyes widened, lips parting in awe. But, easily your eyebrows deepened in determination. He was playing dirty. Using his sparkling eyes and boyish smirk to dismantle your throne. “Charm — a devilish trick. Don’t let his advances disturb you, y/n.” Antoine supported, leaning on his knees intently.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Benedict lunged, but you dodged. Your eyes were glued to his eyes. Honestly, if your families weren’t near — you’d probably toss the dull weapons to the side and pounce on the man. Benedict didn’t have to speak to charm you. A simple glance was all you needed. “Ouch.” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning pain. “I would hope that my charm disturbs you a little.”
You raise your eyebrows, tapping your swords again. “Disturbs me or flatters me?”
“Perhaps, both.” He pauses, as you lunge toward him. Barely grazing his arm with the thin blade. You curse under your breath, biting the inside of your mouth. “To leave you utterly enamored is, in fact, a goal of mine.”
Hm. You hum, smiling with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. Technically, he’s met that goal on many occasions — he just couldn’t know that for sure. “Is it, now? How’s that working out for you?” He lunges towards you, the sounds of your swords clashing multiple times. Your non-dominant hand gripped the skirts of your dress as you backed up into the treeline.
Benedict shrugs, backing up and gathering his breath. “Fairly well, I believe.”
“You think?”
“I know-“
His voice was cut off by the pinched tone of a stressed mama. You immediately freeze, pivoting and holding the sword behind your back. There she was stomping across the grass, with your younger sister following behind, begrudgingly. “Mama,” You fought a frown with a smile. Benedict had slowly walked behind you, taking the sword from your hands. Thankfully, you sent him a smile.
“Mama, you’ve arrived in Kent! Welcome.” Antoine tried, standing from the bench.
“Marchioness Sinclair, it is truly a pleasure,” Anthony spoke, elbowing his brother to speak. “Truly.” Colin co-signed, bowing his head.
Your mother was fuming, smoke was practically coming from her ears. “What is the meaning of this nonsense, y/n?” She questioned, deliberately. You adjusted how you stood, looking back at Antoine. He shrugs, trying to think of something on his feet that could save the both of you.
Then, he stepped forward — Benedict, not your brother. “I asked her to join my brothers and I for a round…” He glanced down at you. “Or two. I heard she was quite a force to be reckoned with when it came to fencing, and I was only curious.” His eyes gleamed whenever they were set on you, examining your uncomfortable stature.
She eased, sighing. Her scrutinizing eyes softened at the words of the young man. Even so, her presence spoke loudly for her. She was a Marchioness. “Is this true, y/n?”
“Yes! Absolutely!” You may have answered too quickly. “Mr. Bridgerton graciously thought to include me, based on mere hearsay… Very polite of him.” You nodded, sharing a tight-lipped smile with your mother. She crossed her arms over her satin bodice, squinting her eyes — glancing from you to Antoine.
“Hm. Very well.” A beat.
Her eyes landed on each party, suspiciously.
“I’ll be waiting to hear of your victories, y/n.” She turned around, gliding back towards the manor. Your sister hesitantly turns with her. She sent vibrant thumbs up, and a theatrical wink in her wake before then. Once she’d gotten to a legitimate distance, you groaned, stuffing your face in your hands.
Antoine shut his eyes tightly, pinching his nose. “Mama has perfect timing. Absolutely perfect.” You nodded, running your hands down your face.
“Absolutely perfect.” You mutter, allowing your arms to slap by your sides. Hesitantly, you turned towards Benedict, offering an energyless smile. “Thank you for stepping in…”
He nodded, holding his hands behind his back gallantly. “Oh, I would do it a thousand more times if needed. Of course, Lady y/n.” His eyes glanced around the area seeing the damper her mother’s arrival placed on the group. Anthony scratched the back of his head, whispering to Colin. “Why don’t we resume our game later? I can see that your mama’s interruption has compromised the mood.”
You chuckled, pushing a piece of your curls behind your ear. “Didn’t she… Yes, we may resume at a much later time. I might’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, to be honest.”
“Appetite, you say? I’m beyond famished!” Colin began stalking past everyone, heading towards the house. You suppressed a laugh, holding your fingers over your lips. Anthony and Antoine followed after him, nearly forgetting about both you and the artist.
Benedict offered his arm, sharing a charming smile. “How does cucumber sandwiches with classic English tea sound?”
“Splendid, of course!” You marveled, sliding your arm through his. Adoringly holding his gaze, as you approached the large manor behind the boys.
…
Julianne, your sister, sat in the room you shared flipping through the pages of the books Eloise lent her. “Ugh, can’t I have a love like Mr. Bingley and Jane…” She pouted, wiping fake tears from her cheeks. You snickered, taking the remaining pins from your hair, and placing them in the bowl on the vanity.
Turning in the plushy seat, you leaned on the back of the chair. A wistful expression adorning your face. Julianne shuts the book as she couldn’t help but feel the emotions leaking from your pores. “What happens to be on your mind, sister?” She adjusts herself on the bed, where she turns her feet to where the pillows are.
You shake your head, pursing your lips. “I’m not sure…”
“Ah, well, that’s believable.” She remarks, kicking her feet back and forth. “You’re not sure what’s on your mind.”
Abruptly, you stand from the chair, walking to the long window that serves a view of the grand backyard of the manor. “I am realizing, I think, that I am past merely liking Mr. Bridgerton.” You paused, blinking as you were slowly coming to terms with your unruly emotions. Sure, you’ve said before that he held your heart — but, he may really be holding your heart. Delicately, to add. He was a very gentle man. “I may be in love with him, Julianne.”
She gasped, holding her hands intertwined under her chin. “He’s your Mr. Bingley!” Julianne cheered, swinging her legs off the bed.
“Not literally. But, yes — if that makes me the prettiest Bennett sister, Jane.”
“You…” She narrows her eyes, before slightly glancing out the window. Then, her eyes widened tremendously, pointing quickly at the figure wandering in the dark. You were still looking at her harboring a teasing grin, but her attention elsewhere caught your eye. “Oh, Blast! Is that Mr. Bridgerton just there?”
He held a candle as light, but he slowly wandered the field and garden. Palming some of the bush fixtures. You gasp, pushing her to the side of the window, while you stumble to the other side — where you’re out of sight. “You must meet him down there.”
“I mustn’t! If mama catches me-“
“y/n, you are about to be a married woman — who cares what mama thinks, good God.”
You inhale, furrowing your eyebrows. The opinion of your mother has grown since your debut. Feeling as if you had to succumb to this unattainable role. Your sibling had more faith in your betrothal than you did — which was odd considering your situation. You pondered — should you really go down there? What were you going to say? “I will keep watch for you.” Julianne offered, with a spreading smile. “Just don’t do anything too scandalous.”
Smiling, you grabbed the thin blue robe that went over your white nightgown. “No promises,”
That was a jest. Total jest.
Grabbing a candlelight, you scurried down to the back. Managing to be as quiet as a mouse on your mild journey through the manors. Your eyes caught the sight of the back of his disheveled hair, slowly maneuvering around. Hesitantly, you stepped onto the low vibrant grass. Glancing over your shoulder for any prying eyes — praying your mother didn’t catch you in this position. You wanted to be married organically, when he asks your father for your hand.
When you’d gotten closer enough to him, you called his name. “Mr. Bridgerton,” You stated, holding out the candlelight. “It’s quite late, is it not?”
He slowly turned around, as if he was expecting you. A smile grew on his lips. “It is quite late… I just desired fresh air — nightly fresh air.”
“Ah, yes. Nightly fresh air — the best form of air on the market.”
He was wearing loose-fitting clothes, just as you were since it was after hours. His eyes donned your frame, examining the length of your hair and how different it was compared to your daily looks. The effortlessness of your beauty rendered him shocked — enamored. Perhaps, even disturbed. “Turn down your light.” He spoke.
Your eyebrows deepened, confused by his words. “Huh? It’s dark, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Would you want to risk your mama seeing you and me unchaperoned… At night?”
Chewing on your bottom lip, you considered his words. That was the last thing you wanted. “Perhaps, not.” You took in a hefty breath, blowing out the candle with an innocent expression. Benedict chuckled, doing the same, then holding out his hand for you. The sound of your heart thumped in your ears, almost making you dizzy. And with a courageous inhale, you placed your hand in his.
He could take you anywhere and you wouldn’t dare complain. But, you couldn’t help but question.
A toothy smile graced your lips, his hand gripping yours bare. For the first time without some sort of glove. “Where are you taking me?” His long legs were no match for yours. Long strides quickly pulling you to wherever the destination may have been.
He looked over his shoulder. “Do we not have a round to finish?” Your lips gaped open, your other hand reaching toward his arm. Halting your steps, you pulled him to a stop. The grin on your lips was impossible to wipe off.
Breathily, you inhaled. “Did you plan this, Mr. Bridgerton?” The candlelight was being held by your pinky, aching from the weight. But, the contact of your hand against his firm arm was so comforting. He was so comforting.
“I did not, My Lady. However, I did wish to see you tonight.”
His wishes came true.
“And, I also wished for you not to be so formal with me. Please, call me Benedict.” His much larger hand, squeezed yours, pulling you closer to his tall frame. Your pointer finger tapped along his bicep, batting the long eyelashes your mother gave you — sincerely.
You grinned, with your bottom lip stuck under your teeth. Trying to resist the size, but it was impossible. His light eyes glistened with something that was unfamiliar to you, but you failed to fully catch it. All you noticed was that his gaze gave you a bodily reaction. Your chest and cheeks grew hot, where his hand met yours, a sensation tingling from the contact. “Only if you call me y/n and nothing else.”
Benedict chuckled, as your chests touched, looking down into your mind-controlling gaze. “And nothing else? So… My love happens to be off the table?” He raises his eyebrow, eyes glancing towards your lips.
“If it isn’t true. But if it is — call me that however many times you please.” Your eyes glanced toward his lips, but you stepped back, glancing in the direction he was taking you. “I believe you were taking me somewhere…”
His lips parted, but he quickly recovered. Nodding, and following through with his original plan — which was warping as time progressed. The pair of you had been attracted to each other since the moment you met. More so, Benedict than you. He just assumed that it would never happen, considering his closest friend was your brother. He didn’t expect Antoine to be so helpful to both of you.
But, now, his attraction to you has skyrocketed. From being around you so much, studying your face, spending long nights thinking about your face… And body. Benedict is nearly spent. While he wasn’t trying to rush, he genuinely wanted you. All he needed was a few minutes alone—
“Did you really set all this up… All for hopes?” You inquired, seeing all the swords poked into a holder and gloves for the sport set beside them.
“All for hopes… All for you. I mean a game is not finished until-“
“It is finished.” You mused, releasing his hand and approaching the weapons. With a giggle, you pulled the glove that was for your dominant hand on. Plucking the dull sword from the holder. “You are a thoughtful sort. I’ll say, you may have met your goal, Benedict.” You walked backward, watching as he gathered his gear. “Consider me utterly enamored.”
You were fluttering. It was the flutter.
He pulled his glove on, taking his sword and taking a few steps back. “As am I, my love. I only hope that doesn’t damper the competition.”
Benedict truly had you swooned. If you were willing to give in completely, the competition would be over. Or, at least you would've wanted it to have been over. You did have, unfortunately, one more man to defeat. “And risk my ultimate victory? Never!” You pointed your sword towards the man, smirking excitedly. Chest rising with anticipation. “En Garde, kind sir.”
He tapped your sword with his twice, before lunging. The game between the pair of you had gone on longer than it had with the others. Sparing longing glances, causing either one of you to stumble. The both of you attempted to dismantle one another with flirtation, but you deemed yourself to be much stronger than expected — the both of you. It surely was torture, though.
Then, all of a sudden, Benedict threw his sword to the ground. His chest heaving up and down — eyes stuck to you, unable to look away for even a second. You dropped your arm, letting it hit your hip still clenching your sword. The competitive sneer dropped from your lips, a look of expectation adorning your face. It seems he has reached his peak of keeping his distance from you.
“You’re an insufferable opponent…” He muttered, but it was already so quiet. Something in particular leaking from his words. You were so stunned that you could only stand there — in utter shock.
A breath flew from your lips. “Why’d you stop? You might’ve stolen my victory.”
“I wouldn’t ever want to steal your victory.” He approached you, resorting you to backing up. Choosing your steps carefully. Your hand rose, the corner of your lips curling weakly. He stopped advancing, holding his hands near his head. “Go on… Take me, y/n.”
Something in your gut told you his words had meant something else. His body language told you his words meant something else. Uncharted territory for you. The tip of your sword prodded at his abdomen. “I win.” You whisper, fluttering in places that have yet to be explored. He pushed the blade away with two fingers, resuming his approach. Remaining in your place, your arm drops, still holding the sword in your hand.
He had entered your space, his hand drifting down your clothed arm. Leading to the gloved hand that held the dull weapon. Your breath hitching in your throat. Benedict pulled the handle from your fingers, keeping his striking gaze on you. He tossed it to the side carelessly, then pulled the leather glove from your hand. “You win.” He whispered, aligning your hand with his.
This touch was different — more intimate than you ever experienced. It set your skin ablaze, it made you… It made you really want him. This feeling of want was different, nothing you’ve ever felt before. His other hand found solace at your waist, pulling you closer to him. You had no choice but to oblige, stumbling forward. “I must apologize,” He began, darting his eyes in an upside-down triangle. “y/n, I simply cannot contain myself anymore.”
Neither can I.
“You have convicted my soul. You have since the moment I laid eyes on you — that evening, only a year ago, where your brother introduced us.” Benedict enunciated, his thumb caressing your ribcage through your thin nightgown. You gasp, gripping the hand that was in yours. It couldn’t be true. Benedict Bridgerton pining after you before your debut. He was an adventurist – a rake, who also did art. You’ve heard whispers about him and his brothers… And your brother. How they wanted to push off marriage until they’ve made themselves useful, some more than others.
Were you being bamboozled? How on God’s green earth were you getting this close to this… Unattainable man. Convicted. You have convicted his soul – sounds like the words of a true poet.
“When Antoine and your father granted me the blessing in pursuing you wholly and completely…” He shook his head sincerely. “I have never felt so honored.” Wow. Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes watering – the experience seemed to be too real. And, he continues. “y/n, you have bewitched me. There has not been a day where you’ve been absent from my mind. Not a second.”
“Benedict,” You spoke, your tone in utter surprise. He was sharing more characteristics with Mr. Darcy than with Mr. Bingley. He must’ve been doing this on purpose, he has indulged in the works of Jane Austen nearly as much as you.
His hands caress up your arm, leaving your hand, finding comfort on your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek lovingly. The artist struggles – tempted to just crash his lips against yours, but he couldn’t just yet. You blinked slow, wishing he’d lay himself upon you. It’s not like you could really formulate your words eloquently. You placed your hand on his elbow, leaning into his touch with need. It felt exhilarating to be touched by him – you wanted more. “Ben…” All you could do was repeat his name, dripping with unfathomed desire. You both breathed heavily, the sounds coming together as a union – nearly breathing each other’s air. His nose brushed yours, just before his lips plotted on the tip of it. A whine pulled from your throat in anticipation.
“y/n,” He spoke your name like a prayer, wistful – snagged from his diaphragm.
Slowly, he leaned down to her hovering his lips over yours. As if you’d done this before, your lips parted. The tip of your tongue grazing your bottom lip. You couldn’t help but hold your breath, breasts swelling from your loose bodice.
Pulling you flush to him by your waist, he finally and gently, places his lips upon yours. You release air from your nose, sliding your hand around his neck, your fingertips touching the shorter curls of his hair. Flutter. Flutter. Flutter! He kissed you with no matter of haste, he was savoring your touch. His hand remains in the divot of your waist, barely threatening to leave that spot.
Fireworks were exploding in the skies of your mind. Lips moving along with his, slowly drifting into a mode of passion. His grip intensified on your waist, wishing he could push you closer to him – as if you weren’t already touching. All it took was a hum to release between your lips for him to walk you back into a tree. When your back hit the bark, you yelped in surprise. Your attention is still completely on him, hands running through his dark shiny hair. Being overcome with impulse, you gripped his hair from the root – cousin a groan to erupt from his throat.
Benedict pulled back, the ends of his lips curling. “You… You are something.”
“Come here,” You party whine and demand, tugging him back to your lips.
He wouldn’t dare deny you, meeting your lips feverishly. His hands had grown to be more bold groping at your body. His intimate touch was beginning to make you heat up in nether places. Sounds erupting from your vocals that you have never heard in full. This would be quite the circumstance to be caught in – face-making with the man you are courting. Rather compromising.
But, it felt so good.
This is why it took a lot for you to pull away.
Breathing heavily, placing your hand on his chest – desperately wanting to tear the loose shirt from his body. “This… This is improper.” You heaved, a coy smile stretched on your lips. Benedict breathed just the same, his thumb wiping the corner of your lips adoringly.
“It is… But to hell with decorum.”
You laughed, caressing the back of his neck – wanting nothing more than to be entangled with him for all eternity. “Mind your tongue, Benedict.” You playfully scolded, looking up at him through your thick eyelashes. The softness of his untamed strands comforted you, subsiding – not erasing – your unbearable coil of desire.
“ I am minding my tongue…” He leaned forward, wanting to kiss you once more.
“We should get some sleep. I’m sure we are going to need as much energy as possible to bare my mother.” Your hand feels the strength of his throat, accidentally running over her adam’s apple as you descended. “And without sleep, that is impossible, my heart.” The man paused, both of his hands on either side of your face, lightly squishing your cheeks.
“My heart, is it?” Your face heated up, embarrassment flooding your hazy irises. You tried to flee his hands, but he wouldn’t let you. “I adore it. Just like I adore you… My love.”
His words and gaze make it impossible for you to leave. Your sister had to have been awaiting you or is asleep by now. She reminded you not to be too scandalous – whatever that meant. “I must go, despite how difficult you make it.” Your eyes jested, bashfully. Hands gripping his forearms lightly, urging him off – yet, not desiring his lack of touch. “You make it very difficult, might I add.”
“As do you, but you are right.” He slides his hands from your face, down to your shoulders. “I have to put this equipment away, and get a good night’s rest for-”
“My mother.”
“Yes, your mother – and whatever the day will bring.”
You look down to the grass, chuckling. Taking one of his hands in yours, you draw little hearts with your thumb on the back of his hand. “Then, I will leave you to it. Good night, Benedict.” A part of you was sad as if you weren’t going to see him in the morning for breakfast. The hours were too long – you wished you could stay beside him all night. He leans down, to kiss the back of your hand. Holding his lips against your skin, savoringly.
“Good night, y/n. I wish you heavenly dreams.”
You walk backward, slowly sliding your hand from his grasp. A beat passes, eye contact being the pair of yours’ main source of communication – so it seemed. “I love you, y/n Sinclair.”
Thump, thump, thump. A grin spreads on your lips, broad and silly, yet just as beautiful. “I love you, Benedict Bridgerton… Wholly and completely.”
Aaaah 🥰🥰🥰 in honor of Jonathan Bailey’s birthday, maybe Jo’s they celebrate Anthony’s birthday both alone and with kids?
A/n: Eey Happy Birthday to Jonathan Bailey.
It was his birthday, something that Anthony was hoping that would be ignored. He was not sure he could handle his brothers and sisters teasing. Though when he woke up he was surprised to see you missing the when checking his children’s room he couldn’t help but feel his stomach clench seeing neither of them in their beds. Frowning he walked towards the drawing room only to spot you with a bright smile on your face as his two children rushed to his side, each of them holding a piece of paper with a bunch of scribbles on it.
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAPA”
A chuckle escaping his lips he knelt down pulling his kids into a hug, both of them letting out squeals. “I love these very much. Thank you both.” Glancing up at you he finally noticed you holding a small basket. Easily holding both of his children in his arms he stepped over to you. “What’s this love?”
“We are going out on a picnic, just you me and the children.” Holding the basket up.
“That sounds wonderful.” Giving you a tired smile he took the basket from your hands as you two walked out the door, he could already feel the stress sliding off his body in waves.
Taking his arm, the four of you left the manor. Walking down the little pathway. Anthony was pleased with how nice the weather was. It was the perfect day for him to spend with his family. Once he found a nice enough spot the man laid out the blanket quickly setting everything up. His two children quickly sitting on his lap. Edmund and Sophia kissing his cheek.
Catching your gaze, Anthony gave you a grateful smile. He was going to have to find his own way to thank you but right now he was going to enjoy this moment right now with his children. “Do you know what would make this birthday even better?”
Both of his children turned to look at him in confusion, his fingers tickling their sides as laughter escaped their lips. “A game of tag.” Standing up his children took off running as Anthony chased after the two.
Smiling softly you relaxed on the blanket. “Happy birthday love.”
Concept: You're gravely injured during an expedition that goes wrong, and in the confusion you're abandoned in Titan territory.
Pt. 4 Summary: Levi doesn't want to learn to live without you. He doesn't want your pillow to lose your scent or you clothes to gather dust or your journals to go unread and unfilled. He's terrified for the day Erwin replaces the you-shaped hole in his strategies with a new Squad Leader, a new set of soldiers in line to replace your subordinates, your friends, who are just as unaccounted for as you. Levi has to learn to breathe without you and, honestly, he'd rather suffocate in your loss than get used to a bed without you beside him.
Warnings: Angst, cursing, depression, angry outbursts, grief, suicidal ideations (but no actions), Levi is a sad boy in this one, graphic nightmares, self-destructive tendencies (If I missed anything, please let me know)
A/N: Part 4 everyone! Sorry it's been so long! We're almost finished, thank you so much to everyone who's enjoyed the series and sent me kind words. If you want to be added to the taglist, comment below! If you're interested in making a request, check out my page for more details (I work with a bunch of different fandoms and characters). This one was a bit of a challenge to write, I hope Levi isn't too OOC. I have mixed feelings about how this one turned out, it got a little away from me sometimes, but overall I'm happy with it! Thanks again! And yes, I have a soft spot for Mike. He died too soon!
-----
Mike comes looking for him first, not that it's an especially difficult challenge. Between the giant man's canine sense of smell and the fact that Levi hasn't been able to leave his quarters since returning from his devastating visit to the infirmary, the biggest hurdle is the lock on his office door.
Which he didn't bother to actually lock, too busy wallowing in the reality of you, your body, crushed beyond the wall. Not buried, not even rotting because of the chill and the ice. Frozen in the last terrifying and agonizing moments of your life.
He doesn't even notice Mike has found him until the taller man sinks to the floor next to him. Levi hasn't been counting the seconds, minutes, hours, days since he sat down against the wall in your...in his bedroom, journal with that damning letter between its pages clutched to his chest and eyes locked on the bed he's too scared to approach.
Part of Levi is surprised Mike came to him before Hange or Erwin or any member of his own squad really. The two of them aren't exactly close, with an introduction stained in threats and gutter water and a deal that got his only friends killed. Levi has obviously grown to respect his comrade, but he can't think of a single one-on-one interaction with the man that wasn't work related.
But then he remembers that the two of you are friends - were friends - even before Levi was bullied into joining the scouts. You were on Mike's squad after Erwin rose to Commander before you graduated to a squad leader position. Any lingering surprise fades, but still, Levi is grateful for the half meter or so of space Mike leaves between them.
It's quiet for what feels like a long time, and Levi can't imagine being the one who breaks the silence. He thinks Mike must realize this because he just sits, heavy and warm and still, and he stares as resolutely at the bed as Levi does.
"Did she ever tell you we were in the training corps together?" Mike eventually asks, his deep voice uncharacteristically soft in the emptiness of the room like he doesn't want to disturb the air if he can help it.
Levi is thankful for the consideration and mumbles a barely-there 'no' in response.
"I joined later than most soldiers, nearly into my twenties actually," the blonde continues, keeping that gentle rumbling tone. "I have a big family back home. The second oldest of five, all boys, all practically carbon copies of me." He pauses here for a long enough moment that Levi wonders if that's really all he has to say. "I fight for humanity, fight as a scout because I believe in Erwin's cause, but I initially joined the military for a much less noble and much more selfish reason. I joined to get away from the plan my family had set out for me. I wanted to break the mold my brothers had all fallen into so easily."
"Tch, why are you telling me this?"
But Mike just pushes on like Levi hadn't spoken - maybe he hadn't, his tongue feels swollen and his throat tight. "Most cadets in the training corps start between the age of fourteen and sixteen on average, but there was this tiny twelve-year-old girl in our ranks that year. I'll give you one guess as to who that little girl became."
Your name gets stuck in his chest, but neither of them need to say it to imagine that small girl. Levi thinks about what you must have looked like at that age, probably too small and too innocent, all baby teeth and pigtails and thin limbs with none of the built up muscle he knows you to have, but still just as passionate and kind and you.
Picturing that tiny version of you standing at attention next to hardened cadets, whatever Commandant existed before Shadis screaming in your face to scare you, break you, mold you into the perfect soldier, and Levi thinks about if he could go back in time to warn that little girl away from her path to suicidal heroism even if it meant erasing all the time you shared together. At least you'd be alive, far away from the tragedy of this life. Maybe married, maybe with kids. Happy and safe.
Nausea crawls up Levi's throat when he realizes that picture doesn't include him. Selfishly, he can't wish for that reality either.
The sound of Mike taking a deep shaky breath brings Levi out of his spiral. He chances a glance to his left and holds back a frown at the despair he sees in Mike's posture.
"She was always the butt of the joke, y'know? Youngest, smallest, one of only a handful of girls. Easy target. Even to our instructors." Mike scoffs, large hand running through his hair. He has a smile curving his lips, but Levi can see the melancholic edge to it. He's never actually heard Mike speak this much before, let alone this familiarly. Levi isn't really sure how to feel about it. "I started eating lunch with her. I think I was hoping if everyone saw me, the oldest and biggest one there, favoring her then they'd back off. I didn't find out until years later that they all just got better at hiding it."
Levi frowns, wondering why you never told him about your time in the training corps, about the bullying, about Mike. But then, he never asked. Too busy wanting to know and love and cherish the you of now that he never thought much about the you of then. The past has always been something he wanted to leave behind, learning about yours prompted the possibility of inviting you into his own. A possibility that held him back from you for so long, too long. Wasted time. He wishes more than anything he could ask why you decided to join the military so young, what you were like as a child, as a cadet, how you became the person he loves so much.
He knows some of it. No siblings, dead parents, the hardest worker he's ever known. It's not enough, it'll never be enough. And now he can't ask you.
But he can ask Mike.
"What was she like?"
"Back then?" Mike seems to roll many possible answers between his teeth before he finally parts his lips. A sad smile pulls at his cheeks. "Small, smart, real quiet at first...so fucking strong. Not just with the bullying, I mean literally strong." He barks half a laugh, covering a sniffle with a swipe to his nose. "She took hand-to-hand combat so seriously during training, more than anyone. A few lessons in and she knocked me off my feet. I would have been embarrassed if she didn't look so proud. Not smug or arrogant. She, uh, she did this little dance, pumped her fist in the air, laughed. Not even at me, just laughed, like she couldn't believe what she did."
Levi can picture it, a smaller you and that little jig you do for every worthwhile accomplishment. You still do it, goofy and ridiculous, and he misses it. Every promotion, every bet you win against Hange, every time your squad comes back with no casualties. That thought has bile churning in his gut.
You did it the first time he kissed you, not that you knew he saw you do it. It's one of his favorite memories.
"I think it was that day," Mike's voice drifts, bringing Levi back into the moment, "she became more to me than just a fellow soldier. She's the little sister I never had and didn't realize I wanted, has been since she smiled and held out a hand like she could actually lift me to my feet and asking me if we could spar again."
"She was."
"Hm?"
"She was your little sister." The words taste bitter and bite like acid from his throat. "She can't be that anymore."
Levi's pretty sure under any other circumstances, Mike would have hit him. He can see the larger man in his periphery, fists clenching and unclenching on his knees, deep unsteady breaths ruffling his chest, eyes glaring hatefully at the floor.
It's a long anger-filled moment before Mike speaks again, his voice carefully controlled - more familiar to Levi than the soft grief he'd spoken with the last several minutes. "What each of us lost out there, it's different Levi. I lost a sister, Hange a friend, Erwin a trusted ally, you...you lost what you lost. I can't speak on that, on how you move forward from that. But me? I don't stop caring just because she isn't here to be cared for."
Levi swallows, eyes stinging as he stubbornly grapples with his grief. Part of him thinks it'd be easier to give up loving you now that you're gone. Because it hurts so fucking much and he doesn't know how to make it stop. The rest of him is terrified of who he'd become without that love. His fingers flex around the journal, hoping Mike doesn't ask about it next.
"She is my little sister, she'll always be my little sister, even if she isn't here to knock me on my ass and laugh."
Mike leaves Levi with those parting words and a brave hand gripping his shoulder, kindly closing the door behind him.
The room feels small without you to warm its corners. Quiet too. He stares at the bed the two of you shared for months now, trying to remember the last thing he said to you, wondering when he last told you he loved you, and realizes something he may have to actually thank Mike for later.
You are the love of his life, and that will never change. A tear warms his cheek, but he doesn't bother to wipe it away. Levi wishes you were still here to be loved.
-----
Nothing helps him move forward, but at least training keeps him busy. With the harsh weather wracking against the rickety walls, shuttering the windowpanes, and snow piling high like stones, Levi thrives in the chill settling in his bones amidst the raging storm and the extra challenge of the wind curving his swings unpredictably.
Levi doesn't order his squad to join him - not when his objective has more to do with the emptiness of you at his side than honing any actual skills - but they're behind him anyway. Dependable and strong and showcasing every reason why he chose them in the first place. Your squads were close, elite as they always have been, and he knows they're feeling a heavy loss as well.
He accidently walked in on Gunther comforting a sobbing Petra two days ago, drying tear tracks flashing on the taller man's cheeks. All Levi could do was clutch the letter in his pocket, now wrinkled and soft from being unfolded and read and folded over and over and over, while offering as understanding a nod as he could manage before leaving them to it. Normally he'd have a word or two of support, if not encouragement, but he hasn't managed more than a few syllables since his conversation with Mike.
The wind is sharp like razors, nipping at any weak points of exposure on their skin. Levi knows a kind of cold from his childhood, of loneliness and damp and death and no sun rising on any future days. This cold reminds of that. His heart withers at the reminder of future sunrises without you - the first sunrise without you.
He's grateful the clouds of every storm since their return, blizzards you once told him back when he didn't know what weather meant or how it felt, have blocked the sky and sun and the stars at night. Not ready to see them, to experience them, without you to point out fake constellations or make up stories about the sun chasing the moon, never catching it, but rising everyday to try again.
Somehow, he's become the sun in your relationship, and the reality of that has his throat tightening. Pulling air into his lungs burns more than it soothes.
When he finally notices the chattering teeth of his comrades, following a harsh wind and a fresh drenching of snow, he orders them inside to change, eat, and warm up. Petra asks if he's going inside too. He's never been a liar.
They stay out with him until he decides the chill of ice in his veins and snow in his eyes is no longer cold enough to numb him.
-----
He's somewhere dark, so dark he can't see anything beyond his hand when he lifts it in front of him. Everything is empty, not cold or hot, wet or dry, or anything but the soft tickle of grass between his toes. Levi's brow furrows, looking down at the circler patch of green he's found himself standing in.
Why is he barefoot?
His lip curls at the thought of the filth he'll have to scrub away later. He's dressed in the pajamas you often coax him into wearing instead of his uniform to bed. Plush long pants, low on his hips with a drawstring and a material that feels just as good against your skin as it does his own when you twine your legs together throughout the night, and a simple t-shirt he tends to forgo in exchange for the relaxing tingle of your fingers dancing doodles onto his chest.
You.
Where are you? Why aren't you here with him? In this dark empty place. A place seemingly untouched by bad or evil or tragedy, but also unknown to goodness. Maybe that's why you aren't here, chased away because of your kindness and compassion and smile. The possibility has panic twitching under his skin. His fingers flex at his sides, itching to lace with yours and trail loving touches down your cheeks. He needs to find you, to see you.
Levi takes a cautious step forward, dew drops soaking into the soles of his feet that has his nose scrunching distastefully. He takes another. And another. And another.
Nothing changes. Not the light, not the grass, not the pitch blackness that seems to be drawing him in as much as it's pushing him away. But he's moving forward, or...it feels like he is.
There's a sudden pressure on his shoulder, but when he spins around, nothing is there and he wonders if he imagined it. A few more steps and then it's back, a gentle press of what feels like a hand between his shoulder blades. It's familiar and comforting and reminds him of a home Levi never thought he deserved, let alone could actually attain. He knows it's you.
It's you pressing into his back, now both of your hands kneading into his muscles, molding the sharp edges of his bones. His eyes drift closed. He feels a warm gust of your breath against his neck, instinctually tilting his head to give you more access, to feel you as much as you're willing to give him. A ghost of your lips brings goosebumps to his skin. Levi doesn't turn this time, doesn't open his eyes, terrified you'll disappear and he'll lose your touch, your breath, your warmth.
Your hands wind around his chest, tracing your name onto the spot his heart beats for you, the shape of your body he's come to learn so well pressed wholly against his back. A scent so uniquely you surrounds him, drawing him further into your arms that now cradle him so so perfectly. Your lips reach his ear, breath fanning across the ridge and he sighs in contentment, waiting for your voice to reach him.
"You abandoned me." It's a whisper, intimate and soft in his ear, but the words grate along his skin and make him freeze. "You left me to die." It's your voice - the voice that soothes him to sleep, that laughs at his jokes, that sobs and screams and sings and melts into his heart - but they're the wrong words, the worst words. Words you would never say because they could never be true.
Why are you saying those awful words? Why are you driving a blade into his chest, squeezing his lungs, tearing into his heart until his bleeding soul is exposed?
Levi's eyes snap open and he whirls around, but you're already gone and that same dark emptiness seems to expand around him, suffocating in a way it hadn't been before. He falls to his knees, trying to draw in breaths as he chokes on your name. The air feels heavier, pressing him down into the grass, snapping at his joints and crushing -
Crushing. That's right, you were crushed. You were alone and scared and crushed beyond the wall. And he left you out there.
Levi hears what sounds like a horse's hooves thundering on the ground, a sound as familiar to him as his own footsteps. He manages to look up despite the pressure of the air on his neck holding him down, gritting his teeth at the effort it takes.
He sees Bully. He sees you, fully decked out in your gear, rain plastering your hair to your skull, fresh blood steaming on your blades and your hands as proof of a recent kill. You don't see him, riding Bully directly passed his kneeling point, but he sees you and he screams. He screams so agonizingly his throat splits and blood pools on his tongue. He screams for you to stop. Stop stop stop STOP! Don't go! DON'T -
Levi sees the titan before you do, but the air is pinning him down and he has no gear, no horse, you're too far away, and the titan is raising its fist. The world cracks beneath him when the fist comes down, your blood and Bully's blood spraying the titan's skin in a macabre painting of gore. Nausea and horror attack his stomach, but nothing comes up except his pleas for you to come back to him.
The hoof beats start up again, Bully running by with you riding strong on her back. Levi fights against the air, clawing at the ground and his skin and wailing at you to slow down, to wait for him. He'll save you, he'll protect you, he'll -
The ground beneath him cracks again as the titan stomps on you this time, your limbs stuck between its toes and blood leaving prints in the grass as it runs.
And then Bully is back, coming from another direction, only to pass by Levi's begging pitiful form again. The earth splits a third time when Levi is forced to watch the titan grab for you, squeezing until you pop between its fingers and dribbling your remains down its throat.
He has to watch again and again and again as you're crushed over and over and over. With every death a new crack severs the ground below him, the air pushing him down and down and down.
Kicked into a tree.
Flattened between two heavy hands like a bug.
A casualty of a clumsy titan's tripping body.
Slapped into the ground.
Chewed and split between a titan's teeth.
He's forced to see every way your death could have happened, fingers knotted in his hair, his voice raspy and broken from his screaming, begging and begging and begging.
Eventually there are too many cracks, and the earth opens up below him, swallowing him whole.
Levi welcomes the fall, wondering if he'll see you at the bottom.
He blinks awake, a heaving breath expanding his chest and fingers grappling for some kind of purchase. Levi's nails dig into the plush blue arms of your reading chair he's taken to sleeping in on nights he can pull himself from his desk and dare to rest in the room you shared. It still smells like you, holds the shape of you in a way that's strangely comforting.
The bed stays untouched, gathering dust because Levi can't even bring himself to shake out the sheets.
He has this nightmare every time he sleeps for more than an hour. It tears into his heart and lingers, blackening any solace he tries to find in his days. He pretends a large part of him doesn't look forward to the dream because at least he gets to feel you, to see you, even if it kills him a little more each time.
Levi doesn't know how it happened, but he knows you were crushed. There are so many ways to be crushed.
He doesn't bother to wipe away the tears on his cheeks until the sun rises and the day starts, even though they make his skin sticky and his eyes crusty.
-----
Levi is unwilling to risk the health and safety of his squad more than he has already - Oluo had a cold for days after the last impromptu training session in a blizzard - so instead he splits his knuckles in the gym and perspires enough that his sweat drips like fresh rain.
The sand bag is stained with his blood since he hadn't even bothered with wrappings to cushion his fists. He thinks his pinky might be broken on his right hand, it's purpling and bruised, but the pain spurs him on because you're not here to scold him or fix him or spot him when he trains. Maybe if he keeps going, you'll come barging in with a lecture on your lips and bandages in your hands because, no matter how angry you are, you would never leave him hurting.
Except he's hurting now, and you're nowhere to be seen.
Instead, Hange steps into the gym, a flask of water and a small bag under their arm that he knows is a first aid kit. They don't approach him. They don't stop him. They take a seat on one of the benches lined up against the back wall, set aside the supplies they brought, cross their arms and legs, and they watch him. They wait.
Levi pummels his knuckles until they're raw and numb and more red than flesh. He eventually drops down next to Hange when it takes more effort to breathe than it does to punch, bracing himself on his knees with his elbows. His hair has grown too long, untrimmed bangs hanging in front of his eyes when he leans forward, but he's more grateful for the barrier than he is annoyed by the length.
Without a word, Hange opens the kit they brought and pulls out some cloth, alcohol, and bandages. They soak one of the cloths in the alcohol and reach for the hand closest to them, which also happens to be the one with a broken finger.
Levi hisses between his teeth at the sting of the alcohol on his cuts, but otherwise doesn't protest or complain. Spotting the bright bruising on his pinky, Hange again reaches into the kit, and pulls out supplies for a small finger splint. The clean white bandages are speckled with his blood, but the process overall doesn't take long when neither of them are talking.
When Hange is finishing the wrappings on his broken finger, they sigh and gently hold his damaged hand between their ink stained palms. "I saw Oswin this morning too," they murmur, brow furrowing and rare frown pulling down their lips. "I wanted to tear her hair out as much as you probably did. I'm only half glad neither of us followed through."
Theodora Oswin had been reassigned to a new squad considering she was the last surviving member of yours and still far too green to take on any kind of leadership role. He hadn't seen much of her since the expedition, which he's grateful for, but that morning in the mess hall...
He'd gone for a fresh cup of tea, foolishly hoping this time it wouldn't be bitter like ash in his mouth, when he'd seen her with her new squad mates. Laughing.
The mental image of her jaw cracking under his fist was enough to have him turning on his heal and seeking out the gym, forgoing the tea because the cup would have shattered in his grip anyway.
Levi rumbles a noncommittal sound in his throat and lets Hange finish tying off the bandages on his other hand.
Neither of them move to stand. They sit until long after the sun has set and dinner is over and curfew is in effect. Levi doesn't say anything about the occasional sniffle that shakes Hange's shoulders. Hange doesn't say anything about the way he laces his fingers, gripping so tightly the bandages stain red.
-----
Sometimes he stands in front of your collection of journals, itching to read them, to know parts of you he shamefully never asked about. Wanting to hear your voice in the words you wrote. But he doesn't because you never gave him permission into that part of you, not explicitly, not beyond a few pages. It feels like an invasion of privacy, and really, he would be disappointed no matter what he finds because it doesn't matter. Not when you aren't here to read the passages of your life to him. Not when you aren't here to add to the collection. Not when he can't be a part of every passage in your future.
But he does stare at them often.
-----
When the snow starts melting and there are no clouds to block the sunrise, Levi hides away in his office so he doesn't have to watch it. Curtains closed, head in his hands, your goodbye letter unfairly crumpled in front of him. He's thought about burning it, about tearing it up, about writing back to you. He does none of those things and just reads it again.
There's a knock on his door, so he calls out a gruff, "Name and business," while frantically folding the letter and tucking it in his breast pocket.
No one answers him, but when Erwin walks in, any irritation on that matter fades quickly.
"The snow is melting," he says like Levi hasn't nearly slipped in the sludge and barked orders at fearful cadets to shovel the pathways. Levi nods at him to continue. "The next expedition is planned for three weeks from now so that enough of the excess water either dries up or soaks into the ground so our horses can travel safely."
Levi knows this procedure, it's the same every year. He's confused why Erwin feels the need to spell this out for him.
Absentmindedly, he thinks about how three weeks from now will be exactly three months since you...didn't come home.
"What's the point of this, Erwin? I already know all this shit."
"We're taking the same route as the last expedition." Levi's jaw locks, air stalling in his throat, and he barely hears when Erwin goes on. "It's still the quickest path to Wall Maria and Shiganshina, if we can make it work safely in our favor."
"We lost a third of our soldiers going that way, Erwin. We lost - I lost - "
"Which is why," Erwin interrupts with a condescendingly raised hand that has Levi curling his lip into a snarl, "you and your squad are staying behind. I can't afford you being distracted by what we might find."
Eyes wide in disbelief, Levi's on his feet and rounding his desk to spit fire at his Commander. "Are you fucking crazy? We're your best defense against those shit-ugly fucks and you want to bench us because you think we can't handle seeing our dead comrades? Like we haven't seen enough of them anyway."
"It's you, Levi. I don't think you can handle seeing her."
Levi shakes his head, willing his composure back into place. He can't prove Erwin right, he needs to calm down, needs to square his shoulders and hide the agitated trembling in his hands. "Leaving us behind is a death sentence for the rest of the battalion. Don't do it, Erwin, don't risk the lives of all those kids on some misguided feeling about what I can and can't handle." He takes a deep breath, meeting his Commander's eyes with a defiant jut of his chin. "Trust me, the way you have since the beginning."
A moment passes with Erwin studying Levi's resolve, eyes trailing across every twitch and line of his face in scrutiny. He eventually seems satisfied with his assessment, gives a final nod, and turns to the door.
But Levi has one last thing to say, something that he needs to spit out before it rots and spreads in his chest. Something he needs to ask his friend, not his superior. "Do you even care?" He doesn't have to say about what for Erwin to understand.
He eyes the way Erwin's hand tightens on the doorknob, the way his shoulders wilt the slightest bit. "Of course I do, Levi. You forget I knew her long before you did," he says softly, a deep sadness in his gaze that surprises him. "But someone in my position doesn't get the luxury of grieving. I thought you would have figured that out by now."
Levi knows that, of course he knows that. But this is you, and he can't imagine anyone not breaking under the oppressive weight your absence has caused. Maybe Erwin's broader shoulders are just better under the strain. Maybe the weight Levi carries is greater because of what you mean to him.
Maybe he's just so fucking tired and wants to know how Erwin keeps going each day like nothing happened while he can't even sleep in his own bed.
Maybe convincing him that he can hold it together on the expedition was a mistake.
-----
It's not a mistake, but it feels like one.
Three weeks went by in a blur of training, prepping, and choking awake from nightmares before almost every dawn. Now they're outside Wall Rose, nearly halfway to the point of disaster that hit them last time, no rain in sight. They've managed to maneuver the formation around all but three titans, taken care of easily and quickly by the outer reconnaissance squads.
Levi can't decide if he's anticipating or dreading the inevitability of sinking his blades into a titan that gets too close. Energy is buzzing under his skin, the kind that shifts unpleasantly and threatens the stability of his hands.
He's not sure what he wants to find. If he even wants to find anything.
A purple flair in the direction of Erwin's squad at the front of the formation has Levi dialing in his focus, signaling his subordinates to make haste towards their Commander. His brow furrows, however, when they see two fallen and long since steaming titans. Erwin's squad stands unharmed but stationary between the two disintegrating corpses, Erwin himself looking rather contemplative with his arms crossed and his prominent brow angled harshly.
"No one looks like they're being torn apart," Levi grunts as he sidles up next to Erwin. "What's the situation?"
"There's someone alive out here."
"Tch, what the hell are you talking about?"
Erwin gestures at the two dead titans. "They were already down and steaming by the time we got here."
"You sure a squad didn't just break formation?"
"Pretty sure, we would have seen them pass. This is directly on the route we planned."
"That's definitely our gear though." The napes are sliced cleanly, clearly done with ODM equipment.
"It is."
Before Levi can say anything else, Eld gains their attention with a resounding, "Captain!" He's pointing towards the east where a cloud of steam rises from nowhere near any of part of the formation at its current pace.
"Guess we should go say 'hi' then, eh Erwin?" Levi grumbles, already directing his horse when he doesn't here any orders to stand down. His squad follows close behind, a brace against he's back that he's grateful for. He carefully smothers the warm feeling threatening the shield he's put around the pieces of his heart that are left, unwilling to allow even a drop of hope to settle in his eyes.
Hope is cruel. It will tear him apart from the inside out if he lets it. He can't afford that kind of devastation, not again. Putting himself back together won't be an option anymore if his pieces are dust.
They're coming up fast on the billowing ribbons of steam, two more titans having been felled by whoever got their hands on their gear. Both on the larger side, more than ten meters most likely, and pearly wild grins jutting towards the sky. Levi meticulously surveys the area as they get closer, narrowing his eyes at the flash of dark green through the thick rivulets of steam. He holds up a hand for his subordinates to wait as he dismounts his horse.
"Hey! Who's out here?!" He calls, one hand drifting to his holstered swords as a precaution, the other waving away the steam as he ventures further. "Think it's fun? Playing the hero with stolen gear!" Levi taunts, eyeing the veteran looking slices in the napes of the corpses. Another scrap of familiar green catches his eye. "Hey! You!"
A few quick steps and another wave of his hand because of the steam and he spots a figure messing with one of the blades for their gear. Maybe trying to decide if it's still useful as they swipe it back and forth, carefully looking at the now jagged edge. Must be too dull because the next second, Levi watches as they toss it too the ground and go for what looks like their last fresh blade.
"You're out of formation, Cadet," Levi chastises, raising an annoyed brow when whoever it is just ignores him in favor of replacing the blade. Confusion has him frowning when he eyes their uniform, because it's clearly the same pieces of the scouts uniform, but they're all out of order. Boots, one larger than the other. White pants cinched over top the boots instead of inside, obviously too large for the slighter frame of the wearer. More belts than the normal uniform calls for and in all the wrong places. Big sweater - backwards he notices - and the cropped scout jacket only has one sleeve. Green...gloves? He's pretty sure those were pieces of a cloak, though not the same one they're wearing. The cloak is bundled up around their shoulders and over their head, goggles hiding their eyes.
Familiar goggles. His breath catches in his throat, disbelief bleeding into his eyes.
"Mitchell? That you?" No response, but he can tell whoever it is is listening. "Hailey? Hailey Mitchell? It's Captain Levi," he holds up his hands placatingly, wracking his brain for some details you shared with him about the girl. "C'mon brat, let's go home, yeah? See your mom?" The figure seems to pause, and he's almost sure it must be her when the cloth covered head nods weirdly after a few muffled murmuring sounds. But then she plants the blade in the ground like a cane and starts limping away from him. Levi is shocked still, not understanding why she's moving in the opposite direction, away from him. Away from help.
He doesn't know how she survived out here, but it's just one of the many questions speeding behind his teeth at the moment. They'll all have to wait.
"Mitchell stop! I order you - tch, Hailey!" He chases after her, easily catching up when she has the obvious mobility disadvantage. Impressive really, that she managed to kill at least four titans with a busted leg. You'd be proud of her. When he reaches Hailey, he grabs for her wrist to stop her little adventure away from the people trying to help her. "Fucking brat, where do you think - "
Levi pauses, feeling the poor girl go completely rigid in his grasp. He curses himself for not thinking because, Walls, she must be so scared, so weak but -
But she's reaching for the goggles and the cloak. He doesn't know why he's holding his breath, but he is and his chest is burning and there's a stinging threatening his eyes and now he suddenly never ever ever wants to let go because...because...
He’s staring into a face he never thought he'd see again.
Hope is devastating, but it's also the only reason any of them have made it this far.
Concept: You're gravely injured during an expedition that goes wrong, and in the confusion you're abandoned in Titan territory.
Pt. 3 Summary: There are nights it's so cold your skin burns and blisters, other nights the quiet gets to you so much you scream to the clouds just to hear something that isn't your own heartbeat. The silver frozen to your thumb keeps you alive more than the meager morsels of food you ration or the warmth you savor from your titan's flesh. But hey, at least Preston's got jokes.
Warnings (PLEASE BE AWARE): Angst, a lot of cursing, blood, injuries, gore, burns, body horror, infection, fever, hallucinations, mania, dehydration, starvation, mentions of dead animal, dead bodies, Titans, using a Titan to survive, self harm, suicidal ideations (If I missed anything, please let me know)
A/N: This chapter gets pretty rough so please read the warnings above before starting below. I'm absolutely blown away by the support I've gotten for this story, so I want to thank all of my readers, everyone who's liked and reblogged my work, and everyone who has sent me such kind words! I've reached more than 100 followers in only a few days, so thank you to everyone who is sticking around for this story! For those who wanted to be tagged, the taglist is at the bottom. Let me know if you want to be added!
-----
It takes nearly two days to cook, dry, and preserve what you've collected so far of Bully's meat as jerky. The pieces are small for rationing purposes, about the length of your palm but only half as wide. They take longer to dry in the damp and chill of the storm's wake, but you manage under the cover of the trees. You're lucky the inevitable follow-up blizzards haven't rolled in quite yet, but they will, and the wait has the marrow of your teeth on edge.
What's left of Benny's cloak becomes food storage, though sacrificing the extra warmth of a thick cloak unsettles the two pieces of jerky you'd indulged in to curb the stomach cramps. But you can't just let your only food source freeze solid, even when the wind picks up and your skin starts to prickle unpleasantly.
Or maybe that's just the weight of Preston's stare heavy between your shoulders.
Turning your head, you scrunch your nose at Preston's sunken eyes, only now realizing they're a shiny yellow color that you just know Levi would compare to piss. "I'd offer you a piece," you say, waving around a slice of jerky, "but you don't actually need to eat and I don't want to starve. Besides, you didn't help."
His tongue just lolls out of his gaping mouth, lower jaw completely removed and steaming. The upper row of his teeth are deceptively sharp and straight. All pearly white and even. Your own teeth feel fuzzy in your mouth.
Preston still doesn't move, though a guttural growl bursts from his exposed throat that sprays molten blood into the white snow. You scoff with a shake of your head, and low under your breath you mutter a simple, "Drama queen."
In the time it takes you to finish tying off the sack you made from the cloak, you realize three things.
One, Preston graduated from being an 'it' to a 'him' and you're not quite sure when that happened or how to feel about it. You suppose he's sort of a pet at this point, although instead of feeding and watering and walking him, you make sure to sever his joints every few hours and use the heat of his innards to survive the chill. He doesn't seem to mind, just blinks every now and then and stares like he's expecting you to willingly waltz down his throat.
You wonder if he resents you or if he feels anything at all.
Second, you think as you flex your fingers to get feeling back in the tips, you somehow need to find the strength to swing back up to your perch in the trees to protect your food. Besides, your extra gas canisters are still up there. Which brings you to number three and why number two poses a challenge.
You're pretty sure your calf is infected.
It's not really a surprise, you didn't exactly have the supplies to properly sterilize the chain you threaded through your wound so you wouldn't bleed out, not to mention the bandages you fashioned from your cloak were hardly the cleanest. And, to be fair, you haven't confirmed if the gash is infected, so maybe the wound is fine and healing and you're overreacting. You're too scared to look.
But the deep throbbing pain you feel without even moving can't possibly be a good sign. The green of the cloak bandages have long since turned a murky brown color which means you never really stopped bleeding, just slowed down. An experimental flex of your calf has you almost doubling over. You really really can't afford to lose your leg right now, not that you can afford to rot from sepsis either.
Eyeing the fire you've been using to cook your food, you come to a very good and very painful conclusion.
It'll take several minutes for the metal of one of your blades to heat up enough to cauterize your wound. You place two blades over the fire because the gash stretches the whole length of your calf and you'd rather get the burning part finished as quickly as possible. In the mean time, you need to look at it. You need to remove the bandages and the chain and use your knife to cut out the infected flesh because otherwise the sick will spread and you'd die from the inside out without antibiotics.
You're really starting to hate the ideas you come up with.
You take a deep breath and hesitantly begin peeling away the makeshift bandages. They stick unpleasantly and sting like lemon juice in a paper cut, but for the most part the pieces of fabric come off easy. Blood runs anew down your skin when the scabs are lifted, but you're about to bleed a lot more so you don't blink twice at the thick trails of it on your leg.
If anger was a color, you're pretty sure it'd be the pulsing red of infection, something spiteful and entirely unwanted. Or maybe it'd be the blistering green of the puss leaking between your metal sutures. Or the black of your rotting skin and muscles under the dried flakes of blood. Maybe anger is a smell that reminds you of disease and filth and decay. Maybe it's not anger but fear that festers in your skin. Regardless, you know your wound is angry, furious even. You hope your knife is sharp enough to cut the anger out.
You don't have any leather to bite into because your only belt is still wrapped tight around your thigh to stabilize the break in your femur, and you're not about to risk disturbing that healing process for a little pain. Instead, you stuff your mouth with one of the cloths you'd been using for glove wrappings. It tastes like sweat and the blood from your burns that Preston's insides caused, but it'll protect your tongue from your teeth just fine.
Before you can cut away the infected pieces of your calf, you need to remove the chain. You stall as long as possible by deciding if it'd be better to rip the metal out quickly or to gingerly unthread it from your skin. Doing it fast sounds nice in theory, but you're not willing to risk the possible irreparable damage to your leg. Slow and steady and painful works in your favor.
Your muffled curses throughout the process would make even Levi blush, or proud considering you learned most of them from him.
Without pausing to dwell too much on the agony searing through your body, you grab your knife that you cleansed as much as possible in the snow and start cutting. The task is slipperier than you imagined, but the mess definitely reaches your expectations. Blood of course, and the rivulets of green that grossly mix with the red. When you cut away the last of the rot in the wound, you quickly reach for one of the glowing heated blades and press it to your flesh.
The scream you let out even has Preston shifting behind you, garbled as the sound may be behind your gag. You spare a brief glance at your titan to make sure he isn't rearing up to eat you while your back is turned. He's not, but for the first time he's moved to curve his bulbous head down to watch you at the base of his gut. You play with the idea that he's concerned about you for half a second before deeming that thought Hange levels of ridiculous and making a mental note to slice into his spine later as an extra precaution.
Not wanting to bask in the wake of burning your own flesh for long, you reach for the second heated blade and press it onto the lower half on your wound. Your scream this time around cracks in your throat like broken glass and you nearly weep at how much you crave a cup of Levi's tea with a spoonful of honey, as much for the relief as the comfort his tea always brings you.
You probably would cut off your leg if it meant a cup of tea.
You're familiar with the stench of burning flesh, every scout learns the smell early on in their military career. That burnt crispiness of your comrades' bodies, or what could be recovered of them. It's a terrifying reality of your career. But you never thought you'd be smelling your own sizzling flesh, it's enough to make you gag.
Breath stuttering through your nose, you choke on the rag, a disgusting amount of saliva and tears dripping off the sharp curve of your chin. You spit out the cloth and cough through a dozen or so inhales and exhales that have your ribs jostling in a way that reminds you they're still bruised.
"That hurt like a bitch," you mutter, pain now a throbbing ache instead of the initial sharp agony it had been. Your bones feel flimsy now that you're not quite as tense, and your head lolls in the direction of your faithful companion. "Thanks for the moral support, couldn't have done it without you, Pressy."
Your nose scrunches at the name and the weird way it rolls across your tongue. "Pressy? Tony? Esty? No, you're not one for nicknames are you?" Not a twitch from the titan in question, but you expected as much. "Thought not, you're too classy. Right, Sir Preston it is."
Clearly, it's counterintuitive to rebandage your calf in the soiled strips of cloak you had used before, so you decide to let the burns breathe rather than waste more of your blanket supply. In a motion that you imagine is comically fawn-like, you stumble into a standing position with your sack of jerky clutched between your teeth and your hands moving into position on the ODM gear triggers. Nearly all your weight settles on your left leg, but you still have full mobility of your hips, so once you're in the air it becomes second nature to maneuver yourself to your perch of spare supplies. The stack of gas canisters and spare blades are untouched. Despite there not really being anything around to reach your supplies, unless Preston snuck a quick tree climb when you weren't looking, the relief you feel at seeing them unbothered is palpable.
You check your gas and deem them full enough that you don't need to replace them, though you do add two blades to your arsenal before making your way back to the ground. Before you forget, you cut into Preston's joints again.
"This is going to be a long fucking winter," you huff, frowning at the sight of your breath puffing out in front of you. You look to the south, already feeling the exhaustion of the two kilometer trek, but you need the food. Bully's meat won't stay salvageable much longer and your current supply will only last you a month if you're stingy with the rations.
You limp, one of your blades keeping you balanced like a crutch, and throw a last second farewell over your shoulder. "Hold down the fort, Preston! I'll be back tomorrow!"
-----
On the way to Bully, you spot a bloody hand peeking out of the snow that you know belongs to Daryl. Your hearts twists in your chest, and you feel guilt settle heavy in your stomach when your eyes linger on the cuff of his sleeve.
"They'd want you to survive," you mutter, lip quivering despite yourself. "You know they would, that they'd understand." You swallow the lump of guilt in your throat and wonder how long it will take you to dig them up from beneath the snow.
You start with Daryl because he's already close to the surface, and you quickly feel the chill of ice creep into your fingertips through the makeshift gloves you tailored. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," you repeat as you dig, the words heavy in your throat. "I'll make sure she knows, that little Annabelle knows her big brother was kind and strong and helped me survive." You pause, shoulders trembling through your quiet sobs. "I'll make sure she knows you're at peace now."
You wonder if that would be a lie, but decide it doesn't matter. You need to believe it as much as his family does. After all, funerals are for the living.
His skin has gone as pale as parchment, solid like a rock and marred by splotches of frozen black rot. A selfish and sickened part of you is relieved you can't see his deadened eyes because of the snap of his neck. You gingerly recover his jacket and sweater even though both are missing a sleeve, the fabric soaking in some titan's belly somewhere along with Daryl's arm and leg. You decide to leave his pants, but what's left of his belts could be helpful, so you carefully go through the process of unbuckling what you can salvage. When you finish, you use your blade crutch to soften the packed dirt as much as possible and spend the following hour burying Daryl's body.
You can almost remember where Hailey and Benny are in relation to Daryl, a few paces away and tucked deeper into the snow than Daryl had been. You find Hailey first.
Nothing about her uniform can be recovered, other than the cloak you had already taken, because so much of her body had been eaten or otherwise mangled. But she did have a habit of wearing goggles on her head for an extra barrier of precaution from the wind when horseback riding. You carefully untangle the goggles from the brittle curls of her dark hair and stretch them over your forehead.
"I'm sorry," you whisper again, gently placing your palm against her frozen cheek. The chill of her death seeps into your fingertips. "I'll tell your mother how brave you were." You try to close her eyes, but they're stuck frozen in that same haunting expression of terror.
It doesn't take you long to bury what's left of her body, but your shoulders feel heavier than they ever have before.
Benny poses a challenge because of his size. The man is tall and bulky, he'd always been a bit slow on the ODM gear because of it but he made up for it with his strength and accuracy with the blades. You spend a long time staring at the bite taken out of your friend's skull, feeling your spine shiver with guilt and sorrow. His jacket and shirt aren't useable, punctured by the points of his caved in ribs as they are. Like Daryl, Benny's belts are salvageable and miraculously, despite a few blood and dirt stains, his pants, boots, and socks are intact.
"Thank you for saving me, Benny." You dare to touch your forehead to what's left of his. It's stiff and frozen and pulls a sob from your aching chest. "For this time, and every time you've saved me before. You deserve to rest now."
Benny doesn't have any family, except you. Burying his body deep beneath the earth is the hardest thing you've ever done. You pretend it's because you're tired and injured and cold rather than the truth of your own grief. You feel more alone than you have this entire nightmare, and suddenly you're desperate to remember why you're still alive, why you keep going, why you don't just dig a hole for yourself.
Air pulls from your lungs as you try to remember, as you tear at the wrappings around your left hand to see the silver ring on your thumb. Your fingers are a violent red and puffy with swollen blisters, but you only care to focus on the ring.
"I'm trying, Levi, I'm trying so hard," you stammer through the snot and tears of your sobs. "I'm doing everything I can, everything I fucking - " you choke, sucking in air through your hissing teeth. It's not enough, never enough, and you feel a strange haze settle over your eyes.
"I'll come back to you, my love, I promise."
-----
You put Daryl's sweater on backwards over the top of your uniform, and then his scout jacket goes on properly overtop of the sweater so each of your arms has a sleeve. The arms of his clothes are much longer than yours, so you can curl the fabric over your fingers to preserve some extra warmth. You tighten his belts around your wrists, waist, and collar to hopefully curb any cold draft.
It takes you only a few painful minutes to remove your own functional ODM gear belts so you can start layering your legs. Benny's socks go on next, both on your right leg to simultaneously bandage and warm your calf. You use one of the extra belts to seal the cuff of the socks just above your knee. You only need one of his boots, and there's enough room in them that your still swollen ankle, thick layered socks, and throbbing calf are cushioned comfortably inside.
His massive pants work in your favor as they easily go over your boots and the splint on your thigh, though you do have to roll the bottoms up several times for practicality's sake. You use the last of Benny's extra belts to cinch his pants around your waist and each ankle. You can already feel a new and refreshing warmth settling into your sore joints.
You swaddle your head, neck, and shoulders with the cloak you brought with you. It's either Daryl's or Hailey's, but you're not sure which. You leave your eyes uncovered, obviously, but you can insulate the opening in the cloth with Hailey's goggles and still see relatively well.
Fighting the repulsive feeling that hovers behind your eyes at using the demise of your friends for your survival, you reattach your ODM gear with foggy eyes. Lifting yourself to unsteady feet, you look down at the three graves you've now spent hours digging.
You sniff, saluting with a hard fist over your heart and your back as straight as your lopsided gate can allow. "Thank you for your service, your trust, and your companionship. I couldn't have asked for a better squad, better friends. I only wish we had more time together. I'm sorry...I'm sorry we don't get that time. Humanity will honor your sacrifices, I'll make sure of it."
Turning away from their graves towards Bully has you stumbling a few steps, but you right yourself with the help of your crutch and keep going.
Moving forward is the only thing you can do now.
-----
The rest of the way to Bully is uneventful, though it does take you through the night. You manage to recover the rest of her meat without incident. Hiking back to camp the next morning, however, isn't quite so kind. You're attacked by two titans during your trek.
The first surprises you from beneath the snow. It's small compared to most titans you've encountered, just around three meters, and more head than body. It moves quicker than you expect in the cold, and your thigh screams at you when you crash into the snow to dodge its swiping hand. You feel like your win here is almost entirely luck because it seems the beast has used the last of its reserved energy for that desperate grab for your body. Your blades slice through its nape like butter and you take advantage of the steam its death billows in your direction.
You actually see the second one coming, a taller five meter titan that struts chest first and doesn't swing its arms. It's easier to kill than the first just because you had the time to prepare, but you can feel your body strain with every step you take. You need to sleep, but sleeping here is a death sentence.
You take a handful of snow and pull away the bottom of your head covering so you can hydrate. The cold of it makes you shiver, but it's also strangely refreshing on your aching throat.
When you finally stumble your way back into camp, Preston is still waiting despite the cuts you made now almost entirely regenerated. You take the time to cut into those joints again, remembering to sever his spine as well, and pat his head as a small thank you for sticking around. He actually blinks at you, which you take as a gesture of friendship, and you move back to the base of his gut where your fire supplies are.
Before you can sleep, you have to get the meat at least cooked and starting to dry. It takes longer than you'd like, but you're slow from your exhaustion and lingering grief. Preston is warm at your back, and you can't help but feel comforted by the strangely supportive weight he poses behind you. That comfort is dangerous, that comfort could get you killed.
As soon as your final pieces of meat are cooked and set out to dry, you swing back up into the trees and cuddle into your last spare cloak.
Sleep doesn't come easy despite your exhaustion.
-----
A week later, the first of the many blizzards you're expecting this winter rolls in. You wait it out in the nook you fashioned in Preston's stomach, your bag of food cradled close to your chest to keep the pieces from freezing solid. It lasts long enough that you have to keep cutting into the hole you made in Preston's torso otherwise it'll heal over and, even if you could just slice your way out again, you don't particularly like the idea of your only quick exit disappearing.
He doesn't seem to mind, because you know by now the chunks of his joints you removed would have regenerated by now, but he lays motionless. You decide not to dwell on the fact that you're the parasite in this weird relationship you've found yourself relying on.
Despite all of your precautions, you tremble at the cold that sweeps into your warm haven. You groan at the strain in your muscles, but you keep reminding yourself you're still shivering. Shivering is good, shivering means your body hasn't given up yet, shivering means you're alive.
Your teeth clack together. "T-this is g-g-gon-na be a long-g f-f-fuck-fu-fucking w-winter-ter." You wonder if your blood will freeze in your veins.
-----
Two more blizzards hit your camp, lasting far longer than the short days of calm in between. You pass most of your time huddled somewhere close to Preston because you have no doubt he's the only reason you're still alive.
In many ways, your reliance on the very creature threatening to completely wipe out humanity makes disgust bubble in your blood, but in many other ways, he's a much better conversationalist than you expected.
It's during a lapse in another storm that you find yourself sitting in the fresh snow in front of Preston's unwavering yellow gaze. You blink and he actually blinks back. The action has you curious, the kind of curious that would have Hange vibrating in their seat from excitement. You blink again, twice this time, and he blinks once, but that's still a response.
Right?
You tilt your head, Preston blinks again. You can't decide if you actually see any intelligence in his eyes or if you're just fishing for something that isn't there.
"Is there anyone waiting for you, Preston?" You sigh, feeling ridiculous, but the world around you is so fucking quiet. "I bet you have a brother out there somewhere. Someone who taught you all the tips and tricks of hunting down humanity." You laugh under your breath, eyes dragging across the divots you've repeatedly made along his joints. "He didn't teach you very well."
Realizing what you're doing, you scoff and shake away the fuzziness in your head. "Walls, I'm losing my mind." You move to press your palms to your eyes, regardless of the goggles in the way, but something in your left hand feels unnaturally numb and wrong. "Shit, what now?"
You pull back the cuff of Daryl's sweater and start unwrapping the scrap of cloak that has been working well as a glove. Or, at least, you thought it had. The burns you'd gotten from Preston have long since faded, leaving behind the barest of silvery scars. They aren't the problem.
Staring down at the blackened dead tips of your index and middle finger, you think you may have been wrong about your gloves. The frostbite has spread down to the ridge just before your second knuckle on each finger. You have no feeling in those two fingers. You almost want to ignore the implications of your frozen charred digits, but you can't let the frostbite creep any further. Losing your entire hand is unacceptable; finger though, fingers are manageable.
Using your gear is about to get a lot harder, but it won't be impossible. At least, you don't think it will be.
You take a deep breath through your nose and reach for the blade at your hip that you've been using for a crutch. At this point, it's sharper and far cleaner than the smaller hunting knife you've been using for your food. You place your hand flat on a nearby rock and spare a glance at Preston, who is, of course, just watching you.
"This is a cruel fucking world, Preston," you spit between clenched teeth. You don't even bother with a gag this time around. "But, you already knew that, didn't you?"
The blade cuts through your fingers as easily as a carrot, completely severed just above your second knuckle. With a few curses, you press the fresh wounds directly onto Preston's exposed muscle from your most recent disabling of his limbs. You pull back your hand when you think it's been sufficiently cauterized and cradle the limb close to your chest.
Survival is fucking hard, but you've learned a few shortcuts along the way.
Eyes locking on the silver ring on your thumb, you smile sadly and start wrapping your new stumps in the discarded cloth. "Looks like I'll have to learn to fight like you Levi, all backwards and efficient." You grip the handle of your ODM gear, repositioning it in the exact opposite way you were trained. The new position is a little awkward, but it still settles nicely in your palm. Your pinky and ring finger can operate the triggers and you still have enough of your index and middle fingers, not to mention the bracing of your thumb, to keep a solid grip on the handle. You'll have to practice, but you think it's doable. "Maybe you've always had the right idea, I'm not even surprised."
You can practically picture his smug smirk at that kind of admittance. You miss it.
You don't even notice the familiar prickling of tears behind your eyes. You can't remember a time when that feeling wasn't there.
-----
Waking some number of mornings later, you feel uncomfortably warm under your skin and your head is foggy with sleep and dizziness. You stopped counting the days sometime during one of the many blizzards when it exceeded seventy-two hours, but you know enough about how long it's been that winter isn't over yet. Not quite, not...right?
A sharp pain in your stomach has you scrambling to your knees, only vaguely aware of the agony that rips through your right thigh, the sharp cramp in your belly not from hunger but rather nausea. Ripping off your head covering, sending the goggles flying, you retch into the snow with nothing but stomach acid and a half-digested piece of jerky to show for your efforts. You only kind of realize you fell asleep pressed to Preston's side the night before, but you have no time to dwell on that mistake. A wave of vertigo crashes over you and it takes everything in you not to collapse into the measly pile of sick.
The cold snow seeps into your heated skin, soothing the initial ache of what you think is probably a fever. You gag your way through another bout of nausea but there's nothing left in your stomach to throw up, and even if there was, you couldn't afford to lose it. Your eyes seem to pulse in your skull to the rhythm of your heartbeat, which you're pretty sure is too fast. Sweat is freezing to your cheeks and neck in little glass droplets as your body is simultaneously far too hot and far too cold.
The world tilts strangely in your vision, clouds drifting beneath your feet and trees winding unnaturally. You claw your way to your feet only to lose whatever balance you'd scrounged up, stumbling into Preston's arm to steady yourself. Your eyes roll in their sockets and a headache pierces your temples like twisting knives.
You lose consciousness somewhere between your joints locking up and falling onto the padding of Preston's regenerating palm, his yellow sunken eyes doing what they always do. Just watching.
-----
"Pathetic."
The sky is still spinning when you manage to crack your eyes open, crusty at the corners and straining against the light of the dancing sun. You don't understand, but you're pretty sure you just heard -
"You should move." That voice, that - no, wait wait wait, that's impossible, that's - "You should move unless you want to become titan shit."
Wait, just stop, just just hold on - something's pinning you down, trapping your arms at your sides. Your body is burning from the inside out, you choke on the heat, and you just want whatever is gripping you to let go.
"Actually, titans don't have digestive organs so technically you can't - " And that voice is just as impossible as the first, just as mental and wrong and why won't they help you if they're just watching -
"Oh shut up, doesn't change the fact she's gotten all buddy buddy with a fucking titan and it's going to get her killed."
"Sure, I suppose, but you know titans may be capable of more than -"
"Stop stop stop STOP!" Your voice cracks through the air, wide eyes straining to find the voices, to see them, to scream at them to help you, to get you out and take you home. You just want to go home. But you can't see them, only hear them, except now not even that, and nothing makes any sense -
Your rolling eyes connect with Preston's steady gaze and you realize you're trapped in his grip, long fingers curling around your body in a way that's almost...gentle? Your lungs shrivel as you try to take in air, ribs aching, throat clogged, and you don't understand. "Let me go, let me go, let me go, please let me go, Preston please!" You babble, tongue feeling swollen and dry in your mouth. "Please, please, Preston please let me - "
His grip is actually loosening, each finger slowly releasing their hold on your body. As soon as you have the room to move, you scramble off his palm and skid across the snow to put enough distance between you two so he can't reach for you from his reclined position. Your chest rises and falls rapidly with your breaths, right hand desperately grasping for your blade to hold it in front of you as some form of miniscule protection. It rattles in your fearful grasp.
You look for the voices, arms and throat and soul trembling as you scan your surroundings. "L-Levi? Are you - where did - Levi? Ha-Hange?" But you see nothing, nothing but Preston, and you hear nothing. You focus back on your titan, teeth grinding so roughly your jaw has started to ache. Preston's full grin glares back at you, shiny and white and healed. "You...y-you were holding me, keeping me warm. You - I don't understand, why did you...what the fuck? What the FUCK?!"
Fingers tangling into your knotted greasy hair, you pull and pull and pull. You pound a trembling fist against your temple. You're dreaming, you have to be, you're unconscious or sleeping or dying because there's no way...or maybe you're just fucking crazy -
"Not dreaming, jury's still out on the crazy part though."
Your neck cracks as you whip towards the voice, blinking at the flash of green cloak and black hair that has your heart stalling in your chest. On your feet before you can register any kind of pain, you're already ambling toward the tree he ducked behind, confused and scared and losing your mind.
"Levi! LEVI!" You hear a cackle from the opposite direction and spot a wayward brown ponytail. "Hange?! Please, what's going on?!" Something blonde flashes in your periphery. "Mike? Or - or Erwin?! Anyone?!" You're panting like a fucking dog, unable to get air passed the words caught in your throat. Right leg buckling under the strain of your panic, you trip into the snow and cry out at the way your broken femur jostles.
You curl up on your side, arms winding protectively around your middle. Tears paint trails through the grime on your cheeks, and your agonized cries are muffled by the snow.
"You left me." The whisper isn't real, it can't be real. It isn't him. It isn't him. It isn't him.
You curl up tighter. "I didn't mean to go away, my love. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
-----
You still hear them when you shouldn't, still see little teasing glimpses of them in the corner of your eye. It's Levi and Hange bickering back and forth. It's Erwin giving you orders or Mike sniffing behind your ear. It's Hailey screaming and Daryl begging for help and Benny blaming you for all of their deaths. It's Cadet O turning her back on you and running away without so much as a sorry.
It's Levi pleading for you to come back to him.
It's Levi cursing you for breaking your promise.
It's Levi telling you he hates you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, calling you names, spitting venomous words at your back, saying he loves you.
It's Levi who always sounds close enough to touch but is never actually there.
You rewrap the cloak around your head as much for the warmth as to try to muffle the voices. It doesn't work, but you pretend it does and position the goggles over your eyes to protect from the blistering wind.
You've been giving Preston the cold shoulder, unsure how exactly to approach whatever happened with the titan days ago now. He doesn't move, doesn't make a sound, doesn't try to fucking eat you like his nature wills him to.
Even so, you haven't severed his joints since that day, lost in the pounding of very real not real voices in and around your head. Your skin still feels sticky and hot, and your stomach never quite settles.
You sleep up in your tree with the last of your supplies. Only a handful of jerky pieces are left. Rationing what remains of your gas, you take the few minutes here and there where dizziness doesn't curb your balance and practice using your gear with the adjusted handhold you'll have to use from now on. You make sure one canister stays full. Every part of your body is aching and exhausted and withered from the strength it used to have.
Now, in a moment of rest and thirst, you chew on ice and sit several meters away from your titan. You tilt your head, staring directly into the unwavering yellow you've come to know so well. And then Preston does something you haven't seen him do since the day you crashed into him in the snow all that time ago.
He looks away from you.
Following the path of his gaze, you see it. Small and new and blooming from the depths of the snow. A daisy.
Your breath stutters in your chest when you see the flower, a new hope boiling with the fever under your skin. The first sign of spring. You stand and limp towards the flower, kneeling down to caress its velvety soft petals despite the wrappings on your hands.
"Time to go home," you whisper over the cacophony of voices in your ear. You focus on the feeling of the cool silver encircling your thumb. You smile. "Home."
Glancing over your shoulder, you feel something strange settle in your heart. You think you might just miss those yellow eyes. A good soldier would kill it, but he's not an 'it' anymore, and you're not sure if you can still be the good soldier you used to be.
"Goodbye," you offer a small wave, staring into those eyes that have been watching you for months now, "and, thanks for...well you know."
With your handy crutch still steady by your side, you start walking north. You tuck the daisy into the front pocket of Daryl's jacket for safe keeping.
