#when he says 'It was Marco right?' and regrets it immediately. Jean's painful face is all the answer they needed

[twpsyn-who]

Today on "Another JeanMarco Soulmate AU absolutely no one asked for" I present to you -

Soulmate AU in which you stop seeing colors when your soulmate dies, the only exception being your soulmate. Now cue to Jean who just found Marco's, his best friend's, body. And you know, there's the shock of finding out Marco's dead. The pain and confusion and guilt. But there's also the revelation, because despite everything he can still see Marco like nothing took place at all- yes, half of his face is missing and his body is straight up lifeless, but Jean can still make out the color of his eye ; see that light shade of brown perfectly, remember all the times he has found himself looking at them while listening to Marco talk. He can still make out the colors of his uniform, see the same shade of black his hair has always had, practically see. Despite being dead, Marco was the only piece of color left in his life.

And there's denial for a moment because there's no way Marco was his soulmate. But that goes away fast, getting replaced by guilt. By the fact that he hasn't been there to save him, that Marco has to die all alone without anyone being there for him.

And that was worse than the simple fact that he could no longer see colors ; because Marco was there when Jean needed him, but he failed to do the same. And not only he lost his best friend that day, but his other half too.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

oooh may i request eren with a female s/o who doesn't put up with his bullshit? Like when he gets jealous n stuff

So I turned this into a break up fic because why not!? I live to hurt my own self while writing. I was listening to Noir By Sunmi while writing this hence the title.

Pairing: Eren/ Reader

Tags: angst, breaking up, seriously angst, modern au

Warnings: mentions of jealousy, angst, seriously. Just angst.

Noir

There is a despicable attire masking the way you're looking at Eren. The feeling that's boiling in the depths of your chest as you're sitting across from him on your kitchen table is indescribable. It's mixture of anger and determination, merged with heavy specs of remorse, whether it is for yourself or him, you haven't decided yet.

Your reflection in the glass of the kitchen table is mocking you. In it you can see a few of the cupboards behind you, you can see your inox fridge that's decorated in numerous small polaroids and you can see your hair, being messy and tousled, just like it always is when you're staying indoors. But you- no, your face. Your face looks deformed and blank, lost in the aggravating aspects of an angered expression.

Setting your eyes to any where but Eren isnt a simple task. Rather, you find no interest in looking at the borders between the marble tiles of the floor. They were plain and annoying to look at, but if you could you'd pretend they could calm you down. Keeping your huff in though, you alternate your gaze onto the top of the counter, onto the tap of the sink. You squint, pretending to take a good notice of the forms that light reflects into the object.

"I just don't want other guys being too touchy with you." Eren groans.

"Aren't we over this?" You roll your eyes.

"Yes, just pointing out that you wouldn't like that either."

There he goes again and you can't help but immediately snap your orbs to his direction. You have lost count of how many times he has mentioned it in only the span of five hours. He mentioned in while taking a shower, he mentioned it while working out, be mentioned it while cooking yet you've chosen to ignore him. Yet you know that ignorance doesn't benefit anyone, ever.

And you shouldn't act as if you're surprised, especially since you haven't addressed this. This is Eren. This has always been Eren. Expressing your concerns to Eren about how you feel he should trust you more has never worked, why should it work now?

"Eren, I can trust you that you won't let anyone do that!? Don't you trust me?"

"Yes, but."

"But?"

"I don't trust what others want to do to you. And what if you give in? Did you just wake up one day and decided to just devote ourself to me specifially?"

Eren is bitterly jealous. There's this spite that's hiding the aqua lines of his eyes, this sour mood that he always carries around when he gets in it. This stops him from being able to eat even slightly to normal; his hands are nervous and sweaty, his fork is abandoned to the side of his plate, his thumbs tapping onto the flat sides of his plate as if he's waiting for a response. There's not even the hint of a crump going down his throat, more so there's not a single bite taken off of his sandwich.

"Eren no one was touchy with me. Jean, Reiner, Armin, Marco... these are literally our friends since school!" You speak, munching onto your own food.

"I know."

"Then? Want to talk about it?"

You hate the way you make it sound like it's okay to casually be tender to him when he's judging you but you've been munching onto that bite of your cold noodles for a long time now. Your throat is refusing to take down bites anymore in result of you having stuffed your mouth to the full. It's an effort to shush yourself, to silence that voice that begs to come out and speak words you might regret.

"It's just." Eren pauses.

And you wait for his words to come out. By tapping your own hand onto the the glass of the table, you fixate your gaze onto Eren's uncomfortable form. You watch as his face gets buried to the palms of his hands, you watch as he refuses to face you while he clicks his tongue. His foot is rapidly tapping onto the floor, his hair is being pulled back by his fingers. The loud exhales he takes are indicators to the heavy weight that's sitting on his chest.

"It's so hard for me because I imagine you being with others, I don't want anyone to get their hands on something that's mine. And it's driving me crazy (y/n)."

Out of spite you push your eyes to the side. Facing Eren isn't something you feel like you're free to do at the moment. It's horrendous that you have to answer to that. Your heart is alternating between hammering inside your chest and dropping to your stomach. Your mind is confused as to what you should begin to think, or say. This is Eren, you keep repeating to your self, your spongy brain though is refusing to believe it.

It makes you wonder; Is this a time to be kind or is the last straw?

"Eren this is destroying you isn't it?"

Eren nods and then hides inside the neck of his hoodie, he pulls his sleeves over his palms and brings his elbows to the top of the table, setting them down as he leaned his face into his now clenched fists. You take it upon you to swallow that amount of food that's in your mouth up until now and when you do it goes down your throat dryly, painfully even. Your eyes are somewhat stinging, tiny little droplets are already starting to form in their corners.

"I don't want to feel like this anymore."

"It's destroying me too. Your jealousy."

Your chest rises and falls, your eye brows furrowing paid fully over your eyes as you look down. You can feel the gaze that's fixated on you; Eren is burning holes through your form with his piercing gaze, even if you can't see it it's a fact that you can't help but ignore. You heart the clenching of your teeth as your jaw locks onto place, trying to salvage every aspect of what can be saved between you and Eren.

"Then what did you suggest we do?" Eren quarries with a soft voice, his arm reaching out to wiggle underneath the grip you have of your face and hair.

"I-"

Maybe you can try. Couples try and fight for each other. And then things are supposed to get better. When you're down he's supposed to help you reach the top and you're supposed to do that too. It just doesn't feel like that with Eren anymore. You feel like Eren is holding you back, you feel like he's digging and delving into the past in such way that present doesn't matter to him anymore. You hate to think that it's not healthy to stay with each other anymore. If you weren't so exhausted by this being your new reality, you would be willing to try.

Your hands move reluctantly from their grip on your head, your thumbs shivering as you moved then down and along Eren's cubits. You trace imaginary lines over his slightly olive skin. Your fingers, shaking as much as your thumb work into taking his hands on yours, as you're pressing your palms onto his knuckles slightly.

"Maybe we should take a break from each other."

Your lips feel lighter than air as you mouth the words, still you're more concerned about how Eren is taking the sentence up. It's not easy to digest; you moved your eyes onto his form and suddenly they're stuck there, that pained expression is suppressing your lips in a puckered state, harsh lines spreading all over the volume of your lips.

"I didn't say this for you to tell me that."

Eren throws his hands in a orbit that's years of light away from yours. He's not touching you anymore, and you lose every ounce of affection in your body. The stinging tears that had threatened to fall are starting to vanish, hiding inside the sponge tissue of the corners of your eyes. A shiver runs through you as you watch Eren's nervous foot stop it's rhythm.

"I know."

"I'm sorry. I've talked about this with you so many times. And I'm just not feeling like I can do this anymore. I wish I could fight about us even more, but I can't be the only one fighting. I feel horrible for saying this but Eren, saying this sentence felt liberating for me. I feel free."

"There's no need to explain yourself. It's fine. Fine. I made you feel this way and yeah." Eren bit his lip as he spoke.

"I didn't think we'd end like this."

"Me neither." He snarls.

"I'm sorry"

"Don't be." His nose scrunches as he sniffles.

His eyes trace the uneaten sandwich in his plate, then they followed a forbidden path to you. But before he meets your eyes, he snaps his gaze back to what he was originally eyeing to distract himself. He wants to lash out, he wants to shout, but for what he doesn't know. It is rather odd to just sprout nonsense to someone who doesn't want to be standing across from him just because his devotions belonged to them up until second day ago.

Thus he bites on the inside of his cheek, pointy teeth digging into the soft flesh with fury, opening holes that he knows will be a pain in the ass before they heal again.

Without him, you'll be free. The phrase is a loop that's repeating into his head like a snap to reality.

Eren watchea as you bite your top lip and push your chair backwards, prompting your self up and away from the table, with your lips pushed into a thin line. He can see that it feels like a walk of shame, from your point in the kitchen to the sink, the way that your feet sound when clashing with the tiles of the floor indicate your need to not disturb him further. As if you're pitying him.

Eren grows to hate the way your pity presents it self. As if he is sick. But you are right.

"I'll go to sleep to Sasha's tonight and I'll come get my stuff tomorrow." You announced, without ever turning to look at him.

If he can work on himself he can try to get you back, he thinks and sighs. Nontheless he refuses to reply; he hasn't been given a right to reply to such statement. He can only let you go, and try not to be swallowed by the suffocating thought of you moving on without him.

At least now you can be free of that.

Taglist: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @puredivinity @ackermans-freedom-inc @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore @berrijam @lzrers

[kashimos-hajime]

reunion pt. 2 (6/8) | r.b.

summary: The blue and white Wings of Freedom crumple as the cape falls, spread out by the wind like true wings. Or, the winter after Shiganshina is frigid with change.

WARNINGS: mentions of heavy injuries, depression, angst all around, swearing, levi gives some advice, blood pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 8.2k

a/n: we’re nearing the end!!! ahh thats crazy adnkasln. not much reiner this chapter unfortunately but he will return next chapter!!

masterlist

crossposted on ao3!

You land heavily on your left leg, hand on Jean’s shoulder to soften the blow to your right as you watch Hange wrestle Mikasa back. Eyes widening, you sweep the rooftop—from Levi, to Erwin, to the burnt corpse that has to be…

“Don’t tell me…”

“Armin?”

“It can’t be…”

Bertholdt. Your eyes fall to his steaming body, marks of his Titan still imprinted on his face and you fall forward. Limbs chopped to the bone, blood pooling underneath him, a cloud of steam surrounding him. You’re the only one left.

Rising to his feet, Jean’s grip is iron on your shoulder, clamping onto the joint so hard you’re sure it’ll break and you look up at him, watery breaths puffing past your lips. He stares down at you, regret sewn into his features, but even so, there’s a hard determination in them. 

You know what has to be done, he seems to say. Covering his hand with your own, a shooting pain splits your chest open as Levi looks from Erwin to Armin, back again—an impossible choice. You’re not jealous at all of the captain, deciding the fate of two soldiers who are both just as important, but for some reason, you can’t even think about Armin or Commander Erwin. 

You smell the terrible perfume of burnt flesh mixed with the smoke and dust of the ruins of Shiganshina, the blood in your mouth, the sweat lingering heavily around them. It reminds you of Trost, of Reiner holding you as he told you Marco had died. You somehow can’t think of anything else.

It’s not until Levi tells them to get that you can tear your eyes off Bertholdt’s slumbering face. He looks almost peaceful and you reach a limp hand for him but Jean tugs at your shoulder, and you look at him.

“Come on,” he utters softly, and you let him help you up, hopping on your broken leg with a grimace. You can do this, you tell yourself as Captain Levi drags Bertholdt towards the commander by the scruff. Whatever happens, at least it’s for good, right? Please, just sleep, Bertholdt. I don’t want you to suffer anymore than you already have. 

“Captain Levi, can I—“ Your voice comes out from your chest, surprising everyone there including yourself, and the bloody captain freezes, turning to look at you. You set your jaw, limping away from Jean who tries to stop you. “I just want to say goodbye.”

Levi’s eyes search yours, and then flicker to Hange, still holding Mikasa. A beat passes.

“Make it quick,” he allows. “The rest of you, scram.” The sound of ODM gear splits the air, iron wire screeching as the Scouts left head towards a distant rooftop. Walking towards the captain, you give him a weary look as he sets down Bertholdt’s body.

Crashing to your knees, you reach a hand to brush the dark hair out of his eyes, and his forehead doesn’t even crease when your fingertips brush over his brow. Overwhelmed, you can only gently trace the Titan markings on his cheeks, hollowed out patches of skin that outline his bones, reveal the muscle pulling his face together.

“Bertl,” you whisper. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” You wait for an answer that’ll never come, hand flattening against his warm cheek, and you feel his gentle breath against your fingers as your eyes begin to burn. “Why didn’t either of you just kill me? If we’re all devils, what made me so special?” You blink, and the tears fall down your face, land on his chest in gentle splatters. With your other hand, you cradle his face completely in your palms, and you bow your head.

“Nothing’s special about you,” Levi mutters, and your head snaps up to see him standing over Bertholdt’s body, nothing but a cold indifference struggling to find its place in his eyes. “They just decided you were. That’s all it was.”

His words sting, but nonetheless, you don’t let it faze you. You draw your hands back towards your lap.

“Captain, please keep it quick. I don’t want him to suffer,” you whisper, and you meet blue-grey eyes resolutely before pulling yourself up. “I don’t think I’ll survive hearing him scream.”

“Hurry up and go,” he orders. “I’ll be as merciful as I can.” Nodding numbly to yourself, you glance down at Bertholdt one last time, before heading towards the edge of the roof and launching yourself back towards the others. Mikasa helps ease you down to your knees and you send her a grateful look before shuffling in between Jean and Connie. Watching the captain’s green figure crouch beside the Commander’s, your nerves are shot and your headache only begins to intensify.

“Armin,” Eren’s muffled sob pricks at your ear but you ignore him, eyes trained on the singular figure arched over the apex of the roof. 

“What’s taking him so long?” Jean mutters.

“Maybe the transformation isn’t instantaneous?” Connie suggests.

“If that were the case, the captain would’ve left and watched the commander transform from a safe distance.” Leaning forward, one of your hands plant on the wood of the apex on the gabled roof as the cloaked figure stands. Together, the Scouts watch as Levi turns around, walking to the other end of the roof towards a black, burnt body. Ragged, wet gasps tear the air as Eren lunges forward. Mikasa grabs his arm, hauling him back, and your eyes widen.

He’s going back for Armin, you realize distantly. He changed his mind. Why? How could he—

There isn’t time for questions. As soon as the captain seems to inject the fluid, he kicks Armin’s body off the roof before turning around and grabbing Commander Erwin’s body. Hange lets out a soft noise, sprinting off the roof towards their friend while the rest can only watch as lightning splits the air for just a flash of a second, destroying the back end of the home. Splinters and debris go flying as steam arises from the spot where lightning struck and the two senior officers retrieve the commander, retreating to a roof a distance away.

Only a few more seconds. Bertholdt has to stay unconscious for just a few more seconds. Jean’s hand on your shoulder is iron-like again, nails digging through your jacket, a silent warning that you don’t have to watch, but you’re frozen to your spot, waiting.

The shrill sound of wood ripping fills the air, even from where they watch, as one bony claw reaches through the steam. What follows—a blond head, a body more skeleton than flesh, and a gaping mouth.

Armin. His name sounds foreign in your head as he reaches Bertholdt. 

You hear the first sob as he plants a hand onto his prey, lifting him into the air.

“No!” Raw and burning, Bertholdt’s screams brand into your eardrums as he thrashes as hard as he can in Armin’s grip but he’s nothing more than a limbless body and a head. Your world splits open as he’s raised through the sky. The fear fractures your chest, the desperation sinks into your skin, and you want to tear your eyes out but your fingers remain dug into the ridge as he screams wetly. Your hand is blistering, on fire along your fingers, and blood congeals on your tongue.

For the rest of your days, you will remember the moment his eyes found yours, bulging wide with untamed, unnatural dread.

“Guys, please!” Sobbing, his voice grows hoarse as Armin’s jaw unhinges. “Help me!” Head snapping, swinging, whipping any which way until he can free himself, the way his neck thrashes makes your stomach roll. Your legs are begging for orders, begging to spring forward to save him as the shadow of a Titan falls over his face. 

Bertholdt screams your name and it pierces through, a bullet that shatters every nerve as your eyes begin to burn. Your teeth clench before you’re pushing off the roof, boots gritting against tile

“Bertholdt!” Pain spirals through your entire body as you take one step before an arm wraps around your neck, flinging you back. You fall onto your spine, the breath knocked out of you and your feet kick out, ODM gear clanking against the tile. Hands surrounding you, pinning you down, and you flail your arms and legs, nails clawing at anything you can make contact with, gasping for air, for space, for anything. “Bertholdt! No! No! Please!” 

Vision blurring, you try to make out your captors as a knee presses into your wrist and another slams into your shoulder. Breath shuddering, your feet lash at the air, desperately trying to push yourself away from the others to save him. You have to save him—Captain Levi said it’d be merciful—

“Hold her down! Shit!”

“I’m trying!”

“Bertholdt!” Your throat begins to bleed and you taste the fire in your lungs as your head slams backwards, your back arching off the roof. Tears sear into your skin. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out a furious sob, heaving and wheezing before your mouth falls open and a burning scream bursts from your chest. Ribs poking into every inch of your flesh, your hands fly up to dig into elbows. Whoever you hold onto do not wince and you hear a jagged voice, wrought with anguish.

“Go! Go get Armin and make sure he’s okay. I have her—“

“But, Jean—“

“Connie! Go with Eren and Mikasa. We’ll be okay.” The knee on your shoulder lifts and you immediately swing your fist at Jean, clocking him in the cheek and knocking him off you. Throwing yourself up, you scramble forward and wipe at your face but the tears still do not cease. You can barely see.

Your heart decays, a cold, throbbing agony filling you as you scan the square. You see the blonde Titan just in view behind the house, collapsed on his stomach, steaming more and more as someone erupts from the nape. 

The agony numbs.

So, that’s it then.

Bertholdt’s…

Crumpling in on yourself, your fingers clasp at the base of your neck and you curl into a ball, eyes sliding shut. Everything inside you falls apart, shattering into a million pieces and the walls around you begin to fall in, the fatigue and pain and heartache piling on top of you, burying you, blocking out the sun, you’ve lost everything, you have no one. 

You couldn’t even save Bertholdt—

“Jean, go to the others.” Fingers tightening around your head, your tears scorch as they fall into your hairline, disappearing in all the grime and dust and blood staining your body. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Shoulders shaking, your breath puffs hot against your face and you’re panting for air as your back kinks painfully. Stabbing sensations nestled right underneath your shoulder blades, you begin to wheeze, face beginning to flush, body beginning to grow number and number until you can’t even feel the pain anymore of shattered bones. 

All you can hear is Bertholdt screaming for you to help him, the silence of your body.

Why couldn’t you move?

Failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure.

It spells itself out, digs its talons into your brain and pries you open until you’re sobbing harder into the stone. Your heart thuds in your mouth, large and swollen, as hands grip your shoulders, wrenching you up. On instinct, cold air seeps into your chest and you let out a gasp, face in pieces as you lift it to the sky. 

“Hey!” Your eyes spring open as the hands on your shoulders grow more insistent and you lower your wet stare to Levi who is already studying with his quicksilver gaze. You feel everything inside you drain out. His teeth are bared in a tight scowl, and you still tremble in the aftershocks but he only holds on tighter. “Give yourself a moment, then pull yourself together. We still have a job to do. After that, I’ll give you as much time as you want to cry your little eyes out.”

“Captain—“ Your voice breaks, and Levi’s eyes flicker as you stare right through him. He lets go, drawing his hands back to himself. “Do you think it hurt?”

He pauses, deliberates this. “I think the fear was probably the worst part. If it hurt, it was only for one intense moment. Arlert crushed his head open,” he informs and your heart becomes a stone in your chest. “Now, come on. I’ll splint your leg and then we’re moving Erwin.”

“But, but Armin—“

“Do you really want to see him right now?” he cuts off sharply, and you wince as he stands. “Hange will take care of the others. You’re coming with me.”

Weakly, you mumble out his name, but he doesn’t stop as you struggle to your feet, following after him. You wipe at your face with sweaty hands, but it doesn’t help at all, only smearing it all over your exhausted features. Lungs still spasming in the occasional hiccups, you let your smashed, bruised fingers fall uselessly.

Captain Levi leads you to a demolished square near the Wall where Hange is already piling supplies, Commander Erwin’s body laid to rest. Eyes widening, you look at his corpse before looking at Levi who only looks over the body in passing before walking to a crate and ordering for you to sit down.

“We’ll be going over the Wall. I need to know you’re in shape to keep moving.”

“The others are bringing Armin back here before we start searching for survivors,” Hange informs.

You nod as Levi cuts away your pant leg and you grimace when you realize how swollen it is along your shin. Shaking his head to himself, he yanks your boot off and begins to wrap a nearby piece of wood he found and broke into the right length to your leg, splinting the bones tightly. Your bruised and broken fingers dig into the crate with every wince but he keeps going and going as you look down at him.

He slips the final round underneath the layers of cloth before stuffing your foot back into your boot despite the pressure mounting as soon as he does.

He steps back and you stand unsteadily. The pain is even worse, now, but you’re just going to have to be stuck with it. You’re sure walking around on a broken leg isn’t good for the health, but it shouldn’t matter. There’s still work to do.

“How much gas do you have?”

“Enough,” you reply, patting your ODM gear and he nods. 

“I’m refilling once we get over the wall. All our supplies are probably knocked everywhere so grab as much as you can on the way back.”

“Yes, sir.”

.

The battlefield reeks of the tang of blood and shit. The air is hot and heavy under the beginnings of a warmer afternoon, and your stomach roils at the bloody mist still tinting the air. This was a massacre—nothing less—and you swallow your nausea, picking your way through the battlefield.

They search for a singular thing, but with the amount of red on the field, you can’t pick out what used to be brown from what used to be green.

“It would’ve been closer to the houses than the others,” Levi mutters. “Forster said he was hit first.” You nod, turning around and examining the land they’ve already traversed.

Standing beside your captain, your eyes widen when you catch sight of the only white on the field. It reminds you of the flags they’d teach about in cadet corps—white meant fall back, white meant give up.

White meant nothing Commander Erwin stood for, and you let out a soft gasp. Levi’s gaze snaps to you.

“Commander Erwin’s horse,” you finally croak, lifting a dead finger to point at the steed. It lays limp, dirty, and the more you focus on it, the more you can make out its features. His eyes are closed, and you could’ve believed the stallion was asleep as you approach it and crouch down slowly, touching the horse’s cheek. “Sleep well.”

“What a fucking shitstorm,” Levi murmurs as you push yourself up. He tugs your elbow to help you, and you send him an appreciative glance but you find he’s already looking at everything else, haunted pale gaze searching for something. 

He looks starving for his target, greedy, and you look away. There’s blood that hasn’t steamed away from his face, and you don’t want to think about whose it could be.

You turn to see where the dirt had been imprinted on in an odd-long oval shape, different from the thousands of hoofprints stomped into the mud. A drag mark, carved into the soft mud. Following the trail, your throat begins to close up as you hobble beside it, only stopping when you finally find what they’re looking for. 

You see the green cape, soaked in red, dragging at the ground, muddied and soiled, stepped all over and half-buried. 

Nonetheless, you reach down pick it up, flapping what dry crumbs you can off the fabric and folding it over your arm before glancing over to where Levi stands near the horse’s head, staring at the patch of blood soaking the dirt.

“Captain, I found it.” You tilt your head heavily. “Captain?” Returning to his side, you try to find what he’s looking at. Following his gaze, you frown warily at the patch where the mud is saturated red, the grass still drinking in the blood like it’s been stuck in a drought and it mixes like a sickly stew.

Commander Erwin’s blood, you realize after a moment. Nausea sluices through you and you blink away the burning. The idea of him, cold, lying in the blood and awake, listening to his troops die around him…

“Captain, I found it,” you whisper rawly. As if your words break the trance Levi has put himself in, he looks up, shaking his shoulders out.

“Finally, he’ll have something to cover himself with,” he mutters at last, grabbing the cape from you, and you only look at your captain. At the rough, deep quality in his tone you’ve never heard before as he clears his throat. “Idiot.”

“Sir, don’t you mean buried with?” you ask timidly, and he shakes his head. “We’re not going to leave him here, are we?”

“We’re not bringing him back with us. By all means, his dream lived here and he died here. He fought his whole life to get here—I’m not going to be the one to take him away from that.”

Take him away from his mission, you hear in your head. Who is Captain Levi to decide that? Who are you to decide? Erwin stays here. It makes sense. I stay here. They had a mission. Who was I? Who was I to tell them to stop because of me?

“I’ll come back,” Levi continues, promises, but not to you, “to bury him. When this is all over. He deserves a proper burial.” Lips pressing together, you swallow down your words, and bow your head. After an unknowable amount of time, Levi finally sighs, shoulders caving, and starts walking back to the Wall. The green is clutched tight in his fist. You stand by the blood stain, the tip of your boot beside the head of the horse who could’ve been sleeping and he calls out, voice sharp and normal again: “C’mon. We can’t hang around—“

“I want to help you bury him,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and Levi freezes in his spot. Swallowing, you close your eyes for a moment, feel every nerve inside you pulse, before you fix your gaze on the Wings of Freedom printed on Levi’s back. “I know it’s not my place, but Commander Erwin gave me a chance to prove I wasn’t weak and I failed him. I need to make it up to him somehow.”

Levi sighs softly before continuing on and you limp after him as fast as you can, catching up after a few pained grunts. Your leg is blistering, burning from the inside out, but nothing has scorched you more than your tears, so in comparison, you almost feel relieved.

“Some things I have to do on my own, you understand that?”

Despite yourself, the faintest ripple in your lips that could’ve been a smile runs through your face before disappearing as if it were never there. It’s something he’s told you so many times during your suspension and you dip your head.

“Of course, sir.”

He nods numbly. “Okay, then.”

.

The others went to the basement and you’re left here.

Someone calls your name softly as you sit on the edge of the wall, looking at the ruins of Shiganshina hollowly. Raising your head, you see Armin standing, and you sweep your gaze for a moment before turning to look at the city again. He sits uninvited next to you and you barely resist the urge to ask him to leave you alone, reminding yourself you have no reason to be angry with him.

He didn’t eat Bertholdt on purpose. It’s just how the cards were dealt, how the dice was rolled. The pieces on the chess board lined up, and they had a chance to seize a game-winning piece.

Armin twiddles his thumbs. Your shoulders slump forward.

“I’m… I’m really sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” you intone quietly. “What matters is that you’re okay.”

“Yeah, but I ate Bertholdt, and I know—“

“Armin, don’t.” He falls quiet, and you look at him desolately. “There really isn’t anything we can do about it, now. At the end of the day, they’re gone, and I’m still here. You’re still here, and Bertholdt isn’t. That’s all.”

“I know.”

“I really am happy that you’re okay, Armin. I’m so grateful that you could come back, and that our side managed to get another Titan power. Maybe we can turn the tides, but…”

Knowingly, he finishes it for you, “But the price was too high for you.”

The words make you flinch and you don’t correct him.

“They could’ve killed me so many times. I’m starting to wonder why they didn’t,” you whisper mostly to yourself. A doe blue gaze fall on your cheek, and you close your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line.

“Because they care about you. I could never try and kill Mikasa or Eren. I can’t even imagine it, so the fact that you tried to put those feelings aside for duty, I think that’s saying a lot more than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

You scowl at his words, hating the tears threatening to spill over your cheeks again. You’re drained, dried out, yet still, more tears are always coming even when you think you’re done. 

“Armin, if I took the multiple chances I had to kill Bertholdt, to kill Reiner, I think both you and Commander Erwin would be alive. Captain Levi would’ve never had to make such an impossible choice, and—“ And maybe I could remember how to breathe without all this weight on my chest. But you don’t say that. Instead, quietly, you plead, “Can you just… leave me alone? I don’t want to talk, right now.”

Armin’s lips upturn into a hurt frown, but you only stare at the space just in front of your knees, focus fixed on some imaginary spot. Before long, he’s pushing himself to his feet and walking back to Sasha, and you clasp your hands, watching the city blankly.

For some reason, you can’t stop thinking about the time you and Annie had walked the walls the day before graduation, finding Reiner and Bertholdt up there, too. How had that only been a few months ago?

It feels like years, now.

Without a second thought, you pick yourself up slowly, your splinted leg awkwardly colliding with the stone. Levi told you to get some rest, but…

You begin to walk away from the others, not quite sure where you’re going. You go past Floch, who’s taking watch, and when you close your eyes, you can hear footsteps behind you—two, light and fleeting, one more sure and steady.

“Have fun in the MPs, Annie. I’m sorry I couldn’t come with you.”

“You won’t be missing much.”

“Yeah, but—“

“Hey, the military ranking shouldn’t determine whether or not someone can join the MPs. What if someone’s just as good, but didn’t make it into the top ten because of how limited the spots are? It doesn’t make sense.”

A sharp laugh. “Someone needs to wash Bertholdt’s mouth, creampie. Look at him, renegading against the government.”

Eyes snapping open, you turn to look over your shoulder.

Nothing but still air.

.

The next few days pass in nothingness. 

You’re moved to the old Scouts headquarters—where Section Commander Miche died, you still feel his ghost lingering the halls—away from the others.  It’s mostly empty besides a few Garrison Regiment officers who keep an eye on you—Captain’s orders, and they’re your main source of news, even if it is just catching hints of gossip. You don’t speak to them, mostly because you’re sure they think guarding a teenager with broken bones who doesn’t even talk back is way below their pay grade.

Most of your friends aren’t keen on talking to you either, with a fair few forced exceptions, but at this point, you’ve written your report, detailing everything you did during the campaign, and you don’t want to talk to them either. You haven’t since their ride back.

They know you went back for Reiner, and, instead of striking him down, you tried to pull him free. It doesn’t matter.

You roll onto your side. Everything feels grey, time passing by inconsequentially in the rise and fall of the sun. You mostly stay in your room, content to let Shiganshina crush the ruins of your memory into dust, and you don’t recognize what day it is. Your nights are plagued with flashes of Bertholdt, the sounds of his screams ringing until you’re deaf. Reiner’s bare, burned face, steaming, eyes covered in a blindfold too tight over his skin.

The ragged gasp of your name.

There’s a knock on the door. You don’t budge from where you stare out the window, at the sun gleaming in through. It dapples on the cotton of your sheets, gentle pools of gold, and you trace one of the warm shapes absently with your wrapped, splinted fingers.

It nearly frightens you how much you don’t feel, how much you don’t care what happens to you next. The world is hollow, everything inside it scooped out and replaced with black coldness. 

“I know you’re awake in there.”

Levi.

“You better be decent. I’m coming in either way.”

The door clicks and swings open.

They had a ceremony two days ago, honouring the survivors of the expedition before they could move on to a far more somber occasion today—a service for Commander Erwin at the end of the week, and the government going into a state of mourning. Flags are raised, speechs are prepared to be given, and you’re pretty sure the empty casket will be closed and buried somewhere in Mitras, empty words carved into a plaque.

Levi’s sigh breaches your ears. “Have you at least eaten today?”

“Yes.” You don’t move nor start at the creakiness in your voice. Blinking slowly, you examine a ripple in the bedsheet. “Doctor said if I didn’t, he’d break my other leg.”

“Good.” He walks to the window, and you see his shape lingering at the edge of your eyes. Tilting your head, you look at him. He looks rested, as well as he can be, but there’s a raggedness in his stature, the exhaustion engrained in his face that only comes with grief.

“The memorial is today,” you point out unhelpfully. “Will you be speaking?”

“Have to,” he mutters brusquely. “Not exactly excited to eulogize Erwin in front of a bunch of stuck-up bastards. Don’t think he would’ve minded either, if I didn’t.”

“So why are you doing it?” You shift a bit, sit up a bit straighter. There’s a pulse of silence where Levi seems to debate how to answer. His lips press into a thin, white line, and he scowls at his reflection in the pane of glass, before he exhales sharply.

“I don’t know,” he says before shifting the discussion blatantly. “Either way, you won’t hear it. You don’t need to come.”

“Sir…”

“You didn’t come to the ceremony two days ago, either,” he snorts. “I’m sure it’s no skin off your back.” He’s right, and you smile grimly. “Focus on healing.” Tugging at the lapel of his formal Survey Corps coat, he continues, “It’ll be a waste of time, anyway. Most of them spent most of their careers hating him. I doubt her Royal Majesty or any of your friends will want to be there, either.”

You swallow, sitting upright and adjusting the pillows against your back. He glances over, and rakes his gaze down your body with a critical glare.

“Would you look at that? You haven’t moulded to the futon, yet. I was starting to think you had lost your body back in Shiganshina.” He steps away from the window and turns, standing at the foot of your bed.

Clearing your throat, you reach up to scratch your collarbone and find blue-grey fixed on your fingers. “When do you think we can go back for him, Captain?”

Levi frowns, gaze flickering up to your face again. 

“I don’t know. At this point, it could be months before the state declares that Wall Maria is free of Titans, especially with how small the Survey Corps are. Garrison soldiers can only help so much,” he adds grudgingly. “And the MPs are pretty much useless. Most of them. And Hange… is doing their best. Let’s just say that.” You nod again. He glances at the clock airily, then at you again. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, and he studies you quickly, gauging how honest you are with your promise, before he sticks his hands in his pockets and turns around. Your stomach is a thousand stones in your stomach as he glances at the splintered wood of the wall, and his footsteps slow to a stop. Watching his profile, you wait for him to say something as he lowers his gaze to the waste bin by the door.

He doesn’t. He simply continues out the door, speaks to the soldier on guard outside your room, and disappears from your sight.

“Lunch will be in two hours,” the soldier says before closing the door. You turn to look out the window.

Two days earlier, Connie and Sasha had come bearing a bolo tie, green gem gleaming, expression somber.

“It’s yours. For your services to the Survey Corps and to Historia.”

You had the grace to wait for them to be gone before flinging it with all your might at the wall and listening to the wood splinter as it clattered to the bottom of the bin. 

.

The snow melts as soon as it touches your nose, and you glance at Levi uneasily as he jams the tip of the shovel into the dirt. His jacket’s been shed, and you swear he could be steaming with how much sweat drenches his entire body. He had insisted on laying the Commander’s bones to rest  and burying him yourself which meant you had perched yourself on the roof overhanging the little clearing they’d found. It’s off-track in an already trampled ceremony—his grave now the singular headstone in a field of a thousand bodies—but it’s somewhere he can rest, you’re sure.

Adjusting your grip on your ODM gear, you look up at the blindingly grey sky. The snow slows to a stop as you fall to one-knee, examining the terrain.

Returning to active duty had been difficult. Rehabilitation even harder. You felt like there was scrutiny everywhere you walked, and there was a strange air lingering as the summer faded and fall began.

Even now, you’re sure Levi and Hange are the only people who bother to check up on you because they want to, not because they’re obligated to remember whether or not you’re still alive.

You scratch at your neck. Eventually they had to clear out the old barracks where you’d been staying which is what you’ve been doing for the past few months to avoid any clashes with your friends, and you’d come across the chess set, untouched, the pieces still in place as if the players had simply forgotten the game.

Your fingers had brushed over the piece Reiner had called a pawn, and it felt that much heavier. 

A foul poison erodes your heart as you glance down at Levi again. He’s crouched in front of the tombstone, and you look away again, at the Wall. Beyond that—

Reiner is still out there. You wonder if he thinks of you half as much as you think about him, and whether if it’s just as laced with rage and longing. Half the time, you think you could scream into his face before tearing his head off his shoulders. Other times, you just want him back. You want to see Bertholdt’s smile again. You want to hear Annie’s dry jokes.

You could cry yourself to dehydration if you thought about it enough.

A sharp whistle cracks the air and you look down. Levi’s looking up at you, shrugging his jacket back on and you lower yourself back to the ground with a burst of gas, landing beside him.

There’s a quiet in which he gives you a sharp nod and you know what to do.

Accepting the handkerchief Levi offers you, you wipe at Erwin’s grave where some mud had been kicked up on the letters before laying down the flowers you had cradled in your arm. They’re dry, the petals already crumbling, but still, despite how gloomy everything seems, it almost feels right. 

You step back, squinting a bit, the handkerchief clutched tight in your hand. The tombstone is a marbled grey, polished smooth and rectangular in shape, the corner sharp enough to puncture skin. Carved into the surface is his name, birth and death date, his title—and underneath all of that: 

HIS FATHER’S SON

The epitaph is almost haunting the more you look at it and you salute the headstone before letting your hand fall to your side. Staring at the tombstone too small for a man of the Commander’s stature, you feel something hot sear through your chilled body. It’s nothing he deserves. 

“Do you know why you were placed under my watch for a month?”

You blink, turning to look at the Captain. He’s paled so much in the winter months, it’s hard to think you aren’t looking at a ghost. The only exceptions are his red nose, his lips, and his flaring cheeks. That and those knife-point eyes.

“Because everyone around me was a traitor,” you murmur blankly, unsure of why he’s asking. Your hands ball into tight fists as you add, “And it only made sense that I should be one, too. Who better to watch me then Humanity’s Greatest to make sure I didn’t shift into a Titan, too?”

“It’s because Commander Erwin insisted not to leave you alone,” Levi agrees, “but not because he didn’t trust you. I doubt someone like you would turn around against the only people who are there for you. I read your file. Orphaned at birth, you grew up on a farm with no close known relations.” You turn your face away, teeth gritting together, and Levi tilts his head. “The 104th were all you had. Human nature insists that we latch onto those we have left.”

“Even you, Captain?” 

Levi doesn’t answer. When you look at him again, his stare on the stone is darker, laced with noxious grief. “This job isn’t pleasant. You lose enough people—even those you didn’t care for—and you either grow numb, tired, or so damaged you can’t even wake up to another day. Most people find life meaningless after a few years.”

“Right…” Struggling to find the words, you cross your arms over your chest, fingers wrapping tight around your biceps. “I don’t know where you’re going with this. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

A heavy sigh. Levi shifts his boots in the grass. 

“And what are you going to do after? What’ll you set your mind to next? Working as a Scout? I doubt you’ll find any fulfillment in working with people you don’t trust.”

“That’s not true—“

“You have a knack for isolating yourself when you believe you’re unneeded. Exiling yourself to an abandoned building under the pretence of ‘cleaning it out’ can only last so long,” he cuts off sharply, eyes finding yours dully. You clench your jaw, swallowing hard. He looks back at the tomb. “Look, I’m going to tell you something, and I expect you not to speak of it again, got it?” 

You nod tightly. “Of course, sir.”

“I’m aware of people misunderstanding or making assumptions of where I’ve come from. To put it simply, I was a criminal in the Underground and I ran a network with two others. They were as close to me as I assume Hoover, Braun, and Leonhart were to you.” 

You nod again, slower this time.

“We joined the Survey Corps because the Commander insisted it was a better alternative to a life time’s sentence in Mitras dungeons. I’m still waiting on that promise, Erwin,” he adds without any bite. Instead, his tone almost softens. “When they died on our first expedition outside the walls, I wanted to be left alone. He was only Section Commander at the time, and Shadis insisted I should be left to the MPs.

“Erwin refused. He forced me to come to training for the next expedition, to drills, and to the events the military held every once in a while just so I wouldn’t stay in my room all day. I lashed out. I screamed at him behind closed doors, was an outright violent son of a bitch and an unpleasant one at that, but he persisted.”

Levi scoffs. “It took me a long time to grasp what he was doing besides being a nuisance. It was when I realized I was constantly at his right hand when he was promoted to Commander did I understand. Every human dies. Whether or not they sacrificed themselves for a greater cause, it will always be a selfish act in the end.”

“Selfish?” you echo. “But, Commander Erwin died for the Scouts to survive, didn’t he? If he never did, you never would’ve stopped the Beast Titan. We’d probably all be dead.”

“And who’s left to clean after his mess, huh?” he cuts coolly. “That’s what’s selfish about death—those corpses get off scot-free. Their last moments may be guilty, or afraid, but they won’t give a damn the minute they stop breathing. It’s the living who have to deal with the consequences. Grieving alone sends you into a pit that’s hard to crawl out of. You either sink, or you come out of it strong like hell, but it’s easier when something’s at the top, so to speak. Telling you to get off your ass and climb out.”

He scowls, and his glare narrows at the epitaph as he half-heartedly kicks some of the disturbed dirt at Erwin’s headstone, but it’s less malicious and almost as if, even now, Levi wants to point fingers at Erwin. “I don’t know. Metaphors were always this idiot’s strong suit. All I know is how to cut down Titans.”

Your shoulders sink. “Captain Levi…”

“He’s why I volunteered to supervise. I remember what our gracious Commander told me,” he says quietly. “It’s a lonely life we walk. The people who stay are the ones we have to hold onto with both hands and all our might.”

You soak in his words silently, tracing the carved E in the stone with your eyes. Levi sighs, lowering his head and shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. He seems to shake his head to himself, pale eyes darkening, lips twisting into a furious scowl. You know that scowl well—it’s the type of face one pulls when they’re trying to hide how real fucking sad they are.

You look away. You shouldn’t be seeing this.

“Suppose that doesn’t matter, though,” he murmurs. “They can slip through either way. What you need to do now is keep moving. You keep them in your memory, and you keep moving, but stop letting them haunt you. Find a new purpose, or it’ll be meaningless and you’ll realize you should’ve died, not those poor bastards who devoted their hearts to what they wanted.” He tilts his head back to the sky. Softly, then: “No one else can do that for you.”

You slide your own hands into your pockets, pull it tighter around yourself. “What if I don’t know what to do? What I want with my life?”

The first raindrop hits him first. A gentle splash against his nose that makes his eyes flutter, but not close. The next hit you, tapping against your skull that soothes the ache in your chest.

“Keep moving on, anyway, until you find it. It’s no good to stand around thinking about what should’ve been or what you could’ve done. Regret begets regret—have enough and it’ll start affecting your choices. Don’t have any when you go, and maybe you’ll live a life happier than most.”

You nod. Your neck feels tired. For lack of anything else, you manage to say, “Captain Levi… I’m really sorry for your loss.”

He doesn’t answer.

You stand there, fixing your gaze at the gravestone for a moment more, before bowing your head and saying your thank you to the fallen Commander. You turn around.

“I’ll wait for you by the Wall, sir,” you murmur. He nods, still staring up at the sky as if he can see something you cannot. You study his profile for a moment, then begin to walk away.

.

Riding back to Trost, the weight slowly returns, bearing down on your shoulders as if you can already feel the thousand-pound stares. The elevators are lowered and they step on, dismounting quickly to ease the horses. Garrison soldiers are posted along with a singular Scout, and you frown when you reach the top.

“Jean?”

He smiles grimly. “How was it?”

“Shitty, I guess.” 

And you leave it at that. Jean watches you critically, surveying your form, but you only stand on the edge of the Wall, looking at a world that’s about to get much bigger.

In truth, you don’t know how to answer. Your whole body is heavy, only going through the movements as Levi climbs up next to you. He takes the reins of your horse as well and heads off without a second word. You watch him go as he walks towards the nearest building, presumably to find the nearest elevator down the other side of the Wall. 

Sighing, you turn around to face the land you’ve just travelled. Wall Maria stands in the distance. Your gaze fixes on nothing, staring through, and you wonder if you’re just as ghostly as you think you are. All you can hear is the sound of Bertholdt, screaming for you to save him. 

The land is barren, desolating to even look at it with the faint rain muddying everything and dulling all the colours. The grass is brown, the trees frail and empty. Nothing like a few months ago when everything seemed so promising of life.

“One day, we’ll be eating like this every day,” you had told Annie during a visit to Trost once. She was quiet, her blue eyes focused on the cream bun but softer than you thought was normal. Her lips curved into a faint smile as you added, “Just imagine it. Us as the dream team in the MPs, solving assignments together, and eating sweets in the inner Wall. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“I guess.”

How did that dream turn into this nightmare? It’s like every part of you has been chopped off until you’re nothing but a bleeding body and a heart struggling to find the energy to pulse another second. Your limbs are gone, bleeding, ravaged, your head’s aching, and you feel every shadow held back by Annie’s fierce stare, Bertholdt’s arms, Reiner’s body shielding you, swarm you all at once now that they’re no longer there to protect you.

Joining the military had numbed your body, and Bertholdt and Reiner had cut you off at the knees. And Annie… 

Annie had spelt out tragedy on your throat in blood. If only you hadn’t ignored the red dripping down your neck, staining every word you breathed, maybe you could’ve stopped this.

You are wrestling for a way to keep crawling towards the light, but you will never be fast enough. Captain Levi had been right. Now that you’re alone, the pit is steeper than the walls, steeper than your fear, and the idea of waking up, of walking side by side with people who you’ve turned your back on for traitors, makes you nauseous.

They don’t deserve your half-hearted loyalty. 

Your shoulders fall at that revelation, and your eyes close when you realize what you want.

It’s something you told Reiner, a million years ago.

No more bloodshed, no more war. There didn’t have to be water, there just had to be him—but even so, that can’t happen anymore.

The former, however…

“We don’t hate you, you know,” Jean says. “None of us blame you for what happened. You can still come back.”

“That’s really nice of you, Jean,” you murmur blankly as your hands move on their own accord. “But I just can’t let this go.”

You reach up to your neck, and pull the green cloak away from your throat. Drawing it off your shoulders, you hold it in your hands, the blue and white wings of freedom dull in the pale light. You run a hand through the fabric, over the stitched insignia that once meant so much to you before you step closer to the edge. Jean’s eyes snap to you.

Freedom feels like nothing when everyone who was supposed to stand next to you the day you achieved it is gone.

Fists tightening in the green, you clench your teeth and with a silent exhale, you fling it off the side of the wall. Jean lets out a strangled noise, and together, the two watch as it flutters to the bottom of the wall. 

The blue and white Wings of Freedom crumple as the cape falls, spread out by the wind like true wings.

“What are you doing?” he asks roughly as your hands move next to your belt. Undoing the clasp, the metal collides with your frigid, mended fingers, and your skin begins to burn as he grabs your arm, trying to stop you. “Hey—“

You jerk out of his grip, not looking at him. You don’t think you can.

“I need to find a new life, Jean,” you murmur, your stomach flipping, your heart wilting, your words carrying in the wind. “This one is finished.”

“No. No, your life is here.” 

Your face burns as you blink, something warm trailing down your cheeks, but Jean only grabs you by the shoulders, trying to make you look at him but still, you continue to detach yourself from the contraption. He turns you, shaking you gently, but not even an immovable object can stall the unstoppable force of your hands.

Throat cinching shut, you stare at his chest as your ODM gear falls to the ground in an ungraceful crash. The hollow thud of the containers rattles your body and you look down at your gear that’s brought you so far.

“Don’t do this,” Jean murmurs. “You’re a Scout. Don’t let them make you give up.”

“No one’s making me give up, Jean.” You finally look up, look right through him, and Jean flinches back, his hands loosening and you take the opportunity to twist, shoving your gear off the wall with one swift kick. Heat shoots up your leg and the pain warms your entire body. 

ODM gear falls, nothing more than deadweight, and it clanks against the wall before bouncing off the stone, and Jean jumps off, deploying his own gear to try and catch the tech before it can crash, damaged beyond repair, at the bottom. 

Staring at his figure for a moment, you wonder if the harrowing feeling in your chest will last you forever, or just for now while you wait for something to take its place.

You’re not sure. But you do know a part of you feels lighter. You do know that a part of you just wants to go home and sleep.

Turning, you walk after Captain Levi, follow his trail to the building, and when Jean reaches the top of the wall again, you’ve disappeared.

[mrstaeminlee]

Mission Complete Ch. 1

You had two goals in life. One: Complete your squad training without dying. Two: Fuck Levi Ackerman

Pairings: Levi/f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, eventual smut, lmk if I need to add anything~

You really had no idea what the fuck prompted you to join the military. Maybe it was to find some redeeming grace in the eyes of your dying mother, maybe it was because you wanted a life with as much stability as one could muster, maybe it was because you just fucking hated farming.

Whatever it was, you wished to any God that would listen that you would have buried it in the ground along with the countless friends and family members you had lost to the Titans.

The first week of the cadet corps was everything you knew you would hate and more. Between the foul smelling breath of the commandant threatening to make you puke up the bread you had managed to steal, to working your body to the point of sneaking away from one on one combat to puke behind the bushes, after seven days you had almost decided that maybe digging in the dirt for the rest of your miserable life wasn't so bad.

There was only one thing stopping you from making your own walk of shame to the wagon of regret.

Levi Ackerman.

AKA the man you fantasized about every night when you managed to find enough strength to finger yourself below the covers.

He was a couple of inches shorter, true, but you were willing to break your rule of not fucking anyone shorter than you for him.

You had only see him twice in your life by complete chance, the first had been when you happened to be by the gates in time to see the Scouts returning from what was undoubtably another failed mission, and you decided that what the hell, might as well have a look at Humanity's Strongest in the flesh. Granted, it hadn't been his best day; his green cloak was splattered with what could only have been the blood of his comrades as it didn't look as if he had a single scratch on him, but he looked like a god, albeit one that had just gotten his ass kicked out of heaven. His eyes seemed to be sunken in, and even from how far away you were you found yourself shivering from the intensity of his dead gaze. You weren't sure what possessed you to lift your hand as he eyes moved through the crowd, looking for whom, you didn't know, or what possessed him to raise those eyes to you, but you found yourself lost in haunted silver as you gave a soft wave. The way he seemed to look straight through you, not even seeing you even as you stared at each other, was enough to convince you that you needed to do whatever it took to see this man again.

You enlisted the start of the next week.

The second time was completely by chance.

Everyone was desperate for military recruits, and desperate times called for desperate calls to important people to make appearances in front of people that were well, not very important.

Erwin Smith, Dot Pixis, Nile Dawk, Levi Ackerman, Hange Zoe, Rico Brzenska, and even Darius Zackly graced the entrance ceremony of the new Cadets, and you thanked whatever bone in your body made you a teacher's pet because you had a front row seat to the man that had plagued your thoughts every single day in the past week. His appearance was brief and he didn't speak, just stared at the fresh faces, some cocky, some blank, but mostly terrified new recruits, and you could have sworn that you saw a tinge of sadness hidden in the silver, as if he could already foresee the deaths of everyone in front of him. He followed after Erwin immediately after the blond gave his speech about thanking you all for making the decision to serve humanity and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. 'I'm not doing this for humanity, I'm doing this for dick,' you thought as you signed your life away to this shit camp for the next two years.

How one man who was fucking shorter than you managed to convince you to trade the next 728 days, 14 hours, 37 minutes, and 15 seconds of your life for physical and emotional hell was beyond you, and yet here you were, standing proud and slightly hungover from the pre-graduation celebrating you did with Eren, Mikasa, and Armin the night before. They hadn't initially been your first choice in friends, but Armin was nice to you from the start and once you very quickly learned that flirting with Eren in front of Mikasa was not in your best interest, you had decided that they were alright; especially when Eren's Titan form had been revealed. If anyone was going to have to get close enough to keep an eye on Eren, it would be Captain Levi.

The very man you were thinking of walked on the stage along with Nile Dawk, Dot Pixis, and Erwin Smith as the three took turns giving their pitch. You hadn't made the top 10 but were happy for your friends that were, you were content with your place as 13th. In a class of over 500, you still considered it a win, and if your parents were still alive you knew they'd be proud. As the remaining members of the top 10 who had opted to join the elitest MP's went off to talk to Nile and the other scared fucks ran off to sign themselves to the Garrison regiment, you and around a hundred other members stayed where you were and you licked your lips, forcing your heart rate to calm itself. 'Calm down, you can't work your way up to fucking the strongest man in the world if you die of heart attack before-'

"Listen up you little shits."

Oh my God he was speaking you've never heard his voice before it's so fucking-

"Most of you are going to die. Are you prepared for that?"

Ah, so Humanity's Strongest was a sweet talker.

"Erwin is making me come up here and talk, so we're all going to pretend that I'm saying some meaningful bullshit. But here's the truth: If you aren't strong, you will die, and it will be painful. Imagine the thought of seeing your childhood friend's entrails being slurped up like spaghetti by a Titan, while the entire time he's conscious enough to reach his hand out for you, and you are able to do nothing for him because you spent exactly one second hesitating, or you were a moment too late to draw your blades, or react to the threat. If that scares you, then do us all a favor and put down that half assed salute and sell your soul to the Garrison where you'll spend your days fucking the best whores for a discount if you're in uniform and getting drunk on the clock."

After his touching speech you and your now dripping panties decided that you had indeed made the right decision in selling yourself to the Scouts.

One month later

It was moments like these, where you weren't quite trashed but definitely more than tipsy, that you had never been happier to be part of the survey corps. I mean, you were in peak physical shape (you still couldn't believe you had abs. Abs!), you were hot, you were fit, and you knew Sasha Braus, who had managed to steal a few bottles of top shelf liquor from the higher ups.

You were also horny as fuck. It had been over a year since you'd gotten laid, and you were using the dildo you'd bought on your first trip back into town as often as you brushed your teeth (twice a day, you didn't fuck with cavities). You briefly thought about enlisting the help of one of your current drinking buddies but after seeing your choices you decided to leave it to old faithful hidden in your pillowcase. There was Jean, who albeit was pretty hot even with the long face but was so in love with Mikasa it made you want to vomit. Marco, who you were almost one hundred percent sure was gay; Connie, who held the sexual appeal of a pile of horse shit, although he was super nice. Reiner almost looked promising but you knew underneath those stocky muscles was a shitload of emotional baggage you didn't want, and Bertholt was head over heels for Annie of all people. That left Armin and Eren. Eren you already knew was out, while your slut senses told you he'd be a great lay, you weren't quite ready for your life to end at the hands of Mikasa. That left Armin. You tilted your head, staring at him as you sipped on your god forsaken concoction and debated fucking him or not. He wasn't outright sexy, but he'd filled in well during the two years of training and you had seen glimpses of his surprisingly impressive muscles under his white shirt. He might actually do. He'd be shy as hell and you would have to lead everything, not to mention he'd probably cum in less than a minute, but it just might-

“Did you guys know that Captain Levi is a virgin?"

You spit the mix of vodka, rum, and whatever mixer Reiner had put in all over the face of the person you had just considered fucking.

"I'm sorry, what?" You turned your attention to Christa, apologetically handing Armin a napkin and patting his cheek.

Christa blushed at the attention and scooted closer to Ymir, who threw an arm around her shoulders and gave Reiner her customary 'If you even look at her weird, I will gut you' look. "W-Well, recently I started helping out in the infirmary because they've been short handed. You all know, it's that time of year where everyone has to get looked at and they give us that sheet of paper to fill out with all of our personal information to keep track of potential diseases. I was in charge of filing the paperwork the day they brought all of the officers in, and on the paper they ask you how many sexual partners you've had and Captain Levi wrote 0. But you guys, you have to promise not to tell anyone! This is private information, if it somehow gets out that I told you this I'll get into a lot of trouble!"

Ymir chuckled, placing a sloppy kiss at the top of the blonde's head. "Don't worry about a thing sweet cheeks, if any of these miscreants here says a word I'll kill them for ya. But we don't have to worry about that at all, now do we?" She glared at each person in the room, who all looked as if Christa were a ghost, and slowly shook their heads.

Your life was changed.

Captain Levi Ackerman.

The strongest man in the world.

Rumored former thug of the Underground.

The person responsible for killing as many Titans as a hundred soldiers.

The person whose squad every scout dreamed of being on, was a virgin.

You screeched out a laugh before you could help it, the alcohol doing nothing to try and make you quiet yourself as you fell onto your back laughing, cup long forgotten as it rolled across the floor. The person who initiated your drive to join the military in the first place, the person you literally dreamed of fucking, had never gotten his dick wet.

Clearly, you had your work cut out for you.

If you managed to live through the sight of Ymir reaching over to punch you in the face to shut you up.

[frostedfaves]

Taken

Part 2

Pairing: Jake Peralta x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N is kidnapped by a perp whose real objective is her colleague and boyfriend Jake. Will he get to her in time?

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: violence, kidnapping, angst and more angst

-

There is at least one big moment in every young woman's life that she regrets immensely. Sometimes it's dating a horrible person and realizing far too late. Or maybe it's that outfit that truly belonged in a dumpster but somehow ended up in your closet instead. My biggest regret was being considerate of Jake's sleep.

We went to his place after work for date night because he'd finally found an old movie we were looking for and I didn't have a DVD player. We've been together long enough to love each other and we do, the topic of living together brought up a couple times before we both realized that neither of us are quite ready to give up our separate spaces yet. So we go to Jake's and we watch a movie.

-

"In hindsight, this probably wasn't the best mood to set on date night," Jake muttered as he turned to me, wiping a few tears from his cheeks.

"Nonsense! I think ugly crying to a great American heartbreaking tale with my boyfriend is completely romantic!" I countered through chuckles to cover up my lingering sobs, causing Jake to laugh with me.

"You're a riot." He helped me clear my cheeks as well before wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I'm exhausted. Wanna call it one? I'm too tired for sexy times but I'm willing to compromise and do hand stuff."

I rolled my eyes playfully at him as I allowed myself to sink into his hold for a moment. "No, I shouldn't stay."

"What? You always stay on date night. Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Everything's fine. The surgery scene just reminded me that I'm supposed to drop my mom off in the morning for a minor procedure before work. My mom's house and the hospital are on the other side of town and if I leave from here, I'll have to wake up like half an hour earlier."

"I don't mind getting up with you, babe."

"Jacob." I pushed myself into a sitting position, my tone falling flat so he knew to take me seriously. "You've been busting your ass for weeks now to catch your perp, and you got the next best thing--his right hand man. You deserve every second of rest you can get."

He stared at me for a while, a slight pout on his lips. "Alright, fine." He sighed heavily as he stood, pulling me to my feet as well.

"You'll see me in the morning, I promise. I love you, Jakey."

"I love you, too. See you tomorrow."

-

Tomorrow is here and I still haven't seen Jake. The windowless cement block of a room couldn't tell me how long I was unconscious, but the ache in my stiff muscles told me it was well past morning. A range of emotions hit me as my eyes focused on my current reality.

Fear.

I feared where I was, of course I did. I can't check my surroundings if it's all just gray walls, the only difference being the rusty chains that held me to one of them.

I feared not knowing who brought me here, how many there were, the intention behind bringing me here.

I feared time. How much had passed, how much I had left. How much of it I'd spent in such deafening and suffocating silence and what would finally disrupt the still air.

Worry.

I worried about not being the only one stolen from what I deemed to be my normal life.

I worried about the mess of blood that hadn't been cleared away from the side of my head.

I worried about the foggy in-and-out single stream of consciousness that I just barely held onto.

I worried about whether or not my mom made it to her surgery or if she spent the entire day in the police station worrying even more than I was.

The thought caused anger to rush in like an uninvited guest.

What could I have possibly done to end up here? I arrest criminals all day long, but none of them are capable of this. I'd love to rip these chains out of the wall and tightly wrap them around the throat of my captor. The thought alone caused the nausea bubbling up from my stomach to turn into something else, something stronger, something that was destined to get me into more trouble.

"You mind letting me the fuck out of here?!"

Like that. That kind of trouble.

Footsteps echoed from somewhere as they announced the arrival of another person. With the knowledge that someone else was in fact here came the return of worry. Or maybe it was fear. I can't quite tell the distinction over the little voice in my head that scolds me for being the thing to break the quiet.

A piece of the wall opened up and spit out a tall figure drowning in black fabric. From the tip of their worker boots all the way up to the ski mask that hid their identity from me.

"You want something?"

A male voice was all I was able to catch. I stayed quiet and kept my head down, hoping my silence would irritate him into talking more.

"What, you lost your tongue or something?"

I still couldn't tell who it was on voice alone.

"Oh, I get it. You want to do this face to face."

I lifted my head just as he ripped off his ski mask, and I quickly bit my lip to stifle my gasp. I recognized that stupid face. Unfortunately for me, he could tell.

"You know who I am, baby?" His steps were the only sound in the hollow space as he came to kneel in front of me. Before I could even blink, he had my jaw held tightly in his left hand, his right hand pushing the end of a blade into my skin.

"Say my name," he practically growled, sending shivers down my spine. I quickly obliged, well aware that I did not have the upperhand in the situation.

"Marco."

"My whole name," he demanded as he pressed further into my skin, responding to my involuntary whimper with a shake of his left hand. "Say it."

"Marco Fallio."

"Good." He quickly pocketed the knife, keeping his gaze on me. "I can't wait to hear you scream that later. It's gonna be fun." He winked as he stood finally, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as he turned his back on me.

"What am I doing here, Marco?"

"I figured since Detective Peralta took my right hand man, I was free to take his."

"How do you know who I am?"

"I saw you two disgusting lovebirds kiss after stuffing my boy inside the back of a cop car." He faced me again suddenly, pulling out a burner phone as he approached me. "What's his number?" He noticed my hesitation and laughed. "You want him to know I have you, right? Or should I just kill you now and send pieces of you until your boyfriend gets the hint?"

I sighed, closing my eyes as I recited the number to him. I listened to him dial, only opening my eyes again when the ringing stopped.

"Peralta."

It was only one word, but it was enough to break my heart. He sounded so defeated and tired, like the rest I begged him to get did nothing but further exhaust him. The thought brought tears to my eyes instantly.

"Hey Peralta, buddy. Fallio here."

"If you're calling to negotiate your friend out of jail, it's not going to happen. He's going to lead me straight to you."

Fallio laughs in a light way that suggests he was talking to an old friend, and not a detective that wanted him behind bars. "You know, I thought you may say that. So I got something that I think might change your mind."

In a few lightning fast motions, the knife was out again, slicing the fabric of my jeans and the skin of my thigh underneath. A strangled yell crossed the threshold of my lips before I could stop it as the burning sensation pulsated through the newly opened wound.

"Y/N! Marco I swear to God, you better--"

"Yeah, yeah. Talk soon!" He ended the call with a grin, turning his attention back to me. "Don't worry, I'll call him back. Let's have a little fun first."

-

I want death. I want to die. It seems to be the quickest and possibly the only way to escape Marco Fallio, and at this point, I'll take anything.

Maybe I'll get lucky and survive this, and I'll apply to work for the FBI. With all the cuts and bruises and dried and not so dry blood that now covers so much of my skin, they'll be sure to think I'm tough enough to handle any case.

Or I could quit law enforcement altogether. Become a baker. I'm good at it, and there's less of a chance of this happening again when you're just minding your business and selling fresh food. However, in this baker fantasy I'd still be dating Jake. So this could very well happen again.

Jake. I miss Jake. His name is the only constant thing I remember every time I come back. Every time I open my eyes and remind myself that I'm locked in this room in God knows where for who knows how much time. Jacob Peralta, the only thing I hear in my head as Marco does some other series of painful acts that makes me scream until my throat burns from the force, or until he pushes just a little too far and I pass out again.

"Hey, wake up."

I feel the light but aggressive pats on my face, a long groan pushing from the depths of my lungs and falling out amidst a heavy breath that smacks right into Marco's face immediately. As he has been for the past seconds, days, months, years, he's entirely too close. Which means I'm in for another beating.

His rough hands pull me off my pathetic position on the cool floor and thrust me back first into the wall behind me once again, gripping my jaw to hold my head in place. His thumb forces my bottom lip to part from the top as he begins to carefully pour water into my mouth.

"You're giving me nothing and this is growing old. Time to light some fire under your man's ass."

He pulled the phone out again and talked as I focused on swallowing the water, struggling to keep my eyes open. I felt the phone being pressed to my ear followed by Marco's voice.

"Any last words, Y/N?"

My mind flashed back to the movie Jake and I watched together. The main character's last words were in a suicide note she'd written to her boyfriend. It was a long shot, thinking that Jake would even remember this or that it would help him at all, but as Jake would say, "You miss 100% of the shots you don't take!" So I finished swallowing the water and took the shot.

"I knew about everything. That's why I died."

His hand released my jaw as he hung up again, allowing me to slide to the floor again. I could only hope now that I'd done enough. That by connecting the dots he'd realized that I--like the main character--was dying slowly in a cement room underground at the hands of someone else after being forced to craft last words to the love of my life. He'd already found Marco's three warehouses. A little more digging would tell him that two of the warehouses don't have basements, so I must be at the third.

-

Time zoomed past again as I floated away into unconsciousness, brought out of it once again by a gentle slap to the face. This one felt softer but more urgent. Then came voices, all of them fuzzy except for one.

"Y/N, can you hear me, babe?"

Jacob Peralta. The only name I could think of as I fought through the searing pain of every cut, every punch, every moment of being strangled or burned. The only voice I could hear calling my name as I sat there pathetically and waited to be rescued like some princess caught in a tower.

"The ambulance is almost here, Y/N. Can you open your eyes? Come on, baby, please."

Jacob Peralta, the last person to see me before I became a hostage.

"Fuck, Rosa, her pulse is weakening. What do I do?!"

Jacob Peralta.

"Baby, stay with me, come on!"

Jacob Peralta.

"Sir, we need you to clear the area, so we can properly assess her injuries."

Jacob Peralta. The one who kept me alive.

[poor-sickies]

overpower

Another band AU fic, because I don't get tired of this xD

I want to thank @vcepsis for coming up with this awesome idea and for discussing this with me and for helping with so many great headcanons I'm including here. This was fun! I hope you like it :)

*

"Great! You just created a song no one can sing!

"In my defense," Lance answers as he puts down the guitar, "it sounds awesome. And if either one of us ever learns the proper growling technique, this will sound badass. Imagine playing this live!"

Keith shakes his head with an amused expression.

"That's... never gonna happen," he says, "neither of us has a good voice for that."

"Yeah, especially not you, Keith!" Hunk laughs from behind his drum kit. "Your voice is amazing, but way too soft and cute for this."

Keith glares at him pointedly. Well, it was true. But if Keith's voice is soft and fragile, Lance's is too upbeat and poppy. And Shiro's... it could maybe work, if his voice dropped down a couple octaves.

This particular song had been created after Lance's trip back home, when his brother Marco had offered him a USB drive with sine cool music for him to check out. Among other softer things, were a few pop punk and melodic metal bands, and Lance had loved it.

So much in fact, that he had started writing a few songs in that same direction.

And it worked in theory, it did. Je had the lyrics and melody down, and Keith and Shiro were able to make some awesome guitar riffs, along with an incredible solo for Keith. Pidge and Hunk complimented the whole thing with powerful bass lines and drums, and they had a whole new song, completely different from what they had written before.

But the vocals? They were impossible.

As much as they wouldn't admit, their voices leaned a lot more towards pop and softer music. It was good for what they wanted, pop punk with the occasional ballad. This was a whole different backhand for them, and they knew it.

"Ah well," Lance rolls his eyes, "what's another rejected song... we can go back to it someday I guess."

"When you three have decent voices for that," Pidge comments.

*

"Okay, but are you positive you wanna do the show?"' Allura insists, removing her hand from Shiro's forehead. "Your fever isn't very high, but it's there... and you're all sniffly..."

Shiro shakes his head quickly.

"I'll be okay. I'll just take something for the fever and do the show."

Keith frowns, throwing a glance in his direction. When Shiro woke up this morning he was evidently sick, and everyone had told him it would be fine if he wanted to stay in and rest. They could manage with one less guitar for most songs, and Lance could cover for him with his acoustic one for the songs they needed two.

Yet, he insisted he was fine. Just half an hour ago he had taken painkillers for his headache and something for the fever before that, so it was time to take it again.

It's a forty five minute set list, so they can probably get through it, sure. And they'll have the next two days off, except Pidge who still has an exam next week, so Shiro will be able to rest afterwards.

Keith takes one more glance at Shiro, who's already up and around, taking his meds.

He should be fine.

*

"So tonight," Shiro says into the microphone, "we're playing a new song!"

The audience cheers.

Lance immediately turns his head away from his mic to look at Keith.

"We are??" He mouths, utterly confused.

Keith just shrugs, equally lost.

Pidge and Hunk glance at each other, and back at Shiro.

They usually have a set list, and this kind of improv isn't too common. It had happened before, but only to switch the order of what they usually did - never for a new song.

There's a distinctly dopey look on a Shiro's face, and Keith's eyes widen in realization.

"And I'll be singing, because my voice sounds great for this today," Shiro continues.

Shiro may be a little high on painkillers.

"Ohhh," Lance finally understands. He walks over to Shiro. "Hand me that guitar then. I'll handle the rhythm."

Shiro unstraps his guitar and happily gives it to Lance, while Keith stares in horror, understanding what's about to happen. At least Lance is doing damage control. He quickly signals for a very confused Hunk and Pidge in the back.

"Feeling brave today, aren't we, Shiro?" Lance teases. "Whenever you're ready."

*

When they get backstage, Shiro dumps his guitar (gently) on the sofa, and promptly lays down with his eyes closed.

"That was awesome!! Dude!" Lance exclaims, patting Shiro's shoulder, who groans in protest. "I know your voice is fucked up now, but you gotta get better, and you're gonna learn the growl! We need some hardcore music to play live!"

"Yeah, doing this one was pretty awesome," Hunk laughs, as he picks up one of the towels to swipe it across his forehead, "I'm so sweaty but it was totally worth it." He then turns to Shiro, with a small frown. "Are you okay, though?"

"Yeah," Shiro raps out. "Just kinda tired."

Lance winces at his voice. The way it sounds, he knows all too well how bad that's gonna hurt in the morning.

"Geez, your voice sounds -"

"Horrible," Keith interrupts him, coming back from the hallway with a glass of water. "What were you thinking?? You're sick!"

Shiro lifts his head up to look at Keith, and no one can really he sure if the pained expression is just because of how bad he's feeling, or just guilt.

Keith looks angry, but he knows he's just worried. He accepts the glass of water and lays his head down again, closer to Keith's thigh.

When they get to the car, Shiro simply leans against the windows and lets Keith wrap him in his jacket. He leans towards him, grateful.

Hunk glances at the backseat with a hesitant frown.

"So are we still going out for drinks, or-"

"No-" Keith answers immediately, "Shiro needs a real bed now. You guys go if you want, but we gotta head home."

"Yeah that makes sense," hunk mumbles, starting te car, "home it is," he smiles.

*

"Ugh, are you serious, Shiro?? Why did you even perform tonight? You're barely standing-"

Limping into their apartment, Keith guides Shiro to his bedroom, supporting most of his weight, as Shiro didn't seem to be able to walk right in his own. He's either too tired or too feverish, and the last thing he needs is to injure himself by falling face first onto the carpeted floor.

"I'm sorry, Keith," Shiro rasps out.

"No need to be sorry," Keith sighs, partly in relief, as he opens Shiro's bedroom door and drags him to the bed, where he flops ungraciously. "Be right back. I'm gonna get your pajamas."

On the way, he grabs an extra blanket from the living room, and puts some water boiling to make some tea.

When he gets back to the room, Shiro is laying in his side, eyes almost closed, hugging one of his pillows.

"How are you feeling? You think you can get some sleep?"

Shiro shrugs, hugging himself closer. It's more than obvious he's at least a little cold.

"Hey let's dress your pajamas," Keith decides, "you're probably freezing in that shirt, come on."

Shiro obliges, slow and clumsy, but within five minutes he's much warmer. He could almost say he's comfortable, if it wasn't for the horrible headache and his throat feeling like sandpaper and hurting.

Keith leaves to get the tea, and Shiro curls up tighter under the blankets, and then reaches up with his hand to push his sweaty bangs back away from his forehead. Despite how much he's shivering, he's sweating all over and his cheeks feel warm.

He's almost regretting going through with the show at all. Would he feel better now if he had stayed home and rested properly? He wasn't feeling this bad before the show... but then again, he had taken strong meds, that he could only take again in four hours.

Keith comes back with the tea in less than five minutes. Kicking the door open, he walks closer to the bed and sits down slowly, leaning with his back against the head board. "I can stay if you want."

Shiro shakes his head. "Just need to sleep this off. I'll be better tomorrow."

Keith doesn't look entirely convinced, but eventually agrees. He picks up Shiro's phone from his jean pocket and places it on the bedside table.

"If you need anything just ring me, yeah? And try not to talk, your voice is completely wrecked."

"It's not that bad," Shiro grumbles, rolling to his side and pulling the blanket over him, "my voice will be better tomorrow."

It's not.

Shiro wakes up in pain, swallowing takes a lot of effort and talking is impossible.

Actually impossible.

Because when he tries, the only thing that comes out is a raspy weak sound.

He's feverish again, feeling the heated skin of his cheek against the pillow and the familiar ache near the stump of his arm.

It's still a little dark outside, rain pouring like yesterday, but Keith is already up, telling from the quiet steps he can hear coming from the kitchen.

He lets himself go back to sleep for a little, until Keith knocks on the door gently, before going in.

"Hey," he greets, holding a tray with a mug of tea and toast, and closing the door with his foot. "You need to take your meds. Your fever will probably be back soon."

Keith places the tray on the nightstand, and Shiro lets him check his forehead with the back of his hand.

He hisses quietly, muttering under his breath. "Too late," he sighs.

Shiro gets himself into a sitting position gingerly and picks up a pillow to put behind his back, as Keith takes a seat as well in the edge of the mattress.

"How do you feel?"

Shiro only shrugs in response, but even he can tell it's probably not a convincing shrug, and Keith sighs again.

"I told you you were gonna regret it, but I guess you were too feverish to really listen," Keith says, as he hands the warm mug to Shiro.

Shiro only lets out a weak noise with the back of his throat and accepts the tea, both of his hands hugging around the mug to warm up.

"It was kinda cool though," Keith admits as he sits down next to Shiro, pulling the blanket over his legs too, "I mean, definitely don't do it again when you're sick, and if you're gonna do it, please learn the proper growling technique, but yeah."

Shiro smiles tiredly, and leans back. Keith's tea always tastes nice, but right now he's not really sure he wants to put his throat through more torture. Swallowing hurts, a lot, to the point that even talking is exhausting, and he's not even hungry.

"You have to put something in your stomach with those meds, Shiro," Keith insists gently, shoving the tray a little closer to him, "just small sips, and then eat some of the toast."

Shiro coughs slowly, trying not to jostle his throat more than necessary.

"Glad today is a day off," he manages to say, leaning backwards with a tired smile and his eyes closed, before finally taking a sip from the tea.

"Definitely," Keith chuckles, "but next time please just take it easy, will you?"

[karaliswrites]

Blind

The one where Jean is gay for Marco and gives Eren some advice.  Totally not at all similar to another fanfic I read why does this keep happening.  Some spoilers

~~~~~ Jean is fed up.  He’s tired of spending day after day having to listen to them constantly worry about each other.  It’s annoying.  And incredibly painful to watch.  The words and touches are more caring, they linger — it isn’t normal by any means.  And yet, they still are too blind to notice anything.  

Of course, Jean admits he wasn’t too quick on it either, but that’s because it takes a little longer for things to sink in for him.  But it still did, and after a rather short time of knowing them too.  But he’d first started hearing word of it from the beginning.  Rumors started circulating and by the half year mark, the entire cadet corps was trying to help them out.  Because they all saw what was going on and they needed something done about it.  Whether that be to help them be happy together or to stop the gross pining from afar depended on the person.

So, when it’s Jean’s turn for the night shift and he’s paired with Eren, he decides the time has come to give him a piece of his mind just like the others had.  Of course, some had gone to Armin instead, seeing him as the more approachable of the two, but Eren had definitely been informed on numerous occasions.  Jean just hopes that this time, he’ll actually shut up and do something about it.  

The breeze ruffles his hair and he runs a hand through it, trying to calm it, as he lets a soft sigh float away.  He glances at Eren, seeing his eyes trained on the horizon, watching for any sign of a titan.  Jean knew there wouldn’t be much to look at and had chosen to lean back and try to get some rest, but Eren apparently thought something was going to spring out and attack them at any given moment.  But as focused as he is on the task at hand, Jean notices a stiffness about him.  A quick gaze and cloudy eyes that tell him he must be thinking about something.  “You’re worried about him,” he decides to say and sees Eren stiffen even more, his frown deepening.  He doesn’t say anything for a moment and Jean thinks he might be right.  “Now’s not the time for conversation, Kirschtein,” he grumbles and Jean cracks a smile.  He’d never been able to get to the suicidal bastard, but now he knew what made him tick.  The one thing he could discuss that would make him annoyed, but not enough to throw a punch.  Because deep down, Jean thinks, Eren knew he was right.

“There’s nothing out here, why not pass the time with a little conversation?” he asks, folding his arms behind his head and stretching his back.  He sees him roll his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything, so Jean does for him.  “Seriously, why are you so concerned?  He’s not a little kid — he can take care of himself.”

“I know that.” he says a bit harshly and Jean loves how much this is getting to him.  Maybe he’s the only one who can finally talk some sense into the brunet.  “Then stop worrying so much.” 

Eren once again falls silent and Jean is getting a bit frustrated.  He thinks over what he can say for a moment before clearing his throat.  “You know, right?”

“Know what?” he asks, but Jean thinks he knows what he’s talking about.  “That he’s . . . y’know . . . into you.”

Eren shifts, falling into a more vulnerable position and Jean has never seen him like this.  “I’ve heard about it.”

Jean chuckles, running a hand over his face.  “So what do you think?  Do you think it’s true?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” he says almost immediately and Jean lets out a breath.  “Defensive much?” he says under his breath and Eren turns to him, a fire burning in his eyes.  “What does it matter to you, anyways, Kirschtein?” he spits and Jean just meets his gaze calmly.  “I’m sick and tired of you guys,” he says and sees Eren’s face soften slightly.  “You two are so fucking gone for each other it’s ridiculous and the entire corps has lost their minds.  It’s the most obvious thing in the world and you still haven’t seemed to notice something’s up.  It’s disgusting.  Just fucking grow a pair and kiss him, will you?”

Eren scoffs and turns away and Jean takes that as a personal victory.  “Shut up.  You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Jaeger, when are you gonna stop denying it?”

He falls silent.  “We both know you care about him, so why not just go for it?”

Jean doesn’t know why he’s being so bold with his accusations, but it seems to be working because Eren lets out a sigh.  He puts his head in his hands and Jean is surprised that he might have actually gotten through to him.  He chuckles.  “So even you, huh?” he asks and Jean knows he’s talking about the rumors.  “Even your dense ass thinks something’s up?”

He puts a hand on his chest in offense.  “Excuse me!” he says and sees Eren smile softly and thinks to himself this is strange for them.  They’ve never really had a conversation that didn’t escalate into a full-on fist fight.  “Did you talk to him?” he asks and Jean feels suddenly a little self-conscious, but shakes it off.  “Yeah.  On a mission.  He was worrying himself to death about you and I decided I needed to say something to get him to shut up,” he says and again sees a shadow of a smile on Eren’s face.  “I’ve noticed it too,” he says after awhile and Jean falls silent, listening to whatever he has to say.  “I tried to deny it.  We had always been that way, so I figured people were just being stupid.  But then everyone started telling me and . . . .”

“And you realized that maybe they were right,” Jean finishes for him and he sighs, looking up at the sky instead of at his shoes.  “Yeah.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“You think they’re right?”

Eren pauses for a moment, fidgeting with his fingers.  “Maybe,” he mutters almost silently and Jean has never seen him like this.  He thinks maybe what Eren is feeling is fear, so he decides to go down that path.  “Have you said anything to him about it?”

He shakes his head softly.  “No.  I couldn’t.”

“Why not?  If you think he likes you, what’s the problem?”

“I . . . .  What if he doesn’t?”

Jean gives him a look even though he isn’t looking at him.  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks and when Eren turns to him he sees a raw fear there, a vulnerability he’s never associated with him before that makes him wonder if this is really the same Eren he knows.  “He’s obsessed with you.  Even when we first met, I didn’t know what was going on, but I knew the way he acted around you was strange for a friend.  Do you know how much he worries about you when you’re not there?  Have you noticed the times he stares at you when he doesn’t think anyone’s looking?  He’s head over heels for you.”

He inhales sharply, turning away.  “I don’t want to say anything.”

“Because you’re afraid he won’t feel the same —?”

“I didn’t say I was afraid,” he snaps, looking at him with anger before it fades back into fear.  “I just . . . don’t want it to change anything.”

“It won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Jean shakes his head before shifting, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.  “Jaeger, I’m gonna tell you something and you better listen to me.”

Green eyes look to him, seeming almost blue in the dark.  “Armin cares about you.  And even though it’s obvious he’s in love with you, let’s pretend he isn’t for a second.  Even if he just thought of you as a best friend, which he doesn’t, he wouldn’t stop talking to you if you brought up the rumors.  Even if you confessed to him and he didn’t feel the same, he’d still be your friend.  Because he cares about you too damn much to let you go over something as stupid as that.  Now, back to the reality where he wants you so much it’s fucking killing him, if you bring it up, things are going to turn out okay.  I don’t know him nearly as well as you do, but I know that he’s never going to say anything because he’s too scared you’ll reject him.  So if you don’t say anything, you’re going to lose the chance of something amazing.  I should know.”

He suddenly swallows, turning his face, feeling green eyes burn into the side of his head.  “There was someone who I had feelings for who I’m pretty sure liked me too.  But I was too damn scared to say anything.  And the very day I had gathered enough courage to confess, it was too late and they were gone.  Now I’ll never get the chance to say the things I never did.” 

He looks at Eren with watery eyes, but finds he doesn’t really care.  “And goddamnit if that isn’t the biggest regret of my life.”

He subtly wipes his eyes before continuing.  “Jaeger, I’m telling you, you have to do this before it’s too late.  Before you lose him forever or vice versa.  Just talk to him, would you please?  For everyone’s sake, just fucking tell him.  Don’t end up like me.”

Eren takes a moment to look at him and Jean thinks he might just be considering it.  He’s a bit more emotional than he thought he would be, but figures that’s his own fault.  But overall, he’s pleased with what he’s done.

---

A few days go by after that night and occasionally at lunch or dinner, Jean will glance over at where Eren sits with Armin and Mikasa to see his gaze on the blond, a considering gleam in his eyes.  And one day, luckily Jean looks at the right time to catch Eren telling him something with a serious gaze and they’re standing up to go outside.  Jean smirks to himself, thinking he’s finally done something right.  He makes his way over to Mikasa, though it’s more to give them both some time as she’ll probably start to think Eren somehow got himself killed and would probably walk out to see them making out or something similar.  But after awhile, she gets tired of him and stands up, moving to sit next to Sasha instead.  Jean thinks that’s better than checking on Eren and continues to eat his lunch in silent self-praise.  

It’s probably a few weeks later when Jean decides to leave lunch early and he’s walking back to the barracks when he vaguely thinks he hadn’t seen either of them in the dining hall.  He figures perhaps he just didn’t notice or they were sitting somewhere else and silently opens the door to the barracks.  He looks up and immediately wishes he hadn’t as he sees chocolate hair and then blond underneath it, spread like a halo on the pillow of his bunk bed.  They’re kissing and though it’s odd of him to be watching all this, he smiles to himself, proud of what he’s done.  But then he hears one of them make a soft noise of pleasure and sees Eren’s hand reach to the button of Armin’s pants, and he notices the blond is excited.  He quickly covers his eyes and tries not to gag before backing quietly out of the barracks and shutting the door behind him.  He feels a mix of pride that he had somehow convinced Eren to make a move and disgust at how much he had just seen.  But once he’s calmed down and taken a moment to try to erase the image of them from his mind, he realizes he can no longer go into the barracks unless he wants to interrupt them and sit there awkwardly, pretending to wonder why both of their pants look a bit too tight.  So instead, he decides to head back to the dining hall, deciding he will never open a door without knocking ever again.

[jordanjaeger]

Marco Bott x Female Reader: For You

Note: I think this is one of the best worksI’ve written thus far and I am super proud of myself for it. I think I really nailed Marco and Jean’s personalities and reactions, especially when it comes to each other. I also went onto Youtube and looked up the scene where Jean leads the 104th Trainee Corps to HQ after many of their comrades are taken down. So you guys can pretty much know exactly where and when this story takes place in my mind. :)

“Now!” commanded Jean, capturing everyone else’s attention.

The 104th trainee corps turned to him, startled by his outburst but desperate for guidance given their situation.

“Into Headquarters while we have the chance!” Without another word, Jean leaped into the air and landed onto the roof of a neighboring building, charging for HQ as fast as his long legs could take him. The others, failing to think twice, quickly followed behind him, using their 3DMG to help aid in their escape from the titans.

With one final kick off of the edge of a rooftop, you released your 3DMG wires and obeyed Jean’s orders, adrenaline rushing through your body faster than you could process everything that just happened.

The battle to reclaim back the Trost District had only just begun a little while ago, and so far, more than half of your comrades had been killed in action. You tried to remain calm, tried to keep your composure despite it all, but you just couldn't bring yourself to stop trembling.

“(Name)!” called Marco upon noticing you weren’t in his line of vision. Albeit midair, he managed to steal a quick look behind him only to be relieved when he saw you were right on his tail.

“I’m here!” You assured him, a small smile forming on your chapped lips.

Marco furrowed his brows in worry. He didn’t like the fact that you were out of his sight. So with a selfless decision, he slowed down his course and practically forced you to take the lead.

“What are you doing?” you asked as you sped right past him, your eyes following his form, though you should have been paying attention to your front.

“I just want to make sure you reach HQ safely! So it’s best you stay in front of me,” he explained.

“But-”

“Now’s not the time to argue, (Name)! I just want you to be safe! So please.. just.. follow Jean and get to HQ, alright?”

You clicked your tongue silently. On the outside you wanted to prove to Marco that you were just as capable of taking care of yourself as he was, that you didn’t need to be babied or guided, that you were just as strong as Jean or Mikasa. However, on the inside, you knew the truth. On the inside you were fearful, horrified, and all around doubtful of the situation. So many of your friends had already been devoured by titans, and you unfortunately had to sit and watch, helpless to their painful cries for help. It made you feel vulnerable, weak, like as if all that hard training you did was for nothing. Though you knew at the end of the day it was just natural for Marco to worry about you. After all, you were his best friend and girlfriend, his lover. How on earth could you expect him not to worry at a time where he could potentially lose you forever?

“Jean!” cried one of your comrades.

You immediately returned your focus to what was ahead of you. Feeling your stomach drop, your eyes widened at the sight of a titan grabbing Jean by one of his legs.

“No,” you whispered as your heart rate tripled in speed.

Thankfully, Jean didn’t graduate at the top ten of your class for nothing. With a blink of an eye, he sliced the titan’s fingers which in turn freed him from death’s grip.

Thank god you thought to yourself, feeling a wave of relief overcome you, though it left just as quickly as it had come after seeing two more of your comrades run out of gas and fall to their dooms.

“Oh God! No, please! Help me!” one of them begged before getting his heat bitten off by a pair of large teeth.

“Hurry!” said Marco as he rushed past you. You didn’t hesitate to follow him as the two of you sped through the distracted titans. You didn't even notice the tears from your eyes flying off into the air as you flew.

Not much further to go you thought as you and Marco emerged from the pit of man-eaters.

“Hey! We’re almost there!” you called to him after catching sight of HQ in the distance.

You felt your hope grow a little as your lips curled into a small smile. Marco exchanged the same smile, boosting the feelings of giddiness in your stomach. Even at a time like this, Marco’s charm still affected you like no other. But your heart sank when you noticed Marco’s expression fade from assurance to absolute horror.

“Oh God, no (NAME)!” he screamed, reaching out his arm to you in panic.

Before you could even register his reaction, you felt a dark shadow hover over you, followed by a thick, crippling pain and then seconds later, nothing but darkness.

“(NAAAAAAAAAME)!!! (NAAAAME)!!! Oh my God, (NAAAAAME)!” Marco cried after watching a titan sink its teeth into more than half of your body.

The echo from Marco’s voice caught Jean’s attention, making him whip around a clock tower to see the same gruesome sight his best friend saw. There, in the distance, Jean could see a titan standing on all fours atop of a building, the only visible part of you being half your face and the upper right side of your body. Your arm twitched frantically from the impact of the titan’s teeth clamping down on your figure, eliciting strings of blood in every direction.

“(Name),” whispered Jean in disbelief as he subconsciously loosened his grip around one of his swords, allowing it to free fall from his fingertips.

“Jean, we need to go!” said Annie as she, Reiner, Bertolt, Connie, and Armin took positions on a building below him.

“You guys go on,” came Jean’s soft response.

“What?! Are you crazy? We need you!” protested Connie.

“I said go goddamn it!” Jean ordered before jumping off of one of the buildings and rushing to Marco’s aid.

Both paralyzed and sickened, Marco stood still as he watched the titan devour you. He didn’t even notice Jean’s arrival.

“Marco! We have to go! Now!” Jean warned.

Albeit heavily aware of the occurrence, there was no time to act on it now. Jean had a duty to fulfil, and he was determined to see it through no matter what, especially seeing that his best friend was at risk.

“Marco! Wake the hell up! We have to get to HQ! We don’t have much gas left so trying to avenge (Name) will only kill us both!” said Jean, who internally fought hard to hold back the tears stinging at his eyes. Unlike Marco, who had already began sobbing uncontrollably.

“I-I can’t.” Marco’s voice broke. “I can’t do this, Jean. (Name), she’s-”

“I know! I fucking know, Marco! I see it! You think I just didn’t see what just fucking happened? But now is not the time!”

“Please just leave me, Jean,” mewled Marco as he fell to his knees. He threw his head back as tears raced down his freckled cheeks. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this without.. oh god, (Name).. s-she’s gone.”

Heavy, inhuman footsteps captured Jean’s gaze from the distance, sending his spinal cord into a frenzy. Nearly a dozen more titans had spotted the two young men, and they were bloodthirsty for them.

Jean narrowed his eyes at Marco. Out of instinct and sheer regret, he slapped his beloved friend into reality.

“Pull yourself together! You’re a soldier for god’s sake! (Name) never would have wanted you to die like this! So do her this one favor and make her life worth it by living!”

Jean’s harsh words somehow managed to get past Marco’s whimpers. He extended his arm out to the broken hearted and with a sniffle, Marco took it and was hauled to his feet.

“Don’t look back,” advised Jean as he placed a hand on Marco’s shoulder in attempts to comfort him for a moment. And with that, Jean turned on his heel to head for HQ again.

Marco rubbed the back of his hand across his face to relieve him of his tears. He gave the titan that now claimed the title as your maker one final look before screwing his eyes shut and following in Jean’s footsteps.

--

Thankfully, the remaining soldiers under Jean’s command made it to HQ in one piece. But that wasn't enough to make Jean feel any better about the situation. In actuality, that was the last thing on his mind right now.

“Damn it!” Jean slammed his fist against the wall. “Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” With every curse, his voice broke underneath the guilt which had now struck him like a rock.

Marco, who was sitting on the ground in front of him, stared at the wooded panels as tears dripped from his chin, staining the oak beneath him. He was shaking, so much so that the only thing he could manage to say was your name over and over and over again.

“Marco,” Jean began.

The distraught brunette looked up at his friend, who couldn't seem to give him the courtesy of looking him in the eyes.

“I.. I'm so sorry,” Jean apologized, looking away even further and shutting his eyes.

For once Marco’s body stopped trembling as he tried to process Jean’s words. Why was he apologizing?

“I'm so sorry, Marco. I.. I should have been there. I shouldn’t have strayed away too far from you guys. Then maybe, just maybe, I could have been fast enough to take down that damn titan!”

Jean felt himself beginning to break down. The grief mixed in with his failed attempts to stay strong for his friend only made him feel more guilty. He dropped to his knees having given up trying to fight back his tears any longer.

“Oh God Marco I’m so sorry!” He cried out. “(Name), she was my friend. She was your..,” he could no longer speak as the knot in his throat overwhelmed him. He began to bawl, letting his head drop in disappointment and shame.

Marco, whom always seemed to be the more calm one out of the two, sniffed and rubbed away the snot from his nose. He crawled over to Jean, bringing him into a tight embrace as he continued to mourn with him.

“Stop it,” Marco spat. “Just stop. You and I both know you had one job and that was getting as many of us to safety as possible. Look around you, Jean. You did what you needed to do and you succeeded. Not everyone lost their lives just now.”

Jean wiped at his eyes vigorously. He looked up at his friend, who sent him the same warm smile that told him everything was going to be alright.

“How can you be so calm at a time like this? Your girlfriend.. (Name)’s gone!”

“Do you remember what you just said to me?” Marco asked him.

Jean stared at him, his eyes desperate for Marco to remind him of his own words.

“You said (Name) would want us to keep living right? She would want us to keep fighting.”

Turning away, Jean tried to shove the memories of his last sight of you to allow Marco’s words to uplift him.

“When Trost was infiltrated, do you remember what she said to us, Jean? Just before they sent us to serve at the front lines?”

Jean struggled to recall your words before all hell broke loose.

“Damn it, why’d I have to be chosen to be in command?” Jean had mumbled beneath his breath as he adjusted the straps to his 3DMG.

“Because you’re an amazing leader,” came Marco’s response.

“I second that!” You had told him with a smile.

Jean remembered both you and Marco’s supportive words to him, and with each phrase, his heart felt more and more heavy.

“Don’t you doubt yourself out there, Horse Face. I’m counting on you to lead us. So, regardless of what happens, you better not die.” You added.

“Agreed,” said Marco.

“And you!”

Marco directed his attention to you and flinched when you pointed your finger into his face. For someone so fragile, you sure could be intimidating at times.

“The same goes for you, too, Baby-cakes! No matter what happens, don’t you dare die out there. Don’t you dare give up on me like that.”

Marco blushed at the nickname given to him by you. It had always been a particularly favorited name you loved most among all other cheesy names you had given him. Nevertheless, he nodded at you.

“I love you,” you told Marco.

“I love, you, too, (Name),” he replied.

“What about me?!” Jean interrupted with a smirk.

“Meh, I’ll leave Mikasa to that, Horse Face.” And with a pat on his back, you were the first to exit out to the main quarters.

Jean narrowed his eyes, somewhat feeling more guilty for doubting himself after remembering your last words to him.

“I can’t say that I’m completely fine right now,” began Marco as he wiped away the remainder of his tears. “I can’t say that I’ll ever be fine again. But what I can say is that I’ll keep fighting. For (Name).”

Marco held his hand up to Jean, urging him to grab it in agreeance. Jean eyed Marco’s hand before shifting his gaze to meet Marco’s tear-filled eyes. An attempted expression full of hope had now took the place of distress on his best friend’s face. Convinced, Jean clasped onto Marco’s hand with a firm grip.

“For (Name).”