Shop Mobile More Submit  Join Login
About Varied / Student Bleu WatersFemale/United States Group :iconfellowshipofthederps: FellowshipOfTheDerps
HERP DERP DEEEEEEEEEEEERP
Recent Activity
Deviant for 3 Years
Needs Core Membership
Statistics 64 Deviations 205 Comments 1,087 Pageviews
×

Newest Deviations

Literature
(Jean x reader) Seethe
Jean doesn't get along well with many outside his small group, and you know it quite well. You hear little comments now and then, mean, stabbing comments, comments about Marco, about his death…
They make you seethe. They would make Jean seethe, too, if he heard them.
One evening, after a dull supper, you take Jean's and your empty plates up to the kitchen. It's been a long, exhausting day, and all you want to do is give Jean a kiss and go to bed.
“D’you s’pose she's Marco’s replacement?” comes an unsavory hiss, and a bout of sniggers follows.
“Yeah, his best friend dies, so he has to get a girlfriend to kiss his boo-boo.” The voice raises to an obnoxious shout. “I thought that's what mommies are for!”
More giggles as you pause.
“Maybe she is his mommy. I bet they haven't made out. I bet they-”
“You finish that sentence and I'll shove your fork so far up your nose you'll see steel,”
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 0 0
Literature
(Erwin x reader) Fire and Ink (Soulmate AU)
Chapter 1
“Attention! Salute your commander!” roars Shadis, “You'd better make me proud, ya little maggots!”
“Tough as always, hm, Shadis?” questions Commander Erwin.
You straighten up. Being in the front row makes you a painfully easy target. Being the eldest in the regiment also has its downside; Shadis particularly enjoys accusing you of being too stupid and worthless to have made it through the first time. He's pretty sure you're only here because you reapplied.
You're only nineteen! Never have you regretted being the eldest of a group.
“Gotta be,” replies Shadis, pulling you back to the focus he demanded.
A few whispers can be heard behind you, and an annoying kid named James hisses at you to ‘stand up straighter if you're trying to impress!’
“Good afternoon, cadets!” shouts Erwin, his booming voice carrying easily to the farthest budding soldiers.
“Good afternoon, sir!!” everybody shouts in
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 5 0
Literature
(Connie x reader) Promise
“(F/n)! Hey, are you okay!?”
Connie.
“I'm here!” you shout, the sound ricocheting off the houses still standing around you. It was a freak accident. You, Connie, Sasha, and a kid named Jass had done a powerful coordinated attack to take down a ten-meter Titan. Somehow, you got on the wrong side of it as it fell, and it caught up on your maneuvering gear, destroying it and making you fall to the rust-red shingles of the house below. The landing wasn't so bad, but when the Titan’s body hit the building, it crumbled, taking you with it.
Connie drops to the ground near you, whipping his head around, scanning the wreckage desperately.
“At your five,” you call to him, and he spins around to find you trapped by a long, heavy beam. Three long, heavy-duty nails were speared deep into your torso, and you struggle to breathe past the weight and the pain. One pokes shallowly into your left shoulder, one is sunk deep in your liver, with the third pinning yo
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 1 0
Literature
(Armin x reader) A Gift of Soap
“Good morning,” chirps Armin, popping a kiss to your offered cheek. He lays down beside you in the grass damp with dew, warm rays of sunshine stretching out over the meadows.
“Good morning,” you reply happily, curling up against him, throwing your arm over his waist. You have a sigh. You've missed him while he was out on an expedition. You worried about him.
“I bought you something from one of the Washington refugees.”
You lift your head and look at him. The Washington District was obliterated; less than three percent of the population made it out alive. For a refugee to sell something? Either they were desperate, which is entirely likely, or Armin offered a large sum, which is equally likely.
You both sit up, and he produces a small parcel from his pocket. It fits nicely in his hand, wrapped in a white linen handkerchief, and you find that it's surprisingly heavy for its size when you take it, a dense and solid block. After unwrapping it, you gasp.
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 3 3
Literature
(Connie x tall!reader) Free
All eyes focus on you the the moment the new recruits step into the room. Levi huffs, tightening his folded arms over his chest, and Hanji digs her elbow into your gut, reminding you of the bargain you had made and just lost. Commander Smith clears his throat and each soldier turns to face him.
The remainder of the briefing goes quietly, but before the recruits leave (rumor has it these recruits have had it rough), Commander Smith introduces you.
“This is First Lieutenant (surname) from the Washington District.” You note that a couple faces go pale; Washington was hit hard by the Titan infestation. “She is the newest recruit in the Survey Corps, and I pray that you will take her in as one of your own. Thank you for your sacrifice.”
You clench your jaw and lift your nose slightly. You don't want pity. You don't even want friends.
But what you want least are people that gawk because of your incredible height. At a shocking, staggering, stunning five foot eleven, <
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 2 0
Literature
(Jean x reader) Peridot
“Hey, baby, look what I found!” you exclaim brightly, half-falling into the grass beside a basking Jean. You hold a stunning piece of green rock between your fingers, translucent at the thinner edges when it's held against the light.
Jean cracks his right eye open. “Cool,” he says sleepily, taking a deep breath and rubbing his eyes. He must've been close to sleep. “What is it?”
“I don't know, but I'm gonna keep it,” you say decisively, laying beside Jean on the grass and staring up at the stone. You wonder where it came from, propping your right ankle on your left knee as you ponder it.
Jean rolls onto his side, then hikes himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. You smile self-consciously, tucking the stone into your pocket so you can wrap your arms around his neck.
It's a warm day, beautiful and breezy, sunny and cheerful, making the kiss you share ever-so-sweet. He's a wonderful kisser, gentle and careful and intentional. He pays
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 1 0
Literature
(Jean x reader) Done
“(F/n)!! Baby, where are you!?”
Somewhere off in the distance, you hear him, his voice strained, panicky. It hurts to hear him so distressed, but when you open your mouth to speak, you can't seem to make the words work.
It's kind of funny, in a way. You never saw yourself dying comfortably in a bed. It was always dramatic, bloody, painful.
But right now? You crack a small smile. It doesn't hurt, at least not yet, and you get to watch the sky. Wispy clouds drift past, and a small flock of birds swoops in long, graceful ‘s' patterns above. You lift your hand to cup them in, hold them still...that's funny.
You place your arm back down beside you. No hand pressed against the sky because there was no hand there. You look down at your feet, wiggling your toes. Those are gone, too.
As the shock drains away, the pain floods in to take its place. You feel your face go pale. Paler. The sun is suddenly too hot, the cobblestones and blood you lay on, far too cold.
“(F/n), o
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 0 0
Literature
(Armin x reader) Love Letter
Adoration.
Definition: deep love and respect.
Devotion.
Definition: love or loyalty for a person.
Dictionaries are so helpful. I was able to find these two words to know exactly what they mean. The adoration and devotion I feel for you are powerful emotions. So powerful. I understand Mikasa now; I understand her drive, her motivation. However, I believe she has something that I don't, something that is more crippling than enabling.
Debt.
Definition: something that is owed or due.
I have the privilege, the utmost freedom, to love you. I owe you nothing and you owe me nothing. We are allowed to love each other freely, however we want, however much we want. I choose to love you unconditionally.
Unconditional.
Definition: without conditions or limitations; total. Wholehearted, unrestricted, unquestioning.
Despite my most valiant efforts to keep you as a friend, a beloved acquaintance, you've become more to me. That much I hope I've made obvious.
I understand if you don't feel similarly.
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 3 0
Literature
(Armin Arlert x reader) Flirt
“ ‘The Study of Forensic Science’.”
You startle in the quiet library and look up to see Armin.
“Hi,” you smile, “You surprised me.”
Armin ducks his chin apologetically. “I'm sorry; I didn't mean to,” he says, sitting across from you. He points to the thick book you hold. “I wasn't aware that you were interested in forensics.”
“Oh.” You close the book. “A passing interest. Curiosity, that's all.”
“It's a fun subject to study,” says Armin, crossing his legs, “It helps a person look more closely at...everything. Helpful, I think.”
“Mm…” You smile slightly and set the book on the side table next to you. You lift a cup of warm tea to your lips and sip it.
“Has anyone told you you're beautiful today?” flirts Armin, and a bright blush covers your cheeks.
“No,” you murmur.
Armin smiles bashfully and stands, taking the two steps forwar
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 6 2
Literature
Sequel to Owl You Need Is Love
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 0 0
Literature
(Levi x reader) A Photographer's Mission chpt 5
The trip home was safe and easy, what with the idiot Titans being wherever they were at the time that they were, and the recovery after losing your friends was hard. Lissa has a very sad quality about her now. She's sweet, but there's always melancholy beneath it. Johanna and Klaus-Peter were hurt by the incident, but seemed to be managing well. Lennard...well, you're not too sure. He left the Survey Corps and you've not heard from him since. Magdalena is her normal self; quiet, strong, bold, if need be.
You're not to sure how you came out of it. Going through the three hundred plus photographs made you relive every second of it, every cry, every bone snapping, everything. It’s seared into your brain, and you have nightmares every night. It's rare to not wake up screaming, soaked in sweat, or sobbing, if not all three.
Walking down the hall of the Survey Corps HQ with five hours of sleep under your belt, you grip the folder of pictures tightly to your chest. A double-tap on the d
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 0 0
Literature
(Levi x reader) A Photographer's Mission chpt 4
Contains the blood that the canon stuff has.
“No way…” you whisper.
“Go, go!” roars Levi, “Over the edge, now!”
Everyone dives off the wall, but a lone, brief scream signals Katrin’s capture. You twist midair to see her, to yell, to plead, but she was already grabbed, and with a quick squeeze and a dull crunch, her body goes limp. She leans back over the hand of the female, her arms out and wide open. An anguished wail come from the other side of the wall; it belongs to Lissa, and it lasts forever. She, Katrin, and Magdalena have been close friends for years. Magdalena is quiet and strong, Katrin, vain and carefree, but Lissa is a gentle spirit, easily brokenhearted and ever-loving. Her cries only quiet when Magdalena goes over to her (you imagine; you can't actually see the outer side of the wall).
The Titan releases the crumpled body, and it lands on the wall above. You hate the angle you're at, unable to see anything up top, unable to
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 2 0
Literature
(Levi x reader) A Photographer's Mission chpt 3
“Go!! Get outta here!” you shriek, then you hear everyone begin to hustle. One more length of cord and you're to the top of the wall.
“How fast is it?” asks Levi, grabbing you by your elbow and dragging you into a sprint to get to the horses.
“About as fast as a person, but with its size…” You pull your arm away and settle into a comfortable pace. You may have some extra plush on your frame, but beneath that is muscle, healthy muscle. You're fast, very strong, accurate enough. Heck, the scare of the Titans has sheared a good five pounds off already. “We're too slow as we are. The wagon slows us down.”
“We can't leave them,” replies Levi.
“She's right behind us!” shouts Anders, wheeling a half-circle on his horse.
Levi grabs his horse by the bridle. “Get on!”
You grit your teeth and hoist yourself into the saddle, then Levi hops up behind you. You ain't that much shorter than he is, but he s
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 0 0
Literature
(Levi x reader) A Photographer's Mission chpt 2
Levi clenches his jaw and huffs an annoyed breath through his teeth.
“Crap,” he mutters. This just complicated and postponed the whole outing. Glancing over his small group of soldiers, he chooses Johanna to return to Wall Sina and send a message off to Erwin.
To the rest of his group, he announces the plan. “We'll lift the caravan to the top of the wall,” he says, “And ride to Shiganshina. Then we'll lower it down again and leave.”
“That'll take hours,” mutters one of the newest members of this particular squad, and Levi silences him with a glare.
“Better late than never,” he says, “Let's go; get those horses up here ASAP! I want to be riding in fifteen!”
He watches briefly as the soldiers leaps off the wall, then turns his back and peers down at the Titans clawing and slapping mindlessly at the wall. They've gotten stirred up, excited, and they don't seem as far down as they are. Dilated pupils reflect the solid
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 2 0
Literature
(Levi x reader) A Photographer's Mission chpt 1
“No.”
“Why not!?” you demand, slamming your palms onto his desk, “I'm just as good as all the others!”
“That's not good enough, not in your condition,” replies the older man.
“Why do you hate me so much all of a sudden?”
“‘Cause you somehow manage to eat enough to gain weight in the Scout Regiment.”
You could punch him. You really want to punch him.
“I'm going. You can't tell me no.”
“Then your blood is not on my hands,” mutters the captain.
You storm out of the room, angry and hurt and so willing to punch him, but you don't. So what if you want to go out and photograph the Titans? So what if you have the world’s worst metabolism? What does he care if you can't keep up?
You'll show him that you're more capable than most.
~o0o~
You and Levi go back. Not too far, but far enough; back to when you were eight and he was thirteen. You met him wandering the streets. You were l
:iconBleuWaters:BleuWaters
:iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 2 0
Waitin' for my Levi fragrance to come in the mail  by BleuWaters Waitin' for my Levi fragrance to come in the mail :iconbleuwaters:BleuWaters 0 0

Favourites

Literature
Button Nose (Armin x Reader)
You couldn’t stop staring.
The thing was that he never realized it himself, you supposed. How could a boy so smart be so oblivious about such a discernable feature? Geez, he never had a clue.
His button nose.
You straightened up a bit on your position on the sofa you were sharing with your boyfriend and scooted a bit closer to him. Purest boy alive, you’d say. He was holding a book close to his face, his ocean blue eyes following the lines at a relatively slow pace, enjoying the relaxation and comfort of having a book stuck up to his face and you snuggled up to his side. But he didn’t know that while he was reading, his girlfriend was contemplating something else, nor did he notice the look on your face when you stared at his nose from a fair distance.
Only when you leaned into him did he realize you had something on your mind.
“(F - F/n)?” he stuttered, confusion clear in his voice.
“Your nose…” you said, putting a hand on his cheek and
:iconLacresan:Lacresan
:iconlacresan:Lacresan 2 3
Literature
Brute Force (Reiner x Strong!Reader)
This was it, it was time for that day. Today was the day you would prove your worth as a trainee in the Sparring Training Finals. Commander Shadis had informed all the trainees of this day since the beginning, not bluntly, but more along the idea of "You better get your act together or you won't survive against anyone at the end of the year, pigs."
But now, now, the day was finally here. You didn't have any worries along the fact of losing; you knew you would win. However, you couldn't help but wonder about Armin and how he would get along in the spars. Poor guy would probably get the shit beat out of him. A tremble wrecked your body at the thought. Armin Arlert was one of your closest friends since you joined the military. To think of anyone hurting him....
"(Name), it's time to go." Your roommate, Sasha, spoke, thankfully snapping you away from unwelcome thoughts. Sasha was quickly snarfing down a potato, her gulps and chews audible to your ears. You loved her to death,
:iconMzHydexx:MzHydexx
:iconmzhydexx:MzHydexx 42 2
Acelu by Aldariia Acelu :iconaldariia:Aldariia 1,228 39
Literature
A Horse's Neigh [JeanxReader]
You and Jean had just arrived back from the 57th Expedition outside the walls and were currently unwinding from all of the events that occurred, in the stables.
Jean sighed deeply, and then turned towards you, touching your foreheads together. “(f/n), I’m so glad you weren’t injured during the expedition, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
Jean, I’m so glad you weren’t hurt either. I love you with all of my heart.
“I’m so lucky that I have a girl like you because I know that you will always watch out for me whenever we go to fight Titans. So, don’t leave my side again, okay? You really worried me when we got separated.”
I’m so sorry, Jean. I didn’t mean to scare you, I-I just got so scared when I saw that huge Titan coming towards me… You dipped your head to show that you understood his fear and to not do it again. Jean smiled and rubbed your (h/c) hair, messing it up from how neatly
:iconmeganium25:meganium25
:iconmeganium25:meganium25 83 46
Literature
Aethestics (Erwin x Reader) Art Exhibition AU
It was funny, how being in the midst of the deafening silence-except for the occasional sounds of footsteps and soft murmurs-offered you an utmost tranquil, yet pleasant serenity. It was funny, how the simple action of observing these animations made of inanimate objects piqued at your interests. It was funny, how you could find solace in such a place: the city’s Metropolitan Museum of Art.
To say that you were one person attracted to the enigma of beauty would be a completely understatement. You were not just fond of beauty, you enthused over it, you admired it, and your very own mental life evolved with it. Since your juvenile years you had always been the taciturn one with a mind louder than the mouth, a colorful brain full of ideas, and a heart that yearned for soulful aesthetics. The satisfaction only came when your beautiful (e/c) orbs caught sights of the esthetics.
Therefore, the Metropolitan Museum of Art was your escapade. It was as if you were lost into another world;
:iconLacresan:Lacresan
:iconlacresan:Lacresan 1 1
Literature
A Pillow for the Commander [Drunk!Erwin x Reader]
---A Pillow for the Commander: [Drunk!Erwin x Reader]---
Author's Notes: In which the Reader, a junior officer in the Recon Corps, discovers that her superior is a little… cuddly when inebriated. Warnings for fluff, suggestive themes, alcohol and drunken snuggles. Hope you enjoy =3
----
The candle burned low upon the sleek mahogany desk, just barely illuminating the sheets of parchment that decorated your workspace. You rubbed your bleary eyes with the back of an ink-smudged hand. No wonder they strained! The hours had flown by before you even knew it. Now the day was nearly over, and the sun was setting beyond the horizon. Just where had the day gone?
Time certainly flies when one keeps herself busy!, You mused to yourself, setting your quill down. Only then did you notice the soreness in your writing hand. Six hours of non-stop paperwork were clearly taking their toll. And yet, as your eyes wandered about the office suite, you felt a sense of accomplishment. Judgi
:iconcherrypikkins:cherrypikkins
:iconcherrypikkins:cherrypikkins 571 174
Literature
Haikyuu!! The kiss (Tsukishima Kei)

~Kiss on the lips expresses love/romantic feelings~
...

He was tall. Very tall compared to her. That was one of his physical features that she loved about him. And she loved his golden eyes that could say more than his thin lips. She loved his provocative smug grin that revealed more than any gesture. And she loved his quiet side, the silence in his presence was almost comfortable. 
Almost.
(Surname Name) loved her classmate and friend Tsukishima Kei, but no one knew about her secret crush.  And not surprisingly, neither Tsukishima himself. 
It was early in the morning when (Name) accompanied by her tall-quiet crush and his loyal friend Yamaguchi, were walking from the train station  towards school. No one could say that the girl was their best friend, but somehow they let her to join them. 
(Name)'s house was in near neighborhood to those two and since they shared same classroom, somehow out of the blue they started
:iconMaryppe:Maryppe
:iconmaryppe:Maryppe 114 22
Literature
Sim Date

~Aone Takanobu X Reader~
AU where you're playing a sim date, and one of the characters breaks the fourth wall.
Dating sims are always such a blessing in a fandom, even when they're as nicely done as the ones for Haikyuu!! were (from what you could hear). There were just so many characters in the series that you admired, but you had looked forward to one character in particular (and were personally glad that whoever developed this sim date series had been so thorough as to make everyone in every team datable in separate releases).
You looked at the collection of sim dates that were posted, eyes stopping on the file titled "Date Tech"- trying to resist smiling so wide you could break your face.
Thinking back to when you heard about this, it had been all the rage with one of your online friends, who was freaking out about Futakuchi being datable. She had more than just clarified that he was her favorite of all the known captains- "Dadchi" and "Cat Cap'
:iconSuuCelestiaDensen:SuuCelestiaDensen
:iconsuucelestiadensen:SuuCelestiaDensen 46 6
Literature
If He Is . . . A Wall [Aone Takanobu x Reader]

If he is a wall, I am a creeper that grows with his support.

The inter high preliminaries; Datekougyou had just lost to Karasuno and I was watching as my boyfriend stepped off the court. From what I gathered, the captain of the team, Moniwa-san, was explaining to the others that the third years wouldn't be playing in the next tournament.
Aone was anything but depressed. He seemed a bit...perturbed. Confused at his captain’s words, I'm sure he was wondering if our school really could win the upcoming tournament without the help of the reliable third years. He looked around the stands, his eyes quickly scanning the area. Not finding what he was looking for, he gave up and turned to listen to his friend, Futakuchi-kun.
I waved from where I was sitting, trying to catch his attention but he didn’t see me. Instead of continuing, I ran down to the entrance of the stadium, where he always waited for me after a match
:iconarabesque4:arabesque4
:iconarabesque4:arabesque4 124 15
Fili Infinite sowrds by AlyTheKitten Fili Infinite sowrds :iconalythekitten:AlyTheKitten 300 80 shield by lucife56 shield :iconlucife56:lucife56 618 138 Merry Christmas 2014 by RosetheHedgehog13 Merry Christmas 2014 :iconrosethehedgehog13:RosetheHedgehog13 4 5 Sora-Flowmotion by RosetheHedgehog13 Sora-Flowmotion :iconrosethehedgehog13:RosetheHedgehog13 5 3 2p UsUk Chibi by Roellish 2p UsUk Chibi :iconroellish:Roellish 12 23 Happy Halloween 2014 by RosetheHedgehog13 Happy Halloween 2014 :iconrosethehedgehog13:RosetheHedgehog13 3 0 Attack on Titan: Eren and Mikasa by RosetheHedgehog13 Attack on Titan: Eren and Mikasa :iconrosethehedgehog13:RosetheHedgehog13 4 4

Groups

Activity


Jean doesn't get along well with many outside his small group, and you know it quite well. You hear little comments now and then, mean, stabbing comments, comments about Marco, about his death…

They make you seethe. They would make Jean seethe, too, if he heard them.

One evening, after a dull supper, you take Jean's and your empty plates up to the kitchen. It's been a long, exhausting day, and all you want to do is give Jean a kiss and go to bed.

“D’you s’pose she's Marco’s replacement?” comes an unsavory hiss, and a bout of sniggers follows.

“Yeah, his best friend dies, so he has to get a girlfriend to kiss his boo-boo.” The voice raises to an obnoxious shout. “I thought that's what mommies are for!”

More giggles as you pause.

“Maybe she is his mommy. I bet they haven't made out. I bet they-”

“You finish that sentence and I'll shove your fork so far up your nose you'll see steel,” you growl ferociously, entirely fed up with the cruelty coming from what should be the safest group of peers within the walls. Slamming the plates onto the table, you lean in close to the idiot that dared cross you, your (e/c) eyes cold and dead serious.

The cadet stands and, boy, does he stand, at least a half foot taller than you. It doesn't even slightly phase you, however, and you hold your intimidating glare.

“Oh really?” he asks, making a show of folding his arms over his chest, sending his pals a grin.

“You wanna take me up on it?” you question. The bully laughs.

“Aw, come on, Mother dear,” he jokes, “Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself.”

You grab him by the collar and back him to the nearest wall, instinct telling you to protect your beloved Jean and shut this guy up.

The kid laughs with delight. “Aww, you're so cute. Wanna go out with me when you're bored of Kirschtein?”

Well, it's not his fork, but the heel of your hand serves its purpose and you hear his nose break when you thrust upwards. An awful part of you feels satisfaction at the sound and the trickles of blood that roll from his nostrils.

The cadet's pals pull you off of him and he bites out an unsavory word.

“You little freak!” he exclaims, and you welcome the fierce blow to your jaw.

So you're equals now, huh, when it gets physical?

The strike knocks you clean off your feet, and you land on your rear with a heavy thud. The cadet, brown eyes burning with hatred, steps over to you, pulls his foot back to deliver a kick to your ribcage.

Jean reaches him first, a powerful roundhouse catching the side of the bully’s head, making him lose his balance and stagger a step to the side. Remarkably, he retains his footing, let alone his consciousness, and he spins around to attack his assailant, the snide comments long forgotten in favor of bloodlust.

Jean is a great fighter, far better than this freak, and it only takes three well-placed punches to knock the guy down and get him groaning on the floor, clutching his stomach. He hadn't gone down without getting a good pop to Jean's face in, and he now sports a gushing nosebleed to match his opponent’s perfectly, though his lovely nose is quite intact.

“Stay down!!” he barks angrily, giving the guy’s shoulder a shove with the toe of his boot. His minions have all quietly stepped back to enjoy the show. “If you ever so much as think her name, I'll break both your arms!!” He spits a good spray of saliva onto the floor and the tamed bully.

After pulling Jean away by his trembling hand, you tell him, insist, that you can take care of yourself.

“But you don't have to!” he snaps, tears of rage pricking his eyes. It fuels his fire and he rubs harshly at them.

“Aww…” You smile, flattered beyond belief, and touch his cheek.

“Are you okay?” he snuffles, rubbing a streak of blood across his face when the back of his hand passes beneath his nose. You're quick to pull out your handkerchief and wipe it away.

“I'm fine,” you say sweetly, peering up into his amber eyes, “Are you?”

“They...they put their hands on you,” he grits out, screwing his eyes shut tight, “How am I supposed to deal with that?”

“You don't have to,” you say firmly, using his words against him, “Let's get out of here before we get in trouble.”

“We'll get in trouble anyway,” he mutters, allowing himself to be tugged away from the mess hall.

“Yeah,” you agree, “But at least it won't be around those creeps.”

Punishment can wait for tomorrow.
Chapter 1</u>






“Attention! Salute your commander!” roars Shadis, “You'd better make me proud, ya little maggots!”


“Tough as always, hm, Shadis?” questions Commander Erwin.


You straighten up. Being in the front row makes you a painfully easy target. Being the eldest in the regiment also has its downside; Shadis particularly enjoys accusing you of being too stupid and worthless to have made it through the first time. He's pretty sure you're only here because you reapplied.


You're only nineteen! Never have you regretted being the eldest of a group.


“Gotta be,” replies Shadis, pulling you back to the focus he demanded.


A few whispers can be heard behind you, and an annoying kid named James hisses at you to ‘stand up straighter if you're trying to impress!’


“Good afternoon, cadets!” shouts Erwin, his booming voice carrying easily to the farthest budding soldiers.


“Good afternoon, sir!!” everybody shouts in response.


Everyone but you. In the few early moments of the call to attention, a faint, nagging pain began to surface in your right wrist, something akin to a sprain. Now, however, it's breathtaking in its strength, a stabbing, pulsing throb. Your shirt feels damp where your fist presses to it, but your salute never falters, even as the commander’s stride carries him toward you.


He uses a single index finger to correct the very slight mistakes the other cadets make in their posture; lift a fist here, tighten the curve of the wrist there, pull in your elbow; good.


He pauses in front of you. He takes your hand and pulls it out of the salute. His thumb in your palm, his fingers cupping your hand, he holds your wrist steady for inspection.


“You're injured. What happened?”


You take a breath. Your wrist is covered in blood. Glancing down, you see that your shirt is, too.


“Just a scratch, sir!” you exclaim, strength behind your practiced voice.


Erwin frowns slightly. “Doesn't look like it's jus-” The man cuts himself off quite abruptly, jerking his hands away from yours as if he'd been burned. Out of sheer curiosity, you glance at his wrist, just before he claps his left hand over it.


As it turns out, the man did get burned, small letters in your handwriting blistering up under his skin. The letters form words, the words, a sentence.


It reads:


‘Just a scratch, sir!’






Chapter 2</u>






“What is your name, cadet?”


You give it swiftly.


“Cadet (surname), I will send for you after I have some time to gather my thoughts,” says Commander Smith, his voice low enough for only your ears to hear, “I don't want this news to be gossiped around. Understood?”


“Yes, sir,” you answer softly, the throb in your wrist slowly but surely ebbing. As soon as the order ‘at ease’ rings in the air, you pull out your handkerchief and press it to your arm. The pressure hurts, but it's nothing like how it was.


You've heard tales about soulmates. They used to be very common, before the Titans.


Now, a couple of soulmates is almost unheard of. You know of three sets ever in the history of the Survey Corps, and twelve altogether in the military. Since the walls were put up, there have been maybe a hundred and twenty pairs throughout the population, and the majority of those have been from the districts, where dense population served the soulmates well.


Never in a million years would you have imagined finding a soulmate. Glancing at your wrist when the backs if the higher-ups are turned, a scrolling, delicate script sprawls ‘Good afternoon, cadets!’ beneath flakes of crusted blood. You note that your tag is made in the fashion of a tattoo, a lost practice due to the lack of materials. Black lines flare boldly at the downstrokes of the letters, tapering to needle-thin wisps, as if written with the finest nib and the highest-quality ink.


You tie the cloth around your wrist, effectively covering the surprise and soaking up the last beads of blood that surface rebelliously. As soon as the day’s training is over, you know you'll be at the mercy of your peers and, while it doesn't frighten you, per se, you'd much rather they minded their own business and leave you alone.


Unsurprisingly, you find yourself stealing looks at Commander Smith, noticing more details about him than you've ever bothered to look for.


His broad shoulders shrug now and then to shift the straps of his 3-d maneuvering gear, and he rakes his hand through his hair after a breeze. He frowns when he has to concentrate. His jaw clenches unconsciously, and he balls his fists. However, the movement seems to bother the mark on his wrist, so he puts his right hand on his hip, his thumb hooking into a belt loop on his pants.


Eventually, you clear your throat in annoyance with yourself and fix your eyes on a tree at the outskirts of the training grounds.


It's a nice tree, wide and tall with age. Its leaves flutter, reflecting the bright sunshine, and you grin to yourself as you find as many interesting things about the tree as you did about the commander.


“Cadet (surname)!”


You jump and pray it isn't noticeable, then turn your attention to Shadis. “Yes, sir?”


“Daydreaming again?” he grumbles, “Go catch Cadet Johnson!”


Peering over his shoulder, you see that brat, James, tearing away from the pack.


Did you miss something? Apparently, because this is training, not babysitting, and Shadis would pummel any cadet that would dare step out of line.


“Yes, sir!” you holler, and you take off at a sprint, almost pointedly not looking up at Commander Smith. Okay, fully pointedly.


With your powerful body, you catch up to the twit in seconds and fling yourself into him.


The two of you fall heavily, and the air is forced from James’ lungs with a solid grunt. His elbow digs into your rib, right where the pain will swirl around and stay for a good five minutes. He flails a little, then twists beneath you and shoves you off.


Boy, this will serve as a constant reminder to pay attention during training. You have no idea why you have to ‘catch' him or what you are or aren't allowed to do to neutralize him.


You decide to back up and let him make the next move. Standing firmly, you wait until he's just inches away before slapping his fist away from your face and plowing yours up into his gut, again knocking the breath out of him. He staggers back, coughing, though his fists go up defensively.


“You wanna play dirty?” he taunts, bouncing up on his toes, “Shadis wants to embarrass you in front of Smith. C'mon, ya big lug; I dare you.”


“You dare me?” You laugh softly, shaking out your hands and watching the wiry teen bounce in a half-circle around you, purely for show. Taking a light step forward, you throw your weight into a right hook. He catches the punch with his forearms and it sends a spike of pain up your wrist, scrubbing your handkerchief against your fresh wound. It surprises you and you get a pop in the nose as punishment.


You back up and touch your throbbing nose. It isn't broken, but it does start to bleed.


How annoying.


You retaliate blindly, swinging your foot up. James grabs your ankle and shoves skyward, sending you to the ground. In your moment of blank shock, the kid lunges for you. Sitting heavily, painfully, on your stomach, he pulls back to hit you again. Thankfully, having regained enough sense, you thrust both hands up, one bashing into James’ throat, the other grabbing the strap of his chest harness and heaving him backward.


Choking harshly, he motions his surrender, and Shadis gives the shout for you to back off. Taking in a deep breath, you stand up straight and dust yourself off. The thought to help him up flickers through your mind, but James stands on his own, coughing with his hand against his throat.


“Good fight,” he croaks, “Ya got a little…” He brushes the tip of his nose with his index finger, and wipe the blood from your nose onto the heel of your hand.


“Yeah, thanks,” you mutter, turning to Shadis, “Was this sufficient, sir?”


The man clears his throat. “You…” He smiles tightly, for show. “You did this Training Corps proud today.” His voice is as gruff as always, and you almost frown, feeling a light pang of offense. He's only complimenting you because you're this brand new soulmate to the commander.


You say the words snobbily in your head, disgustingly annoyed.


“Thank you, sir,” you say softly, “I'm glad you approve.” You see the commander far off at the front of the Training Corps, each cadet still lined up neatly. Your gaze meets his and an inexplicable warmth flashes in your chest, delicious but worrisome. You look away.


You can feel the tug, the pull of the promise of love and, while it's exciting, it's also way out of left field, entirely unexpected and unprepared-for.






Chapter 3</u>






“Cadet (f/n surname) reporting, sir!” You stand straight, your salute flawless though it pulls at your fresh tattoo.


The commander looks up from his paperwork, one page lifted out of the way of the other with his left index and middle fingers. He takes a moment to write on the bottom page, then he stacks it neatly and sets it aside.


“At ease. What should we do about this situation?”


You blink owlishly, a frown pulling your brows together.


“You're asking me? I…Permission to speak freely, sir?”


“Granted.”


“Why are you asking me what to do?” you question.


“Because you're… apparently my better half. I want your input,” he replies.


“I don't know in the slightest what to do about it,” you say decisively, “Have you given it any thought?”


“Yes, quite a bit,” says Commander Smith, “I...don't believe that pursuing this is...wise. Relationships in the military get complicated, and relationships between a commander and a cadet are strictly forbidden. Relationships between anyone of different rank is-”


“You make it sound like a cheap romance novel,” you scoff, truthfully a bit hurt by his hesitance.


“I am twice your age!”


You both stay quiet for a moment, the reality of it actually sinking in.


“W-well…” You frown. You didn't actually take that into consideration. “Age is just a number…”


Baby blues lock onto your (e/c) gaze. “(F/n)...”


The sound of your name on his lips makes your heart skip a beat.


“People will make it a scandal. 'The commander of the Survey Corps is a cradle-robber in more ways than one.'” His voice is quiet, thoughtful, and melancholy. You don't quite know what you could say to make a difference for him.


“Commander Smith, might I briefly state that the hours I've been aware of our...connection, I have had little time to think about it. Perhaps it would be best to wait awhile so we both can gather our thoughts. A fortnight tonight?”


The man sighs softly. You realize he's barely looked at you since you came in.


“I believe that would be best, Cadet (surname),” he says, setting his jaw as he looks you in the eye, “Thank you for responding to my summons. You're dismissed.”


You salute sharply and walk out of the room, silently closing the door behind you.


~o0o~


The whispers and outright cat calls you receive when you step into the mess hall make you want to scream. Ignoring them, you get your dinner -a measly, squished bun and a mandatory glass of milk- and sit down with a group of… what are best described as buddies. Not friends, but not acquaintances. People you spend every day with but wouldn't necessarily spend your days off with.


Amelia Bordet is your closest ‘buddy', so close that she is classified as your best friend. She has has short, strawberry-blonde hair and perhaps the most annoying laugh you've ever heard, but she's friendly and sticks up for you when you need her to.


“Hey, (f/n), you missed the best dinner this month!” Amelia exclaims, “We actually had some beef. I can't believe you had to miss that!”


“No, it's…” You pause, knowing that the others are listening greedily for something to build a rumor off of. “Aw, bummer. Wish I could've had some…”


“I thought you'd say that,” whispers Amelia, leaning close, “Turns out I saved you some of mine.” She places her handkerchief (she never uses it outside of stashing food) on the table and opens it out to reveal a piece of the coveted beef. It's cold, of course, but, sinking your teeth into it, you feel certain you've never tasted anything better.


“It's so good!” you exclaim, the thrill in your voice muffled by deliciousness.


“They put salt on it. Can you imagine? Salt for the Training Corps?” Amelia giggles blissfully. “Oh, if this is what they always serve us, I'll be fine with staying a cadet.”


“We both know darn well that you'd eat better in the Military Police,” you reply, savoring the meat in small nibbles, “Picture it; actual salted butter on the bread, nutmeg and clove infused pork. Mmm, makes my mouth water.”


“Don't forget top-notch potatoes whipped up with cream until it's silk on your tongue!” Amelia lets out a yelp of sheer delight, the fantasy more enticing than the actual food. Her unbridled excitement is what draws most everyone around her. Some dislike that quality, but that's their problem. She's feisty and free and positively wild and you can't help but adore her.


“Dessert, we can't forget dessert!” you say, ripping into your dreadfully bland roll.


“Let's see...something with vanilla and cinnamon. Cookies? Ooh, I could die for a cookie…”


“Cake?”


“Pie!”


“Caramel.”


“Mmm…” Amelia wraps her arms around herself, practically melting with joy. A bruise on her forearm sticks out strangely, purple and fresh and out of place against someone so cheerful. You smile though; she's the top of the hand-to-hand class. She prizes her scars, points them out and boasts about them.


The two of you stay in the mess hall for a long time, until almost everyone has left. A young couple sits a few tables away, blushingly enjoying a conversation about home, and a group of noisy boys sits at the farthest end of the room, laughing and messing around.


Amelia scoots snug up against you.


“Hey,” she murmurs.


“Hey,” you reply.


“Show me?”


“Hm?”


“Your wrist. Your mark.


You smile and slide the handkerchief off your arm. You'd taken the time earlier in the day to wash it carefully and put some ointment on it to help the healing process. The area around it is inflamed and red, but it only hurts if there's pressure put on it.


“Wow…” You can admit to feeling quite pleased at her admiration; you respect her and it feels good to be noticed as someone so incredibly special. “I had no idea his penmanship was this beautiful.”


“Right?” You grin, tracing your fingers over the words. “Pretty cool, huh?”


“So, what's going on with the two of you? What did you talk about at your meeting?”


“Well…” you sigh, “He's a bit rattled, I think. He...was very hesitant. He said that he doesn't think it's smart to act on this-” You hold up your wrist. “-because of our professions and the age gap.”


“Aw, come on!” exclaims Amelia, “The most blissfully romantic thing just happened to the two of you and he uses the age excuse!? What is wrong with that man?”


Snorting softly, you tell her to watch what she says about the commander. A subtle feeling of contentment spreads over you like a favorite blanket, and you snuggle into it, claiming it and adoring it, praying that it will last.






Chapter 4</u>






A very strange emotion settles itself deep in your gut in the fortnight leading up to the second ‘meeting'. In your best description, it feels like loneliness and dissatisfaction; very different from how it felt after your first visit with the commander. Your tattoo itches almost constantly, and you woke up one night to blood all over your left hand because you had scratched it so viciously in your sleep.


Finally, the day of the second meeting comes, and anxiety curls its suffocating hand around your throat. You do your best to look nice. You've scrubbed your scalp with the plain, unfragranced soap issued to each cadet, then wash it with the most luxurious liquid soap you've ever had, sent by your excited mother after she heard the news, scented with wild lily-of-the-valley. It foams up richly in your wet hair, and you scour your body with the plain military soap so the suds of the flowery soap can be used as a fragrance.


Once finished in the shower, you comb out your hair and let it hang loose. Leaving your hair down is rare, and one of the few things that sparkle up your appearance. Being a cadet makes finding the right kind of berry for a lip tint nearly impossible; any that you've tried have looked splotchy and unattractive. You don't have pierced ears because, like with your hair, you don't want anything to get caught in your training gear. You don't own any jewelry or exquisite dresses.


Seeing as it is still an active training day, you wear your uniform. Also, during the course of the day, you find yourself working tangles out of your hair, which proves itself to be more troublesome than beautiful. The fragrance of the soap wears away after hours of sweating and, truthfully, you wonder why you even bothered this morning.


Amelia insists that you skip out on the last hour of training to get cleaned up again, but you shake your head.


“No, I give up,” you huff, ”He better like me the way I am.”


“Oh, don't be so stubborn,” scoffs Amelia, pushing you toward the shower hall, “I'll whip your hair into shape if you promise to let me borrow some of that glorious soap. I've been catching whiffs of it all day.”


You sigh in resignation. “Fine.”


~o0o~


Eight o’clock rolls around swiftly. Nerves boil in your stomach, and the unwelcome clench tightens painfully.


Two solid raps on the door signal your arrival, and a single word grants your entrance.


“Cadet (f/n surname) reporting-”


“You aren't reporting. The day is over; this is...personal business taking place in our recreational time,” says Erwin, and the thought makes you smile, “As such...you look very nice this evening. I like the flowers in your hair. Daisies and buttercups.”


“Right,” you confirm, blushing madly at the bold compliment, “My dear friend did it for me. I'm...not really one to play with my hair.”


“It's nice,” he insists, “Relax, (f/n). I refuse to be your commander right now. Take a seat. Would you like some tea?”


“Tea?” You grin widely at the offer and manage a swift nod. “I would love some.” It's been a long time since you've had tea. Your mouth waters at the memory of it.


After sending his assistant to get the tea, Erwin sits in an armchair off to the side of his office. You perch shyly on the couch facing it, your restless hands tapping your knees. The two of you sit quietly and you realize, with a feeling of warmth, that the disgusting emotion in your gut has left, replaced by the feeling of comfort you had felt two weeks ago.


“You were born in the village of Lyon, weren't you?” the commander asks mildly, and you nod, your reaction stiff with nervousness about the situation, “How is your family?”


“Very well, thank you,” you murmur politely, “My mother is pleased that I've found my soulmate. Beyond pleased, really. Ecstatic is more accurate.”


Erwin laughs, and the lush sound, though minimal, takes your breath away. “That's comforting news,” he says gladly, absently rubbing at his mark. After a moment, he realizes he's doing it. “How has your mark healed?”


“Not fully…” you say, looking at your wrist, “It's been itchy. Really itchy. I made it bleed the other night, so that hindered its healing. How's yours?”


“Worst burn I've ever gotten,” he answers, “It's still tender...Pretty interesting, though. The scarring will be prominent; it'll last a long time.”


“Yeah,” you smile, “Could I see it?”


He holds his arm out for you to inspect and, with hesitant, gentle fingers, you hold his arm still. The letters of your mark stand starkly against his skin, healing blisters surrounded by angry, red flesh.


With his left hand, he takes your right and pulls it so he can see the mark.


“You have gorgeous penmanship,” you say, extremely aware of his hand on yours. Your mark has scabbed over, the letters difficult to make out. Erwin’s thumb ghosts over it, and you pray he doesn't feel your pounding heartbeat.


“I stare at my mark before I fall asleep. I've thought long and hard about this situation...Have you?”


“Yes,” you say, your admission barely audible, “What are your thoughts?”


“I'd rather hear yours first.”


You try to offer a small grin, but a fierce pull of shyness and anxiety makes it hard. To your utter horror, your hand starts shaking visibly, and you know Erwin can feel it. He presses his right palm firmly to yours, turning your hand so the back faces the ceiling.


“I'll go first,” he says knowingly, “I believe that we ought to take this opportunity. Soulmates are too rare anymore, and I don't want to be a coward about it. Have you felt the disconnection these past weeks? The...the emptiness?”


You nod swiftly, recalling how awful the wait was, knowing body, spirit, soul that the two of you were made for each other.


“I would like to spend more time with you, get to know you personally, and base our relationship off of that, as opposed to basing it off of what the social norm would be.”


You nod again, just as enthusiastically as before. “I agree,” you say, “Fully. I know that our future has now been...planned out...and that's comforting.” You smile softly, thoughtfully, before continuing. “I...look forward to knowing you, Erwin.” The curl of his name on your tongue is delightful, and you mouth it to yourself a couple more times, a faint smile on your face.


“The feeling is mutual,” he replies, squeezing your hand softly, “I'm glad we both came to the same conclusion.”


“Me, too.”






Chapter 5</u>






“Soooo,” purrs Amelia, pushing up against you, hard enough to  almost make you topple from the bench in the mess hall, “Details, please!


“He said he wants to pursue a relationship,” you say, giddy from the long conversation you had with him and the contentment in your stomach, “Oh, Amelia, he's wonderful. And I'm not just saying that, I promise! He's so smart...and gentle for his size. His hands are huge!”


Amelia whistles lowly. “Ooh, you got a crush,” she singsongs, elbowing you in the ribs. It stings, but it's nowhere near enough to make your mood falter.


“No duh!” you laugh, “He's my everything already. Can you imagine that? It's surreal!”


“I wish I could imagine that,” sighs Amelia, “I bet my soulmate is strong and handsome and lives inside Sina and would love to feed me cake. With frosting flowers on it.”


“I bet your soulmate has orange-red hair,” you reply, “Cut neatly. I bet it spikes up a little, too.”


“I'm gonna have to host a ginger conference!” laughs Amelia, then she takes in a huge gasp, “I'm gonna host a party!! A great big party to celebrate you and Commander Smith.”


“Oh, Amelia, no,” you protest hastily, shaking your head.


“Oh, Amelia, yes,” she replies, “(F/n), you need this. Come on, how many wedding showers will I ever have to throw? One, and that's yours, so it's final.”


“Amelia, he hasn't proposed to me,” you explain.


Amelia blinks blankly. “What do you mean, he hasn't proposed!?” she yelps, “He has to propose!!”


“But he hasn't,” you hiss, indirectly telling your friend to hush up, “It will happen, I'm sure, but it hasn't yet and won't for awhile, maybe. Be patient, sheesh!”


“But it has to happen!” Amelia whines, “And I get to be the maid of honor!”


“Quit fussing; you sound like a kid,” you tease, “Don't worry; you'll be the first person I tell. I promise.”


Your friend pokes her lip out in a pout. “Well, what does he smell like?”


“Smell? What, you think I walk in, say ‘hey there, soulmate!’ and sniff his neck or somethin’?” You laugh brightly. “Yeah, right. I don't know!”


“Make sure you get a whiff next time,” whispers Amelia, “Ain't nothin’ better than a good-smellin’ man.”


~o0o~


You unconsciously keep that in mind. The next couple days, you find your thoughts leaning that direction several times, especially when you catch him staring at you during training one morning. It pulls a smile and a blush from you. In retaliation, you send him a discreet wink, getting a bitten-back grin for your effort.


Rubbing your cheeks, you jog off after the others for your daily laps. Just the fact that you're a sprinter and not a particularly long-distance runner keeps you from showing off. You're fast, sure, but once you lose your wind, you can't get it back.


Amelia lets out a shrill whoop when she pulls up beside you, completely ignoring the fact that it's not permitted, and she rams her hip into yours, almost knocking you over.


Gosh, that girl…


“Someone and someone sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” she huffs, falling into perfect step beside you, each footfall a mirror to yours, “First comes forbidden flirting, then comes the marriage, then my best friend goes to live inside Sina and buy me cake!”


“That totally doesn't rhyme,” you snicker.


“True though.”


“‘Cept we haven't kissed yet,” you say.


“Are you kidding me!?” Amelia wails.


“And I prob’ly wouldn't live in Sina.”


“Sure ya would!”


“I think the commander lives in the castle like Captain Levi and the doctor,” you say, “Y'know, in the separate quarters?”


“Well, after you get married, you'll have to live in a house for the kids’ sakes.”


“Oh, so now you wanna be an aunt? From maid of honor to an aunt in two days. You sure expect a lot out of this, don't you?”


“You're my best friend ever,” says Amelia, “Of course I do!”


“Cadet Bordet!! Shut your big mouth and consider your fifth lap your first!!” roars Shadis.


Amelia groans openly, but shouts a professional ‘yes, sir!’. She falls behind, slowing her pace to reserve her energy for the extra mileage.


You realize, quite suddenly, that Shadis said nothing to you. Across the training field, you locate him, standing tall with his arms crossed, with Erwin standing a few feet behind him.


Oh.


Ohh.


Shadis doesn't dare reprimand you, not now, not knowing that you're Commander Smith’s soulmate. You've heard the stories and read the books about protective soulmates dealing with problems as big as Titans or as small as an ill-timed joke. You wonder briefly if the commander is protective. You feel protective when it comes to Amelia; would you get the big ‘mama bear’ instinct if someone said something about Erwin?


Even thinking about it, you can feel the twinge of fierce anger well up in your heart.


So that answers that question.


A strong whiff of something awful hits you like a punch in the face, burning your nostrils. It comes seemingly from out of nowhere and the density of it feels out of whack.


Others look around cautiously, seeking the source, and someone toward the front of the pack points to the westward sky. A fat, twisting column of thick, black smoke rises from a spot behind the castle.


“Ugh, what is that?”


“Smells like burning feathers.”


“Burning rubber to me.”


“Nah, it reeks like smoking lard.”


“Do you…?”


“Is that…?”


“Holy crap!”


“Gross!”


“What the heck; no way!”


“Commander Smith, is that a mass cremation?” Despite not being at your side, you hear Amelia loud and clear, and her voice covers the training ground to reach Erwin. His face sports a faint frown.


“It is,” he answers, “Let's all go pay our respects.”


You hear muttered words of annoyance and apprehension among your comrades, too quiet for the higher-ups to hear, and you want to scold them all. Instead, you push past everyone, setting your jaw and straightening your shoulders powerfully. Stepping up to Erwin and Shadis, you salute, then walk behind them, strong respect dripping from your form, demanding the same from your peers.


How dare they act like such children? They know that people in the military die. Everyone dies at some point.


‘Grow up!’ you want to shout, ‘Those men and women died for your bratty rear ends and you turn your noses up at them?’


It disgusts you.


As the caravan of trainees led by their eldest comrade, their instructor, and the commander of the Survey Corps marches to the cremation sight, the stench grows stronger, so strong, so thick, that you almost choke on it. You hadn't been aware of an expedition; odd, considering that they're usually well-advertised to the public.


There is only one, enormous fire burning, but it is piled high with smoldering bones and sizzling flesh. Kids all around you vomit their breakfasts onto the grass and, never taking your eyes from the fire, paying that last debt to the brave soldiers that served humanity, you know very well that this experience will stay with you, haunt you, for years to come.


You wonder, even, if you'll end up in a pile like them.


If your bones will be scattered with those of dozens of your peers. Perhaps your mother will get a tooth belonging to Amelia, and James’ sisters will get a tin of ashes belonging to three different people. All in a stack, there's no good or easy way to separate the bodies. One mass cremation is what soldiers get. As clean as it gets, as dignified as it can be. Scoop up a trowel of ashes, stick it in a can, pray the family won't ask if it belongs solely to their soldier.


Without realizing it, you start crying, the heat of your tears melting into the heat of the exercise, the morning sun, the roaring fire.


Numbly, you copy the reverent salute of the commander and instructor.


~o0o~


Many tears are shared with the girls in your barracks. Everyone showers and scrubs themselves raw. Everyone says they can't get the stink off of them, even with the burning hot water and pass after pass of the powerful lye soap. Rags don't help. Scrubbing brushes don't help. Pumice stones don’t help.


Few people eat in the mess hall. Most of the food goes toward tomorrow’s breakfast. Bread turns to sawdust in the mouth. Potato turns to sand. Amelia tries her best to crack a joke, but even she's broken up about it, pushing her flavorless, colorless meal around her plate, her mouth set in a firm line, glued shut by the absolute lack of appetite.


Laying in bed, some of the girls cry, others toss and turn endlessly, while others seem able to fall into fitful sleeps. You stare into the dark, flames licking before your eyes, neon red and electric orange. It was a shock, to say the least; a true wake-up call.


This is life.






Chapter 6</u>






“(F/n)? (F/n)...?”


You shake out of your bland space-out and look up at Erwin, tired (e/c) eyes meeting his worried ones.


“Are you all right?” he asks softly.


Your gaze turns back to the floor beside Erwin’s foot. “It's pretty sobering,” you answer.


“The cremation yesterday?”


You nod.


“May I sit beside you?”


Another nod.


The couch cushion wobbles under his weight, dipping your hip toward his. Your hand is taken gently in both of his, and a soft sigh escapes you when he works the tension from it in firm presses of the pads of his thumbs. You've never had a hand massage. You decide you quite like it.


“It's a shock,” he admits, “But it'll be okay. I'm honestly surprised by the impression it made on the Training Corps.”


“I'll never forget the stench,” you whisper shakily, “I feel like I can still smell it. Like I'm still there, w-watching…”


“But you aren't. You're here with me,” murmurs Erwin, and he brushes a few rebellious strands of hair back behind your ear, “And you never have to see one of those again.”


You shake your head, desperate to get the memory out of it. “I'm going to...I'm going to go to bed…”


“You need to eat something.”


“Not now,” you answer. You've stunned yourself with how badly it shook you. You feel sick and have since yesterday morning. “I'm going to bed.”


Erwin presses a firm kiss to your temple. In a better state of mind, the action would've made you flush and stutter. Now it's little more than a surprise.


“Good night then,” he says, his breath warm against your forehead.


You remember your conversation with Amelia, and take a breath just before you stand.


He smells like the promise of rain, and it's a cleansing scent, one that helps clear a bit of the horror that has clung to you.


~o0o~


In two months, and much to Amelia’s chagrin, you and Erwin have yet to share a hug or kiss, and you're beginning to think that a proposal is farther off than you'd anticipated.


“So...let me get this straight,” says Amelia, leaning back on her new boyfriend, Charles. He's noisy, but polite enough, and you at least don't feel the need to strangle him. Amelia folds her hands on her stomach and shoves her feet into your lap. You reach around her dusty boots to finish your supper. “The commander doesn't want to propose why?


“He's never said that!” you exclaim indignantly, “Where did you get that idea?”


“Well!” The ‘e' sounds more like a ‘u'. “He hasn't done it yet! Which is dumb of him; he has no idea how blessed he is to have you.”


“I'm flattered, truly,” you say, “But don't pick on him. He has a lot on his plate; getting married is a huge fuss even if you don't have any responsibilities.”


“Dibs on being your wedding planner.” Someone drops their empty dish on the floor a few feet away, cutting into her sentence.


“Huh?”


“I said ‘dibs on being your wedding planner’!!” Amelia shouts, loudly enough to raise above every voice in the room. You shrink a little, but she just laughs jovially. “I'm serious!” she insists, “You'll have the best wedding ever. With cake. And frosting flowers.”


“Really? Where is all this money going to come from?”


Amelia purses her lips, a twist of a grin dancing on them. “Isn't your soulmate the commander? Gee, I sure thought he was…”


“Shut up,” you snicker, “It doesn't mean he's rich.”


“He has government funds…” she hints, pressing her index fingers together in a show of mock innocence.


It makes you laugh aloud. “Oh, I think we'll all want him to leave those be, if we know what's best for us.” You shake your head, resting your elbow on the toe of Amelia’s boot as you munch on a mouthful of string beans.


“Okay, fine,” huffs Amelia, “You win. Onto a somewhat different topic; your dress. How does that quaint old saying go? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue? Yeah. Tell me what you want for those.” The strawberry-blonde squints at you, tapping the pads of her fingers together, the heels of both hands resting against each other. Charles shifts behind her, but she readjusts, intent on an immediate answer.


“Look, my dear,” you say softly, patting her shin, “I will tell you just as soon as he proposes, okay? And I'll give you that list. But let's just...be patient.”


“For another two months? Six?” Amelia groans, her breath leaving in a frustrated, heavy growl. “Maybe you should propose to him.”


You scoff lightly, far more amused than annoyed. “That'll be the day…” you mutter, stabbing a piece of cornbread with your fork.


“What will be the day?”


You jump violently, dropping your fork with a clatter. “C-Commander Smith! You surprised me!” you exclaim, scrambling to catch the utensil before it hits the floor. Amelia snorts.


“My apologies,” smiles Erwin, straddling the bench beside you, relaxed and content to see you. He's not wearing his uniform; instead, he wears a pair of comfortable black pants and a simple, short-sleeved shirt, off-white with an undone drawstring at the throat. He wears his bolo tie, and his hair is smoothed down as it normally is.


“Permission to speak freely, sir?” asks Amelia. She grins when the commander grants her request and your heart sinks to your toes. “Is it okay to treat you like (f/n)’s boyfriend when we're off-duty?”


Erwin hesitates to answer, his brows pulling together. “W...well…”


“How about ‘no’,” you say, very pointedly sending Amelia a glare.


“Aw, c'mon, (f/n)...” Amelia grins, stretching out her foot until the toe of her boot brushes Erwin's muscular forearm. You smack her foot.


“Amelia, behave yourself,” you snap, “Let's start over and properly introduce you. Come on, sit up. There ya go. Amelia, this is Erwin Smith, as you so painfully obviously know. Erwin, this is my beloved friend Amelia Bordet.”


“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Erwin says, an amused smile dancing across his lips. Amelia clasps his offered hand warmly, gives it a firm shake, and laughs.


“So we're acquaintances? Can I call you Winny? Please tell me I can call you Winny.”


Erwin laughs and shakes his head. “I'm afraid not,” he says, “I'm still the commander of the Survey Corps.”


Amelia pouts, a thing to put most two-year-olds to shame. “But you look like a ‘Winny’. Ooh! Would you prefer ‘Vinny'?”


Erwin gives her an amused look.


“Fine, fine,” she says, nodding, pretending to be a bit melancholic, before flashing a shining smile, “I have a good feeling about you, sir. You be good to my baby.” She rubs your back softly. “Or I will end you.”


Erwin nods. He'll take that seriously. However, he doesn't need the prompt. Running the knuckle of his index finger down your sleeve, he knows…


He could never hurt you. He loves you too much.






Chapter 7</u>






“(F/n)...”


“Hm?”


“Have we gotten to a...to a stable stage in our relationship?”


You smile slightly. “Why?” Setting your book -one you had been entirely engrossed in- down, you tilt your head and raise an eyebrow. He sits across from you, his elbows propped on his knees as he leans forward.


“I…” Erwin takes a deep breath, smiling awkwardly and letting the breath out as a chuckle. “I would like to go out sometime, instead of just sitting here in my office. The entire Training and Survey Corps know about us.” He pauses to shrug. “It feels...wrong to be cooped up. I don't know about you, but I feel like I'm being secretive when we're together and I don’t want to be.”


“Okay,” you say slowly, letting his words really sink in, “What should we do about that? Did you want to go on a picnic or a date or…? What were you thinking of doing?”


Erwin flushes, and the sight makes you grin. Red crawls up his chest and throat, travels all the way to his ears, and he clears his throat firmly.


“Actually,” he says softly, sliding from his seat and onto one knee, “Actually, (f/n), I was thinking it's about time for us to get married.” He pulls a ring from his chest pocket and you pull in a strangled breath, one that sounds pained and really stupid, but it doesn't matter because this is it.


“Okay,” you agree, your voice barely coming through. Your throat is tight with tears of surprise and happiness, and the moment feels exactly like you've always imagined it would. You nod excitedly, and you find your hand is shaking when he moves to slide the ring onto your finger. How he knew your ring size is beyond you, but you don't care because it fits so perfectly that you know it was meant to be.


“You can decide the date,” he says, pressing a kiss to your hand. You can feel that he's shaking, too, with relief and excitement.


“Let's just do it soon,” you say, placing your hands on either side of his face. He covers them with his own and you share a happy smile.


What wonders would marriage to this man bring? What joy and adventure and bliss awaits you?


The thought is breathtaking.


You set the date for a month away.


~o0o~


Amelia shrieks, legitimately and very loudly shrieks, when she hears the news. Grabbing you by the waist, she pulls you off your feet and spins you around until you both fall in a heap on the barrack floor, giggling like mad. She grabs your hand and admires the ring.


“Finally!” she gushes, “Finally!! Oh my gosh, I have so much to do! Flowers to order, food to be bought. Picture it; an entire head of beef prepared for the feast. Fish and cheese and fluffy white bread, and cake with frosting flowers on it.”


“I don't want to picture it,” you say, sitting up and untangling your legs, “I want to eat it!!”


“And you shall, my beloved, you shall!” cries Amelia, lifting her hands in the air triumphantly, “Have Erwin give me the budget and you shall have the wedding of your dreams!”


~o0o~


Turns out her statement was the truth. Though the budget was small, it was still plenty, and that Amelia, that gorgeous Amelia, made every wedding dream of your come true. She had bouquets of your favorite flowers in your favorite color, an array of exquisitely delicious dishes, the cake she had had her thoughts focused on for months; she even got you the perfect gown. She fixed your hair elegantly. She tinted your lips with berry juice. She shined your nails until they glared.


Now, standing behind her and her boyfriend, you feel nerves gnaw at your stomach. It's an outdoor wedding. A gentle breeze sweeps over the crowd of people made up of family, a couple cadets, and some of Erwin’s closest friends. A small handful of officials attend for show; the commander of the Survey Corps is being married. It's a huge deal.


Music marking the start of your walk down the aisle begins, sweet notes that you'll always remember. Amelia arranged that, too. You'd told her you didn't want the traditional ‘Wedding March’; you wanted something unique. Well, she knew a girl that could write music, and a guy that could play the flute, so you got your unique wedding march all to yourself.


You heart throbs at the sight of Erwin, and a smile, blissfully uncontainable, spreads across your face. He stands tall and proud, wearing a luxurious black tuxedo, pristine and perfectly tailored. He returns the smile, and to your surprise, he tears up. He truly tears up, and that makes you tear up, and you're pretty sure you can hear Amelia sniffling behind you.


What a wedding. What a wedding!


You take Erwin’s offered hands, hands that you have touched and held a hundred times, and the pastor begins the ceremony, his voice large and strong.


“Do you, (full name), take Erwin Smith as your lawfully wedded husband?”


You almost laugh. The weight of your new wedding ring is different from that of your engagement ring, and you enjoy it completely.


“I do.”


“And do you, Erwin Smith, take (full name) as your lawfully wedded wife?”


Erwin's baby blues well up again as he watches his band slide onto his finger. You never would've guessed him to be the emotional type. He nods, making the easiest decision of his life. “I do.”


“Well, then, I pronounce you man and wife. Mr. Smith, you may kiss your bride.”






Epilogue</u>






Amelia is sobbing by the time you make it back to her.


“That was the best wedding I've ever been to!” she wails, throwing her arms around you. She pulls away, holding her handkerchief to her nose (wow, she's actually using it). She can only manage a glance up at Erwin before coughing out a sob and throwing her arms around him, too. “You be good to her!” she exclaims, “I'm serious!”


Erwin gives her back an awkward pat. “I will,” he promises, and you grin at him.


“Thank you, Amelia, for doing all this for us,” you say earnestly, rubbing her arm.


“It was a blessing,” she croaks, dabbing her eyes, “I'm so happy for you guys, oh my gosh.”


“Well,” you smile, lowering your voice, “Maybe it'll be your turn next.” You press your bouquet into her hands and her eyes widen.


“No way.”


You shrug. “You never know, my dear,” you say, and you give her a little nudge, “Go say hi to every guy here; maybe you'll find your soulmate.”


“Do you have some kind of soulmate sixth sense or something?” she hisses, narrowing her eyes playfully, “You could sell it, with my help.”


“No, I don't!” you laugh, “And I wouldn't want to sell it. People say you can't put a price on love; let's keep it that way.”


Amelia elbows you, barely hard enough to feel it. “You're too good for me,” she says cheerfully, and the three of you laugh.


“Speaking of,” you say, “Isn't it high time to have some cake?”


Your strawberry-blonde lets out a squeal, dashing for the table of food, her skirt billowing behind her.


A large hand presses lightly to your shoulder, and you look up at Erwin. “Hello,” you murmur contentedly, a happy, drowsy bliss settled deep in your stomach now that you know you'll always have him.


“I love you.” The words come with a delicate kiss, as soft as a breath but as powerful as a screamed declaration from atop Wall Maria. “Forever and always.”
“(F/n)! Hey, are you okay!?”


Connie.


“I'm here!” you shout, the sound ricocheting off the houses still standing around you. It was a freak accident. You, Connie, Sasha, and a kid named Jass had done a powerful coordinated attack to take down a ten-meter Titan. Somehow, you got on the wrong side of it as it fell, and it caught up on your maneuvering gear, destroying it and making you fall to the rust-red shingles of the house below. The landing wasn't so bad, but when the Titan’s body hit the building, it crumbled, taking you with it.


Connie drops to the ground near you, whipping his head around, scanning the wreckage desperately.


“At your five,” you call to him, and he spins around to find you trapped by a long, heavy beam. Three long, heavy-duty nails were speared deep into your torso, and you struggle to breathe past the weight and the pain. One pokes shallowly into your left shoulder, one is sunk deep in your liver, with the third pinning your hip, nicking the bone but mostly crushing into the soft gut, ripping irreparable damage.


The discomfort of having shattered roof tiles at your back seems to melt away in the face of the horrific pain. You manage a small smile, praying it will comfort Connie.


“Can you move?” he asks urgently, skidding over the rubble to reach you.


“No,” you say softly, and you lift your hand. Connie sits and grasps it.


“Sasha and Jass are going to find Jean's squad, get us some help, okay?”


“Come on, Connie,” you laugh, squirming at the pulse of pain you get in response, “You know I'm not pulling through this.”


“Don't say that.” His voice is small, and his breath is hot against your knuckles. He presses a kiss there, but yes, he knows.


“Stay with me?”


“I would never leave you.”


“I know,” you say softly, and your grip on his hand tightens, “It hurts, but…” You shift slightly, drawing your brows together. “But I think I can manage it for now. Tell me a story.”


Connie frowns in confusion. He feels utterly frantic; it takes him a minute to settle down enough to think.


“Okay,” he says, “Once upon a time, there was this kid. He was real scrawny, real short, but he had an ego...like, the size of Wall Maria. I dunno. He was crazy, right? Anyway, he got this insane idea to try to impress this super pretty girl. I'm talking, like, princess-quality pretty. Amazing; way out of his league, and he knew it! But that didn't bother him. He figured it was destiny…”


You focus on his voice, on the lilts and stresses, the words he uses, the faint, pained syllables that almost stick in his throat, refusing to be spoken smoothly. You watch his face, streaked with dirt. There's an angry red scrape on his cheek, about the size of playing card that was ripped in half. Plasma beads up on it, making it look shiny and raw, and grime and blood speckles it.


You want to clean it for him. You want to take care of him.


It's a strange sensation when he moves to put your head on his thigh. It feels like you're underwater, weightless and deaf to the world. You feel his hands in your hair.


“And it was so funny, I-”


“Connie…” The entire world is underwater. All you can hear is the ka-thunk, ka-thunk of your heartbeat. “Connie?”


“Hey, I'm here,” he murmurs softly, “I'm still here.”


You blink, straining to see his face. It doesn't occur to you that it's dark outside, that no one came back for the two of you, that it has been hours since the accident


“Connie…”


“Shh, it's okay.”


“I'm not getting eaten.”


“Wh-what? Angel, you're not going yet, are you?” Oh. His voice sounds so frightened. He's so frightened.


“Mm-hm,” you confirm, closing your eyes. You had no idea you were so exhausted.


“No, I didn't get to the best part!” he says quickly, “It's when the boy tells the girl how he feels. See? The best part.” His voice seems to hurt him, tearing through his throat mercilessly. He pets your face gently with a trembling hand, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone. “I love you, (f/n).”


Tears fall on your face, not your own. You smile, relief and peace and contentment taking over as you feel your lungs fill for the last time. He kisses you, to broken to be careful or neat, and as your breath leaves you, as your pupils black out your beautiful eyes, he sobs. His forehead pressed to yours, his tears rolling down the sides of your face, mixing with sweat and cutting stark lines through the pale dust that covers you, he sobs aching, gut-wrenching sobs.


There comes a time early in the morning that a rescue crew arrives, just as the surreal blueness of light fills the sky. Connie has long since cried his last tear, but he hasn't moved, still hunched over you, his forehead against yours, his glassy eyes looking at your empty ones.


He made you a promise, one he meant to keep.


He swore he'd never leave you.
(Connie x reader) Promise
I love connie so much ohmygoshthereneedstobemoreficsofhim
We should throw a connie appreciation week. -3-
I dont own him
I almost said that if I did own him, he wouldnt be put throigh such misery.
But
Ohyeahlol
Loading...
“Good morning,” chirps Armin, popping a kiss to your offered cheek. He lays down beside you in the grass damp with dew, warm rays of sunshine stretching out over the meadows.


“Good morning,” you reply happily, curling up against him, throwing your arm over his waist. You have a sigh. You've missed him while he was out on an expedition. You worried about him.


“I bought you something from one of the Washington refugees.”


You lift your head and look at him. The Washington District was obliterated; less than three percent of the population made it out alive. For a refugee to sell something? Either they were desperate, which is entirely likely, or Armin offered a large sum, which is equally likely.


You both sit up, and he produces a small parcel from his pocket. It fits nicely in his hand, wrapped in a white linen handkerchief, and you find that it's surprisingly heavy for its size when you take it, a dense and solid block. After unwrapping it, you gasp.


Sitting on the soft cloth is a flawless bar of pale blue soap. Your fingertip traces the curve of it, the material satiny and luxurious, of the highest quality. Expert craftsmanship was put into it, the delicate texture proving as much.


“Oh, I can't possibly accept this…” you murmur, lifting the bar to your nose. It smells very strongly of wild rose and honeysuckle, so luscious it makes you feel a bit light-headed.


“It was homemade by an old woman named Ruth. She had a garden and used the flowers to make small batches of soap. This was her last bar,” explains Armin, lifting the hand you hold the soap in up to his own nose so he can take another whiff, “I told her I wanted it for the woman I love.” The two of you share a bashful blush, and you lean into his hand when he slides his fingers through your hair.


“Thank you,” you whisper, “I love it, I really do.”


“Good.” He smiles sweetly and places a feather-light kiss on the tip of your nose. “You're so pretty.”


You blush darker, unable to look at him though a beaming smile spreads across your face.


“You're my world.”


You listen quietly, holding the soap to your nose and watching the ground.


“You're my everything. I couldn't live without you.”


“Yes, you could,” you breathe.


“There's a difference between existing and living.” Armin wraps his arms around you from behind, tucking his chin against the junction of your shoulder and neck. “Hm...I don't know if I could even exist without you.”


“Yes, you could,” you insist.


“I wouldn't want to.”


“I love you.”


“I love you.”


“I love the soap.”


“I love you.”


You smile softly, taking both of his hands in yours and lacing your fingers together. “Let's not worry about...losing each other. Let's always enjoy the now that we have together.”


“It's hard to. Death… is looming. It's a promise; the price of life.”


“It is,” you agree, hesitating when you feel a faint, tickling kiss against your neck, “But we have each other now. If we don't entirely value the now, we'll forever wish we had.”


“You're right.” He presses more firmly and lays a graceful line of kisses up to your ear. His soft lips ghost over the shell of it, shooting hot air against your skin. “I adore you…”


“You're quite the romantic.”


“Only the best for you, beloved.”


“The best of the best?”


“Always.” He taps the bar of soap balanced on your knee, but he doesn't let go of your hand. “The best of the best of the best. I promise.”


“Oh, Armin...” Tugging your hand free, you lift it to slide your fingers into his blonde hair. “My sweet Armin…”


Kisses flutter against your jaw and, when you turn your face, you get a gently firm one on the mouth. What a delectable kisser he is, with sweet words and a tenderness that is scarcer than uncommon…


Such care he takes with you…


He's better than fiction, and is nearly perfect, you're sure.


It's enough to put every romance writer to shame.
(Armin x reader) A Gift of Soap
FLUFF
JUST
FLUFF
THATS ALL
IM PRETTY SURE I WENT BLIND FROM THE FLUFF
SERIOUSLY
THIS IS ALMOST SEVEN HUNDRED WORDS OF SAPPINESS
Kudos to you if you made it to the end.
(Idontownhim)
Please gimme a fav and send a comment my way! It takes milliseconds and means so much to me!
Loading...
All eyes focus on you the the moment the new recruits step into the room. Levi huffs, tightening his folded arms over his chest, and Hanji digs her elbow into your gut, reminding you of the bargain you had made and just lost. Commander Smith clears his throat and each soldier turns to face him.


The remainder of the briefing goes quietly, but before the recruits leave (rumor has it these recruits have had it rough), Commander Smith introduces you.


“This is First Lieutenant (surname) from the Washington District.” You note that a couple faces go pale; Washington was hit hard by the Titan infestation. “She is the newest recruit in the Survey Corps, and I pray that you will take her in as one of your own. Thank you for your sacrifice.”


You clench your jaw and lift your nose slightly. You don't want pity. You don't even want friends.


But what you want least are people that gawk because of your incredible height. At a shocking, staggering, stunning five foot eleven, everybody does a double-take. Hanji laughed in delight, Erwin made the slightest surprised face, and Levi jumped, actually jumped, when he saw your face.


Everyone stops and stares and, after all you've been through, you hate it.


Most of Washington was wiped out. Less than three percent of the population survived, leaving those that did alone, desolate, and grieving. You lost everyone you'd ever held dear.


You don't need anyone else now. You've learned to adapt.


One day, a former neighbor of yours had seen you walking, and stopped you to warn you not to draw too far inward. She had known you for years, long before she was married five years ago.


She said you could lose yourself in your grief, and you have. The only emotions that surface are annoyance and anger, explosive anger.


And you hate it. It turns your gut and twists until the tension is unbearable, until you fear for your sanity, for your self-control, for everything you've struggled to maintain over the last several years. Your reputation, image, notoriety of being the girl that can solve difficult tactical problems. Of being the girl that can muscle her way out of a situation. Of being the girl that no one would have imagined could do the things she has done without the support of her family.


You're the kind of strong that many couldn't even wish to be.


With nothing to lose, you're a force few idiots would reckon with.


~o0o~


So the kid with the shaved head is a new strain of stupid. Supposedly.


At least, that's what the John-Jeen-Jan character says that evening in the mess hall when he introduces him. Kid's name is Connie. You've never met a male Connie before.


“Wow, man, that hurts,” mutters the kid, poking in his plate of food. He glances up at you to see your reaction, but, having none, he offers a wide, friendly grin. He's tiny. Like...tiny. You haven't stood at a miniscule five foot shrimp in forever.


“Aw, c'mon, you say it yourself,” grumbles Jean, but he continues to point out the others. Apparently, this squad is quite a group. It has an idiot, a glutton/thief, a horse, teensy Barbie, a female that reminds you of...rye bread, a wimpy blond helmet-hair, the next ‘Humanity's Strongest’, and a kid named Hunter. The kid named Hunter doesn't seem that impressive. He's built, kinda cute, but eh. Not your kind of cute. He seems really angry.


Not attractive.


Rye Bread speaks up. “So, what can you do?” she asks, absently bending a tine on her fork back and forth. It snaps off the  seventh bend and she narrows her eyes at it.


“What do you mean? Fighting?” you question, and she nods, “I'm a blind fighter in the heat of it, but a strategist if I have time beforehand.”


“Yeah, but are you any good?” She slides the broken tine into her pocket, then attempts to scoop up a piece of potato with the remainder of the fork.


“I should like to say so.” After sipping your water from its wooden mug, you finger the handle, worn and smooth from years of use and maintenance.


“Do you find your height to be advantageous?” asks the helmet-hair.


You go quiet. Well, quieter.


“Just a bigger target,” you say eventually, and you stand up and take care of your dishes.


As you walk away, you can hear them whisper.


‘Musta been hard…’


‘No duh, horseface.’


‘Poor kid.’


‘Says the guy that's had it just as bad…’


‘It isn't a competition.’


‘Sure can feel like it sometimes.’


‘Survival of the fittest, right?’


‘Speaking of, can I have your bread?’



You sigh and shake your head. Sleep will refresh you and the anticipation of losing yourself to unconsciousness is so delicious that you race down the hall to the barracks.


~o0o~


New day, fresh start. No mistakes.


The morning workout starts with a long run and this you look forward to. The only three people with potential to keep up with you are the horse (fittingly), future Mrs. Humanity's Strongest and Rye Bread. However, most of your height is in your legs, and a slow jog for you is almost a full-blown run for the others.


You pull away from the pack and maintain the distance. Whenever Jean catches up, you adjust the width of your steps accordingly and leave him in the dust.


You don't want friends. Better for the fact to be obvious.


Next is rope climbing, hooray.


That's a good place for you to lack. Your legs are assets. Your arms?


You're still growing into them.


On occasion, you brush things off of tables because you overreach.


It's embarrassing.


You spend the first ten minutes of the workout wrapping your hands so they won't blister, then the next fifteen encouraging the others to go first. Connie, the li’l squirt, practically flies up the rope. He's small; his strength doesn't have to pull much up. Barbie (your memory for names is terrible) tries and tries again, and gets so frustrated that her anger fuels her trip.


She's more than a foot shorter than you. Man, you got this.


Rye Bread and Mikasa are good, Hunter is good, Jean is good enough to show off at you. The ever-hungry girl, or Potato Girl as everyone else calls her, struggles to find the motivation to care until food is mentioned.


But then it's your turn, and you have a full five minutes to devote to making everyone think you’re less than your reputation. Wonderful.


You step forward, your eyes on the ground. You don't feel like a part of this team. You feel like an intruder, rolled over and ignored, then suddenly remembered and welcomed back with plastic smiles and hollow laughter. You curl your fingers around the rope. Their gazes burn your back. Their voices hum like mosquitoes behind you and you heft yourself onto the rough cord.


You get one hand up and over the other, then another, another, another, and you slip. You fingers grasp at air and, with your weight relying on that hand to hold fast, you drop like a rock and land on your back, air leaving your lungs in a solid huff. The suddenness of it, the shock, makes you curl onto your side and gasp helplessly for air. All around you comes the crowd, questions and exclamations clamoring in your ears.


Finally, when a sweet breath enters your body, you push yourself up, frustration clouding your (e/c) eyes, and you take your leave, backing out for the day. Someone asks if you're okay, another, if you need medical attention.


“Leave me alone!” you shout, your fist circling to the middle of your back where your weight landed. It's going to get really sore.


But you don't want pity. You don't even want friends.


~o0o~


A week passes. Two. Three.


Nothing of significance happens in that time. Honestly, it makes you restless. You feel like the militia is wasting valuable time. You want to get right out into the thick of it, to retake Washington, to walk into your home again and receive some semblance of normalcy.


You want blood. Quietly, maybe, but the satisfaction of paring away flesh and taking the power of one more Titan is what you crave.


“Hey, brat, c'mere.” Levi seems to enjoy ordering you around after lights-out. This is the third time in two weeks he's called you out of bed for a super secret meeting with the higher-ups.


“Yes, sir,” you groan, long legs sliding out from under your blanket. The two of you walk down the hallway, the captain still fully uniformed while you pad barefoot and clad in pajamas. Then he opens a door on the right and motions for you to enter.


Inside sits Hanji and Connie, both talking excitedly about...you can't quite catch what before they look up and smile.


“So...what is it you woke me up for?” you ask, annoyance peaking your words, “Game of bridge?”


“You were awake and you know it,” snaps Levi, “Sit down.”


You do, and quite quickly.


“Hanji and I are assigning Connie to you,” he says, sitting across from his auburn friend, “Because you suck at being friendly and that will make you suck at squad efforts and group attacks.”


“Spoken by a man who knows.” Hanji nods seriously.


“Ahh, shut up.”


“Assigning him?” you question, lifting a brow before rolling your eyes, “So he can do what? Put effort into a person that won't appreciate it? Better to save a kid like that for his teammates. The people that actually need him.”


“He is already established in the 104th Training Corps. You have no one.” The captain is blunt, viciously so, but the truth in his words strike a chord and you give a curt nod.


“You are correct, Captain,” you say softly, fixing your gaze on a knot in the wooden tabletop, “May I return to bed?”


“Jeez, no respect for your higher-ups,” he huffs, but he waves you off, “Go ahead.”


Of all the nerve...


Of all the needless, baseless, prying nerve!


You storm into girls’ dorm and flop onto your bed, the springs squealing in protest at the harsh treatment. Driving your fist into your pillow over and over, you seethe, and, instead of going back to sleep, you grab your pillow and blanket and run out of the castle. The night is cold and the air hits you like an icy slap in the face, humid from the brief summer rain early that morning and making the cold really seep under your skin.


Your feet carry you swiftly from the headquarters, the thin blanket flapping behind you. You run until you reach a thicket of berry bushes and maple trees and you sit heavily on the damp ground. A rush of rage fills you and you whip around and drive your fist into the tree at your back. Pain explodes in your hand and sings up your arm, feeding the anger, validating it. Again and again you strike the rough bark and, vaguely, you hear your voice rise into the black sky. Shrieks of loneliness, of brokenness, among the chirps of crickets entirely drown them out.


You hate this. You hate this world. A final, long scream ends your rampage and you clutch the tree, pressing your forehead to the rough bark, breath coming in big pants.


“No…” you whisper, sinking to your knees, “No…” Your battered hands begin to shake uneasily, and your panting expands to heaving gasps. “I can't do this. I can't do this!”


“Can't do what?”


You jump in surprise and look up at Connie, wide-eyed and a mess.


“Gosh, what did you do to yourself?” he mutters, crouching beside you and taking one of your hands in his. Yours is larger, but his are firm and he doesn't seem to mind. “Crap, this is pretty bad. You and Eren.”


“What?” you say softly, staring as though he's an old imaginary friend you've just been reacquainted with, like you're seeing him for the first time again.


“Eren? He bites himsel- never mind. It's too complicated to explain,” says Connie, shaking his head, “But you both have anger issues and self-harm issues.”


“Th-this isn't self-harm,” you scoff, pulling your hand away from the kid.


“Not cutting, no, but if you hurt yourself, it's usually classified as self-harm. This much, I know,” he says, nodding as if he's the number one source of this information, “We need to get you bandaged up and asleep before two things happen; one, we get caught, or B, you catch cold. Come on, let's go in.”


“I don’t want to go in,” you protest.


“Oh, that's okay,” he says, pulling you insistently by the elbow, “We're going anyway.”


Finally, you give and stand.


“I can clean myself up,” you mutter, “I don't need help.”


“Maybe not, but I don't care,” replies Connie.


You're stuck with him.


His hands are quick and precise as they clean the gouges on your knuckles and bandage you up firmly. It's a neat dressing and the process took little time. Back in bed with your pillow and blanket, you stare at the pale yellow lamp light filtering into the room under the door until sleep pulls you under, a welcome respite from your emotions.


~o0o~


“I'm too quick, too quick!” says Connie, a wide grin on his face, “Ooh, too fast for you!” He dodges your outstretched hand and leaps into the shot at the basket. Leather swishes through the net and he shrieks with delight, pointing both index fingers at you in victory.


It's your first time playing basketball, but, after having heard it's a sport for height, it's annoying that a kid nine inches shorter than you beat you so easily.


“Best two out of three?” you suggest, and Connie dribbles the ball as he steps over to you.


“What, you really think you can beat me?” he asks, passing the ball to you, “You're on. Don't think I'll go easy on you.”


“I won't,” you promise. As long as you don't drop the ball, you can win. Easy enough.


“Ooh! I wanna play!” yells Jean. Where did he come from? You though the others were off doing their own thing. “Pass it to me!”


“Two against one? Yeah, right, Jean,” says Connie, making a face, “That's not fair!”


“I'll play on your side!” replies Sasha, everyone else following behind her. Mikasa immediately lifts her hand, passing up the offer to play.


So, on Connie’s team plays Rye Bread, Krista, and Sasha, and on yours plays Jean, Eren, and Helmet-Hair. Mostly girls against mostly boys.


And, like most play, it's all fun and games until the girl that's four foot nine runs into the girl that's five foot eleven to catch the ball and ricochets off to land face-first in the dirt.


But, the spunky li’l beast the blonde is, she jumps up, blood streaking from a cut on her forehead, and brushes the dirt off.


“I'm okay!” she claims, “Let's keep playing!”


“You're bleeding.” At least five people say it.


“Blood is power!!” she shrieks, shaking her small fists at the sky, “I'm good; c'mon!”


“Hey, dope, go wash your face, at least,” mutters Rye Bread.


“Ah, I'm fine!” exclaims the blonde, sweeping her hair out of her eyes, “Gimme the ball!!”


“In your dreams, Mini May,” you say, tossing the ball to Jean, who whoops excitedly and dribbles it in a wide circle around the group.


“Hey, hey, so the girl has humor!” he laughs, jumping and slamming the ball through the hoop. He pumps his fists. “WOO!!”


“More than you'd think!” you reply, “My mom says it's from my height.”


“Bet she weren't wrong, neither!”


“Oh, that grammar!” yelps Eren, clapping his hands over his ears dramatically, “It grates on my very soul!!”


“Your existence grates on mine!” roars Jean, bouncing the ball off Eren’s head.


“Guys, you're on the same team,” smiles Armin, “Come on, pass the ball.”


“I like this playful side of you,” Sasha tells you softly, then she goes to pick up the ball and get it going. It makes you recoil a little, withdraw, but you decide that yes, you like this side of you, too.


You haven't seen it in a long, long time.


~o0o~


“Sasha?”


The girl looks up from her book, a piece of cloth between her teeth as something to occupy her mouth with. It's soaked with saliva, but she chews on it, apparently satisfied.


“What's Connie’s story?”


“Whaddya mean?” she asks, tugging on the cloth though she bites down hard on it.


“What family does he have?”


“Right now…? Well...I think it's safe to say that they're gone. Um…” Sasha pauses, grinding the cloth between her molars. “He has this outward hope that they're alive, but I think he accepted, in his heart, that they're gone.”


You simply nod. That was answer enough. Connie lost his family, same as you. Details are irrelevant and his to share. You know that he and Sasha are very close; you have no reason to cause any tension there by making Sasha overshare.


~o0o~


After an evening of playful fun at the dinner table, everybody settles into their own conversations, laughing about their higher-ups or dreaming about having dessert after supper. Connie starts up a game of checkers with you and you watch, flabbergasted, as he takes every one of your stone playing pieces.


“No way,” you mutter and Connie just laughs.


“Yes way,” he replies, “104th checkers champ, in the house!”


“Oh, man,” says Jean, “I can't believe you played him!”


“What do you mean?”


Everyone knows Connie is undefeated!” pipes Sasha, “Nobody can beat him; not even the captain.”


“Who, Levi?” An affirmative nod is your answer and you fix your gaze upon your friend, looking him over, sizing him up. “I can beat you.”


Jean and Sasha whoop, and Rye Bread steps over behind you.


“This I want to see.” She crosses her arms and leans her weight on her left leg.


I was the best checkers player in all of Washington. This’ll be a piece of cake,” you say, cracking your knuckles.


“Why did I beat you so fast then?” grins Connie, watching himself flipping a piece between his fingers, “If you're…” Theatrically, he pauses to look up at you, his hand going idle. “So good?”


“I was evaluating,” you reply, “Strategizing. You dare take me up again?”


“Dare?” Connie offers a low chuckle. “Honey, I'll place a bet.”


“Ooooooh!”


“Two weeks stable duties; you take mine when I win.”


“Four,” you insist.


Not wanting to look like a wuss, Connie shakes on it and the two of you tuck into a real game. It's pretty fast; about ten minutes for the first portion. It's the ‘catch-me-if-you-can’ part at the end that gets exhausting. Neither of you agree to withdraw, neither of you can find a winning position. Finally, Rye Bread insists on a draw and that the two of you try again. This time, Connie only manages to take five of your pieces before you take all of his.


The kid groans and slides down in his chair.


“Crap!!” he barks, amongst the hoots and hollers of a couple thrilled audience members, “Ugh, crap…”


“Yup, and you're gonna be scoopin’ a lot of it,” you say triumphantly, pushing the checkers into their small box, “Thanks, Connie; I'm so looking forward to my month of relaxation.”


“Tsk.” Connie stands up and, grudgingly, offers his hand. You shake it, knowing that his loss was a blow to his pride, and he walks out of the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. The others laugh and pat you on the back, but there was a sting in your win, and now you feel bad.


It's a half hour before you find Connie in the dark, sitting beneath the tree you tried to beat up.


“You're a hard kid to find,” you say softly, well before you reach the tree so that you don't surprise him. He jumps anyway, and scrubs at his face.


“I'm a ninja,” he jokes, but his voice is tight and you frown.


“We can cancel the bet,” you offer, “I don't mind doing my own chores.”


“Yeah, turn me into the laughingstock of the 104th,” he mumbles, sniffing softly as you sit beside him, his face turned away.


“Okay.” You stick your legs out in front of you and wiggle your bare toes. “It's warm tonight,” you murmur, “Kinda nice.”


“Uh-huh.”


“You okay?”


“Yeah.”


“It's not about losing the game, is it?”


“No…”


“I don't really talk about my family,” you say slowly, “It feels… like I'll accept it if I do. But I had a mom and dad and grandma and grandpa. And I had a baby sister. She was...she was two and her hair was always up in wispy little pigtails.”


“Why are you telling me this?”


“Because neither of us have to be strong around each other anymore. You don't have to be the smiling idiot and I don't have to be the quiet jerk. Fun fact about myself; I like to hear myself speak. I do; I always have. I'm funny and loving and considerate and I love food. I used to have a cat named Scrapper and a diary that I only ever wrote two sentences in. But the...the attack destroyed all that and I...lost myself. You didn't lose yourself and I really respect that, Connie. You're the first person to stick with me until you reached me and, even though it was an assignment, I can't tell you how much it means to me.”


“Hey, (f/n)?”


“Honestly, it means so much to me,” you continue, “Nobody likes me anymore because I'm so prickly-”


You stop when Connie grabs your face in his right hand and turns it to him.


“I guess you do like to hear yourself speak,” he mutters, gently squeezing your cheeks until your lips pucker out, “As much as I wanna hear you babble on about yourself, right now I just wanna…” He lets go of your face and slides his hand up against your cheek. “Just hush up.”


You go completely silent and stalk still, your breath coming shallowly in your chest. Your eyes cross as he comes closer, his gaze never wavering.


“What are you doing?” you whisper, and Connie shrugs.


“Something stupid, probably,” he answers, and his lips brush softly against yours. You close your eyes, he probably closes his, and the touch against your mouth presses more firmly.


Connie's lips are chapped and warm and insistent, sucking before parting to allow his teeth to catch your lower lip. You break away and lift your hands to cover your mouth, your lips tingling pleasantly.


“Holy crap,” you breathe, and Connie grins.


“Good?”


You nod.


“You don't mind, do you?”


“I don't think so,” you answer, hands still over your mouth, hiding the fact that you lick against the damp spot he left behind.


“I gotta admit, that was really fun,” laughs Connie, leaning back on his hands and staring up at the stars, “I've never kissed anyone before. I didn't know what to expect.”


“Yeah, me neither,” you murmur.


“Hey, could I kiss you again?”


You flush hotly, a deep, dark red spattering your cheeks. “M-maybe later,” you mumble.


“Aw, bummer.”


“Hey, there you guys are!” Sasha’s voice is half-startling, half-relieving, and you look over to her quickly. “The captain's on a rampage; you guys better hustle your buns if you don't want your head bitten off!!”


“Why, what's happening?”


“Surprise room inspection!” yells the girl over her shoulder, already sprinting back to the castle. You and Connie take off after her, your strides shorter and slower than you normally run so that Connie can keep up.


It'd be an outright lie to say that you don't care for him and an even bigger one to say that the kiss hadn't meant anything.


~o0o~


“Braus, why do you think hiding your stash under your bed would count as ‘clean’?” Levi asks, rubbing his forehead. You don't doubt that he has a headache. “Are you inviting an ant colony to live with us? Gosh, teenagers are pigs!


“My apologies, sir!” yelps the redhead, “Take what you want;  just leave the pfeffernüsse!


“That belongs to the commander!!” shouts Levi, “His pregnant wife made them for him!”


Sasha changes her tone to that of amicable surprise. “Oh, do you know her?”


Levi sighs. “Yes, she's a fine woman,” he replies, then he gets tough again, “Lenz, why are you bleeding all over the floor!?”


“I had a run in with the wall, sir!” replies the girl, blood dripping from her nose onto her saluting fist and down to the stone floor, “Thank you for your concern!”


“Why would I concern myself over a disgusting brat like you?” Levi steps over to Rye Bread, squints at her blank face. “Nice work.” He doesn't even glance at Mikasa’s spot before telling her to redo it all.


Then he walks over to you. Your bed is the closest to the door. He points out the poorly made bed and unpolished boots beside it, but has no other qualms. He clears his throat and motions for you to lean down so he can whisper. When you don't go down far enough, he grabs you by the collar and yanks so he can have his mouth next to your ear.


“Is everything working out with Connie?” he asks softly. You refuse to blush, pushing the redness back down before it can flood your face. Putting on an expression as empty as Rye Bread’s, you nod.


“Yes, sir, quite well.”


He lets you go. “Fine. Don't forget your stable duties in the morning; I'm sick of cleaning up after you.”


“Yes, sir.”


You girls all relax once he walks out and set about fixing his issues. Krista holds a handkerchief to her nose, spotting the white linen bright red, though, being girls and soldiers that wear white pants as part of your uniform, you all have your own tried and true bloodstain remover.


The blonde pipes up when you hear shouts from the boys’ dorm down the hall.


“That could've been worse!” she says cheerfully, sitting on her bed with a flop, “The boys sure are getting chewed out.”


“As to be expected from that captain,” you say, heaving a sigh as you tuck the corner of your sheet under the thin mattress.


“Why were you and Connie out by that old oak?” Sasha asks abruptly, munching on one of the spice cookies she had snatched.


“I went out to find him after the checkers game and we got to talking,” you say, hoping it's answer enough.


“Talkin’ about what?”


Dang it.


“Aw, come on,” you say, “I don't go pestering you about your conversations.”


“Just curious.” She shrugs. “He's my BFF. Just curious. Maybe I'll ask him.”


“You'd better not!” you snap, knowing the moment you speak that it was an unwise decision, “It's none of your business.”


“Wow, don't go gettin’ your panties in a twist,” pouts the redhead, “Just when I thought you were kinda fun…”


“I am fun,” you growl.


“Oh yeah?” trills Sasha, “Prove it!”


You take a moment to glare at her, then you get a brilliant idea. Insisting that all the girls are in on it, you share in a quiet tone so that you won't be overheard. Sasha starts cackling, and Krista grins.


“This'll be fun,” says Rye Bread, “Cruel...but fun.”


~o0o~


It takes a full week to gather the supplies you need, and three hours of tense, careful, silent work to carry it out. You, Sasha, and Rye Bread do the dirty work between the snorts and snores and murmured dream-speak the three young men chorus to the ether. Sasha has a very hard time controlling her laughter, and is sent to the hallway to giggle her guts out. Once finished, the three of you to alert Krista and Mikasa that it's all set, and you hide out in the closet across the hall from the boys’ room.


The five of you wait, standing quietly and staring out the crack of the open door like a totem pole.


Morning light creeps in the window at the end of the hall, blue against the stone corridor, and the five of you shift constantly, numbness and pain shooting through muscles. Sasha yawns almost endlessly, and Krista struggles to withhold a vast series of sneezes but it's all worth it, every moment of it, when Levi walks down the hall, opens the boys’ door, and lets out a roar of rage. That causes a string of yelling and the biggest hullabaloo you girls have ever heard.


The closet is abuzz with broken giggles being held in, and you pinch Sasha to help her hold her tongue. If you're caught now, you're dead meat.


Your crime?


Dozens of buckets of thinned-down clay mud. It's slippery. It's a rusty red that refuses to wash out. And it's everywhere.


It covers the walls, rains down on the beds, fills what had been polished boots, and covers the floor in a slick, soupy mess of dirty, clinging, iron-rich sludge. It pours out of the room and into the hallway, rolling against the captain's normally-spotless boots. Bare feet are no match against the mud, and the moment the boys step out of their beds is the moment before they fall flat on the floor. Grime seeps into their pajamas, plasters the fabric to their skin. Levi’s orders fall on nearly-deaf ears, the soldiers unable to gain traction on the floor.


“Get on your hands and knees and crawl out of this crap!” shouts the captain, “And get it cleaned up! NOW!!” He turns on his heel and marches down the hall at a fast clip.


Straight for your dorm.


“Crap, what should we do?” whispers Krista, pulling the door shut.


“Sit tight?” you say, “Who knows…”


“Ladies, wake up!” snaps Levi, and the door of the dorm slams open. A mutual cringe flutters through the five young ladies in the closet.


“He'll skin us,” whispers Sasha, “And make our hair into scrub brushes!”


“He'll grind our bones into an abrasive,” says Rye Bread.


“Ooh, I just know we're gonna die!”


“Only from exhaustion. Get out of there.” Levi’s voice sounds from outside the closet. Krista turns the knob and all five ladies spill out. “What a filthy prank. You're gonna clean it up, skip lunch, and run until you drop. And I will not hear a word of protest; is this understood?”


“Yes, sir,” each one of you agrees. Levi groans softly and walks away. He had had a day of training planned, but noooo, a grubby ol’ prank had to be played.


“You little shrews! Awful, absolutely awful!” shouts Jean. His whole left side is soaked in mud. More snickers bubble up in your group. “Shut up! This is gonna take forever to wash out!”


“Ah, don't be such a crybaby,” grins Rye Bread, crossing her arms.


Eren steps gingerly out of the room, his right side covered in mud. More giggles, another annoyed grumble, but it's when Connie steps out of the room that you lose it.


The entire prank you had been quiet. Not a laugh, not even a smile. It's been years since your last smile.


But now, seeing a seething Connie covered head to toe in terracotta slip, you begin to laugh. It starts as a wispy huff, but grows swiftly into a strong, whole-hearted laugh.


It stuns everyone, of course, but Connie?


Connie's breath catches in his throat at the sound of your amusement, the cheerfulness of the sound ringing loudly in his ears. Your face, alight with joy, is more beautiful than ever. You have a killer smile, and your (e/c) eyes sparkle in the morning sunshine. You sink to your knees, arms around your gut as you seize with giggles, muscles that haven't been used in forever getting a fierce workout. Tears roll down your cheeks and you put one hand on the ground to keep from rolling over. It goes on and on, until you gasp helplessly for breath, having lost all semblance of control. Finally, Connie can bear it no more, and he grabs you by the elbow, hauls your fifty-pounds-of-muscle-and-bone heavier body to your feet, and drags you down the hall.


Once around the corner and away from prying eyes, he closes his mouth over yours, drinking the sounds of happiness right out of your lungs. His own thrilled laughter hums in his throat and the two of you fall into a lighthearted, long kiss. When you slide your fingers over his cheek, you find it sticky with clay, but you don't care.


“Sheesh, you're tall,” he pants, pulling away to look at your glowing face, “And y’know what? I kinda like it. A lot.”


You grin. Standing there, looking down at the kid, you can't help the rush of emotion, of gratitude and relief that floods through your body. You feel free now, finally; free to be yourself, free to be happy.


Free to enjoy the life you were blessed with.


Free to enjoy the friends you were blessed with.


Free to enjoy absolutely everything.
(Connie x tall!reader) Free
I had so much fun with this one *giggling* it was so satisfying to write.
I own only that one neighbor character I mentioned, and the reader's character but kind of not, cuz thats you! Am I being too confusing? I know.
Au thor’s note: in all of my stories, ‘tch’ is said by pushing air out between the teeth and, to me, is VERY disrespectful. ‘Tsk' is said by pulling air in between the teeth and is more of a self-owned/aimed expression, thus, isn't rude to others.
Loading...
Would you rather read a fairly open-ended fanfic, or one fully wrapped up? In thw story in question, the reader and love interest get into trouble. Would you rather have them fall deeply in love while still in that trouble, and have a promise of a solution, or get out of trouble before falling for each other? I'm wanting to write a different story after this one, so I'm losing momentum and need to know how to wrap this up. :> thank you!

deviantID

BleuWaters's Profile Picture
BleuWaters
Bleu Waters
Artist | Student | Varied
United States
I am 17 years old, living in Minnesota and still in school. I like to draw and write, and I enjoy sculpting/carving. God is at the center of my life, and I've given up the old me that made this account.

Flag Counter
Interests

Comments


Add a Comment:
 
:iconlacresan:
Lacresan Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Omg thanks for the watch!!!
Reply
:iconbleuwaters:
BleuWaters Featured By Owner Jun 10, 2017  Student General Artist
Do you have any type of story request for Armin x reader? I could use an idea... I will say that I prefer writing the canon universe for AoT, but I might be persuaded into an AU. But yeah, if you have a thought of something you'd like to read, a suggestion is welcome
Reply
:iconlacresan:
Lacresan Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
well, you're really good writing fluff...maybe you can write some fluff? fluff makes me giddy La la la la 
Reply
:iconbleuwaters:
BleuWaters Featured By Owner Jun 11, 2017  Student General Artist
Ahaha! Okay, I'll do some fluff
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconbleuwaters:
BleuWaters Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2017  Student General Artist
Absolutely, lol! Your art style is so pretty!
Reply
:iconlacresan:
Lacresan Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Awww thank you!!! I really appreciate it!
Reply
:iconbleuwaters:
BleuWaters Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2017  Student General Artist
;) thank you, too, for the watch. <3
Reply
:iconlacresan:
Lacresan Featured By Owner Jun 9, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Your stories are cool too! Please write more Armin x Reader cuz i just love my coconut bb so much omg
Reply
(1 Reply)
:iconlacresan:
Lacresan Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fav! Check ou tmy other stories too, if you're interested! 😁
Reply
:iconbleuwaters:
BleuWaters Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2017  Student General Artist
Absolutely! Thank you, too! <3
Reply
Add a Comment: