broken & lonely hearts

Wanderer trembles, shoulders tensing minutely as you smile against the mark. His body mimics the action of taking a deep breath when he relaxes, an involuntary —though doubtlessly self trained— reaction you observed.

Your hand —the one on his shoulder— moves to slide down his arm, briefly dipping in every delicate joint it passes to tease delectable little shivers from his overly twitchy self, before finally settling on the back of his hand. Your fingers wraps around it, thumb gently brushing against the texture of the purple ball joints that allow for human-like dexterity.

Your lips follow soon after, leaving a trail of feather light pecks on his abnormally discolored back. He sucks in a breath as your lips finally dip into the joint connecting his arm to his shoulder, then exhales when he relaxes against the brush of soft flesh against hard wood.

For someone who supposedly doesn't needs oxygen, he surely does let out a lot of breathing like noises.

You think fondly, then you repeat it out loud.

The puppet freezes in place, having not realized the obviousness of his subconscious reactions to your careful prodding. It flatters you, the act of him being so unguarded around yourself as to accidentally slip back to bad habits.

"It's cute." Not wanting him to stop, you hurry to remedy your possible mistake. "I like it a lot." Your chin settles on his shoulder as you breath words of praise into his ear. "Makes me feel like I mean something to you."

"You do."

Unexpectedly, Wanderer turns his head slightly to the side, eyes looking at your face but not quite meeting your eyes, his stare a tender, fragile little thing.

It breaks something in you, and you hum, giving him some mercy by averting your burning stare from his face as a quiet request escapes your lips. "Can you turn around?" You squeeze his hand as a way reassure, or coercion. You don't know. "I want to see you. All of you."

The puppet shudders involuntarily, his back pressing not so subtly against your chest for some small comfort before unsticking himself from you so painstakingly slowly to sit on the opposing end of the bathtub.

You don't let him wait for long, instantly crawling up his lap to maintain skinship. You can see his lips moving to make a comment about your audacity, but the words die on his throat when your hands clasp around his tightly, holding it up to your mouth like one would when making a prayer.

Fully facing him now, you make sure to keep eye-contact as you kiss the joints connecting each part of his fingers together, watching Wanderer squirm in place as he tries to not show how affected he is by your actions.

Were he not a synthetic puppet, he would be a flustered mess right now. A very pretty one, you muse, your hand sneaking down to his thigh, your lips pressed against his palm.

"Sweetheart, would you mind sitting up for me?"

His face scrunches slightly at the question, clearly conflicted. "I am not sitting on the cold edge."

Curious, you tilt your head, arm ceasing its movement in favor of paying attention to what he has to say. "Hm? I thought it didn't unconvince you. Should I worry about you getting sick—"

"It's just... let's stay like this for a bit." Wanderer's hand moves to cup your face in his palm, thumb a little hesitant as it caresses your cheek.

Smiling, you lean shamelessly into his palm as your hand settles on his, feeling him get more confident —and even more flustered— with his touch at your cheeky encouragement.

You were a fellow scholar at the Akademiya – and you were loud. Annoyingly so.

Whenever he saw you, you were always talking. It was if you couldn’t stand the thought of silence so you always had to fill it somehow. You just weren’t filling it with empty words though. You weren’t forcing  conversation; it seemed to flow out of you naturally. It encouraged other people to talk with you.

He remembers how the two of you had met. He was sitting in the library, working on a thesis. You had sat down across from him, grinning when he looked up at you. He assumes the only reason you hadn’t immediately tried to strike up a conversation with him was because you were both in the library. 

The hours with you sitting at his table passed relatively quiet, save for the sound of ink on paper and pages turning. You had left without a word, just giving him a small wave when you stood up to leave. 

From then on, he kept spotting you around the city. It was never intentional. No, you just had an uncanny ability to be wherever he happened to be. 

Every time he caught sight of you, you were in the middle of a conversation. Even children seemed drawn to you, eager to tell you stories that you listened to with unwavering attention.

You listened as much as you spoke. That was something he had noticed from every passing by.

One afternoon, you had approached him when you spotted him walking down the street. You had called out to him, waving as you moved towards him. He raised an eyebrow.

“Wanna hangout sometime?” The question had originally shocked him. The two of you had no previous interactions outside sitting in silence together at the library when you were both studying. So he doesn’t know why he agreed to it. He didn’t know you outside of his general perception of you. You lit up at his acceptance, eagerly suggesting the two of you meet up at a cafe.

He met up with you a day later at the agreed upon cafe and he found himself… not completely hating it. You talked a lot. It was the first time it had been directed at him though. You made sure to ask him questions, laughing at his small quips and listening whenever he spoke for longer than usual.

He wanted to talk more. Words were heavy on his tongue, clogging up his throat. Before he knew it, the two of you had to part ways. You had mentioned that you’d like to hangout again sometime. He agreed to it. Maybe it was because of how refreshingly honest you were.

Days bled into weeks, which then bled into months. Wanderer saw you almost everyday. You were one of the few people he let worm their way into his life. Granted, more often than not, you were the one initiating spending time together. But lately, he’s been the one seeking you out. 

Nahida had seemed to notice some sort of… shift in him. According to her (at least, what she’s told him) he seems happier, lighter. He immediately dismissed her observations. 

“I’ve just become accustomed to living here,” he had excused, waving his hand dismissively. “Nothing more to it.”

She’d only hummed in response, a knowing look on her face.

Days continued to pass. He supposes the realisation came gradually. And he supposes he shouldn’t be too surprised. Nahida always had a way of knowing exactly what would happen. 

Every day you would wait for him outside of the Akademiya. You would walk with him around the city. Some days, the two of you would stop at a cafe. He would pay for you despite your insistence that you could pay for your own order. 

He found himself being kinder to you. You were still a victim to his small quips, but they were softer when they were directed at you than others. He enjoyed spending time with you. He found himself missing you when the two of you were apart. He’d see things and instantly think of you. Always, there was a persisting ache to be around you.

“I think you’re in love,” Nahida had remarked, one afternoon when he was cooking. He didn’t cook often, but you had mentioned in passing you wanted to try a dish that was hard to come across in Sumeru. So here he was, making it for you. Her comment caused him to jerk up, startled, from where he was hunched over the recipe.

“No.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

Love [noun] – an intense feeling of deep affection for someone or something.

It was, by every measure, just another word. It was one he had heard before, and one he had dismissed before.

He finds you waiting outside the Akademiya for him at your agreed upon meeting place. Your face had instantly lit up upon spotting him and you waved excitedly. 

Conversation flowed naturally between the two of you. You complained about a paper you had to do, you asked him about his day. He answered all your questions, an unconscious smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

 However, his mind was fuzzy.

The words sat heavy on his tongue.

“I love you.”

But saying it out loud is hard.

So he won’t say it at all.

Within minutes the child would begin asking endless questions, wandering around the house, climbing onto furniture, touching anything remotely interesting, and somehow finding danger in the most ordinary places.

Lohen would spend most of the day following a few steps behind with an increasingly exhausted expression, quietly pulling them away from shelves before they could climb them, moving fragile objects out of reach, and repeatedly saying, "No, we're not doing that," only to repeat himself seconds later.

He wouldn't magically become good with children, nor would he suddenly know how to entertain them. Instead, he'd awkwardly sit through every long-winded story they insisted on telling, occasionally responding with short comments simply because completely ignoring them felt too cruel.

Whenever the child inevitably became bored and demanded he play with them, he'd let out a long, defeated sigh before reluctantly giving in, looking painfully out of his element the entire time.

Despite complaining under his breath every few minutes that children were exhausting, he'd never once stop paying attention to where they were, instinctively catching them before they tripped, pulling them away from anything dangerous, and making sure they ate properly without ever admitting he cared. By the end of the day, he'd look far more worn out than after some of his most demanding missions, privately deciding that watching children required a level of endurance he simply did not possess.

When you finally returned, the first thing you saw was Lohen sitting on the couch with a look of complete defeat while your younger sibling continued talking excitedly without taking a single breath. The child immediately ran over to you, proudly announcing every chaotic thing they’d done that afternoon. Lohen slowly looked up, rubbing a hand over his face before letting out a long sigh. "I don’t know how you do it.” After a brief pause, he glanced toward your sibling, who had already started climbing onto the back of the couch, and stood up before they could fall. “…I’m still not having children anytime soon.”

── ( 𝒘. ) wanderer would spend the first several minutes questioning your judgment for leaving your younger sibling with him in the first place. The child, meanwhile, would seem completely unfazed by his sharp tongue, immediately bombarding him with questions, following him from room to room, poking at his hat, tugging on his sleeve, and talking almost nonstop.

Every few minutes he'd click his tongue in annoyance, muttering that they were unbearably noisy, yet despite all the complaints, he'd quietly keep them within arm's reach whenever they wandered too close to something dangerous.

If they climbed somewhere high, he'd immediately pull them back down before scolding them for making reckless decisions. If they refused to eat, he'd grumble the entire time while somehow managing to convince them anyway.

He'd never openly entertain their childish antics, insisting he wasn't interested whenever they invited him to play, though after enough persistent pleading he'd begrudgingly participate while pretending he wasn't enjoying himself in the slightest.

The child would quickly discover that every sarcastic remark he made was usually followed by him quietly fixing whatever problem they had caused. If they scraped a knee, he'd click his tongue before cleaning it up with surprising gentleness. If they grew sleepy halfway through the day, he'd quietly drape a blanket over them while pretending he was only doing it because their constant talking had finally stopped.

By the time you returned, Wanderer would already be insisting that he was never agreeing to babysit again, despite the unmistakable fact that he'd spent the entire day making sure your sibling was safe, comfortable, and never once actually felt unwelcome.

When you came back, you found your sibling happily drawing while Wanderer sat nearby pretending not to watch. The child suddenly looked up with a grin. “He let me braid his hair!” Wanderer immediately frowned. “I did no such—” His hand instinctively reached behind his head before pausing. Feeling several tiny braids woven into his hair, he closed his eyes with visible annoyance. “I’m never doing this again.”

── ( 𝒍. ) lyney would accept the responsibility with absolute confidence, reassuring you with his usual easy smile that everything would be perfectly fine and insisting he'd handled far more difficult audiences before.

From the moment you left, he'd somehow transform an ordinary afternoon into what felt like an endless magic show. Every complaint from your younger sibling would become an opportunity for another trick, every moment of boredom answered with a disappearing coin, a deck of enchanted-looking cards, or an elaborate story that somehow turned the child into his honorary assistant.

Rather than telling them to sit still, he'd cleverly redirect all of that boundless energy into helping him prepare his 'next performance,' making them feel important enough that they rarely had time to cause trouble.

Even whenever they became particularly stubborn or dramatic, Lyney never seemed to lose his patience, instead treating every tantrum like an audience member who simply hadn't seen the best part of the show yet.

Before long, the two of them would be constructing imaginary performances together, practicing dramatic introductions, and assigning ridiculous stage names to one another. He'd laugh just as much as the child did, fully committing to every game without ever making them feel like they were simply being babysat.

Somewhere throughout the day, he'd unintentionally become less of a babysitter and more of an older brother figure, encouraging their confidence, celebrating every tiny achievement with exaggerated applause, and making sure they finished meals and stayed hydrated without them even realizing they were being looked after.

By the time you returned, the house would almost certainly be messier than when you left, but your sibling would have spent the entire day smiling, convinced they'd just experienced the greatest magic show Fontaine had ever seen.

Dozens of playing cards littered the floor while your sibling excitedly insisted they’d 'learned real magic.' Lyney looked up with an innocent smile, though the glitter scattered across both of them suggested otherwise. “In my defense,” he laughed, brushing a handful of confetti from his shoulder, “they were an exceptionally enthusiastic assistant.” The child immediately puffed out their chest. “I’m better than Lyney!” He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “I'm being replaced?!”

── ( 𝒇. ) flins would begin the day genuinely believing babysitting couldn't possibly be as difficult as everyone claimed. That confidence would disappear almost immediately after your younger sibling began asking nonstop questions, insisting he join every game they invented, and somehow managing to create chaos from the simplest activities.

Clearly overwhelmed yet determined not to disappoint you, he'd try almost everything that came to mind. If the child wanted to build a fort, he'd help gather every blanket in the house. If they wanted a story, he'd make one up on the spot, awkwardly improvising as they continuously interrupted with increasingly ridiculous suggestions.

Rather than trying to take complete control of the situation, Flins would naturally begin following the child's imagination instead, letting them decide the rules of every game while quietly making sure they never got hurt.

Though he'd become visibly flustered whenever the child ran off unexpectedly or asked questions he couldn't answer, he'd never lose his patience or raise his voice, choosing instead to gently redirect their attention elsewhere until the problem solved itself.

As the day went on, his initial awkwardness would gradually fade, replaced by genuine laughter whenever the child proudly showed him another drawing or insisted on teaching him a completely made-up game.

He'd still look exhausted by the end of it all, but there'd also be a quiet satisfaction in knowing he'd managed to keep them happy. Even if he insisted afterward that children had far too much energy, he'd secretly think back on the day with a small smile, realizing it had been far more rewarding than he'd expected.

When you finally returned, you found the two of them sitting on the floor surrounded by an impressive mess of blankets, wooden blocks, and hastily made paper crafts. Flins looked up with an embarrassed smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “…I was going to clean this before you got back.” Your sibling immediately interrupted. “No! We’re not done yet!” He let out a resigned sigh before glancing back at you. “…I think I’m taking orders too.”

➺ Your marriage is the Survey Corps' best-kept secret. Levi doesn't intentionally keep your marriage a secret. He just doesn't think it's anyone else's damn business. You don't advertise it either so the secret persists.

➺ Erwin knows, because he's, well, Erwin. Hange knows because you can never hide anything from Hange. Miche knows because he took one look at the two of you six years ago and just went, Yeah.

➺ Everyone else thinks you're simply two squad leaders/captains who are suspiciously close. Nobody questions why you're constantly in Levi's office because you're also a squad leader. You're just discussing work. No one questions why Levi brings you tea because he's known you for years. Nobody questions why you're allowed to touch Levi because... actually, they do question that one.

➺ The first time it slips is when someone accidentally overhears you call him "my husband."

➺ Eren finally yells "Your WHAT?" while Levi doesn't even look up

➺ Meanwhile absolute pandemonium breaks loose. "CAPTAIN LEVI IS MARRIED?" "How long have you been married?" "YOU'RE MARRIED TO HIM?" of which that last one irritates him because, in his words, "Why is that the surprising part?"

➺ Then it kind of clicks to everyone, how Levi would adjust your harness before expeditions, how you'd drink from his cup, how he'd let you steal food from his plate, how you'd walk into his office without knocking, how you call him "Levi" while everyone else calls him "Captain." Also, there's the fact that Levi once allowed you to put your feet on his desk and somehow you survived.

➺ Husband Levi is ridiculously domestic, but he's still Levi, so he doesn't gush about how much he loves you. Instead you understand that him saying "Your tea's getting cold" means "I made this for you and if you don't drink it I'll be very sad."

➺ You always have clean clothes, your uniforms always get repaired when they're torn, your blades are always sharpened, your boots are always polished, and once, you mentioned a button that was loose and it was miraculously fixed by morning.

➺ He constantly complains about your cleaning habits regardless of how clean you actually are. You could be the second cleanest person within the walls, but you married the first.

➺ Sometimes just to tease him, you'll purposefully move something on his desk by like two inches. He'll notice immediately and move it back, and you move it again. It usually ends up with him asking "Do you want a divorce?"

➺ Levi is very different with you behind closed doors. He relaxes much more with you. Sometimes he'll lean against you, and that's when you know he's exhausted.

➺ Levi doesn't ask to be held. He just shifts toward you until his shoulder is touching yours, then his head, then somehow you're holding him. If you ever point it out, he leaves.

➺ Levi sleeps better beside you. You've been a miracle for his insomnia. It's not a cure-all, but he feels safer with you there.

➺ He has a habit of grabbing onto your shirt (if you happen to be wearing one) in his sleep, of which you have no intention of telling him.

➺ Being married doesn't stop you from being fellow soldiers, though. You're not his helpless spouse waiting at home. You understand his responsibilities because you have similar ones. You understand survivor's guilt.

➺ You hate when he hovers over you, but he still does it anyway. He can pick out your silhouette among dozens of soldiers. If your squad is running late, Levi becomes way more unpleasant to deal with.

➺ You also argue like an old married couple, but the reasons behind the fights are incredibly petty. You've been together too long and you know how to irritate each other.

➺ Hange has witnessed you argue about who finished the tea, whether Levi's handwriting is legible, whether you actually hogged the blanket last night, who stole whose pillow, who left the window open, and how many times one person can reorganize one cupboard.

➺ Levi is private about physical affection. In public, especially around subordinates, you might get a hand on your back, his fingers brushing yours, or him adjusting your collar. Behind closed doors, he's much more affectionate. He likes having you close.

➺ Kissing Levi after years of marriage is much different from kissing him when your relationship was new. There's less hesitation now. He knows exactly how you like to be kissed, and you know exactly how to make him lose his mind.

➺ Sometimes kisses are soft and sleepy before bed. Sometimes they're quick kisses exchanged before an expedition because neither of you wants to acknowledge the possibility that one of you might not return. And sometimes you haven't been alone together for weeks because military life is exhausted, so the second you finally get privacy, Levi is locking the door behind you.

➺Levi will take many opportunities to wake you with his mouth between your legs in the morning. You usually have to bite the pillow to stay quiet, because the last person you want hearing this is fucking Hange who will tease you until the end of time.

➺ Levi never outright says he wants you, but he'll lock the door behind him and wrap his arms around you before kissing your neck. His hands exploring your body is usually his way to signal he's DTF. And usually it's just because he can't believe that you're his and he's spent too much time secretly admiring your beauty in public where he can't act on it.

➺ Privacy is rare in headquarters, so Levi is an expert at silence. He usually swallows your gasps and moans and murmurs near your ear, "Keep it down, honey."

➺ Husband Levi doesn't babble sweet nonsense during sex, but the way he says "Good" in a low strained voice when you're taking him has you absolutely folding.

➺ Levi prefers positions where he can watch your face. Levi wants to see what he's doing to you, wants to catch the moment you come.

➺ He's very good at keeping a straight face around everyone else after thoroughly ruining you the night before. You could be sitting stiffly at breakfast, avoiding eye contact, and Levi would sit his tea while he nudges your foot with his under the table.

➺ Levi is the most physically affectionate after sex. It's when he's most vulnerable. He likes lying close enough that your bodies are touching. He might rest his hand on your waist or stomach. He doesn't like to immediately get up and leave.

➺ Actually, he doesn't like when you get up and try to leave. "Where are you going?" "I need water." "Later." "Levi—" "Five minutes." Then five minutes becomes twenty.

➺ Levi's favorite thing about being married to you is coming back to his room where your stuff resides. Your clothes beside his, your boot beside the door, two cups instead of one, your side of the bed.

➺ Sometimes you wake up before him and catch him looking at you, and then he'll reach over and brush your hair away from your face.

➺ Because in this life, with Titans and paperwork and soldiers who need him and an entire world that never seems to stop demanding something from him, he's found solace in you. You're still here, and that's all he needs.

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