#erwin fluff

“Then what are you?” His gaze dragged over you, slow and invasive. “His mistress?” He cocked his head. “Is he married? You don’t look like a wife.”

“Listen, I—” you tried again.

“Because if you’re either,” he drawled, leaning closer, shadows cutting his face apart beneath the sinking sun, “you oughta come forward. We’d be happy to take you in.”

The other one laughed. “Hell, we can even put you right next to him. Neighbors and everything.”

“Cute, right?” the first one added. “Romantic reunion behind bars.”

Your breath punched out of you.

And for a terrifying moment…

you actually considered it.

If that’s what it took…

If that’s what stood between you and him…

A voice inside you screamed stop, screamed that this wasn’t what he would’ve wanted, that he hadn’t burned everything down just to keep you safe for you to throw yourself into the fire after him.

But goodness, you missed him so much it hurt to stand upright. You needed to know he was alright somehow. Needed to know he was still…

“I am,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. If this was the price you had to pay... “I am, so just lock me up alr—”

“Hey!”

A sharp voice cut through your mistake like a blade.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?”

The soldiers stiffened instantly.

You knew that voice.

And so did they.

Hitch strode toward you, uniform immaculate, rank pins glinting in the dying light, far more pins than the last time you’d seen her. Her boots struck stone with the kind of authority that made men straighten before thinking. Her hand was clenched tight and angry around her bag strap.

“She’s a civilian, morons.”

“But—Officer Dreyse,” the shorter one stammered, “Commander Smith is—”

“Oh, I know exactly what Commander Smith is,” Hitch cut him off sharply. “And trust me, the last thing any of us need is you two provoking a scandal by manhandling some young woman in the street.” Her hazel eyes burned amber under the setting sun. “Unless you’re eager to receive a very special letter from Commander Dok reminding you of the oath you took to protect the people of this city.”

“No—no, ma’am.” They corrected themselves hastily, snapping to attention, eyes forward, backs straight.

Hitch let her gaze linger on them a second longer.

“That’s what I thought.”

Then she turned to you, expression softening, just barely.

There she was.

Almond eyes framed by long lashes. That familiar button nose you’d loved since your cadet days. Standing between you and disaster like she always had.

Saving you from yourself.

“Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s get you home before you do something stupid.”

You didn’t resist.

You couldn’t.

You hadn’t eaten in… a while. Days, maybe. You couldn’t remember.

Your legs finally buckled under you, and Hitch caught you just in time, looping an arm around your back.

Behind you, the MPs watched in silence now, no laughter, no bravado. Not with Hitch there. Still, when you were far enough away, their voices carried.

“Poor thing.”

“Bet she thinks he’ll want to see her.”

Something glass-sharp cracked inside your chest. Perhaps their words carried some truth…

Hitch guided you away from the headquarters, down the crowded street, out of the MPs’ sight before you completely shattered.

Night had settled over the capital like a heavy cloak, thick, oppressive, swallowing the last scraps of daylight as though the sun itself had fled the city, to never come back. Lanterns flickered along the streets, their orange glow too soft, too fragile against the dark pressing down on you.

Time was slipping through your fingers.

Every second felt stolen.

Every breath too slow.

Before he…

You didn’t let yourself finish the thought.

Your throat locked.

Your heart seized.

Your lungs stuttered for air.

And Hitch felt it.

She was a good friend.

She didn’t speak at first, just held you tighter, arm firm around your back like she feared you might shatter again.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

But it was not okay.

You weren’t okay.

None of this was okay.

“What were you thinking?” she asked, but there was no bite in it. Only worry. “They could’ve locked you up.” She hesitated, voice lacking her characteristic spark. “And no one… no one could’ve gotten you out.”

You swallowed hard, staring at the cobblestones passing beneath your feet.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely a thread. “I’m sorry, Hitch, but Commander Erwin— they—”

Your voice faltered. You gathered what little strength your body had left and gripped her shoulders tight, forcing her to look at you. “If I don’t do something, they’re going to—”

Goodness.

“Hitch,” you breathed. “Please. Let me see him.” Your voice sounded so small you almost didn’t recognize it. “Just for a minute.”

She looked at you like you were a wounded animal she couldn’t save.

“I wish I could help you,” she said finally, voice softening. “Goodness, I wish I could do something. Anything.” She took a deep breath. “He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve…this.”

“Where do they keep him?” you begged, your heart stabbed by every painful second that went by without helping him. “What have they done to him?”

Her face twisted, pain, apology, anger, defeat, all cramped behind her eyes. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away toward the distant MP barracks as though the answer might magically change.

Then she exhaled shakily.

“He…” she struggled. “They beat him. Badly.”

You nodded, shards splintering behind your eyes, but you did your best to ignore the pain. You could cry blood later. But if you broke down now, in front of her, she wouldn’t tell you a thing.

“They moved him somewhere tight. No one knows where.” She spoke faster now. “They’re scared his men will come for him. Captain Levi especially.”

She let all the words spill from her mouth, so fast anybody would’ve found it difficult to understand.

But you did. Sadly you did.

Every single word.

“What are they planning to do?” you asked, forcing your voice steady, forcing yourself not to fall apart. Not yet.

She inhaled, like bracing for impact.

“They…they um. I don’t really know.”

“Hitch,” you tried again. The world a hazy mess around you.

“An audience before the king.” She surrendered, her brows furrowed, begging you not to press further.

“Hitch,” you pleaded, nails creasing her neat coat.

“Okay, okay, there’s talks of hanging him.”

Her words sliced right through the fragile composure you had left.

And then the world tilted.

You didn’t remember falling, only the blunt pain at the back of your head as darkness swallowed you whole, your body finally surrendering after days of hunger, uncertainty, and grief.

-

It was like waking from a nightmare.

You came to in a cold, burning sweat, heart hammering, breath shallow.

The ceiling above you warped and tilted, its familiar lines twisting into crooked shapes that made your already tender stomach churn. Somewhere nearby, the bell of the clock tower rang, each toll drilling straight through your skull, splitting your headache wider.

You didn’t know what hour it marked.

Morning. Evening.

You didn’t care.

You didn’t know how many days the world had gone dark. You didn’t know how Hitch had managed to drag you home, or how long you’d been lying here since your head hit the stone.

You didn’t care.

All you needed to know was whether he was still here.

Still breathing. Still with you, somewhere in this cursed, confined world you’d been born into. A world he had somehow made look beautiful.

And free.

You forced yourself up onto your elbows, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. Your head alone felt like a boulder, dense and unforgiving, and you knew lifting the rest of your body would cost you more strength than you had left.

You tried anyway.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your mother’s voice materialized beside you, firm, edged with quiet anger, the same tone she’d used when you were a child and had pushed yourself too far. She set the book in her hands down on your night table and rose from the chair by your bed.

“Mo—Mother, I need—”

“Shh.” She silenced you with practiced authority. “Here. Drink this. It’ll do you good.”

“Mother—” You tried to protest, but she was stronger than you now. Firm but gentle, she brought the cup to your lips anyway. The faint scent of chamomile clung to her fingers, grounding and maddening all at once.

“I need to see him,” you said hoarsely. “Where is the Commander?”

You were so tired of asking the same question. Tired of the silence that followed. Tired of feeling like a feather caught in a storm.

All you’d done was cry. Cause a scene. Collapse. Lie in bed.

What had you done to help him?

You knew that if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t stop until you were safe. That was the kind of man he was. The kind whose absence left the world smaller. Narrower. You’d been born into the same small, caged existence. Same timeline. Same fragile life. So many people lived and died without ever meeting someone like him, taken by unforgiving illness, by peaceful sleep, by the cruel jaws of a titan. And somehow, impossibly, you had.

The realization both defeated you and set a stubborn spark alight in your chest.

You tried again, managing to swing both feet onto the floorboards before your strength gave out entirely.

Your mother rushed forward, catching you before you could fall.

“The Commander. The Commander. The Commander,” she repeated as she guided you back onto the bed, irritation slipping through. “Would you stop?”

Then her voice softened. Just a little. Just enough to make guilt prick behind your ribs.

“Please, darling.” She sighed. “What good has it done you?”

“Mother, you don’t understand—”

“Oh, darling, I do.” Her gaze held yours, steady and unwavering. “You’re in love with him. Love makes people reckless. It always has. Don’t pretend the world doesn’t understand that.”

She paused, letting the truth settle between you.

“He’s a grown man. A military commander of all things.” Her tone was calm now, too calm it was almost cold. “He doesn’t need a delicate city flower trying to save him. What could you realistically do for him? Be honest.”

Your eyes burned, raw and aching. You assumed it was from crying, though you couldn’t remember when you’d started again.

“You come home safely,” she continued, “after he went out of his way to protect you. And what’s the first thing you do?”

Her words cut, precise and merciless.

“You run straight back into the same hell he tried to spare you from.”

She leaned forward, reaching out to brush your hair back with aching tenderness, a sharp contrast to the steel she wielded with her tongue.

“Please,” she said quietly. “Talk some sense into that stubborn little head of yours.”

She wasn’t wrong. You knew that. If not even Captain Levi could help him, what chance did you have? If those guards had realized you’d been a Scout only days ago, if Hitch hadn’t intervened… where would you be now? What would become of you? Of your family?

“There’s someone here to see you,” she said suddenly, and you opened your mouth to protest but she was already moving toward the door.

“I’ll go check if he’s still waiting,” she added. “We weren’t sure you’d wake in time.” She hesitated, then glanced back at you. “Don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone, please. I’m begging you.”

Her voice echoed down the corridor as she disappeared.

You didn’t care.

There was only one person you wanted to see, and you knew he wouldn’t be walking through that door. Not now. Not ever if you didn’t think of something, and quick.

Moments later, you heard your mother’s heels again… and another set of footsteps beside them. Your throat tightened. You hoped, foolishly, that your visitor had already left.

They stopped outside your door. You heard your mother murmur something in a hushed voice, instructions, perhaps. A warning.

Then her steps faded away.

The door creaked open and a familiar face appeared in the doorway.

Leon.

He didn’t move at first. Just stood there like he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed inside your room, one hand still resting on the doorframe, the other tucked awkwardly behind his back. His hazel hair was neatly combed, too neatly, you thought. You preferred when he let the wind have its way with it. This version of him felt serious in a way that made your chest ache.

“Leon,” you breathed, your voice light as a feather. The sound of his name startled you both, so soft, so fragile, so unlike yourself. “Please. Come in.”

He smiled then. That smile you’d heard was known to melt hearts, the hesitant one, stuck between shy and confident all at once, never quite reaching its full shape. Poets always had a way of holding something back. Or so you’d heard.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, slow and deliberate, as if loud sounds might break you. Crossing the room, he sat where your mother had been just moments before.

“Your mother said you might still be sleeping,” he said quietly. “I— I wasn’t sure if I should wait.”

“I was hoping you’d already left,” you admitted, then winced. “I’m sorry, Leon.”

He let out a half-hearted chuckle.

“I always appreciate honesty, my lady.”

For a moment, he simply sat there, elbows resting on his knees. Neither of you spoke. But the silence wasn’t heavy. It was… compassionate. The sort that didn’t demand anything.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

You almost laughed, surprising even yourself when you did.

“Are you certain you want honesty for that too?”

His lips curved, sad and fond all at once. “I walked all the way here, my lady. I think I can handle the truth.”

You exhaled. “Like I got trampled by a titan. And then the titan came back to apologize.”

“That sounds… unpleasant.”

“Very.”

He nodded solemnly, as if committing the information to memory. Then his gaze flicked briefly to the door, and he drew a steadying breath.

“Listen, my lady,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to speak about this. Your mother insisted I didn’t.” A pause. “She threatened me with a ladle.”

“That sounds like her.”

“She’s terrifying,” he agreed, then softened. “But she’s been sitting with you all night.”

Your throat tightened, you were being so unfair to her.

“I didn’t know how long you’d been out,” he continued, quieter now. “I was worried about you, truly, but concern wasn’t the compass guiding my steps.” He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “But…I’m glad you’re awake.” He added quickly.

You studied him for a moment. The gentle lines of his face, the way he avoided your eyes when he was choosing his words.

“Leon,” you said quietly, “I can handle the truth.”

His gaze dropped to his hands. He turned his ring slowly, once, twice. A nervous habit, perhaps.

“Yes, I know. I just…” For the first time since he’d arrived, something in his expression shifted, not fear, not sadness, but restraint. Like he was holding something fragile behind his ribs, waiting for the right moment to set it down. “I wanted to make sure you heard this from someone who wouldn’t twist it, or hold it back from you.”

Your heart stuttered. You knew who he meant. She’d been sitting on that chair just some moments ago.

“He’s alive,” Leon said.

The world went still.

Your breath caught so sharply it hurt.

“Commander Smith,” he clarified softly. “He’s alive.”

You stared at him, unmoving. As if any sudden motion might undo the words.

“Your mother said that you thought he w—”

“But— they said— Hitch said—”

“They were going to hang him,” Leon said quietly. “That part wasn’t a lie.”

Your vision blurred.

“But they didn’t,” he continued quickly, afraid you might shatter before he finished. “Commander Pixis and Premier Zachary turned everything upside down. Exposed the false king. The whole government. It was planned, dangerous, but it worked.”

You shook your head, barely breathing. “You’re sure?”

“I know this reads like one of my novels, my lady, but I didn’t imagine it. I watched it happen,” he said. “Zachary made the announcement himself. Right here in Mitras. On the gallows.” His mouth twitched, something like awe slipping through. “They freed him. Publicly. Arrested the ministers instead.”

Your hands flew to your mouth.

Safe.

Alive.

Not swinging from a rope in some cold square.

“Leon, I—”

“I know, my lady.” He said gently, sparing you from your words.

A sound tore out of you, half sob, half laugh, and suddenly Leon’s features lost their comely shape. His forest-green eyes blurred into a smudge of color, like a painting left out in the rain.

“Oh, Leon—” Your shoulders shook, breath coming in ragged gasps, breaking apart in your chest.

He was on his feet instantly, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands hovering like he wasn’t quite sure where he was allowed to touch, if he was allowed to touch at all. Ever the gentleman. Even now.

You clutched at his sleeve, grounding yourself in wool and warmth and the undeniable truth that this moment was real. Leon wouldn’t lie. You were certain of that.

“He’s safe,” he whispered. “A little worse for wear. Hardly recognizable, if I’m honest. But nothing time won’t heal.”

You nodded, eyes burning, the room blurring around you.

“There’s more,” he added, quieter still. “He asked about you.”

Your head snapped up. “He did?”

“Yes.” A small smile. “Wanted to know if you’d made it home. If you were alright.” He hesitated. “I told him I wasn’t sure. That I’d come see you myself.”

Your chest ached in the best, worst way.

Of course, you thought. Of course that was why he hadn’t come himself. He was busy. Burdened. Pulled in a dozen directions at once. That explanation slid neatly into place, warm and comforting.

“I thought you should know,” Leon said as he stood. “Before folk start celebrating and pretending none of this ever happened.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For coming. For telling me.”

He hesitated, then reached out and squeezed your hand once. “Anytime.”

He was halfway to the door when he paused.

“Oh—and Orvud,” he added lightly, as if mentioning the weather. “It’s been… eventful. A rather unpleasant situation.”

Your brow furrowed faintly.

“It was handled,” Leon continued quickly, reassuring. “Messy, but contained. Just don’t go outside for now, not until they’re done cleaning. The city’s safe. Everyone is. That’s what matters.” A pause. “I’m sure it comes as no surprise, but we all have Commander Smith and the Scouts to thank for that.”

You nodded, the explanation settling neatly into place even though he had omitted most of it. It did sound like him, the Commander: charging headlong into chaos mere hours after standing on the gallows. That wasn’t surprising at all.

What was surprising was the silence that followed.

Not the next day.

Not the one after that.

Not even the week that came and went.

You heard things, of course, mostly thanks to Hitch, who came by after work almost every day, boots muddy, hair half-unpinned, bringing scraps of news like contraband. Your mother, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, seemed hell-bent on never mentioning the Commander again. Not at breakfast. Not at dinner. Not even when you asked directly, about a knock at the door or a letter in the post. His name had become something fragile in her mouth. Something better left untouched.

So you listened to Hitch instead. And thanks to her you knew:

That he’d remained in the capital for a time.

That he’d returned briefly to the base.

That he was now stationed somewhere in Trost District, weaving together the threads of another desperate mission, something about Shiganshina, of all places. It seemed a special kind of insanity, to plan a return to a city that had become a sprawling tomb.

His idea, no doubt.

Who but a man like him would think it a 'great idea' to walk back into the jaws of the very nightmare that had started it all?"

You could picture it too easily.

You imagined him in his temporary office, sleeves rolled just enough to be improper, shoulders tense beneath his uniform as he leaned over the desk. Maps spread open where you used to smooth their corners. Documents stacked too high, annotations written in that precise, elegant hand you knew better than your own. You could almost see him pausing mid-thought, fingers pressed to his temple, eyes unfocused, not tired, never tired, just… thinking.

You wondered who stood at his side now. Who handed him reports. Who noticed when he forgot to eat.

The chair across from him, your chair, sat empty in your mind. Untouched. Gathering dust.

Waiting for you.

The memory was sharp with longing. Sweet. Painful. Like pressing your finger to a healing wound just to feel something familiar.

You waited for the letter that never came.

The restitution.

The summons.

The quiet acknowledgment that you still belonged there, at his side, helping him shoulder the weight of the world.

Days passed. Then more days. Then weeks.

And slowly, the explanation you had so carefully built for yourself, that he was busy, that he would come when he could, that this silence was temporary… began to fray at the edges.

It stopped soothing you.

And for the first time since you’d allowed yourself to hope, the quiet stretched long enough to feel like absence.

-

next chapter

Hope you enjoyed this chapter🫧 you can support my work at ko-fi/missbubblesoda

“Are you ready to go, Winwin?” you call out to your husband. “I don’t wanna be late for the picnic!”

“I’m coming, darling, go ahead and head out to the car.” Erwin calls back, straightening out his hair. 

It was the day of Paradis’ engineering annual company picnic. Erwin, being the CEO, would reserve one of the Trost’s biggest parks and hire a catering company, allowing everyone to join together for a day to relax. He’d also of course pay his software engineers overtime for coming. 

When Erwin gets into his sleek black Mercedes, you’re already nestled in the passenger seat, a small smile on your face. 

Erwin starts the car, and his hand immediately drifts over to your thigh, squeezing it gently. “Shall we?”

You nod, starting up your shared playlist. “We shall.”

The drive across the city was quiet, but comfortable. Your music playing softly in the background while Erwin traces small circles on your thigh with his thumb. 

When you arrive at the park, most of the employees are already there, blankets laid out with families sitting on them, children running around the park, adults sitting and watching them while keeping an eye on the kids. 

“Erwin!” a cheery voice calls. You’re greeted by Zoe and their partner, Moblit. “Thought you’d never come, since you’re usually pretty early.”

“Zoe,” Erwin smiles, giving them a small nod. 

“He was taking time getting all pretty,” you giggle, wrapping your hand around his arm. 

“Well, sure looks like it,” they snicker. 

“Oh hush,” Erwin huffs, unable to resist the small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. 

“They’re all waiting on you to start.” Zoe says, ushering the two of you over. 

You and Erwin walk to the pavilion, the chattering of everyone mixing with the soft, 2010s pop that was definitely put on by Zoe. 

Standing beside Erwin, you watch as he grabs the microphone. “Welcome everyone!” Erwin says, his voice booming across the park. “Welcome to the fourth annual Paradis Engineering company outing! I want to thank you all for coming here. You all know how this goes, so I won’t keep talking any longer. Enjoy!” 

You and Erwin sit back, watching happily as all the employees and their families get in line for food. 

Resting your head on his shoulder, you can’t help but smile. You remember fondly when he started the company, with all the confidence in the world. Of course there were ups and downs, what new company doesn’t have them?

It’s then that you see some of Erwin’s newer employees, including a boy named Jean and his husband, Marco, holding a small bundle in his arms. 

Your eyes widen and you quickly go to wash your hands before walking over to the boys.

“Hi boys,” you coo gently.

They turn around, the two boys looking tired. 

“Hi, Y/N.” Jean says softly. 

“Oh, goodness. Are you alright?” you ask, eyebrows quirking in worry. 

“Just tired is all,” Marco says wearily. “He keeps us up at night.”

You watch as Marco bounces the baby up and down. “Do you want me to take him for a bit? So you two can relax?”

“You don’t have to-” Jean starts. 

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.” you say softly, gently holding out your arms. 

Marco looks at Jean worriedly for a minute before nodding, turning back to you and setting the sleeping infant in your arms. 

“What’s his name?” you ask softly. 

“Luca,” Jean smiles. 

“Luca,” you repeat softly. “He’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Marco hums, resting a hand on his stomach. “It was a hard pregnancy. He was very…rambunctious.”

You chuckle fondly, looking back down at the baby. “I’ll keep an eye on him, you two go relax. You deserve it.”

“Thank you so much, Y/N.” Jean sighs. 

“Anytime.” you smile. 

Unbeknownst to you, Erwin was watching the whole interaction fondly. The way you were holding the baby, gently rocking him in your arms…

“I brought us a guest,” you muse, interrupting his thoughts as you walk back and sit down beside him again. “This is Luca, Jean and Marco’s baby.”

Erwin looks down at the baby. He’s got such a round, chubby face, with Jean’s hair and Marco’s freckles spread across his cheeks. 

“Ah, I remember. Jean’s still on paternity leave if I remember correctly,” he hums, gently bringing a finger to the baby’s cheek. It’s soft and squishy. 

Erwin gulps, words stuck in his throat. When the two of you had gotten married, you had both mentioned wanting children, but never agreed on a specific timeline. 

But now sitting next to you, watching you so carefully hold Luca…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the two of you finally started talking about it. Sure, you might be on the older side as parents but…that shouldn’t be a problem, right? The idea of seeing you round with his child brought up feelings that he hadn’t really felt before. 

During the picnic, Luca rarely left your side. Jean and Marco would change and feed him, but give him back to you right after, seeing how happy you were to take care of the baby. 

The feelings of wanting children only grew as Erwin sat with you. You were able to easily make the baby laugh, soothe him when he started to cry…you were just a natural. 

At the end of the picnic, you said goodbye to Luca with a pout, along with telling Jean and Marco that you’d be more than happy to babysit if they ever needed it. 

Little did Erwin know that you were also having similar thoughts, though not as intense as his. Why not start trying? You were already a homemaker, you and Erwin were financially well off…no reason to not to. 

The drive back was full of contemplation between the both of you, your hands holding each other’s a bit tighter than usual.

As the two of you walk inside after getting home, and Erwin grabs your wrist, preventing you from going any further. 

“My love,” Erwin croaks, his eyes wide with desire. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“What is it, darling?” you ask softly, tilting your head. 

“I want to try having kids.” he blurts out, his mouth moving faster than his mind. “B-But only if you want to as well…” he says, straightening up. “Seeing you with Luca earlier…”

“Are you serious?” you ask, your voice breaking softly. 

His eyes widen at your soft tone and he nods, letting go of your wrist to cup your face with both of his hands. “Yes. Yes, my love. I am. I know we never talked about children in the timeline but…I want this now. I’d love to have a mini you, or a mini me running around. I want to see you round with our child, so I can pamper, take care of you more than I already do.”

You nod, eyes darkening with the same desire he had in his. “Erwin…you’re talking my language right now…” you bite your lip, looking at your husband. 

He groans and lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. “Well, Mrs. Smith,” he starts, walking you to your bedroom, “let’s see how many times I need to fill you up so you can get pregnant tonight.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆𓂃 ོ☼𓂃⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆𓂃 ོ☼𓂃⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆𓂃 ོ☼𓂃⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆𓂃 ོ☼𓂃

been feeling a little crazy about erwin recently...i blame @marvel-starwarsfangirl

2026, spookyeomgoose

The moment seemed so intimate. It was a rare stop in time where Erwin was home—a rare stop where he wasn’t rushing to get anything done.

He’d asked you to help him shave the night before. You knew the main reason he’d asked was due to his recently severed arm, but even before that incident he asked you when he had time.

He was on his mandatory leave. The doctor said he wasn’t to strain his body and that it’d be wise to not overwork himself, so Erwin had decided to return home to you.

Even if it was a fleeting moment that would be over before you knew it, you would remember the closeness years down the road. You would remember the way Erwin was slotted between your legs, the smell of him overriding your every sense. You’d remember the look in his eyes, so clearly smitten with the woman seated on the counter in front of him. You’d feel the ghost of his hands against your hips for weeks after.

A soft breeze blew a lock of his hair into his eyes. You gingerly pushed the damp strands away, tucking them behind his ear. His smile widened as he stared down at you, and it was obvious he was fighting the urge to lean forward and press his lips to yours.

You returned the smile, but soon looked down to lather the shaving cream in the bowl. You gave a few swirls with the brush, making sure you had a decent start on lathering it before you looked back up to Erwin.

His eyes were boring into you. The love struck stare he always had made you nervous, even if you had been on the receiving end of it for years.

“What?” you asked, your brows beginning to pinch together as you continue to slowly circle the bristles of the brush in the bowl. “Is there something in my hair?”

Erwin just shook his head, his hand warm against your skin as he rubbed gentle circles with his thumb. “You’re just pretty.”

You bit back a smile, glancing down at the bowl again. The shaving cream had begun to get sudsy, so you lifted the brush from the bowl and looked back up at your lover.

Your eyes followed the line of his jaw as you swiped the brush across his face. You admired him, everything from the curve of his lips to the rise of his cheekbones.

Erwin Smith was undoubtedly the most beautiful person you had ever seen, and it filled your heart with an indescribable amount of overwhelming joy to know that you had somehow charmed him into being yours.

Now you were fighting the urge to lean forward and kiss him, too. It would be so easy, and he would be willing. He’d pour himself into that kiss and make sure you were satisfied before pulling away.

But if you did that then nothing would get done. The shaving cream on Erwin’s face would be wiped away and he would lead you to the bedroom. You knew Erwin didn’t like the feel of stubble on his face—you couldn’t imagine how he felt with the more grown out facial hair.

You smiled at him. Wide and bright. Bright enough to rival the sun. You carefully set the brush and bowl to the side, then picked up the straight razor. You opened it facing away from him, and then gently ran the pad of your thumb across the blade’s edge to test its sharpness.

“Careful,” Erwin whispered. He watched as you caressed the blade, recalling the first time you had done that and accidentally cut yourself. You still had the scar from it on your other thumb.

“I’m being careful,” you whispered back, locking your gaze with your husband’s once more when you decided the blade’s sharpness was sufficient.

“I meant with me.” You scoffed at his quip. Erwin’s lips curled up, and he leaned forward ever so slightly.

“Says the guy missing an arm.”

“Hey.” He laughed, a sound that rarely blessed your ears. “It’s too early for that.”

You hummed, acknowledging the teasing tone of his voice. You brushed your hand against his neck, turning his head so his cheek faced you.

“I’ll be careful,” you said.

“I trust you to be,” he said. A moment of silence passed before you glided the sharp blade across Erwin’s cheek. Your movements were calculated and you took great care to not nick your husband’s handsome face.

Erwin allowed you to work in silence. That’s when you focused best. Being able to see you with your brows pinched together in concentration was a bonus for him. He’d always said you looked like an angry lap dog belonging to a rich lady from the interior.

Your caresses against his face were another bonus. The way your fingertips brushed against his jawline and ghosted along his neck to turn his head left goosebumps on Erwin’s arms. He always welcomed your touch, and in a soft, intimate moment like this he wanted nothing more than to just pull you closer.

Erwin enjoyed when you shaved his face. It gives the two of you a moment of isolation where no one else exists. A pause in time where there is nothing to worry about except the person he chose in his arms. Not to mention that his shave turned out smoother when you did it (although he could be imagining that).

His favorite part, though, was the end.

His favorite part was when you would finally take the swath of fabric off his shoulder and clean the straight razor one last time. He loved watching you clean up after yourself, and he always offered to do it for you.

You would accept his offer, and then lean forward to press your lips against his just like you were doing now.

Erwin would glide his hands from your hips to hold you more firmly by the waist. He would tug you closer to him, your bodies pressing together so he could deepen the kiss further.

His favorite part was the feeling of your hands in his hair. You would thread your fingers through his golden strands and massage his scalp, something he always seemed to crave when he was with you. Your touch was always gentle—so much so it made him weak in the knees.

His favorite part was the closeness it built. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. He’s known from the moment he met you that he would marry you, but it was moments like these that made him feel with his whole soul and being like the two of you were made for each other.

It was because of moments like the one being shared now that Erwin understood why people went to war. It was to protect the fragile bubbles of peace you built with your love. Your life. It was to protect your chosen one from everything bad in the world.

Erwin would gladly go to war. He would gladly fight any titan or rival force just to keep his peace with you. Because Erwin Smith poured his entire being into the things he cared about, and he cared about you.

it’s been a while since i wrote something but don’t think i forgot yall

so obviously this year didn’t go as planned with writing…. next year guys. next year.