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gothgril69 · 3 months

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Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader Royalty!AU

Summary: You dream of another life, a simpler one under the rays of the warm sun, where you find love and your brothers live happily.

But you're destined to serve, to be the black sheep of the family and married off to whoever your father pleases because your parents can't seem to harbor any love for you. Your brothers will serve in the war, side by side with their Chevaliers, and you'll be left to pick up the pieces or die trying.

And the one you thought always hated you, will be right by your side to catch you when you fall.

Overall Warnings: themes of sexism, minor character death, angst, depression, minor character death, smut (please check ao3 for all tags)

Chapter warnings: smut MDNI

Chapter Length: 7.7k

ao3 link

Historia and Ymir stop dead in their tracks, turning to you with wide eyes. Historia looks concerned, while Ymir stares at you as if she’s already been betrayed – you understand what it looks like.

“We are not allies,” you blurt, facing them to explain yourself. “I can assure you they are our enemies, the same as you.”

“You better explain yourself,” Ymir sneers at you, stomping forward through the open doors of their castle. You watch her short dark hair, tied loosely at the nape of her neck, sway slightly along with her hips accentuated by the trousers she wears.

“You must understand our hesitancy,” Historia tells you softly when Ymir disappears around a corner. “Things are changing.”

Her blonde hair is braided, two sides pulled to the back, to allow you to see her features clearly. She’s beautiful, truly, and you can see how Ymir could fall for someone like her – they balance each other well. Although, you know Historia would not hesitate to do what’s best for her own country.

“I want to work together,” you tell her honestly. “If you’re willing, but I understand if you’re not and we’ll simply move on.”

“Let’s get you inside,” she tells you with a gentle hand placed on your arm.

She leads you inside the modest castle, Levi taking place behind you along with Erwin, Hange, and Miche. Navarre does not flaunt their wealth like Mirlenas does; dark stone brick walls lining even the interior of the castle, simple torch sconces lighting the way with minimal windows providing extra light. The floors are stone as well, but it still feels clean and wide open.

Historia leads you down a hallway. “We can discuss things in our meeting hall,” she gestures to an open doorway, a guard standing by with a blank face and cropped blonde hair. “Thank you, Nanaba.” The guard nods.

The meeting hall has wood floors, but they’re nothing like the patterned parquet flooring at home. A grand, round table is centered in the room, twelve chairs surrounding the mahogany surface, and you take a seat facing the doorway, but not quite directly across. Levi takes a seat next to you and you’re grateful, followed by Erwin and Hange sitting next to him. Miche stands guard by the door as Historia addresses you.

“Give me a moment with Ymir.” She gives you a sad smile. “She’ll come around.” You nod, and she takes her leave with Nanaba closing the door behind her.

You know very little of Navarre’s customs, your father only ever talking down about them and their “debauched” ways of living. They were more progressive than Mirlenas by far, sexuality and gender being something that was looked at far more loosely than Mirlenas. You admire them for living so freely, apart from the standards your society typically upholds. You wonder if Auguste would have felt more at home here, if Erwin feels as though he could have lived a life with him. You frown.

“If she even thinks about laying a hand on you,” Levi grumbles angrily next to you, a scowl evident on his face.

You sigh softly, appreciating his protection, but also anticipating a conversation later. You place a hand on his that rests on his thigh, rubbing your thumb back and forth across his fingers, and the tension in his shoulders seems to dissipate slightly. You understand, he’s worried about everything – so are you.

The doors open shortly after, a seemingly less irate Ymir striding through the doorway with Historia by her side – although her features are still in their natural state of annoyance. She takes a seat directly across from you while Historia takes hers across from Levi. “From the beginning,” she snaps, gesturing with her hand loosely before crossing her arms over her chest.

You tell her everything; how Zeke ambushed your brothers – you don’t miss the tension returning to Levi – the letter he sent you, every detail about the journey intended for Zaramund to negotiate until a storm caused your ship to crash on their shores. Historia lets out small gasps through the whole thing, and you notice how her eyes tear up when you mention your brothers’ deaths. Ymir’s eyebrows are slightly less furrowed by the time you finish explaining your side of things, her anger turning into reluctant understanding.

“I am so sorry about your brothers,” Historia mutters, wiping away tears from the corners of her eyes. “I am glad you landed on our shores before you arrived at Zaramund.”

“Thank you. I am as well,” you tell her gratefully.

Ymir speaks before you can continue. “You must know the state of Kaslogon before you start your journey again.” She sighs, and for the first time she looks tired, a hand placed on her forehead as she supports herself on the table. “You’re going to hate this.”

“We have a plan,” Erwin speaks up.

“Yeah?” Ymir lifts her head. “You can probably forego following that.” She hesitates, looking over at Historia for approval – Historia nods. “Grisha and Carla Jaeger are dead.”

Your lips part in shock, the hand resting gently on Levi’s now squeezing tightly as you try not to panic.

You’re too late. Zeke has enacted his plan and already killed his parents.

“What about Eren Jaeger?” Hange asks, their face curious as you process.

“Survived, but his location is unknown,” Historia says softly. “Apparently it was an assassination– killed by poison.”

“It was Zeke,” you tell them. You emphasize his point in his letter that made it known he would do anything to have you and stolen land.

“I’m going to kill that man,” Levi says on your right, still holding your hand but using the other one to press a fist into the table.

“Well,” Ymir hums. “Seems we actually have something in common. He’s a tyrant, and once he’s secured you he’s going to come for Navarre with full force.”

“He won’t be securing anything,” Levi growls. Erwin raises a hand to him, gesturing for him to relax. You can tell it makes him more angry, but he obeys regardless and sits with his lips pressed into a thin line, jaw clenched.

“Our plan involved your help once we found ourselves in your territory,” Erwin starts. “I believe it’s in both of our best interests to work together in this war to stop Zeke.”

Historia looks over at Ymir, sighing softly before she looks back at Erwin. “We agree,” she says. “I wish no harm against Mirlenas despite our differences, and I do not wish for Aeron to suffer such a fate from the hands of Zeke Jaeger.”

“We’re willing to provide you supplies,” Ymir continues on for Historia. “Whatever you need to end this war before it goes further into our territory. I hope whatever you have planned will end with peaceful negotiations, but Zeke is a mad man.”

You look over at Erwin – he’s smiling. “Zeke himself can be handled, but I fear it will end with bloodshed.”

—

Your guest bedroom is smaller than the ones you have in Mirlenas, with just enough room for a full size bed and a vanity. Levi stands guard outside your door, and you didn’t miss the look of longing he gave you when the door was closed and Miche gestured to show him his own room. You’ve been spoiled recently, able to share a bed with him throughout your travels and to constantly be with him.

You’re pacing the room, fidgeting with the plain cotton skirts Mrs. MacLerie had given you. Should you bother him in the hallway, request that he stay the night with you? You fear being too attached, too reliant on him, when you should be able to handle sleeping alone for one night before your journey resumes. Your sleep is just so uninterrupted with him, nightmare-less – dreamless. His arms wrapped around you is what makes you feel safe alongside his promises of always protecting you. You’re his now, and he yours.

You sigh, and swing open the door with a roll of your eyes at your behavior. Levi immediately straightens up off the wall, looking at you with furrowed eyebrows and concern. You don’t have to say a word for him to understand, and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful you want him inside. He steps through the doorway as you step aside, and your nerves are back again when he doesn’t say anything.

“We should talk,” you say, your voice sounding small. You cringe at your words, knowing if they were said to you that you would immediately panic. “Everything’s fine,” you blurt out when you see his mouth open – it snaps shut.

He ponders for a moment. “Okay.”

You frown, and begin pacing the room again. He sits down on the edge of your bed, waiting patiently for you to begin.

“We are equals,” you state. You cast a side glance over at him, seeing him staring at you with a blank face – you look down again. “If we’re going to do this… If we’re going to negotiate with Zeke, I’m going to need you by my side regardless of the decision I make. I’m an inexperienced Queen, I know, but you’ll make me look like a fool if you question my authority.”

You keep pacing, nerves getting the best of you as you continue to fidget with the fabric of your skirts. You desperately want to break the habit, and you force your hands by your sides as they end up in fists instead.

Levi stares at you as you pace back and forth, fists now clenched by your sides instead of incessantly pulling at the threads in your skirts. He hates hearing that man’s name, the same man that killed your brothers and Furlan, the same man that killed his own parents. Levi feels this urge to protect you fiercely as soon as the name is mentioned – he’d do anything for you.

But he heard what you said, and he fears that he’s overstepped your boundaries when he didn’t mean to. He doesn’t know how to balance it, the unquenchable desire to be your protector, to love you, and the side of him that is still your loyal Chevalier. You’re right, and he knows that.

You’re startled by Levi grasping your hands, unfurling your fingers so you’re no longer pressing your nails into your palms, your head jerking up to meet his eyes. “You’re right,” he says softly. You stare into his eyes, those beautiful pools of grey that look at you so softly now. “You are my lover, but you are also my Queen. I trust you, and I will push down my instincts to protect you when you are fully capable.” His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb brushing the soft skin under your eye. “I fear there is going to be a moment where I can’t be there for you when you need me.” He lets go of your face, taking a step back as he frowns at the ground.

You stare at him for a moment, the overwhelming pressure in your heart making you speechless. You can see the frustration and sadness in his features as he stares down at the ground, jaw clenched. Memories of Auguste, Theo, and Furlan’s deaths no doubt passing behind his eyes, the hopeless feeling of despair overwhelming him.

You step forward and reach out, a gentle finger under Levi’s chin tilting his head back up. “I am here now,” you tell him softly. “We are here now, and until we join the stars as well then we will both do what we can.” You press your lips against his in a soft kiss, gentle enough to feel the way he exhales in relief. “I cannot live without enjoying your presence fully now, Levi. We have bickered for far too long, and as long as we live I will take your protection as long as you will allow me to protect you,” you whisper against his lips.

His eyes are closed as you look at him with half-lidded eyes, his lips slightly parted as he awaits more of your lips against his. His hands find your waist, and he gently tugs the laces of your corset free. “I’ll do anything you tell me to,” he whispers, eyes still closed as he removes your garment. They open just slightly. “I’m yours.”

You kiss him, firmly molding your lips against his as they move languidly together. Your hands find the cravat tied around his neck, fingers nimbly untying the fabric to cast it aside as Levi’s hands bunch up the fabric of your skirts to lift over your head. You only part for a moment to help him rid the fabric from your body, his fingers untying the flimsy skirt support around your waist as your own begin unbuttoning his blouse. Your lips come in contact again. He shivers under your touch, casting aside the skirt support and assisting you by lifting his blouse over his head by the collar once you’ve unbuttoned it enough.

You don’t immediately connect again, taking your time to relish in the view of Levi in just a pair of trousers before you. You’ve never seen him shirtless before, only a peek at his abdomen when he would wipe his brow free of sweat during a rigorous training session, but you had never paid much attention to the man. Now you openly ogle at him, staring shamelessly at the curves of his muscles, the way they flex slightly under your watchful eye, the way coarse dark hair trails down from his naval and disappears under his trousers. His hair is slightly tousled from his shirt being swept over his head, dark bangs barely hiding the lustful gaze he looks at you with. He’s always been remarkably handsome, piercing grey eyes, sharp, but soft, features, and you’re so grateful you’re the one that gets to see him so closely.

Levi does the same to you, openly staring at the way your nipples pebble under the thin cotton chemise provided to you. He’s never seen you like this before, not even when his hands grazed your sides in the countryside of Navarre, your back being turned to him and body being hidden under the sheets. Your hair is still down, it’s natural texture brushing over your collarbones and the nape of your neck – it’s grown longer since the start of your journey. Your curves are slightly silhouetted by your chemise, the short sleeves cupping your arms so your shoulders are free. The way your décolletage is revealed to him makes his heart palpitate, your skin sloping down to your breasts that are only hidden by thin, white cotton. You are such a beautiful woman – Levi curses himself for waiting so long to admit it.

You bravely step forward again, fingers beginning to undo the buttons of Levi’s trousers. He brushes your hair behind your ear. “What are you doing?” he mumbles, grabbing your hands to stop your process.

“I owe you,” you smile at him and lean in to kiss him again, freeing your hands from his to continue.

“You owe me nothing,” he whispers against your lips, his hands coming up to cup both sides of your face.

“Please– let me please you,” you breathe, begging for just a small taste of him, anything. You walk him back to the bed when he doesn’t openly oppose, guiding him to take a seat when the back of his knees press against the edge of the mattress. Your fingers finally finish unbuttoning his trousers as you kneel on the ground, gently pulling them, along with his undergarments, down as he lifts his hips to assist you and kicks them off to the side with his shoes.

You openly gape when his cock springs free, already hard and inflamed at the tip as it leaks a small amount of clear fluid. You look up at him, eyes doe eyed and innocent, and Levi bites back a groan at the sight. “You don’t have to,” he tells you honestly, because he can tell you might be overwhelmed by the pressure of performing well for your first time.

“I want to,” you insist.

Your lips are barely parted as Levi brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, pushing past and watching as you immediately close your lips around it to suck on it. You pull your mouth off with a pop, your cheeks flushing at the sound as you keep looking up at him. He looks patient, blank features staring down at you with only the kind look in his eyes telling you that it’s okay if you back out now, that he’ll still hold you tonight while you sleep.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you take him in your mouth, lips wrapped around the head of his cock with hollowed cheeks. The gasp Levi let’s out is unexpected, and you savor the sound of his unabashed moan that escapes him when you take him further. His skin is slightly salty as you wrap your tongue around him, coaxing another soft moan from him as he gathers your hair to hold it back for you in one hand, establishing a grip against your scalp. You’ve never done this before, but you try your best based on instinct.

“Fuck,” Levi moans, his chest heaving up and down as you bob your head. “How–” Levi let’s out a small whine when you push down further, determined to take him fully as you close your eyes and feel the dark hairs on his skin brush against your nose. “Christ, Aeron– shit– you’re gonna make me cum.” You gag slightly and pull back, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock as you use your hand to slide up and down the rest you can’t quite fit.

You open your eyes to look up at him, tears forming on your waterline and drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. God, you’re a sight to behold, and Levi pulls back on your hair to lift you off of him when he feels his climax approaching fast, your hand still pumping him to completion. He can’t remember the last time he finished this quickly even by his own hand.

His cum spurts in white hot ropes against his abdomen, coating his skin as you watch his eyebrows furrow with pleasure, eyes closed and mouth agape in silent ecstasy. His breathing is labored when he comes down from his high, cheeks flushed as he opens his eyes to look down at you staring up at him in awe. He’s beautiful, strikingly so, and being the source of his pleasure has your own stomach twisting in knots as your clit throbs.

“Come ‘ere,” he says, assisting you as you stand up, wobbly from being on your knees on the hard wooden flooring. You sit down next to him, grabbing at the skirts on the ground to wipe him clean. “I guess Mrs. MacLerie doesn’t need those back,” he mumbles, taking the fabric from your hands to wipe his abdomen.

You laugh lightly, feeling as though you’re walking in the clouds now. “No, I don’t think so,” you mutter, leaning into his side to kiss him softly. It’s slow, gentle, as he relaxes under your touch and you move to straddle him, hands cupping his face as you swing your leg over his. You can’t get enough of him, desperate to feel all of him against you, desperate to feel his cock throb inside you and coat your walls instead of his abdomen.

“Aeron,” he breathes against your lips, hands grabbing your hips as your chemise rides up and exposes your ass and cunt. You lower yourself down, gasping at the feeling of your wet pussy coming into contact with Levi’s soft cock. “What are you doing?” he gasps as you start rocking your hips back and forth, feeling his cock rub through your folds and into your clit, hardening as you continue.

“Feeling you,” you moan. “Oh.”

“I can’t claim you here,” he groans, but his hands do nothing but move to your ass as you continue to grind yourself against him.

“Stop being such a gentleman,” you mutter, tilting your head back and closing your eyes, wishing he would just fuck you right here and now as your arms drape over his shoulders.

“I am to a fault,” he mumbles, leaning forward to press kisses onto your neck. “I want to savor you, take my time with you.”

“Please, Levi,” you whimper. Every time you feel the tip of his cock rub your clit you feel breathless, stimulated, but not quite enough to make you feel euphoric.

His hand makes it’s way to your throat, establishing a gentle grip on the sides to just barely cut off the blood flow to your head and making you feel all the more inebriated off of him. “Then you can do it, my sweet girl,” he hums against your collarbones, lips trailing down to your chest above your breasts. “Make yourself cum all over my cock.” His voice is barely a whisper, and the lewd sound of your wet folds gliding over him make you blush.

Your head is tilted back, relishing in the feeling of your bodies pressed so closely together as you let out a gasp. “Help me,” you whimper, needing just a little more stimulation than grinding against him provides. He doesn’t hesitate, the hand guiding you forward and back by your ass instantly coming in between your bodies to apply circles to your clit.

“That’s it,” he mumbles, pulling you back to him by your throat and kissing you as you whine against his lips. You pant through your open mouth kisses, eyes scrunched shut in concentration as he gets you off. You’re so close, desperation lacing it’s way into the sound of your breaths and moans as you reach the cusp of your climax. “Cum for me, amour– Fuck you’re drenching me filthy girl,” Levi groans, your breath mingling together as you both get lost in the feeling of each other. Nothing matters but him.

You cum hard all over him, eyes rolling back as he lets go of your throat to help you through it by grabbing your hip, his thumb still making circles over your clit. You practically black out, vision blanking as you feel nothing but bliss pulse through you. Levi guides you through it until you’re panting, head falling forward into the crook of his neck while his arms wrap around you to support you. His hands glide under your chemise, rubbing soothing circles into your lower back as it rides up your waist.

God, he can feel you clenching, drooling all over his cock that’s hardened again and he resists the urge to fuck you into the mattress. He can feel the mess of your cream dribbling onto his thighs, creating a sticky concoction of sweat and your cum to clean up in a moment, but he bares it for you despite his urge to immediately get clean. You’re ruining him, absolutely taking all of his willpower away when it comes to serving you – the woman he never thought he’d bend over backwards for, but he can’t imagine it any other way now.

You feel drained, and you’re not sure how long it’s been when Levi finally pushes your shoulders gently and a hand comes up to hold the side of your face. “You alright?” he asks softly. You nod, only a mumble coming out in response. A deep rumble of a laugh comes from him, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “So pretty when you’re fucked out like this,” he hums, his thumb gently swiping against your bottom lip. You give him a delirious smile in response.

“You stay?” you ask him softly, voice sweetened in hopes of him holding you as you fall asleep.

“Of course,” he murmurs, swiping leftover tears from your cheeks.

“You don’t care what the others might think?” you ask, head tilted as you lean into his touch.

“As if they don’t already know,” he mumbles. “Come ‘ere.”

He easily lifts you with him as he stands up, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he supports you with his hands on your ass. He carries you to the side of the bed, using one hand to pull back the covers as he supports you effortlessly, and lays you down under the sheets. “Stay here,” he whispers to you, and bends down to kiss your forehead.

Levi picks up his clothes that are scattered on the ground, buttoning up his trousers and throwing on his blouse – he doesn’t bother tucking it in or fixing his hair. He looks over at you and can’t help but smile softly at the way you’ve seemed to instantly fall asleep, the travels of the day finally catching up with you. He makes his way to the door, putting on his boots and shutting it as softly as he can behind him as he exits your temporary bedroom in search of warm water and cloth to clean you, and himself, up before he joins you in bed.

He wanders the halls, the dark stone contrasting the white painted wood he’s accustomed to in Mirlenas. He makes it down one hall on his way to the kitchen Miche had shown him earlier when he runs into Ymir herself, stopping as soon as he rounds the corner and she comes into view.

“Ah, guard dog,” she hums, smirking – the nickname makes the hair on his neck rise. “I see you had some fun tonight. Bedding an unmarried woman– a Queen at that? That’s quite brave for a Mirlenas knight.”

Levi isn’t sure if he’s gotten more bold because of where he stands with you now, but he has to bite back his curses at the woman before him. “It’s Levi.”

She laughs. “Alright fine, Levi,” she scoffs. “How’d you end up lucky enough to bed a woman like Aeron?”

He doesn’t bother correcting her, telling her that he hasn’t technically bedded you. “I was her brother’s Chevalier,” he tells her honestly, crossing his arms as he looks at her. “Hers in the last three years of his life.”

“Ah,” she says, gesturing for him to follow her – he hesitantly moves. “And you were there for their deaths? Witnessed them?”

Levi stills, footsteps pausing on the cold stone floor. She turns around to face him, a split second of shock displaying on her features before she controls them again. He can feel the amount of fury showing on his face as he spits out through clenched teeth, “Do not–”

“Right,” she says and turns back around. “Sensitive subject.” Her footsteps continue forward and Levi reluctantly follows. She leads him through the corridors, long hallways that don’t turn too much to the point where he’ll get lost, and soon she’s opening a door and holding it behind her for him. The small room has linens on the shelves, and Ymir takes a few cloths down and throws them at him – he catches them easily with a scowl on his face. “You know, Aeron seems like a special woman, much better than her father,” Ymir continues while she walks out, clearly expecting him to follow. “She’s fiesty, and Miche tells me you got upset with her for revealing who she was at the gates.”

“I wasn’t–”

“She has courage,” Ymir interrupts, looking back at him over her shoulder. “And honestly, she’s the only one capable of taking down Zeke in the end whether she makes it or not.”

Levi scoffs. “As if she wouldn’t make it.”

She whirls on him. “Well then you better be there. Every step of the goddamn way,” she sneers. “Historia might have faith in Mirlenas, but the only person that’s shown me they can handle it is Aeron. Even Commander Smith himself seems like he’s acting on a hunch and me and Historia can’t afford a fucking gut feeling. If Zeke makes it here we’re done for.”

Levi’s fists clench around the white cotton cloths Ymir had given him and steps forward to meet her challenge. “You act like you know everything, but you have no idea what I’d do for her.”

“Would you die for her?” Ymir questions viciously.

“I would do anything for her. I would die the worst death if it meant she would be freed from whatever threatens her,” he vehemently tells her. “You know nothing. You know absolutely nothing about us, or the bond we share–”

“You’re mated?” Ymir takes a step back, bewildered.

“No–”

“How can you be bonded if you’re not mated?”

“We will–”

“Pray it’s not too late when you decide to,” she huffs and spins around, pushing a swinging door open to the kitchen as Levi follows her.

“She’s mine, and I hers,” Levi says, quieter this time. “Zeke won’t lay a hand on her even if it means my own death to protect her, and Kaslogon will have no rein over any more land. We’re fighting him ourselves and you should be grateful for the protection your country is being provided.”

Ymir grips the counter, her back facing Levi as he stands by the entryway. “We are,” Ymir mutters. “You’ve been gone too long.” She grabs a kettle of water and pours it into a small craft, shoving the already warm water into Levi’s grip. “Go.”

Levi wordlessly takes it from her and steps out, leaving Ymir to sit quietly in the kitchen.

She’s scared, Levi thinks as he makes his way back to you, and he can’t blame her. The only thing he fears is losing you, and he can sense that Ymir is only scared of losing Historia to a war they can’t win. He’s already tired and selfishly wants to live in the moments where it’s just you and him, when he’s holding you so close your heartbeats practically melt into one.

He exhales softly, looking down at the ground before he slowly enters the room to take care of you.

—

“Are you prepared for this?” Erwin’s voice cuts into your thoughts.

You’ve gotten yourself together, disregarding Historia’s attempts at sending in a handmaiden and opting to get yourself ready. You’ve braided your hair and styled it in an updo, something that will last the journey to Zaramund. Ymir had delivered fresh clothing for you and you’ve changed into the woolen skirts and cotton blouse, a thin chemise that was made out of quality cotton underneath, and a woolen cloak for your shoulders. You didn’t miss the look her and Levi shared as she stepped into your room and spotted him – you didn’t ask about it, only glad they’ve come to some understanding it seems.

Your temporary horse whinnies under you, a dark mare that made you miss Saxson deeply, made you wonder if he was happily grazing next to Arwen on the coast of Mirlenas. Historia and Ymir provided supplies for you in a small wagon led by two smaller horses, and the rest of your soldiers were provided their own. You expressed your gratitude to both Historia and Ymir, earning a kind smile accompanied by a hug from Historia and a reluctant nod from the latter telling you to “not mess this one up.”

You’re almost positive you caught the upturn of her lip when you smiled back at her.

Erwin sat proudly on his own stallion by your side, regarding you with such care he rivaled Levi now in the way he wordlessly vowed to protect you. “Yes,” you simply answer him. There’s no need to elaborate on how your stomach twists into knots whenever you think about stepping foot inside the castle home to the Jaeger family. How could you ever be truly ready?

The easiest way to reach Zaramund would be to cross the bay between Navarre and Kaslogon territory, but it would leave you vulnerable to Zeke’s soldiers on the coastline – you’re not quite fond of water yet anyway. Instead you would be crossing through the valley of the mountain range that separated the two countries, a small path between towering mountains that would be covered in snow this time of year. From there it would be an easy trek into the capital city, but your nerves still threatened to overcome you.

And it started off simple enough, with two days passing by easily as you trekked across Navarre’s hillsides, rolling green making it easy to navigate and allowing horses to graze. Plenty of streams intertwined throughout the land, providing drinking water for your traveling squad. It was peaceful, nice even, while you appreciated the landscapes around you as your horses made their way through, or while you knelt down next to streams to fill the leather canteen provided to you.

It wasn’t until you reached the start of the valley that your group came to a full stop. The map given to Erwin was clearly deceiving, showing more rolling green hills in between tall mountains, streams flowing down from the mountainside. Granted, it was winter, but the sight before you was not at all how you imagined or were told about.

The earth was brown, no longer covered in grass and resembling a desert instead with visible drought lines along the side of the mountains and clear signs of dried up streams. You couldn’t blame the Queens, they warned you they haven’t had anyone travel these areas since the war began, and with a harsh winter already making it’s presence known far worse in Navarre than Southern Mirlenas, a drought before the snow melted was inevitable.

The air was dry and chilled you to the bone as it swept in between the mountains, blowing the stray hairs that have managed to escape your tied up hair back. One hundred kilometers of this would have to be crossed to reach the other side where you had no idea about the terrain of Kaslogon. You’ve heard your father talk about how sparse it normally is, and you can only hope that in a twist of luck that the land spares you from it’s usual standing.

“We’ll stock up on water half a kilometer back and then make our way through,” Erwin announces to your soldiers. You give him a nod, tugging on the reins of your horse to turn her around and earning a disgruntled huff in return.

—

Any gods that may exist have never been on your side.

The sight was startlingly contrasted; white peaked mountains sloping down to dusty cliff sides. You were surrounded by snow you couldn’t reach, and dirt that had no life to it. You’re almost there – roughly seventy five kilometers have been trekked, and you’re just starting to grow weary as the sun sets. Shadows grow longer, the sky darkening and revealing the stars above your heads with some getting shadowed by the mountain tops.

“We should rest,” Levi speaks up, addressing Erwin. You’ve slumped down a bit on top of your horse, posture weak and limbs growing tired of riding all day. You’ll be on the outskirts of Zaramund tomorrow evening, but Erwin wants to camp just out of reach of the capital city so you can all gather the needed strength.

I fear it will end with bloodshed.

You hope that’s not the case.

All of the horses come to a stop, with Petra and Eld directing the horses towing the wagon to stop and allow access to supplies. You weren’t as prepared as you were in Mirlenas, settling for rucksacks instead of tents and hoping it wouldn’t rain on you despite the needed water. You hopped off your horse, beating Levi’s attempted assistance, and began helping set up camp. You didn’t know much, but you could at least help Petra gather supplies for cooking tonight's meal over the fire being prepared.

“We can take care of things,” Levi tells you, reaching into the back of the wagon for a crate – Petra glances over at you with slightly raised brows, taking that as her signal to leave your side to give you privacy.

“What kind of leader would I be if I let everyone do this for me?” you ask him, turning your body to face him with a hand on your hip.

He looks at you for a moment and then glances around to see everyone else busy with a task as the two of you are partially hidden behind the wagon. “Right,” he mutters and kisses your forehead. “I’m only letting you know that you can take a break if you need it.”

He walks away with a crate in his hands, a knowing look on his face. You frown in his direction before gathering more supplies for Petra.

“Thank you, Aeron,” Petra smiles at you when you hand her a pot and cooking utensils. It’s just the two of you as you both kneel down by the fire, settling in to hang the pot and get dinner situated for the rest of the group. You look up and spot Levi, discussing with Erwin and Hange, although you’re not sure what and can’t tell by the animated look on Hange’s face and the bored expression on Levi’s – Erwin is simply listening.

You hear it before you see it.

A gunshot rings out, the sound of a rifle piercing through the laughter and calm sounds of your soldiers setting up camp. Petra tackles you to the ground hastily, using her body to shield yours as she urges you to crawl with her under the wagon of supplies to take cover. Your eyes are wide, heart rate soaring with the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you hold onto her and she does the same to you.

Then you see it – them. Eld and Gunther are lying down in the dirt, blood pooling around their bodies as everyone frantically takes cover and grabs their weapons. You gag, choking back your tears and the fear that’s consuming you as you look onto the chaos unfolding. You miss the eye contact Petra makes with Levi before she’s pulling you out from under the wagon despite your protests, kicking up dirt as both of you scuffle towards him.

“Go!” Petra pushes you towards him, causing you to stumble forward and barely catch yourself before Levi is pulling you up with one strong arm. Your legs straddle the front of the saddle, your back pressed so tightly to his chest you can feel his frantic heartbeat.

He positions you in front of him on his stallion, using both hands on the reins with arms that cage you in as you frantically look around and the horse sprints forward. Mikasa is hidden behind part of the wagon, using it as cover as she aims a rifle up into the mountains, a determined look set on her features. Armin is next to her, crouched down and holding a musket as he watches her back.

Your eyes find Oluo next, lying on the ground with Petra leaning over him as she frantically shakes him. You gasp, and turn your head down when you see his knee cap blown out and blood leaking from his thigh like a geyser.

“Eyes forward Aeron,” Levi’s deep, comforting voice intercepts your dark thoughts. “I’ve got you.”

You feel obligated to listen to the smooth intonation of his voice, his words trying to pull you back from spiraling as your mind wanders to thoughts of your brothers and the way they probably suffered in death. You keep your eyes focused on the horn of the saddle, your hands holding it so tight your knuckles become lighter in colour. You have to trust Levi to get you two out of this, trust that Erwin, Hange, and your soldiers will make it out alive – you know you’re their priority and you hate it.

—

Levi rides throughout the night, your body nestled against his chest and in between his arms as his borrowed stallion carries him forward. You’re sleeping now after hours of traveling and worn off adrenaline. Your body is turned just enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder while one arm holds your waist tightly to make sure you’re okay, his arm remaining flexed to keep you secure.

He’s angry, scared, and desperate to feel safe again. He caught glimpses of the Kaslogon emblems on the men that attacked them, and he wonders why the hell you’re even going to negotiate instead of declaring an all out war with them. But he knows how you are, how desperate for peace you are without bloodshed.

He holds you tighter. You’re okay. You’re alive.

He didn’t check to see if anyone was okay, didn’t bother stopping the sprint of his horse just to see if any of his comrades were following him out of the mess. The decided campsite for the next evening is his destination, a marked spot on the map that’s in Erwin’s possession and Levi can only hope he makes it to the right spot.

He rides for a few more hours until he sees the lake that looks to be the same size as the one on the map, the sun making it’s way over the horizon and casting a soft glow onto your cheeks. He’s glad you got some sleep, and he’s glad you’ll have a whole day and night to rest and get your bearings before Erwin inevitably forces you to move into the capital city of Zaramund.

Levi pulls on the reins with one hand to have the horse gently come to a stop, a small huff coming from the animal that deserves to rest as long as it can before he drags it into hell again. You stir, a small mumble that Levi manages to smile at as he looks down at your pretty face resting against him. He lifts his hand from the reins, using a thumb to caress your cheek and wake you up further from your sleep.

“We’re here, mon cœur,” Levi mutters to you. You open your eyes and stare up at him, the swirling of your irises that are warmed by the sun taking his breath away. “You’re okay,” he whispers, to reassure you that he’s got you, that he’s taken care of you and protected you from harm, in your sleepy state.

You remain quiet and tilt your head up, the soft press of your lips making him melt into you as your lips move gently against his own. He sighs when you break apart, soft breaths mingling with his as he leans his forehead against yours.

You’re okay. You’re alive.

—

It’s well into the next evening by the time you hear the distinct sound of hooves running against the soft grassy earth around the lake. Levi keeps you and the horse hidden well, letting you rest after he’s woken up from a nap and feeding you with a rabbit he managed to catch with a simple trap. Your eyes are frantic as he pulls you against a tree with him, holding you close as he peers around the bark and out into the open plains of rolling hills.

You can feel the tension leaving his body as he let’s out a sigh of relief, his hold loosening on you ever so slightly and signaling to you that it’s not the enemy. You allow him to help you up, his hand firmly grasping yours to guide you out from cover.

Your eyes tear up immediately when you see Erwin riding strong on top of his white stallion, Hange next to him on their own horse. You feel the tears fall when you see their head wrapped in bandages, one eye covered with a small blotch of blood soaked into the fabric.

The rest of your soldiers follow suit, and your heart feels like it’s in your throat when Petra rides at the back of the group on top of your dark mare, her face covered in grief. You let Levi’s hand go and run to meet your soldiers, your friends. Erwin is the first to get off his horse, practically leaping off and handing the reins over to Armin next to him, and then he’s waiting for you with open arms as you hurl yourself into him.

He crouches down to hug you, large arms wrapping around your frame and engulfing you tightly as you cry into his dirtied no-longer-white blouse. He let’s go of you to check if you’re hurt, calloused hands swiping your hair off your face and holding your cheeks to get a good look at you. His touch reminds you of Auguste, and your hands come up to hold the back of his as you give him a small, sad smile.

Hange walks up next to you, and you don’t miss the look of shock when you abandon Erwin’s touch to give them a hug. “I’m okay,” they mutter softly, and you make a mental note to ask them about their eye later.

The rest of your soldiers say their hellos, sorrow permeating the air with so much thickness you could choke on it as the tears never leave your eyes. They find their spots on the grass, sitting down with exhaustion leaking out of their bones after tying their horses up to rest and graze on the long grass.

Your eyes find Petra again once Erwin and Hange leave your side to talk to Levi, and your already broken heart aches when you see her sitting atop your mare, her dejected spirit idle. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and walk up to her quietly, carefully, as if she was a hunted wounded animal seconds away from startling.

“Petra, mon amour,” you mutter. She startles, big golden brown eyes looking down at you from her spot on top of your horse. Her hands are covered in blood, the front of her uniform stained red from holding her loved ones close as they die. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You hold her in your arms as she breaks.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #aot levi #levi attack on titan #fanfic #levi smut #levi ackerman x female reader #fic update #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader smut #royalty au #historical au #finally updated #reccommend reading on ao3 thank you <3

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mighty-ant · 1 year

Text

The Man from F.O.W.L, Part Three

part two

ao3

Steelbeak once spent twenty-three days in solitary confinement.

Assault and disorderly conduct were the offenses. The brother of some unfortunate schmuck he once faced in some smoky backroom posing as a boxing ring, who left with more broken bones than he came in with, ran up to him in the prison cafeteria wielding a shiv carved out of a toothbrush handle. Talking things out was never his strong suit even before the damage to his beak that landed him in a hospital bed for two months, so Steelbeak slammed the guy’s head into a couple of tables in lieu of conversation.

He spent twenty-three days staring at four identical gray walls, reigning in his mind as it wandered, stretching his sanity thin. He could’ve asked for books, but reading wasn’t his thing. Letters, entire words even, tended to rearrange themselves before his eyes, flowing incomprehensibly like a river so deep he had no hope of ever reaching the bottom. Instead he slept, unsuccessfully played tic-tac-to, and bounced a rubber ball back and forth against the wall.

It was mind-numbing, even terrifying to be so utterly alone and powerless for the first time in his life. Steelbeak still wasn’t positive he hadn’t cracked in there. After a certain point he lost count of the days.

He only knew it had been twenty-three because Heron told him so.

It was night when she appeared, or at least Steelbeak thought it was. Time had long since gone screwy for him, and he slept a lot more toward the end. Even so, when he was awoken by the prolonged creak and thud of his cell door opening, he knew that not enough time had passed since the guards slid him his latest tray of mystery meat and soggy carrot sticks.

Steelbeak sat up sharply, immediately on edge.

The prison guards didn’t bother him much—unlike the idiots trapped in here with him, they’d read his file and knew perfectly well what he was capable of. Steelbeak was one of the few inmates who wasn’t worth messing with; he cut an intimidating figure even before the scars that twisted his beak into a permanent scowl, and pain didn’t slow him down like it might other birds. The last time a guard tried to jab Steelbeak with a taser, the schmuck found himself pinned to the wall with it.

It was always possible that some newly hired high school flunkie wanted to prove his mettle and didn’t believe the stories about the rooster with the messed up face fresh from a bloody, underground fight club. In which case Steelbeak was more than happy to teach him a lesson.

But when he turned toward the door, there wasn’t a guard standing there at all. Framed by the harsh yellow light of the hallway was a woman, her features thrown almost completely into shadow. Wearing a form-fitting dress and knee-high white boots, she was as out of place in his cell as sunshine at a funeral.

“What abysmal security,” she muttered in a precise, delicate accent he didn’t recognize. It sounded posh, though. “A child could break out of this place.”

“Who the hell are you?” he said, too confused to remember to stand from his cot.

She fixed him with a deep, dark stare, the white of her eyes catching in the yellow light. “You may call me Black Heron.” She extended her right hand to him but it looked all wrong even in his cell’s poor lighting. The movements of her arm were too smooth and the silhouette had lines and ridges that an arm shouldn’t.

Still, Steelbeak supposed she hadn’t given him a reason to be rude so he rose to his feet and accepted the handshake. Her palm was so cold against his that it stung and the pointed tips of her fingers dug into his skin. A metal prosthesis, the kind people paid good money for, went up to her shoulder.

“Uh, sure,” he said. “Nice to meetcha.”

Up close, Heron was older than he’d first thought, with deep crow’s feet and a throat lined with age. She quirked a long dark brow at him. “And I presume you’re Mr. M—”

“Ah ah,” he said, raising a hand before she could finish. “The name’s Steelbeak.”

What had started out as a nickname in the ring had become ubiquitous with his identity—even the guards knew it. It stung a little now, what with his beak warped and chipped and an overall eyesore, but he had no desire to go back to a name picked out for him by people he never knew.

Heron tilted her head, looking amused. “You certainly have the face for it.”

“Uh huh.” Steelbeak smiled with all his teeth, which usually made people shudder. When that didn’t get him so much as a blink, he backed down and folded his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

Her brows rose slightly, the barest indication of surprise. “Quick to the point aren’t we?”

“I know the look of someone who wants to make a deal,” he said, trying not to sound too smug about it. Phineas Sharp was a gnat of a man, but he’d managed to own Steelbeak longer than any other boss until the police raid. With him, Steelbeak practically had front row seats to the performance of every kind of sleazeball under the sun, from the truly pathetic to the cleverest of connivers. He knew enough to know that Black Heron was making little to no effort to disguise her intentions here.

Her smile returned, just this side of sly. “Very well. How would you like a second chance at life? Outside of this cell? This prison?”

Steelbeak leaned back against the wall. “I’m listening.”

His answer was as redundant as her question was rhetorical. Before she opened her beak again, he knew he would agree to whatever she asked, whatever her terms. He was no fool; he’d pay any price for freedom.

Heron’s eyes gleamed like she’d read his mind, not that it mattered. Even if she knew his answer, she still had a role to play, lines she’d rehearsed. Two-thirds of making a deal was just scripted theater, and as its actors they were responsible for reaching the finale.

“Walls have ears,” Heron said. “And my employers were listening. I work for a powerful, covert organization that could use a man of your skills.”

Steelbeak grinned. With the damage to his beak, it more closely resembled a sneer. “And if I take the job, what then? Are we talking reduced sentence? Time off for good behavior?”

Heron swept her prosthetic arm behind her, motioning toward the sickly, promising glow of the hallway light bleeding into his cell from the open doorway. “If you accept, we walk out of that door right now.”

Now that got his attention.

Steelbeak dropped his arms, practically falling out of his purposely casual lean. “Seriously?” he demanded, with none of his practiced restraint. “What’s the catch, lady?”

“No catch,” Heron replied. “We just couldn’t help but notice that you’re serving a fairly sizable sentence. The man I work with is patient, but not that patient.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. This was….well. It was the stuff of dreams. The sort of dreams only the very pathetic or the very insane ever had. Abruptly paranoid, he pinched himself above the crease of his elbow, the movement hidden by the bulk of his arms. The pain told him he was awake. But his mind said it was too good to be true.

“You’re not seriously considering turning us down?” Heron said, incredulity winning out over her snake-oil delivery. “You’ll die in this cell. You’ve no allies in this place, and the guards either despise you or are too terrified to go near you. But with us...well.”

He knew the game she was playing. Still, Steelbeak raised his gaze to hers. “Yeah? With you what?”

She’d caught him. A hunter sauntering up to its prey, she made no effort to hide the satisfaction in her smile. “With us, you would be an agent of F.O.W.L: the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny.”

Steelbeak allowed himself to imagine the picture she was painting. He found he rather liked the end result. “Agent, huh?”

He had never raised a hand against Black Heron before.

Steelbeak stayed on his guard in the early days. Everything was unknown, from the hoards of faceless Eggheads to the lighthouse base pulled straight from a James Pond film. Heron had been a constant that, while not reassuring in of herself, was his one source of familiarity in an increasingly alien world. So he forcibly tamped down the instinct to deck her when she grabbed his beak without warning on his second day, examining his scarred face with her clinical, dark eyes.

“Steelbeak, was it?” she said. “We’ll see about that.”

He agreed with her that his beak was beyond saving. Agreed to the twenty hours of surgery to replace it with a maw of sharp edges and steel because it would increase his worth in the eyes of High Command. Agreed, not knowing that the anesthesia would keep wearing off, making him awake in an inferno of pain so intense he’d black out before she could put him back under.

The end result was a weapon and shield in one; blows to his face broke bone, and his bite truly became worse than his bark. He ignored the weight of the metal, how it was sometimes difficult to raise his head in the mornings. He ignored the phantom pains of his original beak being shattered, the sensation of it being removed. Once the initial tests were complete and there was no risk of infection, Heron continued to grab his beak, now to silence him and steer him and he allowed her to because violence was the language he understood, knowing that words were useless without force behind them.

Words were cheap until Steelbeak was the one wielding them. He couldn’t lay a hand on Fethry but that didn’t matter when his words cut deeper than any knife, bloodless but just as lethal. Words were cheap until Heron was spitting his respect back in his face, holding a gun he didn’t understand as she prodded him in the chest with a talon so sharp it pierced him through his suit and drew little pinpricks of blood.

“Partner?” she repeated, as if he’d uttered the world’s most pathetic joke. “You are a stooge. A low-level flunky, you bird-brained, idiotic, stupid—”

He’d never considered how small Heron was compared to him. Steelbeak had seen her spar before, seen her take down Eggheads practically five times her size. To him, it was second nature to respect strength, to respect power. It made her look bigger to his mind. Stature had no bearing on skill, but where Heron was deft, Steelbeak was blunt in his ruthlessness. It was a small matter to wrestle the Intelli-ray out of her hands and knock her to the floor with a solid jab to the ribs.

Steelbeak pointed the gun at her face and relished in her utter bafflement in the second before he pulled the trigger. In that split second it didn’t matter that he only had the skeleton of a plan, that his last ally in this place had been prepared to stab him in the back (metaphorically and maybe literally).

In that split second he was returning to what he knew, what he was best at: threats of violence and the will to act on them.

“Not so smart now, are ya?”

Steelbeak woke up when an Egghead dropped him on the floor.

He lashed out before he was even fully conscious, delivering a blow to the solar plexus that had the burly henchman doubling over with a wheeze. Before Steelbeak could bring his linked fists down on his head, a dry, familiar voice barked, “Enough.”

With his hands still raised in midair, Steelbeak turned to acknowledge Bradford Buzzard. The old vulture’s bushy brows were furrowed in a thick, straight line above an uglier-than-usual scowl.

Steelbeak lowered his arms as another Egghead delivered Black Heron, who was still babbling inanely. He didn’t say a word, all too aware of Buzzard less than ten feet away, but he couldn’t resist a smile. Steelbeak, the stooge, the idiot, reduced the high and mighty Black Heron to this without even trying. His slipshod plan might’ve failed, but failure didn’t sting as badly as it otherwise might’ve.

Still, no good thing could last forever.

He scowled when another Egghead appeared with the Intelli-ray, handing it to Buzzard. He fiddled with the settings for a moment before firing at Heron, who was examining the fingers of her prosthetic hand with rapt fascination. Steelbeak idly hoped that she would poke her own eye out. But the blast from the gun immediately knocked her out and Buzzard gave it back to the Egghead with his beak curled in distaste.

“Dispose of that, please,” he ordered.

The Egghead nodded before slipping out of the conference room as soundlessly as they had appeared.

He and Buzzard were silent as they waited for Heron to regain consciousness, which was just fine with Steelbeak. He wasn’t in any hurry to get chewed out, and the burns from his out of nowhere electrocution ( by Heron’s lab rats? ) were starting to twinge. The pain was worse around his beak, the burns at the seam where metal met flesh sharply stinging.

Heron began to move, groaning under her breath while Steelbeak looked on in cross-armed distaste. Buzzard approached her, gait slow and sure, and leaned down so that his sharp beak and acid yellow eyes would be the first thing she saw.

And they were—Heron opened her eyes blearily at first, before the shock of Buzzard’s proximity could register. That lasted for about a second before he snapped, “Wake up.”

Steelbeak leaned back with a smile as Heron startled, and Buzzard wasted no time in tearing into her. The gun she had been so proud of was sitting in an incinerator somewhere while her oh so genius plan was flatly ridiculed. And Steelbeak, who had never learned to quit while he was ahead, was unable to resist one last pointed jab at Heron, dropped on the ground just like him, elite spies turned into a pair of chastised children.

“Ha! Who’s stupid now—”

He nearly bit his tongue in half when his beak seized, clamping shut of its own volition like a bear trap being triggered.

Steelbeak reacted instinctively, violently, and punched the side of his beak to force it open. It remained sealed and his heartbeat pounded loud in his ears, ratcheting up into his throat, fit to choke him. He punched his beak again, and again, and again, his furious scream trapped behind its serrated edges. His knuckles began to ache and bit by bit they began to bleed.

Distantly, he was aware of Buzzard setting some sort of remote on his desk as he walked away from them. He continued to speak over Steelbeak’s garbled rage as he rained blow after blow upon his beak.

As Steelbeak beat his own face, Heron was dismissed.

She rose slowly, face averted, her pride stunted beneath Buzzard’s ire. But she was free to leave because her own body hadn’t been turned against her and for a split second, a single, swift, solitary instant of time, Steelbeak was almost desperate enough to reach out to her. Almost . He kept that shred of dignity intact, even as he resorted to clasping his hands around the top and bottom of his beak in an attempt to pry it open by force.

The door closed behind Heron before Buzzard acknowledged him again.

“Ah,” he said dryly, yellow eyes flicking over him with little reaction. “I almost forgot about you.”

With the press of a button, he granted Steelbeak his freedom.

He couldn’t help the deep, gulping breath he took as his aching jaw dropped open, relief nearly making him lightheaded. But that relief swiftly gave way to rage, pure and unbridled, that made his breath and every inch of his body quake. His hands curled into fists so tight the cuts on his knuckles began to weep.

Buzzard turned his back on Steelbeak like he was nothing. Like he was less than nothing.

It would be a matter of seconds to get up, cross the room and wring Buzzard’s neck. To raise his fist and exact retribution for this latest humiliation. But stupid as Steelbeak might be, he wasn’t that stupid. Nobody as frail-looking as the Buzzards controlled a global spy ring without powerful countermeasures against mutiny.

That didn’t stop Steelbeak from snarling, low in his throat, as he pushed himself to his feet.

Buzzard glanced over his shoulder, a rare smirk stretching across his narrow beak. “Good. You’re learning.” As quickly as the amusement appeared, it dropped from his face, tucked behind an emotionless scowl as easily as shuffling papers. “Now, I trust we won’t be seeing anymore of your half-cocked schemes?”

“Half-cocked?” Steelbeak bit out. “I took out one of your top agents without even trying! If you gave me some actual resources, or my own missions, instead of foisting me on Heron all the time, maybe I could actually get something done around here!”

He took a step forward without thinking.

Buzzard scarcely had to move to press the same button on the remote, to lock his beak shut with another damning clang . Steelbeak immediately wrapped his hands around his beak, fighting the instinctive, panicked urge to try and open it by force again.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” Buzzard sounded bored . “You don’t want to know what the rest of these buttons do. I’ve been assured the results aren’t pleasant.”

He stepped out from behind the conference table, folding his hands behind his back. “It’s become increasingly clear to me that you’ve misconstrued the reason behind your recruitment. You are an agent, yes, but only in name. You are our muscle, cannon fodder, a blunt instrument to be wielded at the will of your superiors.” Buzzard stopped less than two feet away from Steelbeak, unconcerned by the way the rooster loomed over him, trembling with rage down to his stupid, fancy designer shoes.

“You, Steelbeak, are here to follow orders, not issue them. And if you can’t do that then I’ll just drop you back in the hole where we found you. Is that clear?”

Buzzard lifted the remote. Before he could stop himself, the small, weak part of Steelbeak that feared pain, the part he thought he’d killed years ago, took a step back. His flinch did not go unnoticed.

The slow smile that spread across the old vulture’s weathered face made Steelbeak’s stomach turn like someone stuck a shiv into his guts and twisted. But despite his posturing, all Buzzard did was deactivate the lock on his beak.

“Now, I believe you have a job to get back to.”

Some nights, Fethry dreamt of the ocean.

He would remember lapping waves on a cold, gray shore, the cling and give of wet sand beneath his feet. The only source of warmth were his parents’ hands wrapped around his own, his mother on one side and his father on the other, giants to his mind. They led him forward, swinging his arms between them, but whenever he tried to crane his head back to see their faces, all he saw was gray sky.

He dreamt of an unending horizon, a world of undulating blue no matter which way he turned. He felt a refreshing, salty breeze ruffle his feathers, tempering the heat of a midday sun, his legs swinging over the balcony of the lab pod as he spoke to the crudely drawn face of Arturo in the golden sunshine.

He dreamt of sinking into a void, alone and utterly blind save for the ribbon-like phosphorescence of the creatures he studied and named. But they were all of them silent and his own voice stunted, his throat filling with water whenever he tried to open his mouth.

Fethry sometimes woke up from these dreams unable to rise from the tangled sheets of his bed, weighed down by every ounce, every mile and grain of salt he had lived under those four years.

When he did manage to sit up, flexing his cold fingers to try and regain feeling, he would look out the window to ground himself. He always slept with the curtains wide open for this reason—to see the sky and the flash of passing cars and the individual beacons of streetlights in the dark. To remind himself that he wasn’t in the lab anymore, miles of ocean poised over his head to crush him.

Returning to Duckburg was a challenge.

Seeing his family again was part of that, even if having Della back was the best surprise he didn’t know he could ask for.

Having all his cousins in one place, at least until an errant breeze swept Gladstone away to his next all-expenses-paid vacation or a new adventure caught Della’s eye or Donald got too annoyed with him, reminded him of the summers they spent together at Grandma Duck’s farm, balmy days in the orchard and cozy nights around the fireplace. He hadn’t been to the farmhouse in almost ten years, not since Grandma passed. Cousin Gus was running it now. Visiting always seemed moot if he was doing it alone.

And anyway, he was eager to reconnect with Huey and Dewey, to see Louie again for the first time since he was a toddler and meet Webby (he still wasn’t sure where she’d come from but he was more than happy to have a new niece).

But the world was bigger and louder than he remembered, and after the chaos of the Moonvasion it was difficult to leave his dingy Hookbill Harbor motel for anything other than visiting Mitzy, who had made a home for herself in Duckburg Bay. The sound of waves knocking against the wooden pilings of the docks, that ageless rhythm, salt air and seabirds calling, were more familiar to him than honking cars or what felt like a hundred different voices speaking at once everywhere he went.

But Fethry was in no hurry to become a recluse (again), accidentally or otherwise, so he allowed Huey to cajole him into visiting Uncle Scrooge’s laboratory under the Money Bin. The lab hadn’t changed much since the last time he stopped by, almost five years ago now, the first and last time he’d asked Mr. McDuck (not Uncle Scrooge) for a job.

The McDuck Sublab of the Future had already been a few decades old by then, but it was well-maintained, with crews rotating out every six months. Fethry had asked if there were any openings left, anything at all, he’d even be a janitor if that’s what it took to see the ocean in a way he never had before. Mr. McDuck, hardly glancing up from the tower of expense reports on his desk, summoned a secretary who led Fethry down to Gearloose Labs, where Dr. Gearloose pointed him toward a stack of waivers to sign and informed him of the 4 a.m. departure that following morning.

Fethry thought he’d be gone for six months.

It was going to be an educational getaway, a tantalizing excuse to indulge in what’s been his special interest for as long as he could remember. Since he was ten and first watched a humpback whale breach in a spray of water and rainbow fractals, pet the silky back of a netted stingray, and picked at barnacles latched to the side of the boat during the few fishing trips Abner took him on before their parents died and he lost any incentive to be a big brother or socialize with people at all.

But six months turned into a year. The old crew, real scientists, explorers, and engineers, left but no one came to replace them. Budget cuts, said the pilot who continued to deliver food and supplies every 3 months but never stayed long enough to share a cup of tea or a game of checkers. “Old McMoneybags is downsizing, they say.”

And so one year became two.

But Fethry couldn’t leave; he wouldn’t abandon his team, not like they’d abandoned him (so what if his new team was made up of krill!). If he left, who would keep the sublab running? The giant sea worms in the Tully Observatory would starve, not to mention all the carefully caught specimens in the lab rooms. Besides, Uncle Scrooge would check in sooner or later. Fethry would let him know that the McDuck Sublab of the Future was in dire straits and he would send someone to help Fethry keep it all afloat.

But two years became three.

Then four.

In the present, Dr. Gearloose looked up from his tablet at the sound of the elevator doors opening, and before Huey could launch into what surely would’ve been a lovely pre-prepared speech, he blanched and pointed at Fethry with all the vitriol a prosecutor would give the accused.

“ You. What are you doing here again?”

Fethry couldn’t help laughing, just a little. It had to have been almost five years since he saw the guy, and Dr. Gearloose was acting like it was just yesterday that Fethry last stepped through these doors, tripped, and knocked over a glass canister of metal-eating mites that ate through the wire frame of Dr. Gearloose’s glasses while they were sitting on his face.

“Good to see you again, Dr. Gearloose.” Fethry shook the hand that the scientist was still pointing at him with.

“You know Dr. Gearloose?” Luckily, Huey seemed more surprised than disappointed by the interruption. And maybe a little uneasy. Dr. Gearloose’s temper was infamous, after all, and Fethry didn’t exactly come across as a pillar of strength to most people.

“Oh, we go way back, Hue.”

Seeing that his glare was having no effect on Fethry, Dr. Gearloose pinned it on Huey instead. “Intern! What is the meaning of this? You know only scientists are allowed in the lab during business hours.”

“But-but Boyd’s here!”

“Boyd’s a creation of science, he doesn’t count. Duh.”

Huey’s little friend waved from the ceiling, where he was sitting among the support beams—just hanging out, it looked like. “Hi, Huey! Hi, Mr. Fethry!”

Fethry waved back. “Hey there, kiddo. Am I gonna see you at the troop meeting this Saturday?”

Huey got excited enough to withstand the force of Dr. Gearloose’s glare too. “Boyd you have to go! Uncle Fethry told me there’ll be a new knot-tying lesson.”

One of the ways Fethry decided to reenter society was by rejoining the Junior Woodchucks. While his study of the JWG hadn’t lapsed, his tenure as a troop leader certainly had. With Launchpad’s help he was able to renew his membership and get back into nature.

Four years living under the sea had turned the smell of dirt and the play of sunlight through the trees into alien things, and he was an eager explorer all over again, rediscovering a land he thought he’d forgotten. He barely slept a wink the first night he went camping, kept awake by the sound of the wind through the trees, nocturnal friends rustling in the undergrowth, other campers turning in their tents.

He hadn’t been alone in the sublab, not in the technical sense, but the ocean was silent for someone who wasn’t born to hear its songs. On the surface everything spoke, everything called up to the top of the sky in a voice all their own, “I’m here!”

It was a language Fethry had all but forgotten, but he was relearning it now.

When he joined Launchpad as a troop leader, that put him in charge of Huey’s troop. After initially fearing that Huey would request a transfer to a different troop altogether (he was used to family members being embarrassed by him, not that it hurt any less), it turned into the best thing that could’ve happened for them. They’d gotten off to a bit of a rocky start back at the sublab, and it was nice to have a common interest to build off of as they got to know each other better. Fethry stopped thinking of the kids as Little Donalds and they started calling him ‘Uncle.’

It was a relief to find out that Huey had a friend (a best friend) who operated on a similar wavelength as him. Fethry knew what it was to be alone among peers—even the Junior Woodchucks weren’t perfect—and Boyd was just what Huey needed to get out of his shell.

Fethry didn’t stop his nephew from running to join Boyd, the little robot boy jetting down to pick up Huey and carry him up to the rafters so they could continue their conversation. He and Fethry could pick up their tour once he was done.

When Dr. Gearloose got tired of yelling and nobody listening, he stalked away. As little as he might want Fethry there, he probably (just barely) stopped himself from having him bodily tossed out because of his connection to Scrooge, tenuous as it was. It was a courtesy he doubtlessly wouldn’t have extended to anyone else.

Fethry wondered if he should feel grateful or not. Being associated with Scrooge McDuck wasn’t always a good thing.

“Doctor-Intern,” Dr. Gearloose barked as he climbed a set of steps and disappeared further into the lab. “Deal with this idiotic interloper.”

The scientist that scrambled out from a bathroom-turned-office was much more Fethry’s speed. Messy-haired, short, and harried, the brown-feathered duck shot him a smile that was only a little tight at the edges.

“Hey! Hi! Sorry about Dr. Gearloose. How can I help you, Mr…?”

Fethry took the offered hand much more happily than Dr. Gearloose’s accusatory one. “Oh, I’m no mister! Just Fethry. Fethry Duck. And you must be Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera, Huey’s mentor! He talks about you all the time.”

Often in the same breath as Gizmoduck but Fethry felt that wasn’t his secret to share.

Some of the tension left Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera’s face as he chuckled, taking his hand back to sweep it boyishly through his hair, only messing it up more. “Oh, well um, I’m honored! Huey’s a great kid. And it’s just Fenton, Mr…Duck…”

A familiar prickling sort of dread settled coldly over Fethry as he watched realization dawn on Fenton, his expression shuttering like smoke rising to block out the sun.

Fenton glanced over at Huey and then back to Fethry, maybe taking in their similar red hats, or the fact that they arrived together. Maybe he heard Fethry being called ‘uncle,’ a blessing that was sometimes curse now. Getting recognized hadn’t been a problem in years past, when he lived outside of Duckburg. There were a thousand Ducks in Calisota after all, nevermind the world. But with one of the triplets in tow, it was too big of a coincidence for anyone to miss here.

“You’re one of Mr. McDuck’s nephews?” Fenton blinked, looking him up and down. He probably wasn’t doing it to be mean. When someone heard the name ‘McDuck’ in association with you, they usually expected someone glamorous like Gladstone or and tough and no-nonsense like Donald.

By contrast, Fethry knew he was a little more hardscrabble and goofy, and that was a nice way of putting it. Not exactly “nephew of the richest duck in the world” material.

But Fethry still smiled and gave his now-typical answer, because Fenton was cute and he’d been nice so far. “Only through marriage, but yes!” He’d never claim to be something he wasn’t, and Donald had ownership of the McDuck name in a way Fethry never would.

“Huh. I hadn’t heard of you.” Fenton seemed to remember himself, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous little smile. “Not to be rude or anything! I’m still not sure how this family works.”

Behind him, Fethry saw Boyd fly Huey back down to solid ground. Ah. He must be ready to continue the tour.

“You and me both!” Fethry nudged Fenton with a wink, moving around him to meet Huey halfway.

Fenton followed, surprising him. “So, what do you do, F-Fethry?”

“He’s a marine biologist!” Huey had joined them, grinning proudly and his tone, while upbeat, brooked no argument.

Fethry’s heart skipped a beat, touched by the support of a family member who’d once had so little faith in him. He wouldn’t soon forget Huey’s horror just a few months ago when he learned Fethry wasn’t a “real” scientist. The turnaround was almost overwhelming. Still, he decided to be honest.

“ Amateur marine biologist.”

Huey sent him a look, like he knew what Fethry was trying to do. “He’s taking care of the kaiju-sized krill in the bay,” he bragged, not one to be outdone.

Fenton’s thick eyebrows almost flew off his face. “What—that sea monster?”

Fethry gave in with a laugh. “That’s Mitzy!” He tugged Huey into a little sideways hug as both an apology and thank you. He wasn’t used to anyone defending him, much less family.

“In that case, what’re you doing here?” Fenton tugged nervously on his tie. “You’re not, ah, you’re not here looking for a job, are you?”

The thought of walking up to Dr. Gearloose and asking for a job was hilarious. But the thought of going to Uncle Scrooge again and asking for a job was more nerve-wracking than anything his new employers at F.L.O.W might have in store for him.

Fethry reassured Fenton with a grin and a wave of his hand. “Oh, no thanks. I already have a job with a research lab nearby. Now, I believe Huey was going to treat me to a tour! Would you care to join us?”

The McDuck Sublab of the Future had been a relic of the past. Years of only his inexpert maintenance kept everything running: solar panels, life support, the aquavator. The electricity was buggy, there were hull breaches, and the hydrothermal vents grew in intensity every year, undoing what few repairs he was able to make.

But the sublab did its best to warn him of hidden dangers, creaking and groaning its displeasure in the darkness. He learned the difference between the sounds of the hull settling and an imminent hull breach and had the timing of the vent eruptions down to a science, at least until they mutated past his understanding and demolished the sublab in the end.

Working for F.L.O.W was like learning a new language. He wasn’t familiar with the rules or the dangers at first, couched as they were in social interaction and plain obfustication, which he’d had little practice with in his last four isolated years.

He wasn’t a spy like Mrs. Beakley. He wasn’t rich, or lucky, or a pilot. He wasn’t even an adventurer, really, just someone who got caught up in the periphery of them. He made up songs for his krill for Pete’s sake!

But he was patient. He listened. He watched. He learned. Especially when nobody expected him to.

F.L.O.W wasn’t what they seemed. Fethry wasn’t sure what they were but the Federation of Leading Ocean Wayfarers they were not.

His recruiter, a bubbly red headed duck named Pepper, disappeared after his first day and no one would tell him where she went. He was the only scientist on staff half the time, or so it seemed until Dr. Heron apparently got tired of him cluttering up the corner of her lab and had him moved to his own space, where he worked alone all hours of the day (and sometimes night). So much of F.L.O.W headquarters was off limits to him, and what he did have access to already looked like a monotone cross between the hallways of a Star Destroyer straight out of Galaxy Wars and an office from the ‘60s.

Fethry wondered what would happen if he tried to leave. He hadn’t made plans or anything—hadn’t thought much about it, really—but there was an air of menace permeating this underground facility that he couldn’t ignore.

It was more than the clicking claws of Dr. Heron’s prosthesis, or the way she eyed him like a stain on the bottom of her platform boots. More than the faceless security guards that patrolled the drab hallways (Eggheads, he heard whispered around corners that were empty when he rounded them).

More than anything, it was the way Steelbeak, handsome and proud and utterly incongruous, wouldn’t look Fethry in the eye when he lied. That, more than anything, warned him against trusting F.L.O.W. After all, the only thing blind trust ever got him was four years at the bottom of the ocean.

And maybe it went against his better judgment, but he did trust Steelbeak.

Though it had been a few weeks now since Fethry last saw his friend (ex-friend?). Two weeks, six days, and fifteen hours to be exact, but then he was used to counting his lonely days, used to people abandoning him.

Fethry’d never had much of a mind for romance. The back-and-forth dance of flirting eluded him and kissing and…other stuff hadn’t held much appeal. He knew he talked too much about things most people probably didn’t care about, he was spacey, and boring. No one had ever shown an interest in him and he’d never shown an interest in anyone, so he figured that was that. He had his team and he had Mitzy (and now Huey and the Woodchucks), and that would have to be enough.

But then Steelbeak, with his sharp face and sharp voice and sharp suit, listened to him ramble and didn’t leave (not at first).

Steelbeak, with his nice shoulders and his tallness, which Fethry hadn’t thought he cared about until now, who laughed at Fethry’s fish puns once he explained the joke, and what an incredible laugh it was—nasal and ridiculous and genuine, it flustered Fethry every time he heard it. It was almost a foreign concept, laughing with someone instead of being laughed at .

In the amphitheater, over a month ago now, Steelbeak had saved him from a painful fall. Fethry still thought about that moment, dreamt about it even—a handful of seconds stretching into eternity. Steelbeak’s grip around his wrist, his hand so big it swallowed his wrist entirely. Their bodies flush, sharing breath, sharing warmth. Steelbeak’s expression, made fearsome by the gunmetal gleam of his beak, softened in his surprise.

Fethry wasn’t completely clueless, despite all evidence to the contrary. Studying creatures of the deep was his life's work. And that included the deadly ones. So Fethry knew what a predator looked like. He knew how predators hunted, how they moved through their environment. Some were subtle and unassuming, like the man-of-war. Others were obvious in their intent; the barracuda was sharp and sleek, all streamlined silver, with a grimace of jagged teeth ready to snap a fish in half.

Even though he’d grown up on the periphery of great adventures, Fethry still learned a thing or two from them. He learned about spies and assassins and pirates and what have you, nevermind that he rarely encountered them. He learned about the dangers of the world that went beyond the everyday.

He knew, for all intents and purposes, that Steelbeak was the barracuda.

He’d been to prison. His prosthetic beak was more intimidating than practical. He carried himself with the casual, loping grace of a trained fighter and his hands bore the calluses and scars of years of broken and poorly healed skin.

Maybe all of that meant Fethry was supposed to be afraid of him. Donald would certainly think so, and before the sublab there was a time that Fethry would’ve done anything to get his favorite cousin’s approval. But Fethry had seen worse than a big bruiser with a bad attitude. Silence was scary. Darkness was scary.

Steelbeak, who stuttered when Fethry complimented him, was not.

Steelbeak, who stalked through F.L.O.W like there was a target on his back, like he’d been given a stay of execution but he didn’t know for how long, was not who Fethry should be scared of. Even when he yelled and sneered, threw Fethry’s friendship back in his face like a rotting fish. He wasn’t afraid. Just worried. And sad.

Then something happened one day that had never happened before.

A strange alarm went off while he was in the middle of listening to the three heartbeats of Octavio, his giant Pacific octopus. A pair of Eggheads ran into his lab, told him there was an emergency and that he had to stay inside. That was the last thing they said before stationing themselves by the door, motionless as statues and just as blank faced. They ignored everything he said, whether it was a joke to cut the tension or a question about what was going on.

Fethry wasn’t sure if they were meant to keep danger out or keep him in. He decided not to find out.

The lockdown only lasted about an hour.

The Eggheads didn’t say anything to let him know it had been lifted—they must’ve had radios built into those helmets of theirs because, without warning, they turned in unison and marched out the door.

“Is everything okay?” Fethry called as they closed the door behind them, not expecting an answer.

He also didn’t expect to hear an almighty crash outside his lab, and the thud of a body hitting the ground.

He rushed to the door but only opened it a crack. What if the emergency was still going on and that’s why the Eggheads had left so quickly? There could be something dangerous on the other side.

The first thing Fethry saw was one of the Eggheads on the floor, groaning but alive. The other Egghead, a brawny seagull, was pinned to the wall with an arm across his throat by a furious Steelbeak.

His chest heaved with every breath, and he looked angrier than Fethry had ever seen him. He looked apoplectic. He looked hurt .

His feathers and carefully pressed suit were singed and blackened at the edges, and his knuckles were red from small, bleeding wounds. The front of his suit was smeared with blood, like he’d tried to wipe his hands off on it. The contrast was jarring against his black and white ensemble.

“Steelbeak!” Fethry threw the door open the rest of the way before darting out into the hall. “What’re you doing? What’s wrong?”

For a painfully long moment, Steelbeak wouldn’t look at him. He stared straight at the Egghead, his wide eyes seeing nothing, and his heavy breathing veering worryingly close to hyperventilating. He pressed harder against the Egghead’s throat and the seagull choked.

“Steelbeak.” Fethry reached out, wrapping his hand around the wrist hanging tense and tight-fisted at his side.

Steelbeak recoiled. He dropped the Egghead, who fell to the floor with a wheeze, and ripped his arm out of Fethry’s grasp. But at least he was looking at him now, eyes bloodshot and arms shaking with tension.

Fethry took a step back, raising his hands in front of him.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” He spoke softly, but calm, not wanting Steelbeak to feel patronized. Blood rushed through his ears but he ignored it. “Are you–are you okay? Your face—y-your hands. I have a first-aid kit in my lab—”

“What’re you doing,” Steelbeak bit out.

Fethry’s mind blanked. “Uh…I don’t…I just wanted to—”

“What.” Steelbeak took a step forward. “Do you think.” Then another. “You’re doing?” He loomed over Fethry, crossing well into his personal space. At his sides, his fists shook and this close the burns and bruises on his face were thrown into sharp relief. Their beaks were only a few inches apart, and Fethry found he’d never wanted to kiss someone more than he did in that moment.

Steelbeak wasn’t the barracuda right now; he was the tarpon, the fighting fish, swimming straight at its prey and daring it to move out of the way first. But Fethry wasn’t afraid, even if maybe he should be. There was something in Steelbeak’s eyes, some emotion he couldn’t place, that seemed on the verge of shattering.

Fethry leaned back to look him in the eye. “Nothing,” he replied honestly. “I just want to know if you’re okay.”

Steelbeak flinched as though Fethry had struck him. He backed away so fast he almost tripped on the Egghead he’d dropped, and his fearsome face was knit with confusion and pain.

“If I’m–why do you even care? After what I–”

Steelbeak slammed his beak shut tighter than an oyster, looking a little horrified with himself. He whirled to face the two Eggheads he’d choked and thrown respectively, and growled, “You didn’t see or hear nothin,’ am I clear?”

They nodded furiously. “Yes, sir. I-I mean no, sir.”

When Steelbeak turned back around he didn’t look at Fethry, gaze stubbornly fixed on some distant point down the hallway.

Fethry tried to reach for him as he passed, but Steelbeak gave him a wide berth, shoulders hunched and a hunted look in his eyes.

He dropped his hand, watching Steelbeak’s back until he disappeared around the next corner. The Eggheads rushed off too, ignoring Fethry again as he called after them, desperate for answers. Within seconds he was left alone in the hall, gray walls like prison bars around him and silence ringing in their wake.

Fethry let out a very Donald-like huff. “Enough is enough,” he said determinedly to no one but himself.

He refused to let himself be trapped again.

#ant writes #fethsteel #finally updated #tw blood #tw violence #mostly expanding on canon stuff #some hints of fenthry #but it's one sided #fethry duck #steelbeak #steelbeak is a mess

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