Thinking about soft pining Erwin who knows things won't last between you:
Erwin can already see the worry and frustration starting to eat away at the love between you. He's not an idiot. And he genuinely does try to make more time for you but can't help but put work first, doesn't realize how late it is, or doesn't remember he promised he'd be home for dinner.
Erwin who comes home more often than not after you're asleep curled up as far away from his side of the bed as possible.
He still wakes up with you tangled up with him in the morning, as if you're afraid he'll wander away in the night without you grounding him. And every morning he unravels you and leaves before you wake.
It's not that he doesn't care or that he doesn't love you it's the opposite. He's never had so much to lose. So much he has to protect. He can't explain it but everything he's doing is to keep you safe.
Even at the cost of losing you.
When he comes home late one night, a plate that's long since gone cold set in his spot, and you sitting in his chair, he knows it's over.
You don't have to say anything, looking up at him with tear-stained cheeks. He knows. He recognizes the defeat in your face.
He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know if he should beg you to stay or if he should let you go.
So he does neither. Instead, he moves to help you up, hand in his as he leads you to your shared bedroom.
His lips are soft when they land against yours and you don't fight your feelings when he pulls you in bed with him.
Erwin has always been good at speaking. Has always been told his speeches were inspiring. He's just not as good with words when it came to telling you he loves you.
So instead, he tries to show you. He makes love to you like things aren't already over that night. Like he could still salvage something.
He's gentle and doting, reading your body better than anyone else after being together so long, he knows exactly how to make you see stars.
He spends most of his time inside you with his forehead pressed against yours, panting into each other's mouths when he's not kissing you. Swallowing one another's breaths and moans. His hands are in your hair, on your hips, cupping your face.
He doesn't stop until you're crying out his name like a prayer for the fourth time, nails raking across his back as he pins you beneath his body, hips stuttering with his release.
His mouth is pressed against yours as he whispers out a simple I'm sorry. I love you.
You both fall asleep exhausted, sweaty, and pressing sloppy kisses against one another, your limbs tangled together in the middle of your bed.
But in the late morning when he wakes, Erwin still finds himself alone in that bed.
A:N 488 Not Bad
