My late hero Eren x reader ( completed )

Stark Beginnings

In the arms of a kind stranger I surrender to the warmth resonating from his chest—a fleeting solace amid the pain, my focus solely on the rhythmic beats, a distraction from the chaos around. His cold eyes demand attention, yet his presence provides a comforting rhythm, almost coaxing me into sleep.

Passed to another soldier, an unexpected disappointment settles in, its origin elusive but keenly felt. A loss of that comforting beat—a subtle disruption, leaving me yearning for the strange familiarity of the first man's embrace.

In the haze of my thoughts, a voice pierces through, "I'm Hannes. What's yours?" Stammering I manage, "Y/N."

"Don't worry, Y/N. We'll find you a safe place," Hannes reassures, patting my head as he guides me to refuge. The elusive relaxation refuses to embrace me; instead, the echoes of demise reverberate relentlessly. Leaning against Mr. Hannes' chest, I absorb the weight of sorrow, carried not only by me but by all who share this shattered refuge.

Raising my gaze, Hannes observes three kids—two gripped by fear, one defiant. The brown-haired boy's eyes were a blaze with anger, determination, and a sorrow untouched by fear. As Mr. Hannes attempts to withdraw, I grasp his wrist, offering a forced smile and a whispered wish for luck.

"Thank you," he responds, the glimmer of hope fading like blood on a Titan's teeth. With those parting words, Hannes leaves me to navigate solitude. Shifting focus, I survey the food line, choosing not to eat, convinced others need it more.

The desire to curl into a ball, emotionally drained from life's upheaval, consumes me. My broken ankle impedes movement, and I tread with care—a quiet ghost among the shelter's throng. Seeking refuge, I ascend to a cramped attic space on the second floor. The panoramic view reveals faces blurred in anonymity, intensifying the ache of unrecognized neighbors. Choosing a small attic-like space, I glimpse the seemingly endless line, faces masked by shadows.

Then, the boy Mr. Hannes fixated on—fiery eyes, —engages in a confrontation with a soldier. Offended, the soldier strikes the boy with his fist. Another punch sends him sprawling, but his friend—a young boy with blonde hair—intervenes.

"I'm truly sorry for my friend's behavior. He'd never act this way to an adult; Eren's just hungry, is all,"

So Eren is his name?

My gaze shifts to a girl with black hair, glaring at the soldier with a fierce presence, I envy them, yearning for the connections of friends.

The illusion of safety within the inner walls shatters. Titans walked in easily, leaving Asher and others behind, discarded by those who selfishly sought their own escape. The realization strikes: the heartlessness extends beyond the Titans; maybe we all lack a heart. Recalling the frantic rush for escape, I watch as survivors quarrel over bread, soldiers treating them like refuse.

Dreams become a precious currency in this harsh reality. Eren mercilessly punched, when the boat left- All of it becomes a symbol of the long shadows cast by the towering walls. The walls that protect us also dictate our worth—a cruel hierarchy that deem some expendable.

Within those walls, the class system mirrors the barbarity beyond, a reflection of the shackles we wore. Safety within the inner sanctum tempts me with comfort but entangled in the same divisions that keep us hungry and downtrodden. I grapple with the desire for security against the fear of the consequences of defiance, realizing that true freedom means battling not only Titans but the prejudices within.

Laughter, once a carefree melody, now bears the weight of unspoken fears and unfulfilled dreams. Each step toward the path of the National Guard feels like a betrayal of the equality and freedom I now yearn for. As I struggle to sleep on the floor, my thoughts spiral until I can think no more.