you never wanted the survey corps.

that was the first truth you ever told yourself after graduation. you ranked high enough in the 104th to choose anywhere you wanted. the military police would have meant a clean uniform, steady pay, and the chance to pull your family inside the inner walls before the next breach swallowed another district. you had already written the letter home. you had already imagined your mother’s face when she realized she would never have to ration again.

then erwin smith pulled you aside after the ceremony.

he didn’t raise his voice. he never needed to. he simply listed the numbers—your ODM scores, your kill ratio in the training grounds, the way you moved when the instructors threw live gear at the cadets just to watch who froze. he told you the walls needed people who could survive outside them. he told you the military police already had more than enough people who preferred safety over duty. and when you opened your mouth to refuse, he said the quiet part out loud: refusal was not an option. the paperwork had already been filed. your assignment was locked.

you reported to the scouts with your jaw set and your heart somewhere under the floorboards.

levi ackerman’s squad was the next insult.

you arrived at the new headquarters still smelling like the mud from the last training exercise and found yourself standing in a line with eren, mikasa, and armin while the short man in the cleanest uniform you had ever seen looked you over like you were a stain. he was thirty. you were twenty six. the age gap should not have mattered, but the way he carried authority made every year between you feel like a wall.

you decided, then and there, that you would not give him the satisfaction of seeing you care.

you spoke to eren when he asked about your gear modifications. you answered armin’s careful questions about the routes you had memorized from the training maps. you let mikasa sit beside you at meals without conversation, because silence with her felt safer than silence with anyone else. but when levi entered a room, you looked past him. when he gave orders, you carried them out without acknowledging the voice that delivered them. when he corrected your form during drills, you adjusted and kept your eyes on the horizon.

you were moody. everyone noticed. some days you answered in single syllables. other days you didn’t answer at all. the only people who seemed to understand were the three you had chosen. eren called it “that look you get.” mikasa simply stayed close. armin once said, carefully, that anger was easier than grief, and you almost snapped at him for seeing too much.

levi never pushed. not at first.

he watched. you felt it the way you felt cold air through a cracked window—constant, sharp, impossible to ignore no matter how hard you pretended. he noticed when you skipped meals after a particularly brutal training session. he noticed when your hands shook after cleaning blades that had never tasted titan blood. he noticed the letter you never sent, the one you kept folded in the bottom of your locker with the address of the house that no longer existed.

you told yourself you hated him for the noticing.

the day he cornered you, the rain had been falling since morning. the rest of the squad had been dismissed after a long formation drill. you stayed behind in the equipment room to re-oil your blades, because the work kept your hands busy and your thoughts quiet. the door shut harder than it needed to. when you turned, levi was already inside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, the faint scent of tea and steel following him the way it always did.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he said. not a question.

you wiped the cloth down the edge of the blade and didn’t look up. “i’ve been doing my job.”

“your job includes acknowledging your squad leader when he gives an order.”

“i follow every order.”

“you follow them like you’re doing me a favor.” he pushed off the wall and stepped closer. the room suddenly felt smaller. “look at me.”

you kept your eyes on the metal. “i’m busy.”

the next sound was the soft scrape of his boots. then his hand closed around the wrist of the hand holding the blade—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that the cloth stopped moving. you finally lifted your gaze. his eyes were darker than usual, the kind of dark that came from too little sleep and too many calculations.

“you’re not busy,” he said quietly. “you’re angry and you’re using me as the easiest target because you can’t yell at the commander who put you here, and you can’t yell at the walls for failing your family.”

something hot and ugly rose in your throat. “you don’t know anything about my family.”

“i know enough.” his grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. “i know you ranked high enough to walk into the military police and never look back. i know erwin forced the transfer because he saw something in you that the rest of us might need to stay alive. and i know you’ve spent every day since then punishing the people who had nothing to do with that decision.”

you tried to pull free. he didn’t let you.

“let go.”

“not until you stop pretending i’m the enemy.” his voice stayed low, almost calm, which somehow made it worse. “you talk to jaeger. you talk to the ackerman girl. you talk to arlert. you even talk to the horses more than you talk to me. i’m not asking you to like me. i’m asking you to stop treating this squad like a prison sentence you can serve by ignoring the warden.”

the words landed harder than any strike you had taken in training. for a moment the only sound was the rain against the high windows and the faint creak of leather as his fingers shifted on your wrist.

“i didn’t ask to be here,” you said, and hated how small it came out.

“neither did i,” he answered. “neither did any of us. difference is, the rest of us stopped wasting energy on what we didn’t choose.” he released your wrist, but he didn’t step back. “you can keep hating the assignment. hate erwin if it helps. hate the titans. but if you keep directing it at me, you’re going to get someone killed—probably yourself because one day you’ll need me to watch your back and you’ll still be too busy being angry to trust that i will.”

you stared at him. the rain kept falling. somewhere outside, a horse stamped in its stall.

something in your chest cracked open, quiet and irreversible.

you didn’t apologize. you didn’t explain the letter still sitting in your locker or the way your mother’s handwriting used to look when she signed her name. you simply nodded once, slow, like the motion cost you something.

levi watched the nod settle between you. then he turned toward the door, paused with his hand on the frame, and said without looking back, “tomorrow we run the forest route again. try not to look through me when i give the signal.”

the door closed behind him.

you stood alone in the equipment room for a long time after that, the oiled blade still in your hand, the ghost of his grip still warm against your skin. the anger didn’t vanish. it simply changed shape became something heavier, quieter, and far more dangerous, because now it had nowhere left to hide.

and for the first time since the day erwin smith decided your future for you, you found yourself wondering what it would feel like to stop fighting the one person who had never pretended the world was fair.

taglist ✮⋆˙

@noctemys @fiannee @444anya @slaytherinthoughts @levisbrat25 @gloomyveil @blizzyblitz @puppyminnnie @v4mp1r3b4tzz @irohasmp3 @mayyhaps @yowaidiot

want to be tagged in future posts? join my taglist ♡

©4ckrmn — like/reblog .

the candle on the bedside table had burned low, throwing soft gold across the small room they shared in the survey corps housing. outside, the night was quiet in a way it almost never used to be. four years of relative peace had made silence feel almost suspicious.

you sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisted in the hem of your nightshirt, heart hammering so hard you were sure your husband could hear it from across the room. levi was still half dressed from the evening’s paperwork, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, dark hair slightly mussed. he’d been quiet all day—quieter than usual—which only made the words stuck in your throat heavier.

he glanced up from where he was folding his cravat with precise, unnecessary care. those sharp gray eyes found yours immediately.

“you’ve been staring at the floor for ten minutes,” he said, voice low and even. “spit it out.”

you let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh. “that obvious?”

he didn’t answer. just waited, arms crossing loosely over his chest.

you stood, crossed the few steps between you, and took his hands. his palms were warm, calloused, always carefully clean. the plain silver band on his left ring finger caught the candlelight for a second. you looked down at your matching one, then back up.

“i’m pregnant.”

the words came out softer than you’d planned.

levi went completely still.

for a long moment the only sound was the faint crackle of the candle. his fingers tightened around yours—just once, briefly—before he seemed to remember to breathe. his gaze dropped to your stomach, still flat beneath the thin fabric, then rose again to your face.

“you’re sure?”

you nodded. “i’ve known for a little over three weeks.”

his eyes narrowed slightly. “three weeks.”

you swallowed. “i found out during training. the dizziness, the nausea… i thought it was just heat at first. went to the medic quietly after drills. she confirmed it. i’ve been… careful since then. no high altitude work. no sparring that could risk a fall. i just didn’t tell you.”

levi’s jaw tightened. the silence stretched.

“you hid it from me,” he said, not accusing, but low and flat in that way that meant he was processing something he didn’t like.

“i was scared,” you admitted quietly. “of what you’d say. of what it means. of putting this on you when everything still feels so fragile. i needed a little time to sit with it first… even though we’re married.”

he exhaled slowly through his nose. one hand left yours and came to rest lightly against your abdomen, the touch almost reverent in its restraint. his thumb brushed once, barely there.

“a kid,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “our kid. in this world. and you were out there training with it.”

you covered his hand with both of yours. “i stopped the moment i knew. i swear. i just… wasn’t ready to say it out loud yet. not even to my husband.”

levi’s gaze stayed on your face for a long moment. then the sharp edges in his expression softened, just a fraction.

“you’re not going anywhere near the walls or any expedition while you’re carrying,” he said, the words automatic, protective. “and you’re not doing this alone. whatever this is… we’re in it together. even if you decided to keep it from me for three fucking weeks.”

a small, tired almost smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

you smiled back, eyes stinging. “i know. i’m sorry.”

he pulled you in then, forehead resting against yours, one arm sliding around your waist with careful strength. for a man who rarely wasted movement, the hug lasted a long time. you felt the tension in his shoulders slowly ease as he held you.

when he finally spoke again, his voice was rough at the edges.

“first child.” a small pause. “guess we’d better figure out how not to fuck it up and next time something this important happens… you tell me the same day. no more keeping things like this to yourself.”

you nodded against his collar, voice soft. “i will. i promise.”

levi’s hand stayed over your stomach, warm and steady, as if already standing guard. outside, the night remained quiet. inside the little room they shared as a married couple, something new and terrifying and hopeful had just begun—late by three weeks, but finally shared.

taglist ✮⋆˙

@noctemys @fiannee @444anya @slaytherinthoughts @levisbrat25 @gloomyveil @blizzyblitz @puppyminnnie @v4mp1r3b4tzz @irohasmp3 @mayyhaps @yowaidiot

want to be tagged in future posts? join my taglist ♡

©4ckrmn — like/reblog .

levi went still the moment your lips touched his temple.

you hadn’t planned it. the two of you were just sitting on the couch in his quarters after a long day of training, the oil lamp casting a low golden light across the room. he was reading some report with that usual sharp focus, one boot planted on the floor, the other leg bent.

you had shifted closer without thinking, drawn by the quiet of him, and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss right against the soft skin of his temple.

then another, higher, to his forehead.

his entire body locked up.

the papers in his hand didn’t rustle. his breathing didn’t change. but every muscle from his shoulders down went rigid, like he’d just heard a blade leave its sheath.

“tch, what are you doing.”

it wasn’t a question. the words came out low and flat, that quiet command he used when he wanted answers and didn’t care how they arrived.

you smiled against his skin and kissed him again, slower this time, lingering just long enough to feel the faint warmth of him.

“kissing you.”

levi’s eyes cut sideways. sharp. unreadable. the kind of look that used to make new recruits forget how to speak. you only tilted your head and brushed your nose lightly against his hairline before pressing another soft kiss to the same spot.

he didn’t pull away.

that was the strange part. levi ackerman, who kept people at arm’s length like it was a tactical necessity, who flinched at unexpected contact more often than he ever admitted, simply sat there. still as stone. the report had gone forgotten in his hand.

you kept going. small, unhurried kisses along his temple, the corner of his forehead, the place where his dark hair met skin. you felt the tension in him shift—not leave, but change shape. his free hand flexed once against his thigh, fingers curling in.

“you’re too damn touchy,” he muttered after a while. the words lacked their usual edge.

“i know.”

“i didn’t say you could—”

“you didn’t say i couldn’t either.”

levi exhaled through his nose. almost a scoff. almost. his eyes closed for half a second, and when they opened again the sharp focus had softened into something quieter. something private.

you had learned the language of him over the months. the way he never initiated contact but never truly stopped you once you started. the way his shoulders dropped a fraction when you rested your head against him. the way he would go completely still whenever your lips found his forehead or temple, as if the world had narrowed down to that single point of warmth.

he would never say he liked it.

but he never moved away.

eventually you settled against his side, one arm loosely around his waist, still occasionally pressing soft kisses to his temple whenever the silence felt too long. levi resumed reading after a while, though you noticed he turned the pages slower than usual. his free hand had found its way to your knee at some point, resting there like it belonged.

later, when the lamp had burned lower and the report had been set aside, the two of you stayed where you were. the room was quiet enough that you could hear the distant sounds of the night shift changing outside. levi’s breathing had evened out. his head had tipped the slightest bit toward yours.

you kissed his forehead one more time, slower than the rest.

his hand slid up from your knee, fingers brushing over your wrist, then higher, until they settled lightly in your hair. he didn’t look at you. his voice, when it came, was barely more than a breath against the side of your head.

“do that again.”

you froze for a second, heart stuttering, then smiled into the dark and pressed another kiss to the same place. softer. longer.

levi’s fingers tightened faintly in your hair. he didn’t say anything else. didn’t explain. didn’t take the words back.

but when you eventually shifted to look at him, you caught the faintest flush high on his cheekbones in the low light—and the way his eyes lingered on your mouth for a fraction of a second too long before he looked away.

he would never admit it in the daylight.

but that night, and many nights after,

whenever your lips found his temple or the soft skin of his forehead, levi’s hand would find yours and stay there. quiet. steady. like he’d been waiting for it all along.

taglist ✮⋆˙

@noctemys @fiannee @444anya @slaytherinthoughts @levisbrat25 @gloomyveil @blizzyblitz @puppyminnnie @v4mp1r3b4tzz @irohasmp3 @mayyhaps @yowaidiot

want to be tagged in future posts? join my taglist ♡

©4ckrmn — like/reblog .

user 1: she’s too old for this now.

user 2: voice cracked the whole live, embarrassing.

user 3: time to graduate, dragging the group down.

user 4: overhyped and washed up.

you didn’t even bother turning on the bright hallway light. you just slipped off your shoes, left your practice bag slumped against the wall, and walked straight toward the living room like muscle memory alone was carrying you.

levi was on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, a book open in his lap and a mug of black tea steaming gently on the side table. the moment his steel gray eyes lifted and met yours, his expression shifted. the slight scowl softened into something sharper—concern.

“tch. look at you.”

that was all it took. the dam you’d been reinforcing since the afternoon cracked wide open. a broken sound tore from your throat as you crossed the last few steps, and levi was already moving, book forgotten, arms opening just in time for you to collapse against him.

you buried your face in the crook of his neck, fingers fisting desperately into the back of his shirt. the first sob was harsh, almost violent, shaking your whole body. then they came faster—ugly, wet, exhausted cries that you’d been swallowing for hours.

levi didn’t flinch. he wrapped one arm tightly around your waist, the other sliding up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading carefully through your slightly sweaty hair. he smelled like clean laundry, faint tea, and that familiar subtle cologne he only wore when he knew you were coming home. solid. safe.

“they hate me, levi…” you choked out, voice muffled against his shoulder. “the comments—there were thousands. they said i’m finished. that my dancing looked sloppy today, that my voice is getting worse, that i should just… disappear. some of them were fans who used to say they loved me. i tried so hard at practice but i kept thinking about it and i—i messed up the formation twice and the instructor looked disappointed and—”

“oi. breathe.” his voice was low, steady, cutting through the spiral without raising. he rubbed slow, firm circles between your shoulder blades. “you’re spiraling. stop letting those worthless shits rent space in your head.”

you cried harder, the kind of crying that made your ribs hurt. levi simply held you tighter, shifting so he could pull you fully into his lap on the couch. your knees bracketed his hips as you curled into him like you could disappear inside his chest. he let you. one hand kept stroking your back while the other gently tilted your head so he could press a lingering kiss to your temple, then another to your damp cheekbone.

“you trained ten straight hours today,” he murmured against your skin. “i saw the clips the company posted. you were sharp. tired, yeah, but still sharp. those bastards don’t see the bruises on your feet or the way you keep going even when your throat feels like sandpaper. they just type garbage from their dark little rooms because it makes their empty lives feel bigger.”

a shaky breath rattled out of you. “but what if they’re right…? what if i am getting worse? the comeback is so soon and if i drag everyone down—”

levi clicked his tongue sharply, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. his gaze was intense, almost fierce but the thumb brushing tears from your cheek was impossibly gentle.

“bullshit.” the word was blunt, but his tone wasn’t. “you’re the one who practices until your muscles scream. you’re the one who stays behind to perfect the parts no one else notices. i’ve watched you. you don’t half ass anything. if some keyboard warriors think they can define you after watching a three minute clip, they can choke on it and if they come near you in real life?” his eyes darkened. “they won’t be typing for a while.”

you let out a watery laugh that turned into another sob. levi sighed softly — almost fondly and tugged you back against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. he rocked you ever so slightly, the motion soothing and rhythmic.

for a long while, the only sounds were your slowing cries and the quiet tick of the wall clock. levi didn’t rush you. he never did. when your breathing finally evened out into hiccuping little sighs, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“you’re allowed to be tired, brat. you’re allowed to come home and fall apart. that’s why i’m here. not to fix everything with pretty words, but to remind you that you’re still the same idiot who keeps fighting even when the world tells her to quit. and i respect the hell out of that.”

your fingers loosened their death grip on his shirt, smoothing the fabric you’d wrinkled instead. “i’m getting your shirt all wet…”

“tch. like i give a damn about a shirt.” he shifted, reaching over to grab the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draping it around your shoulders. “stay here. i’ll make you tea. proper one, not that sugary crap you pretend to like.”

you shook your head, clinging tighter. “five more minutes. please.”

levi exhaled through his nose but didn’t move. Instead, he adjusted you more comfortably in his lap, legs stretched out along the couch so you could lie fully against him. his hand resumed its slow path through your hair, occasionally massaging your scalp in a way that made your eyes flutter.

eventually, when your tears had dried and only exhaustion remained, he carried you—effortlessly to the bathroom. he ran a warm bath without being asked, adding the lavender soak you liked even though he always called it “smelly flower water.” while the tub filled, he helped you out of your practice clothes, movements clinical but careful, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder when you shivered.

later, wrapped in his oversized hoodie and sipping the tea he’d made, you sat between his legs on the couch again, back to his chest. a half watched documentary played on low volume. levi’s arms were looped around your waist, chin resting on your head.

“tomorrow,” he said quietly, “you wake up, eat a proper breakfast—not that protein bar garbage and go back to that practice room like the professional you are. you don’t owe those cowards anything. you owe it to yourself to keep going. and when it gets heavy again…” he squeezed you once. “you come straight home to me.”

you turned your head, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw. “thank you, levi. i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

he made a small dismissive sound, but you felt the way his heartbeat quickened against your back.

“yeah, yeah. just don’t cry on my other good shirts.”

you smiled for the first time all evening, already half asleep in his arms. for the first time in hours, the comments felt a little further away like static in another room. levi was here, solid and steady, holding every fragile piece of you together until you were strong enough to carry them again.

taglist ✮⋆˙

@noctemys @fiannee @444anya @slaytherinthoughts @levisbrat25 @gloomyveil @blizzyblitz @puppyminnnie @v4mp1r3b4tzz @irohasmp3 @mayyhaps @augwitz @yowaidiott

want to be tagged in future posts? join my taglist ♡

©4ckrmn — like/reblog .

the headache hit the second your eyes opened.

it wasn’t the usual post exhaustion ache. this felt like someone had pried open a door in your skull and forgotten to close it. you sat up in your narrow bunk, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, and that was when the voices started.

damn boots still aren’t polished right…

if i have to run laps again today i’m going to throw myself off the wall.

wonder if she’s awake yet…

dozens of thoughts crashed into your mind at once—some loud, some quiet, some bored, some anxious. you gasped, eyes wide. telepathy. somehow, overnight, you could hear what everyone around you was thinking. the survey corps headquarters had never felt so loud.

you dressed on autopilot, heart hammering, and tried to focus on building some kind of mental wall. it helped a little. by the time you reached the mess hall, the roar had dulled to a constant murmur. until you saw him.

captain levi sat at his usual corner table, back straight, cup of tea cradled in his hands like it was sacred. his expression was the same blank mask he always wore around you. you tried to slip past, but—

“oi. sit.”

his voice was flat. you obeyed, sliding onto the bench across from him with your tray of lukewarm porridge and stale bread.

“you look like shit,” he said, not even looking up from his tea. “eyes are puffy. didn’t sleep? try not to collapse during training. i don’t need dead weight slowing my squad down.”

your spoon froze halfway to your mouth.

she still looks beautiful. how is that fair? those tired eyes make me want to pull her into my lap and let her sleep against my chest. fuck. stop. she already thinks i’m an asshole.

you nearly dropped your spoon. heat flooded your face.

levi’s gaze flicked up. “what? something on my face, brat?”

“n-no,” you managed, quickly shoving porridge into your mouth.

all this time you had assumed Levi merely tolerated you. his sharp tongue, the constant criticism, the way he always seemed extra irritated when you were around—you thought he disliked you. maybe even resented you for taking up space in his squad.

but the thoughts flowing from him were impossibly soft.

she’s nervous again. cute. i should’ve saved her the softer bread roll instead of giving it to the new recruits. idiot. why can’t i just say something nice for once?

you spent the rest of breakfast stealing glances at him, fighting the smile threatening to break across your face.

training was even worse. or better. you couldn’t decide.

“fix your damn stance,” levi snapped, circling you with his arms crossed. “you’re swinging like a drunk civilian. again.”

look at her. form’s already improved so much. she’s getting stronger every week. makes my chest feel tight. want to tell her she’s doing well. want to put my hands on her waist and adjust her posture myself.

you stumbled mid swing. levi clicked his tongue.

“tch. pay attention.” he stepped closer, gripping your elbow to correct your arm. his touch was firm but careful. “if you die out there because you can’t focus, i’ll drag your corpse back and kick your ass.”

i’d burn the world down before i let anything happen to her.

your heart fluttered so hard you thought it might fly out of your chest. “yes, captain.”

he released you, but not before his fingers lingered half a second longer than necessary.

later, during hand to hand drills, he paired you with him. you ended up on your back in the dirt, levi’s knee pinning your shoulder.

“too slow,” he muttered, but his eyes were gentle. almost worried. “get up. again.”

she’s flushed. looks good like this. under me. shit—stop. focus, ackerman.

you bit your lip to keep from grinning. When he offered you a hand up, you took it. his grip was warm and steady.

after training, you were covered in sweat and dust. levi tossed a clean handkerchief at your face without warning.

“clean yourself up. you’re disgusting.”

her hands are too soft for this life. i want to wipe her face for her. i want to take her somewhere quiet and wash the dirt off myself. pathetic old man.

you pressed the handkerchief to your cheeks, hiding your smile in the fabric that smelled faintly of his soap—clean, sharp, comforting.

by late afternoon you were emotionally exhausted in the best way. every harsh word from levi was now wrapped in layers of affection in your mind. you followed him when he retreated to his office, pretending you had reports to deliver.

he was already wiping down his desk even though it gleamed. levi didn’t glance up when you entered.

“you’re still here? go rest. that’s an order.”

please don’t go. stay. the room feels warmer when you’re in it. i like the way you look at my bookshelves like you want to read every title. i like the way you say my name.

you closed the door behind you. levi finally looked up, one eyebrow raised.

“something wrong?”

you walked closer, heart pounding. “captain... you don’t actually hate me, do you?”

he scoffed, turning back to his rag. “don’t be stupid. if i hated you, you’d be scrubbing toilets with the new recruits.”

hate you? i’m so fucking in love with you it’s embarrassing. i count the days until i see you in the mess hall. i keep your gear in perfect condition because i can’t stand the thought of anything failing you. i replay your laugh in my head when it’s quiet.

you stepped around the desk until you were right beside him. gently, you placed your hand over his, stopping the endless cleaning.

“levi,” you whispered. “i can hear you.”

silence.

his entire body went still. those sharp gray eyes snapped to yours, wider than you’d ever seen them.

“what did you just say?”

“everything,” you said softly, smiling. “how you think i’m beautiful even when i look like crap. how you saved the soft bread for me this morning. how you wanted to adjust my stance by holding my waist. how you want to kiss me. how you… like me. a lot.”

levi stared at you for a long moment. a faint flush crept up the back of his neck—the tiniest, most precious crack in his armor.

“brat,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. his hand turned beneath yours, calloused fingers threading carefully through your own like he was afraid you might vanish. “you’re a real pain in the ass for telling me like this.”

she knows. she’s still here. she’s smiling at me. don’t fuck this up.

you laughed quietly and leaned your forehead against his. he was shorter than you, but the way he tilted his head up to meet you felt perfect.

“i like you too,” you confessed. “i’ve liked you for a long time. i thought you couldn’t stand me… but hearing the truth? It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

levi exhaled shakily. one of his hands came up to cup the back of your neck, thumb brushing your skin with surprising tenderness.

“should’ve said something sooner,” he admitted, voice low. “but I’m shit with words. always have been.” he paused, then added, almost shyly, “you’re important. to me. don’t… don’t go getting yourself killed out there. i need you to come back.”

the words were still a little gruff, but now you could hear the full, beautiful truth behind them.

you pulled back just enough to look at him. “then i’ll keep coming back. every time.”

for a moment he just looked at you, eyes soft in a way no one else ever got to see. then he tugged you down gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead—slow, deliberate, and full of all the things he still struggled to say out loud.

“stay here tonight,” he murmured against your skin. “not for any weird shit. just… stay. i’ll make tea. we can sit quietly. i like quiet with you.”

you smiled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “i’d like that.”

levi held you a little tighter, his thoughts wrapping around you like a warm blanket:

finally. she’s mine. i’m hers. and i’m never letting her go.

outside, the headquarters continued its usual chaos, but inside levi’s office, the world felt perfectly still. just the two of you—his sharp words, his soft heart, and the new, wonderful understanding blooming between you.

taglist ✮⋆˙

@noctemys @fiannee @444anya @slaytherinthoughts @levisbrat25 @gloomyveil @blizzyblitz @puppyminnnie @v4mp1r3b4tzz @irohasmp3 @mayyhaps

want to be tagged in future posts? join my taglist ♡

©4ckrmn — like/reblog .

the sun hung low over the hills outside the city, painting the fields in soft golds and oranges that levi ackerman had never thought he’d live long enough to see. he sat on the porch of the small house they’d given him — more like a cottage, his wheelchair creaking faintly as he shifted. the teacup in his hand had gone cold ten minutes ago. he didn’t care.

he still waited.

every evening, like clockwork, some stupid part of his brain expected the familiar sound of your boots on the wooden steps. the quiet “tch, you’re staring again, captain” that always came with that half smirk of yours. the way you’d drop down beside him without asking, shoulder brushing his, smelling faintly of gunpowder and soap no matter how many years had passed since the last expedition.

but you never came.

because you were dead.

that was the fact he repeated to himself like a mantra. he’d seen it. or close enough. the final chaos of the rumbling, the sky tearing itself apart, titans crumbling into bone and dust. you’d been assigned to the eastern flank with the remaining scouts — trying to buy time for the others. when the dust settled and the reports came in, your squad was listed as KIA. no body recovered. too many had been vaporized or buried under the collapsing walls of the world.

levi had read the list once. then burned it.

he hadn’t cried. not then. not in front of anyone. he’d simply wheeled himself away from the makeshift command tent and stared at the horizon until his remaining eye burned. you idiot, he’d thought. i told you not to play hero.

months had passed. the world tried to rebuild. he tried to exist in it.

some days were better. onyankopon visited often, bringing absurd contraptions and worse jokes. gabi and falco stopped by like noisy puppies, arguing over who got to push his chair when the ground was uneven.

but nights were brutal.

he would wake up reaching for the empty side of the bed, phantom pain shooting through his missing fingers, his body remembering the weight of you curled against him. the rare nights you’d both let the walls down completely. your voice in the dark, soft and stubborn:

“i’m not leaving you, levi. not even if the whole damn world ends.”

you were alive.

hundreds of kilometers away, in a quiet coastal village on the mainland that had once been part of marley’s outer territories, you limped down the dirt path toward the small clinic you helped run. your left leg still ached when it rained—souvenir from shrapnel and a collapsed building but you were breathing. walking. helping the locals treat the endless stream of refugees and wounded.

you’d been separated from your squad in the madness. dragged half dead from the rubble by a group of marleyan defectors who’d chosen survival over loyalty. they’d smuggled you across the sea with other survivors. communication with paradis had been cut off for months afterward. by the time letters could be sent, rumors had already solidified into facts.

captain levi ackerman had been told you were dead.

you’d written him anyway. three letters. each one returned unopened, marked undeliverable — recipient deceased or simply lost in the chaos of new postal systems. the last one you’d clutched in your hands until the ink smeared, then tucked it into the bottom of your bag like a wound that refused to close.

levi was in the market square when it happened.

he rarely went himself, usually sent one of the kids but today the walls had felt too close. he needed air. needed to remind himself the world was still turning even if you weren’t in it.

falco pushed the chair while gabi argued with him about bread prices. levi tuned them out, single eye scanning the crowd out of old habit.

then he saw you.

you were standing at a stall across the square, bargaining for bandages and herbs, your hair longer than he remembered, a scar he didn’t recognize cutting across your cheek. you looked… alive. tired. real.

his heart slammed against his ribs so hard he thought it might crack what was left of him.

“stop,” he said, voice low.

falco halted. “levi?”

levi’s hand gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. you turned slightly, profile catching the sunlight, and he felt the ground tilt.

it couldn’t be.

he’d buried you. In his mind, a thousand times.

he’d carried that weight like the stump of his leg—phantom and permanent.

you looked up. your eyes met his.

the world went silent.

you dropped the bundle of herbs. they scattered across the dirt like forgotten bones.

“levi…?”

your voice cracked on his name. you took one step, then another, limping faster, ignoring the stares. he couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. just watched you come closer like some ghost that had finally decided to haunt him in daylight.

when you reached him, you fell to your knees right there in the dirt, hands shaking as they hovered near his, afraid to touch and discover he wasn’t real.

“i thought–” your voice broke. “they said you died. they reports…everyone said—”

levi’s throat worked. he reached out, slow, and cupped your scarred cheek with his remaining fingers. warm. alive. the calluses were the same.

“you fucking idiot,” he whispered. the words came out rough, almost angry, but his eye was wet. “i thought you were gone.”

a sob tore out of you. you pressed your forehead to his knee, shoulders shaking. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry i was late.”

falco and gabi stood frozen a respectful distance away, eyes wide.

levi leaned forward as much as his broken body allowed, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

he breathed you in — soap, herbs, and the faint metallic tang of old blood that never quite washed out. the same.

“you’re here,” he said against your hair. it wasn’t a question. it was a fact he was still trying to believe.

you nodded, clinging to him like he might vanish. “i’m here and I’m not leaving again. not ever.”

for the first time since the war ended, levi ackerman let himself believe in something after the end of the world.

taglist ✮⋆˙

@noctemys @fiannee @444anya @slaytherinthoughts @levisbrat25 @gloomyveil @blizzyblitz @puppyminnnie @v4mp1r3b4tzz @irohasmp3 @mayyhaps

want to be tagged in future posts? join my taglist ♡