ᝰ.ᐟ without you⇢levi ackerman
-being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage
lao tzu
synopsis: a stern and rude captain commands with sharp words and colder pride, while a shy, timid cadet watches him from the margins—quiet, sweet, and unsure of her own worth. what begins as fear and distance slowly shifts as love grows in unlikely spaces, softening his edges and giving her a quiet courage neither expected.
content: f!reader, fluff, comfort, hurt, angst, jealousy, violence, blood, hurt, sad, funny, crying, death of someone close to you, slow burn, romance, confessions and so on
a/n: the plot may or may not follow the anime/manga. i just got random urge to write the while re-watching aot so decided. if you have any suggestions or recommendations feel free to dm me. also if there are any mistakes or or things you would like me to add, reach out to me.
The morning sunlight filters through the gaps in the barracks roof, illuminating the courtyard in patches. The air smells faintly of wood, dirt, and metal, and the soft rustle of leaves drifts in from the surrounding trees. You step lightly on the gravel, hands tucked close to your sides, and take a slow, steadying breath.
Your first task is simple: sweep the main courtyard. The broom feels light in your hands, and the repetitive motion soothes you. Around you, the squad is already busy. Some are lifting crates, some are wiping down harnesses, others are tending to small chores like brushing dust off the stone walls or trimming the weeds along the fence. The yard hums with quiet, purposeful activity, and you feel yourself fitting naturally into the rhythm.
From the corner of your eye, you notice Levi, crouched low by a stack of crates. His sleeves are rolled neatly, and his hands move with precise efficiency as he wipes grime off a stubborn stain. Every movement is exact, deliberate, almost surgical. Even from across the yard, you can tell he’s satisfied only when the edge of the crate gleams cleanly. He doesn’t speak yet; he just works, silent and exacting.
You bend to sweep a patch of dirt near the edge of the yard. As your eyes move upward, you catch a glimpse of Eren crouched over a set of harnesses, furrowing his brow as he fumbles slightly with a strap. You offer him a faint, easy smile—not demanding attention, not intrusive. He freezes for a fraction of a second, startled, then shakes it off, returning to the task at hand. Something in your calm, gentle presence seems to ripple through the tension in his shoulders.
Nearby, Sasha tugs at a stubborn weed, muttering under her breath. She glances at you briefly as your sweeping passes within her peripheral vision. You smile softly, a quiet, unforced gesture. Her hands ease a little, the strain on her shoulders lessening, though she doesn’t notice it consciously.
The quiet rhythm continues. Petra crouches near a pile of harnesses, brushing dust from straps. She pauses as you straighten a crate nearby, glancing up briefly, fingers faltering. You tilt your head gently, acknowledging her presence with just a smile. She exhales softly and returns to her work.
Levi finally speaks, his voice low and precise, cutting through the hum of tasks without disturbing it.
“Make sure that broom is at a proper angle. You’re missing some corners,” he says, not looking at you directly. His tone is matter-of-fact, almost detached. You adjust your grip slightly, sweeping a little closer to the wall.
He glances over at Petra as she checks a stack of harnesses. “Those straps aren’t aligned.” He crouches briefly to straighten one himself. The motion is quick, efficient, and exact. He mutters something under his breath, almost to himself: “Better.”
You move along, brushing dust from another crate, hands steady. You notice Oluo hammering a loose nail, muttering impatiently. Levi walks past him, lifting a crate slightly to adjust its alignment. “Careful with that edge,” he says quietly, then moves on. His words are sparse, minimal—but precise. The energy in the yard subtly shifts; even the most tense cadets straighten unconsciously.
Eld carries a stack of supplies, glancing at Levi briefly as he sets it down carefully. Levi does not comment. He simply watches for a second, eyes scanning the work, then turns to another corner, sweeping debris into a neat pile himself. Every motion meticulous. You pause briefly to watch him, noticing how even his small gestures command attention without demand.
A soft laugh drifts from Connie, who is adjusting his boots near a wall. Sasha whispers something in response, and the sound, low and easy, blends naturally into the rhythm of work. You glance at them briefly, smiling faintly to yourself. Their quiet humor threads through the yard without disrupting anything.
Levi picks up a small brush and begins to clean the metal straps on a crate, muttering dryly, “Some of you couldn’t keep a stable floor clean if it bit you.” His words are cutting, yet measured—more observation than reprimand. You suppress a quiet smile at the subtle humor in his tone, recognizing the dry edge of his personality shining through.
You bend down to clear a patch of weeds by the fence, the sun warming your back. Armin is nearby, sitting on a low step, rechecking a list of supplies. His pencil hovers mid-air as he glances up at you, eyebrows knitting slightly. There’s a flicker in his chest—something like reassurance—at the calm, gentle presence you carry. You offer him a faint nod, returning to your work.
The morning stretches on. Tasks continue. Crates are stacked neatly, harnesses aligned, dust brushed from every corner. Hange darts through intermittently, stopping to check notes, muttering to themselves about measurements. Petra wipes sweat from her brow, Oluo taps his foot impatiently, Eld shifts supplies, Jean mutters under his breath, and Sasha hums quietly while picking weeds. Conversations drift in small bursts, laughter ripples occasionally, and the yard feels alive without chaos.
Levi remains present, moving methodically from one task to another, cleaning, adjusting, and occasionally speaking.
“Eren, that strap isn’t tight enough,” he says quietly. Eren stiffens, adjusts it quickly, and Levi moves on without another word.
He kneels briefly by a crate, wiping it down until it gleams, then straightens, observing the yard silently. You notice him finally glance at you—not intrusive, just scanning. His sharp, measured gaze seems to take in the way you move: calm, gentle, intentional, and entirely unassuming.
The sun climbs higher. Cadets murmur, chuckle quietly, and carry on with their tasks. The rhythm is slow, natural, immersive. You continue working—sweeping, dusting, adjusting—with steady, deliberate care. Occasionally, a faint smile crosses your lips at some small gesture, a fleeting joke among the cadets, or a soft glance exchanged.
Levi wipes a smear off the edge of a crate, muttering, “Pathetic how long it takes some people to see dust,” then steps back, arms crossed. He surveys the courtyard for a moment before moving on to another task, methodical and precise. His presence is keen, quiet, but noticeable.
By the time the morning ends, the courtyard is orderly, the air lighter. Cadets continue finishing small chores, adjusting equipment, straightening straps. Conversations are intermittent and natural—Sasha whispers something to Connie about lunch, Petra checks a strap quietly with Oluo, Hange mutters to themselves about their notes. You continue your tasks, your calm presence quietly threading through the group, unnoticed but effective.
Levi finally leans against a crate, arms crossed, watching briefly. “Not bad,” he says, voice low and clipped. Not praise, not scolding. Just acknowledgment. You glance in his direction, smile faintly, and continue. That’s enough.
You pause for a moment, leaning against the low fence, breathing slowly, shoulders relaxed. The first day has passed without dramatic events. No one sought attention. No one was humiliated. Yet, through the rhythm of work, the intermittent conversations, and subtle observation, you’ve already made your mark.
And Levi Ackerman has noticed.
The broom makes a soft, rhythmic sound against the stone, bristles whispering as you guide it along the edge of the courtyard. Dust lifts briefly into the air before settling again, caught in thin beams of sunlight. Your shoulders loosen as you fall into the motion, steady and unhurried.
A few steps away, Jean is struggling with a crate that refuses to sit flat. He presses down on one corner, then another, scowling like the wood is personally offending him.
“This thing’s warped,” he mutters.
From somewhere behind him, Oluo snorts. “Or you just don’t know how to stack properly.”
Jean straightens, bristling. “I know how to stack. I’ve been stacking since—”
“Since you were bad at it,” Oluo cuts in dryly, tapping the crate with his boot. “Try turning it.”
Jean exhales sharply but does as told. The crate settles with a dull thud. He pauses, then clicks his tongue. “Tch. Fine.”
You glance over without thinking, a faint smile tugging at your lips. Not amused exactly, just… warmed by the ordinariness of it. Jean notices the expression out of the corner of his eye and looks away quickly, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s been caught doing something embarrassing.
Nearby, Petra is kneeling on the ground, sorting metal fasteners into small piles. Her movements are neat, practiced. You drift closer as your sweeping brings you past her, and for a moment neither of you speak. The quiet isn’t awkward. It just exists.
After a bit, she looks up and says softly, “You don’t rush.”
You pause, considering the words. “I don’t like making mistakes,” you reply gently, then resume sweeping.
Petra hums, thoughtful. “That’s… probably smart.”
Across the yard, Sasha is sitting cross-legged near the fence, tugging weeds out by their roots. She wipes dirt onto her trousers, then freezes suddenly.
“Hey,” she whispers urgently to Connie, who’s crouched nearby cleaning mud from his boots. “Do you think weeds are edible if you cook them enough?”
Connie stares at her. “Why would you—”
“I’m just asking,” she says defensively. “Hypothetically.”
Connie squints at the weed in her hand. “That looks like it’d kill you.”
Sasha sighs, disappointed, and tosses it aside. “Waste.”
You hear it and smile to yourself, sweeping another small pile into the dustpan. The sound of soft laughter slips out of Connie before he catches himself.
At the far end of the courtyard, Levi is kneeling with a cloth and bucket, scrubbing a stain from the stone near the steps. His movements are sharp and efficient, jaw set in concentration. He wrings out the cloth once, twice, then presses it back down, scrubbing until the discoloration fades.
Hange wanders past, glancing down. “You know it’ll just get dirty again, right?”
Levi doesn’t look up. “Then it’ll get cleaned again.”
Hange grins. “Consistent.”
He flicks them a look. “Annoying.”
They laugh and move on, flipping through a stack of papers as they walk.
You switch tools, setting the broom aside to help stack a few smaller crates near the wall. Eld is already there, carefully aligning the edges. He pauses when you step beside him, then shifts slightly to give you space.
“Watch your fingers,” he says, not sharply. Just cautious.
You nod and lift the crate with him. It’s heavier than it looks, but manageable. The wood scrapes softly as it slides into place.
“Thanks,” he says after a moment.
You glance at him, surprised. “For what?”
“For not dropping it,” he says, then gives a small, almost sheepish smile. “Some people rush.”
You smile back, easy and genuine, then step away once the stack is done.
The morning continues like that. Not one long moment, but many small ones stitched together. The sound of metal clinking as Eren tightens a buckle. The scrape of boots on stone. The faint breeze stirring the leaves overhead.
Eren pauses, wiping sweat from his brow, and looks around the yard. His gaze passes over you briefly. You’re crouched near the steps now, wiping dust from the railing with slow, careful strokes. Something in his chest eases, though he doesn’t quite know why.
“You think we’ll be doing this all day?” he asks no one in particular.
Jean shrugs. “Better than drills.”
“Barely,” Eren mutters, but he goes back to work anyway.
Levi stands and dumps the dirty water from his bucket, then refills it at the pump. As he straightens, his eyes sweep the courtyard. Not hunting for mistakes. Just… assessing.
“You,” he says, voice low, directed at you.
You look up immediately, attentive but not tense.
“Take a break in five minutes,” he continues. “You’ve been working since you arrived.”
You blink, a little surprised. “Yes, sir.”
He pauses, then adds, “And don’t over-polish that railing. You’ll wear it down.”
A faint smile curves your lips. “Understood.”
He nods once and moves on, returning to wiping down a bench near the wall.
When the brief rest comes, people scatter naturally. Jean sits on the steps, stretching his legs. Connie flops beside him. Sasha produces something wrapped in cloth and starts chewing happily.
Petra leans against the wall, sipping water. Eld sits nearby, silent but relaxed. Hange perches on a crate, scribbling notes.
You sit on the edge of the courtyard, hands folded loosely in your lap, breathing in the warm air. No one crowds you. No one ignores you either. It feels… balanced.
Jean glances over at you after a while. “You’re quiet,” he says, not accusingly.
You tilt your head. “Is that bad?”
He considers. “No. Just… different.”
You smile softly. “I listen more than I speak.”
Jean huffs a quiet laugh. “Probably smart.”
Levi watches the group from where he’s cleaning, expression unreadable. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than the rest. Not because you demand attention. But because you don’t.
The break ends. People stand, stretch, return to their tasks. The day moves on, slow and steady, grounded in small conversations, shared work, and quiet understanding.
And without anyone realizing exactly when it happened, you’re no longer just “the new one.”
The sun has shifted by the time the courtyard starts to thin.
The light is warmer now, lower, stretching shadows across the stone in long, slanted lines. The air smells faintly of soap and metal, of work recently finished. Crates are stacked. Harnesses hang neatly. The harsh edge of the morning has softened into something calmer, looser.
People don’t stop all at once. They peel away in small increments.
Jean heads inside first, rolling his shoulders, muttering something about sore arms. Connie follows him, still arguing quietly with Sasha about whether dinner will include meat. Eld lingers to double-check a stack of supplies before finally nodding to himself and leaving. Petra wipes her hands on a cloth and sets it carefully aside, pausing a moment as she looks back at the yard, then goes.
You stay a little longer.
You’re wiping down a bench near the wall, movements slow and unhurried. The wood is smooth beneath your palm, worn down by years of use. You like finishing things properly. It gives your hands something solid to do when your thoughts start drifting too far.
A presence settles nearby. Not loud. Not abrupt.
You look up and find Mikasa standing a few steps away.
She’s holding a folded cloth, dark hair pulled back neatly, posture straight even at rest. She’s been there long enough that you realize she didn’t just arrive. She was waiting for the moment to speak without interrupting.
“Captain said the benches should be wiped twice,” she says, voice calm and even.
You nod immediately. “I was about to do another pass.”
Her eyes flick briefly to the bench you’re cleaning, then to your hands. There’s a quiet assessment there. Not judgment. Just observation.
She kneels at the opposite end of the bench and starts wiping in steady, efficient strokes. You fall into the rhythm beside her without needing to adjust. For a while, neither of you speaks. The silence feels… comfortable. Like shared understanding rather than emptiness.
From across the yard, Levi is scrubbing the stone steps again. He pauses, glances over briefly, then returns to his work without comment.
After a moment, Mikasa speaks again.
“You don’t hesitate,” she adds.
You glance at her, a little curious. “About what?”
“Work,” she says simply. “People hesitate when they want to be seen doing it right.”
You think about that. “I just… like cleaning,” you say softly. “It helps me think.”
She considers your words, dark eyes steady. “That makes sense.”
The bench is finished. You both stand at the same time.
Nearby, Eren jogs past, carrying a bundle of cloth toward the barracks. He slows when he sees Mikasa.
“You’re still cleaning?” he asks, exasperated. “It’s basically done.”
Mikasa looks at him flatly. “You missed dust under the railing.”
He opens his mouth, then shuts it, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll get it.”
He grabs a cloth and ducks back toward the railing, muttering to himself. You hide a smile by lowering your gaze. Mikasa notices the slight curve of your lips.
Her expression doesn’t change much, but something in her eyes softens.
As the light fades, the yard empties almost completely. Only a few people remain, finishing small tasks they don’t want to leave undone. The sounds shift. Less clatter. More footsteps. Quiet conversation drifting from inside the barracks.
You gather the cleaning cloths and head toward the wash basin. Mikasa follows, rinsing hers carefully, wringing it out with practiced strength.
“You don’t talk much,” she says after a while.
You smile faintly. “I talk when I need to.”
She nods once. “That’s good.”
There’s a pause. Then, more quietly, “People listen more when words are rare.”
You dry your hands, the fabric rough but grounding. “You’re good at watching people,” you say, not accusing, just observant.
Mikasa meets your gaze. “I have to be.”
Something unspoken passes between you. Not shared trauma. Not yet. Just recognition of vigilance. Of quiet strength.
Inside the barracks, the atmosphere is different.
The sharp smell of soap mixes with the warmth of cooked food. Boots are lined near the wall. Jackets are hung carefully. People move slower now, fatigue settling into their limbs.
Sasha is already seated at a table, chewing enthusiastically. Connie leans back in his chair, complaining about how long the day felt. Jean rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.
You take a seat near the end of the table, hands folded loosely in your lap. Mikasa sits across from you, posture straight even as she eats.
He doesn’t announce himself. He never does. The room simply… adjusts.
He sets his cloth aside, washes his hands thoroughly, then takes his place, movements precise. His gaze flicks briefly over the squad, then lands on you for a fraction of a second.
It’s not praise. Not criticism. Just fact.
You nod. “Thank you, sir.”
He grunts and begins eating, already focused elsewhere.
Conversation resumes around you in low waves. Sasha complains about portions. Connie jokes about drills. Jean argues half-heartedly. Hange interrupts with some strange observation no one fully understands.
You eat quietly, content to listen. Mikasa eats with measured focus, occasionally glancing toward Eren when he speaks, then back to her plate.
The day settles into your bones.
Not with exhaustion alone, but with something steadier. A sense of having been placed somewhere. Not spotlighted. Not lost. Just… integrated.
When night finally comes, lanterns lit and voices softened, you step outside for a moment of air. The sky is deep blue now, stars just beginning to emerge.
Mikasa joins you without comment.
“It was a long day,” she says.
You nod. “But not a bad one.”
She considers that. “No. Not bad.”
The quiet stretches comfortably between you. Inside, Levi’s voice murmurs briefly. Someone laughs. Life continues.
And for the first time in a while, the night doesn’t feel heavy.
hope you liked it. likes and comments are appreciated
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