#4ckrmn

you swallowed the sting and told yourself he was grieving.

but it got worse.

one night after an expedition that nearly wiped out half the regiment, you found him in the stables, knuckles bloody from punching a wooden post. you reached for his hand. “levi, stop—”

he yanked away like your touch burned him. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing? you think you can fix me? play hero and make me feel less like a walking corpse?” his voice was ice-cold. “stay away from me. i don’t want you near me anymore.”

that one hurt deeper. still, you tried once more.

the breaking point came three weeks later.

rain hammered the roofs of the headquarters. you’d spent all day helping with the burial preparations—too many bodies, too few graves. you found levi alone in the old archive room, staring at a map like it had personally betrayed him. exhaustion and grief made you bold.

“levi… you don’t have to carry this alone. i’m here. i’ve always been here.”

he turned slowly. the look in his eyes was hollow.

“you’re here?” a bitter, ugly laugh escaped him. “how fucking sweet. you think i need your comfort? that your little crush is going to keep the titans from ripping you apart?” he stepped closer, voice dropping into something cruel and precise. “every person who gets close to me ends up dead. my mother. furlan. isabel. everyone. you’re just another idiot who’s going to die because you can’t mind your own damn business. so do us both a favor and fuck off. i don’t want you. i never did. stop embarrassing yourself by chasing after me like a lost puppy.”

the words carved into you. you felt something inside crack clean in half.

you didn’t cry in front of him. you simply stared for one long second, then nodded once.

“alright,” you said, voice barely holding. “i won’t bother you again.”

you walked out without looking back. behind you, you heard the sound of something shattering—maybe a teacup, maybe something worse but you didn’t turn around.

the silence that followed was worse than any titans.

you stopped seeking him out. stopped saving him seats. stopped glancing his way during briefings. when your paths crossed in the corridor, you kept your eyes forward, jaw tight, even as your heart screamed at you to look at him.

at night you lay awake replaying every cruel word. i don’t want you. i never did. you cried until your eyes burned, then wiped your face and told yourself you were done. but you weren’t. you still loved him—fiercely, stupidly. every time you saw him limping back from training, or drinking tea alone on the roof, the ache returned stronger.

levi noticed. of course he did.

he saw the way you avoided him. saw how your laughter, once something he heard across the dining hall had disappeared. he told himself it was better this way. safer. you would live longer without him dragging you into his cursed existence.

but the emptiness gnawed at him too.

then came the mission.

a desperate push into titan territory to secure an old supply cache. levi led the vanguard as always. you were assigned to the rear support squad somewhere far enough that you wouldn’t have to speak to him. far enough that you still heard the screams when the abnormals appeared.

the battle was chaos. you fought until your gas canisters ran dry and your blades were dull. when the call came over the signal flares that captain levi was down, your blood turned to ice.

they brought him back on a stretcher. his right leg was crushed. a deep gash ran across his ribs and shoulder where debris had fallen on him after he took down a 12-meter class to save his squad. he was unconscious, pale as death, blood soaking through the makeshift bandages.

the moment you saw him, all your resolve shattered.

you pushed past the medics. “i’ll handle it.”

“miss, you’re not assigned—”

“i said i’ll handle it.” your voice cracked with authority and barely contained panic. they let you through.

for five straight days you barely left his side.

you cleaned his wounds when they reopened. you held him down when fever made him thrash and mutter names of the dead. you whispered apologies to him when he was unconscious, even though he couldn’t hear you. “i’m sorry i couldn’t stay away… i’m sorry it hurts this much…”

on the sixth night, the rain returned. levi’s fever finally broke. his eyes those sharp, steel grey eyes opened slowly and found you slumped in the chair beside his bed, dark circles under your eyes, hands still holding a cloth you’d been using to cool his forehead.

he stared at you for a long time.

“why?” the word scraped out, raw and weak.

you straightened up, exhausted. “because someone has to keep you alive, even if you hate me for it.”

levi tried to move and winced sharply. pain flashed across his face. for once, he didn’t hide it. “you should’ve left me to rot. after what i said to you…”

you looked away, throat burning. “yeah. maybe i should have.”

silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

“i meant to push you away,” he rasped eventually. his voice was so quiet you had to lean closer. “every time you smiled at me… every time you stayed… i saw the future. i saw you on the ground with your stomach torn open, or your head crushed, because i couldn’t protect you. so i hurt you first. made sure you’d leave.” his fingers twitched on the blanket like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t deserve to. “i didn’t think it would feel this fucking empty.”

tears welled up before you could stop them. you hated yourself for it.

“you broke me, levi,” you whispered, voice trembling. “i stopped sleeping. i stopped eating properly. every time i saw you i wanted to scream and run to you at the same time. i still love you, even though i hate you for what you said. how pathetic is that?”

levi closed his eyes. a rare, pained expression crossed his face—vulnerability he never allowed anyone to see.

“i’m sorry.” the apology sounded like it physically hurt him. “i’m so fucking sorry. i don’t expect you to forgive me. i wouldn’t. but… when i was under that rubble, half-conscious, all i could think was that i might die without ever telling you the truth.”

he opened his eyes again. they were glassy.

“i need you. i’ve needed you for years. and i was too much of a coward to admit it.”

you let out a broken sound half sob, half laugh and covered your face with your hands. all the months of grief poured out of you. levi watched, helpless, bandaged and broken in the bed.

when your shoulders finally stopped shaking, you felt his fingers brush weakly against your wrist. not grabbing. just… there. an offering.

“i know i don’t deserve another chance,” he murmured. “but if you can stand to look at me again… i won’t push you away anymore. i swear it.”

you didn’t answer right away. the hurt still lived inside you, deep and ugly. but so did the love.

you slid your hand into his and held on.

“i’m still angry with you,” you whispered.

“good,” levi said hoarsely. “stay angry. just… don’t leave.”

for the first time since the fight, you stayed.

and levi—bruised, broken, and finally honest—didn’t let go.

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 ©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.

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the order came down from erwin like any other: a temporary reassignment to the 9th squad for a reconnaissance mission near the eastern forests. you were chosen for your scouting skills and steady hand with the flare guns. it was only supposed to be three weeks. maybe four.

you stood in the hallway outside the captain’s quarters, report in hand, trying to find the right words. your pulse hammered in your throat. levi was inside, quill scratching across paper like it owed him money.

you knocked once.

“enter.”

he didn’t look up when you stepped in. the afternoon light cut sharp across his desk, catching on the edge of his teacup. you cleared your throat.

“i’m being reassigned, captain. leaving at dawn tomorrow. 9th squad.”

levi’s pen paused for half a second. then continued.

“understood.”

that was it. no questions. no “be careful.” just the same flat tone he used when someone reported a broken harness. you waited another beat, chest tightening for reasons you refused to name.

“i’ll see you when i get back, then.”

“dismissed.”

you left before the sting could settle fully, but it followed you anyway—sharp, lodged somewhere behind your ribs like a broken blade. you’d spent months convincing yourself that the small things mattered. the extra bread. the brushed fingers. the way his eyes lingered. apparently they didn’t. not enough.

the first week away, you told yourself it was nothing. levi was always like this—efficient, detached, a wall of obsidian in a world of noise.

but reports filtered back.

captain levi had the new recruits running drills until they vomited.

he re-inspected every horse in the stables twice, then again at midnight.

he hadn’t touched his tea in three days. the entire squad walked on eggshells.

hange’s letter arrived via raven, the handwriting messier than usual: “𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒚’𝒔 𝒆𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒚. 𝒔𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒒𝒖𝒂𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅. 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒂𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕? 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅?”

you folded the letter small and kept it in your jacket pocket like a secret, pressing it against your chest at night as if it could warm the growing hollow there. he was hurting. or angry. or both. but not enough to say anything when you stood right in front of him.

the nights were the worst.

under thin canvas, rain pattering against it like mocking fingers, you kept replaying the last few months on loop. levi wordlessly sliding an extra portion of bread onto your tray when you looked exhausted after drills. standing just a little closer during gear checks, fingers brushing yours while “adjusting” straps that were already perfect. the rare, almost imperceptible softening of his steel eyes when you landed a stupid joke that actually pulled a snort out of him.

you had let yourself hope. god, what an idiot you were.

out here, surrounded by soldiers who saw you as nothing but another warm body for the suicide charge, the truth settled heavy and cold: levi didn’t do attachments. he’d lost too much already—his entire world under the ground, then in the mouths of titans. why would you be any different? you were just another soldier who would eventually die screaming.

on the twelfth night, your squad ran into an abnormal cluster. you barely made it to a tree branch before one of them snatched the soldier beside you. his screams echoed for a long time. you fired your flare with shaking hands, tears freezing on your cheeks, and wondered if levi would even flinch if the same thing happened to you.

back at headquarters, levi was unraveling in the only way he knew how through control.

he cleaned his blades until his hands cracked and bled. he drilled the recruits past exhaustion because if they were stronger, maybe no one would need to be reassigned to fill gaps. he avoided the mess hall entirely; your empty seat at the far table felt like an accusation. sleep brought nightmares—your body crushed under a titan’s heel, your eyes wide and betrayed as you reached for him too late.

hange found him in the stables at 2 a.m., furiously brushing down a horse that was already gleaming.

“you know,” hange said quietly, “you could’ve told her something. anything. she looked like you’d punched her in the gut when she left.”

levi’s hand stilled. “tch. and what? wish her a safe trip? hold her hand? tell her i—” he cut himself off, jaw locked so tight it ached. “words don’t bring people back. they just make the hole bigger when they’re gone.”

hange sighed. “you’re scared.”

“shut up.”

but he didn’t deny it.

three and a half weeks became four.

the return journey turned into a nightmare. a sudden storm. flash flooding. then worst of all—abnormals drawn by the noise. your squad lost four people. you took a deep gash across your forearm shielding a rookie, and another hit to the head when your horse reared and threw you into rocks. fever set in fast. by the time the gates appeared on the horizon, you were barely conscious, slumped against your horse’s neck, blood and rain soaking through your jacket.

you’d whispered things in the delirium. levi’s name. stupid confessions you’d never dare say awake. i thought you cared. i was so stupid. come find me if i don’t make it.

you barely registered the courtyard when your squad rode in at dusk. mud-caked, shivering, half-dead.

a voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“you. medical tent. now.”

levi stood ten feet away, arms crossed, expression carved from ice. same as always. but his eyes those sharp, terrifying eyes flicked over you once, clinical and fast, then lingered on the bloodied bandage and your pale face.

something fractured behind them for half a second before the mask slammed back down.

you opened your mouth, voice hoarse.

“captain—”

“medical tent,” he repeated, already turning away. “then my office. you’re behind on paperwork.”

your heart twisted painfully. even now, after everything, that was all he could give.

the medic stitched you roughly, muttering about reckless idiots and blood loss. the fever made everything hazy and too bright. when they finally released you, you dragged yourself to levi’s office on sheer stubbornness.

he answered the knock immediately.

“sit.”

you collapsed into the familiar chair beside his desk. the office smelled of soap and black tea—the same as always. your chair. your stack of reports. like the world hadn’t tried to swallow you whole.

levi poured two cups. his hands were steady, but you noticed the slight tremor as he set yours down—black, with sugar, exactly how you liked it.

he sat across from you and stared into his own cup like it might tell him how to fix this.

silence stretched, suffocating.

you sipped. the warmth hurt. everything hurt.

“I’m back,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“took you long enough.” his tone was low, rough.

“next time they try reassigning you, tell them to go fuck themselves.”

you set the cup down hard, fingers trembling.

tears burned your eyes.

“levi… did you even miss me? or was I just convenient? another soldier who made your tea runs easier?” the words poured out, weeks of doubt and pain and near-death fear finally breaking free. “you didn’t even look at me when i told you i was leaving. i thought—i hoped—those little things meant something. but you just… dismissed me. like i was nothing.”

levi’s cup hit the desk. tea sloshed over the rim. he stood abruptly, turning toward the window, shoulders rigid.

“you think it was easy?” he said, voice dangerously quiet. “you think i wanted you gone? every night i saw you out there dead. ripped apart. because i let myself get used to you being here. because i didn’t say anything.” he laughed, bitter and broken. “i’m good at losing people, brat. i’ve had practice. but you… you made it worse. made me hope and then erwin sent you away like it was nothing.”

you stood on shaky legs and crossed to him. “i almost didn’t come back,” you choked out. “i kept thinking if i died out there, you’d never know how i felt. that i’ve been falling for you for months while you acted like i was just another cog in your perfect squad.”

levi turned sharply. his hand came up, fingers hovering near your cheek before he let them fall to your injured arm instead. he touched the bandage with devastating gentleness, like he was afraid you’d vanish.

“i know,” he muttered. the admission seemed to cost him everything. “i’m a coward. always have been when it matters.”

your tears fell freely now. “then stop pushing me away.”

he exhaled shakily and rested his forehead against yours brief, trembling, the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him. “brat,” he whispered, voice raw. “don’t do that again. don’t you fucking dare leave me behind.”

you took his hand. he let you, turning it palm up and lacing your fingers together tightly, as if anchoring you there.

the wind howled outside. inside, the lantern flickered over cold tea and two broken people slowly piecing themselves back together—one careful, calloused touch at a time.

slow. painful. full of scars and unsaid things.

but finally, unmistakably, beginning.

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