Levi Ackerman x Reader Oneshots

"Maybe this is it, because I can't do this anymore." - angst

A/N: Prompt from my event on tumblr, cw for blood, death and grief !

Scarlet blood decorated your skin, imprinted like tattoo ink. It will take you days to scrub it out completely. The fade of crimson never truly disappears.

Each time you went on a mission you never really thought that it would be as god-awful as the last, and most of the time – and most fortunately – you were right.

But not this time.

This time, it was the worst of the worst. Unimaginable. As if the pits of hell collectively decided that out of all days, today would be the perfect time to unleash eternal damnation upon the entire corps.

Today, the universe chose to make you a witness to the most gruesome scenes ever known to the human eye and to let you live with it.

That was truly the worst kind of punishment.

The punishment of being the lucky few who survived after seeing the rampages of hell. The so-called lucky ones who have yet to fully comprehend what they have been through and face immediate backlash from hundreds when returning to the walls. It was only then that you understood the idea that survival was possibly the next thing worse than death.

Heads bowed, a deep sea of dark green cloaks was all the eye could see on the return home. Bodies numb and battered, stomachs empty and nauseous, mental state shattered and fragile, this is all that is left of the Survey Corps.

The contact between each other's eyes was how communication flowed. After a tragedy like this, only a set of weary eyes could portray the answers to the unspoken questions. In silence, the poor numbers of survivors trailed one after the other, the optimism once held in these hearts were now killed by the fate of the world.

Knuckles tight, your hands gripped the reins of your horse. Your limbs shook, unable to cope with the amount of grief and trauma that you had just seen. It was unbearable, having to go through it time and time again, mission after mission, hope after hope that this time would be the last time that you would see your comrades die.

You don't think you'd ever reach that point. Internally, you had already decided that this would be the last time. You were done.

Silently, you disappeared from the small crowd. And after tying up your horse in the stable, you slipped away not caring to be present for a register. The worn soles of your boots thunder as you walk down the soulless corridor, cold and empty, only now coming to life.

Making a sharp turn, you meet the closed door of your office. Bloodstained hands meet the cold doorknob and you twist with all the strength that you have in your own drained body to get the door open. You only manage to take a few steps forward before collapsing on your office floor. Like the rest of the headquarters, it's cold and empty, and there's already a stack of papers on your table ready to be signed.

For the first minute or two, you realize that you have no energy to cry, instead choosing to slump on the ground, your body melting into the floor.

It's only a matter of time before it all sinks in. The visions and raw images race back into your mind like a film scene rolling before your eyes. Before you know it your eyes are watering and you're unable to stop the tears from flowing. Neither are you able to suppress the deep cry inside you. Hands shaking, you can't stop, like you're not even in control of your own body. You can't stop no matter how hard you try.

Forcing yourself to take in a breath, the tears only pause momentarily before flowing all over again.

You don't even know how long he's been there. You never really noticed your office door open or even hear his steps. Wiping away at your blurry eyes was when you found him there, right there in front of you. He was a splitting image of you. Bloodstained and exhausted.