early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (32)
erwin x fem!reader
chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27) | (28) | (29) | (30) | (31) | (33)
summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)
notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?
content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)
wc: 3.7k
The Military Police headquarters loomed like a fortress of polished stone and iron bars, far too pristine for the rot festering inside.
You barely made it to the front steps before two men in crisp green uniforms blocked your way. Young. Stiff-backed. Overconfident. And very obviously enjoying themselves.
“Absolutely not,” the taller one said, planting a hand on your shoulder and shoving you back a step, just because he could. “No civilians. Commander Smith is under investigation.”
“He’s not—he didn’t—” Your breath hitched as you surged forward again. You didn’t recognize your own voice. It cracked under its own weight, thin and desperate to find an excuse to see him. “I need to see him.”
The shorter MP stepped into your path, a smirk curling his mouth like you were a joke only he understood.
“You hear that?” he said to his partner. “She needs to see him.”
His grin widened. “You a Scout, girl?”
“No—”
Not anymore.
“Then what are you?” His gaze dragged over you, slow and invasive. “His mistress?” He cocked his head. “Is he married? You don’t look like a wife.”
“Listen, I—” you tried again.
“Because if you’re either,” he drawled, leaning closer, shadows cutting his face apart beneath the sinking sun, “you oughta come forward. We’d be happy to take you in.”
The other one laughed. “Hell, we can even put you right next to him. Neighbors and everything.”
“Cute, right?” the first one added. “Romantic reunion behind bars.”
Your breath punched out of you.
And for a terrifying moment…
you actually considered it.
If that’s what it took…
If that’s what stood between you and him…
A voice inside you screamed stop, screamed that this wasn’t what he would’ve wanted, that he hadn’t burned everything down just to keep you safe for you to throw yourself into the fire after him.
But goodness, you missed him so much it hurt to stand upright. You needed to know he was alright somehow. Needed to know he was still…
“I am,” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. If this was the price you had to pay... “I am, so just lock me up alr—”
“Hey!”
A sharp voice cut through your mistake like a blade.
“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?”
The soldiers stiffened instantly.
You knew that voice.
And so did they.
Hitch strode toward you, uniform immaculate, rank pins glinting in the dying light, far more pins than the last time you’d seen her. Her boots struck stone with the kind of authority that made men straighten before thinking. Her hand was clenched tight and angry around her bag strap.
“She’s a civilian, morons.”
“But—Officer Dreyse,” the shorter one stammered, “Commander Smith is—”
“Oh, I know exactly what Commander Smith is,” Hitch cut him off sharply. “And trust me, the last thing any of us need is you two provoking a scandal by manhandling some young woman in the street.” Her hazel eyes burned amber under the setting sun. “Unless you’re eager to receive a very special letter from Commander Dok reminding you of the oath you took to protect the people of this city.”
“No—no, ma’am.” They corrected themselves hastily, snapping to attention, eyes forward, backs straight.
Hitch let her gaze linger on them a second longer.
“That’s what I thought.”
Then she turned to you, expression softening, just barely.
There she was.
Almond eyes framed by long lashes. That familiar button nose you’d loved since your cadet days. Standing between you and disaster like she always had.
Saving you from yourself.
“Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s get you home before you do something stupid.”
You didn’t resist.
You couldn’t.
You hadn’t eaten in… a while. Days, maybe. You couldn’t remember.
Your legs finally buckled under you, and Hitch caught you just in time, looping an arm around your back.
Behind you, the MPs watched in silence now, no laughter, no bravado. Not with Hitch there. Still, when you were far enough away, their voices carried.
“Poor thing.”
“Bet she thinks he’ll want to see her.”
Something glass-sharp cracked inside your chest. Perhaps their words carried some truth…
Hitch guided you away from the headquarters, down the crowded street, out of the MPs’ sight before you completely shattered.
Night had settled over the capital like a heavy cloak, thick, oppressive, swallowing the last scraps of daylight as though the sun itself had fled the city, to never come back. Lanterns flickered along the streets, their orange glow too soft, too fragile against the dark pressing down on you.
Time was slipping through your fingers.
Every second felt stolen.
Every breath too slow.
Before he…
You didn’t let yourself finish the thought.
Your throat locked.
Your heart seized.
Your lungs stuttered for air.
And Hitch felt it.
She was a good friend.
She didn’t speak at first, just held you tighter, arm firm around your back like she feared you might shatter again.
“Hey,” she said quietly. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
But it was not okay.
You weren’t okay.
None of this was okay.
“What were you thinking?” she asked, but there was no bite in it. Only worry. “They could’ve locked you up.” She hesitated, voice lacking her characteristic spark. “And no one… no one could’ve gotten you out.”
You swallowed hard, staring at the cobblestones passing beneath your feet.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely a thread. “I’m sorry, Hitch, but Commander Erwin— they—”
Your voice faltered. You gathered what little strength your body had left and gripped her shoulders tight, forcing her to look at you. “If I don’t do something, they’re going to—”
Goodness.
“Hitch,” you breathed. “Please. Let me see him.” Your voice sounded so small you almost didn’t recognize it. “Just for a minute.”
She looked at you like you were a wounded animal she couldn’t save.
“I wish I could help you,” she said finally, voice softening. “Goodness, I wish I could do something. Anything.” She took a deep breath. “He’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve…this.”
“Where do they keep him?” you begged, your heart stabbed by every painful second that went by without helping him. “What have they done to him?”
Her face twisted, pain, apology, anger, defeat, all cramped behind her eyes. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away toward the distant MP barracks as though the answer might magically change.
Then she exhaled shakily.
“He…” she struggled. “They beat him. Badly.”
You nodded, shards splintering behind your eyes, but you did your best to ignore the pain. You could cry blood later. But if you broke down now, in front of her, she wouldn’t tell you a thing.
“They moved him somewhere tight. No one knows where.” She spoke faster now. “They’re scared his men will come for him. Captain Levi especially.”
She let all the words spill from her mouth, so fast anybody would’ve found it difficult to understand.
But you did. Sadly you did.
Every single word.
“What are they planning to do?” you asked, forcing your voice steady, forcing yourself not to fall apart. Not yet.
She inhaled, like bracing for impact.
“They…they um. I don’t really know.”
“Hitch,” you tried again. The world a hazy mess around you.
“An audience before the king.” She surrendered, her brows furrowed, begging you not to press further.
“Hitch,” you pleaded, nails creasing her neat coat.
“Okay, okay, there’s talks of hanging him.”
Her words sliced right through the fragile composure you had left.
And then the world tilted.
You didn’t remember falling, only the blunt pain at the back of your head as darkness swallowed you whole, your body finally surrendering after days of hunger, uncertainty, and grief.
-
It was like waking from a nightmare.
You came to in a cold, burning sweat, heart hammering, breath shallow.
The ceiling above you warped and tilted, its familiar lines twisting into crooked shapes that made your already tender stomach churn. Somewhere nearby, the bell of the clock tower rang, each toll drilling straight through your skull, splitting your headache wider.
You didn’t know what hour it marked.
Morning. Evening.
You didn’t care.
You didn’t know how many days the world had gone dark. You didn’t know how Hitch had managed to drag you home, or how long you’d been lying here since your head hit the stone.
You didn’t care.
All you needed to know was whether he was still here.
Still breathing. Still with you, somewhere in this cursed, confined world you’d been born into. A world he had somehow made look beautiful.
And free.
You forced yourself up onto your elbows, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. Your head alone felt like a boulder, dense and unforgiving, and you knew lifting the rest of your body would cost you more strength than you had left.
You tried anyway.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Your mother’s voice materialized beside you, firm, edged with quiet anger, the same tone she’d used when you were a child and had pushed yourself too far. She set the book in her hands down on your night table and rose from the chair by your bed.
“Mo—Mother, I need—”
“Shh.” She silenced you with practiced authority. “Here. Drink this. It’ll do you good.”
“Mother—” You tried to protest, but she was stronger than you now. Firm but gentle, she brought the cup to your lips anyway. The faint scent of chamomile clung to her fingers, grounding and maddening all at once.
“I need to see him,” you said hoarsely. “Where is the Commander?”
You were so tired of asking the same question. Tired of the silence that followed. Tired of feeling like a feather caught in a storm.
All you’d done was cry. Cause a scene. Collapse. Lie in bed.
What had you done to help him?
You knew that if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t stop until you were safe. That was the kind of man he was. The kind whose absence left the world smaller. Narrower. You’d been born into the same small, caged existence. Same timeline. Same fragile life. So many people lived and died without ever meeting someone like him, taken by unforgiving illness, by peaceful sleep, by the cruel jaws of a titan. And somehow, impossibly, you had.
The realization both defeated you and set a stubborn spark alight in your chest.
You tried again, managing to swing both feet onto the floorboards before your strength gave out entirely.
Your mother rushed forward, catching you before you could fall.
“The Commander. The Commander. The Commander,” she repeated as she guided you back onto the bed, irritation slipping through. “Would you stop?”
Then her voice softened. Just a little. Just enough to make guilt prick behind your ribs.
“Please, darling.” She sighed. “What good has it done you?”
“Mother, you don’t understand—”
“Oh, darling, I do.” Her gaze held yours, steady and unwavering. “You’re in love with him. Love makes people reckless. It always has. Don’t pretend the world doesn’t understand that.”
She paused, letting the truth settle between you.
“He’s a grown man. A military commander of all things.” Her tone was calm now, too calm it was almost cold. “He doesn’t need a delicate city flower trying to save him. What could you realistically do for him? Be honest.”
Your eyes burned, raw and aching. You assumed it was from crying, though you couldn’t remember when you’d started again.
“You come home safely,” she continued, “after he went out of his way to protect you. And what’s the first thing you do?”
Her words cut, precise and merciless.
“You run straight back into the same hell he tried to spare you from.”
She leaned forward, reaching out to brush your hair back with aching tenderness, a sharp contrast to the steel she wielded with her tongue.
“Please,” she said quietly. “Talk some sense into that stubborn little head of yours.”
She wasn’t wrong. You knew that. If not even Captain Levi could help him, what chance did you have? If those guards had realized you’d been a Scout only days ago, if Hitch hadn’t intervened… where would you be now? What would become of you? Of your family?
“There’s someone here to see you,” she said suddenly, and you opened your mouth to protest but she was already moving toward the door.
“I’ll go check if he’s still waiting,” she added. “We weren’t sure you’d wake in time.” She hesitated, then glanced back at you. “Don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone, please. I’m begging you.”
Her voice echoed down the corridor as she disappeared.
You didn’t care.
There was only one person you wanted to see, and you knew he wouldn’t be walking through that door. Not now. Not ever if you didn’t think of something, and quick.
Moments later, you heard your mother’s heels again… and another set of footsteps beside them. Your throat tightened. You hoped, foolishly, that your visitor had already left.
They stopped outside your door. You heard your mother murmur something in a hushed voice, instructions, perhaps. A warning.
Then her steps faded away.
The door creaked open and a familiar face appeared in the doorway.
Leon.
He didn’t move at first. Just stood there like he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed inside your room, one hand still resting on the doorframe, the other tucked awkwardly behind his back. His hazel hair was neatly combed, too neatly, you thought. You preferred when he let the wind have its way with it. This version of him felt serious in a way that made your chest ache.
“Leon,” you breathed, your voice light as a feather. The sound of his name startled you both, so soft, so fragile, so unlike yourself. “Please. Come in.”
He smiled then. That smile you’d heard was known to melt hearts, the hesitant one, stuck between shy and confident all at once, never quite reaching its full shape. Poets always had a way of holding something back. Or so you’d heard.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, slow and deliberate, as if loud sounds might break you. Crossing the room, he sat where your mother had been just moments before.
“Your mother said you might still be sleeping,” he said quietly. “I— I wasn’t sure if I should wait.”
“I was hoping you’d already left,” you admitted, then winced. “I’m sorry, Leon.”
He let out a half-hearted chuckle.
“I always appreciate honesty, my lady.”
For a moment, he simply sat there, elbows resting on his knees. Neither of you spoke. But the silence wasn’t heavy. It was… compassionate. The sort that didn’t demand anything.
“How are you feeling?” he asked gently.
You almost laughed, surprising even yourself when you did.
“Are you certain you want honesty for that too?”
His lips curved, sad and fond all at once. “I walked all the way here, my lady. I think I can handle the truth.”
You exhaled. “Like I got trampled by a titan. And then the titan came back to apologize.”
“That sounds… unpleasant.”
“Very.”
He nodded solemnly, as if committing the information to memory. Then his gaze flicked briefly to the door, and he drew a steadying breath.
“Listen, my lady,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to speak about this. Your mother insisted I didn’t.” A pause. “She threatened me with a ladle.”
“That sounds like her.”
“She’s terrifying,” he agreed, then softened. “But she’s been sitting with you all night.”
Your throat tightened, you were being so unfair to her.
“I didn’t know how long you’d been out,” he continued, quieter now. “I was worried about you, truly, but concern wasn’t the compass guiding my steps.” He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “But…I’m glad you’re awake.” He added quickly.
You studied him for a moment. The gentle lines of his face, the way he avoided your eyes when he was choosing his words.
“Leon,” you said quietly, “I can handle the truth.”
His gaze dropped to his hands. He turned his ring slowly, once, twice. A nervous habit, perhaps.
“Yes, I know. I just…” For the first time since he’d arrived, something in his expression shifted, not fear, not sadness, but restraint. Like he was holding something fragile behind his ribs, waiting for the right moment to set it down. “I wanted to make sure you heard this from someone who wouldn’t twist it, or hold it back from you.”
Your heart stuttered. You knew who he meant. She’d been sitting on that chair just some moments ago.
“He’s alive,” Leon said.
The world went still.
Your breath caught so sharply it hurt.
“Commander Smith,” he clarified softly. “He’s alive.”
You stared at him, unmoving. As if any sudden motion might undo the words.
“Your mother said that you thought he w—”
“But— they said— Hitch said—”
“They were going to hang him,” Leon said quietly. “That part wasn’t a lie.”
Your vision blurred.
“But they didn’t,” he continued quickly, afraid you might shatter before he finished. “Commander Pixis and Premier Zachary turned everything upside down. Exposed the false king. The whole government. It was planned, dangerous, but it worked.”
You shook your head, barely breathing. “You’re sure?”
“I know this reads like one of my novels, my lady, but I didn’t imagine it. I watched it happen,” he said. “Zachary made the announcement himself. Right here in Mitras. On the gallows.” His mouth twitched, something like awe slipping through. “They freed him. Publicly. Arrested the ministers instead.”
Your hands flew to your mouth.
Safe.
Alive.
Not swinging from a rope in some cold square.
“Leon, I—”
“I know, my lady.” He said gently, sparing you from your words.
A sound tore out of you, half sob, half laugh, and suddenly Leon’s features lost their comely shape. His forest-green eyes blurred into a smudge of color, like a painting left out in the rain.
“Oh, Leon—” Your shoulders shook, breath coming in ragged gasps, breaking apart in your chest.
He was on his feet instantly, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands hovering like he wasn’t quite sure where he was allowed to touch, if he was allowed to touch at all. Ever the gentleman. Even now.
You clutched at his sleeve, grounding yourself in wool and warmth and the undeniable truth that this moment was real. Leon wouldn’t lie. You were certain of that.
“He’s safe,” he whispered. “A little worse for wear. Hardly recognizable, if I’m honest. But nothing time won’t heal.”
You nodded, eyes burning, the room blurring around you.
“There’s more,” he added, quieter still. “He asked about you.”
Your head snapped up. “He did?”
“Yes.” A small smile. “Wanted to know if you’d made it home. If you were alright.” He hesitated. “I told him I wasn’t sure. That I’d come see you myself.”
Your chest ached in the best, worst way.
Of course, you thought. Of course that was why he hadn’t come himself. He was busy. Burdened. Pulled in a dozen directions at once. That explanation slid neatly into place, warm and comforting.
“I thought you should know,” Leon said as he stood. “Before folk start celebrating and pretending none of this ever happened.”
“Thank you,” you whispered. “For coming. For telling me.”
He hesitated, then reached out and squeezed your hand once. “Anytime.”
He was halfway to the door when he paused.
“Oh—and Orvud,” he added lightly, as if mentioning the weather. “It’s been… eventful. A rather unpleasant situation.”
Your brow furrowed faintly.
“It was handled,” Leon continued quickly, reassuring. “Messy, but contained. Just don’t go outside for now, not until they’re done cleaning. The city’s safe. Everyone is. That’s what matters.” A pause. “I’m sure it comes as no surprise, but we all have Commander Smith and the Scouts to thank for that.”
You nodded, the explanation settling neatly into place even though he had omitted most of it. It did sound like him, the Commander: charging headlong into chaos mere hours after standing on the gallows. That wasn’t surprising at all.
What was surprising was the silence that followed.
Not the next day.
Not the one after that.
Not even the week that came and went.
You heard things, of course, mostly thanks to Hitch, who came by after work almost every day, boots muddy, hair half-unpinned, bringing scraps of news like contraband. Your mother, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, seemed hell-bent on never mentioning the Commander again. Not at breakfast. Not at dinner. Not even when you asked directly, about a knock at the door or a letter in the post. His name had become something fragile in her mouth. Something better left untouched.
So you listened to Hitch instead. And thanks to her you knew:
That he’d remained in the capital for a time.
That he’d returned briefly to the base.
That he was now stationed somewhere in Trost District, weaving together the threads of another desperate mission, something about Shiganshina, of all places. It seemed a special kind of insanity, to plan a return to a city that had become a sprawling tomb.
His idea, no doubt.
Who but a man like him would think it a 'great idea' to walk back into the jaws of the very nightmare that had started it all?"
You could picture it too easily.
You imagined him in his temporary office, sleeves rolled just enough to be improper, shoulders tense beneath his uniform as he leaned over the desk. Maps spread open where you used to smooth their corners. Documents stacked too high, annotations written in that precise, elegant hand you knew better than your own. You could almost see him pausing mid-thought, fingers pressed to his temple, eyes unfocused, not tired, never tired, just… thinking.
You wondered who stood at his side now. Who handed him reports. Who noticed when he forgot to eat.
The chair across from him, your chair, sat empty in your mind. Untouched. Gathering dust.
Waiting for you.
The memory was sharp with longing. Sweet. Painful. Like pressing your finger to a healing wound just to feel something familiar.
You waited for the letter that never came.
The restitution.
The summons.
The quiet acknowledgment that you still belonged there, at his side, helping him shoulder the weight of the world.
Days passed. Then more days. Then weeks.
And slowly, the explanation you had so carefully built for yourself, that he was busy, that he would come when he could, that this silence was temporary… began to fray at the edges.
It stopped soothing you.
And for the first time since you’d allowed yourself to hope, the quiet stretched long enough to feel like absence.
-
next chapter
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