oi-levi

[oi-levi]

Chapter Eleven | Levi Ackerman

Summary: While renovations at the shop are underway, Levi falls back into old habits. You decide to stage an intervention.

Word Count: 15.4k

Content/Warnings: MANGA SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 139 AND ANIME SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR PART TWO, explicit sexual content, Levi’s tits, Submissive Levi Ackerman, orgasm denial and edgeplay, light bondage, makeshift gag, praise kink, crying, overstimulation and light dumbification, begging, descriptions of anxiety, stress, and insomnia, self-hating Levi, mean Levi, rumination, mention of medication

Author’s Note: Will I ever stop talking about Levi’s tits? The answer is no. Never. I want them in my mouth for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacktime. If anyone has a problem with that, I’m happy to have a discussion! With my fists! People are entitled to their own opinions, unless they’re wrong! Anyway, please enjoy how subby Levi is in this chap. I had a great time writing it. Thank you all for the support on this series!!! You all especially deserve big fat smooches on the forehead for being so patient with me. And of course, thank you to Vya @levmada and @lammello who were troopers and helped me brush up on the chapter!!

Series Masterlist | AO3 | Next

Renovations begin, and the floors are ripped out. The chairs and tables are set outside, covered in tarps, while the sound of power drills and other clanging tools echo down the block.

Levi hangs back, overseeing the construction, answering questions that need to be answered and making necessary clarifications. He’s focused, and you smile because it reminds you of Lance Corporal Captain Levi.

Your bag dangles from your shoulder. You say his name, but he doesn’t hear you. He’s absorbed in whatever pamphlet he’s flipping through, likely triple checking the floor designs and paint colors.

You place a hand on his shoulder. He perks up. “Hi.”

Your hand lingers. “I’m going out for a bit. I’ll be back soon,” you tell him. “Do you need anything?”

“Where are you going?”

“Gabi and I are going to the farmer’s market. So tell me what dinners you want.”

Levi frowns. “I always cook dinner,” he says. “Just get whatever you want.” He reaches for his wallet, pulls out a wad of bills, and stuffs them into your bag before giving you any time to protest.

You raise your brows and shift your weight to one side. “But you’re gonna be swamped all week, Levi. don’t want you to have to cook, too.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because cooking pasta for the millionth night in a row is going to break me.”

“It just might.”

“Then get something new, idiot. You have the palette of a five year old.”

A loud whirr makes you flinch, followed by the shattering of what you assume to be the old floors being broken in. The air smells like sawdust and paint, and you wonder if your neighbors hate you.

At least the café down the street will get a new influx of customers for the next two weeks.

One of the workers approaches Levi, towering over the two of you. You flash him a friendly smile.

“Hey, boss, we’re gonna need your opinion on these patterns,” the man says. He returns the smile back. “Sorry to interrupt.”

His brown eyes land on you, and while Levi’s mouth is wide open, his response falls short and he looks absolutely appalled.

“I don’t believe we’ve met yet.” The worker extends a hand and you introduce yourself, giving a firm shake. “Do you work here as well?”

“My name is on the lease,” you reply, raising your brows.

Levi quietly seethes, his body so tense he nearly shakes. You worry the lines between his brows and on the sides of his mouth will become permanent the harder he scowls.

“Is this your wife then, Mr. Ackerman?”

“What?” he grunts. “No.”

“Ah,” he scratches the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. You purse your lips to repress a laugh of your own.

“We live together,” Levi corrects.

“Yes, we’re great friends who occasionally screw ourselves silly.”

Levi actually chokes on air, eyes blown wider than you’ve ever seen in your life. The tall man barks out a laugh and slaps Levi hard on the back, a man-to-man congratulatory gesture of sorts.

“I’ll be over in a minute,” he grumbles out. The man takes that as his cue and bids a goodbye to you, still amused, while Levi hopes the sun is a good excuse for why his cheeks are so pink.

He does his best to force his features back into a scowl—his resting face—but you’ve frazzled him now, much to his dismay.

“Loose lips, much?”

You shrug. “I’m not oblivious, Levi. I saw the way he was looking at me.”

“Mm-hm.” He folds his arms, slouching. The pout has returned to his face, full-force, and you find his broodiness endearing on such a lovely, sunny day. “Whatever.”

“I’ve never seen you so jealous.”

Without missing a beat he says, “Believe me, you’ve seen it.”

Impending curiosity keeps you grounded in place, but he doesn’t elaborate any further. Instead, he continues to stand with his arms crossed, wearing his pensive look. You do your part and smooth the lines between his brows like usual, then lean in and press a kiss to his temple. He goes rigid yet again, but seems to soften a twinge at the sweet gesture. The lines fade subtly.

“I’m cooking dinner this week,” you tell him finally, with a tender smile.

Levi sighs. His mask of indifference is chipped in many places, so he closes his eyes to overcompensate.

He huffs. “I’m helping,” then he turns and starts to walk away.

You click your tongue. “Is my cooking really that bad?”

“Yes, it is!” he yells loud enough from afar so you can hear him loud and clear.

-

“Can I tell you something?” Gabi asks. The two of you browse the vendors, massaging fruits to test for ripeness, filling your respective produce bags.

You toss an apple in your hand. “Yeah. Everything okay?”

“Well, it’s about you.”

You almost laugh out of nervousness—the girl is shifting on her feet, biting her lips hard enough to leave little indents behind. What could she possibly have to say about you? It’s not like you’re the talk of the town. It’s not like more than a handful of people know you even exist.

“You’re making me anxious,” you tell her, casting her a side glance.

Her pursed lips puff into a pout. “It’s nothing to be anxious about! I think it’s… actually kind of sweet.”

“Okay?”

She sighs, hogging the lemons for lemonade. She lowers her voice, cups her hand around her mouth, then leans in and whispers, “I think… Levi might have a bit of a crush on you.”

You blink.

And weigh your options.

You can either come clean, and tell her you know, which could potentially stomp on her dreams of being Cupid. Or you could go along with the whole thing, but then you’d be lying your ass off to a fifteen-year-old girl.

You make your choice.

“No… way.”

With big brown eyes, she nods vigorously, then breathes out a heavy sigh of relief like the weight of the world is no longer on her shoulders. “God, it feels so good to get that off my chest! Just don’t say anything to anyone. I don’t want to make people feel weird—I just thought you should know. You know, in case you wanna do something about it.”

“Hm, like what?”

The two of you continue browsing the carts, before heading for the cheese shop.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think I should do about it?”

Gabi shrugs. “Uh, I don’t know. I guess… You could ask him out. You have the advantage because I’m pretty sure he likes you enough to say yes. That, and he probably hasn’t felt the touch of a woman in years.”

Your jaw drops. But you can’t help but throw your head back and laugh. Are these really the thoughts floating around in her brain all day?

“Gabi. Absolutely admire your honesty, but if you want to keep your life, never say something like that in front of him.”

She gasps sharply. “I’d never! He’s… so old and fragile. Plus, I don’t have a death wish.”

“Thin ice,” you tell her.

You visit the cheese shop and purchase a couple of blocks, some hard, some soft, along with a few sleeves of crackers. Gabi bites a cube of smoked Gouda off a toothpick then eyeballs a truffle cheese.

“When’s everyone coming home?” she asks.

You shrug. “Few weeks, I think.”

“I miss them. Reiner’s letters are taking really long to come in.”

You drape an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. But just think: once they’re here in a few weeks, they’ll be staying for the month! You can hang out with Reiner and Pieck every day if you want.”

That appears to lighten her mood. The smile finds her lips again, and her eyes shine with the possibilities of the coming month. She looks up at you. “I can’t wait for Pon’s wedding! I’ve never been to one. Or been a flower girl.”

“You’ll be great,” you tell her. You tuck some stray strands back into her braid. “Did you get taller?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, my mom said I gained about an inch and a half! I wanna be five-seven!”

For some reason, that makes you smile wider than you’ve ever smiled in your whole life.

-

You notice Levi’s attitude at dinnertime. He’s quiet and agitated, deep in thought as he stabs at rosemary chicken and grilled vegetables. You can’t help but glance at him every few minutes, trying to gauge the vacant expression on his face. He’s too good at shutting you out.

Dinner goes by without a single word exchanged, and your concerned glances continue throughout clean-up. He washes and you dry, per usual. His brow remains pinched.

“Levi?” you finally ask, sick of the silence.

“Hm?”

“You’re not upset with me about earlier, right? About what I said to that worker, because if you are, I’m sor— “

“What? No, that was funny,” he mutters. “I’m trying to figure something out in my head right now. That’s all.”

You hum, sagging with relief. “Oh, well, anything I can help with?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” you ask. “If it’s about the renovations— “

“I said I can handle it.”

You plop the final dish into the drying rack, still casting him weary glances as he dries his hands off and heads for his room.

“Thanks for dinner,” you hear him say faintly before the door is cracked shut.

You decide not to read into it. You know how he can be sometimes—there’s probably just an additional layer of stress from the renovations, which is something he hasn’t had to deal with since you first opened the shop.

But you’d think he’d be happier. He loves that shop more than anything in the world, and beautifying and upgrading the place that has become his pride and joy calls for a celebration. It calls for a bottle of wine and a cheeseboard. And lots of hot, filthy sex.

You finish tidying up some condiments left out before walking towards his room. Then you poke your head through the crack.

He’s at his desk, head bowed over a stack of papers, pen scribbling away. You decide to grab a book then come back, and you toss yourself into his made bed, tangling the sheets.

He looks over his shoulder when he hears the squeak of the springs. “Oh.”

You don’t say anything, because you know how irritable he is right now, so instead you bury your nose in the pages and read until your eyes are drooping and the words are mashing together. Levi has worked continuously at his desk equivalent to the amount of time it took you to read a hundred pages.

You get up and get ready for bed, and when you come back, he’s still there.

“What the hell are you doing over there?” you blurt out.

He looks at you, noticing the collared shirt swallowing your upper half. His collared shirt. Your legs are bare, and he’s certain there aren’t any shorts hidden under the hem.

No, he tells himself. Absolutely not.

A resigned sigh leaves his lips, and he cards his fingers through his hair. He desperately needs a shower. “The mountain’s closed off, so we’re unable to receive the shipments on Wednesday from our usual distributors. I’m trying to find new, temporary ones, on the opposite side of Marley. Maybe from Hizuru, if we can afford it.”

You sit on the bed. Why didn’t he tell you this? You could’ve helped him, so he wouldn’t have had to spend the entire day stressing over it alone.

“Well, our inventory should last us considerably,” you try to assure, though you’d think he would’ve already peeked at the clipboard. “And we’re pretty stocked up on our most popular blends. You should focus on the renovations instead of juggling two things at once, Levi. You know how tedious ordering can get.”

He blinks at you. “What, you don't think I can handle it or something? Don’t be stupid.”

You pinch your brows and purse your lips. “Uh, I definitely didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

You shake your head and stand up, folding your arms in front of you. You sigh, scowl deepening, “Okay, if that’s what you want to tell yourself, I guess.”

He stays silent and turns back to his desk, shoulders lowering as he releases a long sigh of his own through his mouth.

You worry the fight and conversation you had last night may be a reason for why he’s suddenly so snappy, but then you remember he was perfectly fine this morning. He appeared that way at least, acting his usual, sardonic self.

“Levi,” you begin to ask, “you’re okay with what we talked about last night, right? Was there something you didn’t get to add that you wanted to?”

Last night, after your argument and ceasefire, the two of you decided on one thing: No sex. You knew you needed to establish some ground rules and boundaries while dealing with this new shift in your relationship. You needed to figure out what it all meant; what you were to each other (which neither of you outwardly decided); what you wanted from it. If you were ready for it.

You’re grateful that the change was actually acknowledged, instead of brushed under the rug like it had been for weeks.

It’s not necessarily a terrible idea, either, considering how busy you’ll be with the shop renovations and the kids coming home in a few weeks for Onyankopon’s wedding.

You want things between you to be as they’ve always been. No strains. No awkwardness.

“No, no,” he says, more gently this time. Your patience with him drains every droplet of bitterness from his body and makes him realize how tired he actually is.

You nod. “Okay, good.”

You walk towards the door, and he glances at his empty bed, where you decided not to sleep. A hole opens up in his chest.

He meets your eyes.

Your face is blank, and you tell him plainly, “Then stop acting like a dick.”

You don’t slam the door. That would be childish. You just close it rather aggressively so he knows he ticked you off. It almost makes the corner of his mouth tweak, until he realizes he probably shouldn’t be grinning at the fact he made you mad.

When Levi walks into the kitchen the following morning, you’re scrambling eggs. You’re still clad in his shirt too, but now a pair of fleece pants hang from your hips. His eyes follow the string as it sways with your movements.

-

You don’t say good morning to him. You just fix him a plate and hand it to him, then take a sip of your coffee.

He tries to catch your gaze, but any time he pokes his head into your peripheral, you turn away.

“Silent treatment?” he realizes with a huff. “Real mature.”

You take another loud sip.

“You’re really going to pretend like I’m not even here?”

You toss the salt shaker over your shoulder, and Levi catches it.

“I’m sorry.”

You continue forward, sitting down at the table where you stuff your face with your breakfast.

“Did you hear me? I said I’m sorry.”

When you pay him no attention, he sets down his untouched plate and approaches your chair. Your plate and silverware are stolen and placed in an empty spot, then he hoists you up and plops you rather seamlessly onto the table. You nearly squeal, falling back on your elbows while he situates himself between your thighs.

“Levi?! What the fuck are you doing?!�� you yell. Your brows narrow, and your mouth gapes.

“Apologizing.”

He hooks his fingers under the stretchy waistband and yanks your pants and panties down your thighs in one fell swoop, cool air fanning over your cunt, followed by his hot breath.

But before he can bury himself in your folds, you press a finger to his lips.

“What did we talk about the other night?”

“This isn’t sex.”

“Uh, yes it is.”

“Is my dick in you? No.”

You narrow your eyes at him, a warning of sorts. “You don’t get to touch,” you tell him. “But you can watch.”

Your hand dips below, fingers catching your clit, and Levi’s mouth parts. He presses his cheek to your inner thigh and kisses you, eyes darting up and down.

“Fuck, come on,” he grunts.

You shake your head.

“I’ll be good,” he says, dizzying you.

You respond by coating your fingers with the slick from your entrance and smearing it over your clit. It’s not nearly as heavenly as his mouth, but it’ll do.

He moans your name.

“Mmn,” you interrupt. “Nah.”

You find the spot and speed up your movements, knowing precisely what you like, and he nuzzles closer, his nose nearly knocking your circling fingers, no doubt inhaling the intoxicating scent of you that he’s achingly familiar with.

He watches your pussy clench from your ministrations, and your clit swell. It could be him doing this to you. It could be him tasting you.

“See what happens when you’re mean?” you murmur, inhaling as you bring yourself closer; then you slow your movements, dragging out the pleasure all so he can watch. “When you’re a bad boy?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He wraps his arm around your thigh and blinks up at you, a silent plea emanating from his eye. His tongue wets his bottom lip.

“I’m close, fuck— “

His open mouth drags over the soft skin of your inner thigh, teeth nibbling whatever surface he can catch, and you swear you hear a soft moan tickling you all the way up to your cunt.

You spread yourself open with two fingers so he can see your messy folds and your clit. Then you stop messing around.

“Fuck, just a taste,” he begs. “You can fuck yourself on my tongue, sweetheart.”

“No.”

His brows pucker.

You come. Usually, if you’re only using your fingers, you come silently. But with Levi here, a few airy moans mingle with the air and resonate in his ears. You make a show of smearing your slick, so he can see the glint on your fingers, too, then you pop them in your mouth and taste yourself.

“Fucking— “ You squeeze your thighs around him, holding him in place. “You’re shitty.”

He places a kiss to your thigh and slouches back in the chair, his eyes never leaving your body as you hike your pants up and lean over him. Your eyes drop to his mouth, then back up.

“You might wanna fix that,” you nod towards his obvious erection. “Also, I’m hanging out with Julie.”

You stand and head for the bathroom, planning on taking a shower, but before you disappear down the hallway you look over your shoulder one last time.

“Maybe fix your attitude!”

When you’re gone, Levi covers his face with his hands and groans loudly into his palms.

-

A few nights later, when you and Levi are eating dinner, you stare at him until he notices.

“What?” he snaps.

He's borderline fed up with your antics this week. They never seem to end, between leaving him frustrated and giving attitude (when you’re really just serving him a taste of his own medicine). It’s not your fault he’s constantly getting on your nerves any given second of the day when you’re with him. Your new tactic now is to avoid him at all costs and save yourself the agony.

You place your fork down, and dead serious, ask, “Would you say you have a crush on me?”

He blinks.

Then he gets up, sets his plate in the sink, and leaves.

-

You and Levi have one rule: All meals are eaten together. Whether you’re pissed at each other, or not in the mood, you always, always eat in the same vicinity.

A week into renovations, he stops sitting down for breakfast. He stops eating breakfast all together. He simply grabs the tea you left steeping, and his feet carry him downstairs. It’s like he’s on autopilot, and you begin to entertain the poking thought that he’s sleepwalking, because even his eyes seem a bit empty.

You place your coffee on the table and stare blankly at the door, worry seeping into your expression.

You follow him downstairs, nearly crashing into him at the bottom.

Your fingers wrap around his bicep. “Levi, wait. You need to eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“At least some toast. I made more jam.”

“Not hungry,” he insists. He wriggles his arm free of your grip and walks around the counter, his finger dragging over the new countertop. Saw dust appears on his fingertips and he clicks his tongue.

You study his features, frowning at the violet half-circles below his eyes that look darker than usual. His hair is outgrown, his usual undercut hidden beneath longer strands of black.

You shake your head. “You look like hell. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“Oh, fuck off,” he grumbles defensively, wiping his fingers clean with a handkerchief. His brows are slanted. “Can you bring me the paperwork from my desk? I forgot to grab it. It’s about the shipments.”

You consider making him do it himself, but you see the way he’s leaning—the way he’s shifting all the weight of his body onto one side. His leg is hurting.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Give me a minute.”

You run up the stairs and back down to find him in the same place.

“Took you long enough,” he grunts, extending his hand.

You hesitate before handing him the papers, holding them midair with a frown carved on your lips.

He waves his hand. “Come on.”

“Ask nicely,” you demand, hoping the scowl disguises your hurt feelings.

He blinks at you, and briefly, his eyes drop to your mouth and remain there. Something tugs at him from the inside, sharp and longing. The single step forward he takes does nothing to taper the intensity, and your breath closer to his nose only makes it worse.

“Don’t,” you warn him.

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.” He knows you’re trying hard not to look at his mouth the way he’s looking at yours. “I’m mad at you.”

He raises his brows and tilts his head back. “Why are you mad at me?”

“Because you’re being mean,” you say, half-whispering. “I don’t like it when you swear at me.”

“Yes, you do.” You’ve told him yourself—verbatim.

“Not when you actually mean it.”

“With you, I never mean it.”

You stay quiet, replaying his words to gauge how much weight they truly hold before you relinquish the stack of papers and hold them between your bodies. There needs to be something to separate you at all times.

He glances at the papers, then back into your eyes. His fingers curl over your knuckles, but before he takes the stack, he leans forward and presses his mouth against your hairline. His lips are warm and damp, and they linger for as long as he can allow, until he’s speaking against you.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes.

The apology seeps into your skin and feels silky the way it slinks through you.

“You should slow down,” you tell him instead of accepting it. He can only apologize to you so many times before it becomes meaningless. “You’ve been going at this nonstop. It’s a bit concerning.”

“I’m fine.”

“‘Fine’,” you repeat with a scoff.

“I am fine.”

You look at him like you don’t believe him, and he stares at you, gray-blue iris glinting in the light. He can’t see how sad he looks from your eyes.

-

Levi has no fucking idea what Gabi and Falco are doing near the renovations sight—he remembers vividly and strictly telling the two to steer clear for the week—but they’re here. Gabi’s chatting with one of the construction workers while Falco is poking his head around the ripped-out interior.

What happens next is a fluke accident. A piece of rotting wood wobbles where a worker is adding a fresh layer of paint to the exterior, and then collapses.

Right over Gabi.

Levi’s close enough to yank her out of the way, accidentally sending her skidding across the gravel, while Falco watches, horrified.

But the moment Levi sees the blood forming on her knees and forearms, something in him breaks.

He snaps his head up, glaring at the worker clinging to the ladder. “What the hell? Are you trying to kill my fucking kid?!”

The worker apologizes profusely, until the sincerity makes Levi nauseous and the commotion finally settles.

But not him. He quietly fumes, already in a sour mood from all the sleepless nights; already on the verge of a complete emotional and mental collapse.

He tries to forget the images that flash in his mind, almost too clear, and he tries to forget about you—dead. He tries to forget about Gabi, bleeding from her elbows and knees, teary-eyed eyed from the sting, but it’s all too fresh.

Falco’s by her side, dusting off gravel buried in her torn skin, and Levi can tell by the sheen over her eyes she’s trying her damned hardest to fend off tears in front of everyone.

“What are you two doing here?!” he yells at the kids. There’s an underlying desperation in his voice that goes completely amiss. He doesn’t even hear it himself.

“What?” Falco’s face twists. “We just came to see— “

“I told you not to come by. There are tools and sharp nails and too many people!”

Gabi pushes herself up from the ground, a newfound adrenaline pumping through her. “Stop yelling!” she hisses at him. “You’ve been so mean lately, and we’ve been nothing but helpful!”

“You call running around like a blind bat helpful? There are people here trying to do their jobs, and they can’t do that with a bunch of kids wandering around with their heads up their asses!” Levi folds his arms, eyes still raking up and down her limbs, searching for other injuries he may have missed.

“We’re not kids!” She nearly flinches, but stops her dirty fingers from pressing into one of the scrapes. “You’re so dramatic, pushing me like that!”

Levi narrows his eyes. “I did you a favor.”

“Yeah, I bet you think you did.” Her voice drops, malice glinting in her eyes. “I didn’t realize it was a reoccurring thing for you to hurt the people you try and help, but I guess I was wrong. Whatever.”

Levi blinks at her, and while his features remain hard, it feels like he got the wind knocked out his lungs.

His nostrils flare. “Well, If you’re such an adult”—he spits the final word like it’s a curse to be old and wise—“then maybe act like one. And maybe, don’t run around power tools like you’re an infant seeing a pointy thing for the first time.”

She springs forward, shoving him back, but Falco’s quick to intervene, his hand wrapping around the tie at her waist. “Gabi.”

“You’re such an ass!” she growls. “Fine! Falco and I just won’t come back. Ever!”

“Yeah, right.”

Her eyes shine. She points a finger at him, sharp like a talon, incriminating. “I hate you!”

Levi nearly winces at that.

“Gabi— “

She stalks off, her fists balled by her sides. Levi can tell when she flicks her hand across her face, that she’s wiping away tears, and Falco is quick to follow after her.

He casts Levi a look over his shoulder, something like disappointment in his eyes that Levi has never seen Falco wear before. It hurts just as much as Gabi telling him he hates him.

“Gabi’s right. You’ve been really mean lately,” he says.

“Falco— “

But he’s gone before he can say anything else.

-

You’re walking home when you run into Gabi and Falco, but by the looks on their faces, and Gabi’s disheveled appearance, something isn’t right.

Your pace picks up and you meet them in the middle, dropping your hand onto her shoulder. Her cheeks are red and stained with tears.

“What the hell happened?!” You sink onto a knee and examine her injuries, relieved to find only shallow scrapes and nothing too serious. Your first assumption is she fell off her bike.

Falco rubs the small of her back. “Well, we went to see how the renovations were going, but a piece of wood fell and nearly hit Gabi.”

“Holy shit, are you okay?!”

“Barely!” she squawks. “Levi shoved me out of the way! Then he yelled at me! In front of everyone, like I’m some little kid!”

Your brows pucker. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure he was just scared.”

“Levi doesn’t get scared!” she insists, wiping furiously at her tears. “He’s always… such a dick! I don’t wanna talk to him anymore! I’m going home.”

She shoves your hands off her after that and continues down the sidewalk, her pace quickening as she rounds the corner. Your gaze meets Falco’s, heavy with concern.

“She doesn’t mean that,” he consoles. “She’s just upset. I think he embarrassed her.”

You nod, forcing a tight smile so he doesn’t feel too bad. “I’m sorry, Falco. I’ll talk to him. Just make sure you put some antiseptic on her scrapes. Please?”

He gives a firm bob of his head then runs after her.

-

Meanwhile, you stand there, playing the interaction over and over again in your head. It skips like a broken record.

You wait for him in the living room, anxiously twisting the ring on your finger. You’ve thought of what you could say; you’ve thought of how he’d respond.

When you hear footsteps outside, and the creak of the door opening, you take a deep breath.

“Levi?”

He knows that tone, he knows that posture; but neither stops him dead in his tracks. In his head, he’s going through a mental checklist of the things he still needs to do. He’s telling himself “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop” over and over, until every step is completed without having to will himself to do it.

“Hello, Levi?” You wave your hand, slapping it down on your knee.

He hums something incomprehensible before making a beeline for his bedroom.

His response—if that even constitutes as a response—has your jaw on the floor. “Seriously? Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

Finally, his feet catch in the carpet. He’s still looking down the hallway, and you can see the stiffness in his shoulders from where you sit on the couch.

“Turn around,” you order, your voice low.

He does. The lines between his brows are dark and intense, and his gaze sharper than a needle. You don’t let it deter you. You never have—maybe at the beginning, when you barely knew him, but not anymore. He has no defense mechanisms that you can’t easily see through.

“What?” he asks.

You blink at him. “Do I really need to scold you like you’re some fucking kid?” You tilt your head. “Your attitude has been more shit than usual, and— “

He scoffs, “I always have a shit attit— “

“I wasn’t done!” Levi decides not to roll his eyes. Smart choice. If he did, you’d start screaming.

You stand up and approach him, lowering your volume so he knows you mean what you say.

“I don’t care if you have a shit attitude with me. But the kids? Really, Levi? It isn’t like you to be an actual asshole.”

“They were getting in the fucking way. Gabi nearly had her head taken off!” he insists. “I can’t tolerate that kind of behavior when people are down there with dangerous tools trying to get their crap done!”

You sigh and shake your head, running your fingers over your pinched brow. “This isn’t the Corp, Levi. People aren’t gonna get their heads bit off by titans because of an honest mistake.”

“No, but they might get their eye gouged out by a fucking power tool!” he argues, and you can feel his breath.

“It still doesn’t warrant that extreme of a reaction! You took it too far. They’re kids— “

“No, they’re not. They’ve seen enough and done enough— “

You get closer in his face, unafraid. “Gabi is fifteen years old. Falco’s almost sixteen! They’re fucking kids! I don’t care what they’ve seen or what they’ve done, they’re just kids now, with regular lives and regular problems! And they don’t need— “

“Regular problems? Falco barely sleeps through the night. Gabi’s overcompensating for the fact she— “ You don’t want him to finish that thought because you have a scary feeling you know what he’s going to say.

“What the hell?” you yell, absolutely appalled. You bring your hands to the sides of your head and press your fingers into your temples. “I don’t understand— “

“You should stop living in such a fantasy land,” he says with such indifference it maims you. He folds his arms and slouches against the wall. “Stop trying to make up for what you’ve lost by spewing nonsense like that.”

You shake your head, the incredulity in your expression changing into resignation. “Why are you purposefully trying to hurt me?” You lean into the door frame. “Huh?”

He stiffens at that.

“You embarrassed her,” you continue, your voice coming out gentler, still raspy from belting. “Maybe they’re not kids anymore, but you still treated her like one by not giving her any respect. If you’re gonna say something with your whole chest, at least act on it.”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that because he knows you’re right.

It feels like those power tools he was flipping his shit over are now hammering into his skull. He sighs.

The truth is, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing. His eyes hurt and his brain hurts and his entire body aches. He’s tired, but he can’t sleep. He’s hungry, but he can’t eat. Sometimes it feels like he’s on the edge of self-destruction, and a small part of him insists he’s already gone over that edge. He doesn’t think he knows how to crawl back over it, so now he’s stuck. You feel too far away from him to ask for help.

Everyone and everything feels a little too far away.

“Did you even ask her if she was okay?”

His silence is enough of an answer.

He can't tell if you’re saddened or disappointed like him, like Falco was.

“Levi. Please. Stop this.”

“Stop what?” he asks weakly.

“You didn’t even ask her if she was okay?” you repeat.

You slump back, and Levi pushes his throbbing brow bone into the corner of the wall, searching for relief by using pressure.

“I know. I know,” is all he whispers. “I should’ve…”

Silence falls over the two of you. From the corner of his eye, he watches you head into the kitchen and search the cabinets. You return with an orange pill bottle.

“Here. Dumbass,” you call him, rattling the bottle.

He takes the pills and pops two into his hand. Then he swallows them dry.

“Thanks.”

You hold up a hand, all five fingers stretched out. You add the thumb on your other hand into the mix, and make sure he’s watching when you put up your pointer finger, too.

“See this?”

“Your grubby fucking fingers? Yeah.”

“Well, these ‘grubby fucking fingers’ are equivalent to the amount of times you’ve pissed me off since renovations started.”

His jaw drops. “You’re keeping count?”

“Yeah, I am,” you snap. “Because each finger is gonna be something nice you have to do for me to get out of the doghouse.”

“I’m in the doghouse?”

“Oh, not even close. You’re like, in the pound. You have to escape the pound first.”

“Christ.” He sounds genuinely exasperated. “I have my work cut out for me.”

“It’s not like you don’t deserve it.”

It’s quiet again after that. Levi’s migraine is starting to subside, maybe because neither of you are screaming anymore, but he’s still thinking hard.

“Gabi said she hated me,” he tells you.

You laugh through your nose. “She’ll come around.”

You start to walk away, back into the kitchen where some dishes have piled up.

He lingers back. “Did you ever hate me? At any point?”

You look over your shoulder. Finally he sees you smile. “Oh, yeah,” you say. “Absolutely.”

Oddly enough, he finds that knowledge to be cathartic.

-

Levi lays in bed and stares at the still ceiling fan.

Every time he closes his eyes, his heart begins to race. The adrenaline that flows through him is distant but familiar; it’s something he’s trying to one day forget, even if that hope is too far fetched.

He settles back down and tries again.

A minute later, he’s sitting up with heavy breaths. He moves his hand over his heart, inhales deeply through his nose, and pushes it all out through his mouth. Once, twice, again and again, until the pounding subsides, and the quiet returns.

He doesn’t know if it’s insomnia or anxiety. He doesn’t know if those two things are one in the same, or completely different, separate obstacles. The tea helps him. Sometimes.

It’s well-past midnight when he leaves his room and wanders into the kitchen in pursuit of his kettle and a teacup. Water is heated. A hot cup of chamomile tea is steeped.

He takes a slow, experimental sip, and relaxes when the liquid sears his lips. He smiles.

“I knew you couldn’t sleep,” your voice, thick from sleep, carries through the living room.

He hums into his small cup.

You walk into the kitchen and lean against the counter, fixing a cup of your own. He silently hands you the kettle.

“So, how long have you been awake?” you ask. You’re not wearing any clothes of his tonight—only your pants and a short-sleeve shirt. He reaches out and tugs on the hem so he can admire the fabric’s texture on his fingers.

He shrugs.

“Twenty-four hours?”

He shakes his head. Your brows raise.

“Thirty-six?”

“Longer,” he rasps.

You grab your mug and wrap your fingers around the heat, your eyes drowning with emotion. He used to think it was pity, or sympathy, but he knows now it’s because you understand—a little too well.

“Do you want to go to the doctor? I’m sure there’s medication that can help.”

“I already take enough meds. I don’t want more.” He swallows thickly and lathers his dry throat with more tea. It doesn’t seem to do the trick anymore. “Do you think I should?”

You look at him in the dark, a soft smile on your lips. “I just want you to get some sleep,” you tell him.

“So you don’t have to deal with me when I’m an asshole?”

You hide your teeth behind the rim of the mug. “Partly, yes.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No,” he answers gruffly. “I suppose not.”

The two of you continue to sip your tea in silence, standing in the kitchen while shadows play out on your faces. His thumb and forefinger continue pinching and rubbing your shirt, and he focuses on what he tastes and what he smells and what he feels between his fingers: you.

His eyes drop down to your neckline, where the edge of your scar peeks out. He lifts his hand and traces the puffy skin, tugging down your shirt until your entire clavicle is exposed.

“Hm,” he sighs.

After a second, you say, barely above a whisper, “Water under the bridge, Levi.”

You look at him, and there’s something glowing in your eyes he hasn’t seen before. He doesn’t know what to make of it, or what to make of what you just said, but his thumb freezes, as does his breathing.

“It was my gear,” he says, his voice heavy with regret, “that gave you this.”

You reach up, grab his hand, and fold your fingers together; then you lower them between your bodies. Your thumb finds his knuckle.

You both place your mugs down on the counters, and with your hands still grasped, you guide him into the living room. He sinks onto the couch beside you, your shoulders and thighs pressed together, the closeness erasing everything else around you.

“Let’s just… sit here,” you whisper. Your head eases into the crook of his neck, and he sighs below the weight of you.

For the sake of comfort, you release the hold you have on his hand. He places it on your knee, palm facing up, fingers outstretched—a silent indication for you to fill the gaps in between.

It reminds you of the other week, sitting in the auditorium as you kissed for the first time. It reminds you of the death grip you had on each other’s hands, like one of you would disappear if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

“Your hands,” you say, yours and his fingertips molding together, “they’re soft.”

“Does that surprise you?”

You nod against his shoulder. “Yes. But they feel good. I like them this way.” You turn your head, until your lips are ghosting over his pulse. “I like you this way.”

“I can’t see how,” he responds, doubtful.

Your fingers lace together, and you give his palm a reassuring squeeze.

“You will. It’ll take time, but… One day, you’ll see what I see.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean, even though he wants to. His eyelids are drooping shut, and his breathing is evening out.

The last thing he feels is your lips on his neck, a sweeping kiss on his pulse, and your thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand.

If he died right then, it would’ve been a sweet death.

-

When Levi awakes, he’s on the couch. His body is sprawled on top of yours, head tucked beneath your chin. There's a blanket woven around your entwined legs, and he’s tempted—so tempted—to fall back asleep.

But the sun is coming up, and there’s more work to be done.

He gets up, gets ready for the day, and goes back to work.

-

You crack the door to his bedroom, met by the image of broad shoulders slouched over an oakwood desk. The small lamp on the corner of the table illuminates the pile of papers stacked neatly beside whatever document he’s scribbling on. His temple presses into his curled knuckles.

You can see the tension. The ache. How worn down he is—and you know it isn’t entirely from the renovations or the paperwork. It’s from being stuck in his own head for far too long.

“Did you eat dinner already?” His voice sounds through the room. He either sensed your presence from the door frame or he heard your footsteps. You wouldn’t be shocked if it were the former. Levi’s always been rather good at keeping his guard up; sometimes a little too good.

Your fingertips brush over the bump in the pocket of your shorts, and without saying anything, you step into his room. Your palms are clammy. Warmth already blossoms out below.

When you rest your hands on his shoulders, he stiffens, even more so as you begin to knead the muscles. Your thumbs find the knots near the nape of his neck and the rest of your fingers push into the area between his neck and shoulders.

It takes only a handful of seconds for Levi to melt into your touch. His pen clatters onto the desk.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, then asks again, “Did you eat?”

You smile, scratching your fingernails through his undercut before returning to his upper vertebrae. He shivers. “Yes. Did you?”

He makes a gruff noise. “I will when I finish these.”

Your smile falters. The urge to roll your eyes is hard to resist. “You’re really tense. Take a break. Come sit with me,” you offer in a hushed voice. “We can talk about anything you want.” It’s so airy and assuring that it lulls him half to sleep.

Levi groans, clenching his jaw when your thumb digs into a tough spot on his upper shoulder blade. You hear his shaky breaths and the muted grunts he makes to try and hide his pain.

“Later,” he says.

You push harder, using your knuckles to smooth out the rough spots under his skin. You know his brows are pinched. “Don’t be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Stubborn,” you huff. You lean forward until your lips are near his ear. The familiar scent of his cologne floods your senses and it’s enough to have the desire curl in the pit of your stomach. “The most stubborn man I’ve ever met in my entire life.”

Levi doesn’t know what it is, but for some reason, hearing you call him that turns his heart into a hammer. Maybe it’s because he can feel your lips moving against the back of his ear and your hot breath tickling that sensitive spot on his neck, or maybe it’s the way your palms slowly slide down his biceps, pinning them to his side. Maybe it’s all of it.

He goes still, gulping down every rocky breath, trying to ignore that spark of desire that snaps somewhere lower and makes him twitch.

It’s been a minute, he remembers. He’s just been so busy. So stubborn. The most stubborn man you’ve ever met in your entire life, apparently.

“Take a break.”

He swallows. “N-no.”

Of course he’d say that. Part of you hoped he would.

You yank his chair back.

“What the hell, ah—“ Levi grunts as you settle in his lap, hands reaching for his belt buckle. Heat attacks his cheeks, turning them pink, and the next time he blinks, his belt is in your hands.

“You’re such a workaholic.” Your voice is leveled and low. You feed the end of the belt through the buckle and form a loop.

Levi’s too stunned into silence to react when you guide his arms behind the chair and slide his wrist through the loop. He feels your chest press against him, knees pinning him in place.

“And you’re a perverted fucking freak,” he hisses back. You pull the end of the belt and his wrists come together behind him, then you cinch the center, creating makeshift cuffs. His cock hardens. He quickly shuts his mouth.

He could escape if he tried. If he really wanted to.

“You always call me that,” you pout, now loosening the tie around his neck. “But you wanna know what I think?”

“I don’t care. Let me go. I have shit to do.”

You ignore him. “I think that you’re more of a perv than I am.”

He insists, “I’m definitely not.”

“Yeah,” you snort. “You are. You know how I know that?”

You tuck a piece of hair behind his ear and he jerks his head away. “I don’t care.”

You try again, but this time you raise your hand slowly. His eyes follow your fingertips.

“It’s because your dick gets hard the second I breathe over your neck,” you whisper. Your teeth close around his earlobe. Levi bites back a gasp and looks away, but you pinch his chin between two fingers and guide his eyes onto yours. “Like right now. I can feel you.”

“Fuck off,” he replies, hoarse. His jaw clenches, forehead wrinkling and eyes narrowing to hit you with a seething glare. But you see the blush on his cheeks and how he holds his breath. You know him all too well.

You grab his shoulders and roll your hips forward, slow and eager. You throb when you feel the hard length of him pressing into where you want it. He shudders beneath you.

“I-I thought this wasn’t happening anymore,” he deflects, only half-hearted.

“Consider it an intervention,” you answer. “You gave me no other choice.”

He almost laughs. “There are other ways you can get through to me.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears and trace his eyebrows with your thumbs, this time without meeting any resistance. “Like what? I need examples. For future reference, of course. Because nothing I’ve tried has worked.”

Something apologetic flashes in his eyes before he turns sheepish. “Why would I tell you anything?”

You move on top of him, and he groans, arms shifting behind him. “I guess I’ll just have to torture it out of you then.”

Levi says nothing. Heat leaves his body through his mouth in the form of a shaky exhale, and the pounding between his thighs makes him forget about the cramp in his hand from writing for so long; as well as the ache in his shoulders from mulling away at his desk all evening.

“You’ve been working so hard, Levi.” Your voice is sweet and breathy like wind. He feels your thumb pulling down on his bottom lip before you let it pop back into place. “So distracted. Not sleeping enough. Not even eating. So focused on everything going perfectly… You should let me take care of you.”

“It’s not like— “ Levi’s words become garbled when you jam two fingers into his mouth and push down on his tongue. His eyes snap wide open before they screw shut even tighter.

“No talking.” Levi chokes, fighting his gag reflex. You work your fingers back further until his swollen lips wrap around your second knuckles. “I can take your entire cock down my throat no problem but you can’t even handle two fingers?”

You watch the rosy shade of pink deepen to a red, more prominent on the highest points of his cheeks and the very tips of his ears. Salvia pools at the corners of his mouth. You raise your brows impatiently.

“Remember when I sucked you the first time? You took my fingers so well,” you recall with such nonchalance it makes him squeeze his thighs together to relieve the building ache in his cock. “What happened since then?”

Your words prompt him into action. Choked gasps vibrate the length of your fingers until he inhales sharply through his nose and moves his tongue. A smile tilts on your lips.

“That’s better. Much, much better.” You shove your fingers back further until he gags and you can see the tears gather. “Good. You’re so much easier to deal with when you’re quiet. That way I know you’re actually listening to me.”

Defiance still glimmers in his eye, burning through you, but you don’t let it put a damper on your plans.

Slowly, you withdraw your fingers, smearing Levi’s salvia all over his swollen lips before pinching his cheeks.

“I’m gonna make you come,” you tell him, “and you’re gonna shut up and take what I give you because you’re a good boy. Got that?”

“You’re being ridiculous. We don’t have time for this, I need to— “ An exasperated sound leaves your throat and you roll your eyes, unwinding the tie in your hand. “Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re— “ His speech cuts off abruptly as you shove his tie between his teeth and secure the knot around his head. A hasty kiss is left on the corner of his mouth.

“Finally, some peace and quiet.” You exhale and drag your fingers down his chest. His shoulders heave with loud breaths, but his narrowed eyes suggest he’s still clutching onto whatever sliver of control he may have left.

You continue massages up and down his chest and neck, loosening him up as much as you can. After this week, you feel like you have something to prove to Levi: that you’re strong enough to hold all his pieces when he falls apart; that you won’t let those parts of him that feel too heavy to bear alone slip through the cracks of your fingers; that you can handle him with care even when he doesn’t want you to.

You pick at the top button of his collared shirt. Levi’s tongue prods at the tie in his mouth as you begin to undress him, one button at a time, until his pale, scarred chest appears before your fingertips.

“There,” you sigh, fingering the last button loose. You push the flaps open.

His teeth chew the fabric, and he blinks down through his lower lashes as your fingers ghost along his lower tummy. You create pink lines up his abdomen with your nails and brush a thumb over his stiff nipple. The muscle in his jaw flares.

With a smirk forming on your lips, you bow your head and connect your lips with his pulse point. Teeth nip at the skin, intending to leave indigo marks where they graze.

“I missed your body,” you say, hanging onto the words. “And how sensitive you are.”

Air leaves his nose. He feels the saliva dampening his body, infusing his skin with the way your tongue tastes. Your mouth continues to move over his body, and he squirms in his seat.

You kiss along his collarbone until your tongue melds into the hollow of his neck, the taste of cedar and spice melting over your tastebuds. You’re convinced that no wine, no matter how tart or how smooth it goes down, could ever compare to his skin under your tongue or his come in your mouth.

You pull away and run your hands over his shoulders, shoving the sleeves of his shirt down his arms as far as they can go.

Levi realizes that he may not be as capable of escaping from his leather confines as he first thought, which for some reason only makes him throb even harder in his pants. There’s a damp spot forming through his briefs that his cock rubs against whenever you shift above him, reminding him of his place.

“I should take your picture,” you say.

A month ago, he would have thrown a fit at the sight of you raising and pointing your camera anywhere near him. But now, even as helpless as he is, even as exposed as he is, his heart pounds in his chest, and he blushes deeper. He doesn’t make a sound of refusal. He thinks he wants it.

Your hands continue to roam his body, gripping his skin, flattening over his abdomen. You touch every inch of him you’ve been deprived of and ignore the wetness soaking through your panties.

“Oh, you don’t mind that?” you ask him.

He knows damn well that you’re trying to drive him out of his mind, and honestly, it’s working—far too well.

Your thumbs are on his chest again and your lips suction right below his jaw. “Levi, I’ll make a whole collection of you alone. All you have to do is say the word.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes. If you turn him into your muse or some sappy shit, he’ll kill you himself.

You pout, sensing the attitude. “No, I’m being fucking serious. I’ll tie you up in every way and strip you down and make a whole gallery from your body alone. Because it’s so fucking perfect.” You splay your hands over his stomach as if to say his mass and stature are that of a statue worthy enough to be documented forever. “And it’s mine. Mine to look at. Mine to touch.”

His lashes flutter shut. He makes a noise. Something soft and muted through the gag that sounds close to a whimper. Triumph thrums in your chest. Desire pounds between your thighs.

You hum, “There we go.”

The pads of your thumbs rub back and forth over his sore nipples, and each stroke works him further out of his shell. He gives a shy wriggle of his hips, roping your attention where he needs it the most.

But you don’t give in. His lungs constrict painfully, and his back bends away from the chair. Behind him, his fingers strain, searching for something to grab only to find nothing but air.

He rolls his hips again. You pinch his nipples and pull, then, in a low voice, “You better not be trying to come already, Levi.”

He groans into the gag and tries to shrink away from your touch, embarrassed that his helplessness is what’s making him this hard. Low-lidded eyes follow the fingers that continue teasing his chest.

“No wonder you’ve been in such a foul mood. You’re all pent up.” Hot breath unravels overtop the inflamed muscle between his neck and shoulder, soothing the ache, and a whimper sounds as you suckle another bruise into his skin.

Your lips descend his chest, slow and attentive. You nip at the area between his pecs, placing wet kisses over his sternum, before mouthing over each of his nipples. The tip of your tongue laps around the buds with careful precision, and this time, Levi audibly curses—though muffled—into the tie.

Almost panicked breaths are pushed through his nose, and he thinks he’s going to lose his shit if you keep kissing him everywhere but his lips or his dick.

“I bet you could come from me playing with your chest like this,” you taunt. Your fingers coast over his ribs, stretching over familiar scar tissue, until your hand fits itself between his thighs. Through the fabric of his slacks and briefs, you cup his balls, and his chest lifts. “Do you want me to make you come in your pants like before? Hm?”

He shakes his head, biting down hard on the tie. Your laughter over his chest vibrates his lungs.

He looks away. You’re palming his cock, yet he’s still feeling shy about it. How fucking cute, you think.

“That’s fine,” you murmur, tracing his jawline with your thumb. “You don’t have to look at me.”

Levi blinks profusely, his fingers curling to form fists for no other reason than he needs something to do with his hands.

Your lips return to his neck, kissing upward until you’re mouthing along his jawbone, closer and closer to his lips.

Helplessly, he glances down as he watches you unbutton and unzip his trousers then work his stiff cock out from his cotton briefs. The smooth skin of your palm pumps him slowly from the base to his tip, until he’s flushed and leaking.

“It’s so annoying looking at your dick,” you huff, extending your arm to the table and retrieving the bottle of lube from his desk drawer. His cheeks are bright pink as he watches you squirt a dollop of the liquid into your hand. “Makes me wanna put my mouth on it every damn time.”

He moans.

Your clean hand holds his jaw steady in place, pinched between two fingers. His gaze remains trained on your hand below.

“Look me in the eyes, Levi,” you breathe.

He whines. You press your palm flat to his forehead, shocked by the blistering heat that radiates, and push it back. His lashes flutter, and he glimpses at you through hooded eyes. You can see the need festering within his blown pupil, and the soft, murky waters in his gray-blue iris that turn stormy.

His entire body jolts when your fist closes around his thick cock. You coat him liberally with the lube, taking your idle time to stroke along his underside and swirl your fingertips around his tip. His chest spasms with sharp breaths, but you’ve yet to coax a sound from him. Silent as ever, you frown.

“Hey,” you whisper. His eyes are closed and his head is turned away again, and you consider that maybe it's a habit for him because he does it so much. You brush his bangs away from his forehead for a second time then meet his eyes. The tie is pulled out from between his teeth. “Are you good?”

“Just…” His voice is already raw despite the fact he hasn’t spoken much. He closes his eyes. “Put it back in.”

You blink. “Your dick?”

He grunts. “Definitely not that. I meant, the fucking gag.”

You furrow your brow. “But you… I don’t think you're enjoying yourself.”

“I— ” He sighs, flushing all over again, “I am…”

“Are you sure?” You press the back of your hand to his forehead. “You feel really warm, Levi— “

“If you wanna be doting, do so with my fucking dick and not me,” he snarls. “Just gag me.”

His little tantrum has you huffing. “So demanding. You know, you shouldn’t try and argue with me when your dick is out.”

He takes a breath, brows knitting together, and your lips part at the tight groan that grates against his throat. His hips twitch forward. “Holy fuck. Please.”

“Oh,” you understand. You glance down where his cock slaps against his pelvis, his tip smeared with precome. “You want me to touch you?”

He bites down on his lip and nods.

“You do look like you really need it,” you consider aloud, dragging your fingertips up his abdomen, brushing them across his chest. He inhales sharply when you pinch his nipples again, rolling them between your thumbs and forefingers until they pebble again from your touch.

“God, fuck. I can’t—j-just get on with it.” He tugs against the restraints, appalled with himself; appalled by the fact his cock is straining so uncomfortably hard because of everything you’re doing to him; appalled by the fact he doesn’t want you to stop.

He feels your hands around his head, fiddling with the tie and weaving the fabric back between his teeth. He clamps down obediently while you tie the knot snug for a second time tonight. The blatant display of submission dizzies you because you like it so much.

You reach from the hem of your t-shirt and tug it over your head, revealing a bare chest and pert nipples. Levi’s eyes glaze over at the sight. Your shorts come off next, but your panties remain on. When he glances back at his desk where the lube sits, he notices a foil wrapper that he missed before. Fuck.

The sight of you naked entices him forward, so he can drag his nose between your breasts. He breathes you in. You smell like this place. Like lavender and spring and warm linen sheets. Like him, and like home.

As you settle back into his lap, you reach down and take his cock into your hand.

It takes a few strokes to have Levi practically cross-eyed. He doesn’t know why he keeps looking down to watch, but he can’t fucking stop. It’s just… so intoxicating, seeing your tendons flex and the veins in your wrists jut out as you bring him towards the edge.

When your hands are on him, he thinks he isn’t missing any parts of himself.

“I’m not gonna let you come yet,” you say, squeezing around the base. “Not until I’m close, too. You like watching so much, then watch me touch myself.”

Levi whimpers, hips twitching forward to chase the release you take away. Another minute and he would’ve come, but now he’s throbbing aimlessly, wishing the air was enough friction.

You lift yourself up and push your panties to the side, using the extra lube and precome from his cock to slather over your clit. You’re already soaked and aching, and the contact has you gasping.

You’re silent for a few moments, but Levi watches you like you said, red and drooling from the gag. You have the prettiest pussy, and there’s something about watching his cock twitch pathetically beside it, untouched but aching, that makes him squirm.

“Fuck. Fuck. Levi,” you moan, leaning forward so your faces are close. Your lips ghost his and he kisses the air you breathe. “I’m already so close. God.”

His breathing is shallow. He pushes air through his nose that fans over your Cupid’s bow.

“W-what if… I came?” you struggle through your words, setting a pace with your motions. Your other hand grips his shoulder for support. “Would you… keep watching me?”

He responds by pressing his forehead to yours, your lips moving together but barely fused because you’re both already too fucked out to notice. He angles towards you.

“I’ll sit on your cock in a minute, baby,” you promise him. “Just let me… Ah, l-let me get close.”

He nearly moans. Your hand moves from his shoulder to his throat, where you squeeze gently, waiting to feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath your palm.

“Shit,” you exhale. You quickly pull your hand from your clit and grind your hips forward into Levi, taking away your release. “T-there we go. Oh, fuck.”

You kiss him right where his cheekbone begins and wrap your other arm around his neck. Your hearts press together.

You take a moment to gather yourself, before you sneak your hand between your stomachs and start fucking his cock with a determined fist. He’s hard for you, slit welling with more beads of precome, and you worry whether the condom will stay on if you’re both this wet.

Beneath your thighs, you can feel his own straining, and his back arches.

He pants, whimpering shamefully into the gag, pleasure etched into his sharp and brooding features. You hold his chin while his chest moves erratically.

“Not yet, Levi.” You remove your hand, and Levi groans, white-hot all over.

He trembles when you dip your hand below, scooping his balls into your cupped palm. A lone finger comes down to trace his welled-over slit. He makes a sharper noise when you suddenly squeeze his balls.

The pads of your fingers continue to stroke over his tip, smearing slick and holding him right there at that peak. You can tell he’s holding the air in his lungs, eyes shut in concentration.

A muffled “please” breaks the silence, and you smile, moving your hands from his cock and pressing them into the firm planes of his thighs. He whimpers as the heat of your skin travels back up his abdomen and over his chest until your lips press to either side of his jaw, and down his throat.

“So high strung and impatient,” you breathe into his chest, kissing him over his heart. “Aren’t you happy that I’m here to help you relax? I think I could do this forever.”

Levi’s lashes flutter open when he feels you shifting on top of him, and you stand up again so you can shimmey your panties down your legs. You swipe the foil wrapper off the table and then you settle back into place.

He glimpses down, confused when you take your panties and wrap them around his cock.

“If I put this condom on, it’s gonna slip off because of how fucking wet you are,” you explain.

His face fucking burns. But God, you’re stroking him now, with your dampened panties, and his heart is beating out of his chest, and he’s so fucking close already that he thinks—

A strangled noise, one of pure, untainted desperation, pushes against the gag when you toss the panties onto the floor.

“That was close,” you mumble.

His stomach muscles contract, and you raise your brows just as he puckers his. You smooth back his dampened hair, fingers coming down to cradle his jaw. He can no longer tell if it’s mock sympathy or genuine.

“Poor baby,” you whisper, stroking his cheekbone.

He murmurs something into the gag.

You reach down and use the pad of your forefinger to rub his weeping tip, and his breathing hastens. He does his best to snap his hips forward beneath your weight, shamelessly trying to fuck your hand.

“‘lease, ‘lease…” he whines, sloppy in all his movements. He’s so tense below you, so fucking frustrated and ready, and it gives you such a power kick.

But when he starts begging you through the gag, telling you in a muffled voice how badly he needs to come, that one finger isn’t enough, you change your mind. You tweak one of his nipples and swallow his entire cock in your palm.

“I know. I know how badly you need it, baby.” You torture him with quick, blinding pumps. “You did so good, Levi. You wanna come? You can come for me. You can come.”

You can see the tears dampen his lashes and the brutal pinch of his jaw. Levi cries into the gag as ribbons of come gush through the cracks of your fingers and paint your hand and his lower tummy in white.

“That’s it,” you praise, fucking him through his climax. He shoves his nose into the hollow of your neck, and you can feel every last one of his breaths filling in the divot. His thighs quiver. He audibly shudders. “That’s one.”

His eyes snap open wide when your hand doesn’t stop. The pleasure he felt bursting inside of him is taken and formed into something else—that pain that you’ve talked about before. You said that sometimes, for you, the pain feels like pleasure. Is this what you mean?

His body fights against it in every way. He tries to bring his hips back, away from your touch. He tries to fight with his restraints. He tries to shake his head to empty his head of all these feelings he doesn’t know shit about.

In the end, he’s at your mercy. And he’s hard again—and he fucking loves it.

“That was a lot, wasn’t it?” you ask him, carding your fingers through his ruffled hair. “Just breathe. I’ll clean you up.”

You look around for something and notice a folded handkerchief on his desk. That’ll do. He glances down, half-lidded, at the mess on his lower stomach, then your hand comes to view. You wipe it all away, light with your touches, like he’s made of glass and you’re nothing but chipped stone and tough steel.

He wonders why the hell you’re being so nice to him. All of these utterances—telling him how good and perfect he is—after he’s been nothing but a pain in the ass these past weeks, make no sense to him. He wonders why you like him—why you tolerate him; especially when he can barely tolerate himself or being in his own body half the time.

He doesn’t know how to tell you he still hasn’t the slightest fucking clue how to do any of this. He knew how to run a squadron, and kill titans, and scold cadets for making shitty, avoidable mistakes. He doesn’t know how to be fucking normal. He doesn’t know how to let go of this feeling that something terrible is going to happen if he lets his guard down for even a second. He doesn’t know how to stop surviving. He doesn’t know how to stop.

“You okay?” you ask after tossing away the handkerchief. Your thumb swipes below his eye, gathering sweat. “I’m putting it in now.”

He grunts out an “uh-huh,” and you lean in to kiss the spot you cleaned. Your mouth leaves damp marks on each of his cheeks, and on the tip of his nose, before you tear open the foil and roll the condom down his length.

You inhale sharply, teasing your entrance first by dragging the tip over your folds, and his head lazes back as you slowly lower yourself down. He’s moaning, already clammed up beneath you, and you rest your hands on his shoulders when you fully seat yourself on his lap.

“Fuck, you fill me up perfectly,” you gasp. Your arm snakes around his neck and you press your bare chest to his, lips hovering over his mouth. “Does it feel good, baby?”

Levi groans in response, nodding his head. His forehead drops onto yours. When you open your eyes, it feels like he’s closer than he’s ever been, like your eyelashes are overlapping. He moves his head to the side and rubs your noses together, which you find endearing despite the fact it was accidental.

You straighten out your back, tweaking one of your nipples before grinding your hips forward. A throaty sound escapes the gag, and he pushes into you from below, embarrassingly close not even thirty seconds in.

“Close?” you ask, noticing the uptake in his pace. He nods vigorously and curses when you stop, grabbing on his torso to hold him in place.

His nails dig into his palms and there’s wetness gathering in his eyes, then the first tear slides down his cheek. You feel it land on your skin. You’re relieved, more than anything.

The tie in his mouth slips past his teeth and falls loose around his neck. Saliva flows on his bottom lip and gathers on his chin. He cries.

“So good. So, so good,” you praise. “It’s okay. You can cry. You can come again, too. It’s gonna be okay. Promise.”

His lips round out with a noiseless shout, and you intentionally squeeze your walls around him before slamming down on his cock.

“G-God— “ he chokes. His mouth twists into a grimace. “You feel— “

His second climax cuts off whatever he was going to say.

He feels a liquid heat enveloping his cock, seeping down the length of him as you continue to swivel around your hips.

“You’re gonna come again. A third time,” you breathe into his ear. Your fingers are threaded through the back of his hair, sinking into his scalp, yanking and consoling. His head cranes back to welcome your lips on his pulse. A sob ruptures from underneath where your lips lie.

Your hips don’t stop their unforgiving pace, and your walls clench around his cock, milking him through his second climax and pushing him toward a third, until he’s dizzy and hot and flushed from head to toe and thinking about absolutely nothing.

He doesn’t realize he’s sobbing until you’re thumbing away the tears on his cheeks, but he’s too far gone to care. You’ve dumbed him down enough to a point where he could tell you he loves you and not implode. He’s in your hands, and he’s never felt safer.

“Please. Please—“ he gasps. Then your name spews from his mouth like a fuse has blown. It’s repeated over and over between baited breath, tangled within moans that erupt from the back of his throat.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you whisper through your own arousal. “You’ve always belonged to me, you know that, right?”

Levi shivers at your words, his jaw going slack in your hand. He can taste the salt of his own tears on your thumb as it slips into his parted mouth.

He can’t tell anymore if what he’s feeling is pain or pleasure. All he knows is that he’s burning like a flame, and you aren’t relenting—you’re only feeding air into the fire.

He hiccups and sobs. Your breath fans over his ear as you repeat to him, “Right?”

He gives a futile bob of his head

“No, no,” you practically growl, digging your fingers into his shoulder. “I wanna hear you say it, Levi. Your dick. Your body. Your fucking tears. They’re mine. Always have been, always will be all fucking mine.”

“Y-yours,” he gasps for air.

“Again,” you whimper. “Say it again. I’ll make believe it, so say it again until you’re dumb and it’s the only thing you know for sure.”

Levi grits his teeth so hard his molars may shatter beneath the crushing force. An unending stream of tears pours out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours—fuck, fuck! I’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum.” Levi shudders beneath you, choking on a sob as he falls apart.

“Let go, baby,” you tell him. “Jus’ let it go. ‘m gonna take care of you.”

His third climax pulls his body taut and turns him inside out. Loud and labored and wet pants make the room hotter than hell, and a noise as close to a scream you will probably ever hear from him is released into your chest.

You reach your own high seconds after him, burying your face into his neck and moaning into his pulse. Your walls spasm around his sensitive, softening cock.

“Yours,” Levi hiccups, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness with wetness slathered below both his eyes. “Yours.”

You kiss him where you feel his heart jumping below your lips, working him out of his haze. You end with a chaste kiss over his lips.

The sound he makes vibrates over your mouth, pulling you into reality. Slowly, and with as much remaining strength as you can gather, you lift yourself off his lap with a hiss and dispose of the condom. Your body sways. Your lower half twitches.

His breaths are still skipping, head lolled to the side and lips parted. You sigh contentedly before tugging up on the waistband of his briefs, then pick free the knot behind his neck. The fabric of his tie is soaked through completely with his saliva. Ruined. You chuck it onto the floor and promise to clean later.

His wrists are released next. The belt clatters to the floor, and you bring his arms forward so you can place your lips over each of the jutting veins on his wrists. The skin is pink from where the restraints rubbed, but you’re certain the marks will fade sooner rather than later, especially with some salve.

“Levi,” you call, caressing the side of his face.

He responds by leaning into your touch, and responds with a soft, “Mmm.”

“I know you’re tired, but I’m gonna run a bath for you, okay?”

“Mmmmm.”

You think that translates to either “okay” or “fuck off” or something along those lines.

An unexpected tear escapes the corner of his eye, and you reach up and wipe it away, the water melting into the pad of your thumb. You want to tell him everything’s going to be okay—that’s he’s wonderful, and you know he’s trying his best—but you know he wants to pretend like he’s alone, and that you’re not seeing him come apart like this, so you stay quiet, continuing to wipe the tears as they come.

You slide your shirt back over your head then crouch between his legs, and he buries his cheekbone into your shoulder, turning his head in the opposite direction.

He cries quietly into your shoulder.

He feels like goo.

-

The only noticeable sign of his grief is the way his tears dampen the sleeve of your shirt. It clings to your skin, warm and wet. One of his hands digs into your hip, fingers straggling for a purpose.

He doesn’t know why he does half the things he does. He doesn’t know why he pushes everyone away, even when he knows they mean well. They’re all such good people, and he feels rotten. He feels old and used, after all these years.

You knew the only way to relieve him would be to pull everything out of him, so he could start anew.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” you ask, just to be sure.

“No,” he chokes out. You gave him exactly what he needed. Somehow you always know. “Thank you.”

He deserved nothing from you. But you still gave him everything.

When he’s finished, he slumps back in the chair. You lower yourself onto your knee, hands squeezing both of his thighs before you reach up with your sleeve and wipe his blotchy cheeks. He closes his eyes. His damp eyelashes draw wet lines over the tops of your fingers where he accidentally meets your skin.

You try to not touch him with your hands so dirty, but you can’t help but lay the back of your hand over his forehead, testing a theory.

“Do you feel okay?” you ask.

He sniffles. “You just fucked my brains out. I don’t feel anything right now.” He’s too tired to fuss over your coddling. “I’m boneless.”

You can’t help but snort. “I mean, you feel like you have a fever. You’ve looked a little under the weather lately, but I thought it was from the lack of sleep. Maybe you’re getting sick.”

“I feel fine.”

“Levi.”

He practically pouts. It takes little prodding for him to fess up. “I just thought my migraines were being shittier than usual, so I wasn’t thinking anything of it. I don’t get sick.”

“I knew you were running a fever,” you frown, ignoring his objection. “Have they been acting up for a while?”

“Few days.”

“You— “ You cut yourself off. You know now isn’t the time to scold him or blame yourself.

You hurry into the kitchen and grab the thermometer from the medicine cabinet before returning to Levi, who looks like he hasn’t even attempted to move from his chair.

He rolls his eyes at the sight of the thermometer. “I’m not—please, for the love of God, let’s just go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“Just humor me,” you mutter. You hold the end of the thermometer out, and he begrudgingly opens his mouth and lets you slide the pointy end below his tongue.

Minutes later, and the temperature appears.

Sure enough, he’s running a fever. Great.

You frown. “Come on.” You nod your head toward the door. “Bubble bath.”

“Sleep.”

“Bubble bath. Please.”

“If you don’t stop saying fucking ‘bubble bath’, I’m going to kill you.”

He folds his arms like a petulant child. It’s so unlike him, you almost want to bark a laugh in amusement.

But once he realizes how absolutely, disgustingly filthy he feels, he’s lugging himself upright. He slowly joins your side, and you place a hand on his shoulder, guiding him out of his bedroom and into the bathroom.

You don’t often have the luxury of pampering Levi.

So, this—him plunked in the bathtub, knees tucked to his chest, black hair lathered in soap—is a fucking sight to behold.

You sit on the edge of the tub, and Levi resigns himself to the caress of your fingertips scratching through his scalp. His chin is tilted back, eyelids shut as goosebumps rouse along his arms when you brush a sensitive spot with your nail.

“This is degrading,” he grumbles out.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, I know you wouldn’t have been able to do it yourself.” You smooth the fringe back, exposing his forehead. “Would you rather wake up covered in sweat and co— “

“I think I’ve heard enough,” he says, his voice pitchy. “Point made. Whatever. It’s still fucking degrading.”

“Has anyone ever washed your hair for you?”

Levi visibly stiffens in the tub, but you continue to scrub his scalp and pretend you don’t notice. Perhaps it’s a sore subject. Another one. There are so many things that he refuses to talk about—or maybe it’s not that he necessarily refuses, but it’s that he feels impossibly small if he does. You think knowing that helps you understand him a little better.

He doesn’t answer the question, but he does say, gruffly, “I wouldn’t trust another person to clean me properly for shit.”

You force back a grin. “Well, you must trust me then.”

Levi stares at the clear water, watching the suds swirl around atop the surface. His pale legs are scattered with fading bruises and scars, and there’s an ugly gash on his right knee where the skin is marred. He bruises easily, you know.

“More than most people,” he exhales. He submerges his head below the water and you help him scrub out the shampoo.

Once he’s sitting up, he rubs the suds from his eyes and slicks his hair back. You grab the bottle of conditioner and continue.

“More than most people,” you repeat, the corners of your mouth lifting gently.

“But sometimes I wish you didn’t know me at all.” There’s anguish pinched between his brows but when your fingers return to his scalp, the tension erases. You could watch him relax forever.

“I see.”

God, you understand. It’s a luxury to go about your life relatively unknown. No one knows your story, and if they ask, you can say whatever you want. Omit any details. Exaggerate others. It’s like, for a moment, you can pretend you’re not completely broken. But you doubt the peace of being unknown is anything comparable to the way you feel when you’re with Levi—where not a single aching part of you is private. All of your secrets, all of your pain, all of your dreams. He knows them without having to ask.

But you can’t say if it’s the same for you, that you know him the way he knows you; because while you’ve always been an open book, Levi gives away information sparingly.

It makes you wonder if you’re right for each other or not. Maybe as partners, you are. But romantically? Are you doing the right thing? You’ve been winging it for so long you’ve convinced yourself every decision you’ve made was done consciously and in the right frame of mind, but that isn’t true. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done because your body moved on it’s own. Towards him. Every time you stop thinking, you reach for him.

Levi reaches up and grabs your wrist. Your heart is ready to fucking snap until his eyes meet yours, and you see nothing but gleaming reassurance. It’s rare but familiar, like you’ve seen that look in his eye before but can’t quite place when.

“Relax,” he says. “I just meant… I would be better at this— “ I’d like myself better enough to properly love you without feeling like complete shit about it, he thinks, and it’s a volatile, gross thought.

You look at him, still a bit shaken. That’s certainly something. That’s enough. That’s—yeah, that’s somewhat what you were searching for. A bit of reassurance. Some sort of sign to keep you going in this direction, wherever it takes you.

“Okay,” you whisper. “So then, what is this?” You gesture between your bodies.

He blinks at you. Slowly. Like he’s waking up.

“All I’m saying is—” He turns his gaze back towards the faucet and catches his reflection in the silver, “if you wanted to kiss… or fuck… anyone else… I wouldn’t like it.”

So, he’s hinting at something exclusive. Emboldened, you ask, “What if you’re the only person I want to kiss or fuck?”

He presses his mouth into his knees to prevent himself from saying aloud ‘You shouldn’t’ because you already know too much about what he thinks of himself. “I guess that’s that, then.”

“Okay. And you? Do you want to kiss or fuck anyone else?”

He swallows. “No.”

“Good. Because I don’t want you to, either.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Good.”

His eyes flutter shut and you resume combing out his hair with your fingers to make sure the conditioner is washed out. The bubbles have dissolved, turning the water a milky hue, and your eyes drift over his naked body. Old scars and marks have replaced once harsh, cutting lines of muscle. He’s softer now. You enjoy it just as much—possibly even more.

Your thumb traces a scar down his arm, pressing into the skin, fascinated by the way it dips under the pressure. You’re no longer touching to clean but touching to feel, and “overwhelmed” is a word that quickly comes to mind.

“You’re remarkable,” you whisper. He seems like he’s dozing off, the pink on his cheeks turning red. You see if he’s still awake— “Levi?”

He responds with a hum.

You open your mouth, but your circumstances prevent you from saying anything more.

There’s something that feels wrong about springing such heavy words on him when he’s already so vulnerable. The last thing you’d want is to mutilate those tender parts of himself he wittingly reveals. So you convince yourself that he knows, and almost believe it.

Instead, you drag your hand down the crown of his head, and you lean in to kiss him. Your lips find the hollow of his cheek.

“Nothing,” you say. “We have time.”

“Isn’t that strange?” he murmurs, speaking a distant thought. “We have our whole lives.”

You smile. “I never thought I’d live to see the day you turn gray.”

He scoffs. The frown on his mouth is replaced by a straighter but lax line. His eyes are cloudy with a past. “I wish everyone was here. To see.”

Thickness wounds in your throat. “Yeah,” you reply tightly, with a gentle nod of your head. Your chin lands on his shoulder. He leans into you. “Me too.”

-

Beautiful silence wraps around you, save for the sloshing of bath water, and once his hair is flattened behind his ears, you unwrap a bar of soap and run it over his back and shoulders, massaging it into his skin with your fingertips. A constant heat hugs him, like a safety blanket, and maybe it’s the multiple orgasms, or the head scratches, or your presence alone that makes him feel impossibly, wonderfully content.

The water is cold and he’s shivering by the time you’re finished.

You stand and step away from the tub, holding out a towel for him and wrapping him up before turning around to grant him some privacy. He pats himself dry and tugs on the clean pair of briefs.

You hear him mutter some sort of assurance that he’s decent and turn back around. The towel is dangling around his neck. You can’t help but reach out and ruffle his hair dry with the fabric, the damp strands growing wild and untamed in front of his eyes.

You grab the massive sweater folded on the sink basin and let it unravel, and he stretches his arms up high, compliant as you slide the shirt onto his body. The sleeves swallow his hands.

It’s painfully domestic, and he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t even scowl. He just looks at you like he’s considering leaning in to kiss you, but he doesn’t.

It’s because he doesn’t want to get you sick.

“Bedtime,” you say, close to his lips.

He allows you to guide him into his dark bedroom. He’s already untucking the sheets, and you’re rummaging around one of his drawers for a pair of pants. Once he’s dressed, he climbs into bed without a fuss.

You move the comforter to his chin the way he prefers, and he seems to snuggle up immediately, huffing into his pillow, damp hair already strewn over his forehead. Your lips twitch with a smile as you reach forward and sweep the hair back.

“I’ll finish up overseeing the renovations,” you say. “You just try and get some rest. And don’t push yourself. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

He peers at you down the slant of his nose, well aware of your hand practically petting him asleep. Into the comforter, he utters, hoping you don’t hear him completely so he can forget asking, “Do you hate yourself, too?”

Your hand pauses. “Yes,” you tell him, so honest it hurts. “Yes. So much. I have so many regrets. And I wish I said or did a lot of things differently. And I wish I didn’t waste so much time. And I wish I was a better person, even though I don’t know what that means, or what I could’ve done.”

You feel him shake his head under your palm. “Yeah,” he coughs out. His eyes are wet, but it’s too dark to see, and he’s had enough vulnerability for one night. He’s sure in the morning he’ll feel disgusted with himself. “Me too.”

“But I don’t hate you,” you add, “and you don’t hate me. Maybe our hypocrisy cancels out. You know, like how Hange once said two positives make a negative, or two negatives make a positive.”

He thinks of Hange and their long-winded tangents about shit he never understood; and he knows he would give anything to hear it all again, one last time.

“So, we’re both negative, pessimistic people. But together…” Levi looks at you, and sees that childish gleam in your eye, the one he grew so fond of over the years that he hasn’t seen in a long, long time—the one that made him fall completely in love with you. There’s a blooming sensation in his chest that opens him up and convinces him he’s always been a good man. “Together, maybe we can be happy.”

Positive, Levi thinks.

“Dumb analogy,” he croaks, but you know what he really means.

You reach for the bedside lamp and turn it off, cloaking the room in darkness that he welcomes. When he feels the bed shift with your weight, he opens his eyes, watching your silhouette slink off.

“Wait.” He lifts his head a little.

You linger at the door, trying to see him through the dark, but you can’t. However, you don’t really need to see him to know what he’s too afraid to say.

Stay.

Without a word, you crawl into bed beside him, tucking yourself into the comforter.

“Get some sleep,” you tell him.

He does.

#levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman series #levi smut #levi x reader #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman imagine #aot x reader #attack on titan x you #levi ackerman x you

[oi-levi]

Chapter Ten | Levi Ackerman

Summary: You and Levi form a new dynamic and come to an understanding, but not without a bump in the road.

Word Count: 12.5k

Content/Warnings: MANGA SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 139 AND PART TWO, sexual themes, rumination, emotional angst, mentions of canon-typical violence, self-hatred, guilt, post-traumatic stress, mentions of character death, alcoholism, allusions to depression, shared trauma

Author’s Note: Wow it has been a hot minute since I updated. Sorry for the wait - I ended up rewriting the entire chapter because I loathed the first draft, and it also ended up being 10k, then I spent way too long looking at this so now I can’t tell if it's good or not. I just know my eyes are burning. Though I do really love this chapter because it’s pretty much entirely Levi-centric! Big thanks to @lacheri for beta-reading a scene - she’s posting one of my favorite Levi series right now so you should go read it if you know what’s good for you!!!

Series Masterlist | Buy Me A Coffee | AO3 | Next

Levi sits with his back against a tree, one knee tucked to his chest with the other outstretched in front of him.

Beside him, Isabel picks at the grass. She hums quietly, sprinkling the specks of green over his leg. It tickles where it falls, but he doesn’t stop her because he doesn’t want to have to entertain the redhead himself.

Furlan is off having a piece of gear adjusted by a Captain. From a distance, Levi can still see his brow wrinkled in concentration while he tugs a stubborn strap a few notches tighter over his chest.

It’s peaceful, mostly. Quiet conversation hovers in the air from a short distance away. A cadet is laughing obnoxiously loud. Wind rustles the leaves above where the midday sun threatens to poke through.

The break passes by at a slow pace.

Levi’s lost in his own thoughts when a boot-clad foot nudges his ankle. Distracted by her grass-picking, Isabel seems to notice the presence just as Levi does.

He grunts then glances up through dark lashes, brows and lips pressed into a firm, unamused line.

Sharp eyes and a tilted mouth greet him warmly.

“Oi, Levi,” the voice says. It’s familiar, as if he’s only ever heard it once before. Probably because he has only heard it once.

The back of your head moves in front of the sun so he can finally see your features. Right, you’re that girl from the forest. The one who kept up, who almost beat him. You spent more time talking and less time watching where you were going. It was a wonder you didn’t crash into a tree.

“What?” he sneers.

You smile down at him like you’re the happiest woman alive. All teeth with sparkling eyes that wrinkle in the corners. He wonders how someone who lives in a world as shitty as this one could possibly bear a grin as bright as yours.

Distaste lands on his tongue.

“Relax,” you ease. “I just wanted to say… I’ll beat you next time.”

His brow raises. “Huh?” Beside him, Isabel bursts out into a fit of giggles. Her eyes are shining and blue and her smile stretches so wide you can see all her teeth, kind of like you, but kind of not.

There’s something inherently different in the way you both smile. Maybe it’s in the eyes. Levi isn’t sure what prompts the realization because he doesn’t really care about you.

“You’re crazy!” she squeals, oozing excitement. Her energy spills out in waves that would drown any normal person. “No one can beat my Bro! He’s the fastest. And the strongest!”

Levi exhales through his nose.

You hum in consideration. Another shrug of your shoulders catches his attention, and you steady one of your hands on your belt. “Ah, maybe.” The other scratches at the back of your neck. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see then, won’t we?”

Isabel giggles, nodding her head, and Furlan rejoins his friends. He stands beside you, offering a firm bob of his head to be amicable. You return the gesture.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” he acknowledges, studying you. Something kind flickers in his eyes. Levi’s gaze drifts suspiciously towards him.

“Oh,” you grunt. As you open your mouth to answer, a shrill voice barks out a name, and your head swivels over your shoulder. When you turn back to the three, your eyes squint. “Sorry. They’re calling me!”

Levi watches your heels pound the grass as you leave. You wave goodbye over your shoulder.

He assumes that was your name that was called. Whatever. He’ll forget all about it anyway when he leaves this place.

Furlan breaks the silence. “She was hot.”

Levi grumbles. “Shut your shitty mouth and get a grip… Fucking ridiculous.”

Isabel howls with laughter.

-

His hand traces your hairline, pushing back stray strands that have matted in your sleep. While his fingernails gently scratch back into your scalp, he holds his breath, not wanting to wake you too soon.

The sun isn’t even out yet. He just woke earlier than expected despite how deeply he was sleeping, and now that the sight of your dozed face is plastered in front of his own, it feels like a mistake to even blink.

Levi slowly reaches down and tugs on the thin sheet below the comforter, tucking it over your shoulder. He moves the thicker blanket into place overtop. The last thing he wants is for you to wake up shivering from the cool morning.

His fingertips return to your face, feather-light strokes outlining the small scars and divots in your skin; one scar hidden under the hairs of your eyebrow; another more faded scar near your temple. He combs the messy hair of your eyebrow into place with his blunt fingernail, following the arch before veering down your jawline to your chin.

He pulls down on your bottom lip, follows the canal of your Cupid’s bow, brushes the tip of your nose, then your under eyes and your lower lashes.

His hand sinks back into your hair, scrunching soothingly before smoothing out the mess he made.

Memories of the night before trickle into his consciousness, and he sighs into himself, wondering if the clenching deep inside his chest will ever seize. Some intense part of him enjoys the discomfort that comes with it, because it reminds just how close you are to him.

No one’s looking, but his palm covers as much of his face as his fingers can stretch, shielding the blush burning on his cheeks. You kissed him, and he kissed you back, then proceeded to fuck you into the sheets like he’d never been touched in his whole life.

God’s sake, he’s felt your mouth once and already has memorized the weight.

You stir, face pinching as you roll onto your back. You have to blink your eyes a few times before your vision can fully adjust, and you drag your thumbs below your eyes. Levi watches with his head propped on his knuckles.

“You’re up early,” he greets with a hoarse voice.

You merely grunt in response and sit up, the sheets slinking down around your waist. Levi stretches his arm far to swipe his collared shirt off the floor and fixes the sleeves so they’re no longer inside-out.

“Here.” He holds the shirt open behind you. “It’s cold.”

You murmur an incoherent “Thanks” and slide your arms through the sleeves that Levi presents, only bothering to button half of the shirt. Levi’s hand on your shoulder stops you before you can get up.

“Are you crabby this morning? Hm?” he mutters, but his gray iris glints with fondness. He pops his thumb into his mouth and brings it to the corner of your mouth, wiping away saliva that managed to dry on your skin in your sleep. Your entire body warms. “Go brush your teeth then come back to bed.”

You nod, leaning into his touch, and he reluctantly lets his hand fall to his lap.

“Good girl,” he sighs. It reminds you of the way he sighed last night after every kiss.

You spend only a few minutes in the bathroom, but when you come out, you look a little less disheveled than you did when you first awoke.

But instead of walking around to your side of the bed, you crawl on top of Levi, bare legs pinned on either side of his body. He winces and lets out a grunt, caught off guard, but angles himself comfortably so the two of you are on your sides facing the other. The blankets separate your bodies.

“Hi,” you finally hum, nose brushing his neck. He can feel your small intakes of breath over his skin.

“Good morning,” he responds. His hand cups the naked backside of your thigh and slides up over your bottom. When his fingers reach your lower back, he rubs soothing circles. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Mm-hm. You?” You squirm around on top of him before wriggling below the blankets, your shirt—or his shirt—riding up so that your stomachs are pressed flush together. He settles the blankets back into place over your hips.

“I did,” he answers. “Christ. You’re so fucking hot.”

You laugh through your nose. “Thanks, I guess?”

“No. I mean, you’re like a thousand degrees. I’m sweating my ass off already.”

Your head snaps up and you frown at him. “Fine then,” you grumble. “I’ll just go back to my cold side— “

Levi let’s out an irritated huff. His arms lock around your waist and he rolls your bodies over until he’s on top, your wrist pinned beside your head by his fingers. Your chest sinks in, his eye following the shallow movement before flitting back up. He looks into your eyes before his gaze drops to your mouth; his pounding heart does very little to steer him away.

“Yes?” you inquire, breathless.

Levi’s hand moves from around your wrist to your hand, where his remaining fingers thread themselves within your own. You squeeze back, following the path of his other hand through your lower lashes as he picks at the buttons of his shirt.

“You gonna fuck me again, Lev’?” you exhale, eyes fluttering shut. You had sex last night, and that blissed-out expression that was there post-climax is still very much etched into your features.

He’s tempted to oblige you just to keep that expression there for a little longer. “Would you like me to?”

I will, he thinks, I’ll bury myself inside you until all you can feel is me.

You shudder as his mouth ghosts over your sternum, hand still securely entwined with yours. You feel more fingertips drifting up and down your side.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” you whisper.

He kisses you right over the hollow spot, thumb ghosting your already pebbled nipple. There’s a heat building between you, but it isn’t anything too unbearable, and Levi finds that it isn’t necessarily sex he’s eager for, but a goddamned good morning kiss.

Like he’s some needy brat.

But he almost feels a bit too shy to ask.

Levi studies you for a moment and decides you look ready to fall back asleep. He wouldn’t mind feeling you curled up against him, back rising and falling with even breaths while he traces every scratch and scar on your skin.

Is he allowed to kiss you again?

He settles back onto his knees and watches you drift off.

It’s been four years and he still isn’t quite used to how your lives have turned out. He knew he had to make it to this point—he had to make it to the end and see the results of his comrades’ sacrifices. And he stayed true to every last one of his promises. Thanks to you, he’s sure he did.

At the beginning, he underestimated you. He didn’t see the reason behind having a Second in Command, but back then, he had no interest in giving Erwin a hard time where it wasn’t needed.

Either way, you surprised him.

He doesn’t think you know how much you occupy his thoughts. Not now, and certainly not then.

At first, it irritated him more than anything in the world and consequently put him in a shit mood. He had to deal with you for the majority of his day, so when he finally had some time to himself, why was he still thinking about you? Why would he be able to hear your voice and picture your expressions perfectly in his mind? Why would he notice every little thing you did when he didn’t even try? He was observant but it wasn’t like he fixated long enough on people to find himself in a rare situation like this one.

Perhaps it was because you were forced together by none other than Erwin himself, which meant Levi couldn’t refuse you, even if he wanted to.

Levi glances over his shoulder and realizes the disaster of clothing on the floor. His body snaps into motion.

He remembers plenty of his life before you. He remembers the stench of the Underground—the stuffiness of the city and the dust that floated in the air. He remembers cutting through that air, with Isabel and Furlan on either side. The higher he flew, the cleaner and crisper the air he swallowed. He remembers the day they were taken from him, because that was the day he finally understood.

The world was cruel, but it would find a way to be crueler. There was always a way it could be crueler.

He pulls on a clean pair of briefs, and once the clothes from the floor are folded and piled on your respective suitcases, he tucks away the condoms and lube from the night before and sneaks back below the sheets. His legs are cold, but your body is warm.

You sleep soundly, to Levi’s delight, and he adjusts the blankets around you for a second time before draping an arm over your naked waist. His nose inhales the smell of the shirt. Linen sheets combine with something warm and sweet.

That reassurance he lost the day his friends died is right here beside him now, in another body, in another form.

Then, when he looked over his shoulder, there would be you. A superior and his dutiful, intolerable Second, who had a ridiculously high tolerance for ale and an appetite for competition that was never satiated.

It was nothing. Until it became long walks in the corridors after lights out, when the two of you were the only ones left awake.

Mulling over paperwork until one of you fell asleep with your face squished against the desk and the other working around them until the flame devoured the wick.

The tea kettle screeching before you took it off the stove, despite the amount of times Levi scolded you not to boil the water.

Corralling you into your bed after one too many drinks, and inebriated babbling that entertained him far more than he’d ever care to admit. Sometimes, when he was feeling selfish, he would keep you up a moment longer than he should have.

Stolen cigarettes shared below the stars in the dead cold of the night. When Levi looked up, he still saw his friends, but he didn’t try to trouble himself with what happened after death because there were more worthwhile things to think about; like that gleam in your eyes that never seemed to leave, that he desperately aimed to preserve and feared the day that it dimmed; like the quiet sound of your laugh, and the way the corners of your eyes wrinkled when you were so happy you couldn’t stand yourself.

And he just never fucking understood that unshakable look. You changed over the years. Became older and more beautiful and stronger. But that look—it was the only thing about you that stayed the same. Some sort of childish dream. Some sort of hope, that towards the end, never sat right with him; never felt real; only until that final moment.

-

Levi holds his blazer in place over his slouched shoulders while his eyes follow the carpeted path laid out before him. Flames flicker against the stone brick walls.

The sun went down hours ago, yet Levi’s still getting interrupted by cadets in the middle of the night, informing him of the Commander’s request to see him immediately.

Hence, his sour attitude.

He raps his knuckles against the familiar oak door, tempted to turn around and walk the other way, but when he gets the okay to enter, he nudges the door open and slips inside.

“Ah, Levi. Welcome in,” Erwin’s low voice garners a grunt of recognition from Levi. “Close the door behind you, please.”

He does as asked. It’s only then when he notices him and Erwin aren’t alone. In fact, you’re here. If memory serves him right, you’re the same woman from the forest from all those years ago, whose name he still remembers despite the fact he promised he’d forget.

Has it really been that long already?

He’s only properly spoken to you once before, but that hasn’t stopped him from meeting your gaze several times in the dining hall when you happen to sit at the same table, or during strategy meetings when you end up across the room from each other.

Your eyes are a bit duller than the last time he looked into them, but they still glow with something sharp that captivates him a little too strongly for his liking.

He stares at you, utterly indifferent; to you, it looks like Levi’s never been more bored in his entire life.

“Levi. You know Reader, yes?”

“Of her, yeah,” Levi replies. His voice is laden heavily with exhaustion. Hours of paperwork when you’re still learning how to read and write takes its toll.

Levi approaches, the smack of his soles against the stone floors interrupting the thick silence.

He stops in front of the desk and turns, giving you a onceover. “So, do you still say weird shit to people you don’t even know?”

An awkward laugh escapes your lips, and you scratch the back of your neck. Like before, the corners of your eyes wrinkle up as a smile forms on your lips. “Ah, right, I didn't think you’d remember that!”

“I do,” he responds.

Curiously, he watches you harden your features. You do a bad job at it, but with enough practice, you may be able to look as upset as he does on a daily basis.

You drop your hand to your side. “Well, do you typically glare at people when they have a better sense of humor than you?”

Levi doesn’t glare. He stares. Mostly because he’s a tad fascinated by that glow in your eye that crackles like a flame. He realizes they hold a fondness in them. Some sort of hope.

He didn’t care about it before, but he thinks he admires it now.

“I have a sense of humor,” Levi argues plainly.

You snort, shoulders relaxing. You become comfortable rather quickly with him once you realize he’s all bite. “I’m sure you do.”

“I do,” he insists.

Erwin laughs softly from his desk and interjects, “I have a feeling this will be a smart arrangement, then.” Levi’s brow arches, and Erwin takes that as his cue to explain. “Levi, I’ve recently asked you to assemble and head our new Special Operations Unit.”

Sarcastically, he murmurs, “You did?”

“After taking into consideration what your new position entails, I decided it’d be wise to lift some of the burden from your shoulders. Just to help things operate more smoothly, of course.”

Levi hums. “Oh? I knew what I signed up for.”

“Yes, well,” Erwin gestures towards you, “I’ve appointed you a Second in Command. You should get more comfortable seeing the Captain around. From now on, you will be working closely with her.”

Levi’s eyes remained glued to yours, his gaze bone-chilling, but you don’t dare break eye contact with him. You let him get a good, hard look at you.

He wants to make some snarky comment about how he doesn’t need a Second in Command, but assuming from Erwin's clarity on the matter, Levi knows there isn’t much room left for disagreement.

Besides, when he contemplates the proposal, the benefits obviously outweigh any plausible hindrances.

Not to mention he knows plenty about you. Against his own will, of course. And from hearing people talk.

Objectively, you’re an impressive candidate for the job. A diligent and smart Captain. Tough. Witty. Your superiors speak highly of you, as does Erwin, and Levi values his opinion above anyone else’s. Still, he concludes that you’re an intolerable and impossible person because he refuses to think anything else remotely “nice” about you. There’s nothing else to it.

He watches you outstretch your hand, fingers flat like they’re ready to slice through him. You wait for him to take your hand into his own and greet you properly.

Levi’s eyes acknowledge the scrapes and bruises littered over your knuckles. Calluses cover the pads of your fingers. He doesn’t like dirt, but from what he can tell, the beds and undersides of your nails are spotless.

He reaches forward and folds your hands together. Your heart catches in your throat. Something buzzes deep inside of him.

“You know how to make tea?” Levi asks.

You throw his hand down with enough force it nearly hurts. “Don’t get it twisted, Captain. I’m your Second, not your goddamn servant.”

Levi swears his mouth twitches. Erwin’s thick brows rise at the odd sound that escapes the man’s lips. It’s a soft, quiet noise which lasts barely even a beat, but by the small shake of Levi’s shoulders, Erwin can tell he’s laughing.

“I prefer iced tea, anyway.”

Well, you’ve done it now.

“Fuck did you just say to me?” Levi growls.

Erwin intervenes, “Feel free to appoint Reader with whatever you need, Levi. She’s at your disposal. I trust that you know what’s appropriate to ask of her and what isn’t?”

“I do not.”

Erwin tilts his head towards you. “Then the Captain will fill you in. You both are dismissed. Thank you.”

You and Levi filter into the hallway, walking silently side by side. He removes his blazer off his shoulders and folds it over his forearm while you stare straight ahead.

There’s something about your presence beside him that feels final. Absolute.

“So,” you break the silence first. “The basics.”

Levi stays silent, but you take it as a means to continue.

“Number one…”

You drone on, and Levi listens. Sometimes, when he gets tired of the conversation, he says something to provoke you.

He likes the way it riles you up.

-

Rain rolls down the glass windows like teardrops, and the relaxing splash coaxes Levi into the corner of his seat. His arms cross as he snuggles into himself, temple resting on the wall beside him.

He sleeps.

Minutes trickle by while the overcast sky drapes the afternoon in darkness. Though it doesn’t taper your mood. Your eyes follow the rows of words before you.

For a fleeting second, you glance up, your gaze softening at the sight. The corners of your mouth upturn and you settle back into the cushion of your seat, losing your place in your book, but it isn’t too much of a bother.

Levi’s shoulders rise and fall with every slow breath, his fair skin looking even paler in the grayness. There aren’t any bags below his eyes. There isn’t any inherent hollowness that comes from living too many lives in a single stretch.

His eyes flutter for a moment, slate-gray iris glinting below the flickering yellow light. He uses the back of his hand to rub at the scarred side of his face, scratching an invisible itch.

“Everything okay?” you ask, and he is soothed by how softly you speak.

He nods, grunting in response.

Your lips curl even further upwards. “We should be at the station in a little less than an hour.”

Levi’s hand dips into his jacket and he pulls out a pocket watch. He sniffles. “I wonder if the rain will carry over.”

“We’ll just have to see, I suppose.”

He looks down and acknowledges the paperback in your grasp. “Is your book any good?”

Heat crawls along your cheeks. Sheepishly, you shake your head. You were too busy watching him sleep to remember any of what you read. “I-I forgot.”

“You forgot?” He raises a brow.

“Mm-hm,” you hum. “I got distracted.”

“Oh? By what?” His eyes follow the menacing outline of tall peaks and forest green outside while yours linger on the sharp curve of his jaw. What a perfect picture Levi is, you think.

You wave him off. “Nothing. I can’t remember.”

Thankfully, he drops it. Until he opens his mouth again.

“It’s easy to tell when you’re doing that, by the way.”

You blink. “Doing what?”

Levi meets your gaze. “Watching me sleep.”

You gape for a second, trying to damper your own embarrassment by racking your brain for a way to defend yourself. But, there’s not really any point in denying it, so why would you even try?

“I can feel it,” he continues, unperturbed, his eye contact unwavering. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to coax you to his side of the table so you could sit closer together the remainder of the trip home.

You shrug and sink into your seat. “It’s a habit.”

His eye glows a little more brightly. “A habit?”

You stare right back. “Yes.”

Levi doesn’t say anything more. He simply settles his head back into its previous spot and closes his eyes. “Makes sense,” he murmurs.

He has plenty of habits like that, too.

-

Petra, Eld, Oluo, and Gunther are dead.

You have a sprained wrist, and his ankle is fucked, but a sprained wrist beats a sprained ankle which means that you’re pretending to be Levi until he fully heals.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. You’ve proven yourself, and he knows your limits are far from being reached. He also knows you’re no stranger to operating under Erwin’s orders.

All of your friends are dead, but still, that light in your eyes doesn’t go out. Levi thinks you have to be some sort of sociopath for that not to happen.

What’s your secret? What keeps you going? Do you sleep through the night or cry into your pillow?

He doesn’t know where these questions come from.

Never in his life has he ever struggled to say anything, but there are words stuck in his throat as you mount your horse and follow Erwin to the ends of the Earth to bring Eren back. Would you do the same for him? Follow him to those ends? Would he follow you?

He waits impatiently for you to come home, and he’ll brace himself in case you don’t.

***

When you do come home, you're caked in blood and dragging a barely conscious commander toward the barricade of nurses and medical staff.

Levi watches you. He’s never seen you command a crowd like this, or bark orders so loud the ground nearly shakes. The cadets listen to you. They make haste to their respective areas.

People move inside the castle, and Levi follows behind the crowd, glancing towards the 104th. Jean Kirstein is on a stretcher with a bandage wrapped around his head and dried blood on his chin. Mikasa, that gloomy brat, is attached to Eren, of course.

You're yelling again. People are shoving past you, and you knock elbows with an older guy. Harsh words are exchanged.

Levi’s there in a blink, hand on your shoulder to grab your attention. Your body trembles beneath his palms, and he chalks it up to adrenaline and exhaustion.

“Levi,” you say, voice hoarse. Your eyes droop but your irises are glinting below the lights. Shining.

“I saw you bring Erwin in,” he states, hand still on your shoulder. If you weren’t so delirious, you would question why he’s touching you like this and for so long.

You nod. “His arm is titan fodder but that crazy bastard will definitely pull through. They’re going to operate immediately.”

You begin to ramble, muttering stuff that sometimes doesn’t make sense. Your steps falter and you sway, so he grabs you by the bicep to hold you steady. His fingers dig in harshly.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“What? What did— “

Louder, “Are you hurt?”

“Huh, oh, no. I still got both arms. Both eyes. All my teeth. Fingers, toes, kneecaps— “

He wonders how long you’ve been awake. He wonders how long you were fighting.

“You’re done,” he says, and he guides you out of the stuffy wing, down the corridor and to a familiar room you’ve completed paperwork in dozens of times before.

Levi unlocks the door and makes sure you get inside first. Hints of pine and black tea hover in the air. You stumble into the bathroom and keen over the sink, head nearly dropping into the porcelain bowl. He has to yank your hair back to spare you a concussion—or prevent a concussion from worsening.

The sink is turned on and it takes a few seconds for warm water to pour out. He shoves a bar of soap into your hand and places your hands below the faucet.

“Are you helpless?” he remarks, covering your hands with his own to guide your movements. The white soap bar turns bright pink, suds gathering on the drain.

“Tired,” you slur. Your knees wobble. You grab the edge of the sink and brace yourself. “Can’t. ‘m tired.”

“Stand up,” he orders. He grabs you by your chest harness and straightens you up with as much strength as he can muster. When your hands are a little cleaner, he pats them dry with a clean towel. “Go sit down on the edge of the tub.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice to sit down. You do it, hunched forward, and he winces as he lowers himself down in front of you and begins undoing the belts lining your thighs and hips.

“Your ankle,” you murmur. You never miss his pain.

“It’s fine,” he assures. “You’re such a brat.”

You laugh quietly. “I don’ need a shower. Let me go to sleep.”

“No.”

“Why you doin’ this, Lev’?”

He nearly shudders at the sound of his name leaving your lips, and he tries to ignore why that is because he doesn’t want to add it to the long list of things he already doesn’t understand. “Because you won’t remember it,” he decides.

He skillfully removes all the straps, metal clunking against his floors, followed by tall leather boots. He reaches his arms around you and unbuckles your chest harness, stiffening when he feels your forehead on his shoulder.

His heart stops.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses. “Stop that.”

“Tired,” you whisper, and in a small voice murmur, “Help.”

“I am helping,” he reminds gently. “Lift your head up, Captain.”

Your head feels like a rock as you struggle to sit upright, and Levi moves around. He maneuvers you into the tub, fully clothed, then turns on the water. Ice cold bullets pelt you.

“Levi!” You lurch up. He grabs the curtain and yanks it closed. “Cold!”

“Take off your clothes,” he ignores.

You poke your head out from around the curtain, wet and matted hair clinging to your face. The dried blood on your face begins to drip down your skin like crimson paint.

You look like a cat caught in a rainstorm.

“‘don’t have any clothes here.”

“I will find you something to wear,” he says. “Shampoo and conditioner are in there.” He hands you a clean bar of soap. “Don’t forget to scrub under your nails and get your ears. Blood gets stuck in there sometimes. And don’t fall asleep.”

Your head disappears behind the curtain, and before Levi leaves, he watches a red-soaked shirt land on the floor. A pair of breeches, socks, and underwear follow.

It takes you a little while to shower, mostly because every ounce of strength has depleted from your body and it’s nearly impossible to lift your limbs. You have to resort to sitting on the floor of the tub in a compact ball, knees tucked against your bare chest, heat resting on the very top while suds surround your feet. For the most part, you’ve managed to scrub out the soap. Conditioner will have to wait until tomorrow.

It has to be good enough, because the water stops. You blink up, then an arm appears above you holding a clean towel.

“Levi?” you murmur. “‘that you?”

“Yes. Dry off.”

“Can’t.”

Silence hangs over the two of you, and it’s almost quiet enough to finally sleep in peace. You don’t even hear the shower curtain opening. You just feel a towel being draped over your back and wrapped around your front. Instinctively, you seek warmth and curl into the fluff.

Levi’s strength never fails to baffle you. All he has to do is squeeze you on both sides to pull you to your feet. You step out of the tub, immediately struck by cold air that tickles every inch of wet skin.

“Cold,” you whimper.

A hand carefully brushes your forehead. Levi examines a nasty, raw gash in the skin. “Did this not sting when you were washing?”

You grunt. “Numb.”

His brow wrinkles. “You’re numb?”

You don’t respond. He doesn’t pester you, either. Instead, he closes his eyes and slips a loose long sleeve shirt over your head. He has to move your arms around to get them through the sleeves, but eventually, he manages to hike a pair of cotton sleep pants over your bare legs, and a pair of thick wool socks over your feet before putting you to bed.

You greet the comforter with open arms, kicking your feet underneath. The pillows are firm, like they’re rarely ever used, but you sink into them nonetheless. Linen sheets swaddle you from your toes to your chin. You fall fast asleep in seconds, breaths evened out, feet rubbing together.

Levi sits there for a moment. Tired. Can’t. Numb. All of your one-word responses bounce off in his head. You need to eat. You need to drink. You need your wounds dressed. So many things you need to do, but you can barely stand on two legs.

He brings the back of his hand to your forehead and makes way to your cheek. You aren’t running a fever, which eases some of his nerves.

“What a bother,” he huffs, then tucks in the sheet for good measure.

The bathroom is a disaster. It’s another thing that’s bothering him, but he’ll deal with it later. Right now he needs to check on Erwin, and see if he can be of any use.

Before he leaves, he spares a glance over his shoulder at the sleeping girl bundled up in his bed. Your body rises and falls with every breath.

By the time he’s halfway down the hall, he’s already itching to go back. Almost like it’s out of instinct; or a newly-formed habit, perhaps.

-

When you and Levi arrive at the front of the shop, Gabi is shoving the door open and flinging herself towards Levi. He grunts from the brute force of her embrace, and berates her gently while petting the top of her head. Your own arm slides around Falco's neck, tugging him into your side.

The door closes behind you and the bell sounds. Onyankopon pops up behind the counter, clad in an apron and covered in coffee grounds.

“Hey you guys!” he greets, tossing his hand up.

The four of you approach the counter, and you and Gabi place the luggage onto the ground before your fingertips instinctively reach for one of the leftover croissants in the case.

“We missed you!” Gabi smiles, leaving Levi’s side to run behind the counter. She pulls a kettle off the stove and fills two teacups.

“Thank you,” Levi murmurs. He slides into a stool, propping his elbows on the countertop.

Gabi places the cup and saucer in front of him. She knows she doesn’t need to tell Levi to wait for the piping hot beverage to cool. He prefers it to singe his taste buds.

Onyankopon hands a pile of letters to Levi. “Renovations tomorrow?” the man asks.

Levi sighs and begins to flip through the envelopes. “Yes. We’re getting new floors and paint.” He pulls out a folded sheet of paper and skims the fine print. “Shit.”

“What is it?” you sigh, resting your chin on his shoulder to read the letter. “Oh, taxes are due. Did you forget?”

“It may have slipped my mind,” he responds, his voice vibrating right beside your ear. It sends a chill down your spine. You don’t think you will ever get used to being so close to him.

Onyankopon pauses as he wraps the leftover pastries, brown eyes raking over the two of you. Levi doesn’t make any effort to shake you off, but instead he slouches into the back of the chair and holds the letter higher so you can see it better. You mutter something softly, and he hums in response. When you pull back, your fingertips brush the nape of his neck before you join Gabi behind the countertop.

A smirk tugs at the corner of Onyankopon’s mouth. Victory pounds in his chest.

“Why don’t you guys stay for dinner tonight?” you offer. You throw a dry rag over your shoulder and drag a soaked one over the countertop, switching between the two as you clean. Levi wordlessly lifts his arms and your mail off the table and sets it on his lap to avoid dampening the paper. You wipe around your saucer.

“We wouldn’t want to impose like that,” Falco shakes his head. He pulls Gabi’s apron loose and slips it over her head.

You wave your hand, “Nonsense.”

“What were you thinking?” Onyankopon asks.

You shrug. “Not sure. I’ll run to the store and pick up something. Beats whatever’s in the fridge.”

“I’ll come!” Gabi shouts.

Falco hums in agreement. “Me too.”

You drop the rags and circle back around, sifting through your bag for your coin purse.

“Are you sure you want to go out?” Levi leans closer, gaining your attention. You look up from your hands. “I know you’re tired.”

You grin. “Says the grumpy old man who fell asleep on the train.”

Levi frowns. The wrinkle between his brows grows dark but you’re quick to smooth out the skin with your thumb.

“Ah-ah,” you click your tongue.

“I’m not old.” Onyankopon snorts, and Levi jerks his head in the man’s direction. “You got something to say, huh?”

He pretends like he’s fiddling with the register. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

You shove your coin purse back into your bag and turn to Levi. “We’ll be back in twenty or thirty minutes. Anything you need me to grab while I’m out?”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment. You look the same as you always have but there’s something different about you. He knows it isn’t the wispy frizz climbing over your face from the humidity, or the way you stare into his eyes with a calm expression. He feels nothing at this moment. Not a racing heart or clammy palms. But your existence still sweeps over him and makes his eyes droopy, like he could fall asleep and dream good dreams.

His face heats when he realizes everyone is watching, waiting for him to open his mouth. When he does, he dips his head and sheepishly murmurs, “Chocolate.”

“Of course. You want the same brand?”

“Yes.”

With that, you, Gabi, and Falco all head out of the store. The sky outside isn’t looking too promising, and Levi insists that you hurry home, but that’s the last thing that’s said before the door shuts and he’s left alone with Onyankopon.

He still has that shit-eating grin on his face.

“What?” Levi snaps.

“You’re just a funny guy,” he chuckles.

“You’re intolerable. Are you done closing shop down here?”

“Yes.” Onyankopon takes off his apron and slides it onto the hook hoisted on the wall. After he grabs yours and Levi’s luggage, he spares the man a glance over his shoulder. “Whiskey?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Levi and Onyankopon walk through the apartment with purpose. The luggage is dropped beside the couch, and the lights are flipped on. Levi even cracks open the balcony doors despite the humidity (it’s chilly enough to aid in some air flow after the place has been locked up for a few days).

He hovers by the bev cart and lifts a glass vile of amber liquid. A memory resurfaces.

The smell of liquor on your lips. Your thighs straddling his lap. Your bodies pressed together. The feeling that he never wanted to leave this place.

And to think he didn’t kiss you that night.

With his thoughts slowly untangling themselves, he heads into the kitchen, where Onyankopon already has two glasses set out.

“Ice in yours?” he asks.

Levi shrugs. “Why not.”

Two glass cups are filled barely halfway with amber liquid and topped with ice.

He knows that Onyankopon is ready to bombard him with questions—an interrogation of sorts, which he can’t necessarily refuse because Onyankopon is technically the instigator behind what unfolded in that auditorium and that hotel room.

Damn him. Damn him because Levi fucking owes him, and he knows it.

Drawers are making a racket as the two men move about the kitchen. Silverware is placed on the counter. Pots and pans are prepped on the stovetop. From the upper cabinets, Onyankopon retrieves plates and glasses.

Levi takes a sip of his whiskey. Onyankopon mirrors him.

They partake in a staring contest.

“Say what you’re going to say already,” Levi grumbles over the rim of his cup. He takes another swig and holds it in his mouth, not really minding the potency.

Onyankopon’s face appears entirely blissed-out. “I gather you and the missus had an enjoyable weekend.”

“Get your head out of the gutter,” he sneers. His glass is placed on a coaster and Onyankopon tilts his head, enticing the man to continue. “It was nice,” Levi settles.

“Nice?”

“It was nice, yes.”

“What else did you do?”

Levi thinks back. What did you do? You went to a few restaurants. Sat and ate and talked. Went to the beach. Argued for a minute. Played some card games. Went to a show but didn’t watch it because you were too busy groping each other like careless, hormonal teenagers.

“We went to the beach one of the days,” he answers. “It rained a lot, but it didn’t take away from our plans.”

“And the show? How was that?”

Levi throws his head back. “It was good,” he swallows. “I’d never seen one before.”

“Oh. And what was your favorite part?” Levi stares at him, devoid of any emotion, and Onyankopon bursts out laughing. It was obvious he already knew the answer before he asked. “Captain, you dog.”

Levi’s cheeks flush pink. “Fuck off.”

He waves his hand. “So, you’re finally together then? It was starting to get pitiful, watching you pine for her.”

“We aren’t together.”

Onyankopon’s face drops. The bemused glimmer in his eye completely fades. “Levi.”

The man in question nurses his whiskey. “What? It’s not that easy.”

“Not that easy, my ass,” he insists. He narrows his gaze. “You better not be sleeping with her like that, Levi. It’s pathetic if you are— “

“I’m not— “

“You’re not? Then what are you doing?”

“I don’t— “

“What’s so wrong about telling her you like her, then? Surely you know she feels the same. She has for years.” Onyankopon isn’t an idiot like Levi is. From the minute that he met you all, the moment he befriended Hange, he knew everything against his own will.

“What?” Levi grumbles. He shakes his head. “Don’t say— “

“Ah.” Onyankopon closes his eyes, never allowing the man to complete his thought because he knows that it’s probably pulled from his ass. His face softens. “Liberio.”

Levi’s silence is a good enough response as is.

“I remember that day,” Onyankopon continues, rubbing his chin. He hands a stack of placemats to Levi who begins laying them out on the dining room table. “Still haven’t figured out how to tell her, huh?”

Levi says nothing, again.

Onyankopon hums in consideration. “I suppose it isn’t easy to tell your partner that you got her killed.”

Levi wants to shout at him to be quiet, but there isn’t anything wrong with what he said. It’s true, after all. Besides, knowing the person Onyankopon is, there isn’t any malicious intent behind his words. He’s simply thinking out loud and assembling the pieces Levi unknowingly provides with his silence.

“She didn’t die,” Levi whispers. He's feeling lethargic again like he did on the train this afternoon. Maybe it’s the alcohol.

“Sorry. Almost killed,” he corrects, like it makes any difference. “Yeah, that definitely can’t be easy… being the one who shot her and all.”

“What are you doing?” Levi’s voice is low. Threatening. Like he’s being backed into a corner and clinging desperately to whatever defenses he has left. Something claws at the back of his throat and makes it impossible to swallow.

Onyankopon is silent now. Levi huffs as he slaps the final placement down, lips tugged into a frown.

“When are you going to realize that you did what you had to do to keep her safe?” he asks. He notes Levi’s posture, and the firm line that his mouth shifts into. Another possibility enters his mind. “Or maybe you are beginning to understand it was a mistake. And that bothers you more than anything else.”

“Shut up,” Levi grunts.

“Have you ever forgiven yourself for anything?”

He hasn’t, but he would, if that’s what it took for him to finally be with you. Eventually, he’d find a way. Because he wants you more than he wants anything else.

“I think you’re afraid she’d actually forgive you, too.”

Levi knows you would. “She shouldn’t,” he sighs.

“Maybe not, but when has she ever allowed anyone to dictate her choices?” Levi remains still, setting knives and forks into their respective places, lingering on his reflection in the silver. “I think you look like you’re tired of carrying all this baggage by yourself.”

“Thanks for the psychoanalyzing,” he barks, head snapping over his shoulder. “How much do I owe you?”

Onyankopon chuckles quietly. “Consider it advice from a friend who cares very much about your happiness.”

Levi turns away. He still isn’t quite used to people caring for him, and it makes him feel guilty because he doesn’t know if he’s worthy of their companionship. Onyankopon was a friend to Hange before he was a friend to him, yet he never showed any inclination that he wished for the two to switch places after they died. He took Levi as is. Somehow, that makes Levi feel like he owes him more now.

“I’m getting married in a month,” Onyankopon mentions out of the blue.

“I know.”

“You should be the best man at my wedding.”

Levi nods. “If that’s what you want.”

“Absolutely.” Onyankopon leans against the dinner table that Levi has yet to fully set, arms folded, while he waits for him to meet his pointed gaze. “I’m assuming that I don’t need to arrange separate accommodations for you two.”

Levi says nothing.

Onyankopon places a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, I know I won’t have to do that, because by that point, you’ll both know for certain how in love with each other you really are.”

Levi shrugs his hand off and turns away. It’s almost like he’s too tired to patch up his walls, so all he can do is hope Onyankopon spares him by not looking.

He’s never done the whole “being in love” thing before. Ever since you started your lives here, in this strange place that still feels like it will be ripped away from him, he’s understood the feeling a little better. Most times, what he feels is too overwhelming to put into words, so he’ll bring the ice cream out of the fridge to dethaw or he’ll dust off your tiny antiques on the shelves instead. Maybe it isn’t good enough but it’s all that he’s been able to figure out.

Does it only matter if he says it? If he screams it at the top of his lungs? Who fucking knows.

“You went through hell, man,” Onyankopon offers Levi his glass, refilled halfway again. And his eyes are kinder. “So, it makes sense that you’re a pessimist. But you have to think about it like this: By the Grace of whatever higher power, you made it out, and not only that, but you have at least one person by your side who knows your pain better than anyone else.” Levi’s lips part. “You don’t think that means something?”

Levi doesn't really believe in that fate bullshit, but hell if Onyankopon doesn’t sound incredibly convincing when he suggests it.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, rubbing his temple. “Okay. Okay. You’ve made your point.”

“Damn right I did.” Onyankopon tilts his head back and swallows a gulp of whiskey. He winces. “So then why do you still have a constipated look?”

“Don’t steal my jokes.”

“You mean, the same jokes you stole from a prepubescent kid in primary school?”

Levi frowns. “Now I’m not gonna listen to what you said.”

The other man surges forward. “Then I take it back!” he cries, and only looks peeved until a quiet laugh shakes Levi’s shoulders.

Onyankopon has to remain in his slanted position as he fully processes the sight and sound of Levi actually laughing, because otherwise he’ll trip and land flat on his pretty face.

Of course, there’s still that line between his brows that grows darker the more he hurts. But, the tension in his shoulders is gone and his expressions are lighter. Even his eyes will open wider when he talks, like he doesn’t mind letting a little bit more of the world into view.

“So, how was the trip, really?”

Levi covers his hand with his face to hide his blush. “Fuck off.”

“Oh, come on, Levi. You seriously think that I didn’t give her those tickets for one reason and one reason only?”

“You're a scheming son of a bitch.”

He cackles. “You needed the push.”

Levi points a threatening finger in his direction. “You set me up!”

“I set you up to get laid, and it worked. You’re welcome, by the way.”

He sighs. “Yeah.” Then he lifts his chin. “Thanks.”

Onyankopon’s eyes widen. “Excuse me? What did you just say to me?”

Levi reaches for his whiskey and pokes his head into the pantry.

“Don’t be shy, Levi. Say it again! Loud enough so I can hear properly!”

“Oh, will you just shut up already!” He slams the door shut behind him. “I said thank you!”

Onyankopon shakes his head in disbelief. “Incredible,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, you’re looking at me the way Hange did when they realized Titans didn’t have bowel movements. I’m done with this conversation.”

He puts his hands up in surrender, returning his attention to his glass of amber. “Aye aye.”

Right on time, the door creaks open, and Falco and Gabi enter with groceries in their arms. You’re popping off a square of chocolate and placing it on your tongue.

“We got stuff for bruschetta!” Gabi announces.

The three of them fall into motion, darting through the kitchen and preheating the oven. Gabi tries to smack Falco over the head with a baguette like she’s wielding a sword, and the poor boy nearly jumps out of his skin.

You and Levi linger near the dining table, a clean glass placed in front of you. He tilts the bottle of whiskey and pours you a glass, which you graciously bring to your lips.

The liquid burns as it goes down, but you don’t flinch.

“Not as good as that wine Paddy bought,” you tease.

Levi sneers then reaches forward and plucks the glass out of your hand. His eyes don’t move from yours as he places his lips on the rim where yours once rested.

“If you’d rather ask him for another bottle, then by all means,” he hums passively.

“Oh, come on.” You lean forward, flashing your lashes at him. A square of chocolate is held up between your fingertips—a peace offering, of sorts. “You know I’m just teasing you”

Satisfaction burns in his chest—or maybe it’s the alcohol—and he glances toward the chocolate. With a lopsided grin, you pop the square onto his tongue, his lips barely wetting your fingertips.

“Say something like that again and I’ll make you regret it,” he murmurs through sticky lips and a tangled tongue. His knee knocks yours under the table. You wish you could scoot closer. You want to be alone with him.

“Now you’re just tempting me to misbehave.”

“Okay, then do it and see what happens,” he fires back.

You pluck a strand of hair away from your mouth, shifting back in your seat, and Levi smirks because he knows you’re flustered.

“Do you like it?” you ask, nodding towards the crinkled wrapper of the half-eaten chocolate bar on the table. You rub your nose.

“Yes,” he nods. “Thank you.”

You smile. “You have a secret sweet tooth.”

He pouts, unknowingly. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

You roll your eyes and swipe your glass back from where it sits guarded in front of him. Levi is never one for dessert before dinner, but tonight, he continues to pick piece after piece of the candy bar, munching and cleaning his thumb after each bite.

You want to talk to him about last night. About the kisses, the sex, and the following morning. He’s talking to you now perfectly fine, albeit a little more tame than usual, but still, you hate not knowing what he’s thinking. All of this time and you still struggle. Sometimes it feels like you aren’t smart enough to read his mind—like you don’t deserve him if you can’t.

You want to be closer to him, like you were last night, breathing him in. The way his body felt melded to yours couldn’t be described as any other way than right.

“Hello?” he grumbles, tilting his head. “What are you thinking about?”

You exhale. Levi makes you feel loose and content. “You.”

You decide not to tease him when a rosy tint dusts the tops of his cheeks. He grabs his glass of whiskey. “Oh, really?”

“Really.”

“Why?”

You shake your head. Your smile is small but the glow in your eyes makes it appear brighter and wider. “Why not?”

Levi straightens up in his seat. “Surely there are better things to think about.”

“Not for me.”

He clenches his teeth. “You’ve had too much to drink already.”

“I’ve had three sips.”

“That’s three sips too many.”

The night continues on like that, with you and Levi secluded at the dining table and Onyankopon supervising Gabi and Falco in the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, you’re topping the bruschetta with a bit of seasoning, and Levi’s replacing your whiskey with a full cup of water. A handful of appetizers line the table. Gabi has no shame in loading her plate.

Levi watches you from the head of the table, waiting until you scarf down half a piece of bruschetta before he starts in himself.

“How was the beach?! I want to know everything!” Gabi grins through a mouthful. She turns her head and looks at you expectantly.

You shrug. “It was cloudy, but we still enjoyed it, right, Levi?”

“She fell in the water.”

You slam your hand on the table. Silverware clatters. “No, I didn’t!”

“She found a recipe for lemon meringue pie, too,” he adds.

“I did.” You turn to Falco. “You’re good at the whole baking thing. Maybe you could help Levi make it one day.”

Falco nods. “Sure!” He reached for his glass. “How was the show?”

Levi chokes on his salad. You laugh awkwardly. Onyankopon tries to reel in his amusement but fails miserably when he chuckles into his cup.

“Uh, it-it was fine?” You do your best to

“Only fine?” Levi glares.

“What?” You have a strange feeling you aren’t talking about the show anymore. “Oh, no—it was great! Best show ever! Great, solid performance!”

The corners of his mouth quirk. “Out of ten, how would you rate it?”

You flail your hand. “Oh, definitely an eleven out of ten! For sure! Infinity out of ten!”

“Really? Infinity?” he inquires, staring you dead in the eye. “I thought it was more like a three.”

Your jaw goes slack. Gabi and Falco glance between the two of you, quietly eating their food.

“Shut the hell up, Levi!” you growl. “It was a ten, and you know it.”

He hums, “The actress was so loud and obnoxious— “

Onyankopon holds up his hand. “Yeah, you’re done.”

“Really? Loud and obnoxious?” Your grip around your fork tightens until your knuckles pale, until you finally relax into your seat. “Well, actually, I thought her male countertop was struggling to keep up with her— “

“Excuse me?” he bellows.

Falco chuckles tightly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

-

The apartment is silent aside from the sound of running water and the occasional clang of silverware and plates. The ice in yours and Levi’s stemware has melted and watered down the potent taste of alcohol, lukewarm and likely to be downed by you in a single swig.

Levi washes. You dry.

Outside, the storm has finally caught up, which is the reason for Onyankopon, Gabi, and Falco’s early departure. Rain begins to patter against the windows, echoing in the living room where the glass doors take the brunt of the hit.

He should tell you how he feels, but he’s never been good with words. He’s never been good at comfort. He’s just good at cooking you meals so you don’t forget and making room on his shelves for whatever you’d like. He thinks he’s good at kissing you hard on the mouth.

The throb in his chest wants one thing, but he’s never been good at following that feeling, either. His mind and his shit way with words tends to sabotage it all in the end anyway.

“You seem like you want to say something,” you hum, sparing him a glance. You swirl the lightweight towel around the freshly cleaned plate. “Is everything okay?”

“What?” He perks up and pauses. “I’m fine.”

Though “I’m fine” is the least convincing pair of words Levi could ever say to you, you don’t prod. Mostly because you don’t know what you want to say yourself.

You should probably talk about this weekend. Last night, specifically. And the morning after. You should talk about all of it, because it’s so blatantly obvious that your relationship has changed, and these things don’t fare well when they aren’t addressed.

“Are we okay?” You ask, hesitant.

Levi stops. The sink water continues to run and drenches his hands in wet heat. “I don’t know,” he answers.

Your lips part.

“I just meant, things are different now. That’s all,” he corrects quickly. His heart begins to thump obnoxiously hard in his chest, making breathing and speaking and even thinking borderline impossible.

You agree. “How do you feel about that?”

‘How do you feel?’ Levi wants to get on his hands and knees and beg you to never ask him that question ever again.

He remembers this weekend, laying at the beach with you. For a moment, he had his head on straight. For a moment, he realized that if this was something he really wanted, he would have to give you something. No matter how small. An even transaction. If he didn’t give you some part of himself, he could never expect to have any part of you.

So, if he wants to know how you feel, he has to answer the fucking question. That dreaded, annoying fucking question.

He feels a lot of things that he doesn’t understand because no one ever taught him. He feels like he’s about to pass the hell out. He feels like a traitor—like scum of the earth—because he did something terrible and he didn’t tell you but he still slept with you and kissed you back and watched you sleep. He still let himself hope for a fraction of a second that this could be it for him.

He forgets everything Onyankopon told him. No, this burden he has to carry himself. This is the exception, because this was his fault.

“Levi?” You ask, holding your breath.

“I... “ How does he feel? How does he feel? “I don’t get it.”

A clap of thunder vibrates through your toes, and a bright flash swallows the darkness outside. In the blink of an eye, it’s black again.

You swallow tightly, slower with your movements, instinctively more cautious. The last dish is placed into the drying rack. Levi turns off the tap. Rain falls. “Do you regret sleeping with me?”

He stares at the wilting plant above the sink and curses at himself for forgetting to water it. Does he regret sleeping with you? He regrets ever putting his hands on you and thinking he could do it once and never want it again. He should regret all of it. Touching you, kissing you, entertaining those moments where he was on the verge of convincing himself he was allowed to be happy with you despite his mistakes. But of course he fucking doesn’t. There’s not a single piece of him that regrets betraying his own logic.

Firmly, he declares, “No.”

You exhale.

“But, I… I think you’re making a mistake.”

The silence is palpable. Neither of you breathe.

“A mistake?” The way he was looking at you this morning suggested this was anything but a mistake.

His voice is gruff. He pats his hands dry with a towel and wrings his fingers together below the fabric until they crack. “I meant what I said the other night, that I’m terrible. That there’s a lot to be sorry for. Because there is.”

You furrow your brows. “And I meant what I said.”

If you are terrible, then I am worse.

You could betray me, and I will still forgive you.

“Yeah, well… You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he tells you. His palms fold over the smooth edge of the countertop.

“Even if it’s the truth?”

“I’d rather you hate me for the shit I’ve done than forgive me.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You go on and on about how terrible of a person you are, but I can’t remember a single shitty thing you’ve done besides try to stay alive,” you yell. Frustration wells up in your eyes and makes your face flush with warmth.

He stares, helpless.

“Levi, please tell me you didn’t just sleep with me just to sleep with me.” Your voice wavers. “Pleasetell me you didn’t do that. Because that is something that would make you a shitty person.”

“No!” He cries, turning around. “Fuck. I slept with you because I— ”

Levi’s shoulders are heaving and you’re looking at him expectantly, eyes glazed over like you’re about to cry, and he wants to punish himself for being the one responsible. His feet move without any thinking or prompting, sending him forward. Warm, damp hands cup your face, tilting your mouth so it slots perfectly with his own, and he kisses you hard. Your back meets the refrigerator, the door handle molding your body into a bow.

Levi’s tongue dips daringly past your teeth, nose knocking yours. There’s so much frustration. You swallow it down, gasping while his hand fists your hair. He tugs and scrunches, tilts your head to the side and scrapes his canines right over your neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder blades.

You want it so bad, but you know you can’t have it. Not right now. Levi can’t tell you anything when his tongue is all over you, and you sure as hell can’t listen when he’s on you like this.

“Levi,” you groan.

He pulls himself off, shoulders shaking. He runs the back of his hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” the man murmurs, but something tells you he isn’t sorry at all. You don’t think you are, either.

You shake your head. “I… I don’t think we’ll get anywhere if we just keep fucking each other,” you pant, straightening out your blouse. His eye flickers down to your neck, where his saliva glints on your skin.

He nods. “You’re right.”

“Besides, we... “ You run a hand through your hair and gather your thoughts. “We have a lot going on this week, and… We should think about what we want out of this, if…”

“If it's worth the risk of ruining what we have.”

Your breath catches. A crestfallen expression hangs on your features, and you lift your hand to your chest like something sharp has cut through your lungs. “You really think we could ruin that?” Your voice is small, stretched taut like you’re going to cry.

“I— “ He wants to reach out to you, but his hands hang heavy by his sides. A headache throbs behind his scarred, blinded eye. “We both have so much baggage, it’s hard to tell if we’d make it.”

You nearly flinch. Through grit teeth, you hiss, “You’re a fucking coward.”

Levi’s head snaps up.

Your eyes burn. You didn’t think he was terrible before, but you do now. “Since when the hell do you give up so easily? That isn’t at all like the man I know!”

Levi takes a step forward. He doesn’t want to yell, but his voice raises, “I don’t want you to settle for me!” he starts, and he can’t stop. “You tell me all this shit like I can do no wrong! You have any idea how impossible it is for me to live up to that person in your head?”

“What the hell are you even talking about?! You know what I think of you!” You shake your head. Your voices match each other’s. “And believe it or not, Levi, but I’m a big girl! I think I know what I deserve without needing you to tell me!”

“Well,” he grows quiet and looks you dead in the eye. “Clearly, you don’t.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you curse. Your voice breaks. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doinganything. I’m not… I’m… I’m… Fuck.”

He blinks, and he sees red. This reminds him of the time he left for the forest, when you found him in the corridor prepared to go without saying so much as a goodbye. You stood down the hall, clad in casual clothes and swaddled by thick white bandages, still a little pale in the face, because you fell and he shot you; because that pool of blood he sat in while trying to bring you back belonged to your lifeless body.

It was an accident. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, but your gear had malfunctioned, and he wasn’t thinking. His reflexes had sprung into motion, consequences long forgotten over a dire attempt to keep you by his side—indefinitely. A goddamn mistake, and all his fault.

He can’t tell if the fact you’re standing right in front of him, alive despite his carelessness, is a reminder that he hurts everything he touches, or the universe’s cruel way of keeping him in check.

But he still went and fucked with it anyway. He just couldn't keep his greedy hands off you. Couldn't stop kissing you, couldn’t stop fucking you. Somehow, that aching need he felt for you outweighed any sort of guilt.

“Don’t ever lecture me about what I need,” you say, your voice low and your words sharp. Your gaze cuts through him. “And don’t ever imply that I have little self respect to want to be with you. Because that’s also something a shitty person would do.”

He closes his eyes and nods, regret weighing painfully in his chest. A lump forms in the center of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I won’t do that again.”

“Whatever,” you snarl, disappointed because Levi never seemed like the kind of man to be terrible and you just learned that he can be.

“Fuck, I amsorry!” Your name flies from his lips like a helpless plea. “I’m sorry about everything! I’m sorry I couldn’t save any of our friends, and I’m sorry I’m the person you got stuck with, and I’m sorry that I fucking hurt you, I— “ His breath catches, and his eyes widen in horror like he’s said something that he shouldn’t.

You slump against the counter, tears smudged below your eyes. Finally, you get that little peek inside Levi’s psyche that you’ve been chipping at for years. You see the guilt and you feel the pain, then the strangest thing happens. You smile. A pathetic, depressing smile that wobbles as it fights its way onto your lips.

You speak quietly. “Levi, if only you knew how much I feel like I’ve failed you.”

His face collapses. Your admission is like a punch to the gut, enough to have him nearly keeling over.

You wipe your eyes, blinking away more tears. “I was the one who was supposed to protect you. You know how impossible it is to succeed at that when your partner is the strongest person alive?” Your voice is congested, almost reminiscent, and raw from screaming. “I could never reach you, no matter how hard I tried. You were always better than me at everything. I never… let it bother me, because that was my job—I was supposed to bring out the best in you. Be the person behind the curtain, even if everyone else thought that I was a joke.”

Levi stares at you, that tightness growing more and more intolerable. His fingertips are trembling and he feels cold all over his body.

“I tried so hard to save as many people as I could, not for their sake, but for yours, because I… I was given an impossible job. But at least, maybe, if I could save your friends, I could give you some sliver of happiness in that shitty world we lived in.” Levi’s hand lands on your shoulder, his head bowed forward. “I failed. Obviously. I’m just a person, and I certainly wasn’t humanity’s strongest soldier. But I couldn’t die, either. No matter how badly I wanted to, I wasn’t allowed to. Because I had to keep you safe.”

“You did,” Levi reassures. “You did.”

“I didn’t.” You shake your head, pitiful. “It was Hange who saved you. And I let them die, too.” A wry chuckle rips from your throat. “I let everyone you love die, and now you’re apologizing to me for it.”

“Please, don’t say that,” he begs you gently.

“Why not? You don’t like to hear it?” you ask, placing your hand over his and lowering it to his side. Your fingers wrap around his wrist. “Are you sad to know how terrible and selfish I am, Levi? Do you have such little self respect that you’re willing to settle for someone like me?”

He grabs your biceps, guiding you back against the countertop so that your gazes meet. “Your job,” he whispers breathlessly, “was to help me with my fucking paperwork. Not save me.” Tears escape your eyes and he wipes them with his smooth fingertips. They used to be so rough, just like him, but not anymore. His thumbs run over your under eyes and your name is whispered into your mouth. “My happiness was neveryour responsibility. So don’t say that shit about yourself ever again.”

“So, you can say that stuff, but I can’t?” you argue, and he softens because he knows you’re right. “You’re a hypocrite, Levi.”

“I know I am.”

You give him a break. “There are worse things to be, I suppose.”

“You’re a dumbass,” he grumbles. His head drops forward until his forehead rests on your shoulder, hands on either side of your body, caging you in. You still smell sweet like you did in bed this morning when he didn’t ruin everything. “One of the only things that kept me going was that stupid fucking look on your face.”

Your heart stops. Your jaw drops.

“It was always youI could never reach. With that shitty expression. I never understood—“ He grits his teeth, willing himself to continue. “I never understood how the hell you could just… hope. How you always had so much of it no matter what.”

Your eyes are so wide that the tears well over and fall without a blink.

“Then I realized, the drinking and the isolating, and I-I was a fucking idiot for not understanding it was all a goddamn lie. You never had any hope at all.” His hand comes down on your shoulder and snakes around your neck, pulling you into him. Levi’s embrace is suffocating, but it protects you from everything that threatens to hurt you. “So, no. I don’t deserve you.”

You want to say, so what if it was all a lie? The only way to keep everyone going was to give them something to hope for, even if you didn’t believe in it yourself. That was the facade you chose to wear. The kind of person who you chose to be. Your choice. Your burden, and the only burden you would never share, because you would never want anyone to pay the price of your personal decisions, especially the person you love most in this world.

Your hand lands on his back, fingers digging desperately into the fabric of his collared shirt, searching for bare skin just to feel closer.

“Your only job was to be my fucking superior,” you hiccup.

Levi’s body stills. Against your neck, he mutters, “I guess we’re both insufferable overachievers, then.”

You laugh, raw and wet, a little lighter. “Yeah. I guess we are.”

-

“He needs a companion,” Erwin shrugs.

You gape at the man. “Erwin. Please don’t tell me you’re assigning me as Levi’s Second in Command solely because he has no friends.” When Erwin makes no implication that you’re wrong, you sit up straight in your chair, incredulous. “Do you also want us to braid each other’s hair and make friendship bracelets while we’re at it?”

He laughs deeply. “No, of course not. Levi has some lone wolf tendencies and I need someone who can squash those habits to bring him to his full potential.” Erwin’s using his hand as he speaks, You realize, which means he’s trying to make a point. At least the man has his reasons. “And honestly, I see the two of you bringing out the best in each other. That is all.”

You aren’t entirely convinced, but nonetheless, you digress. You sigh and slouch into your chair. “You gamble the same way you did back in primary school.”

Erwin’s eyes glow with a memory. “I always won back then, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

He smiles. “Levi will grow to love you.” The candlelight on his desk twinkles in his blue eyes. “And perhaps one day, he’ll understand.”

You wave your hand. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever that means. Just tell me now what color you want for your bracelet so I know for later.”

Silence stretches over you two, then, he bites, “Orange.”

You grimace. “Of course you like orange.”

[oi-levi]

Chapter Ten | Levi A. x Fem! Reader

Summary: You and Levi form a new dynamic and come to an understanding, but not without a bump in the road.

Word Count: 12.5k

Content: MANGA SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 139 AND SEASON 4 PART TWO, sexual themes, rumination, emotional angst, mentions of canon-typical violence, self-hatred, guilt, post-traumatic stress, mentions of character death, alcoholism, allusions to depression, shared trauma

Author’s Note: Wow it has been a hot minute since I updated. Sorry for the wait - I ended up rewriting the entire chapter because I loathed the first draft, and it also ended up being 10k, then I spent way too long looking at this so now I can’t tell if it's good or not. I just know my eyes are burning. Though I do really love this chapter because it’s pretty much entirely Levi-centric! Big thanks to @lacheri for beta-reading a scene - she’s posting one of my favorite Levi series right now so you should go read it if you know what’s good for you!!!

Series Masterlist | AO3 | Next

Levi sits with his back against a tree, one knee tucked to his chest with the other outstretched in front of him.

Beside him, Isabel picks at the grass. She hums quietly, sprinkling the specks of green over his leg. It tickles where it falls, but he doesn’t stop her because he doesn’t want to have to entertain the redhead himself.

Furlan is off having a piece of gear adjusted by a Captain. From a distance, Levi can still see his brow wrinkled in concentration while he tugs a stubborn strap a few notches tighter over his chest.

It’s peaceful, mostly. Quiet conversation hovers in the air from a short distance away. A cadet is laughing obnoxiously loud. Wind rustles the leaves above where the midday sun threatens to poke through.

The break passes by at a slow pace.

Levi’s lost in his own thoughts when a boot-clad foot nudges his ankle. Distracted by her grass-picking, Isabel seems to notice the presence just as Levi does.

He grunts then glances up through dark lashes, brows and lips pressed into a firm, unamused line.

Sharp eyes and a tilted mouth greet him warmly.

“Oi, Levi,” the voice says. It’s familiar, as if he’s only ever heard it once before. Probably because he has only heard it once.

The back of your head moves in front of the sun so he can finally see your features. Right, you’re that girl from the forest. The one who kept up, who almost beat him. You spent more time talking and less time watching where you were going. It was a wonder you didn’t crash into a tree.

“What?” he sneers.

You smile down at him like you’re the happiest woman alive. All teeth with sparkling eyes that wrinkle in the corners. He wonders how someone who lives in a world as shitty as this one could possibly bear a grin as bright as yours.

Distaste lands on his tongue.

“Relax,” you ease. “I just wanted to say… I’ll beat you next time.”

His brow raises. “Huh?” Beside him, Isabel bursts out into a fit of giggles. Her eyes are shining and blue and her smile stretches so wide you can see all her teeth, kind of like you, but kind of not.

There’s something inherently different in the way you both smile. Maybe it’s in the eyes. Levi isn’t sure what prompts the realization because he doesn’t really care about you.

“You’re crazy!” she squeals, oozing excitement. Her energy spills out in waves that would drown any normal person. “No one can beat my Bro! He’s the fastest. And the strongest!”

Levi exhales through his nose.

You hum in consideration. Another shrug of your shoulders catches his attention, and you steady one of your hands on your belt. “Ah, maybe.” The other scratches at the back of your neck. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see then, won’t we?”

Isabel giggles, nodding her head, and Furlan rejoins his friends. He stands beside you, offering a firm bob of his head to be amicable. You return the gesture.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” he acknowledges, studying you. Something kind flickers in his eyes. Levi’s gaze drifts suspiciously towards him.

“Oh,” you grunt. As you open your mouth to answer, a shrill voice barks out a name, and your head swivels over your shoulder. When you turn back to the three, your eyes squint. “Sorry. They’re calling me!”

Levi watches your heels pound the grass as you leave. You wave goodbye over your shoulder.

He assumes that was your name that was called. Whatever. He’ll forget all about it anyway when he leaves this place.

Furlan breaks the silence. “She was hot.”

Levi grumbles. “Shut your shitty mouth and get a grip… Fucking ridiculous.”

Isabel howls with laughter.

-

His hand traces your hairline, pushing back stray strands that have matted in your sleep. While his fingernails gently scratch back into your scalp, he holds his breath, not wanting to wake you too soon.

The sun isn’t even out yet. He just woke earlier than expected despite how deeply he was sleeping, and now that the sight of your dozed face is plastered in front of his own, it feels like a mistake to even blink.

Levi slowly reaches down and tugs on the thin sheet below the comforter, tucking it over your shoulder. He moves the thicker blanket into place overtop. The last thing he wants is for you to wake up shivering from the cool morning.

His fingertips return to your face, feather-light strokes outlining the small scars and divots in your skin; one scar hidden under the hairs of your eyebrow; another more faded scar near your temple. He combs the messy hair of your eyebrow into place with his blunt fingernail, following the arch before veering down your jawline to your chin.

He pulls down on your bottom lip, follows the canal of your Cupid’s bow, brushes the tip of your nose, then your under eyes and your lower lashes.

His hand sinks back into your hair, scrunching soothingly before smoothing out the mess he made.

Memories of the night before trickle into his consciousness, and he sighs into himself, wondering if the clenching deep inside his chest will ever seize. Some intense part of him enjoys the discomfort that comes with it, because it reminds just how close you are to him.

No one’s looking, but his palm covers as much of his face as his fingers can stretch, shielding the blush burning on his cheeks. You kissed him, and he kissed you back, then proceeded to fuck you into the sheets like he’d never been touched in his whole life.

God’s sake, he’s felt your mouth once and already has memorized the weight.

You stir, face pinching as you roll onto your back. You have to blink your eyes a few times before your vision can fully adjust, and you drag your thumbs below your eyes. Levi watches with his head propped on his knuckles.

“You’re up early,” he greets with a hoarse voice.

You merely grunt in response and sit up, the sheets slinking down around your waist. Levi stretches his arm far to swipe his collared shirt off the floor and fixes the sleeves so they’re no longer inside-out.

“Here.” He holds the shirt open behind you. “It’s cold.”

You murmur an incoherent “Thanks” and slide your arms through the sleeves that Levi presents, only bothering to button half of the shirt. Levi’s hand on your shoulder stops you before you can get up.

“Are you crabby this morning? Hm?” he mutters, but his gray iris glints with fondness. He pops his thumb into his mouth and brings it to the corner of your mouth, wiping away saliva that managed to dry on your skin in your sleep. Your entire body warms. “Go brush your teeth then come back to bed.”

You nod, leaning into his touch, and he reluctantly lets his hand fall to his lap.

“Good girl,” he sighs. It reminds you of the way he sighed last night after every kiss.

You spend only a few minutes in the bathroom, but when you come out, you look a little less disheveled than you did when you first awoke.

But instead of walking around to your side of the bed, you crawl on top of Levi, bare legs pinned on either side of his body. He winces and lets out a grunt, caught off guard, but angles himself comfortably so the two of you are on your sides facing the other. The blankets separate your bodies.

“Hi,” you finally hum, nose brushing his neck. He can feel your small intakes of breath over his skin.

“Good morning,” he responds. His hand cups the naked backside of your thigh and slides up over your bottom. When his fingers reach your lower back, he rubs soothing circles. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Mm-hm. You?” You squirm around on top of him before wriggling below the blankets, your shirt—or his shirt—riding up so that your stomachs are pressed flush together. He settles the blankets back into place over your hips.

“I did,” he answers. “Christ. You’re so fucking hot.”

You laugh through your nose. “Thanks, I guess?”

“No. I mean, you’re like a thousand degrees. I’m sweating my ass off already.”

Your head snaps up and you frown at him. “Fine then,” you grumble. “I’ll just go back to my cold side— “

Levi let’s out an irritated huff. His arms lock around your waist and he rolls your bodies over until he’s on top, your wrist pinned beside your head by his fingers. Your chest sinks in, his eye following the shallow movement before flitting back up. He looks into your eyes before his gaze drops to your mouth; his pounding heart does very little to steer him away.

“Yes?” you inquire, breathless.

Levi’s hand moves from around your wrist to your hand, where his remaining fingers thread themselves within your own. You squeeze back, following the path of his other hand through your lower lashes as he picks at the buttons of his shirt.

“You gonna fuck me again, Lev’?” you exhale, eyes fluttering shut. You had sex last night, and that blissed-out expression that was there post-climax is still very much etched into your features.

He’s tempted to oblige you just to keep that expression there for a little longer. “Would you like me to?”

I will, he thinks, I’ll bury myself inside you until all you can feel is me.

You shudder as his mouth ghosts over your sternum, hand still securely entwined with yours. You feel more fingertips drifting up and down your side.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” you whisper.

He kisses you right over the hollow spot, thumb ghosting your already pebbled nipple. There’s a heat building between you, but it isn’t anything too unbearable, and Levi finds that it isn’t necessarily sex he’s eager for, but a goddamned good morning kiss.

Like he’s some needy brat.

But he almost feels a bit too shy to ask.

Levi studies you for a moment and decides you look ready to fall back asleep. He wouldn’t mind feeling you curled up against him, back rising and falling with even breaths while he traces every scratch and scar on your skin.

Is he allowed to kiss you again?

He settles back onto his knees and watches you drift off.

It’s been four years and he still isn’t quite used to how your lives have turned out. He knew he had to make it to this point—he had to make it to the end and see the results of his comrades’ sacrifices. And he stayed true to every last one of his promises. Thanks to you, he’s sure he did.

At the beginning, he underestimated you. He didn’t see the reason behind having a Second in Command, but back then, he had no interest in giving Erwin a hard time where it wasn’t needed.

Either way, you surprised him.

He doesn’t think you know how much you occupy his thoughts. Not now, and certainly not then.

At first, it irritated him more than anything in the world and consequently put him in a shit mood. He had to deal with you for the majority of his day, so when he finally had some time to himself, why was he still thinking about you? Why would he be able to hear your voice and picture your expressions perfectly in his mind? Why would he notice every little thing you did when he didn’t even try? He was observant but it wasn’t like he fixated long enough on people to find himself in a rare situation like this one.

Perhaps it was because you were forced together by none other than Erwin himself, which meant Levi couldn’t refuse you, even if he wanted to.

Levi glances over his shoulder and realizes the disaster of clothing on the floor. His body snaps into motion.

He remembers plenty of his life before you. He remembers the stench of the Underground—the stuffiness of the city and the dust that floated in the air. He remembers cutting through that air, with Isabel and Furlan on either side. The higher he flew, the cleaner and crisper the air he swallowed. He remembers the day they were taken from him, because that was the day he finally understood.

The world was cruel, but it would find a way to be crueler. There was always a way it could be crueler.

He pulls on a clean pair of briefs, and once the clothes from the floor are folded and piled on your respective suitcases, he tucks away the condoms and lube from the night before and sneaks back below the sheets. His legs are cold, but your body is warm.

You sleep soundly, to Levi’s delight, and he adjusts the blankets around you for a second time before draping an arm over your naked waist. His nose inhales the smell of the shirt. Linen sheets combine with something warm and sweet.

That reassurance he lost the day his friends died is right here beside him now, in another body, in another form.

Then, when he looked over his shoulder, there would be you. A superior and his dutiful, intolerable Second, who had a ridiculously high tolerance for ale and an appetite for competition that was never satiated.

It was nothing. Until it became long walks in the corridors after lights out, when the two of you were the only ones left awake.

Mulling over paperwork until one of you fell asleep with your face squished against the desk and the other working around them until the flame devoured the wick.

The tea kettle screeching before you took it off the stove, despite the amount of times Levi scolded you not to boil the water.

Corralling you into your bed after one too many drinks, and inebriated babbling that entertained him far more than he’d ever care to admit. Sometimes, when he was feeling selfish, he would keep you up a moment longer than he should have.

Stolen cigarettes shared below the stars in the dead cold of the night. When Levi looked up, he still saw his friends, but he didn’t try to trouble himself with what happened after death because there were more worthwhile things to think about; like that gleam in your eyes that never seemed to leave, that he desperately aimed to preserve and feared the day that it dimmed; like the quiet sound of your laugh, and the way the corners of your eyes wrinkled when you were so happy you couldn’t stand yourself.

And he just never fucking understood that unshakable look. You changed over the years. Became older and more beautiful and stronger. But that look—it was the only thing about you that stayed the same. Some sort of childish dream. Some sort of hope, that towards the end, never sat right with him; never felt real; only until that final moment.

-

Levi holds his blazer in place over his slouched shoulders while his eyes follow the carpeted path laid out before him. Flames flicker against the stone brick walls.

The sun went down hours ago, yet Levi’s still getting interrupted by cadets in the middle of the night, informing him of the Commander’s request to see him immediately.

Hence, his sour attitude.

He raps his knuckles against the familiar oak door, tempted to turn around and walk the other way, but when he gets the okay to enter, he nudges the door open and slips inside.

“Ah, Levi. Welcome in,” Erwin’s low voice garners a grunt of recognition from Levi. “Close the door behind you, please.”

He does as asked. It’s only then when he notices him and Erwin aren’t alone. In fact, you’re here. If memory serves him right, you’re the same woman from the forest from all those years ago, whose name he still remembers despite the fact he promised he’d forget.

Has it really been that long already?

He’s only properly spoken to you once before, but that hasn’t stopped him from meeting your gaze several times in the dining hall when you happen to sit at the same table, or during strategy meetings when you end up across the room from each other.

Your eyes are a bit duller than the last time he looked into them, but they still glow with something sharp that captivates him a little too strongly for his liking.

He stares at you, utterly indifferent; to you, it looks like Levi’s never been more bored in his entire life.

“Levi. You know Reader, yes?”

“Of her, yeah,” Levi replies. His voice is laden heavily with exhaustion. Hours of paperwork when you’re still learning how to read and write takes its toll.

Levi approaches, the smack of his soles against the stone floors interrupting the thick silence.

He stops in front of the desk and turns, giving you a onceover. “So, do you still say weird shit to people you don’t even know?”

An awkward laugh escapes your lips, and you scratch the back of your neck. Like before, the corners of your eyes wrinkle up as a smile forms on your lips. “Ah, right, I didn't think you’d remember that!”

“I do,” he responds.

Curiously, he watches you harden your features. You do a bad job at it, but with enough practice, you may be able to look as upset as he does on a daily basis.

You drop your hand to your side. “Well, do you typically glare at people when they have a better sense of humor than you?”

Levi doesn’t glare. He stares. Mostly because he’s a tad fascinated by that glow in your eye that crackles like a flame. He realizes they hold a fondness in them. Some sort of hope.

He didn’t care about it before, but he thinks he admires it now.

“I have a sense of humor,” Levi argues plainly.

You snort, shoulders relaxing. You become comfortable rather quickly with him once you realize he’s all bite. “I’m sure you do.”

“I do,” he insists.

Erwin laughs softly from his desk and interjects, “I have a feeling this will be a smart arrangement, then.” Levi’s brow arches, and Erwin takes that as his cue to explain. “Levi, I’ve recently asked you to assemble and head our new Special Operations Unit.”

Sarcastically, he murmurs, “You did?”

“After taking into consideration what your new position entails, I decided it’d be wise to lift some of the burden from your shoulders. Just to help things operate more smoothly, of course.”

Levi hums. “Oh? I knew what I signed up for.”

“Yes, well,” Erwin gestures towards you, “I’ve appointed you a Second in Command. You should get more comfortable seeing the Captain around. From now on, you will be working closely with her.”

Levi’s eyes remained glued to yours, his gaze bone-chilling, but you don’t dare break eye contact with him. You let him get a good, hard look at you.

He wants to make some snarky comment about how he doesn’t need a Second in Command, but assuming from Erwin's clarity on the matter, Levi knows there isn’t much room left for disagreement.

Besides, when he contemplates the proposal, the benefits obviously outweigh any plausible hindrances.

Not to mention he knows plenty about you. Against his own will, of course. And from hearing people talk.

Objectively, you’re an impressive candidate for the job. A diligent and smart Captain. Tough. Witty. Your superiors speak highly of you, as does Erwin, and Levi values his opinion above anyone else’s. Still, he concludes that you’re an intolerable and impossible person because he refuses to think anything else remotely “nice” about you. There’s nothing else to it.

He watches you outstretch your hand, fingers flat like they’re ready to slice through him. You wait for him to take your hand into his own and greet you properly.

Levi’s eyes acknowledge the scrapes and bruises littered over your knuckles. Calluses cover the pads of your fingers. He doesn’t like dirt, but from what he can tell, the beds and undersides of your nails are spotless.

He reaches forward and folds your hands together. Your heart catches in your throat. Something buzzes deep inside of him.

“You know how to make tea?” Levi asks.

You throw his hand down with enough force it nearly hurts. “Don’t get it twisted, Captain. I’m your Second, not your goddamn servant.”

Levi swears his mouth twitches. Erwin’s thick brows rise at the odd sound that escapes the man’s lips. It’s a soft, quiet noise which lasts barely even a beat, but by the small shake of Levi’s shoulders, Erwin can tell he’s laughing.

“I prefer iced tea, anyway.”

Well, you’ve done it now.

“Fuck did you just say to me?” Levi growls.

Erwin intervenes, “Feel free to appoint Reader with whatever you need, Levi. She’s at your disposal. I trust that you know what’s appropriate to ask of her and what isn’t?”

“I do not.”

Erwin tilts his head towards you. “Then the Captain will fill you in. You both are dismissed. Thank you.”

You and Levi filter into the hallway, walking silently side by side. He removes his blazer off his shoulders and folds it over his forearm while you stare straight ahead.

There’s something about your presence beside him that feels final. Absolute.

“So,” you break the silence first. “The basics.”

Levi stays silent, but you take it as a means to continue.

“Number one…”

You drone on, and Levi listens. Sometimes, when he gets tired of the conversation, he says something to provoke you.

He likes the way it riles you up.

-

Rain rolls down the glass windows like teardrops, and the relaxing splash coaxes Levi into the corner of his seat. His arms cross as he snuggles into himself, temple resting on the wall beside him.

He sleeps.

Minutes trickle by while the overcast sky drapes the afternoon in darkness. Though it doesn’t taper your mood. Your eyes follow the rows of words before you.

For a fleeting second, you glance up, your gaze softening at the sight. The corners of your mouth upturn and you settle back into the cushion of your seat, losing your place in your book, but it isn’t too much of a bother.

Levi’s shoulders rise and fall with every slow breath, his fair skin looking even paler in the grayness. There aren’t any bags below his eyes. There isn’t any inherent hollowness that comes from living too many lives in a single stretch.

His eyes flutter for a moment, slate-gray iris glinting below the flickering yellow light. He uses the back of his hand to rub at the scarred side of his face, scratching an invisible itch.

“Everything okay?” you ask, and he is soothed by how softly you speak.

He nods, grunting in response.

Your lips curl even further upwards. “We should be at the station in a little less than an hour.”

Levi’s hand dips into his jacket and he pulls out a pocket watch. He sniffles. “I wonder if the rain will carry over.”

“We’ll just have to see, I suppose.”

He looks down and acknowledges the paperback in your grasp. “Is your book any good?”

Heat crawls along your cheeks. Sheepishly, you shake your head. You were too busy watching him sleep to remember any of what you read. “I-I forgot.”

“You forgot?” He raises a brow.

“Mm-hm,” you hum. “I got distracted.”

“Oh? By what?” His eyes follow the menacing outline of tall peaks and forest green outside while yours linger on the sharp curve of his jaw. What a perfect picture Levi is, you think.

You wave him off. “Nothing. I can’t remember.”

Thankfully, he drops it. Until he opens his mouth again.

“It’s easy to tell when you’re doing that, by the way.”

You blink. “Doing what?”

Levi meets your gaze. “Watching me sleep.”

You gape for a second, trying to damper your own embarrassment by racking your brain for a way to defend yourself. But, there’s not really any point in denying it, so why would you even try?

“I can feel it,” he continues, unperturbed, his eye contact unwavering. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was trying to coax you to his side of the table so you could sit closer together the remainder of the trip home.

You shrug and sink into your seat. “It’s a habit.”

His eye glows a little more brightly. “A habit?”

You stare right back. “Yes.”

Levi doesn’t say anything more. He simply settles his head back into its previous spot and closes his eyes. “Makes sense,” he murmurs.

He has plenty of habits like that, too.

-

Petra, Eld, Oluo, and Gunther are dead.

You have a sprained wrist, and his ankle is fucked, but a sprained wrist beats a sprained ankle which means that you’re pretending to be Levi until he fully heals.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. You’ve proven yourself, and he knows your limits are far from being reached. He also knows you’re no stranger to operating under Erwin’s orders.

All of your friends are dead, but still, that light in your eyes doesn’t go out. Levi thinks you have to be some sort of sociopath for that not to happen.

What’s your secret? What keeps you going? Do you sleep through the night or cry into your pillow?

He doesn’t know where these questions come from.

Never in his life has he ever struggled to say anything, but there are words stuck in his throat as you mount your horse and follow Erwin to the ends of the Earth to bring Eren back. Would you do the same for him? Follow him to those ends? Would he follow you?

He waits impatiently for you to come home, and he’ll brace himself in case you don’t.

***

When you do come home, you're caked in blood and dragging a barely conscious commander toward the barricade of nurses and medical staff.

Levi watches you. He’s never seen you command a crowd like this, or bark orders so loud the ground nearly shakes. The cadets listen to you. They make haste to their respective areas.

People move inside the castle, and Levi follows behind the crowd, glancing towards the 104th. Jean Kirstein is on a stretcher with a bandage wrapped around his head and dried blood on his chin. Mikasa, that gloomy brat, is attached to Eren, of course.

You're yelling again. People are shoving past you, and you knock elbows with an older guy. Harsh words are exchanged.

Levi’s there in a blink, hand on your shoulder to grab your attention. Your body trembles beneath his palms, and he chalks it up to adrenaline and exhaustion.

“Levi,” you say, voice hoarse. Your eyes droop but your irises are glinting below the lights. Shining.

“I saw you bring Erwin in,” he states, hand still on your shoulder. If you weren’t so delirious, you would question why he’s touching you like this and for so long.

You nod. “His arm is titan fodder but that crazy bastard will definitely pull through. They’re going to operate immediately.”

You begin to ramble, muttering stuff that sometimes doesn’t make sense. Your steps falter and you sway, so he grabs you by the bicep to hold you steady. His fingers dig in harshly.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“What? What did— “

Louder, “Are you hurt?”

“Huh, oh, no. I still got both arms. Both eyes. All my teeth. Fingers, toes, kneecaps— “

He wonders how long you’ve been awake. He wonders how long you were fighting.

“You’re done,” he says, and he guides you out of the stuffy wing, down the corridor and to a familiar room you’ve completed paperwork in dozens of times before.

Levi unlocks the door and makes sure you get inside first. Hints of pine and black tea hover in the air. You stumble into the bathroom and keen over the sink, head nearly dropping into the porcelain bowl. He has to yank your hair back to spare you a concussion—or prevent a concussion from worsening.

The sink is turned on and it takes a few seconds for warm water to pour out. He shoves a bar of soap into your hand and places your hands below the faucet.

“Are you helpless?” he remarks, covering your hands with his own to guide your movements. The white soap bar turns bright pink, suds gathering on the drain.

“Tired,” you slur. Your knees wobble. You grab the edge of the sink and brace yourself. “Can’t. ‘m tired.”

“Stand up,” he orders. He grabs you by your chest harness and straightens you up with as much strength as he can muster. When your hands are a little cleaner, he pats them dry with a clean towel. “Go sit down on the edge of the tub.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice to sit down. You do it, hunched forward, and he winces as he lowers himself down in front of you and begins undoing the belts lining your thighs and hips.

“Your ankle,” you murmur. You never miss his pain.

“It’s fine,” he assures. “You’re such a brat.”

You laugh quietly. “I don’ need a shower. Let me go to sleep.”

“No.”

“Why you doin’ this, Lev’?”

He nearly shudders at the sound of his name leaving your lips, and he tries to ignore why that is because he doesn’t want to add it to the long list of things he already doesn’t understand. “Because you won’t remember it,” he decides.

He skillfully removes all the straps, metal clunking against his floors, followed by tall leather boots. He reaches his arms around you and unbuckles your chest harness, stiffening when he feels your forehead on his shoulder.

His heart stops.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses. “Stop that.”

“Tired,” you whisper, and in a small voice murmur, “Help.”

“I am helping,” he reminds gently. “Lift your head up, Captain.”

Your head feels like a rock as you struggle to sit upright, and Levi moves around. He maneuvers you into the tub, fully clothed, then turns on the water. Ice cold bullets pelt you.

“Levi!” You lurch up. He grabs the curtain and yanks it closed. “Cold!”

“Take off your clothes,” he ignores.

You poke your head out from around the curtain, wet and matted hair clinging to your face. The dried blood on your face begins to drip down your skin like crimson paint.

You look like a cat caught in a rainstorm.

“‘don’t have any clothes here.”

“I will find you something to wear,” he says. “Shampoo and conditioner are in there.” He hands you a clean bar of soap. “Don’t forget to scrub under your nails and get your ears. Blood gets stuck in there sometimes. And don’t fall asleep.”

Your head disappears behind the curtain, and before Levi leaves, he watches a red-soaked shirt land on the floor. A pair of breeches, socks, and underwear follow.

It takes you a little while to shower, mostly because every ounce of strength has depleted from your body and it’s nearly impossible to lift your limbs. You have to resort to sitting on the floor of the tub in a compact ball, knees tucked against your bare chest, heat resting on the very top while suds surround your feet. For the most part, you’ve managed to scrub out the soap. Conditioner will have to wait until tomorrow.

It has to be good enough, because the water stops. You blink up, then an arm appears above you holding a clean towel.

“Levi?” you murmur. “‘that you?”

“Yes. Dry off.”

“Can’t.”

Silence hangs over the two of you, and it’s almost quiet enough to finally sleep in peace. You don’t even hear the shower curtain opening. You just feel a towel being draped over your back and wrapped around your front. Instinctively, you seek warmth and curl into the fluff.

Levi’s strength never fails to baffle you. All he has to do is squeeze you on both sides to pull you to your feet. You step out of the tub, immediately struck by cold air that tickles every inch of wet skin.

“Cold,” you whimper.

A hand carefully brushes your forehead. Levi examines a nasty, raw gash in the skin. “Did this not sting when you were washing?”

You grunt. “Numb.”

His brow wrinkles. “You’re numb?”

You don’t respond. He doesn’t pester you, either. Instead, he closes his eyes and slips a loose long sleeve shirt over your head. He has to move your arms around to get them through the sleeves, but eventually, he manages to hike a pair of cotton sleep pants over your bare legs, and a pair of thick wool socks over your feet before putting you to bed.

You greet the comforter with open arms, kicking your feet underneath. The pillows are firm, like they’re rarely ever used, but you sink into them nonetheless. Linen sheets swaddle you from your toes to your chin. You fall fast asleep in seconds, breaths evened out, feet rubbing together.

Levi sits there for a moment. Tired. Can’t. Numb. All of your one-word responses bounce off in his head. You need to eat. You need to drink. You need your wounds dressed. So many things you need to do, but you can barely stand on two legs.

He brings the back of his hand to your forehead and makes way to your cheek. You aren’t running a fever, which eases some of his nerves.

“What a bother,” he huffs, then tucks in the sheet for good measure.

The bathroom is a disaster. It’s another thing that’s bothering him, but he’ll deal with it later. Right now he needs to check on Erwin, and see if he can be of any use.

Before he leaves, he spares a glance over his shoulder at the sleeping girl bundled up in his bed. Your body rises and falls with every breath.

By the time he’s halfway down the hall, he’s already itching to go back. Almost like it’s out of instinct; or a newly-formed habit, perhaps.

-

When you and Levi arrive at the front of the shop, Gabi is shoving the door open and flinging herself towards Levi. He grunts from the brute force of her embrace, and berates her gently while petting the top of her head. Your own arm slides around Falco's neck, tugging him into your side.

The door closes behind you and the bell sounds. Onyankopon pops up behind the counter, clad in an apron and covered in coffee grounds.

“Hey you guys!” he greets, tossing his hand up.

The four of you approach the counter, and you and Gabi place the luggage onto the ground before your fingertips instinctively reach for one of the leftover croissants in the case.

“We missed you!” Gabi smiles, leaving Levi’s side to run behind the counter. She pulls a kettle off the stove and fills two teacups.

“Thank you,” Levi murmurs. He slides into a stool, propping his elbows on the countertop.

Gabi places the cup and saucer in front of him. She knows she doesn’t need to tell Levi to wait for the piping hot beverage to cool. He prefers it to singe his taste buds.

Onyankopon hands a pile of letters to Levi. “Renovations tomorrow?” the man asks.

Levi sighs and begins to flip through the envelopes. “Yes. We’re getting new floors and paint.” He pulls out a folded sheet of paper and skims the fine print. “Shit.”

“What is it?” you sigh, resting your chin on his shoulder to read the letter. “Oh, taxes are due. Did you forget?”

“It may have slipped my mind,” he responds, his voice vibrating right beside your ear. It sends a chill down your spine. You don’t think you will ever get used to being so close to him.

Onyankopon pauses as he wraps the leftover pastries, brown eyes raking over the two of you. Levi doesn’t make any effort to shake you off, but instead he slouches into the back of the chair and holds the letter higher so you can see it better. You mutter something softly, and he hums in response. When you pull back, your fingertips brush the nape of his neck before you join Gabi behind the countertop.

A smirk tugs at the corner of Onyankopon’s mouth. Victory pounds in his chest.

“Why don’t you guys stay for dinner tonight?” you offer. You throw a dry rag over your shoulder and drag a soaked one over the countertop, switching between the two as you clean. Levi wordlessly lifts his arms and your mail off the table and sets it on his lap to avoid dampening the paper. You wipe around your saucer.

“We wouldn’t want to impose like that,” Falco shakes his head. He pulls Gabi’s apron loose and slips it over her head.

You wave your hand, “Nonsense.”

“What were you thinking?” Onyankopon asks.

You shrug. “Not sure. I’ll run to the store and pick up something. Beats whatever’s in the fridge.”

“I’ll come!” Gabi shouts.

Falco hums in agreement. “Me too.”

You drop the rags and circle back around, sifting through your bag for your coin purse.

“Are you sure you want to go out?” Levi leans closer, gaining your attention. You look up from your hands. “I know you’re tired.”

You grin. “Says the grumpy old man who fell asleep on the train.”

Levi frowns. The wrinkle between his brows grows dark but you’re quick to smooth out the skin with your thumb.

“Ah-ah,” you click your tongue.

“I’m not old.” Onyankopon snorts, and Levi jerks his head in the man’s direction. “You got something to say, huh?”

He pretends like he’s fiddling with the register. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

You shove your coin purse back into your bag and turn to Levi. “We’ll be back in twenty or thirty minutes. Anything you need me to grab while I’m out?”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment. You look the same as you always have but there’s something different about you. He knows it isn’t the wispy frizz climbing over your face from the humidity, or the way you stare into his eyes with a calm expression. He feels nothing at this moment. Not a racing heart or clammy palms. But your existence still sweeps over him and makes his eyes droopy, like he could fall asleep and dream good dreams.

His face heats when he realizes everyone is watching, waiting for him to open his mouth. When he does, he dips his head and sheepishly murmurs, “Chocolate.”

“Of course. You want the same brand?”

“Yes.”

With that, you, Gabi, and Falco all head out of the store. The sky outside isn’t looking too promising, and Levi insists that you hurry home, but that’s the last thing that’s said before the door shuts and he’s left alone with Onyankopon.

He still has that shit-eating grin on his face.

“What?” Levi snaps.

“You’re just a funny guy,” he chuckles.

“You’re intolerable. Are you done closing shop down here?”

“Yes.” Onyankopon takes off his apron and slides it onto the hook hoisted on the wall. After he grabs yours and Levi’s luggage, he spares the man a glance over his shoulder. “Whiskey?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Levi and Onyankopon walk through the apartment with purpose. The luggage is dropped beside the couch, and the lights are flipped on. Levi even cracks open the balcony doors despite the humidity (it’s chilly enough to aid in some air flow after the place has been locked up for a few days).

He hovers by the bev cart and lifts a glass vile of amber liquid. A memory resurfaces.

The smell of liquor on your lips. Your thighs straddling his lap. Your bodies pressed together. The feeling that he never wanted to leave this place.

And to think he didn’t kiss you that night.

With his thoughts slowly untangling themselves, he heads into the kitchen, where Onyankopon already has two glasses set out.

“Ice in yours?” he asks.

Levi shrugs. “Why not.”

Two glass cups are filled barely halfway with amber liquid and topped with ice.

He knows that Onyankopon is ready to bombard him with questions—an interrogation of sorts, which he can’t necessarily refuse because Onyankopon is technically the instigator behind what unfolded in that auditorium and that hotel room.

Damn him. Damn him because Levi fucking owes him, and he knows it.

Drawers are making a racket as the two men move about the kitchen. Silverware is placed on the counter. Pots and pans are prepped on the stovetop. From the upper cabinets, Onyankopon retrieves plates and glasses.

Levi takes a sip of his whiskey. Onyankopon mirrors him.

They partake in a staring contest.

“Say what you’re going to say already,” Levi grumbles over the rim of his cup. He takes another swig and holds it in his mouth, not really minding the potency.

Onyankopon’s face appears entirely blissed-out. “I gather you and the missus had an enjoyable weekend.”

“Get your head out of the gutter,” he sneers. His glass is placed on a coaster and Onyankopon tilts his head, enticing the man to continue. “It was nice,” Levi settles.

“Nice?”

“It was nice, yes.”

“What else did you do?”

Levi thinks back. What did you do? You went to a few restaurants. Sat and ate and talked. Went to the beach. Argued for a minute. Played some card games. Went to a show but didn’t watch it because you were too busy groping each other like careless, hormonal teenagers.

“We went to the beach one of the days,” he answers. “It rained a lot, but it didn’t take away from our plans.”

“And the show? How was that?”

Levi throws his head back. “It was good,” he swallows. “I’d never seen one before.”

“Oh. And what was your favorite part?” Levi stares at him, devoid of any emotion, and Onyankopon bursts out laughing. It was obvious he already knew the answer before he asked. “Captain, you dog.”

Levi’s cheeks flush pink. “Fuck off.”

He waves his hand. “So, you’re finally together then? It was starting to get pitiful, watching you pine for her.”

“We aren’t together.”

Onyankopon’s face drops. The bemused glimmer in his eye completely fades. “Levi.”

The man in question nurses his whiskey. “What? It’s not that easy.”

“Not that easy, my ass,” he insists. He narrows his gaze. “You better not be sleeping with her like that, Levi. It’s pathetic if you are— “

“I’m not— “

“You’re not? Then what are you doing?”

“I don’t— “

“What’s so wrong about telling her you like her, then? Surely you know she feels the same. She has for years.” Onyankopon isn’t an idiot like Levi is. From the minute that he met you all, the moment he befriended Hange, he knew everything against his own will.

“What?” Levi grumbles. He shakes his head. “Don’t say— “

“Ah.” Onyankopon closes his eyes, never allowing the man to complete his thought because he knows that it’s probably pulled from his ass. His face softens. “Liberio.”

Levi’s silence is a good enough response as is.

“I remember that day,” Onyankopon continues, rubbing his chin. He hands a stack of placemats to Levi who begins laying them out on the dining room table. “Still haven’t figured out how to tell her, huh?”

Levi says nothing, again.

Onyankopon hums in consideration. “I suppose it isn’t easy to tell your partner that you got her killed.”

Levi wants to shout at him to be quiet, but there isn’t anything wrong with what he said. It’s true, after all. Besides, knowing the person Onyankopon is, there isn’t any malicious intent behind his words. He’s simply thinking out loud and assembling the pieces Levi unknowingly provides with his silence.

“She didn’t die,” Levi whispers. He's feeling lethargic again like he did on the train this afternoon. Maybe it’s the alcohol.

“Sorry. Almost killed,” he corrects, like it makes any difference. “Yeah, that definitely can’t be easy… being the one who shot her and all.”

“What are you doing?” Levi’s voice is low. Threatening. Like he’s being backed into a corner and clinging desperately to whatever defenses he has left. Something claws at the back of his throat and makes it impossible to swallow.

Onyankopon is silent now. Levi huffs as he slaps the final placement down, lips tugged into a frown.

“When are you going to realize that you did what you had to do to keep her safe?” he asks. He notes Levi’s posture, and the firm line that his mouth shifts into. Another possibility enters his mind. “Or maybe you are beginning to understand it was a mistake. And that bothers you more than anything else.”

“Shut up,” Levi grunts.

“Have you ever forgiven yourself for anything?”

He hasn’t, but he would, if that’s what it took for him to finally be with you. Eventually, he’d find a way. Because he wants you more than he wants anything else.

“I think you’re afraid she’d actually forgive you, too.”

Levi knows you would. “She shouldn’t,” he sighs.

“Maybe not, but when has she ever allowed anyone to dictate her choices?” Levi remains still, setting knives and forks into their respective places, lingering on his reflection in the silver. “I think you look like you’re tired of carrying all this baggage by yourself.”

“Thanks for the psychoanalyzing,” he barks, head snapping over his shoulder. “How much do I owe you?”

Onyankopon chuckles quietly. “Consider it advice from a friend who cares very much about your happiness.”

Levi turns away. He still isn’t quite used to people caring for him, and it makes him feel guilty because he doesn’t know if he’s worthy of their companionship. Onyankopon was a friend to Hange before he was a friend to him, yet he never showed any inclination that he wished for the two to switch places after they died. He took Levi as is. Somehow, that makes Levi feel like he owes him more now.

“I’m getting married in a month,” Onyankopon mentions out of the blue.

“I know.”

“You should be the best man at my wedding.”

Levi nods. “If that’s what you want.”

“Absolutely.” Onyankopon leans against the dinner table that Levi has yet to fully set, arms folded, while he waits for him to meet his pointed gaze. “I’m assuming that I don’t need to arrange separate accommodations for you two.”

Levi says nothing.

Onyankopon places a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, I know I won’t have to do that, because by that point, you’ll both know for certain how in love with each other you really are.”

Levi shrugs his hand off and turns away. It’s almost like he’s too tired to patch up his walls, so all he can do is hope Onyankopon spares him by not looking.

He’s never done the whole “being in love” thing before. Ever since you started your lives here, in this strange place that still feels like it will be ripped away from him, he’s understood the feeling a little better. Most times, what he feels is too overwhelming to put into words, so he’ll bring the ice cream out of the fridge to dethaw or he’ll dust off your tiny antiques on the shelves instead. Maybe it isn’t good enough but it’s all that he’s been able to figure out.

Does it only matter if he says it? If he screams it at the top of his lungs? Who fucking knows.

“You went through hell, man,” Onyankopon offers Levi his glass, refilled halfway again. And his eyes are kinder. “So, it makes sense that you’re a pessimist. But you have to think about it like this: By the Grace of whatever higher power, you made it out, and not only that, but you have at least one person by your side who knows your pain better than anyone else.” Levi’s lips part. “You don’t think that means something?”

Levi doesn't really believe in that fate bullshit, but hell if Onyankopon doesn’t sound incredibly convincing when he suggests it.

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, rubbing his temple. “Okay. Okay. You’ve made your point.”

“Damn right I did.” Onyankopon tilts his head back and swallows a gulp of whiskey. He winces. “So then why do you still have a constipated look?”

“Don’t steal my jokes.”

“You mean, the same jokes you stole from a prepubescent kid in primary school?”

Levi frowns. “Now I’m not gonna listen to what you said.”

The other man surges forward. “Then I take it back!” he cries, and only looks peeved until a quiet laugh shakes Levi’s shoulders.

Onyankopon has to remain in his slanted position as he fully processes the sight and sound of Levi actually laughing, because otherwise he’ll trip and land flat on his pretty face.

Of course, there’s still that line between his brows that grows darker the more he hurts. But, the tension in his shoulders is gone and his expressions are lighter. Even his eyes will open wider when he talks, like he doesn’t mind letting a little bit more of the world into view.

“So, how was the trip, really?”

Levi covers his hand with his face to hide his blush. “Fuck off.”

“Oh, come on, Levi. You seriously think that I didn’t give her those tickets for one reason and one reason only?”

“You're a scheming son of a bitch.”

He cackles. “You needed the push.”

Levi points a threatening finger in his direction. “You set me up!”

“I set you up to get laid, and it worked. You’re welcome, by the way.”

He sighs. “Yeah.” Then he lifts his chin. “Thanks.”

Onyankopon’s eyes widen. “Excuse me? What did you just say to me?”

Levi reaches for his whiskey and pokes his head into the pantry.

“Don’t be shy, Levi. Say it again! Loud enough so I can hear properly!”

“Oh, will you just shut up already!” He slams the door shut behind him. “I said thank you!”

Onyankopon shakes his head in disbelief. “Incredible,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, you’re looking at me the way Hange did when they realized Titans didn’t have bowel movements. I’m done with this conversation.”

He puts his hands up in surrender, returning his attention to his glass of amber. “Aye aye.”

Right on time, the door creaks open, and Falco and Gabi enter with groceries in their arms. You’re popping off a square of chocolate and placing it on your tongue.

“We got stuff for bruschetta!” Gabi announces.

The three of them fall into motion, darting through the kitchen and preheating the oven. Gabi tries to smack Falco over the head with a baguette like she’s wielding a sword, and the poor boy nearly jumps out of his skin.

You and Levi linger near the dining table, a clean glass placed in front of you. He tilts the bottle of whiskey and pours you a glass, which you graciously bring to your lips.

The liquid burns as it goes down, but you don’t flinch.

“Not as good as that wine Paddy bought,” you tease.

Levi sneers then reaches forward and plucks the glass out of your hand. His eyes don’t move from yours as he places his lips on the rim where yours once rested.

“If you’d rather ask him for another bottle, then by all means,” he hums passively.

“Oh, come on.” You lean forward, flashing your lashes at him. A square of chocolate is held up between your fingertips—a peace offering, of sorts. “You know I’m just teasing you”

Satisfaction burns in his chest—or maybe it’s the alcohol—and he glances toward the chocolate. With a lopsided grin, you pop the square onto his tongue, his lips barely wetting your fingertips.

“Say something like that again and I’ll make you regret it,” he murmurs through sticky lips and a tangled tongue. His knee knocks yours under the table. You wish you could scoot closer. You want to be alone with him.

“Now you’re just tempting me to misbehave.”

“Okay, then do it and see what happens,” he fires back.

You pluck a strand of hair away from your mouth, shifting back in your seat, and Levi smirks because he knows you’re flustered.

“Do you like it?” you ask, nodding towards the crinkled wrapper of the half-eaten chocolate bar on the table. You rub your nose.

“Yes,” he nods. “Thank you.”

You smile. “You have a secret sweet tooth.”

He pouts, unknowingly. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

You roll your eyes and swipe your glass back from where it sits guarded in front of him. Levi is never one for dessert before dinner, but tonight, he continues to pick piece after piece of the candy bar, munching and cleaning his thumb after each bite.

You want to talk to him about last night. About the kisses, the sex, and the following morning. He’s talking to you now perfectly fine, albeit a little more tame than usual, but still, you hate not knowing what he’s thinking. All of this time and you still struggle. Sometimes it feels like you aren’t smart enough to read his mind—like you don’t deserve him if you can’t.

You want to be closer to him, like you were last night, breathing him in. The way his body felt melded to yours couldn’t be described as any other way than right.

“Hello?” he grumbles, tilting his head. “What are you thinking about?”

You exhale. Levi makes you feel loose and content. “You.”

You decide not to tease him when a rosy tint dusts the tops of his cheeks. He grabs his glass of whiskey. “Oh, really?”

“Really.”

“Why?”

You shake your head. Your smile is small but the glow in your eyes makes it appear brighter and wider. “Why not?”

Levi straightens up in his seat. “Surely there are better things to think about.”

“Not for me.”

He clenches his teeth. “You’ve had too much to drink already.”

“I’ve had three sips.”

“That’s three sips too many.”

The night continues on like that, with you and Levi secluded at the dining table and Onyankopon supervising Gabi and Falco in the kitchen. Fifteen minutes later, you’re topping the bruschetta with a bit of seasoning, and Levi’s replacing your whiskey with a full cup of water. A handful of appetizers line the table. Gabi has no shame in loading her plate.

Levi watches you from the head of the table, waiting until you scarf down half a piece of bruschetta before he starts in himself.

“How was the beach?! I want to know everything!” Gabi grins through a mouthful. She turns her head and looks at you expectantly.

You shrug. “It was cloudy, but we still enjoyed it, right, Levi?”

“She fell in the water.”

You slam your hand on the table. Silverware clatters. “No, I didn’t!”

“She found a recipe for lemon meringue pie, too,” he adds.

“I did.” You turn to Falco. “You’re good at the whole baking thing. Maybe you could help Levi make it one day.”

Falco nods. “Sure!” He reached for his glass. “How was the show?”

Levi chokes on his salad. You laugh awkwardly. Onyankopon tries to reel in his amusement but fails miserably when he chuckles into his cup.

“Uh, it-it was fine?” You do your best to

“Only fine?” Levi glares.

“What?” You have a strange feeling you aren’t talking about the show anymore. “Oh, no—it was great! Best show ever! Great, solid performance!”

The corners of his mouth quirk. “Out of ten, how would you rate it?”

You flail your hand. “Oh, definitely an eleven out of ten! For sure! Infinity out of ten!”

“Really? Infinity?” he inquires, staring you dead in the eye. “I thought it was more like a three.”

Your jaw goes slack. Gabi and Falco glance between the two of you, quietly eating their food.

“Shut the hell up, Levi!” you growl. “It was a ten, and you know it.”

He hums, “The actress was so loud and obnoxious— “

Onyankopon holds up his hand. “Yeah, you’re done.”

“Really? Loud and obnoxious?” Your grip around your fork tightens until your knuckles pale, until you finally relax into your seat. “Well, actually, I thought her male countertop was struggling to keep up with her— “

“Excuse me?” he bellows.

Falco chuckles tightly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

-

The apartment is silent aside from the sound of running water and the occasional clang of silverware and plates. The ice in yours and Levi’s stemware has melted and watered down the potent taste of alcohol, lukewarm and likely to be downed by you in a single swig.

Levi washes. You dry.

Outside, the storm has finally caught up, which is the reason for Onyankopon, Gabi, and Falco’s early departure. Rain begins to patter against the windows, echoing in the living room where the glass doors take the brunt of the hit.

He should tell you how he feels, but he’s never been good with words. He’s never been good at comfort. He’s just good at cooking you meals so you don’t forget and making room on his shelves for whatever you’d like. He thinks he’s good at kissing you hard on the mouth.

The throb in his chest wants one thing, but he’s never been good at following that feeling, either. His mind and his shit way with words tends to sabotage it all in the end anyway.

“You seem like you want to say something,” you hum, sparing him a glance. You swirl the lightweight towel around the freshly cleaned plate. “Is everything okay?”

“What?” He perks up and pauses. “I’m fine.”

Though “I’m fine” is the least convincing pair of words Levi could ever say to you, you don’t prod. Mostly because you don’t know what you want to say yourself.

You should probably talk about this weekend. Last night, specifically. And the morning after. You should talk about all of it, because it’s so blatantly obvious that your relationship has changed, and these things don’t fare well when they aren’t addressed.

“Are we okay?” You ask, hesitant.

Levi stops. The sink water continues to run and drenches his hands in wet heat. “I don’t know,” he answers.

Your lips part.

“I just meant, things are different now. That’s all,” he corrects quickly. His heart begins to thump obnoxiously hard in his chest, making breathing and speaking and even thinking borderline impossible.

You agree. “How do you feel about that?”

‘How do you feel?’ Levi wants to get on his hands and knees and beg you to never ask him that question ever again.

He remembers this weekend, laying at the beach with you. For a moment, he had his head on straight. For a moment, he realized that if this was something he really wanted, he would have to give you something. No matter how small. An even transaction. If he didn’t give you some part of himself, he could never expect to have any part of you.

So, if he wants to know how you feel, he has to answer the fucking question. That dreaded, annoying fucking question.

He feels a lot of things that he doesn’t understand because no one ever taught him. He feels like he’s about to pass the hell out. He feels like a traitor—like scum of the earth—because he did something terrible and he didn’t tell you but he still slept with you and kissed you back and watched you sleep. He still let himself hope for a fraction of a second that this could be it for him.

He forgets everything Onyankopon told him. No, this burden he has to carry himself. This is the exception, because this was his fault.

“Levi?” You ask, holding your breath.

“I... “ How does he feel? How does he feel? “I don’t get it.”

A clap of thunder vibrates through your toes, and a bright flash swallows the darkness outside. In the blink of an eye, it’s black again.

You swallow tightly, slower with your movements, instinctively more cautious. The last dish is placed into the drying rack. Levi turns off the tap. Rain falls. “Do you regret sleeping with me?”

He stares at the wilting plant above the sink and curses at himself for forgetting to water it. Does he regret sleeping with you? He regrets ever putting his hands on you and thinking he could do it once and never want it again. He should regret all of it. Touching you, kissing you, entertaining those moments where he was on the verge of convincing himself he was allowed to be happy with you despite his mistakes. But of course he fucking doesn’t. There’s not a single piece of him that regrets betraying his own logic.

Firmly, he declares, “No.”

You exhale.

“But, I… I think you’re making a mistake.”

The silence is palpable. Neither of you breathe.

“A mistake?” The way he was looking at you this morning suggested this was anything but a mistake.

His voice is gruff. He pats his hands dry with a towel and wrings his fingers together below the fabric until they crack. “I meant what I said the other night, that I’m terrible. That there’s a lot to be sorry for. Because there is.”

You furrow your brows. “And I meant what I said.”

If you are terrible, then I am worse.

You could betray me, and I will still forgive you.

“Yeah, well… You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he tells you. His palms fold over the smooth edge of the countertop.

“Even if it’s the truth?”

“I’d rather you hate me for the shit I’ve done than forgive me.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You go on and on about how terrible of a person you are, but I can’t remember a single shitty thing you’ve done besides try to stay alive,” you yell. Frustration wells up in your eyes and makes your face flush with warmth.

He stares, helpless.

“Levi, please tell me you didn’t just sleep with me just to sleep with me.” Your voice wavers. “Pleasetell me you didn’t do that. Because that is something that would make you a shitty person.”

“No!” He cries, turning around. “Fuck. I slept with you because I— ”

Levi’s shoulders are heaving and you’re looking at him expectantly, eyes glazed over like you’re about to cry, and he wants to punish himself for being the one responsible. His feet move without any thinking or prompting, sending him forward. Warm, damp hands cup your face, tilting your mouth so it slots perfectly with his own, and he kisses you hard. Your back meets the refrigerator, the door handle molding your body into a bow.

Levi’s tongue dips daringly past your teeth, nose knocking yours. There’s so much frustration. You swallow it down, gasping while his hand fists your hair. He tugs and scrunches, tilts your head to the side and scrapes his canines right over your neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder blades.

You want it so bad, but you know you can’t have it. Not right now. Levi can’t tell you anything when his tongue is all over you, and you sure as hell can’t listen when he’s on you like this.

“Levi,” you groan.

He pulls himself off, shoulders shaking. He runs the back of his hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” the man murmurs, but something tells you he isn’t sorry at all. You don’t think you are, either.

You shake your head. “I… I don’t think we’ll get anywhere if we just keep fucking each other,” you pant, straightening out your blouse. His eye flickers down to your neck, where his saliva glints on your skin.

He nods. “You’re right.”

“Besides, we... “ You run a hand through your hair and gather your thoughts. “We have a lot going on this week, and… We should think about what we want out of this, if…”

“If it's worth the risk of ruining what we have.”

Your breath catches. A crestfallen expression hangs on your features, and you lift your hand to your chest like something sharp has cut through your lungs. “You really think we could ruin that?” Your voice is small, stretched taut like you’re going to cry.

“I— “ He wants to reach out to you, but his hands hang heavy by his sides. A headache throbs behind his scarred, blinded eye. “We both have so much baggage, it’s hard to tell if we’d make it.”

You nearly flinch. Through grit teeth, you hiss, “You’re a fucking coward.”

Levi’s head snaps up.

Your eyes burn. You didn’t think he was terrible before, but you do now. “Since when the hell do you give up so easily? That isn’t at all like the man I know!”

Levi takes a step forward. He doesn’t want to yell, but his voice raises, “I don’t want you to settle for me!” he starts, and he can’t stop. “You tell me all this shit like I can do no wrong! You have any idea how impossible it is for me to live up to that person in your head?”

“What the hell are you even talking about?! You know what I think of you!” You shake your head. Your voices match each other’s. “And believe it or not, Levi, but I’m a big girl! I think I know what I deserve without needing you to tell me!”

“Well,” he grows quiet and looks you dead in the eye. “Clearly, you don’t.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you curse. Your voice breaks. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m not doinganything. I’m not… I’m… I’m… Fuck.”

He blinks, and he sees red. This reminds him of the time he left for the forest, when you found him in the corridor prepared to go without saying so much as a goodbye. You stood down the hall, clad in casual clothes and swaddled by thick white bandages, still a little pale in the face, because you fell and he shot you; because that pool of blood he sat in while trying to bring you back belonged to your lifeless body.

It was an accident. It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, but your gear had malfunctioned, and he wasn’t thinking. His reflexes had sprung into motion, consequences long forgotten over a dire attempt to keep you by his side—indefinitely. A goddamn mistake, and all his fault.

He can’t tell if the fact you’re standing right in front of him, alive despite his carelessness, is a reminder that he hurts everything he touches, or the universe’s cruel way of keeping him in check.

But he still went and fucked with it anyway. He just couldn't keep his greedy hands off you. Couldn't stop kissing you, couldn’t stop fucking you. Somehow, that aching need he felt for you outweighed any sort of guilt.

“Don’t ever lecture me about what I need,” you say, your voice low and your words sharp. Your gaze cuts through him. “And don’t ever imply that I have little self respect to want to be with you. Because that’s also something a shitty person would do.”

He closes his eyes and nods, regret weighing painfully in his chest. A lump forms in the center of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks. “I won’t do that again.”

“Whatever,” you snarl, disappointed because Levi never seemed like the kind of man to be terrible and you just learned that he can be.

“Fuck, I amsorry!” Your name flies from his lips like a helpless plea. “I’m sorry about everything! I’m sorry I couldn’t save any of our friends, and I’m sorry I’m the person you got stuck with, and I’m sorry that I fucking hurt you, I— “ His breath catches, and his eyes widen in horror like he’s said something that he shouldn’t.

You slump against the counter, tears smudged below your eyes. Finally, you get that little peek inside Levi’s psyche that you’ve been chipping at for years. You see the guilt and you feel the pain, then the strangest thing happens. You smile. A pathetic, depressing smile that wobbles as it fights its way onto your lips.

You speak quietly. “Levi, if only you knew how much I feel like I’ve failed you.”

His face collapses. Your admission is like a punch to the gut, enough to have him nearly keeling over.

You wipe your eyes, blinking away more tears. “I was the one who was supposed to protect you. You know how impossible it is to succeed at that when your partner is the strongest person alive?” Your voice is congested, almost reminiscent, and raw from screaming. “I could never reach you, no matter how hard I tried. You were always better than me at everything. I never… let it bother me, because that was my job—I was supposed to bring out the best in you. Be the person behind the curtain, even if everyone else thought that I was a joke.”

Levi stares at you, that tightness growing more and more intolerable. His fingertips are trembling and he feels cold all over his body.

“I tried so hard to save as many people as I could, not for their sake, but for yours, because I… I was given an impossible job. But at least, maybe, if I could save your friends, I could give you some sliver of happiness in that shitty world we lived in.” Levi’s hand lands on your shoulder, his head bowed forward. “I failed. Obviously. I’m just a person, and I certainly wasn’t humanity’s strongest soldier. But I couldn’t die, either. No matter how badly I wanted to, I wasn’t allowed to. Because I had to keep you safe.”

“You did,” Levi reassures. “You did.”

“I didn’t.” You shake your head, pitiful. “It was Hange who saved you. And I let them die, too.” A wry chuckle rips from your throat. “I let everyone you love die, and now you’re apologizing to me for it.”

“Please, don’t say that,” he begs you gently.

“Why not? You don’t like to hear it?” you ask, placing your hand over his and lowering it to his side. Your fingers wrap around his wrist. “Are you sad to know how terrible and selfish I am, Levi? Do you have such little self respect that you’re willing to settle for someone like me?”

He grabs your biceps, guiding you back against the countertop so that your gazes meet. “Your job,” he whispers breathlessly, “was to help me with my fucking paperwork. Not save me.” Tears escape your eyes and he wipes them with his smooth fingertips. They used to be so rough, just like him, but not anymore. His thumbs run over your under eyes and your name is whispered into your mouth. “My happiness was neveryour responsibility. So don’t say that shit about yourself ever again.”

“So, you can say that stuff, but I can’t?” you argue, and he softens because he knows you’re right. “You’re a hypocrite, Levi.”

“I know I am.”

You give him a break. “There are worse things to be, I suppose.”

“You’re a dumbass,” he grumbles. His head drops forward until his forehead rests on your shoulder, hands on either side of your body, caging you in. You still smell sweet like you did in bed this morning when he didn’t ruin everything. “One of the only things that kept me going was that stupid fucking look on your face.”

Your heart stops. Your jaw drops.

“It was always youI could never reach. With that shitty expression. I never understood—“ He grits his teeth, willing himself to continue. “I never understood how the hell you could just… hope. How you always had so much of it no matter what.”

Your eyes are so wide that the tears well over and fall without a blink.

“Then I realized, the drinking and the isolating, and I-I was a fucking idiot for not understanding it was all a goddamn lie. You never had any hope at all.” His hand comes down on your shoulder and snakes around your neck, pulling you into him. Levi’s embrace is suffocating, but it protects you from everything that threatens to hurt you. “So, no. I don’t deserve you.”

You want to say, so what if it was all a lie? The only way to keep everyone going was to give them something to hope for, even if you didn’t believe in it yourself. That was the facade you chose to wear. The kind of person who you chose to be. Your choice. Your burden, and the only burden you would never share, because you would never want anyone to pay the price of your personal decisions, especially the person you love most in this world.

Your hand lands on his back, fingers digging desperately into the fabric of his collared shirt, searching for bare skin just to feel closer.

“Your only job was to be my fucking superior,” you hiccup.

Levi’s body stills. Against your neck, he mutters, “I guess we’re both insufferable overachievers, then.”

You laugh, raw and wet, a little lighter. “Yeah. I guess we are.”

-

“He needs a companion,” Erwin shrugs.

You gape at the man. “Erwin. Please don’t tell me you’re assigning me as Levi’s Second in Command solely because he has no friends.” When Erwin makes no implication that you’re wrong, you sit up straight in your chair, incredulous. “Do you also want us to braid each other’s hair and make friendship bracelets while we’re at it?”

He laughs deeply. “No, of course not. Levi has some lone wolf tendencies and I need someone who can squash those habits to bring him to his full potential.” Erwin’s using his hand as he speaks, You realize, which means he’s trying to make a point. At least the man has his reasons. “And honestly, I see the two of you bringing out the best in each other. That is all.”

You aren’t entirely convinced, but nonetheless, you digress. You sigh and slouch into your chair. “You gamble the same way you did back in primary school.”

Erwin’s eyes glow with a memory. “I always won back then, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

He smiles. “Levi will grow to love you.” The candlelight on his desk twinkles in his blue eyes. “And perhaps one day, he’ll understand.”

You wave your hand. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever that means. Just tell me now what color you want for your bracelet so I know for later.”

Silence stretches over you two, then, he bites, “Orange.”

You grimace. “Of course you like orange.”

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x fem!reader #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #levi x you #aot x reader #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman fic #snk x reader #levi ackerman series

[oi-levi]

Levi Ackerman | Chapter Nine

Summary: It’s the night of the play. Levi wants to cook you dinner when you return home.

Content/Warnings: Penetration (protected sex), oral (both receiving), fingering, exhibitionism, orgasm delay, light emotional angst, rimming (f receiving), slight self-hatred, brief mentions of scars and canon-typical violence

Word Count: 18.1k+ (and it’s literally all smut…)

Author’s Note: I completed this chapter way faster than I thought I would. But, it’s here you guys… I have a general idea of where the story is going after this point, but I will be taking a week or two to really plot out the general premises of the next few chapters because I think we have officially reached the halfway point of the fic! Big thanks to @lammello (aka levissquishy on tik tok) who helped beta read. Thanks for all the support and feedback so far! Love you guys [ Levi inspiration for this chapter ]

+ IMPORTANT: I have officially transitioned blogs from here -> @bibblelevi. If you want to chat about the chapter, do so here. Asks on this account (@oi-levi) are turned off. Thanks!

Buy Me A Coffee | Series Masterlist | AO3 | Next

Levi sits on the edge of the bed, ring-clad finger tapping away profusely at his knee. As soon as he hears the bathroom door unlock, he’s lifting his chin and drinking up the image of you stepping into the room.

A long black dress clings to your frame, flaring out near your hips and hanging loosely around your legs before cutting off at the center of your calf. The silk swaddles your skin like a dream, and a tie is wound around your waist, cinching the dress in where his hands have rested several times before.

Keep reading

[oi-levi]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 @leviverse’s “𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐄𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐞” 𝟓𝟓𝟓𝟓 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛:

Soccer Team Captain! Levi Ackerman x fem! Reader // Chapter One

Summary: Levi Ackerman becomes the youngest Captain of Trost University’s Division I soccer team. You’re studying to be a sports journalist. He knows you as the girl he’s been in English with all four years of high school. Then he knows you as the only girl to ever break his heart.

Content/Warnings: High school! AU (only for this chapter), emotional angst, unrequited crush (that’s not really unrequited), alcoholism and death, emotional angst, heart break, allusions to grief

Word Count: 11.1k

Author’s Note: Hello friends and welcome to part one of my new mini-series for Levi!! This is me experimenting with writing rom-com, so expect this series to have less smut. Also, I am by no means a sporty gal so please forgive me for any inconsistencies. Check out the series masterlist for more information on what Hey, Hemingway is going to be about so you’re aware of triggers beforehand! Thank you Claire for letting me participate in your collab - be sure to check out the masterlist and read the other participants work!

Series Masterlist | Buy Me A Coffee | AO3 | Next

SENIOR YEAR

Levi Ackerman is fast as hell.

That’s the first thing you notice about him.

The second? He’s fucking gorgeous. Black hair falls in coarse strands over his forehead, his nose is straight, his lips are rosy to match his flushed cheeks, and his pale flesh is ridden with muscle that ripples whenever he runs. A pair of black shorts with a 3” inseam cling to his thighs, hugging the strong and firm planes of muscle. Even his calves are carved out and nearly bulging out of his skin as his cleats slam down on the field. You want him to step on your neck with those exact cleats.

Keep reading

[oi-levi]

Levi Ackerman | Chapter Nine

Summary: It’s the night of the play. Levi wants to cook you dinner when you return home.

Content/Warnings: Penetration (protected sex), oral (both receiving), fingering, exhibitionism, orgasm delay, light emotional angst, rimming (f receiving), slight self-hatred, brief mentions of scars and canon-typical violence

Word Count: 18.1k+ (and it’s literally all smut…)

Author’s Note: I completed this chapter way faster than I thought I would. But, it’s here you guys… I have a general idea of where the story is going after this point, but I will be taking a week or two to really plot out the general premises of the next few chapters because I think we have officially reached the halfway point of the fic! Big thanks to @lammello (aka levissquishy on tik tok) who helped beta read. Thanks for all the support and feedback so far! Love you guys [ Levi inspiration for this chapter ]

+ IMPORTANT: I have officially transitioned blogs from here -> @bibblelevi. If you want to chat about the chapter, do so here. Asks on this account (@oi-levi) are turned off. Thanks!

Buy Me A Coffee | Series Masterlist | AO3 | Next

Levi sits on the edge of the bed, ring-clad finger tapping away profusely at his knee. As soon as he hears the bathroom door unlock, he’s lifting his chin and drinking up the image of you stepping into the room.

A long black dress clings to your frame, flaring out near your hips and hanging loosely around your legs before cutting off at the center of your calf. The silk swaddles your skin like a dream, and a tie is wound around your waist, cinching the dress in where his hands have rested several times before.

Keep reading

#rb

[oi-levi]

Levi A. x Fem! Reader | Chapter Nine

Summary: It’s the night of the play. Levi wants to cook you dinner when you return home.

Word Count: 18.1k+ (and it’s literally all smut…)

Content: ANIME SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 PART 2 AND CH. 139 MANGA SPOILERS, penetration (protected sex), oral (both receiving), fingering, exhibitionism, orgasm delay, light emotional angst, rimming (f receiving), slight self-hatred, brief mentions of scars and canon-typical violence

Author’s Note: I completed this chapter way faster than I thought I would. But, it’s here you guys… I have a general idea of where the story is going after this point, but I will be taking a week or two to really plot out the general premises of the next few chapters because I think we have officially reached the halfway point of the fic! Big thanks to @lammello (aka levissquishy on tik tok) who helped beta read. Thanks for all the support and feedback so far! Love you guys [ Levi inspiration for this chapter ]

+ IMPORTANT: I have officially transitioned blogs from here -> @bibblelevi. If you want to chat about the chapter, do so here. Asks on this account (@oi-levi) are turned off. Thanks!

Series Masterlist | AO3 | Next

Levi sits on the edge of the bed, ring-clad finger tapping away profusely at his knee. As soon as he hears the bathroom door unlock, he’s lifting his chin and drinking up the image of you stepping into the room.

A long black dress clings to your frame, flaring out near your hips and hanging loosely around your legs before cutting off at the center of your calf. The silk swaddles your skin like a dream, and a tie is wound around your waist, cinching the dress in where his hands have rested several times before.

His breath hitches at the sheer stockings hugging your calves—which are far too reminiscent of the first night you ever spent together for him to not feel something electric stirring in his gut—and then he’s wondering just how quickly that silk would unravel around your limbs if he tugged on the dangling end of that ribbon.

Loose, puffy long sleeves cinch around your wrists, enhancing the elegant silhouette and only allowing for a peek of skin to show below the V-neckline. There’s no dainty jewelry. There’s only a giant silver ring on your fourth finger, with a whopping turquoise stone—the exact ring he bought for you weeks earlier.

He’s already decided. He will be fucking you in that ring and those stockings later tonight.

“Hi,” you murmur, folding your hands together. “Is… this okay?”

Levi is too slack jawed to respond coherently. “Huh?”

Swallowing, you gesture to the dress. “It’s appropriate for a play, right?”

He closes his mouth and nods once. “Yes.”

“I…” Levi trails off, his voice hoarse. Your brows raise slightly like you’re waiting for him to finish his thought.

“Yes?”

He clears his throat and stands. “I need to… brush my teeth.”

You shrug, “Can we share the mirror? I need to finish my makeup.”

“You can do whatever you want,” he replies quickly, then brushes past you into the bathroom. He has to ignore the way the silk of your dress glides so smoothly over his knuckles. He has to ignore the whiff of sunflower and oak he inhales near the spot on your neck he’s kissed several times before. Garnering every ounce of restraint not to pin you over the countertop and take you right here right now, he aggressively reaches for a tube of toothpaste and shoves his toothbrush into his mouth.

Levi steps to the side, and you squeeze in next to him, rummaging through your toiletry kit for your powder and a brush. His eyes dart across the mirror while you bounce the bristles over your nose and forehead, gaze flitting to meet his in the glass. A smile threatens to tug at your lips.

“You look nice,” you say. Levi’s hand stalls and his heart lurches forward in his chest.

Through a mouthful of toothpaste, he mutters, “Whatever.”

You snort.

Of course it isn’t a lie. Levi looks beautiful. Black slacks cling to his firm thighs, held up by a thick leather belt. A white collared shirt is tucked into his waistband and covered by a black vest, buttoned snug and cinching in his shapely torso. The collar of his shirt is folded over a black tie which is pulled taut around his neck.

On the bed, his blazer is laid out and creaseless, ready to be tugged on before the two of you leave for the evening, and it looks as if a dollop of gel was combed through his midnight locks, which are taming his usually rumpled fringe.

You huff, reaching into your back for a berry-colored lipstick. Parting your mouth and leaning forward, you begin to blot the buttery product onto your lips.

Levi furrows his brows. “Do you have to do that?”

You glance at him through the sides of your eyes. “Do what?” you sass.

He rinses his mouth and slams down on the faucet. “You know what.”

“No, I don’t. I’m just putting on lipstick. I didn’t realize— “ Your pause is followed by a tense silence, then a sweet laugh. “Oh. That’s it.”

He shakes his head and leans against the counter, watching you continue despite how much he despises it. Despite how much it makes him want to rip off every inch of clothing from your body and have you.

You tear off a few squares of toilet paper and blot your lips around it before reapplying. Levi hangs on to the parting of your lips and the sharpening of your jaw as you tilt your head.

A perfect imprint of your mouth is left behind on the white paper. Levi’s gaze lingers a little too long on it before you scrunch it up in your hand.

“Actually,” he considers, “I think like watching you do this.”

Your movements stutter and you cast him a look. “You do?”

Yes, it feels like something that lovers do. Are you lovers? Is that what this thing between the two of you is? But lovers must mean that you love each other, hence the “love-“, and while he is certain he loves you, he doesn’t know whether you love him back in the same way. So maybe you’re his lover, and he’s your… What is he to you?

“Yeah. It’s relaxing,” he adds. His fingers are in the pockets of his pants, and God, you just want to step forward and splay your hands over his stomach. He looks so firm and lithe in this vest and shirt combination and you want to show him exactly how this shade of pink looks on his fair skin.

“Help me with my eyeliner,” you say, holding out a pencil-looking product. Levi glances down and grabs it, examining the pointed tip.

“Eye-what?” he spits. “This looks like a fucking pencil.”

“It is a pencil.”

“Why are you using a pencil on your eye? Lead is poisonous.”

“That was cute, Levi,” you chuckle softly, patting him on the chest. Now he’s staring at the little wrinkle in the corner of your mouth that forms when you smile at him like that—like he’s the only person in the world who has ever brought you joy. “It’s just pigment. Like what I was wearing a few weeks ago when I went to the museum. It makes the eyes look darker.”

“Oh. Well, why would you want me to do it?”

“My hands are too shaky,” you shrug.

He flips his hand over and draws a line across his skin. It appears carbon black and stands stark against the milky hue.

“I would look like a raccoon if I wore this,” he says, then points to the countertop. “Up.”

Excited, you bounce onto the marble countertop. Your heels tap the wooden cabinet, knees spread to adhere to the width of Levi’s hips as he keeps himself situated between you. He could be a surgeon with how steady his hands are—and while his right hand still has its fair share of tremors and aches, that doesn’t change your mind.

His brow is riddled in concentration, and if he weren’t so focused on etching the line across your lash line, you would think he’s in a deep, pensive state. Possibly thinking about books or something both smart and absurdly pretentious.

But Levi would never say anything to be pretentious. He would just say it to be an asshole.

Your jaw is tilted in the concave of his right palm, pad of his thumb digging into your cheekbone to hold your skull steady.

“Don’t even breathe,” he murmurs, feeling your breath ghost his nose. There’s a disciplinary flash in his eyes, and you want nothing more than to challenge him so he will put you in your place.

“Want me to die, then?”

He clenches his jaw. “Don’t even joke about that.”

Knowing he would rather not ponder on morality at such a time, instead you ask: “Where did you learn to do eyeliner, anyway? Past lovers?”

“I’m sure you would love to know all about my past lovers.”

Your face heats like a pile of coals lit aflame. “Maybe.”

Levi’s wrist pauses for a minute, and his pupil expands as his gaze flickers to meet yours. He stiffens, holding his breath before letting his shoulders slump. “You’re the only one,” he admits with a quiet breath.

He may as well have unwittingly tossed you into a river of molten lava. The painful twisting of your heart prompts your stomach to churn, and suddenly you are far too aware of who you are and where you are and how Levi is looking at you right now.

You open your mouth, ready to gawk at him outwardly, before sealing your lips shut and locking away what would have been an utterly humiliating stream of thought.

Instead, you level the playing field. You reward his candor with your own. “You’re the only one for me, too.”

You mean it in more ways than one, but he doesn’t ruminate much, or make a move to dissect any hidden meanings.

His wrist remains still, and he moves his face a little further away. “You mean…?”

A sheepish laugh comes out in the form of a breath. “Thanks for some memorable firsts, I guess.”

“Should we buy a bottle of wine to celebrate? Only took us a century and a half to get here.”

Now, you throw your head back and cackle obnoxiously. Levi’s fingers still cup your jaw. He smirks at you. Barely, but he smirks. Even he can’t hide how much he enjoys this conversation.

“It’s not like we ever had any time to relax and indulge,” he adds, waiting for you to calm before starting on your left eye.

“That is true. But, it does hurt to know what I was missing out on all those years.”

More honesty, Levi realizes. He wonders what you mean—that you were missing out on him all those years, or missing out on sex? Insecurity tugs at his heart. He doesn’t want to imagine you with anyone other than him. The thought alone sparks something fiery in his chest. Something bordering on dangerous.

He doesn’t even want to think about how unfair it is for him to feel like this. He hasn’t even “claimed” you, so you aren’t his to mark, but at the same time, you had operated beneath him and worked as his diligent stead for decades, and the thought of reducing you back to something—someone—he has, rouses something sorrowful and nauseating in his gut.

Maybe, this time around, he is hoping for you to claim him. That is, if you will have him.

“We had jobs to do,” he finally answers. “Now that it’s over, we’re free to indulge as we please.”

“Oh, come on. You really think that? All you ever do is hold back, Levi.” He blinks at you, unsure of what to say, but he doesn’t try to argue, either. You presume that you said something right then.

Of course he holds back. It’s hard not to when he’s so blatantly aware of how delicate this entanglement between the two of you is.

He remembers that distant but painstaking feeling, like being skinned alive and torn from his very bones, that time you nearly bled out on the airship. It was his desperation and blind thinking that resulted in you swept up in his arms, half-dead and muttering something he couldn’t understand.

One hand cannot count the amount of times you have been ripped away from him, and each time has left him floundering more than the last.

Anymore, and he would break wholly.

Even he can handle only so much hurt before it’s too much. And he’s right fucking there. Right on the ledge, taunting fate by balancing on one foot. He never goes down without a fight.

So yes, this is fucking delicate. Perhaps he is a little more delicate than he would ever care to admit, too.

“Levi?” He hears your voice in his thoughts. By now, he has it memorized like it’s his favorite song. “Where did you go?”

He grunts. “Hm?”

He sees your lips, plump and lathered in a tart shade. Heat swarms him as he imagines the outlines of your lips pressing colorful shapes down his navel, sneaking below his waistband, ghosting along his inner thighs. Shamefully, he even goes as far to picture the hue rubbing off elsewhere.

He clears his throat and pulls his head out of the gutter.

“If you want the right side of the bed tonight, I’ll accept your offer.”

You laugh again. You didn’t think he’d remember that. “Unfortunately, I doubt that’s the only thing you were thinking about.”

“It wasn’t,” he concedes. The smokey line enhances the flecks in your irises and the milks of your corneas. He wants to drink up your eyes and lick you and feel your warmth buzzing inside of him. Something warm and homey curls up like a kitten inside of him. In the gentlest of voices, he says, “When we get home, let me cook you dinner.”

You don’t think much of his request.

But Levi, who knows how painfully embarrassing he is when it comes to romance, envisions you perched on the kitchen counter, just as you are now, swirling a glass of expensive red wine that he bought just for this occasion. And he would cook pasta from scratch and sip the wine from your glass just to try it and light a few candles in the living room before going down on you in the throes of throw pillows and blankets bundled on the floor. He would fuck you meticulously, petting every inch, until the orange sky faded black and the midnight breeze blew out the candles, drenching your naked and hot bodies in darkness. Then he would do it all again. Fuck you so tenderly, so deeply, until the only sound that fell from your lips was his name—a Holy prayer, a mantra, a vow.

“You always cook me dinner, Levi,” you whisper.

He presses the tip of the liner to your out corner. “Yeah, I do.”

It’s not a rejection, he reminds himself. He knows he didn’t clarify what he meant, and he isn’t sure if he wanted to clarify it or not, either. He just felt inclined to say something like that so he said it.

Your arm jerking towards your eye rips him from his thoughts.

“Levi! Ow!” you cry, feeling wetness smear your palm.

His mouth parts. “What the fuck did I do?”

“You poked me in the eye!”

“Well, it’s your fault that your eye got in the way. It’s so big.”

Your hand comes down on his bicep, smacking him hard through his shirt. He recoils. “So violent.”

“I don’t have a big eye,” you hiss, appalled.

He murmurs something incoherent under his breath before taking a step forward. His palms come up to your jaw but you’re quick to grip both his wrists and hold them mid-air.

“I don’t think so,” you quip, the two of you pushing against each other. “You’ve lost all makeup privileges, Mr. Ackerman. Please turn in the eye pencil and await further instruction.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he sneers. Yet he still fights you. “It couldn’t have hurt that bad.”

You wail, “It did!”

Now, makeup is smudged beneath your eye. You’re just happy you didn’t put on mascara beforehand otherwise you really would be sporting the raccoon eyes Levi would if he ever tried eyeliner himself.

“Well if you stopped being a brat, I could look and see how bad it is!”

“There’s only one way to fix a fatal injury like this, Levi.”

“What? I thought you said it wasn’t poisonous— “

Dead serious, you say, “You have to kiss it better.”

Levi gapes at you. You wonder if he’s actually debating leaning in to press a quick smooch to the corner of your eye, but instead, he simply caps the eyeliner and slides it into your palm.

“You win.”

In a casual gesture, he reaches up to wipe at the corner of your eye with his thumb and smear away any lingering product.

You don’t even realize how fast your heart is racing until you’re forced to wait for your hand to quit shaking before you finish reapplying on your right eye.

***

You’re starting to wonder why the fuck Onyankopon gave you these tickets free of charge.

You know he said his fiancé had a work opportunity suddenly interfere, but this is just too nice. While you had your taste of luxury weeks earlier, the architecture here on the pier is still as extravagant and grandeur. The ceiling consists of multiple convexes, with glass chandeliers dangling from the centers, radiating fragments of light that seems to cast mirages across the white-tiled floors.

Levi’s as impressed as you are. Though he doesn’t show it outwardly, you can tell by the subtle opening of his eyes that he’s admiring the design and cleanliness. There are booths with formally-dressed employees conversing with attendees, gesturing past red ropes into what you assume is a wide hallway.

When you slide the two tickets out of your bag and offer them to the employee, she flashes a smile and points towards one of the entryways.

“Thank you. Please turn right at the door and meet the usher at the elevator. From there, someone will escort you to your seats.” She hands you a playbill and points to the right.

You blink. “Elevator?”

You feel a hand on the small of your back, warm and familiar, guiding you towards the red ropes. Levi murmurs a “Thank you” to the woman and continues into the hallway.

The walls are lined with crannies, where small, slick wooden tables reside decorated with vases of fresh cut flowers. The carpets are a rich crimson. All the way down the hallway is the usher, standing beside the elevator dial with his hands clasped behind his back.

“What exactly does Onyankopon do for a living?” you ask Levi, whose hand is still on your lower back. You could’ve sworn he was a pilot… Do pilots make a lot of money?

“I think the question is, what does his fiancé do for a living,” he corrects.

You and Levi arrive at the golden gates of the elevator, which is just as elaborately designed as the interior of the hallway. A few seconds later and you emerge on the next floor, where an usher greets you and escorts you to your seats.

Apparently, the seats in the theatre house that are on the highest levels are called “nosebleeds” because of their high altitude. It’s supposed to be a hyperbole, but you don’t see anything unfortunate about the seating. Your section is empty, composed of two rows of about a dozen bronze-rimmed red seats. There’s a railing in front of you to cage you in without obstructing the view, and you take the opportunity to peek over the bar.

Below you are likely thousands of chairs, most of them filled with well-dressed families. Low chatter echoes off the walls, and dim lights illuminate the paths weaved through separate sections. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before.

“Not too bad,” Levi agrees. There’s something giddy popping in his chest, and he peeks behind himself, reading the number etched into the bronze plaque. When he recognizes his assigned seat, he slides in, propping his cane up beside him.

Kindly, he pushes down to unfold the chair for you, and you smooth down the skirt of your dress before taking your seat.

“Happy we came?” you ask, remembering how hesitant he was last week. Although, it wasn’t like it took much to convince him.

“Yes.” His elbow brushes your forearm and you’re so shocked by how quickly he responded that your head jerks to face him. He’s already looking at you, wearing a fond expression where even his eyes seem to glow. A smile finds its way onto your mouth.

He searches your eyes and admires the smoky shade that lines your upper and lower lash, drawn by his own hand, then he clears his throat before he gets any ideas.

“So, you never even told me what this play was about,” he says.

You perk up. “Oh, right.” Sheepishly, you flip through the playbill, skimming the cast and acts before settling on a brief summary. “It’s about Mel, a young woman who travels to Utopia with her mother, where she ends up falling in love with a shopkeeper, Franz.”

Levi snorts. “Franz.”

“It’s really cute,” you chuckle.

“Real ‘slice of life’,” Levi adds.

You nod, “Yes! Exactly! It’s just like all those romance novels you love to read!”

Levi’s face scrunches and he shoots you a sour look. “Excuse me?”

“What?” You lower the playbill.

“I don’t read romance.”

“Yes, you do. It’s literally contemporary romance.”

“It’s not— “ He inhales sharply, biting back a curse. “It’s gothic.”

“What do you mean, ‘It’s gothic’?” You ask incredulously, using your fingers to add quotes. “Sex scenes are still sex scenes whether it’s gothic or contemporary.”

“I don’t—! They just… come out of nowhere when I’m reading,” he mutters. “Sometimes.”

You flatten three fingers over your lips and laugh through your nose. Levi’s glare continues to penetrate the side of your face as red spreads through his cheeks, but you spare him further humiliation by minding your business for once.

The seats below you continue to flood with people as eight o’clock nears, and by the time it’s fifteen till, none of the other seats in your section have been occupied. Though all the way across the auditorium is another section similar to your own that’s dotted with a few people. It seems that multiple “nosebleed” sections follow the perimeter of the interior.

“Looks like we might get this area all to ourselves,” you note aloud, sinking back into your seat.

Levi hums. His heart is pounding. This feels like a date and now he’s regretting not making it one.

“You…” He combats his nerves by swallowing thickly, then exhales, “look beautiful.”

Your jaw drops as you register the gentle tone he used and the way his lips moved to mold the words. There’s something miraculous about hearing Levi so unabashed. It’s a privilege.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly, cheeks glowing.

Should you tell him that he looks good, too? You did earlier, but maybe you should remind him. But what if he gets annoyed? What if it’s too much?

This is weird. It’s not awkward. There’s just a thickness in the air that’s constantly surrounding the two of you.

And that thing he said to you earlier, when he was fixing your eyeliner—that he wanted to cook you dinner when you got home. What the hell does that mean? He cooks you dinner all the fucking time. Nowadays he never has to ask what you want. He simply knows what you like and gauges your moods to know what to make that evening. That’s sweet, right? That he knows you that well.

That’s… a boyfriend thing. A husband thing. A partner thing. Or is it mostly a platonic thing? A romantic thing? Both?

The lights begin to dim, and at the exact moment they do, your elbow nudges the armrest and accidentally pushes it up.

Levi quickly bats it between the two backs of your seats. Now there isn’t a single barrier between your bodies. All there is is heat. Your arms brush together and your entire body stiffens, and you wonder if Levi feels just as tense as you do right now. You can almost hear him in your ear, murmuring a gentle “Relax” and kneading your shoulders until you liquify into a puddle.

Somehow that very thought stirs something within you. Goosebumps tickle your forearms, and you bite down on your bottom lip as your mind continues to wander. The dark tends to have that kind of hold on you.

Levi sits as still as a statue beside you. Even though the show has begun, and there are voices booming into sound equipment he knows next to nothing about, all he’s thinking about is if he should reach for your hand or your thigh or your knee. The best part about being alone is that this moment is something that belongs to only the two of you, which means it’s far easier for him to grow comfortable in this space.

His fingertips twitch in your direction. He swears he feels your body shifting closer to him. Then it feels like ten minutes pass before he’s inching them even closer. Both your breaths are baited when your shoulders touch, and he gets a clearer idea of where your hand is, resting just above your knee on your thigh.

Holy fuck, there is no way in hell you’re going to pay attention at all. You feel like a bit of an asshole for that too considering Onyankopon really just handed these tickets and a hotel room over to you and Levi without accepting any sort of consolation from either one of you. He blatantly refused.

Pay attention. Pay attention. Pay attention. Stop thinking about Levi in that vest, and how it’s practically crushing him, and how he—

Skin brushes against the side of your palm, and you know already that it’s Levi’s hand. Why he just leaves it laying there without doing anything else, you have no idea, but he’s stunned you into silence and stillness, so you sit there with your guilt and try to watch the show.

Key word: Try.

Another ten minutes pass by, and it goes quicker than anticipated. You’ve picked up bits and pieces from the play, and your heart has relaxed in your chest. The darkness does make you feel a little sleepy but the piercing sound keeps you awake and brimming with energy.

There’s some kissing and some running and a fight and a makeup. You wonder how the fuck this woman can have such an interesting life and it’s only the first act. You feel like you’re in the hundredth consistent act of your life, with about zero intermissions to catch your breath in between.

Maybe it’s because you’re in your own head that your fingers suddenly overlap with Levi’s. Or it’s just a mere accident—you happened to move your fingers and Levi’s hand still happened to be close to yours. But that one breath of touch is enough to spur him into action.

His fingers slide fully over yours, folding around them, offering a reassuring squeeze before his grip loosens and your hands rest casually on your leg.

Finally, you exhale.

At ease, you bring your folded hands into your lap, placing your other palm around his. Levi lets you play with his fingers until the intermission arrives, and you have popped every single one of his knuckles twice.

“You’re gonna break my fucking hand,” he mutters.

“No,” you argue. “It’s just fun.”

“Cracking someone’s knuckles is fun? You’re a freak.”

“You’re mean.”

“You’re annoying.”

Feigning hurt, you drop his hand into your lap and slouch into the back of your seat. He watches with a slightly raised brow at the pout that forms on your mouth and has to try not to snort.

It starts off as a sweet gesture—when he spreads his fingers over your upper thigh and begins to stroke. He has no intention of sparking a flame. No intention of going any further than you may want. It’s just a way for him to touch you after you swatted him away like a fucking brat.

“You always get such an attitude,” he says in a low voice.

You gawk at him. “That better be a joke.” But it’s a tad hard to be frustrated with him when you feel his fingers dragging back and forth over one of your garter belt straps. He has no idea what’s beneath this dress, or that half the reason you wore it was because you wanted to do it for him.

Your face burns.

“It definitely wasn’t a joke,” he retorts.

“Stop talking to me.”

He actually laughs. “Is that what you really want?”

“No,” you respond raggedly. You relax when he removes his hand from your inner thigh, but the damage has already been done. You are ridiculously horny.

And it certainly doesn’t help when his hand is back, this time on your bare fucking knee. Your gaze snaps down to where his hand and wrist disappear within the slit of your dress. You inhale.

“What do you want then?”

“A cat.”

“Again with the fucking cat?”

“And a dog,” you add with a bright grin.

He shakes his head. His fingers slide up your inner thigh so he can relish in the texture of your stockings against his skin.

You swallow dryly and pray he stops at the hem and doesn’t dare stray any further.

The lights dim before you find out.

***

Fuck Levi Ackerman and his stupid hand.

It’s been sitting on the inside of your leg now for what feels like twenty minutes, never moving, not even twitching. It just sits there and taunts you, and you’re constantly finding your gaze snapping towards your lap where he’s holding you beneath the dress.

You can do this. You can do this. You can—

No, no, no. His fingers are drawing circles on your stockings, inching towards the hem, until—

You swear you can hear Levi gasp when his fingers run over the silk straps.

“Levi,” you whisper, your thick, gooey tone seeping through his ear. It rouses goosebumps down his spine beneath the layer of fabric clinging to his hot skin. He recognizes that tone. He’s heard you whimper his name in that same tone dozens of times before. The same heat flushing his cheeks trickles down between his thighs, and now he’s remembering how fucking breathtaking you looked emerging from the bathroom doorway in that silky dress. He remembers you painting your lips in that stunning berry tint.

“Hm?” he hums shallowly. Your palm is now sliding up his arm, and he feels your cheek against his bicep, and the way you shiver as his fingers inch further and further up your inner thigh, beyond the straps of your garter belt, too close to your lace panties.

“Please.”

Fuck. That single word has him throbbing.

“What are you hiding under here?” he asks with a hoarse voice, his lips brushing the crown of your head.

Your eyes scan the hundreds of heads in the crowd below, and you can’t possibly be more thankful than you already are for this seating arrangement—for being alone with him, cloaked in darkness, semi-hidden by the bronze outer railing surrounding the seats.

“N-nothing,” you gasp. The tip of his forefinger presses firm into your clit, and you squeeze your thighs around the pressure to trap it there.

The finger slides down, following the crease of your folds before barely pushing into your entrance.

“Shit, how are you this wet, sweetheart?” he whispers, and he sounds debauched.

Your hand closes around his bicep and your entire body burns with shame, but even more so with arousal. It pools like a thick honey between your thighs, staining the thin garment of your pitiful excuse for panties. You partly blame the seam for rubbing you right at your spot, yet also blame Levi for being ridiculously attractive in his vest. “Do something about it. Please, Levi,” you beg him.

“Right here? Right now?” he asks. A second finger joins the first one, working in tandem to rub soft circles over your clit. Every inch of you is aflame. Your breasts are straining against your bra as your pebbled nipples scrape against the cups. Your mouth is gaping. You’re clenching around nothing, a well-enough sign that you’re desperate to be filled.

“God, please don’t make me say it,” you whimper.

Levi glances down at you through hooded eyes, before he snakes an arm around your shoulders and tugs you protectively into his chest. His other hand is still between your thighs, and your fingers seek refuge in the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling what was one creaseless and pristine.

“It’s a good thing that no one else is in the section,” he utters in a hushed tone. You feel his lips pressing against your forehead, right above your brow bone. “Stay fucking still.”

His order has you grinding forward against his hand, but Levi remains true and pushes you against your seat by laying his entire palm flat against your cunt. Your heart jolts in your chest.

“What did I just say?”

You bite back a whine, gritting your teeth when Levi presses on your inner thigh, parting your legs wider so he can dip two fingers beneath the thin fabric. The warmth of his fingers sinks into your folds, accumulating wetness at their tips.

“Fuck, you’re so turned on you need me to repeat myself,” he practically groans. The pace Levi sets is slow enough to have you biting in your lip, yet fast enough to have you bracing yourself against his torso. “What were you thinking about to get like this?”

A soft moan vibrates against his chest, and Levi stops his movements, as if to wordlessly convey how important it is to have your silence in this moment. You try to give it to him. You try to be good.

“You,” you rasp. Your fingers squeeze tighter around his shirt. “Your hand… was so close.”

Levi feels himself swell painfully against his slacks, and he curses you and your honesty. His fingertips resume their circular motion, dipping down between your folds to lather more slick over your clit. You feel the coil in the pit of your stomach tighten and threaten to snap.

“You drive me crazy, Levi,” you babble. “I can’t take it. I need you so badly. I need you inside. God.”

He nearly dies on the fucking spot. Not only have you snatched the breath right out of his lungs, but the sheer lust woven within your admission has his stomach in knots. You’re so precious right now, snuggling into him like he’s a safe space, begging him for his cock. Hearing you say it out loud is what does it—what makes him fucking break.

“I’ll give it to you,” he promises. His palm smooths down the back of your hair and he strokes the side of your clit perfectly. With the way you tense and tremble beside him, he knows he’ll have you coming in no time. “However you want it.”

You nod against him, dragging your hips forward into his hand. “S-sorry…” You remember he told you not to move.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want anyone else to see you like this,” he says. “That’s why I need you to try and stay still, sweetheart.”

That coin of endearment shouldn’t fuel your arousal but it does. It makes you feel as if you belong to him. You inhale sharply against Levi’s shirt, drowning in an ideal amount of cologne and aftershave, and you wonder if you’ll smell like him when you inevitably have to pull away.

His hand works diligently between your thighs, the pads of two fingers continuing circles on your clit, feeding into that burning sensation inside your lower belly that has you trembling and gasping. You shut your eyes tight and hold your breath to keep down any sounds threatening to burst from your lungs.

“Levi.” Your hands tug on the flaps of his blazer. You feel a gust of hot breath fan against your forehead.

“Shhh. I can tell you’re close. You wanna come? You gotta be quiet.”

“I’ll be good, Levi,” you whine in an airy tone. He presses a damp kiss to your forehead while his pace on your clit remains the same.

“Fuck,” he exhales. “How about you keep being good and tell me your favorite part of the show so far?”

You shudder. “I-I can’t.”

His lips move against your skin as he continues to talk, suddenly slowing his fingers. “You’re coherent enough to form a sentence, aren’t you?” The words are cutting, making your entire pussy flutter.

“I-I think so. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” You feel his fingers dive further between your slit, prodding at your empty and gaping entrance before dragging back to your swollen bud. You hiss. “If you can tell me your favorite part, I’ll let you come.”

You swallow, wetness pricking your eyes.

“If you can’t,” he continues, “then I guess we’ll just have to wait until we get back, won’t we? That way you have time to think about it?”

A whimper vibrates against his chest, and if you reached down, you would feel the hardness in his trousers. You’re almost tempted. Almost. But you don’t because you have a feeling you wouldn’t like the consequences—or that you’d like them a little too much.

“I wanna come,” you beg.

“Believe me, I can tell,” he says thickly. “My fingers are covered in you. You have no idea how badly I wish it was my tongue.”

“Oh.” You shift against him, forcing your thighs down into the seat when his fingers start coaxing you closer towards the edge. As soon as you get close, he slides his palm further down and teases your entrance, purposefully ignoring your throbbing clit. “Why do you always have to tease me like this?”

“Because you like it when I do,” Levi answers. “And because I like it, too.”

“Please, please just let me come, Levi.”

You gasp as he works two fingers easily inside you. “All you have to do is answer my question and I will. Don’t tell me you were too horny to pay attention to the entire first act?”

His fingers feel perfect buried inside of you, exploring the sides of your walls, curling and searching for that spot within you that makes you arch. Levi knows your body well enough that he won’t have to try for long.

“I-I liked the beginning,” you begin with a shaky voice. Your grip around his blazer loosens as the high from your first neglected orgasm fades. “When she… first made it to Utopia. When she ran into Franz rushing out of the shop. It was… cute.”

Levi feels the corner of his mouth tugging up, and another rewarding kiss is pressed to your forehead. “I never pegged you as the type to enjoy meet-cutes, just like I never pegged you as the romantic type, either,” he murmurs.

“There’s… a lot you don’t know about me,” you reply.

He hums, closing his eyes. “True. I do know one thing, though.”

Your throat goes dry. “W-what’s that?”

Fingers thread through the back of your scalp, yanking your head back until he’s peering deep into your eyes. Silver bores into your soul, and you fear he’s looking at every inch of you, devouring you, then suddenly his fingers shift and his thumb nuzzles your clit. Your jaw drops. Your eyes go wide.

His nose brushes yours and you swear you can feel his lips moving as he speaks.

“I know how to make you fucking come.”

You are so goddamn grateful it’s dark.

To anyone else, it may look as if you’re curled against Levi’s chest, watching the show through the sides of your eyes; but only the two of you know that he’s two knuckles deep, working you right over the edge, fast and hard. He hears your breath hiccup and his palm moves from around your head over your mouth, until your neck is cradled in the crook of his elbow.

Your fingers dig into his chest as you clench around him and come silently. Tremors wrack your body while moans threaten to spill through his cupped palm. Levi’s shushing you through your climax. You can feel him saying something against your forehead but you can’t actually hear anything.

His strokes slow. Before he completely withdraws his fingers, he circles your clit to help you ride out those final ripples of pleasure, then slides your soaked panties back into place and pulls his hand out completely from between your shaking legs.

You slump against his chest, panting when he finally removes his hand from your mouth. Gently, he swipes your saliva-coated bottom lip with his thumb and corrects your smudged lipstick. When you blink your eyes open, he’s wiping his fingers with a clean handkerchief.

“You okay?” he murmurs. You nearly jump out of your seat when he pats your knee, but instead you sink into the cushion and nod your head. His gaze lingers before doing a once over of your surroundings. The adrenaline is still there, he realizes. Not to mention he’s hard as a fucking rock to the point it’s uncomfortable.

The hand that wasn’t inside you seconds ago continues to sit at home on your knee, and you remain leant into Levi’s side, your head still nudging his shoulder and craving that closeness you’ve always craved after he has wrecked you.

This is ridiculous, you think to yourself. Fucking each other, pretending like it happens just because it happens, and not because you’re both so obviously attracted to each other. You’re frustrated because this closeness is something that is fleeting. It happens sporadically for a weekend, then life is like it never happened the time in between. It’s awful. It’s terrible. You want this every night of your life and the thought of not having it makes you want to cry.

You don’t know why you’re thinking this now. God, all you wanted the last hour was for Levi to touch you. You didn’t care where you were. Maybe the thrill of being caught egged you on even further. And the opportunistic seating arrangement, and the dark lighting, and the distraction of the production, and the loud noises—you were tucked away in your own little corner of the world back here. He tucked you away. He shielded you. He covered your mouth.

So then why do you feel so dirty? Why are you aching for something when he’s just satisfied you?

Dialogue is echoing in your ears, but all you can focus on is Levi’s hand on top of your thigh. Either his thumb is twitching, or he’s voluntarily drawing circles into the silk fabric of your dress, his head tilted so he can watch the show like he didn’t just make you come harder than you’ve ever come in your whole life.

Your eyes follow the curvature of his jaw, carved out like clay by sharp tools and skilled, steady hands. He has always had a strong nose with a straight ridge, and hollowed, sunken cheeks to match the violet below his eyes. You can see the scars perfectly on his cheekbone. You can see the flush in his cheeks that climbs to the tips of his ears, and the pout of his mouth as he blows air from his lungs.

You can just say it was the heat of the moment if he gapes at you like you have all the audacity in the world. Maybe you are greedy for craving this from him, after he’s given you his fingers, after he’s protected you. But you think this feeling stirring in the pit of your something is something only his mouth on yours can stop.

Trembling, you lift a hand, your fingertips scraping the far side of his face. He tenses at the unprompted contact.

You hold his jaw delicately with three flattened fingers and tilt your head.

You barely have any time to gauge his expression. You just close your eyes and lean forward and press your mouth onto his.

Levi doesn’t move a fucking muscle.

He sits there with his body half-turned towards yours, one hand on your knee while the other clutches the armrest for dear life. Your lips don’t even move. You just press them against his, testing their cushiony weight, experiencing their plushness for the first time. He expects his heart to pound like a hammer against his chest but instead it stops entirely. Instead he can’t even breathe. He can’t even close his eyes. He can’t even fucking think.

It feels like half his life has passed him by when you finally pull away, fingers still lingering on his jawline, eyelids drooped shut, and lips slightly parted.

When you finally open them, you think you might faint. Levi’s looking at you like… like something awful. Like you just killed him.

“What the fuck?” he blurts, lips parted and glaring from the sheen of saliva and berry you left behind. Levi’s cheeks, once rosy, are now a burning red, up to the very tips of his nose and ears, all down his neck, too.

“I—“ Your speech sputters. You aren’t capable of breathing, much less speaking. “I’m so sorry, I— “

“You just kissed me.”

“I did,” you whisper. “I should’ve asked, Levi, I’m so— “

“You kissed me,” he says again, helplessly.

Levi doesn’t believe people are made of glass, but he feels a little broken. You have destroyed him through and through.

“Yes.”

He swallows, opens his mouth, and closes it again.

His brows tug together.

His shoulders lift with a shaky sigh, and you feel a pit open up in your stomach because these are one of Levi’s expressions that you don’t yet understand.

You think he’s distraught, especially from the crease wrinkled across his forehead, or maybe it’s the inherently sad way he whispers, “Again. Do it again,” like he’s sorry that he isn’t as strong as he used to be. Like he’s sorry that he can’t hold himself back anymore.

Or maybe he isn’t sorry at all. He shouldn’t be. He should never be sorry for wanting to kiss you back.

Even though he asks, you still have to gather the courage to hold his jaw in your palm. You still have to gather the courage to tilt your chin back so you can connect your lips for a second time.

He inhales sharply against your nose then moments later releases a shuddering breath as he eases your mouths together. It’s a mere fusing of lips. His upper and lower lip close around your bottom, and your upper and lower lip close around his top. For the first time, you feel his long eyelashes tickling you closer than ever. You feel the molding of his mouth as he moves it, trying to understand, trying to find what fits. He learns quickly that he’s scared of teeth and bad breath, but your thumb gently stroking over his scarred cheekbone singes away any doubt and replaces it with an emboldened curiosity, sticky palms, and butterflies that swarm his belly in a way that reminds him of warm summers spent with you. His fingers dig into your leg in an attempt to still. His eyes are squeezed shut.

Sometimes, it feels like you and Levi are the only two people in the world who exist.

When you pull away, Levi is faint on your lips. You need his tongue in order to properly taste him, but there’s a time and a place for you to do so unabashedly, and it certainly isn’t here.

“It’s okay,” you exhale, mostly to yourself, but Levi sighs through his nose and his shoulders wilt forward.

He resigns.

Again, he slots your mouths together. He kisses you.

Somewhere along the line, the hand that was limp by your side reaches for Levi’s curled over your thigh. He turns his hand over and spreads his fingers. Your palms meet, as if you’re comparing hand sizes, until your fingers finally interlace.

You tilt your head back and let Levi massage your mouth, eager for him to do with you what he wants and learn the parts of you he is unfamiliar with. Just as he pulls away, he presses another chaste kiss to your lips, then another, then one more that lasts a few beats longer until he’s too dizzy he has to rest his forehead against yours.

“Why did you kiss me?” he asks huskily, the tips of your noses touching.

Neither of you have opened your eyes.

“Why did you kiss me back?” you ask in return.

Before his body becomes too enamored with being this close to yours, he tilts his head back by a fraction. It’s enough so he can find your gaze through half-lidded vision. Your eyes are dark and meeting his just as dazedly, almost as if the two of you had drank too much of each other.

Levi's throat is dry. Your mouth is salivating.

“Levi.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you breathe. “I just wanted to say your name.”

There’s a pang in his chest. “Fucking hell.”

You exhale with pleasure. “Hm.”

“Is this some elaborate ruse so you can get the right side of the bed?” He runs a hand through his hair and anxiously mouses it. “Because if it is, you can have it. It’s yours.”

The corner of your mouth quirks up. God, you will never tire of him. You want to watch him fuss over you and your games for the rest of your lives. You want to pester him until he buys you three cats and a dog and more half-broken antiques that you can hoard on his cherry wood shelves.

You don’t realize how tightly the two of you have been groping each other’s hands. Levi is so obviously pent up, and you ache to unravel him so you can watch those shoulders sag, in sync with his eyelids. You ache to have him moan into your mouth so you can feel it wrap fully around your heart.

He has never looked at you this long. Or, you’ve never held his gaze this long. He’s desperate to strangle you because of how you blink so sensually at him, and you’re desperate to strangle him because of how utterly irresistible he is.

You blink slowly again at him, feeling the arousal pulsing through you. You want to tell him that you are so ready for him, but you think if you try to speak, you will moan, so instead you let your head drop against the back of your velvet seat, and you wiggle your fingers free so you can press your hands palm to palm atop your thigh. The tips of Levi’s fingers stretch a few inches over yours. His palms are wider. He’s so thick and soft and muscly and warm, and you want to burrow yourself in him and hibernate for the rest of your wintery life.

“God,” he exhales. “Fuck you.” He has such a lovely way with words.

The smile on your lips is lazy. You feel like you have gulped down a five-hundred dollar bottle of red wine by yourself.

“I love it when you swear at me, Levi.”

“Fuck you again then.”

“Please do.”

“You’ve been saying my name so much. I’ll make you scream it later. That’s a goddamn promise.”

“Levi— “

He hates you. He leans in and shoves his mouth onto yours. It’s quick and abbreviated. It means something like: Shut your fucking mouth before I stuff it full of my cock, and you have no qualms about it. You are just eager to feel his tongue darting past your lips. Eager to divulge in what he tastes like. Is it possible for someone to taste the way that linen sheets smell?

The two of you are too busy flirting that you don’t even notice the mirage of the auditorium lights, and the eruption of applause. For a minute, you think it’s for you—for the glorious show you and Levi have put on tonight. Described and wildly raved about by critics as erotic, pulsating, and raunchy. It started soft then became rough, and you aren’t complaining. You have wanted this for so long. You have wanted this since you met him.

“Up,” he orders. “Let’s beat the crowd.”

“Good idea.”

The two of you are running away as if you’ve committed a crime. In the first degree. Maybe you have murdered each other. Maybe you have robbed a bank. The cab you will catch outside isn’t actually a cab, but your getaway car, and inside, the getaway driver, a trusted confidant tangled within your elaborate plans.

As soon as your heels clack against the outside pavement, and the wind blows the skirt of your dress, Levi’s fingers are digging into your waist. You feel his hard-on prodding your leg and nearly smile because it’s so obvious how badly he wants you, and that is all you have ever wanted.

“But what about dinner?” you ask. You imagine the bowl of rigatoni with vodka sauce that will go amiss tonight.

He looks at you incredulously then reaches up to squish your face between his fingers. Your lips pucker dramatically and against your will.

“What the hell do you mean, 'What about dinner?’ Obviously I’m starving.” Levi leans forward and purrs into your ear. Your knees wobble. “I’m going to fucking lick you clean tonight.”

You blink profusely and will yourself to hold onto whatever dignity you may have left.

He pulls away to commandeer the getaway driver, and in the blink of an eye you are crammed against him in the backseat, woeful over how needy you are, desperately groping him with carnivorous claws. Levi is petting your knee. He’s so hard. He’s throbbing. If you say his name one more goddamn time, he’s going to come moaning yours.

Once the getaway car arrives at the entrance of your hotel, Levi bestows him his agreed earnings, and you swear to never speak again. You three go your separate ways. The getaway driver to his next gig; you and Levi to bed where he promised to unravel you with his tongue.

The air is salty as the two of you slowly walk to your room. In the quiet, you hear the occasional chirp of crickets, the croaking of a depressed frog yearning for a lost love, and the hiss of the ocean. You can envision the tide collapsing into the sand then crushing backwards, terrified of the world.

Levi hangs off you. It’s so rare to feel him this close to you for this long. Despite how turned on you are, a sentimental part aches to make something as simple as this last for as long as possible.

He tries to walk as normal as he can with an aching knee. Your arm is locked around his lithe waist, and his arm is wound around your shoulders. A wooden cane dangles in his free hand. He feels unsightly, coddled and humiliated. He is worn out and too tired to play these games.

When you make it to the door, you wait. You stare. In the dark, his eyes are glinting, back to being inherently sad just as his voice was earlier when he told you to kiss him again.

There are two different Levi’s looking back at you. On the left side, where his face is marred, etched with beautiful carvings that you could draw on paper with your eyes closed, is Levi with a cloudy iris. You can’t see him. Maybe he will never show himself to you, forever tucked away, safe and secure in the walls he has built ever since he was young and starving.

On the right side, you can see what he lets you. Sometimes, the slate-like gray is transparent enough to where you can look deep inside of him. All of the ugly parts are there. Your favorite, most treasured parts, because you know that you are ugly too, in some places, and you are just as scared to show him that as he is you.

Doesn’t he know that? Maybe he doesn’t, and maybe you should tell him, but it doesn’t feel like something you can say aloud when the two of you are so fragile and aching for each other like this. The only way to make it all okay again is to touch each other with your mouths and come together as close as you can.

Levi’s back hits the door. He sighs. Then he closes his eyes and effectively hides in the comfort of his own home, and you want to knock and beg him to let you in.

“Ruined it,” he says so quietly. He leans the wooden cane against the crack in the door frame.

You shake your head. “Not at all. I want you.”

“Do you? Really?” he asks you in a tone that is just as self-deprecating as it is sincere. “This is serious.”

“I know,” you reply. “God, I know, Levi.”

He tells you, “I am not the person you think I am. I am… I don’t know what I am. I’m terrible. I’m…”

You think this may be the first time Levi has ever outwardly spoken so horribly of himself, and it punctures your heart because you hope to God this isn’t how he exists in his own head. If he thinks the same of himself as you think of yourself you may very well want to bury yourself in the ground. But you don’t know that this is his last resort to get you to change your mind. Because otherwise, he has no idea—actually, he has a perfect idea—what he will do to you when you say “yes” and let him inside of you.

“If you are terrible, I am worse,” you say.

He slowly shakes his head. There are so many questions. In his head, he’s interrogating himself: ‘Am I even allowed to touch her if I put that scar on her chest? Do I tell her now that I did that? Would she despise me for what I did the way I do myself? What have I ever done to deserve this? Can I take care of her? Does she want to take care of me? Can I make her happy? Am I allowed to be happy? Am I really allowed to have her?’ It’s a ceaseless ringing in his head. He just wants it to stop, and fuck, how ironic is it that you’re the only person in the entire world who he trusts enough to quiet his mind for a precious second of peace?

Out of desperation, he reaches for you.

His pale hand wraps around your bicep and tugs you forward, until your palms are splayed against his firm chest.

When you look into his eyes and watch the black of his pupil expand, it’s like there’s flecks of white twinkling in that dark pool. You have never seen him more clearly. Then he closes it to prepare for your lips, which you press slowly to his. Initially, his lips are still. Yours are, too. You think that maybe he is still struggling with himself, and if that’s the case, you give him time to decide what kind of man he wants to be tonight.

The kiss ends as quickly as it begins before it begins again. You pepper his mouth, each one meticulous, until his hand drops to your hip and he parts his lips wider. It’s the first time your tongue has ever been in Levi’s mouth, save for dozens of dreams. But it’s the first time your tongue has ever really touched his.

He inhales, tensing as your tongues skate beside each other. Wet and warm, like a softer, milder version of sandpaper. Your saliva pools in his mouth. You can hear the faint meshing of lips, and the occasional and clumsy knock of teeth, where he pulls away and huffs a “sorry” before you can silence him once again

You grab each of his wrists, removing his hands from your waist so you can pin them at his sides to the door. Levi’s back goes flush against the wood with his arms, chest puffing out, neck awkwardly craning because of how you press your mouth to his.

It’s not a shock that Levi doesn’t taste like linen sheets. You imagine you’d be confused if he did.

He tastes like cinnamon. Cinnamon. You have not once seen Levi ingest anything cinnamon in the entire twenty years you have known him. He eats eggs for breakfast and has never had a cinnamon roll, and he uses minty toothpaste and strong mouthwash. Neither of which are cinnamon-flavored. But he tastes like fucking cinnamon. Cinnamon, black tea, and licorice. And you, but how? Has he always tasted like you, or is it only because your mouth is on his?

When your frontside presses against his, you feel the hardness against your pelvis. Levi groans audibly, growing sloppy in his movements, silenced further when your tongue dips deep into his mouth.

“You still have to open the door,” you tell him.

He huffs. “Or we can do this here on the deck.”

“Maybe next time,” you jab, “if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Next time?” Suddenly, he jolts against you, switching places until your back collides with the door. One of his hands has your wrist pinned to the small of your back, while his other fiddles with the key in the lock. “You’re awfully cocky for a girl I just finger fucked in an auditorium full of people.”

Your face burns. “Well, don’t say it like that. Jeez.”

“Why would I say it any other way?” He stalls with the lock and captures your mouth for a fleeting moment before easing his thigh between your legs. You gasp, reminded of your own building desire. “Surely you must have a good idea of how risky that was.”

You bite your lip and reply, “It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing, yes,” he agrees. “Embarrassing that you came so easily and so hard on just my fingers. But adorable, too. Admittedly it strokes at my ego.”

You clench around his firm thigh and strain against the grip of his hand on your wrist. Your other hand reaches for his shoulder, seeking balance.

“Levi,” you whine.

He nearly growls. “It’s amazing, having someone who is always so ready to be touched. You’re aching all the time, aren’t you? Just last night, I had you coming for me just by rubbing you over your shorts.”

“Fuck, Levi, what if someone hears?”

He shoves his leg harder. You gasp. “Then that will just make you come even harder.” His lips graze your jaw, sneaking back toward your ear. God, you have craved him for an entire week, and you are getting even more than you asked for.

Levi finally gets the door, and the two of you tumble inside. Amidst the struggle, and this never ending push and pull, you once again have Levi pinned. The two of you are panting, breathless and worn out from fighting each other. He doesn’t want to talk anymore. You don’t want to, either. Now, all you want is him inside of you, and his mouth on yours. Nothing else.

You step back to even the playing field, and Levi straightens his shoulders, clothing rumpled. It’s the last thing he cares about, especially when the floor is about to be a sea of underwear and socks and wrinkled fabrics.

You kiss him. Again. You can’t help it. You never want to stop. His brows lift, and Levi lets his face settle in both of your hands just as his palms go to scoop the bends of your elbows. He is a quick learner, but an eager one, at that.

You pull away, just to breathe, “Slower,” into his mouth. He adjusts. His tongue only swipes at yours, daring and methodical, before easing deeper.

As you kiss, you shove his blazer down his shoulders, listening to the whoosh of the fabric as it falls to the floor. Levi is digging his toes into his heels to kick off his shoes. Leather soles clatter against the hardwood. Your fingers pluck at the vertical array of buttons on his vest. It clings to his torso, cinching in the compact muscle you are shaking to run your hands all over; to spoil with endless kisses and blot faintly with dried lipstick.

You pull away, admiring how pink and swollen Levi’s lips look from kissing. The color stands stark against his pale skin, even in the dark, and you are grateful to be close to him. The air sizzles around you, only your breaths piercing the quiet, and you stare at him head on as you undress him with abandon. He shifts below your gaze.

He remembers the condoms in his luggage. He remembers the bottle of lube beside them.

“I’m so tired of all these layers,” you say. There are three buttons left. Levi has to swallow his laughter because it feels too dire to ruin this moment with such an ugly sound.

“Would you rather I just be naked all the time?”

“Preferably.”

“You’re always objectifying me,” he bites.

“Because you’re hot,” you breathe. Finally, the last button comes undone, and you help Levi shrug off the vest same as his blazer before getting to work on his collared shirt. “Hot. Sexy. Beautiful.”

“Shut up,” he warns. “What am I, some wistful bride-to-be?”

“Something like that.”

You kiss him, stopping so you can feel through his clothes how much closer he is without all those layers between you. His tie is loosened and comes off in one swoop, and when you unhook enough buttons of the shirt, Levi is stretching his arms high and you are helping him feed his arms out of the sleeves. Your palm presses flat to his bare, taut stomach, fingertips mulling over familiar muscle and skin. You sigh like you’ve made it home after a long, weary day at work.

“Happy?” he asks.

Your thumb follows a pronounced line. Your other palm finds his chest. “Mm-hm,” you sigh sharply, feeling your noses touch. His shallow breaths fan over your lips.

“Your turn,” his mouth moves against yours.

His palms slide over your knuckles to follow your movements as you explore his bareness, until he finds the tie around your waist. There’s a neat bow twisted behind you, and he twists a finger around the end, kissing the side of your mouth.

“I’ve been wondering all night what’s under here,” he says.

You swallow. Your entire body flushes with heat. “Um…”

His brows shoot upward and he tugs on the ribbon. Just like that, the bow unravels, and Levi lets it fall. He parts your dress like curtains, mouth gaping as his fingers slide over criss-crossings of lace and sheer fabric and silk. All of his thoughts come to a jarring, violent halt. He hopes you will forgive him for letting your dress gather in a heap around your ankles, where it is destined to become wrinkled.

He drinks in the sight of you like a drought is occurring in both his mouth and throat.

“Shit.”

You pick at his waistband. Your forefinger slots through his belt loop. Levi’s hot hand falls on your garter belt and his fingers begin to trace a line down your torso to the band of your lace thong. He strains against his slacks.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re killing me.”

You bite down on your lip, shaking your head.

“No, no,” he grabs your face in his hands and pulls you close until you’re stumbling into his chest. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve just done to me. God. Look at you.”

His mouth kisses your jawbone right where it meets your ear, and you dig your fingers into his skin to bolster yourself in place

“You did this to spite me, didn’t you?” There’s something thick in his tone that makes you drip for him. He continues to curse you, “Damn you. Open your mouth and let me kiss you.”

You can’t shake your head when Levi is holding you like this, then he showers your newly parted lips in a series of quick kisses before he’s guiding you a few paces back.

The backs of your knees hit the bed, and he pushes you down gently until you’re splayed out for him, legs spreading so he can stand between your knees just as he did earlier that night drawing on your eyeliner. He stares down at you, lips parted, bare-chested and fingertips dancing over your thighs.

His forefinger finds the silk strap of your garter belt that clings to your stocking, where he tugs before allowing it to snap against your skin. Laid out like this, he gets to see every inch of you; the way your breasts are pushed up, nipples nearly spilling over the edge of the cups; wrapped in vines of black lace that hug you close; lovely legs swaddled by sheer stockings that bring him back to the first night he ever touched you.

He groans, gripping your hips and shoving you closer towards the middle of the bed so he can crawl on top of you. Your legs spread wider for him. One of your heels clatters to the floor.

“Levi,” you gasp, heart pattering.

“No one should be allowed to look like this,” he sounds like he’s sneering, but he’s lifting your leg until your ankle is resting on top of his shoulder. He kisses the sensitive bone. “It’s bullshit.”

Your face is hot and so is the rest of your body. Anxiously, you curl your fingers into the duvet. After he spares a few kisses on your calf, Levi catches the wrinkle between your brow.

He stops, and murmurs, “Are you okay?”

Swallowing, you nod. It’s just odd to be called beautiful so many times in one night.

“That wasn’t a proper answer,” he replies and lowers your leg. “We can stop here, if you want. Order room service instead.”

“I have condoms,” you say, brushing off his offer.

Levi blinks at you, then echoes, “I have condoms.”

You blink at him.

“I have lube, too,” he adds.

“You bought lube?”

“Technically, Onyankopon bought it.”

You cackle. “That’s hilarious. And what face was he wearing exactly when you asked him to buy you condoms and lube?”

“Shut up,” Levi grumbles.

His body slumps on top of you, and you can feel his mass melting into yours until the two of you combine into one sizzling ball of heat.

You pull down on his bottom lip with your thumb and slide your other hand around to the small of his back, pushing him into you. Levi groans into your mouth.

“So, you had every intention to fuck me?” you whisper.

“I had every intention to make you sob from how wonderful you feel,” he breathes hotly, then allows the pad of his finger to follow the labyrinth of lace threaded into your bra. “The condoms and lube were just a precaution.”

“A precaution,” you repeat.

“Mm-hm. And when did you go out to buy a box of condoms?”

You lick your lips, closing your eyes when you feel his mouth on your neck. He’s playing with the thin straps resting snug on the curve of your hip.

“After… I went down on you,” you confess. “Better safe than sorry.”

“I agree.”

You loosen your grip around Levi and prop yourself up on your forearms as he drags himself over to his luggage. After rummaging through folded clothes, he pulls out a cardboard box and a bottle and places them on the dresser for later. You glance at them before looking back at Levi. He’s once again standing between your knees, prompting you to shake the heel off your other foot. It clicks against the floor.

“Talk to me,” he breathes.

“And say what?”

He hooks his hands beneath your knees and guides them to his waist so you can wrap your legs around his torso. He seems to audibly exhale at the way you squeeze around him.

“Anything,” he replies. “Anything at all. I’ve told you what I want. It’s your turn, now.”

“I want your cock,” you blurt, stretching your arms out so you can lay your hands over his on your outer thighs. “I need you. So bad. I almost can’t stand it.”

“Almost?” he taunts you. He bends forward so his lips are hovering over yours, reeling you in, and you barely feel the dampness of his mouth swiping below your ear before he whispers, “You need me so badly?”

“Yes. Yes, Levi. You’re so good.”

“Tell me again.” He kisses your neck.

You do so with pleasure, “You’re so good.”

Two large hands slide up the tops of your thighs then grip your hips in a fever, dragging them impatiently against his heat. He’s so firm and so hard, and you want him down your throat almost as badly as you want him sheathed inside of you.

His thumbs press below the band of your bra, continuing their trail upward until he grazes the ticklish undersides of your biceps, then your forearms, until he’s gathering your wrists and pinning them together above you, all while suckling on your throat. An airy sigh falls from your lips.

“Tell me once more,” he asks.

His flattened tongue soothes your stinging pulse point. You test the strength of his hands on your wrists, not to escape, but to feel him grasp you tighter.

“God, you’re so good, Levi.” You bite down on your lip. Between your thighs, wetness that cannot be seen has soaked through the gusset of your black panties.

His mouth is on your collarbones now, lips and tongue and teeth carefully lathering your scar tissue in a glistening sheen—what a healing ointment, that is.

“I’m sorry. I should try to express how beautiful you are,” he whispers. “Always.”

There are flurries of snowflakes floating in your stomach. You are so grateful that the hands around your wrists are now squeezing the sides of your palms in some teasing version of holding hands. You are so grateful that Levi kisses you right between your breasts, where he is close to your heart.

“Don’t be sorry,” you hum into the quiet.

No, you never want him to be sorry for saying something that he means. It’s an absolute pleasure to hear him say things that otherwise would go unsaid if it weren’t for your stripped-down states. It’s a rare peek at that fleeting softness protected beneath plates of armor.

Levi kisses the tops of each of your breasts then begins to mouth the straps crawling up your chest. “There is so much to be sorry for.”

“Not right now. Not anymore,” you gasp. “You could betray me, and I would forgive you. I would still be yours.”

He clicks his tongue. You have flattered him too much, because he blushes furiously into your chest before beginning his descent down your belly. Open-mouthed kisses are placed along the garter belt, and his tongue runs under the thin band of your thong. The closer he gets, the stronger your scent; your blatant arousal, and the blatant hold he has over you in this moment, become more apparent.

“I wouldn’t let you forgive me,” he decides.

His mouth is ghosting over the straps on your left thigh, and his hand works to unclip your stocking. He nudges the hem down with his nose, breath tickling your skin like a feather, hot and searing and electrifying.

“Then I would tie you down,” you pant. He rolls down your stocking and you feel him kissing your knee, and your calf, and your ankle. Somehow, even the way he grips the arch of your foot is soft and tender. “I would tie you down and force you to forgive yourself.”

“And if you can’t convince me?”

Your leg is on his shoulder. His hands are on your breasts, pawing at you, then they are sliding down to your hips again. He won’t let a single inch of you go untouched.

“I can. I will,” you growl.

He seems awfully sure of himself. “You can’t.”

It almost makes you laugh, because deep down you know you have a way of getting Levi to surrender. Deep down, you know you can break him. It’s a part of you that you’re afraid of, because Levi is the last person on the face of this planet that you ever want to hurt.

“Oh, I will. I already am,” you say, because by fucking you, in some way he has given into the urge he’s so long tried to fight. “Levi, please let me touch you more. I want your cock. I wanna taste you.”

“After.”

You whine, “Now.”

Without warning, he buries his mouth against your panty-clad cunt, licking the soaked fabric before commanding you, “After.”

A moan bubbles up from the back of your throat as you feel the pressure of his mouth digging against your sensitive clit. Even though he touched you earlier, and he made you come, you are still making a mess for him. You are still needy for him. You think that Levi can take anything he wants from you and you will still offer him more.

Just as soon as he blesses you with stimulation, it’s gone. His lips are back to exploring the luscious creases of your thighs and admiring silk strings. You blink down through hooded eyes, hypnotized by Levi and how beautiful he looks as he rids you of your other stocking. He uses that same gentle caress to pepper your leg with a dozen kisses, then his hands coast back to your waist where your garter belt cinches you in.

“You have to tell me how the fuck to get this thing off,” he begs.

A smirk sparkles on your lips. “A hook, in the back.”

“Then turn around.”

Eagerly, you flip onto your stomach, choking on a gasp when Levi grabs your thighs and yanks you backwards. Your ass is pert and in the air, rough but smooth hands following the curvaceous outline that is the awkward bend of your body. Levi is behind you. Then he’s on top of you. One of his hands slides around your naked waist and presses it against his abdomen, before migrating up to your sternum. All of the air seems to drain from your lungs as you inhale.

“Levi,” you whimper.

His other arm is stretched out, practically caging you in as those fingers interlace with the back of your hand. The hand on your sternum inches down to your lower tummy, eventually cupping your entire pussy.

He pushes against your ass as if he’s already inside of you.

“Hmm,” he moans. “How’s this?” His words tremble as he breathes into your neck.

“Good,” you say, almost wantonly. “Fuck. Fuck, it’s perfect. Want more.”

Your brow furrows in concentration as you grind your hips into his hand, desperate for friction against the throbbing area between your thighs. You assume the only reason he allows it is because you’re grinding against him, too.

“Damn it,” Levi swears. His hand tightens around yours and curls your fingers into a ball. “That’s it. Good girl. Keep grinding on my hand like that.”

“If we… keep this up”—you clench around nothing—“we’re both… gonna come.”

He drops his head into your neck. “You make a fair point.”

A second of silence lingers and you feel his chest rumble against your back, and then he starts at the nape of your neck, dotting kiss after kiss down the groove of your spine, over your bra strap and all the way to the garter belt. It takes a few tries to unclasp the hooks, but once he does, the bundle of lace and silk joins the trail of clothing on the floor.

Levi stands back on his knees, watching you with a light sheen twinkling over his eyes as you turn back around. You really do look beautiful.

You reach for his belt and he doesn’t stop you, still staring with rosy cheeks as you feed the leather from the loops. And you do it slowly, too. Your gazes are burning into each other’s. Your breaths are caught. You are out of breath from just looking at each other.

You smile gently and breathe, “Don’t give me that shitty expression.” Fondness drips from your words like a sugary syrup, and Levi melts against you, connecting your mouths.

You swing your leg over his hip and hook your arm around his neck, while he sprawls his hand over the side of your face and takes a great handful of your ass in the other palm. You can still feel him hard and aching, pressing against you, but any worries of finishing early are long forgotten in this tangle of limbs and lips.

His tongue pushes into your mouth, wanting and forceful, but also curious. When he pulls away for air, your tongue is half-lolled out of your mouth, licking between his lips for more. And he gives you more. He gives you everything.

“I don’t even know if I can fuck you when all I want to do is kiss you, Levi,” you confess.

He gasps down your throat. Something raw and laden with an emotion you can’t quite place. Then he threads his fingers into your hair and suffocates you with swollen lips. You think that’s his way of saying: Yes, yes, me too.

His thumb brushes your bra strap and he paws at the clasp, too eager for his own good.

“Take off your bra,” he demands between a bruising kiss.

You shed off your bra and press your bare chest against his. Levi’s soft thumb rolls over your nipple, flicking it to a hard bud. Meanwhile your hand is once again between his legs, fingertips easing down his zipper and fiddling with a stubborn button.

“Slower,” he exhales, echoing you from earlier. You can’t tell if he’s teasing you or not, but you don’t care either way as he bends to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your cheek. He breathes heavily as he pulls away only so he can unbutton his slacks and slide them down his legs.

His cock is straining against the cotton fabric of his briefs, and your mouth salivates at the sight. He sits on his bottom, reaching out to coax you back into his arms, and you oblige him. His fingers find your waist. Your heat presses against his, dragging as you roll your hips. Levi hisses through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. You kiss him chastely, massaging his lips with your own as you card your fingers through his soft hair. It was slick with gel earlier, but now it falls in coarse waves in front of his gray eye. You use two hands to tuck his bangs back, so you can see him clearly.

“Levi,” you exhale. He seems to go slack when he hears his name from your lips. You cup his face in your hands and bring your mouth to his scarred eye, kissing him briskly over the eyelid.

“Yes?” He bites back a groan, grinding his hips upwards for a taste of friction. His arms completely encircle you, both of his palms pressed flat against your skin.

“You’re pretty,” you whisper, grazing over every scar with the plush velvet of your mouth. Levi can feel his heart in his chest, pounding furiously, so hard that it almost hurts. He’s winded. “One day you’ll let me take your picture again.”

“You’re such a pervert,” he groans. His eyes are pinched shut, and your tongue is licking at his jaw.

“Well, this pervert wants your dick in her mouth. Now,” you demand.

Something bordering on a snarl leaves his lips, and he breaks away from your hands just so he can kiss your chest. You lean backwards, holding his shoulders for support as he pops a nipple into his mouth. His tongue curls around the erect bud, then his teeth gently clamp. He nips softly, only hard enough to elicit a proper gasp. And then his hand is once again on your ass.

“Only use your tongue,” he says.

You nod and sit back, while he leans into the mass of pillows behind your bodies, bringing his knee up so you can settle between his legs and nuzzle your mouth against his clothes cock.

Your fingers are already hooking under his elastic waistband, shredding him of his briefs, and Levi’s cock swells against his pelvis. It’s as pretty as you remember, and precome leaks from the very tip.

“God, your dick is perfect,” you practically moan. Levi grits his teeth as you flatten your tongue and drag it up the bulging vein under his shaft. Your hand rests on the crease of his thigh, your other one cupping his balls. “I bet you adore my mouth on it, too. Don’t you?”

He grunts and nods. His toes are already curled and he slides his fingers into your hair so he can pull you off when he needs to.

“Don’t… don’t let me come,” he shudders. “Not so soon.”

Your tongue swirls around his red tip. His arousal is potent and salty, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say the moment he dipped his fingers into your panties, his need had festered.

You watch with glowing eyes as his sweaty chest heaves. Then your eyes rake further down, flitting over the faded marks burnt into the pale flesh of his thighs. You pull your mouth away just so you can focus your gaze. How didn’t you notice these before?

Levi’s body is ridden by plenty of marks and scars. Many of which on his upper half you’ve seen before—many of them you have dressed yourself. But the ones on his legs are another story.

“From the harnesses,” he explains too quickly. He blinks down at you, regaining some sense of sobriety.

Your gentle fingertips brush over the indigo-tinted stripes, like veins rippling under skin. You bow your head and press a kiss to each one.

Maybe you didn’t notice them last week because it was too dark in the room to see. Or maybe you were so nervous about going down on him that it escaped your mind somehow.

“I used to have them, too,” you say. “They faded with time. And with lots of salve.”

He hums, twirling a strand of your hair around his thumb. “I remember all those poultices. You always made your gear too tight. I lost track of how many times I fixed it for you.”

“You should have let me fix yours,” you agonize. “You’re too good at pretending you’re invulnerable. It’s extremely annoying.” You wonder how many times Levi aided you while neglecting his own hurt. Or if his thirst for humanity’s success omitted any and every ounce of pain in his body. You know nothing of his sadness and only his rage.

He bottles it up until it explodes. But when there isn’t a fight, does he still explode, or does it slowly trickle out of him? Is it still simmering inside him?

After all this time, you still don’t know.

Levi slides his thumb over your bottom lip, slipping it past your teeth. As if he can hear your thoughts whirring, in the gentlest of voices, he whispers, “None of that talk.”

His affirmation sends you lurching forward, and you throw your arm around his back, shoving your lips onto his. He makes a muffled noise of surprise, vibrations coursing along your tongue and down your throat, until you can feel him floating around in your lungs. It’s exactly what you craved—exactly what you needed.

The wet tip of his cock slides against your lower belly, and as you press your forehead to Levi’s, you sneak your hand down and wrap your fingers around his thick length, slowly flicking your wrist up and down. A slew of moans is once again unleashed down your throat, and he even spares a whimper as he grabs onto your bicep.

“Shit… Shit,” he curses. “Hah, you’re gonna make me come. Fucking—you’re so greedy.”

You chuckle deeply, relinquishing your hold so he has a moment to recuperate. Levi distracts you with his mouth on your neck before he slides you beneath him. One of his arms wraps around your legs, just above your knees, where he tilts them off to the side so he can tug your thong over and rub your slick, bare folds.

“So wet down here,” he coos. His fingertip teases your entrance, eager to swallow it’s length.

“Mm-hm. For you.” You hiss as his middle finger easily bottoms out inside of you.

“For me?” he repeats. “How generous.”

You try to pry your legs apart, wanting more. “Please, Levi.”

Levi weighs your expression, drinking up the sight of your neck craned back, chest heaving and nipples pert and glowing from lingering saliva. Your lips are swollen and parted, nearly raw from kissing, and your fingers are wound within the sheets. With a growing smile, he parts your thighs at his pace, his hands pressed just below the backs of your knees.

It’s such a humiliating position, as if you’re baring yourself to him, but Levi buries his nose and mouth into your clothed cunt unperturbed.

“Cute panties,” he mumbles, licking a stripe from your clenching hole to your twitching clit. No amount of squirming can distract him. “Are they new?”

“Mm-hm,” you confirm.

“That’s too bad. They’re fuckin’ ruined now.”

Levi releases one of your legs in favor of pushing your thong all the way to the side. His breath hitches as the sight of your cunt. God, he can’t remember the last time he tasted you. At least, not fully. It had to have been weeks ago when he was fully buried between your thighs. Too long, he decides. His tongue pokes out of his mouth and curls around your clit, lips suctioning around the sensitive bud.

You moan sweetly, finding solace in your hard grip in his hair. His tongue flicks back and forth, rolling over and swiping under, and he slowly eases two fingers inside of you, beckoning you.

“So fuckin’ good,” he rasps. “No one else can touch you the way I can, hm? Just wouldn’t feel the same.”

Your back arches off the mattress and a whine crawls from your throat when his fingertips nudge against that spongy spot inside of you. You can hear the squelching of your cunt, both from being suckled between his lips, and from his fingers pounding away at the sweet spot.

“Levi! Levi, fuck—slow… Shit, slow down,” you gasp, gripping his shoulder.

Your entire body trembles beneath him, and he eases up, lulling his tongue out, making a perfect mess. Spit and slick glisten on your silky folds. Then he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh while his fingers remain stuffed inside you.

“Are you okay?” he asks. More kisses are spared over your thigh, and he hooks your other leg over his shoulder so he can reach up and cup your breast in his palm. “Too much?”

You shake your head and gasp, “Hardly.” He tweaks your nipple between two fingers, then sticks his thumbs under the flimsy waistband of your thong and tugs it down your legs.

Then his mouth is back on your cunt. He drags the tip of his tongue through your slit, parting your folds and retreating in circles around your clit. His pace is more forgivable, slower and conscious, and his eyes are flicking up to read your expressions, no matter how small.

You feel his arm slide over your lower belly, pressing you in place when you start to twist away from him. Then he pulls his mouth away and replaces his tongue with his two fingers.

He carefully presses your clit, beginning slow strokes in agonizing circles, tracing all the way back down to your dripping little hole so he can bring your sweetness back and slather it over the throbbing bud. Despite any attempt to close your legs, he continues.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “It’s sensitive from earlier, isn’t it, sweetheart? Makes it feel a little too good.”

You nod dumbly, hips involuntarily twitching away, only for Levi to wrap his arm around your thigh and rip it open.

“Levi,” you moan, pawing at his forearm. “Kiss me.”

“I will. Keep your damn legs open,” he growls.

A frustrated whine tugs your mouth into a frown, until Levi’s leaning forward to spit directly onto your cunt. You don’t know how you don’t come right then and there, but that sight alone has you quivering and succumbing in the blink of an eye. The warmth of his saliva seeps into your folds as he smears it around with his fingers, eventually lowering his mouth back onto your cunt.

Your mouth is wide when he glances upwards, making direct fucking eye contact with you while your soft pussy is literally on his tongue.

It’s impossible to tell whether you want him to continue kissing your cunt or kiss you instead.

You grit your teeth, hissing when he suckles your clit between his plump lips, fingertips digging into the fat of your thigh. You aimlessly pound on his shoulder.

“Levi! Levi, fuck— “ A choked sob bubbles up from your throat and you writhe, “I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. Just a little longer,” he assures in a dark but honeyed tone. “But don’t even think about coming.”

He tortures you for a “little longer” just like he said, the damp surface of his tongue laving through your silky folds, flicking right over your clit. When you’re close to coming, he ventures down, wetness seeping down between your ass as his tongue pokes at your entrance.

Cautiously, he inches even further down, eyes trained on you the entire time the tip of his tongue pokes around your much tighter entrance.

Your jaw drops. “Levi… Oh my God, what are—oh, fuck… Fuck.”

“Interesting,” he murmurs. His thumb nudges your clit as he continues to lap at the same spot, testing his theory. “Oh, you must like that.”

Your body trembles, and pleasure spikes in your core. All you want is to be filled—to be kissed. And Levi’s tongue on your ass, completely ignoring your pussy save for his teasing thumb, has you warped in a thick fog that makes your entire body burn. Maybe it’s the humiliation. Maybe it’s the fact that there isn’t any part of you he doesn’t want to touch.

“Well, would you look at that,” he breathes. “You do.”

“I’m… I’m gonna come,” you cry.

“No. You’re not.”

You whimper in defeat. He’s right. You won’t.

His tongue drags upwards again, licking up spare wetness that seemed to leak out of your pussy, before he smashes his lips to your overstimulated clit.

“Kiss,” you gasp. “Wanna kiss. Please.”

He can’t help but feel his heart squeeze at how fucking cute that was.

As much as you miss the sweet friction on your clit, and as much as you despise your orgasm dwindling away, you drown in the taste of your own arousal muddled with Levi’s tongue. His cock presses hard into your skin, and the two of your bodies become slick with the other’s juices, but his mouth still remains plastered over yours.

He swallows you this time. Teeth clash, not out of clumsiness, but more because neither of you are coherent, too drunk on arousal. Noses nock. If you aren’t careful, at some point, your foreheads will slam together and the night will end with two concussions and zero climaxes.

“Come on,” he urges, pulling you up by the waist. He sits on the bed with one of his legs strewn over the edge, and the other bent by his side in a half criss-cross.

You kneel beside him, cheek digging into his shoulder, eyes trained on the silver package between his fingertips. The side of his face leans against the top of your head. “Don’t watch me do this.”

You snort. “Why not?”

“Just don’t. Close your eyes,” he grumbles.

“Levi.” You blink up at him, capturing his lips, and he falls into your trap easier than expected, because you snatch the flimsy packet away with ease.

He groans. “Give it back.”

“No.”

“You’d prefer I come inside you then?”

You and Levi stare at each other, rewinding exactly what he said. You open your mouth to speak, but Levi presses his forefinger to your lips.

“I take that back,” he breathes.

He watches unamused with twinkling eyes as you bite down on his finger. Something about the gesture has him melting against you, so he can kiss you again. Your brows shoot up, and your palm slides down from his chest over the soft grooves of his stomach as they flex with every shallow breath taken against your lips.

“Fine,” he exhales with defeat, handing you the foil. “By all means. You’re just proving you’re even more of a pervert.”

You comb your fingers through his hair, still trying to make sense of how you got here; still trying to make sense of how Levi can feel so wonderfully soft beneath you. It makes you ache to swaddle him in your arms and hide that softness from anyone who threatens to toughen it, like he hasn’t been toughened enough. You crave all the parts of him that you rarely ever see.

You peel the wrapper, but still hand the rubber to Levi, nibbling below his jawline as he rolls the condom down to his base.

“How do you wanna do this?” he whispers.

You swallow. “On my back.”

He nods, removing his hand from your knee so you can lay back on the pillows. Levi reaches for the bottle of lube on the nightstand and settles between your spread legs. You lick your lips in anticipation.

He squirts a dollop onto his fingers then brings the liquid to your already slick folds. A jolt of iciness has your back arching from the bed, and Levi presses on your hip bone, anchoring you in place as he begins to smear the lube around your clit. Wispy moans climb from the back of your throat, forcing him to bite down on his bottom lip.

Still, he groans. “Shit.” He shakes his head, and his two fingers slide in a little too easily past your folds, all the way to that familiar spot he’s curled them against a handful of times already.

“God, Levi!” you choke out, straining against the hold of his hand on your inner thigh.

“I should touch you like this every day of my life,” he blurts.

You’re getting a little too close, and a little too loud. “Levi! I’m… Fuck, you’re gonna make me—“

His hand stills inside of you, and your clit throbs. Through cloudy eyes, you watch him grab his cock and similarly coat his length in the lube. He pumps himself before lining up the tip with your slick entrance.

“I know it’s hard, but you gotta tell me how you’re doing,” he says through gritted teeth.

You nod, practically whining as he eases his tip inside of you. Fuck, you’re so warm around him; so fucking soft and hugging him dangerously tight that it makes him gasp in the most pathetic of ways.

You grunt. “Keep… going.”

“Ohhh, that’s not fair,” he groans, now halfway inside you.

His cock is stretching you wider than his fingers ever could, leaving no room for empty space inside. He isn’t even all the way in, yet you feel ridiculously full. Your jaw goes slack and your head lolls to the side, brows puckered together while tiny mewls escape through your lips.

Despite the dull sting, you keep your legs spread and even spread them wider for Levi. “All of it,” you shudder. “Want all of you. Fuck, Levi.”

He stares down at you through half lidded eyes, nearly whimpering at how delicious his name sounds on your tongue right now. Cautiously, he continues to push in, biting down on his swollen bottom lip until finally his pelvis presses flush against yours.

“Holy shit,” he mutters. “I’m here.”

You’re gripping the sheets with one hand, while the other is half-curled over your breast.

Levi leans over and cages you in with his body, elbow digging into the soft surface beside your head. He drags his thumb over your nipple and ghosts your lips.

“C’mere. Kiss,” he breathes, needy.

You moan when his cock shifts inside you as he lowers his mouth to meet yours, and you let your palm slide down his chest and stomach, relishing the texture in his skin. His tongue gently prods yours while he massages your lips with his, still slick and warm and perfect. Your heart is burning through your chest. Your fingers wrap around his neck.

“Please move, Levi. Please,” you whimper.

He finds your other hand with his and pins your wrist above your head. The hand around his neck quickly joins beside it.

The only reason they’re trapped above you is because if you touch him like that any longer he’ll fall apart faster than he intends.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he exhales.

Half your face is buried in the side of your arm, and your mouth stays in a perpetual “O” shape, every inch of you completely enthralled by the stretch of Levi’s thick cock inside of you. He eases into a faster pace, still tame and slow enough to have you drooling, but not quick enough to have you utterly stupid. You don’t want to be stupid, though. You want to remember this.

Levi’s hands feel so wonderful around your wrists. You hope he leaves bruises behind where he touches you. You hope he knows that you’re his.

“God,” you croak. Your hands ball into tight fists, and Levi’s pace quickens. He moans unapologetically when you wrap your legs around his waist and cross your ankles, trapping him deep inside of you—payback for earlier.

“Fuck. ‘can’t do that,” he groans, fingers digging into the skin of your wrists.

You press yourself closer to him, lips grazing his, breaths fanning his face. Naturally, your hips grind forward from below as you chase your impending high.

“Do what?” you hiss.

“Fucking—that!”

Levi rolls onto his side, taking you with him. He releases your wrists in favor of grabbing your ass.

“You’re being mean,” you whisper. “‘not letting me touch you.”

“Fuck."

Your arms glide up his chest, where your thumb brushes his hard nipple and aimlessly flicks back and forth over the bud. His mouth hangs open as you attempt to kiss him, your bodies still while you relish in tormenting him. Confident fingers thread through his hair.

“Shit, y-you can’t do that, either.” He gives a throaty groan, palm scooping up the bottom of your thigh to hold it in place over his hip.

“What… what am I doing now?” you ask.

“Clenching. God. You’re clenching. Fuck you. Fuck you!”

You can’t help but laugh breathlessly, head lolling backwards. Your fingers coast up his spine, exploring his shoulder blades, digging into soft muscles and bone. He’s so fucking warm. You love how he feels pressed against you like this, with one of your legs swung over his hip, locking your bodies together. Nothing can take you away from him, not when the two of you are inside each other; holding each other.

“Don’t—fuck, Levi—have control over that! Just happens ‘cause… you feel too fucking good.”

He brings his hand up to your face, fingers dragging over your damp skin. His thumb traces your eyebrow then brushes over your eyelid before resting on your cheekbone. You lean into his touch and gasp into his mouth.

“In that case, keep doing it,” he exhales, biting back a whine of his own when you clench around him again.

His lithe fingers are laced into the back of your head, and his forearm is now pressed firm against your back. He isn’t even kissing you. He’s panting and whimpering, borderline incoherent from the sensation of your pussy hugging his thick cock. Every noise he makes you taste on your tongue. He’s so depraved, utterly debauched, and he’s rolling his hips, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard Levi’s voice so airy and high pitched in your entire life. It makes you flush all over. It makes you grin.

He’s murmuring your name over and over again, followed by endless curses and a single plea. Your nails dig into his toned shoulder blades, raking down the pale skin, undoubtedly leaving pink marks, but he doesn’t scold you.

Your mouth moves against his. “Oh—God, Levi! You’re… gonna make me come. Christ— “ You feel the tight coil in the pit of your stomach snap, and you’re surprised by how fast you come undone.

You can’t even think as he rolls you onto your back. You don’t even know if your legs are wrapped around his waist or if he’s pinning one of them up so he can fuck you harder and deeper. You just know that he’s coming when his choked moan unfurls down your throat and his movements grow sloppy with inconsolable need.

You jerk beneath him in that moment of mind boggling overstimulation, your hands gripping his shoulders, and he shifts his weight to the side so he isn’t completely crushing you. With your fronts pressed flush together, you can feel every ragged inhale. You both are trembling in each other’s skin.

A handful of seconds pass and Levi is still inside of you, warm and slowly softening. Your heart thumps heavily at the intimacy, even more so when his hand comes up to caress the side of your face. You feel his thumb smoothing out the messy end of your eyebrow.

All that’s heard in the bedroom is the quieting of your breaths fanning over each other’s mouth. Then you feel the weight of his forehead leaning against yours. His nose brushes yours, all apprehension dissolved, and his lips mold to your own. It’s affirming and slow, slightly salty from the taste of your cunt still lingering on his tongue. But he takes his time with you. He suckles on your bottom lip, releases it and continues to move your mouths together.

Out of breath, the kiss ends with you gasping for air, and with Levi’s forehead limp against your lips. Your fingers card through his damp hair, smoothing it over his scalp.

The air is thick. Probably because you both know something for certain that you didn’t know before, and now you aren’t exactly sure how to breach that topic. Not to mention, you are too fucked-out for anything requiring an ounce of intelligence.

Levi rolls onto his back while drowsiness already begins to accumulate behind your eyes. You can make out the shape of his back as he sits up to dispose of the condom.

You blink slowly, then his hand is on your forehead, wiping away sweat and moussed hair. Your eyes flutter shut.

“You always get so tired after you come,” he teases.

A soft huff shakes your shoulders just as an affectionate smile tugs lazily at your swollen lips. “Your fault,” you murmur, your fingertips straining to brush his hip bone. “Do you need anything? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m all right,” he whispers. Levi’s thumb continues to stroke your brow bone, somehow coaxing you to sleep quicker than anticipated.

Once your breaths have evened entirely, he stands, sans clothing, and wanders to the bathroom where he searches for a washcloth. A splash of warm water to the face, and a damp rag later, he’s back in bed, dipping his hand below the thin sheet to wipe at your inner thighs. You hum softly in your sleep—enough that it puts a featherlight smile on his lips.

His movements stall as he sits and he stares. Maybe it’s creepy—it is creepy to watch people when they sleep. But there’s a solace he finds in watching the rise and fall of your chest. In memorizing your breathing patterns. In knowing that you’re alive and in bed. Together.

This very well may be the rest of his life.

Levi leans forward, feeling the tightness in his throat. “Fuck,” he exhales, because he doesn’t know how else to say that he has never felt happier and more scared than he is now.

He cups the side of your face with his palm and presses a gentle kiss to your temple, breathing in the scent of your hair before slipping back into his side of the bed.

Everything smells like you. Everything tastes like you. Everything feels like a dream he never wants to wake up from, and for a split second, he feels like maybe—just maybe—he deserves this.

His hand rests on your sternum, right between your breasts, where the thrum of your heartbeat vibrates through his fingertips. He falls asleep just like that, watching you through slowly blinking lashes, with half his face shoved in a pillow too comfy for his own damn good.

#levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x fem!reader #levi ackerman oneshot #levi x reader #levi x reader smut #aot x reader #aot x reader smut #snk smut #aot smut #snk x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x y/n

[oi-levi]

hey friends follow my new account @bibblelevi >> I will be posting there from here on out!

Eventually, I will turn off the inbox on this account. Only Silver Soul will continue to be posted here!!

[oi-levi]

hey friends follow my new account @bibblelevi >> I will be posting there from here on out!

Eventually, I will turn off the inbox on this account. Only Silver Soul will continue to be posted here!!

[oi-levi]

hey friends follow my new account @bibblelevi >> I will be posting there from here on out!

Eventually, I will turn off the inbox on this account. Only Silver Soul will continue to be posted here!!

[oi-levi]

hey friends follow my new account @bibblelevi >> I will be posting there from here on out!

Eventually, I will turn off the inbox on this account. Only Silver Soul will continue to be posted here!!

[oi-levi]

hey friends follow my new account @bibblelevi >> I will be posting there from here on out!

Eventually, I will turn off the inbox on this account. Only Silver Soul will continue to be posted here!!

[oi-levi]

hey friends follow my new account @bibblelevi >> I will be posting there from here on out!

Eventually, I will turn off the inbox on this account. Only Silver Soul will continue to be posted here!!

[oi-levi]

hey friends follow my new account @bibblelevi >> I will be posting there from here on out!

Eventually, I will turn off the inbox on this account. Only Silver Soul will continue to be posted here!!

[oi-levi]

hey friends follow my new account @bibblelevi >> I will be posting there from here on out!

Eventually, I will turn off the inbox on this account. Only Silver Soul will continue to be posted here!!

#navi

[oi-levi]

so i think i’m gonna make a new account you guys just because there’s too many ageless/spam blogs following me and there’s a shit ton of posts on this blog so it kinda makes me wanna start fresh.

silver soul would still be posted on this account, and I wouldn’t delete any of the work on here, so it would be more like a “vault” or an “archive” if you will. I would link my old masterlists on the newer blog.

#still working out the kinks #but I’m going to work and when I come home maybe I’ll get started #i think it would be fun though #sar.speaks

[oi-levi]

AHHHHHHHHHHHH THE PAAT SEVEN DAYS HAVE BEEN YHR WORST AND I NEED TO SCREAM DESPEDATELY INTO THE VOID BEFORE I LOSE MU FUCKIN MIND OH MY GOD

#I AHGE OT #I HATE IT #EVERYTHONG #WHY CANT I DISAPPEAR FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK #IM PMSING TO PUT THR CHERRY ON TOP #NO AMOUNT OF SCREAMING IN MY CAR IS FIXING ANY OF THIS #FUCK #to delete