Between You and I, P:1 (Baby Daddy! Levi x OC)
P: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6
Synopsis: Levi Ackerman and Amelia Evans are former high school sweethearts turned co-parents who are forced to confront their past while raising their daughter together. As old wounds resurface and buried feelings stir, they navigate love, regret, and the hope of a second chance.
Content Warnings: Mentions of grooming/child abuse/neglect heavy in beginning. Mentions of drug use. Alcohol consumption. Mature language. Trauma. Sex MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Other Notes: Levi Ackerman X OC. Modern AU. Dad Levi. Ex Boyfriend Levi. Territorial Levi. Second chance romance. Guy falls first. Slight deviations with some cannon characters. Dual timelines.
Eleven Years Ago
Amelia Evans had been plucked from the wreckage of her mother’s life like she was barely human. She remembered the clipboard, the too-wide smiles, and the way the social worker perched on the edge of her bed before uttering the question:
“And when did he touch you?”
Just like that.
At first, she’d thought the guy was a goddamn hero. Amelia had been doing the job of two parents since she was seven—scraping together babysitting cash, hiding it under floorboards so her mother wouldn’t trade it for booze or oxy or whichever demon was whispering to her that week. She’d learned how to test milk by the smell, how to call 911 without panicking when her mom choked on her own vomit. She’d lived long enough in crisis mode for her brain chemistry to be totally altered.
So when her mother met a man who wore collared shirts and remembered birthdays, it was a fucking miracle. He brought home bags of groceries. He asked how Amelia’s day was. He noticed her sneakers were falling apart and got her a new pair—just showed up with them one night like that was normal. And Amelia, poor, stupid, fifteen-year-old Amelia… let herself believe things could be normal. Just for fucking once.
Then the fight happened. The big one. Her mom had raided her bedroom. Found the cash Amelia had been saving for a homecoming dress. Blew it on Tito’s. Couldn’t even settle for the bottom-shelf shit had to spend her daughter’s money on the high quality crap because “it’s distilled more and doesn’t give you a hangover.” Bullshit. The woman was always hungover.
Amelia had screamed like a fucking banshee.
“Why can’t you just get your shit together!?”
“Why the hell did you let this be my life?”
She locked herself in her room, cried into her pillow, waited for the world to stop for a goddamn second—and then he came in. Stepdad of the fucking year. Said he just wanted to talk. Just wanted to make sure she was okay. Said he understood, that her mom was struggling and needed grace. Said he’d take Amelia to get whatever dress she was saving for.
But…
Then his hand slid onto her thigh and his face twisted into something so vile it was almost subhuman.
Fifteen years old.
Amelia wasn’t even old enough to fucking drive yet, but she could tell you the exact process the Department of Children and Families followed when removing a minor from their home. Intake. Placement. Court order. Emergency contact.
Lucky, they said. She was lucky. Because they rescued her before it went any further. Before that happened.
They dropped her off with her grandfather like a stray dog someone didn’t want anymore.
Dae Evans.
Grumpy, ex-military, stubborn as hell. Korean War vet. Ran his house like it was still 1952. Wake up early, do your part, shut your mouth. But beneath all that bark was a caring man filled with unearned regret. He never said it outright but Amelia could tell he blamed himself for how her mom turned out.
Maybe that’s why he spent what was left of his retirement shoving Amelia into Saint Katherine’s of the Sacred Something. A private Catholic school. Expensive as hell. He said maybe a little religion would help. As if Jesus could undo the shit he apparently left her in to begin with.
But of course, she didn’t argue. What the hell could she say? “Sorry Grandpa, I’d rather not accept the miracle of not being molested anymore. Mind if I just rot in public school instead?”
So she swallowed her pride and wore her thrift-store shoes through hallways that swimmed with trust fund babies and heirs/heiresses to this that and whatever the hell other.
Saint Kat’s was hell in a rosary. It was like the rich kids could sniff out a working-class salaried household and would promptly avoid it like it was some kind of viral plague they were afraid they’d catch.
Most days, Amelia didn’t give a shit. But today, in the girls' locker room before gym, when all those trust-fund princesses peeled off their Brandy Melville and slipped into matching $150 school tracksuits, she stared down at her thrift-store T-shirt and hand-me-down sweatpants and said fuck it—she skipped class.
She ended up under the bleachers somehow.
Overcast light slanted through the metal grates casting everything below in straight shadows. It smelled like old popcorn and damp grass.
She sat quietly knees to her chest and tried to make herself small. She had been closing her eyes hoping maybe she could at least doze off but every time she did she saw images of that fucking house, that life.
Her stepdad’s hand on her leg.
Her mom passed out against the toilet.
She clenched her jaw, blinked fast trying to prevent the tears. What the hell was the use in crying. Crying makes you a victim, anger is better, anger makes you scary.
Suddenly, footsteps approached—slow and deliberate. Probably a teacher. Or maybe another guidance counselor, ready to ask with that familiar discomfort in their eyes, “how she’s adjusting,” before handing her yet another brochure on surviving trauma and “the miracle of God.”
She waited… but instead of another fawning, worried voice, a sharp crack of a can pierced the air.
“Skipping gym?”
Amelia’s head shot up not to find a faculty member standing infront of her, but another student.
Levi Ackerman.
He was the guy who always made it a point to argue with anything she said in American History class. A scholarship student—annoyingly smart, effortlessly competent, and irritatingly attractive, even if his face was stuck in a permanent deadpan.
His uniform was perfectly crisp, except for his slightly loosened tie—a subtle reminder, she assumed, that he wanted everyone to know he thought he was soooo above all this shit.
And he was holding a goddamn beer.
“You’re in my spot.”
She blinked. “What?”
“This place,” he gestured vaguely with the beer, “My spot.”
Confused by his audacity, she huffed sarcastically, “Sorry, didn’t see your name on it.”
He narrowed steel-blue eyes, inspecting her as if weighing something important, taking a casual sip of beer.
“Skipping gym because you can’t afford the uniform?”
“Excuse me?”
“Small town, word gets around fast. Amelia, right? Junkie mom, creep stepdad—didn’t peg you for someone who hides under bleachers, though.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not fucking hiding.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
She shot to her feet. “What the fuck do you know? What are you some genius trying to cosplay being a too-coo-for-school bad boy by drinking gross warm beer?”
A grin flickered across his lips, strangely pleased. “You sound envious,” He held the can out. “I can share if you’d like.”
Amelia’s face twists up in disgust looking down at it, “I’m good, thanks.”
“Whatever you say, Mils.” He says taking another swig, eyes still on her.
“Mils..?” She asks incredulously.
“Amelia is too stuffy, doesn’t suit you. Milly sounds cartoonish, Ames doesn’t roll off the tongue right. By process of elimination: Mils.”
“You just met me and think you can rename me? Always this rude?”
“Gonna stop me?” He asked with a smirk partially hidden by the beer can.
His casual audacity, his blunt dissection of her life, the careless way he tossed her circumstances in her face ignited her anger. Without another thought, she jumped up snatched the beer right from his hand and chugged it defiantly.
Levi watched, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised in surprise.
She nearly gagged—the taste was vile, and she’d never drunk before, for obvious reasons—but Amelia refused to let this guy make her feel small. “Fuck you,” she sneered, tossing the empty can behind her as she pushed past him.
His quiet chuckle froze her steps—not mocking, just genuinely amused, maybe even impressed. She looked back over her shoulder, meeting his gaze.
“See you in History, Mils.”
And as she looked at him, for some reason, she had a strange feeling he was not going to let that nickname go…
-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Now here she was, eleven years later, reminiscing on that day.
She wasn’t sure what brought it all up again—the bleachers, the beer, Levi fucking Ackerman with his deadpan face and infuriating smirk.
Maybe it was the dull gray sky outside that looked just like it had that day. That same colorless hush that blanketed everything. A sky that didn’t storm or shine—just loomed. Like it was waiting.
The café was dead. That kind of still where the hum of the freezer and the tick of the wall clock felt deafening. A few crumbs littered the counter, the coffee pot sitting there, lukewarm and forgotten. The old guys had cleared out after breakfast, and the lunch crowd never bothered to show. Just Amelia. The silence. And way too much time to think.
Her eyes flicked to a photo on the wall above the espresso machine. Her grandfather standing outside the shop the day it opened, a cigar between his lips. She remembered that he used to say you couldn’t never get a decent cup of coffee in this goddamn city so he had to open a place himself. Typical Dae Evans—making a labor of love sound like a war declaration.
After he died, she didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Just unlocked the door the next morning and opened the shop, like keeping it running might keep him around. His old chipped mug was still on the back shelf. She couldn’t use it. Couldn’t toss it, either.
And it wasn’t just her grandfather’s old café she was keeping alive these days—she had a daughter now too.
Lilly.
Five years old. Too clever for her own good. She’d already mastered reading adults like books. Loved jelly sandwiches cut into triangles, swore bandaids and “Mommy’s kisses” fixed everything—even when nothing was wrong—and called everything she loved her “favorite forever,” no matter how many favorites forever she had.
Sometimes, Amelia would catch her humming while coloring at the back booth—tongue poked out in concentration, legs swinging, sunlight kissing her dark hair—and it’d hit her, hard, how terrifying peace could feel when you weren’t used to it. Like waiting for a bomb you couldn’t see.
She reached for the sponge, started wiping down an already-clean counter just to give her hands something to do. Just because it was slow today didn’t meant there wasn’t a thousand things to do, her life was like a balanced act of spinning plates.
After a short while of that the front bell rang, she figured it was just the old man in the corner having finished and left, but then she caught the scent—cheap cologne and desperation—and winced.
“Hey stranger,” a man said, grinning like they were old flames. “Didn’t think I’d catch you here.”
Mark, a lawyer she recently went out on a date with. ONE. She realized within the first twenty minutes this guy was *not* for her.
“I own the place, Mark” Amelia says turning back to the task she had halted. She knew she had told him about the place on their date. Knew he had also probably hoped she wouldn’t have remembered that. “Can I get you something?”
He takes a moment pretending to peruse the menu, she knew he was pretending when he said: “Uh… Yeah, can I have a Frappuccino?”
Amelia blinked, “This… Isn’t Starbucks.”
“Oh…” He says, sticking his hands in his pockets looking at the menu over her head and reading the items as if the grown man had never imagined drinking coffee in any other way then in the sugar bomb milkshake variety. The cretin.
Amelia blinks as she watches him pronounce cortado like it rhymes with potato.
Cor-tay-doh
“You know what?” She begins furrowing her brows, “Let me see what I can do about whipping you up a frap, hang tight”
“Great!” He says obviously grateful for the small mercy of not having to pretend he knew shit about what a cor-tay-doh is. Amelia was just glad she had a way to avoid talking to him. Mark didn’t get the hint.
Amelia rings his order up on the POS and after he pays he leans on the counter clearly working up the courage to keep talking, “So, I haven’t heard from you since our date… I thought it went really well, wanted to take you out again.”
Ah, fuck.
There it was. That tangled root of people-pleasing she hadn’t quite exorcised. The part of her that smiled and nodded and said maybe even when she meant absolutely never again.
“I’m not sure, Mark… I’ve been… Really busy.” She says over the sound of the blender as she’s mixing his drink.
“Well, when are you free?”
Goddamn it.
“Schedules packed for the next while, can I get-“
Suddenly her phone alarm goes off and the chorus of Watermelon Sugar by Harold Edward Styles starts blaring. Lilly’s *favorite forever* song, though Amelia is very careful to shield her little daughter from knowing what the song is *actually* about.
Saved by the bell, thank fucking God.
“Shit. School pickup. I’m going to be late,” she said, slapping a lid on the drink and sliding it toward him.
“Wait—school pickup? You have a kid?”
“Yes. My daughter. Lilly.” Amelia says quickly taking her gloves and apron off and hanging them up before shouting to the back room as Mark process this new information by himself “Petra! I’m off to get Lil, cover the front?”
Petra’s voice floated out from the office. “Go, go—I got it!”
“See ya later, Mark” Amelia says grabbing her bag and heading for the door.
“Wait!” Mark trailed after her like a lost Labrador as she walked the sidewalk. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a mom?”
She didn’t slow down. “Not exactly first-date small talk. And you didn’t need to know.”
“I mean… it’s not a dealbreaker. I love kids. I’ve got a dachshund. Basically the same thing.”
She stopped short. Turned. “Did you just compare my five-year-old daughter to a wiener dog?”
“No! I mean—sort of—but like, in the emotional responsibility way—”
Oh God, he was one of *those*.
“That’s lovely, Mark.” A beat… “Bye now!”
She picked up the pace. She didn’t want to be late. Didn’t like the thought of her kid being the last one left, clutching her backpack and waiting. She could see the school gates now. Just a block away. Just had to make it there without decking this idiot.
But then, a small little girl’s very big voice cut through the commotion.
“Momma!”
A tiny figure detaches itself from the crowd and barrels towards her, small arms wrapping tightly around her legs. Amelia looks down, her heart melting at the sight of her daughter, Lilly. Her dark, hair framing a face full of youthful exuberance.
"Lilly! What are you doing here?" Amelia asks, her voice laced with surprise. "Mommy was coming to get you."
Lilly looks up, her steely-blue eyes sparkling an infectious energy. "Daddy got me, Momma! Surprise!"
Amelia's heart drops. Daddy?
Oh shit… Mark was a goner.
She turns, her gaze sweeping over the crowd, and there he was, Lilly father, her ex boyfriend and still occasional romp.
Levi fucking Ackerman.
He was leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of something unreadable and a definite annoyance. He’s watching the scene unfold, his sharp gaze fixed on Mark, who now hovered awkwardly beside Amelia and Lilly.
The years haven't softened his edges. He still carries himself with the same quiet intensity she remembers from their high school days. He's older, of course, a subtle maturity etched onto his features, but the essential Levi, the stoic, observant, impossibly intimidating Levi, is still there.
Mark, seemingly unfazed by the sudden appearance of Lilly's father, clears his throat and extends a hand towards Levi. "Hi, I'm Mark. Amelia's... friend."
Levi's death glare flicks to Mark’s outstretched hand, lingers for a beat, then lifts to meet Mark’s eyes. The silence hangs heavy, the unspoken message clear. The air crackles with a tension as he refuses to acknowledge the greeting.
Mark, finally reading the room, retracts his hand, a nervous flush creeping up his neck.
"Lilly," Levi says, turning his attention elsewhere finally, "What did I say about running off?" He bends down, his expression softer as he meets his daughter’s gaze. "You have to stay where I can see you, brat."
Lilly wraps her arms tighter around Amelia's legs, peering up at her father with wide, innocent eyes. "But Momma was here!"
Levi sighs, the sound carrying a hint of exasperation but mostly fondness. He pushes himself upright from his squat once more before scooping Lilly up into his arms, the little girl giggles wrapping her arms around his neck.
He glances at Amelia, a small, almost imperceptible ‘something’ in his eyes.
"Hey Mils," he says.
Next Part:
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