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So I just randomly logged into this account and read through my drafts. I always had something on my mind and this was something to do with a fantasy au fic that will never happen. But I wrote this like 10 months ago probably?
tw: talks of old scars, blood and gore, cleaning wounds, angst
Your gaze simmers on his body from the bathroomās doorway, all of the harsh, jutting lines, the smooth peaks of his hipbones, and the curves of his arms. Without the leathers and clothing, Leviās much lither than he appears. It doesnāt matter, either way. Heās utterly beautiful.
But the wounds on his back. The long gashes of red, now brown and crusted from never being treated. Your throat squeezes are your heart, uneasiness sweeping through your posture. His reflection moves in the mirror, pale and marred features squinted in concentration, and as he reaches behind himself to clean the wound, his chapped mouth wobbles. He winces. He hurts.
Itās fucking devastating. You had seen those scars on his back before, and seeing them open again, bleeding again. You donāt deserve to see inside him like this, but youāre drawn to it. You want to crawl into him through the gashes and seal yourself over every inch, a protective armor clad on his most intimate and vulnerable parts. It wouldnāt matter how much someone beat, struck, or hurt, because you would be there, inside, to take the brunt of every hit. A distant vibration of the heart.
He struggles to reach the places, and eventually gives him, shoulders heaving.
āLet me,ā you say.
Itās apparent he hadnāt noticed your presence, because his head whips in your direction. The stiffness in his features tenderizes.
āAll right,ā he says back.
You approach and dip your hand into the bucket, retrieving the cloth and squeezes out the excess water. Levi turns so his back is facing you, the only hint of his face being the sharp curve of his jaw. You brace him and yourself by placing your other hand on his arm.
Carefully, you press the cloth to his back. He hisses through his teeth and clams up, shoulders raising, hand jilting forward on instant to remove the discomfort.
āIām sorry,ā you murmur. āIāll try to be more gentle,ā but you donāt know how you can be more gentle than this.
āItās fine.ā
Your fingers leave indents on his arm, which you like more than you can bear to admit. You clean the raw, blotchy skin with a slow, blotting method, and you clean until the cloth is soaked red with him.
Rinse and repeat.
When you wring out the cloth, the water turns pink, and you stare at it, and you donāt know why thatās what finally breaks you. Your eyes swell with tears that canāt possibly burn the same as his woundsāwounds that you couldnāt prevent. Itās not a matter of being useless, or being a burden. Itās a matter of resolving yourself to your inhibitions, knowing that there really was nothing you could do, and that this would have happened regardless. Most people would find that a comfort. That you couldnāt change the inevitable. It was always going to happen this way. Levi was always going to be abused. He was always going to bleed, and hurt. And you hate it. You hate it more than you hate Zeke.
Your hand trembles, so you squeeze his arm tighter, and you duck your head. The tears drip from your eyes, the salt landing on your lips. The rag once again turns red. Rinse and repeat, and the water is now brown instead of pink.
The third time you take the rag to his back, thereās snot rolling down your Cupidās bow. It burns your upper lip, turns it puffy. But you donāt sniffle, because if you do, he will know, so you hold your breath and you donāt hiccup and you keep your head down.
His back is not better, but itās cleaner. The blood is now a paint-like smear on a blank canvas, the lashes like pencil marks on the skin. You continue down his body, as far down as his waistband allows. You donāt dare risking opening your mouth, cowering like an animal afraid to reveal itās been backed into a corner, so you hook your finger and glance up to see if he doesnāt want you to go any further. He doesnāt object. He remains still, head tipped low.
You go to rinse the rag and repeat the process for the fourth time.
And as the cloth touches his skin, your body wracks with the sob youāve been holding in since the first rinse.
You heave, and shove your face into a patch of untouched skin, and you cry all over him, desperately holding onto his elbow. You canāt fucking take it, so you weep like a child, and he lets you like a mother.
He looks down where your hand gripping the filthy cloth hovers beside your flush bodies and guides it around him until youāre clinging to him. He feels like someone who finally belongs to someone, being held like this. Even as your tears drip down his back, flaying him, and your sobs drill through his flesh into his bones, he knows he has someone to come home to.
āIām sorry,ā you choke out, gasping for air. āIām so sorry. Iām so sorry. Youāre so hurt.ā
He closes his eyes. āNo.ā His hand slides over your forearm pressed to his stomach. āDonāt be sorry. Not for this.ā
āIf you didnāt know me, youād be okay.ā
āIf I didnāt know you, Iād be doing fuck all with my life. You gave me something to fight for. So donāt ever say youāre sorry, because Iām not.ā
Hi Sar!!! š How has college been going? (also have you seen the new aot special ep yet and what are your thots š)
I feel like I have changed so much but for the better and honestly I have never been more happy in my entire life. Feels like Iām exactly where I was meant to be.
I just finished watching the new ep and I thought it was really good!!
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i know u hate silver soul but i am begging u to consider continuing it is genuinely some of the best writing i have ever read and easily the most in character iāve ever seen anyone write levi plz bring it back
I want to šµāš«šµāš« Lately Iāve been falling back into a Levi brainrot so weāll see. But Iāve been extremely busy with school
male-coded reader. just wanted to write slow sunday morning fucking, yk?
just the day after an expedition ends. early morning. the first hints of sunshine penetrating the curtains. the blankets on top of you are heavy and warm, and itās serene for the first time in days. the only sound is the soft smacks of your lips in the quiet bedroom.
you ended up crawling on top, because Levi is both sleep-deprived and exhausted at the same time, sore down to his bones, thankful youāre both still here. you kiss slowly, but with an excruciating type of passion. like you both need to taste, to feel that youāre still there long enough to make up for the past two weeks.
every time you pause for breath, he of course isnāt winded; he slides his palm over your nape and into your hair. closer and closer he needs you, needs the moment to never end.
it doesnāt matter when exactly you slotted your knees under his thighs. you grind against each other almost as an afterthought at first, slow and easy sweeps of your hips, not eager but still wanting, now that you have the privilege of slowing down just to feel. every time your hips kiss, he huffs a little louder, taking in your lips deeper until you ache, heads tilted and twitching, breathing heavy. you feel as he hardens, then throbs.
you could undress, and lead this somewhere else, but neither of you are keen on letting go. he raises his hips to meet yours when the rhythm really begins to feel right. slow and devastating, so it feels like heās scraping a desperate heat every time you roll down. for a while your thrusts shorten into little rolls, and his soft sighs turns into a gravelly moan. so soft, buried in his chest. his lips part, and you take advantage of this and lick into his hot mouth with a sighing moan of your own.
as your tongues scrape, then push together, you smooth out the motions of your hips, gravitating towards each other deeply again, steadily, but with a twinge of urgency this time. he raises his leg, and digs his ankle into your lower back. when you groan, itās soft and deep, makes heat erupt in his lower half.
heās can't swallow his shy moans, and, searching for an even closer sense of intimacy, he tugs the blanket from your back, up and over your heads. the air immediately warms, heats, and turns heavy. his eyes are closed, gliding your silky lips with his in a sloppy, slow fashion, lost in infinity, in the way you not only make him feel safe, but make him feel good.
he sighs high, his voice just mingling to sound like a whine. you canāt get any closer; youāre pasted together from your mouths to your hips, so he holds you instead, one arm crowding your shoulders and the other gnarled in the shirt on your lower back. you cradle the back of his head, and cage him in with the other, sinking your knuckles into the pillow above his head.
Levi hums with urgency, his nostrils flaring to breathe in the air spicy with sweat and sex and hot like a sauna. neither of you pull away to ask, only his other leg comes up behind your back and crossing at the ankles. you groan together. this deepens the angle, gives you entire access between his thighs.
you begin to hurry just slightly, as this is the best itās ever felt, beating hot waves through your blood. as your bodies turn rigid, and he pants and grabs at you, you lose a bit more of control you possessed before.
along this aimless, warm sea of hips and heat, grinding and gasps, the rise is slow and steady, like a thermometer climbing up to a boiling point. he feels the exact moment he begins to teeter, and puts less and less effort to kiss. you kiss at his swollen bottom lip instead.
your hips grind in quick, heavy rolls. āAre you close?ā
for some reason, thatās what does it for him. a fragile gasp, a faint ah as he jolts and begins to writhe. his thighs squeeze your middle, his toes curl, and he can no longer kiss, but pant into your open mouth, clinging to you tighter than ever. under the covers you barely make out the angles and shapes that make up the soft expression of total bliss on his face. his eyes are screwed shut, lips parted for little whines to fall out as a bead of sweat rolls down his temple. he comes hard.
watching him, and hearing his little sounds that he normally tries so hard not to make gets you close. now your thrusting has shortened to rutting, causing the mattress to whine. you chase it wildly.
āCāmon, cāmon,ā he whispers, softly panting, barely heard over the sounds youāre making and the creaky bedsprings. The backs of his ankles dig into your back. āGive it to me.ā
You succumb, and shatter. āShit,ā you gasp.
He softly grunts as you ride that perfect wave through your climax, chanting moans. Itās rough, and messy, hot and so intimate it hurts his heart.
Your foreheads press in the aftermath that makes him feel like heās floating, a tender type of warmth settling in his veins. Youāre completely coated in sweat, and he feels where itās drying in his own pants, but he doesnāt let go, not for a long time.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Girl I decided to re-read silver soul and I don't know how I could forget how your writing can be so fucking magical. I don't know how you can not like it, like-girl. You're younger than me and you're so fucking talented it's unreal.
š„ŗ Thank you. Itās sweet to know that some people arenāt shriveling up from disgust and cringe when they read my stuff because I certainly do. Have a nice day