This is me seeing veratrance update

A sigh as he pushes off the wall, moving towards you. His footsteps are completely silent against the pavement, a stark reminder of what exactly he is.

Ackerman.

You had always thought yourself an apex predator before you learned of his bloodline. Born with every tool needed to destroy your kind already built into his genetic code. Stronger than normal humans, faster and quieter too. Cunning in a way that is more dangerous than anything else about him.

"This has to end. You know that."

He's on you now, strong hands gripping your shoulders as he spins you towards the brick wall. You let him, pushing back every instinct as you feel the point of his stake pressed between your ribs. He could kill you in an instant this way. He wouldn't even break a sweat.

Your eyes find his in the dark, searching. You find what you always do in them. Hesitation and something else. Something hungry. Something sad. You see yourself reflected back at you.

"Then end it." You respond, bringing a hand up to cover his against the smooth wood. "Go on. I'm waiting."

You can feel him suck in a deep breath, body pressed right against yours, close enough for you to feel his rapid heartbeat against your chest. His adrenaline in overdrive, maybe, but you know better. You've done this little dance for years now and you know that his heart beats for something else entirely.

"Scared?"

He scoffs, warm breath hitting your face as he presses the stake just a little harder against your chest. It burns, badly, but you ignore the sting. You don't mind a little pain with your foreplay, but you can only take so much.

You move, lightning quick, sending the offending piece of kindling skittering across the cement. Switching positions so that his back hits brick, sharp, lacquered nails digging into his jaw as you bring your face even closer to his. You tilt his chin up, running your nose down the side of his neck and breathing in deep.

"You should be." You purr, feeling your fangs grow in your mouth, unbidden.

Ackerman blood is the sweetest you've ever tasted and the scent alone is enough to make hunger gnaw at your insides. You can feel ever muscle in his body go taut, like he's preparing to move but you know he won't. You don't have to look into his eyes to know that he's just as hungry as you, if only he weren't too proud to admit it.

"Damn it." He groans, low and pained. "We can't—"

You press a soft kiss under his jaw, cutting him off. He takes a sharp inhale, body shuddering.

"You know that I have to—"

"What? Kill me?" You chuckle against his skin, letting your mouth fall open enough for your teeth to catch against his flesh, not enough to break the skin, not yet.

"Yes."

His hands clench on your waist, tugging you closer even as you can feel his every instinct fighting against it. You feel it too, deep in your bones. Everything in you knows that you should rip his throat out here and now. His very existence is a threat to you and your kin. You may have him pinned now, but he's strong and fast enough to change that in an instant.

You only have the upper hand because he gave it to you. You know you should use it. Put an end to all of this before he does. You both know there's only one way this can end.

You lift you mouth from his throat, but the heady scent of his blood is everywhere now, begging you to sink your teeth in and taste. You meet his gaze, relaxing your grip on his face until you're almost caressing it.

"I'm not stopping you." Your lips barely brush as you speak, the words more accusation than observation.

"Like hell you're not." He bites back through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed and jaw set sight.

Of course, he's playing the blame game now. Like this hasn't happened more times than either of you can count. Like you both haven't walked away scot-free every time.

"I can assure you that hypnosis isn't one of my gifts."

"It is." He breaths out, hands climbing up to tangle in the back of your hair. The gesture could be a threat but you know that it isn't. "For me, it is."

"If that makes you feel better."

He pulls your lips down against his hard; angry in that way it always is. Fierce, unforgiving in it's hunger. He kisses you like he hates you, and he might. He should. Just as you should hate him. But when he kisses you, you know how it feels to be the one being devoured. You surrender to it, mouth going soft and pliable beneath his.

The kiss breaks on ragged breaths from the both you. For a split second you just meet his gaze, as if waiting for something. You're always waiting. Waiting for the blow to come, for the spell to break. It never does; this thing between you balanced on a knife's edge and bleeding but never quite toppling over the edge.

So you dive in, fangs bared.

Flesh gives to the sharpness of your teeth, sweet nectar exploding against your tongue. He flinches but doesn't push. He gasps, but not in pain. No, you can feel it in the way his body melts against yours. Ecstasy.

Everything blurs as you drink him in, the world condensing down to this moment and the taste of him on your lips. Warmth spills down your throat, spreading through your chest and setting every nerve in your body alight.

The noise he makes, low and deep in his throat, nearly sends you into a frenzy, your entire being screaming more, more, more.

And then that hand clenches in your hair, pulling hard. You fight against it, lost to your baser instincts. Your nails dig into his skin, scraping and drawing blood that fills your nose, making your eyes roll.

"Enough."

You whine as unceremoniously yanks you off of him, silver eyes blown out and nearly black as he stares at you, chest heaving. You suck in deep gulps of air, trying hard to pull yourself back to your senses, but the taste of him lingers, speaking to your base instincts.

"You taste so good."

"Fucking hell." His face scrunches up in disgust and his head tilts back against the brick behind him, giving you the perfect the blood still seeping out of the puncture wound you left, trickling down in a beautiful crimson river.

Your pull his face back to yours, still hungry but restraining yourself for now. "No, really, have a taste."

He glares at you and opens his mouth, no doubt to protest, but you silence him quickly. You cover his mouth with yours, still dripping in his blood. You lick into his mouth, making sure he can taste himself properly and he moans. He's more like you than he'll ever admit, but you don't feel the need to rub it in right now. No, you're too focused on the way he gives to you, his grip on your hair relaxing as he kisses back, tongue running over yours like he's as starving as you are.

And then his teeth sink deep into your lower lip. They're dull but they get the job done, breaking the skin. You gasp into his mouth, knees feeling suddenly weak as he suckles at the torn skin.

Before you can really begin to enjoy the sensation, he snaps away, as if realizing what he's done. Strong hands shove you off, tearing your lips apart. You take an unsteady step back and roll your eyes. You know exactly what's got him suddenly in a tizzy.

"That's not nearly enough to turn you."

"Don't care." He shakes his head, running a hand over his face and smearing blood down to his chin, leaving it tinged in pink. His breathing is ragged and short as he collects himself, looking equal parts shocked and completely undone. "Not worth the risk."

He'd make a good vampire. You've had the thought many, many times. He already possesses super human strength due to his Ackerman genes, you can only imagine what kind of gifts you could bestow with a little more of your blood.

And then this dance between you would never have to come to an end.

Of course, he'd never let go of his precious humanity like that. Not easily. He may falter every time you meet this way, but you know him to be a man of principles. It makes you a little sick, really. He doesn't realize how quickly things like that fade when faced with eternity.

"Fine, have it your way." You mutter, shrugging. "Are we done here then?"

He pauses, closing his eyes; another bizarre show of trust on his part but it's not unearned. You've yet to drink him dry thus far.

"No."

As expected.

His eyes shoot open and they are as ravenous as ever. He takes a step towards you and you don't move a muscle to stop him, holding his gaze as he grabs you by your arm and spins you around. You brace yourself against your forearms to stop your face from colliding with the brick as he places a hand against your lower back, forcing it to bend.

"So you can keep those teeth away from my neck."

You know damn well it's nothing to do with that. You've felt the way he shudders every time you press your fangs against his throat, felt the way it make him swell in his jeans. You let the blatant misdirection slide, letting him hold on to that fear he has of becoming like you.

Cool air hits heated skin as hands bunch in the fabric of your dress, sliding it up your thighs. He presses himself against you, fingers sliding down to rub you through your panties. He groans against your ear, finding them already soaked.

He wastes no time, pushing the damp fabric to the side and diving in. His fingers are as rough as his kisses, sliding in and out and setting a punishing rhythm that has you keening as he opens you up for him.

The sound of his zipper going rings loud in the empty alley. You can only imagine the desperate, impatient look on his face as he frees himself. You gasp out a moan as the head of him nudges against your entrance, pushing just enough to slot perfectly past his tip.

His hand slaps around your mouth, muffling your filthy sounds and you take the opportunity offered. Fangs sink deep into his palm, drawing a hiss from him.

He slams the rest of the way in, maybe in retaliation, maybe in desperation. The sound that bubbles up in your throat is lost as you greedily drink him in, tongue laving at the open wound you've so beautifully created.

"Fuck." He groans, setting a nasty, angry pace. His hips collide with yours with every brutal thrust, shaking your entire frame.

You're lost completely between the feeling of him filling you up with harsh measured movements that send waves of pleasure running up your spine and the taste of sweet ichor on your tongue, making your head feel light. Two different hungers sated at once in a single act of delicious hedonism.

He tears his hand from your mouth, the loss making your chest ache. You whine, tilting your head over your shoulder to look at him, pleading.

"You've had more than enough." He grits out, keeping up that merciless tempo.

But then that same hand snakes down over your hip and around to palm at your clit. You can feel the warm, sticky slide of his blood over the engorged bud and it takes everything in you to stay standing. Your head drops forward, resting against the wall as he coats you in it before rubbing tight circles there.

You have to bite down hard on your own lip to keep from outright screaming, the taste of your blood mingling with his and filling your mouth.

Your release hits you without warning, your body convulsing in his grip as everything inside of you seems to explode into pure euphoria. He grunts at the feeling of your walls clamping down around him, his thrusts becoming less coordinated as he follows you over the edge.

Everything stills for a moment as he drops his head against your shoulder, breathing heavily into your ear. Your body goes limp, sinking back into his and he catches you, holding you up. You settle, focusing on his rapid heartbeat against your back.

A breath. And then another. Both of you unwilling to speak or move as you revel in this rare and stolen moment of peace. You can feel the ghost of his lips pressed against your neck, tender almost. You can't help but notice the way his arms tighten slightly around you, like he's worried you'll turn to smoke.

"There won't be a next time that ends with you still breathing."

And there it is. Broken in an instant. You step away, smoothing down the fabric of your dress with a sigh. "You suck at pillow talk, you know that, Levi?"

You wait for a smart ass response, but when you turn around, he's already gone.

You wonder, like always, when he'll finally mean it.

He’s not going to lie, you really are good at maintaining the cleanliness of the shop. You even donated potted plants to make the shop look appealing and a phonograph to play classical songs in the background, bringing color and life to the place. It’s only been six months since you started, yet you’ve already brought so much life to the shop (read: to his life), so much more than he ever could and would. There’s not one bad thing he could say about you, not one reason to fire you. You need not be told what to do, always ready to greet the customers with a smile (something he isn’t good at), prepared to help them choose which tea to drink (which, to his surprise, you know a lot of), serve orders right after they’re made, and clean up after the customers left. You’d wash the used teacups without being told, wipe them dry, and organize them on the overhead cupboards just the way he prefers. It didn’t take him long to realize he’s been watching you (and enjoying it) from behind the counter all this time.

And you are so, so good at making him feel good. So fucking nice to look at when you’re on the ground and between his knees, your calloused fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking him slowly while you suck at the head. He forces himself to look at you, eyes half-lidded, his cheeks a faint red, and it always catches him off-guard, makes him choke out a gasp, when he finds you already looking at him. A hum escapes his throat at the sight of your smile around his cock, his eyes rolling back so hard when your lips wrap around his head.

He breathes your name out, setting his eyes on you again. “Go deeper,” he murmurs.

You prop yourself up with your forearms on his thighs, careful not to hurt his knee. He grabs at the shelves on each side of him, gripping so hard his fingers turn white, still unable to make himself touch you with his disgusting hands. You let go of his cock, and he chokes out a moan, head hitting the jars on his back when you take all of him into your mouth, deep down your throat that your nose touches his stomach and you twitch and gag on his head. A sharp pain tears through his knee when his hips buck up in reflex, thrusting his dick further despite already hitting the back of your throat. You pull back with a loud gasp and an admonishing laugh that makes him sigh out another cuss. Levi watches you caressing his thighs. You’re staring back at him, tongue stuck out and pressed against the frenulum of his cock, your hands momentarily sliding up his pelvis and under the fabric of his shirt while his cock disappears into your mouth once more.

“Fuck—” he utters weakly, body shuddering as his cockhead hits the back of your throat.

He can’t believe he’s once again allowed himself to be this pathetic disabled man so easily reduced to a whimpering mess by a girl fifteen years younger than him. How can he let you do this? And in his tea shop, for that matter! How can he disgrace you and his little tea shop?!

How the heck are you so good? How the heck do you look so fucking good with your mouth around his cock?

“Fuck,” he sighs, thighs shaking, the coils in his belly starting to tighten. Your fingers wrap around his girth once more, stroking him while you kiss down his length, earning a twitch from his cock and a stream of pre-cum leaking from the slit. “I think I’m—”

“Please, Captain,” you cut him off, smiling prettily. Knowingly. He loves it when you call him that, you can tell. Even when he says he’s not that person anymore.

“Shit!” His toes curl in his shoes.

You grab at his hips, bracing yourself as you take him back into your mouth. He cries out a moan, and when his head hits your uvula and your throat tightens around him from another gag, the coil in his stomach finally snaps. His body shudders as a huge wave of pleasure takes over. You pull back slightly, fingers immediately wrapping around the base, stroking him hard and fast while you suck the cum right out his twitching cock. Suck harder and his soul might also leave his body. Levi bucks his hips once, twice, and stops when the pain in his knee becomes too much. He lets out a whimper, though he’s unsure if it’s because of the pain, or the pleasure, or the desperation to fill your throat until you’re choking on his cum. You giggle around him, eventually pulling away once he’s finished. Levi lets out a breathy sigh, tired yet very satisfied, as he watches the movement in your throat when you swallow.

Smiling, you wipe the corner of your mouth for a little show. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he answers, breathless. “Are you?”

You nod. “Felt good?”

“Yes.” No doubt about that.

You stand up. He straightens up in his seat when you begin to unzip your pants.

“Brat,” he utters, alarmed. He knows where this is going. You’re going to ride him next, and it wouldn’t even take him five minutes before he’s cumming again.

With the boots you’re wearing, you struggle a little to step out of your pants and underwear. It’s one of the things he likes about you: the not-so-fancy clothes or dresses (not that he’s going to ever say that out loud—at least, not yet).

“What?” you chuckle. “A good soldier should be rewarded, right?”

“Yes, but—” The words die in his throat when you sit on his lap. His hands immediately find your waist, keeping you still.

You lightly poke his nose before draping your arms over his shoulders. “Never had a girl go head over heels for you when you were younger?” A rhetorical question, one you always ask when you’re doing this with him. You know he would’ve had a line of women vying for his attention. You’re sure he was famous not just because he was Captain of a squad. Even until now, despite the broken eye and the scar on his face, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes upon.

But Levi sighs, quietly as if he doesn’t want you hearing it. There’s a sad smile on his face, almost regretful, that you would’ve missed if you aren’t looking closely.

“I didn’t know,” he says, thumbs lightly brushing your hips. “With the threat of titans and all the fighting to survive, I didn’t have time for such things.”

Your shoulders drop. Levi lost half of his life battling monsters because of your people. Because of you. You begin to wonder how he could keep you with him at the shop. By his side. You can’t understand how he could still look at you so gently like you weren’t someone who killed his people during the war.

A gentle squeeze on your hips pulls you back to reality.

“You’re in there again,” he murmurs knowingly.

You shrug it off, then respond with a coy smile, “well, now you’ve got all the time in the world.” He only hums, and you take that as a positive response and begin rolling your hips, rubbing your wetness against his cock. “And we’ll make every second of it count.”

His hands trail up, staying at your waist. “I’m too old for you.”

You pause just to click your tongue at him, as if scolding a child. “Only I get to say that.”

“It’s true though,” he insists.

Pressing your foreheads together, you resume rolling your hips into his. “Fifteen years isn’t a lot.” You place a chaste kiss on his lips.

“You do know how much fifteen years is, don’t you?” he chuckles.

A loud knock from the main door startles the two of you. Levi glances at his wristwatch.

“They aren’t supposed to be back in another hour!” you cry out, pulling yourself away from him. “Ugh!”

Gabi’s shouting outside, calling your name and Levi’s. You quickly put back your underwear and pants on, glancing at Levi as he pushes himself up from the chair. You hurry over to help him pull his pants up to his waist.

“Go. Tell them we’re stocking up the shelves.”

You look over at the boxes of tea, none of which are open.

“Five minutes.” You close the door behind you.

Levi straightens his clothes and starts unboxing, get things moving even a little bit. Outside the stockroom, he hears you asking the trio how their days went, making small talks. You discuss your plan for dinner, a little belated celebration for Falco’s birthday. It doesn’t take long before Gabi’s asking about Levi while walking towards the stockroom. 

“Hey, old man,” she calls over to the man in question, who has just opened the second box. “Let’s get going! It’s the weekend!”

“It’s only Friday,” he answers.

“Friday night,” she points out.

Levi glances at his watch. “Ten minutes to four.”

“Come on, Grandpa,” Gabi chuckles, rolling her eyes. “You need to relax sometimes!”

Huh. He does need to relax after what you’ve done to him. He could still feel his heart hammering in his chest after his last orgasm!

“I’ll just finish this second box,” he answers with a sigh.

“Falco’s gonna help with the rest of the boxes!” Gabi volunteers, turning to the boy in question. “Right, Falco?”

“Of course,” he answers in a “do-I-get-a-choice” sigh.

Thirty minutes later, your group heads out to a steakhouse downtown, where you wait for another half hour before a table big enough to accommodate your group is cleared. You each get a steak meal, fruit juices for the kids, and a bottle of wine for yourself, Levi, and Onyankopon. A simple celebration. Quiet, but a happy one. Gabi recounts memories when she and Falco were still with the Warriors, birthdays they celebrated with Udo and Zofia. There is bitterness in her voice even though she’s smiling through her stories. You hate reminiscing. There’s nothing nice to remember when you were still in the military, not when the only friend you had died in battle. It was your fault after all. He may still be alive if only you didn’t run away. He may still be alive if you took him with you when you ran away.

You have been selfish. You still are, choosing to show up before Levi everyday despite knowing you were once with the people who made their lives a living hell.

“So, tell us what you’re grateful for, Falco!” Gabi’s voice pulls you out of your thought bubble.

You glance in Levi’s way, realizing he’s watching. He must’ve noticed you zoning out, knows what thoughts are in your head. You look away, pretending to stir your wine.

Falco’s reluctant for a moment. “Well… I am grateful that we are all here and that you remembered my… my birthday,” his voice cracks, tears clouding his vision. “It’s been a while since we’ve celebrated this peacefully.”

“Aww, you’re such a cry-baby!” Gabi teases. “What else?”

“That’s it,” he sniffles.

“That’s it?!” She complains.

“A-huh. Your turn.”

“What? It isn’t my birthday!”

“It isn’t, but the birthday celebrant wants to hear what you all have to say too,” Falco says with a chuckle, looking at each of you across the table.

Gabi smacks her forehead, earning a laugh from Onyankopon, who volunteers to go next. He says he’s grateful for the food and that he got a job to keep himself from starving and to keep a roof over his head. Then, he passes the spotlight to you.

You know what to say but somehow, the words won’t come out. You don’t want to ruin the mood, but besides the fact that you get to do whatever you’re doing with Levi—which, you obviously can’t disclose to anyone around the table—the only other thing you are grateful for is that…

“...I ran away,” you say, almost inaudible. Then, you look up, meeting Levi’s eyes, and in a louder voice you continue, “if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here with you all. What I did was a disgrace, but I’m glad I did it.” You swallow, remembering your late friend. “Somehow,” you added shakily, unsure suddenly, shame immediately eating up your insides.

“You still fought,” Falco points out. “And you kept us safe. Remember?”

“Mhm!” Gabi agrees eagerly. “You looked after our families!”

You nod, although weakly, as if you aren’t convinced yourself.

“None of you kids should’ve been there,” Onyankopon adds.

There’s a bitter smile on your lips when you turn to him. “I’m no kid. I’m twenty-five.” But you understand him. You were nineteen when you were conscripted. No one at that age should’ve experienced being in the frontlines of war.

“You did what you had to do to live,” says Gabi. “We all did.”

You shrug, turning back to Levi. “Not so good a soldier, am I?” 

He doesn’t answer. You know he thinks otherwise. He always tells you what you did isn’t wrong. That you should’ve had a choice back then.

He holds your gaze for a moment, and knowing it’s his turn without you having to voice it out, he says, “I’m grateful that we are all here celebrating.”

“Come on, you can do better than that,” Gabi protests.

Levi looks at her, unbothered. “Your turn.”

Gabi purses her lips. And then, she sighs and smiles softly. “We made it out alive.”

“That’s it?” Falco counters.

“That’s it!” She raises her glass of juice. “Cheers to us!”

That’s something you all easily agree with. Glasses raise and clinks together for a toast to what’s ahead and to the birthday celebrant.

They’re right. What matters is you being here. You are alive. What’s done is done, and you only did what you had to do to stay alive. You will forever bear the guilt of running away, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy anymore.

The day ends sooner than you would’ve wanted. You and Levi part ways from Onyankopon, Gabi, and Falco, whose houses are in the opposite direction. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, closing the space between you and Levi after looking behind you to confirm the trio are out of eyeshot. You shove your hands into your pockets, kick at the thin sheet of snow that covers the ground, before latching onto Levi’s arm.

“So cold,” you chuckle.

“Take my scarf.”

You squeeze his arm. “I’m good. Thank you.”

The two of you walk in silence, side by side, until you finally reach your house.

Standing at your doorstep, you turn to face him with a shy smile. “It’d be nice to have someone to cuddle with on this cold night.”

“Just ask, brat,” he says with an eyeroll and a chuckle.

You open the door and take his hand. “You should come in.”

And he does, closing the door behind him. You kiss him slowly, your cold hands trailing up his chest and hooking over his shoulders. It’s so quiet all you hear is the sound of your lips against his, none of his breathing nor yours, for time seems to have stopped and with it your lungs from needing air. He is your oxygen, your blood. Everything you need. He gently wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Pulling away slightly, you smile at his pink cheeks and smoldering eyes.

“Stay for the night,” you hum, touching his cheek. Warm. They feel so nice against your fingers.

“We both had drinks.”

“Nothing will happen,” you promise.

You both know that’s a lie.

You take his hand and turn to face… the stairs. “Shit. I forgot.”

“I didn’t.” He squeezes your hand. Reassuring. “Go start heating water. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“I can still walk, brat,” he points out, no heat in his voice.

You let out a little cheer before placing a peck on his lips and then heading upstairs.

He steps out of his shoes, pushing them aside by the main door, which he makes sure is locked before following you upstairs. Levi tries not to be negatively affected by it, but it still takes him almost a minute to climb just an eight-step staircase. Forty six seconds, to be exact, for just eight steps. For fuck’s sake.

He’s not the kind of man you should be with.

When you come out of the bathroom, you’re humming to a song, dressed in just your plum sweater and underwear, walking into your room to get a pair of sleepwear for you and Levi. He takes a moment to catch his breath and lets the burning sensation in his knee subside. You always remind him to be patient with himself. Healing and recovering takes time, you always say, and you’ve always been patient with him even when he’s too much of a burden. You deserve better.

But he can’t leave you. Whatever it is he feels for you, he feels so intensely, he can’t bring himself to walk away.

“You good?”

He lets out a deep sigh. “Yeah.”

You hug the clothes and towels against your chest and take his hand, leading him to the bathroom. You help him undress, unbuttoning his trench coat, taking his shirt off, then his slacks, underwear, and socks. He watches you fold them neatly on the counter before starting the shower, letting the water run for a few seconds until steam fills the bathroom and clouds the mirror. You help him step into the bath with you, enjoying a short moment of comfort under the hot water that pours over your heads and down your bodies. When it’s time to bathe, he leans back against the wall while you scratch his hair to wet it thoroughly. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why he doesn’t want to go: he likes how you take care of him. He likes this kind of affection.

It feels so nice he wants time to stop so he could be with you for as long as possible. You always make him feel that way.

Maybe it isn’t so bad to want to be cared for the rest of his life.

He places his good hand on your back, the one with complete fingers, letting it sit at the top of your bum. You take a step closer, right thigh between his thighs, so close that it rubs against his cock whenever you move. He keeps his eyes glued to yours. You stare back, a ghost of a smile curling your lips. You know what you’re doing to him, what each barely-there contact does, sending jolts up his belly, rousing his body from sleep. The first twitch comes when you scratch at his undercut, and he barely manages to suppress the moan that escapes his mouth.

“Don’t tease,” he groans, and you only laugh. A bit late for that, because by the time you’re done washing the soap from his body, his cock’s already up.

“You sure you don’t want to?” You ask with a lilt in your voice.

No. He swallows down the word and says, “let’s not waste water.”

You chuckle. “Okay, gramps. Your back, please.”

He turns around, hands pressed on the wall for support. He notices the holes. 

“What are these for?”

“Oh…” you hesitate, but you know there’s no point in keeping it from him. “I was going to install handrails for you to hold onto at times like this.”

His lips part, but nothing comes out of his mouth. Why would you do that? Why would you go through such lengths for him?

You pull closer, pressing your body to his, arms wrapped around his body. “Don’t you like it?” You ask, thinking his silence must’ve meant he disliked the gesture.

“I— I do… I appreciate it,” he forces out. “But you didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to, but I wanted to.” You place a kiss at the nape of his neck. Your left hand inches up his left pectoral, while the other takes his cock and starts stroking it. “It’ll help especially when I do this.”

“Shit—” He murmurs your name.

“Hmm?” You twirl his nipple in your fingers, pulling at it to stiffen. “How about this? Do you like it?”

“Y–yeah…” So much that his knees almost give out when your fingers focus on the head of his cock, stroking deliberately in a circular motion.

“I knew you would,” you murmur with another chuckle, pressing your thumb against the frenulum and then dragging it up the slit, drawing out some precum. That also pulls out a whimper from him and causes his hips to jerk back, which, unfortunately, sends a sharp pain down his bad knee.

Levi says your name in warning. You pull back with an apology.

Fuck. Fuck! He should be the one apologizing.

He shifts his weight on his other leg, but the discomfort in his knee wouldn’t go away.

You grab the soap and start cleaning his back. “Sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You did not.” He turns his face to look you in the eyes.

That brings a smile to your lips as you continue to wash his back, all the way down to his legs and feet. He still can’t believe how you’re patient with him, how you make things so much easier for him without asking anything in return.

How did he get this lucky? Does he even deserve this? Does he deserve you?

When you’re done with his back, you ask him to face you once more so you could wash his front thoroughly. He turns without a word, then pulls you into a hug.

“Oh,” you chuckle, hugging him back. For a moment, it’s just the sound of the shower that can be heard until you look up at him to ask “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, even when all he wants to say—to ask for—is that you never get tired of him. “Do you have the rails? Let’s install them tomorrow.”

You smile widely, and it steals his breath away.

When he’s all rinsed, he steps out of the shower to start drying himself with a towel. He watches you wash the shampoo off your hair, his heart swelling with emotions while thoughts race in his mind. He wishes he could do the same to you: wash your hair for you, scrub your body clean, fuck you under the shower, make you cum with his fingers, make you cum some more with his mouth (and his cock, if only his knees could handle his weight.)

He wants to be better for you, but he knows he can’t rush himself to heal. He does have to be patient with himself like you are with him.

“Did I forget anything?” you ask, realizing he’s still in the bathroom.

He shakes his head and starts getting dressed. “I’ll wait for you in bed.”

“Be there in a few minutes.”

Levi prepares the bed for the two of you—that’s the least he could do. And when you finally join him fifteen minutes later, he no longer stops you when you pull his trousers and briefs down and then lay on your stomach between his legs. He watches you closely as you kiss his still soft cock, nuzzling the head with your nose before taking him and stroking him with your mouth, so slowly until he’s hard as a rock and he comes. He doesn’t stop you when you mount him (he does choke out a ‘wait!’, but doesn’t get the chance to ask if you still have pills because you’re already taking him back inside you with your other set of lips). He doesn’t stop himself when he grabs your waist gently, a reminder that he’s got you should you get tired. He doesn’t stop you when you lean forward, pressing him down on the bed with your hands on his chest, as your hips move fast and your moans grow louder, more desperate, even louder, until you’re a twitching and whimpering mess on top of him.

And he doesn’t resist when he says he’s cumming and you tell him to do it inside you.

It was more of a slip of a tongue than anything. 

It’s late in the night. The corridors have gone quiet. Everyone has finally surrendered to their sleep. Lanterns have either been snuffed or are running down to the end of the candle wicks. Branches of the trees drag across the glass, and somewhere beyond the courtyard, a horse whinnies, restless in the same way everyone seems restless these days, even where there’s nothing immediate to fear.

But you know as well as anyone, that there is always something to fear.

That’s the thing about the Scouts. You don’t carry fear with you. It follows you. It lives in your bones, beneath your fingernails, in your tight shoulders after a mission briefing, in silence that follows when someone says a name and no one answers because that person is already gone.

Maybe that’s why you’re so attracted to Levi. Because he never seems afraid. Not openly, anyway.

He sits at his desk with his sleeves rolled to his forearms, a stack of reports arranged neatly in front of him. His teacup is placed at the exact corner of the desk, where even one small shake of the desk could knock it over. His cravat is loosened slightly, but it’s not enough to make him look relaxed, because you believe Levi would rather be dragged through the streets tied by the hands than look relaxed where anyone can see him. But it’s enough that the sight catches you off guard every time you glance up from your own work.

You’re supposed to be copying casualty numbers into a ledger. You’re, instead, watching the flex of his fingers as he writes. It’s almost humiliating how attracted you are to them. It’s even worse because you realize that it’s humiliating, and yet you keep on doing it. You really should stop staring.

“You’re staring,” Levi says without looking up.

Your quill nearly slips from your fingers. Caught. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That must be new for you.”

Maybe you should be offended. Maybe you already are. Perhaps a part of you lifts its head, bares its teeth, and considers he’s awful and it’s about time you stop treating him like he’s royalty when all he’s done is insult your intelligence and correct your handwriting twice. But you simply smile over your ledger, because there’s obviously something wrong with you.

“I was thinking,” you say, dipping your quill again, “that you look nice like this.”

Levi’s hand stops. It’s tiny. So small. A momentary pause in gesture, a flicker of silence between one word and the next, and yet you notice it, as you always do. You always see the things you wish you didn’t, because your affection for him has made you perceptive to the point of self-injury. 

Then he resumes writing. “Get your eyes checked.”

You laugh tiredly. “I mean it,” you say, because apparently your mouth has decided to ignore every remaining sensible instinct you possess. “You always look nice, but especially when you’re not threatening to make someone scrub the latrines with a toothbrush.”

“I can still threaten you, if that helps.”

“It might,” you say, and when he finally lifts his gaze to you, one brow faintly lifted, you press your lips together to keep yourself from smiling too much. “I think I might be falling in love with you, Captain.”

You definitely did not plan on saying that out loud. 

The words are like a lit match dropped onto paper. You expect something to happen, though you’re not sure exactly what; maybe for Levi to look startled, maybe for your own heartbeat to become so loud that he hears it and tells you to quiet down, but there’s only the sound of his quill stopping and his eyes fixing on you with a disbelief that’s usually reserved for soldiers who have done something phenomenally stupid with live blades. You’ve seen Connie almost cut open his own hand at least a dozen times now.

“No, you’re not,” he says. It’s so blunt that, for a second, you almost laugh again.

“I think I know what I’m feeling.”

“You clearly don’t.”

“That’s a little presumptuous.”

“You’re exhausted. You’ve been copying death tolls for two hours, and your standards are slipping.”

You should probably retreat now, but the bruise of it is too new to hurt yet, and maybe you’re still brave because you haven’t learned your lesson on how this man can cut you without drawing steel.

“My standards are excellent,” you say. “That’s why I picked you.”

Levi stares at you. You stare back, fully aware of the heat gathering beneath your skin. You notice how he hasn’t looked back down yet.His face shifts—not much, because Levi’s expressions never move far enough to be generous, but enough that something flickers behind his eyes. You can’t tell what it is. 

Then he presses his lips together and scoffs. “Finish the ledger. And don’t say stupid things just because it’s late.”

The match goes out. You look down. “Right,” you say, your smile feeling much more fragile than it was one minute ago. “Yes, sir.”

After that, you decide that confession didn’t count. It was late. You were tired. He was rude, but Levi is always rude, and somehow that makes the rejection easier to deal with.

Except it does count.

Because the next time you say it, you’re not tired enough to pretend you don’t mean it.

The next time you flirt with him is after training, when the sun is high and cruel and every inch of your uniform is clinging to your skin. The sound of the training grounds is always loud. Someone groans dramatically near the water barrels. Sasha is arguing that dinner time should be two hours earlier than it is, to which Jean tells her that she’s going to get kicked out of the Scouts with her behavior. Eren is insisting to Mikasa that he could take down one of the veterans in hand-to-hand combat, which is not true and everyone knows is not true.

You’re bent forward with your hands braced on your knees, sweat dripping from your chin into the dust, lungs burning, thighs trembling with the intensity of being thrown onto your back three times by a man who has the emotional warmth of a snail. Levi stands several feet away, not even breathing hard. You hate him a little for it. You love him more. 

“You’re leaving your right side open,” he says, acting like that’s the main problem and not the fact that he’s driven your spine to the ground so many times that the two of them might as well get married. 

You straighten your back, wincing when your shoulders throb in pain. “I noticed.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m choosing to believe you’re only being this mean because you’re impressed.”

“I’m not.”

“Wounded,” you say, touching a hand to your chest. “And after I gave you such a good show.”

Levi’s eyes narrow as they fix on you. There’s dirt on your cheek, gritty beneath the sweat. Your hair is tousled, strands sticking to your face and neck. You know you probably look half-dead, which makes it even more ridiculous when you grin at him as though you’re the one with the upper hand.

“If I land a hit, you have to have tea with me,” you say, shifting your stance again, though your legs are already screaming in pain.

You feel the shift around you immediately, the tiny ripple of attention passing across the training grounds. People know by now. They know you admire him. They know you’re reckless enough to smile at him when most soldiers avert their eyes. They know Levi has never once softened for you in front of them. But they don’t know that you’ve already told him once. They don’t know that some small part of you is hoping the second time will land differently.

Levi looks at you for a long moment. “Good thing you won’t,” he finally says.

Then he attacks. It’s over quickly. You last longer than you did the first round, which you’ll cling to as a personal victory when your pride has stopped bleeding. But it’s not enough to make him sweat, and certainly not long enough to win yourself tea. He hooks your ankle and drops you onto the dirt with one hand gripping your sleeve and the other arm pressed against your throat.

He’s too close. Close enough that you can see the dark crescents beneath his eyes, the tiny nick near his jaw from shaving too quickly, the dust clinging to his hair. Close enough that his arm, still pressed against you, feels like the only solid point in the universe.

“You know,” you say breathlessly, “there are easier ways to get me on my back.”

Someone chokes in the distance. Jean, probably. Armin winces and covers his face. Levi’s expression doesn’t change, but his fingers clench your sleeve before he releases you and stands up.

“Get up,” he says.

You push yourself onto your elbows. “No tea, then?”

“No.”

“Dinner?”

“No.”

“A walk?”

“No.”

“An emotionally honest conversation?”

“Are you always this annoying?” 

You laugh then. If you don’t laugh, you think you might cry a little. To anyone else, it would sound like he despises you, but you know deep down, he appreciates your presence. At least, you think he does. You hope.

Levi steps back, eyes already moving toward the others. “Again,” he says.

Your smile falters. “Again?”

“You wanted to land a hit.”

“I also want to retain the use of my spine.”

“Then move correctly.”

You groan, but you get up anyway. When he turns away to retrieve the training blade he had discarded near the fence, you miss how his gaze drops briefly to the place where his fingers had been on your sleeve. He didn’t mean to do that.

Levi hates this. Not you. This. This thing you keep doing. This reckless habit of saying what you feel for him as though feelings are not the most complex thing known to man, wanting someone has never been a mistake, and affection is something you can simply place in another person’s hands and expect them not to drop it. He has no use for it. He has no patience for it.

And yet, when you stand again with dirt on your uniform and that stubborn light in your eyes, Levi’s first though is not that you’re irritating like he says you are.

It’s that you’re still alive and with him.

His second thought is that he wants you to stay that way.

His third thought is so dangerous that he buries it before it finishes forming.

.

People start to make jokes about you and Levi. The Scouts have a talent for taking anything sensitive and turning it into humor. It begins—as it always does—in the mess hall. It’s loud. The long tables are crowded with soldiers leaning shoulder to shoulder, passing bread, stealing scraps, arguing over insignificant things (mostly Eren and Jean), laughing too loudly at stories that are shared between moments in the training yard. 

You sit with your squad, eating your soup as you try not to stare at the officers’ table. You naturally fail. Levi sits apart even among the other officers, a cup of tea held lightly in one hand. Erwin is talking beside him, and Hange is gesturing enthusiastically enough—probably about their latest experiments—to nearly knock over their own bowl. Levi appears to be listening, though his eyes flick briefly toward the table with Connie and Sasha when both of them laugh too loud.

Then he looks at you.

“You’re doing it again,” Petra says beside you. 

You look down at your soup immediately. “I’m eating.”

“You’re daydreaming.”

“I’m not!”

“You absolutely are,” Oluo says, leaning back with misplaced confidence. “It’s pathetic, really.”

“You bite your tongue every other sentence trying to imitate him. Don’t start throwing stones,” Eld says. Oluo sputters. You smile, grateful for the distraction and defense, but your eyes betray you by drifting toward Levi again; and this time Gunther catches it too.

“You could always confess again,” he says. You had told the squad about your confession a week or so ago, and naturally, they found it the funniest thing in the world. And then they called you the stupidest person in the world. “Maybe persistence will wear him down.”

“It works on doors,” Eld says.

“Levi isn’t a door,” Petra says.

“He’s got the personality of one,” you say. That earns a few laughs. 

Across the room, Levi’s eyes lift again. You know immediately that he heard that last part. The man could probably hear dust drifting in the air. For a moment, you consider looking away. Instead, because your pride is a stubborn creature, you lift your cup and toast it in his direction. His eyes narrow, but you smile anyway. He looks back to Erwin.

That should have been the end of it, but it wasn’t. After dinner, when the mess hall begins to empty and soldiers drift toward their beds or their duties, you find yourself in the kitchen near the dedicated tea station—which you’re convinced was set up only for Levi—reaching for the kettle at the exact same time Levi does. Your fingers nearly brush, and it’s enough for your breath to hitch. Levi glances at your hand, then at you.

“Move,” he says.

“You could say please,” you mutter.

“I could also assign you stable duty.”

“You make romance very difficult, Captain.”

He frowns at the title, but you don’t really notice it too much since you’re trying to not pour hot water on yourself. You’re being ridiculous, you think. It’s only tea. He barely touched you. Levi is just standing this close—close enough that you can smell his soap—because he’s impatient and waiting for the kettle.

Behind you, someone snickers. You don’t turn, but Levi does. The snickering stops with impressive speed. “Problem?” he asks.

“No, sir,” several voices answer.

You press your lips together to stop yourself from laughing. Levi turns back to you. “You enjoy making yourself a spectacle?”

You don’t know why, but those words hit a tender spot in your nerves. Your smile falters. “I’m not trying to.”

“Aren’t you?”

That stings. Not badly, but enough for you to look down at the tea in your cup, watching the surface tremble with the tiny motion of your hand. “I just like you,” you say, quiet enough for only him to hear.

The silence that follows is almost deadly. Levi doesn’t move. You suddenly wish you’d said it louder, made it into a joke or dressed it up with such an unserious tone that he could brush it off as nothing. But it’s not nothing.

Levi’s face tenses. “Don’t,” he says.

One word. Not no. Not stop. Don’t. You’ve clearly reached for a wound without knowing it was there. Your throat tightens slightly. It’s stupid how much that single word hurts. The others have gone quiet behind you, though whether because they heard or because Levi’s silence has made things tense, you don’t know. You nod once.

“Sorry,” you say.

Levi’s jaw flexes. For the briefest moment, his eyes change, and a hint of regret moves through them, but then he reaches for his cup, turns away, and leaves you standing at the tea station with a teacup in your hand that suddenly feels too hot to hold.

You should probably stop. You tell yourself that while watching him disappear down the corridor. You tell yourself this while you stand there with the unbearable knowledge that you won’t.

.

Levi doesn’t sleep well that night, which isn’t unusual. Sleep has always been an issue for him. It’s something his body demands but his mind resents, a brief surrender that leaves too much room for memory to crawl in with its dirty hands. He’s accustomed to lying awake for hours. He’s accustomed to the silence of the night and his own thoughts circling until they get stripped down to their bones.

He’s not used to thinking about the way your voice sounded when you said, I just like you. Then he realizes that’s a lie. He is used to thinking about your voice. That’s the issue. 

Levi lies on his back in the dark, one arm folded behind his head. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling. He knows this has gone on long enough. You’re careless with your affection. You throw it around like it costs nothing. Like you have so much of it that losing some wouldn’t hurt you.

Then he remembers your hand trembling around your cup. He realizes, no, you’re not careless. That would be easier. Careless people don’t look away so quickly when they’re hurt. Careless people don’t apologize for taking up too much space in someone else’s guarded life. Careless people don’t learn how someone takes their tea and remembers it without being asked. You’re not careless. You’re one of the few sincere people he knows. That’s worse to him.

Levi closes his eyes. Behind them, he sees you smiling at him across the training yard, flushed and breathless, daring him to be human for one second. He sees you in the mess hall, laughing because everyone else is laughing, even though your eyes keep searching for him. He sees you tonight, freezing around a single word.

Don’t.

He should have said something else. He should have said nothing. He should have made you stop sooner. If you stop, this ends. If this ends, no one gets hurt. Except he already hurt you. 

Levi opens his eyes. The ceiling offers no answers, no matter how hard he stares.

“Damn brat,” he mutters.

.

The confessions become a routine, almost. They’re never spoken in the same way, but they become woven into the strange fabric of your days. It’s as familiar as the bitter taste of weak coffee when tea runs low and the scent of soap after Levi has ordered an entire hallway scrubbed because someone left a single muddy footprint in it.

You tell him in fractions. Sometimes lightly. Sometimes accidentally. Sometimes because the feeling rises up in you with nowhere else to go, and the alternative is swallowing it until you choke. 

Levi rejects you every time. Sometimes you think he has a list of things to say prepared. Sometimes you think he makes them up on the spot. You’re not sure which scenario is worse.

The fourth time you confess comes in the stables, of all places. Rain has slicked the yard into a mess. The horses are restless tonight. You’re adjusting tack and cleaning hooves, your sleeves rolled up despite the cold because one of the mares keeps nudging your elbow and trying to chew the cuff.

Then Levi enters. “You’re doing that wrong,” he says.

You glance down at the stirrup strap in your hand. “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

“Exactly.”

You sigh and step aside, letting him take over, because while there are many hills you’re willing to die on, arguing with Levi about equipment care isn’t one of them. He checks and adjusts the straps that you already did. Then he lifts the tack onto the assigned mare to make sure everything looks good. The horse calms beneath his touch, which is unfair, because Levi is as soft as a sword, yet animals seem to understand him. You watch him stroke one hand down the mare’s neck, murmuring something too low for you to catch. You feel a strange flutter in your stomach.

“You’re gentle with them,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Levi looks at you. “With horses.”

“Horses. Animals. Things that scare easily.”

His expression goes blank, and it tells you instantly that you’ve stepped too close to something he’s not willing to reveal yet. You should retreat, and yet, you don’t.

“I like that about you.”

His hand stops on the strap. Rain thunders on the roof. The mare huffs, her warm breath ghosting into the air. Levi stares at you for a long moment, then says, “You’re reading too much into basic competence.”

“Maybe,” you say. “Or maybe you’re more careful than you want people to know.”

Levi looks away before you can follow up, tightening the girth. “Stop romanticizing me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Maybe I’m just seeing you for who you are.”

He laughs humorlessly. “You should look somewhere else.”

You breathe in through your nose, the scent of hay and wet earth filling your nostrils. It should be comforting, but you feel foolish standing here with your heart spilling out of your chest like this.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” you say.

Levi hardens. “That’s your problem.”

You flinch. It’s tiny, but it’s there. You know it’s visible because Levi’s eyes move immediately to your face. You can tell he caught it. He seems to recoil, his brows drawing faintly together, but then he looks away.

“Finish checking the tack,” he says.

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

.

You don’t count the next time you confess because you’re half-delirious with exhaustion after an expedition that has left everyone hollow-eyed and covered with dirt and moving like ghosts through the building. You sit on a bench outside the infirmary with a bandage around your forearm and a bruise forming on your ribs, watching medics hurry past you. Levi is standing next to you with blood on his sleeve—blood that doesn’t belong to him—with a look in his eyes that tells you he’s not fully here.

You’re alive. He’s alive. Too many others are not. That kind of thing makes people act and speak recklessly. Which is why you think you say what you say.

Levi hasn’t spoken to you since returning through the gate except to ask if you were injured, and when you showed him your arm, he clicked his tongue and said, “Idiot,” with enough fury that you understood he had already been watching when that Titan came too close.

Now he stands in front of you, arms crossed, staring at the bandage. “You hesitated,” he says.

You look up at him. “What?”

“Out there. You hesitated.”

You’re far too tired to defend yourself quickly. You say, exhausted, “I was trying to pull Kessler back.”

“Kessler was already dead.”

You look away. You know that. You felt the moment that Kessler’s body relaxed and it started dragging you down. You felt the horrible slackness of his arm in your grip. You knew, even then, but knowing and letting go are not the same thing, and you’re too tired for Levi’s version of mercy.

“I know,” you say.

“Do you?”

Your head snaps back up, anger flaring. “Yes, Levi. I know.”

His eyes narrow at the use of his name. Good. Let him hate it. Let him feel something.

“I know he was dead,” you continue. “I know I almost got myself killed trying to save someone who was already gone. I know that was stupid. I know you’re going to tell me it was stupid. I know.”

Levi stares at you as you breathe too hard. Your ribs ache. Your eyes burn, though you refuse to let any tears fall, because crying in front of Levi after a mission feels like bleeding in front of a shark. His jaw works once.

“Then don’t do it again,” he says.

It’s still an order, but there’s a certain rawness underneath it that makes your anger falter. You look at him, at the dirt on his clothes, the blood on his sleeve, the exhausting plastered on his face. You look at the man everyone calls humanity’s strongest, standing there as though strength has ever saved him from grief.

The words come out before you can stop them. “I worry about you too, you know.” He tilts his head, expression hardening. You should probably stop, but you don’t. “I know you don’t want me to. I know you think it’s stupid, or useless, or whatever else you tell yourself when people care about you, but I do.” Your hands curl into fists against your thigh, nails biting into your palms. “I worry every time we leave the walls. I worry every time you go quiet after we come back. I worry because I—”

“Enough.”

You shut your mouth. Levi is no longer looking at you, but through you. You feel a shiver run down your spine. He can’t even look at you when turning you down? 

“Don’t make this into something it isn’t.”

You swallow. “And what is it?”

“A bad habit.”

You feel the color drain from your face. The whole world closes around you. You can only focus on the mud on the soles of your boots, the muffled sounds of suffering through the infirmary doors, Levi standing there with his hands clenched so tightly beneath his crossed arms that his knuckles have blanched.

A bad habit. That’s what your affection has become. An inconvenience. Something to correct. 

You nod once, though the movement feels fuzzy. “Right,” you say.

Levi eyes flick back to yours. You stand before you can fully lock your gazes. Pain flashes through your ribs, and you nearly sway, but you keep yourself upright because you can’t bear the thought of him seeing you so weak. 

“I should get this checked again,” you say.

Levi’s gaze drops to your arm. “You already did.”

“I know.”

He understands then. You see it happen, the moment he realizes you’re leaving because of him, not because of the wound. He doesn’t stop you. You walk away. 

Behind you, Levi remains still for a long time. Long after your footsteps disappear. Long after the rain begins again. Long after he realizes that the words he meant to use to keep you alive have found the most tender spot of your heart.

And still, you come back. You always come back. Even if it pains you to see him right now.

The next morning, you pass him in the corridor and give him a smile that’s smaller than usual. “Captain,” you say.

Levi nods once. He expects you to say something else. Some joke. Some reckless little comment. Some ridiculous remark about how he looks like he slept badly and should let you fix that by being charming towards him for ten minutes.

You say nothing, and you keep walking. Levi turns his head without thinking, watching you disappear around the corner. He has a strange feeling in his chest. Annoyance, he decides. That’s all it is.

That’s all it ever will be.

.

Days later, while you’re cleaning, you stand on a stool to reach for a stack of fresh rags on the highest shelf of the supply room. Shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, packed with folded clothes, brushes, buckets, spare mopheads, bottles of polish, and enough cleaning solution to disinfect the entire world if Levi ever gets his way. The door opens behind you. 

“Careful,” Levi says.

You glance down. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed, looking entirely unimpressed. With what, you’re not sure. He seems to be in a perpetual state of disappointment with the world. You can’t say you blame him.

“I am being careful,” you reply.

“Standing on that thing will make you crack your skull open.”

“It’s a stool. It’s meant to be stood on.”

“...It’s wobbling.”

“That’s because it fears you.”

“It should.”

You laugh. It surprises you. Maybe it surprises him too, because Levi’s eyes flick up to your face and stay there for half a second too long. There’s a dangerous pause, and both of you feel it. You ignore it and reach for the rags too quickly to escape it, your fingers brushing the edge of the stack. You can’t quite grab it. The stool shifts.

Your balance suddenly tips just enough for your stomach to drop. Before you can correct yourself or grab onto anything, one of Levi’s hands meets your waist, the other gripping your forearm. You feel your heart slam against your ribs. 

“Idiot,” he snaps.

You can’t focus on anything except for his fingers on your waist, warm through the fabric of your shirt. He’s standing so close behind you that when you inhale, you catch his scent. It’s always smelled of clean soap with an undercurrent of something almost like cedar.

You look down at his hand. He does too. Then he releases you as if you’ve burned him. “Get down,” he says.

You quickly grab the rags and climb off the stool, holding the items to your chest. “Thank you,” you say.

“Don’t thank me. Stop doing stupid things.”

“I was just trying to reach the—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I—I had it under control, Captain.”

“No, you didn’t.”

You pause, then you hesitantly say, “You worry about me.”

Levi’s eyes flash briefly before he restrains it. “No.”

You tilt your head. “No?”

“No.”

“Then what was that?”

“Reflex.”

“Your reflex was to grab my waist?”

His mouth tightens, which is how you know you’ve gotten under his skin. “My reflex was to stop a soldier from injuring themselves because they can’t manage basic balance.”

“That almost sounded affectionate.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

You smile then, because despite everything, despite the way he keeps pushing you away with both hands while somehow still catching you when you stumble, your heart keeps finding reasons to love him. 

“I think you care about me more than you want to admit,” you say.

Levi steps closer. Your smile fades as his shadow falls over you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You hold his gaze, and for once, you don’t try to soften the moment with a joke or quip. There are moments you need to be serious, and this is one of them. “Maybe not, but I know what it feels like when you look at me.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

His answer comes far too fast. Levi seems to realize it at the same time you do, because he sighs and looks away toward the shelves. 

“I wish you’d let me care about you,” you say quietly. Levi’s head turns back, and suddenly, the room feels smaller than it did a moment ago.

“I don’t need that from you.”

It’s not the cruelest thing he’s said, but it still breaks a piece of you inside. You inhale slowly, gripping the rags a bit tighter. “Sorry.”

Frustration flickers across his face, but you can tell it’s directed inward this time, at himself, at you, at the entire existence of this thing neither of you seems to be willing to label.

“Just do your job,” he says, harsher now.

“Yes, Captain.”

You don’t see the small flinch he gives when you turn back to the shelves.

.

By now, Levi has recognized that there are stages to this. First, you say something reckless and stupid. Second, he rejects it. Third, you smile. Fourth, he says something. Fifth, your smile falters. Sixth, he feels like the worst kind of bastard for doing that. Seventh, he tells himself you brought it on yourself. Eighth, he thinks about it all night.

It’s a miserable system. He wishes to dismantle it. He’d like, more than that, to understand why he keeps waiting for it to happen again, because that’s the part he can’t excuse. He can excuse rejection. Rejection is clean and sets boundaries where your affection keeps trying to cross them. He can excuse harshness. Harshness is useful. Soldiers listen better to shouts than soft pleas. He can even excuse the anger that rises in him whenever you come too close, because anger is familiar, and familiarity makes things easier to handle.

But he can’t excuse the waiting. He can’t excuse his attention shifting when you enter a room. He can’t excuse the fact that he knows your footsteps by sound now. He can’t excuse how he notices when you don’t look at him. He definitely can’t excuse how guarded he feels when your voice comes gently, as if he’s bracing for impact from a hand that’s never struck him.

He hates it. He hates the anticipation. He hates the feeling that lingers. He hates that some part of him, buried deep beneath the discipline and the loss and blood, wants to hear you say it again. He wants to know if you still mean it. He wants to know how many times he can refuse you before you finally decide he’s not worth the trouble.

Part of him hopes the answer is infinite.

.

You find Levi in the corridor outside of Erwin’s office, standing with a stack of documents in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. His expression is blank as always, lit by the dim afternoon light. The day has been mostly gray from morning onward. The entirety of headquarters feels submerged. You’re carrying reports from the supply division when you stop beside him.

He looks tired. Levi often looks tired, but there are different tiers to it, and you’ve learned them despite not trying to. This isn’t ordinary irritation or sleep deprivation. This is the kind that only comes after countless meetings and casualty estimates, after decisions that will ask other people to die in the name of maybe—someday—being free from the Titans.

“You should eat something,” you say.

His eyes slide to you. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I meant what I said. Leave me alone.”

“Not until you eat.”

He exhales through his nose. “Are you always this insistent?”

“With you? Usually.”

“Fantastic for me.”

You smile. “You make it very easy.” He looks away. Instead of walking away like you know you should, you shift the reports against your chest and say, “I brought extra bread.”

Levi’s gaze returns to you. “What?”

“For you.” You try to shrug it off, pretending like you haven’t been carrying it wrapped in cloth beneath the reports because you noticed he skipped lunch. “It’s in my pocket. Which sounds unsanitary, but I wrapped it. Mostly.”

He stares at you, then says, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Probably.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

You wish he wouldn’t ask. You wish, sometimes, that Levi would allow kindness to come to him without dragging it into the spotlight and demanding to know whether it has teeth or not. But he’s looking at you now with a challenge in his eyes, but something else lingers. Something that tells you he doesn’t understand why anyone would go out of their way for him unless obligated or expecting something in return. Your heart hurts for him.

“Because I care,” you say.

Levi grips his documents a little more. “Stop it.”

“I’m not asking you for anything.”

“You are.”

You frown. “No, I’m not.”

“You say things like that because you want me to say them back.”

There’s a bitter taste in your mouth, maybe because it’s partly true, and maybe because it’s not the whole truth, and he’s chosen the ugliest piece of it to hold up between you.

“I want you to eat something,” you say quietly. “That’s all this was.”

Levi says nothing. You reach into your pocket, pull out the wrapped bread, and place it carefully on top of the documents in his hand. His eyes drop to it, then lift to meet you. 

“You don’t have to make everything a battle,” you say.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“No, you didn’t,” you say, the words coming out a little sadder than you intend. You see him hear it, and you see the shift in his eyes. But you don’t wait for him to respond. You walk away, reports held tightly against your torso, and you tell yourself that caring about someone shouldn’t feel this much like holding your hand over an open flame and pretending the burn is proof of devotion.

Behind you, Levi looks down at the bread. He stands there and stares at it for a long time. Then, with a quiet curse, he takes it with him into the office. He eats it later. Every bite tastes like guilt.

.

“You know,” Hange says one afternoon, leaning casually against the doorway of Levi’s office while he tries to read a report and pretend they’re not there, “most people enjoy being adored.”

“Most people are idiots,” Levi says.

“True, true. But still. It’s good for morale.”

Levi doesn’t look up from his papers. “If you’re here to waste my time, find a better hobby.”

“I have several. You hate all of them.”

“Because they’re obnoxious.”

“Everything is obnoxious to you.”

Levi’s quill pauses, and that makes Hange grin a little more. He resumes writing, shaking his head. This isn’t exactly new business—Hange always comes to annoy him for the most miniscule problems and to talk about the most insignificant topics. He’s learned how to block it out over the years.

“I’m serious,” Hange says. The shift in their tone catches Levi’s attention. “She cares about you.”

“No shit.”

“And you care about her.”

The quill stops again, and this time, it doesn’t resume. Levi lifts his eyes slowly, sharpened to a point. “Careful.”

Hange, to their credit or possibly their doom, doesn’t turn around and leave like any sensible human would after the tone Levi just used against them. “That sounded like a threat.”

“It was.”

“Mm.” Hange tilts their head, studying him in such an invasive way that it makes Levi want to shove them into the nearest supply closet and lock the door. “You get nastier after she talks to you.”

“I get nastier after you talk to me too.”

“Yes, but that’s because I’m charming in a way that overwhelms you.”

“You’re exhausting in a way that makes murder understandable.”

Hange waves his remark away. “With her, it’s different.”

Levi’s face goes blank. Is it different with you? He realizes now that while he blocks out Hange’s antics, he doesn’t block out yours. He realizes that all the times he’s kicked Hange out for uttering a single stupid sentence, he’s let you stay after uttering a dozen. Hange sees the realization and smiles softly.

“I’m not saying you have to return anything,” they say. “No one can make you feel something you don’t. But if you don’t, you should stop letting her bleed herself dry trying to reach you.”

“I’m not letting her do anything.”

“No,” Hange says, “you’re just standing there while it happens.” The room goes dangerously quiet. Levi looks down at the report, but the words have rearranged into nonsense. Hange sighs deeply. “For what it’s worth, I think she knows you’re not as indifferent as you act.”

Levi’s grip tightens around the quill. “She’s wrong.”

“Maybe.” He looks up at that. Hange gives him a sad little smile, which is worse than their normal grin, worse than their teasing, worse than anything else they could have done. “But if she’s wrong, then you should make that clear before it hurts her even more.”

Levi says nothing. Hange leaves.

That evening, you bring Levi tea. You didn’t plan on doing so. It just sort of happened. You told yourself several times that day that you’d stop doing things like this, acting like your kindness is water and he’s a dying flower that you can bring back to life. You pass the kitchen, see the kettle, and think of the tension in his face that morning.

So you make the tea. Because you’re weak and hopeful, and you’re beginning to suspect those are sometimes the same thing.

When you arrive at his office, the door is slightly ajar. You knock anyway. He calls for you to come in, and you step inside. Levi sits behind his desk, eyes on a report, the candlelight casting shadows across his face. The room is painfully neat, which you should have expected. Your presence feels immediately disruptive. You carry the cup carefully, both hands around the saucer.

“I made too much,” you say.

Levi looks at the tea, then at you. “You made too much tea?”

“Yes.”

“For yourself?”

“Yes.”

“In one cup?”

You blink at him. He stares back at you. Your face warms slightly. Not your best attempt, but it was worth it. “Fine. That was a terrible lie.”

“Embarassing.”

“Deeply.”

He leans back slightly, crossing his arms. “You here for a reason?”

The question should be harmless, but it’s not. You think of all the times Levi has made you feel childish for just wanting a connection. You think of the fact that your hand is already starting to ache from holding the saucer too tightly.

“No,” you say. “Not really.” You step closer and set the cup on his desk, exactly where he usually keeps it, because you’ve grown to know the exact spot by now. “I just thought you’d want some.”

“I can make my own tea.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then stop.”

You look at him. His face is unreadable, but his eyes are clear as day. There’s a tension and conflict there, anger held down so hard that you see it shaking. But you’re tired too. Tired of reading hope into every almost-soft thing he does. Tired of standing at the edge of him, calling out, and hearing only your own voice come back.

“Stop bringing you tea?” you ask.

“Stop acting like this means something.”

Your heart drops. “This?”

Levi looks at you. For once, you wish he wouldn’t. At the same time, you want him to.

“All of it,” he says. “I’ve told you no multiple times. What part of that are you too stupid to understand?”

All of it. The tea. The bread. The jokes. The concern. The confessions. The look you give him after missions. You remembering his preferences. The way you keep offering pieces of yourself and pretending it doesn’t matter when he refuses to take them. All of it.

You nod, though it feels like something has finally broken inside you. 

You’re too tired to keep doing this.

“I see,” you whisper.

Levi’s eyes gleam in the moonlight as he looks at you. He looks like he might say something else. Something better. Something worse. You don’t even give him the chance.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice calm enough to make yourself believe that you’re not hurt. “I didn’t realize I was making you uncomfortable.”

Levi makes a face, the most emotion you’ve seen from him in months. “That’s not—”

“I’ll stop.”

He goes silent. You give him a small smile because you can’t seem to help yourself. Even now, you’re trying to make things easier for him, because some habits are harder to kill than hope. Then you turn toward the door.

Behind you, Levi says your name. It stops you for a second, but only a second. You look back. His hand is resting near the cup, not touching it. He looks almost panicked, if Levi Ackerman were capable of such an honest expression.

“Yes?” you say. He says nothing, and there it is. The whole tragedy of him. You wait one second. Then two. Then you nod. “Goodnight, Captain.”

You leave. The door closes behind you. Levi sits very still. The tea cools untouched on his desk. And for the first time, the silence you leave behind feels less like peace and more like punishment.

.

You stop. 

You don’t stop in a manner that would give him the satisfaction of calling it dramatic, because the stubborn, wounded part of you refuses to let Levi Ackerman look at the ruin he’s made of your heart. 

You don’t avoid your duties. You don’t let your work slip. You don’t flinch when his name is mentioned, and you don’t turn your head too quickly when he speaks, and you don’t stand in the kitchen holding the kettle, telling yourself that tea is only tea and kindness is only kindness and that none of it has to mean anything unless he lets it.

You simply stop offering. That’s all.

Reports appear on his desk when they’re supposed to. Your handwriting is clean across the pages. Supplies are accounted for. Gear is cleaned, straps are checked, blades are sharpened, and when you pass him in the corridor, you step aside with the same respect you would give any superior officer. 

“Captain.”

Nothing more. No little smile curling around the title. No teasing lift to your brow. No, you look terrible, did you sleep at all? No, I saved you bread before Sasha could inhale the entire basket. No, if you keep glaring like that, your face will get stuck and then what will we do?

Just Captain.

The first time it happens, Levi tells himself he’s relieved.

He has paperwork in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. You walk down the hall with a crate of medical linens balanced against your hip, your sleeves rolled to your elbows. You see him, shift the crate higher, and move out of the way.

“Captain,” you say. Levi nods once. You keep walking. That’s all there is to your interaction.

He should be relieved. Instead, he grips his teacup a little tighter. Idiot, he thinks, though he’s not entirely sure whether he means you or himself.

By the second day, the relief has turned into irritation.

You’re everywhere, because the universe apparently has something against him and is trying to force you into his everyday life when he’s trying his hardest not to notice you. In the training yard, helping one of the newer recruits correct their stance with a voice soft enough that the soldier actually listens instead of stiffening under correction. In the mess hall, laughing at something Petra says, your face finally turned away from him. In the corridor outside Erwin’s office, handing over a stack of documents to Miche with a polite nod before disappearing around the corner before Levi can decide whether he wants to speak to you.

Not that he does. He doesn’t. There’s nothing to say, after all. He told you to stop, and you stopped. That’s how orders are supposed to work.

Levi’s spent his life surrounded by people who either don’t listen or listen too late, by soldiers who break formation, by fools who mistake hope for strategy, by men who die because they can’t follow one simple command when terror has sunk its teeth into them. He should appreciate obedience. He should appreciate silence. He should appreciate how you gave him exactly what he asked for.

Instead, every “Captain” feels like a door slamming shut in his face. And the worst part, the most aggravating, unforgivable part, is that you’re not even punishing him. Punishment would be easier. Punishment would give him something to push against. If you snapped at him, he could snap back. If you glared, he could meet it with his own colder stare. If you cried, if you accused him, if you said, how dare you, Levi, after all the chances I gave you, then at least he would know what to do.

But you do none of them. You’re kind. Professionally kind. You answer when spoken to. You follow orders without hesitation. You still look after the youngest soldiers, still trade your last piece of bread to Sasha, still smile when Armin asks a question and still help Connie adjust his gear that he should know how to adjust by now. You haven’t become colder in all aspects—you’ve merely taken your warmth away from him.

And Levi, who has survived hunger, blood, filth, loss, and the Underground’s endless ruthlessness, finds himself undone by the absence of things he once pretended not to want.

By the third day, Hange notices. They appear beside him in the training yard while he’s watching you across the dirt, though he’d rather be disemboweled with his own blades than admit that he’s watching you. You’re speaking to Eld near the fence, head tilted as you listen, one hand braced on your hip, the other gesturing toward the Titan dummies. Eld says something that makes you laugh.

Hange hums. “Interesting.”

“Walk away,” Levi says.

“I didn’t even say anything—”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say the weather’s nice.”

“It’s overcast.”

“Emotionally, then.”

Levi turns his head just enough to glare. Hange grins, but their expression softens too quickly, and that’s how he knows he’s in trouble. He can handle Hange’s manic curiosity, their teasing, their horrifying experiments, their complete lack of respect for personal space or peace. He can’t handle pity.

“She stopped,” Hange says.

Levi looks back toward the yard. “Good.”

Hange’s brows rise. “Very convincing.”

“Shut up.”

“You told her to?” Levi says nothing, and that’s answer enough. Hange exhales, not quite a sigh. “Well, congratulations. You won.”

Hange looks ahead at you. Across the yard, you take the training blade Eld offers you and shift into position. Levi looks back at you, and he sees how dirt has already lined your face. There’s no bright glance tossed in his direction, no grin, no silent invitation for him to notice you. It makes him furious. Not at you, though—that would be simpler. No, the fury coils inward, because there’s a place inside him that recognizes that this silence is something he made with his own hands.

“I did what needed to be done,” he says.

Hange tilts their head. “For who?”

Levi doesn’t answer, and instead, he watches you lunge, watches Eld parry, watches your foot slide back to correct your balance—something you learned from him. There are pieces of him in your movements now. Small ones. Things he taught you without meaning to leave any part of himself behind.

For who?

His mouth dries. For you, he wants to say, but even in his own head, the lie limps, because if this were for you, then why does your smile seem weaker when you think no one is looking?

.

That evening, you deliver papers to his office. You knock once. 

“Come in,” he says, and he hates that he knows it’s you just by the sound of your footsteps approaching. You step inside with the papers held to your torso. For some stupid reason, Levi expects tea. There’s none, only papers. You cross the room, set the stack on the corner of his desk, and take a half step back.

“Commander Erwin asked that these be reviewed before morning,” you say.

Your voice is perfectly calm. It’s built for distance, polished until nothing tender can catch onto it. Levi’s eyes shift from the reports, then to you.

“You can leave them,” he says.

You nod. “Yes, Captain.”

Levi swears his eye twitches from the title. “You don’t have to call me that every time,” he says.

You look at him then, and he almost wishes you hadn’t. Your eyes are not angry or pleading, but they’ve been extinguished of that hope you’ve been carrying with you for months now.

“I thought you preferred professionalism,” you say.

Levi grips the arm of his chair slightly. “I prefer people not putting words in my mouth.”

A flicker of hurt passes over your face, but it’s gone as soon as it arrives. “Understood.”

He should stop. He knows he should stop, but the silence after your answer feels unbearable, and Levi is not built for handling unbearable things he can’t kill. “That all?”

“Yes.”

You turn toward the door. He feels a spike of panic, the kind he’s only ever felt when he was galloping in the rain to return to Isabel and Furlan. His stomach sinks. “Wait.”

You stop. Your hand rests on the doorknob. Levi stares at your back, at the tension in your shoulders. You’re holding yourself with a carefulness that implies you’re waiting for something to split you open at any moment.

What does he want to say? Don’t go? No, ridiculous. I didn’t mean it? He did mean it. At least, he meant part of it. The part that wanted safety. The part that believes every relationship eventually ends in the ultimate heartbreak of the other person’s name carved into stone. I miss you? Absolutely not. The words rise to his tongue anyway, but Levi crushes them beneath the heel of his pride.

You wait. He says nothing, so you glance back at him. “Yes?” you say.

His throat works. The candlelight looks so soft against your face, and only then does he see how tired you are. Not physically, though perhaps that too, but tired emotionally. Tired of holding your hands to someone who keeps treating them like weapons.

Levi looks away first. “Nothing,” he says. The word tastes bitter in his mouth.

Your expression doesn’t change, and somehow that makes him feel worse. “Goodnight, Captain.”

You leave. Levi sits there for a long moment, staring at the place where you stood. The reports remain untouched. His tea, made by his own hand and brewed exactly the way he likes it, has gone cold beside him. He lifts the cup anyway, takes one sip, and slams it back down so hard that the porcelain almost cracks.

It tastes wrong.

Everything is wrong.

.

Levi sees you laughing with Eld in the training yard, and the feeling that moves him makes him so nauseous that he can only stand there with his hand still on his harness and hate everything about himself.

It’s not like he feels betrayal. He doesn’t overhear any confession and there’s no obvious intimacy that any reasonable man could point to and say “that’s the reason my blood is boiling.” You’re simply standing near the fence, one shoulder leaned against the post, your arms crossed as Eld speaks to you. His hair is messy from training, and his expression is unmistakably fond. Fond.

Levi’s eye twitches.

Eld says something too low for Levi to hear from across the yard, and you laugh. Not that small, polite laugh you’ve been giving Levi lately (at least before you started ignoring him weeks ago), the one that feels like a closed door and leaves him standing outside of it like an idiot. You laugh properly. Your head tips back and your face eases in a way that Levi hasn’t seen directed at him in days. Eld smiles, knowing he’s the reason you look a little less tired now.

Levi’s grip on his harness worsens until it creaks. He should look away, but he doesn’t. Eld steps closer, enough to reach past you and grab his coat hanging from the side of the training dummy, but from where Levi stands, the movement brings him into your space. Your shoulder brushes his. You don’t even flinch or step back. You only look down at what he’s doing, say something that makes his smile widen, and then you lift your hand to shove lightly at his shoulder.

It’s the same kind of touch you used to give Levi without thinking. A hand on his sleeve when you wanted his attention. Fingers brushing his hand when you set tea beside him. Your shoulder bumping his when you walked too close in a corridor and pretended it was accidental. The touch he had rejected so many times that you finally learned to control it.

Levi doesn’t know what he feels, but he convinces himself it’s not jealousy. Jealousy is for men who think they have a claim. Levi is without a claim. He made sure of that. In fact, he was the one who caused the distance with each cold reply, each command, and the times when you were vulnerable with him and he pushed it back as if tenderness was a weapon aimed at his throat.

So no, he has no right to feel anything when Eld leans closer to you. He has no right to hate the way you seem calmer beside him. He has no right to remember your face when you once told him that you wish he’d let you care about him, and how he had answered how he didn’t need that from you.

Eld says something else. You smile. Levi moves before he decides to.

By the time he crosses the yard, his expression has gone sharp enough to send three nearby soldiers into immediately pretending to be very busy with their gear. Eld notices him approaching first, straightening his posture the way a subordinate does when they realize their superior is walking toward them.

“Captain,” Eld says.

You turn. The smile fades from your face. Not entirely—you’re too composed for that now, too determined not to let Levi see where the pain still lives, but he sees the change anyway, the armor coming up to shield you.

“Captain,” you say.

Levi looks from you to Eld, then back to you. “You done wasting time?”  The words are even colder than he wants them to be. Or they might be just as cold as he means them to be, because quite often being cruel is more acceptable, in his mind, than standing there and confessing that he actually walked across the yard because another another man made you laugh and Levi wanted, with a sudden violence that disgusts him, to insert himself between you and that warmth.

Eld’s brows draw together. You freeze. “I’m not wasting time,” you say. “Eld was helping me with the new recruits’ drills.”

“Looked like a lot of laughing for drills.”

The silence that follows is thin and almost dangerous. Eld’s eyes move briefly between the two of you, and because he’s neither stupid nor cruel, he steps back. “I’ll go help Auvray’s squad. Captain.” He gives you one last look, almost protective, then leaves. 

Levi hates that too. He hates that Eld looks at you as if your feelings are something he knows how to handle gently. He hates more the fact that Eld might be better at it than he is. When the space between you clears, you face Levi fully.

“That was unnecessary,” you say.

“Excuse me?” Levi scoffs.

“You heard me.”

A month ago, the challenge in your voice would have come wrapped in humor. You probably would have tilted your head at that moment and smiled, softened the tone for him so you could pretend you were just teasing. This time, there’s no smile, nor softness offered for his comfort. He should be glad. He isn’t.

“You’re still on duty,” he says.

“So is Eld.”

“Eld isn’t the one I’m talking to.”

Your lips part slightly, half in surprise, half in disbelief. “No. I suppose not.”

Levi’s hands ball into fists at his sides. He wants to ask what that means. He wants to ask if there’s something between you two. He wants to ask if Eld has touched your hand, if you’ve brought Eld tea, if you smiled at Eld the way you used to smile at him. He wants to ask if you’re happy now that you’ve stopped talking to him. But he knows he has no right to ask any of it.

“You should be more careful,” Levi says instead, because his mouth has always known how to be the worst possible weapon. “People get the wrong idea when you throw yourself at every man who gives you attention.”

He did not mean to say that.

Your face goes blank. Completely, utterly blank. You don’t even look hurt or angry. It’s just blank. His stomach drops. Your fingers twitch once at your side, but your voice, when it comes, is surprisingly—painfully—eased.

“I see.”

You step back. Levi says your name. It leaves him before he can stop it, stripped of rank and anger and all the useless armor he keeps trying to force between himself and whatever the hell you’re doing to him.

“Don’t, Captain.” You turn away and leave without looking back.

The title hits harder than if you had slapped him. He honestly would have preferred if you slapped him. Levi just stands there, frozen, watching you leave while the recruits pretend not to stare, pretending that they didn’t just overhear the most emotionally charged conversation they’ve heard in their entire time in the military.

He thinks of following you at first. Then he thinks of what he would say. Nothing comes. Nothing that would undo it. Nothing that would explain why he keeps turning fear into a knife and then acting surprised when you bleed. So he stays where he is until your figure disappears amongst the crowd. Only then does he realize Eld has stopped near the fence and is looking at him with disappointment. Levi looks away first.

By the time he reaches his office, the anger has returned, boiling hotter than shame. He shuts the door harder than necessary, and the sound breaks through the silence of the room before it rushes back in, deeper than before. He looks at the teacup waiting on the corner of the desk, empty, because he’s not yet made tea and you no longer do.

It’s better this way, he tells himself. No more pointless kindness. No more interruptions. No more break snuck to him because you noticed he skipped a meal. No more stupid confessions. No more of you looking at him like he could be anything other than what he is. A soldier. A killer. A survivor by habit, not by virtue. A man who has spent his life learning the names of the people he couldn’t save.

Levi grips the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. He remembers the exact words he said to you not two hours ago. The memory of your face after he said it hits him with such force that his breath hitches.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

He pushes away from the desk, pacing once toward the window, then back again, restless energy crawling beneath his skin. He wants to clean something. He wants to tear something apart. He wants to go back in time into the yard and rip the words out of the air before they can reach you. If he could, he would slap himself before he could even get the words out.

Instead, he does nothing. His thoughts circle you first. Your hand in his field of vision as it places tea on his desk. Your melodic voice. Your laugh across the mess hall. Your eyes, now careful, guarded because he taught you to guard them.

Then Eld. Eld standing too close. Eld making you laugh. Eld smiling at you. Eld looking at you like he wouldn’t punish you for wanting to be wanted.

Levi’s jaw clenches so hard it aches. This isn’t about Eld. That’s the truth, and he hates it. Eld is a good soldier. Loyal. Kind without making a spectacle of it. He’s the kind of man who probably knows how to accept affection. The kind of man who might say yes if you chose him instead.

The thought makes Levi’s stomach turn. He braces both hands on the desk and lowers his head. He realizes now what he’s been avoiding. It isn’t jealousy; it isn’t irritation or discipline or concern with professionalism. It’s fear. Raw fear.

It’s been there from the start, waiting beneath every rejection, every insult, every cold turn of his shoulder. He sees it now. You were never the danger. Wanting you was. Wanting you means imagining you outside the walls and worrying you won’t return. Wanting you means knowing the exact sound of your laugh and then imagining a world where he never hears it again. Wanting you means letting your existence become a part of his own, and losing you would nearly kill him. No, it would kill him.

And Levi knows loss.

His mother. Kuchel, pale and motionless in a bed that he’d seen too much of. Her hand no longer able to reach for him. Her voice gone before he was old enough to understand all the ways the world could take from him.

Then Isabel. Loud, passionate Isabel, with her recklessness and her impossible faith that the world above could be something other than a nightmare. Isabel, who had called him big brother with such devotion that he’d pretended to hate it because pretending was safer than letting himself feel vulnerable. 

Furlan too. Furlan, who had trusted Levi’s judgement more than anyone had a right to, who followed him out of the Underground, who believed, who died because the world is merciless and Levi is never fast enough when it matters most.

His comrades. Countless comrades buried beneath banners and speeches and the rotten consolation that they died for humanity’s cause. Faces that once turned toward him in trust before the Titans took them. 

Connection, to Levi, has never been safe. To him, it’s a door opening into a room that will one day be empty. A hand reaching for his that will one day go cold. A voice saying his name that will one day stop answering. 

So he rejected you. Again and again and again. And some sick, righteous part of him had called it mercy. If he kept you away, you would be safer. If he made you stop loving him, you would stop standing too close to the blast radius of everything he loses. If he refused to want you, then losing you—if the world ever took you, when the world took you—would not destroy him.

Except you’re not gone. You’re alive. And he’s still managed to lose you.

Levi sits slowly in his chair, his legs suddenly feeling unsteady. He did this. Not titans. Not the Underground. Not fate, not duty, not the walls, not the endless bloody machinery of survival. Him. His fear. His hands pushing away the one person stubborn enough to keep reaching for him. To keep trusting him.

He doesn’t move for a while. The office grows darker around him, the last of the daylight fading behind the curtains. Somewhere outside, he hears footsteps. They’re not yours. He wishes he wasn’t so disappointed. He hears voices fall and rise. Life continues with an indifference that feels almost insulting.

Then comes a knock at the door. For a moment, he thinks foolishly that it’s you. Then the hope is snuffed by reality, and he doesn’t bother answering. The door opens anyway. Hange steps inside, takes one look at him sitting motionless behind his desk, and pauses. They already have a knowing look on their face.

“You know,” Hange says, closing the door behind them,” for someone so smart, you’re impressively stupid about feelings.”

Levi sighs deeply. “Fuck off, Four Eyes. Not in the mood.”

“No, I imagine you’re not.” Hange approaches without waiting for permission and leans against the edge of the desk. “I saw what happened. Eld looked like he wanted to hit you.”

“Eld knows better.”

“Mm. He does. That’s probably the only reason he didn’t.”

Levi looks away. The words should irritate him—and they do—but beneath the irritation is shame, and shame has sharper teeth. Hange studies him for a moment.

“What did you say to her?” they ask.

Levi’s eyelids flutter down briefly. It would be easy for him to lie. He could tell Hange to get out and leave him alone with the wreckage he caused. Instead, because some exhausted part of him is too tired to keep bleeding in secret, he says, “Something I shouldn’t have.”

“That bad?” Levi gives them a look, and it makes Hange wince. “Ouch. That bad.”

Silence settles between them. For once, Hange doesn’t rush to fill it. Levi stares at the teacup near his hand. He wonders if you still make tea for yourself. He hasn’t seen you near the tea station in a while—but then again, you could just be avoiding him that efficiently. Or perhaps you just avoid the places where he lingers.

“She stopped,” he says finally.

“You asked her to,” Hange says.

“I know.”

“Did you mean it?”

Levi’s throat tightens. That should be an easy question. He's built his entire life on making hard answers sound simple, but nothing about you has ever been simple, not from the first time you looked at him like he wasn’t nearly as scary as everyone was making him out to be.

“I thought I did,” he says.

“And now?” Hange asks.

Levi’s hand wraps around the teacup, though there’s nothing in it. He thinks of you laughing with Eld. He thinks of your face going blank. He thinks of how much easier it was when you loved him loudly enough that he could pretend your heart was the problem and not his own cowardice.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says.

Hange doesn’t ask what this means—they know. “Start by not hurting her every time she gets close.”

Levi bitterly laughs once under his breath. “Brilliant advice.”

“You’re ever so welcome.” His eyes lift to meet them, and Hange’s expression is painfully serious now. He hates when they look like this—it means they’re impossible to escape. “You’re allowed to be scared, Levi.”

He looks away instantly. “No.”

“Yes,” they say, firmer. “You are. After everything you’ve lost, you’d be insane not to be. But being scared doesn’t give you the right to make her feel disposable.”

Levi’s stomach churns. “I know,” he says. It sounds like defeat. Maybe it is.

Hange’s voice gentles. “Do you love her?”

Levi freezes. His first instinct is to refuse. His second is anger. His third is to remember your face. Your smile. Your voice that softens only for him. Your absence now, filling his office more than your presence ever dared. Levi lowers his gaze. There’s nothing to hide behind anymore.

He nods.

Hange doesn’t smile like they normally would. They only nod once, confirming what they already knew and had been kind enough to let him reach on his own. “Then you’d better figure out how to say that to her before someone else does.” Levi glares at them, and they lift both hands in defense. “Just being real. She’s a catch.”

Real. Levi has always hated that word, but this reality sits in front of him now, unavoidable. He loves you. He hurt you. You might not wait for him to become brave. The idea ought to make him stand, should send him out of his office, down the corridor, to your door with an apology and every wall inside him burning down behind it. Instead, he stays seated, because despite his love being genuine, the fear that was born first is still the one to rule.

Hange pushes away from the desk. “For what it’s worth,” they say at the door, “I think she loved you enough to listen.”

Loved. Past tense. Levi flinches at that. Hange notices, but they leave anyway, the door clicking shut behind them. Levi sits alone in the dark with the word still lodged in his chest.

Loved.

.

Levi didn’t plan on drinking. He doesn’t drink. Not normally. He definitely doesn’t drink because he enjoys it. Enjoyment has always been something he doesn’t trust easily. He drinks because the bottle has been sitting untouched in the bottom drawer of his desk ever since Erwin left it there three months ago after some late night visit that had run past midnight and into the hours of the morning. He drinks because the office is silent now. He drinks because Hange’s question won’t stop replaying in his mind.

Do you love her?

He grabs the glass and pours the amber liquid into the cup with a hint of anger and almost spite. He doesn’t lift the glass for a toast to the empty room. There’s nothing worth celebrating or honoring in this moment. No winning, no relief, no opening up of himself that could be considered noble or brave. There’s only the fact that he loves you. And because Levi is a man who’s lived by the rule of cutting off weakness before the world can get its hands on it, that very fact feels like a wound in his gut, and he has no idea how to bandage it. 

He drinks. The liquor burns down his throat and warms his chest. The heat gives him something physical to hate for a blessed second. He pours again. Outside his office, the headquarters eases into a slumber. Someone’s laughter echoes down the corridor before it’s hushed by another person. A door closes somewhere else. The fact that life continues is taunting him, acting like it doesn’t matter that his entire world has shifted because you finally stopped loving him.

Well, you didn’t stop. He doesn’t know if you stopped. He only knows you learned how to be silent about it. He taught it to you. The thought makes his heart skip a beat.

Levi leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, but the darkness behind them provides no mercy. It gives him the image of you instead, because his mind can’t go anywhere else. He imagines you in the supply room. You in the corridor, placing bread in his hand. You in the stables, admiring his connection to animals. You outside of the infirmary with both physical and emotional wounds. You in the courtyard today, your face going blank after he used your own affection against you.

“Damn it,” he mutters, pressing the heel of his hand against his brow ridge. He’d just meant to protect himself. He’d looked at the recklessness of your devotion and saw every grave he’s stood over. His mother’s body. Isabel’s smile turned slack. Furlan’s trust, wasted on the impossible idea that Levi could let them all out alive.

Levi drinks again and again. The room begins to spin slightly. His reflection waits in the dark window as he turns to face it. Pale, blurred, a man with too much blood on his hands. A man who has no idea what to do with love except ruin it. He’s a coward.

If rejecting you had been mercy, then why had it only hurt you? If pushing you away had been kindness, then why had your voice gone so careful around him? If he had been protecting you, then why does the memory of your face make him feel like the danger was never the world outside the walls, but him?

He pours again, his hand shaking this time, and a small amount spills onto the desk. Normally, he would reach immediately for a cloth. Tonight, he only stares at the dark stain spreading over the polished wood. His mouth twists in both disgust and irritation.

“Great,” he says to no one.

Every time he raises the cup, it feels heavier. So does the truth. He loves you. He loves the way you say his name. He loves the stubborn tilt of your chin when you refuse to let his cruelty be the only thing between you. He loves you for noticing when he doesn’t eat, doesn’t sleep, when he’s so angry that you know grief alone couldn’t cause it. He loves you, and it scares him so much that he’s tempted to seek refuge behind every locked door inside himself.

Instead, drunk and stripped bare by the quiet, Levi thinks of you. Your room is down the corridor, past the turn by the east stairwell, three doors from the end. He knows it by heart, despite not being there often.

For several long minutes, he sits motionless with the glass in his hand, raises to press against his forehead. He breathes deeply through the horrible desire of wanting to see you and the equally horrible knowledge that, deep down, he has no right to ask anything of you now.

Then he stands. His vision swims. Levi grips the desk, scowling at the fact that he can’t even balance himself. It’s pathetic, he thinks groggily, but he doesn’t sit back down. He leaves the bottle open on the desk. The spilled liquor dries beside his hand. He stumbles into the corridor. 

You need to hear the truth from him. Even if you no longer want it.

.

You sit on the edge of your bed with a half-mended shirt in your lap, needle in your fingers. The motions are familiar after years of practice, though it has been a while since you’ve needed to mend something. You’re surprised, considering the less than gentle treatment your clothing constantly endures. You’re glad, however, that your mother taught you how to sew. You think briefly that you should send her a letter soon. 

Then a knock comes. It’s so late in the night that you think you might have imagined it. You shake your head, dislodging the illusion, and return to your sewing. But then the knock comes again, more urgent. Your hands stop moving. Your stomach turns at the first thought that comes to your mind. But you know it’s not him. Why would it be? You sigh and set the shirt aside, then stand.

When you open the door, you’re immediately proven wrong. Levi is standing before you, one hand braced against the doorframe, his hair slightly messy, his cravat loose at the throat, his eyes too dazed. Levi is many things—controlled, scary enough to whip grown men into shape just by entering a room, but he’s never this. Never unsteady or vulnerable. Never looking at you like this as if he’s spent the entire night debating and fighting over the urge to go to your room, still not knowing whether he deserves to enter.

“Captain?” you say.

His face twists. He leans in slightly—not intentionally, but from a loss of balance. “Don’t call me that.”

Then you smell the liquor. You blink, taken aback. “Levi, are you drunk?”

His mouth pulls into a line that’s too bitter to be a smile. “Unfortunately.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to do with him at your door in the middle of the night, drunk enough that he’s tipping over but sober enough that his eyes are still full of pain. You don’t know if you should let him in or tell him to screw off, whether to be worried or angry, whether to protect yourself or reach for him before he walls. And the worst part is that deep down, you still want to care for him.

“Why are you here?” you ask.

Levi looks at you, and his face breaks in a way you’ve never seen before. “I fucked up.”

The words come rough and raw. They’re not even surprising to you, because you’ve known that for weeks now, but hearing him say it is different. You peer down the hall and step aside before you can convince yourself not to.

“Come in before someone sees you like this.” He enters slowly. You close the door behind him, and when you turn around, he’s just standing there, his shoulders and hands tensed, looking at everything except your face. “You should sit down.”

“No.”

“Levi—”

“I wanted you.” You freeze. His eyes finally lift to yours. “I wanted you. Every damn time. Every time you said it, every time you smiled at me, every time you made those stupid jokes. I wanted to say yes. And I didn’t, because I’m a coward.”

You swear all of the air in the room escapes at that moment. You stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest, shock and hurt and old longing colliding so violently that you almost feel sick. This is what you wanted once, isn’t it? This confession, this man standing in front of you and finally saying the thing you’ve been dying to hear. But it only came after he drank. After he’s made you feel stupid for offering what he now claims he wanted. You swallow hard.

“You’re drunk,” you say. “We shouldn’t talk about this now.”

“No,” Levi says, stepping closer, then stopping himself. “You’re going to hear it. You listened to every shitty thing I said. You can listen to this too.”

He’s not wrong. You did listen. Every time. You stood there and took every dismissal, every wound, and you kept making excuses for him because loving him was easier than admitting he had been hurting you on purpose.

Your eyes burn. “Fine,” you whisper. “Say it, then.”

“I’m sorry,” Levi says. He swallows, looks down, then forces himself to look at you again. “I’m sorry for all of it. For making you feel like you were stupid for caring. For treating you like dirt under my shoes. For taking every good thing you gave me and throwing it away because I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Your throat closes. You want to hate him. You think hatred would be far easier than this—the fact that you still love him while still remembering why you learned to retreat. “You made me feel pathetic.” Levi flinches at that. For a second, you’re happy, and then you hate yourself for thinking that.

“I know,” he says, his voice smaller than you’ve ever heard it.

“You made me wish I hadn’t said any of it,” you continue. “I meant it every time, Levi. Even when I made it sound like a joke. Even when I smiled. Even when everyone laughed. I meant it, and you—” You pause. “You made me feel humiliated.”

Levi’s eyes close briefly. When he opens them again, they’re wet. “I know.”

“That doesn’t fix it.”

“I’m not trying to fix it.”

“Then what are you trying to do here?”

He looks at you so helplessly that it hurts you. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

His gaze drops to your hands, then returns to your face, and when he speaks, the words sound like they’ve been dragged out of the deepest, most guarded place in him. A place you have rarely, if ever, seen.

“Love someone.”

The room goes silent. The candle flickers across his face. Your heart twists. Levi takes a shaky breath. You match him.

“But I love you. I do. And I’m sorry it took me hurting you to stop lying about it.”

Part of you wants to reach for him. The other part of you wants to step back. You want to tell him you love him too, and you always have. You want to ask why love had to be dressed in apology. Instead, you look at the floor between you.

“Levi,” you say quietly. “I still love you. But I’m hurt.”

“I know,” he says.

“And I don’t forgive you yet.”

“Good.” That surprises you. You raise both eyebrows, and he gives a humorless little exhale. “You shouldn’t. Not just because I finally stopped lying to myself.”

“You need to sit down,” you say.

This time, he doesn’t argue. He lowers himself into the chair by your desk, elbows resting on his knees, head lowered. He looks so exhausted. You pour him some water from your pitcher and bring it to him. Both of you freeze momentarily when his fingers brush yours when he takes the cup. He withdraws first.

“I’ll say it again when I’m sober,” he says hoarsely. You look down at him. “If you’ll let me.”

Your fingers curl around the empty space where the cup had been. The answer should be simple, but it isn’t. You don’t know if you want to hear those words without the barrier of alcohol. They might just break your resolve.

After a moment, you nod. “Say it sober,” you whisper. “And then we’ll see.”

Levi nods and closes his eyes.

.

Morning breaks through the thin curtains, laying a strip of light across the floor and the half-mended shirt still folded at the end of your bed. Levi wakes in a chair—the same chair he was in last night. He’s no stranger to falling asleep in chairs. Where others would be aching, he feels fine, save for the headache pulsing behind his eyes.

He doesn’t remember where he is for a second. Then he looks around, and he remembers everything about last night. The drinking. Coming to your door. Your face when he said he wanted you. Him confessing his love.

Levi sighs. Across the room, you’re laying in bed, turned toward the wall, blanket pulled to your shoulder. You look peaceful, or close enough to peaceful that guilt moves through him with a force that nearly brings him to his feet to leave before you can wake up. Maybe that would be better. He could go back to his quarters and pretend this never happened.

He shifts carefully, trying not to make the chair creak, but the movement sends pain up his spine and a low sound leaves him before he can swallow it. You stir in your sleep and wake. Levi freezes. You open your eyes slowly and turn around to face him. Now that he looks at you, you don’t look like you’ve just woken up from sleep. You don’t have that grogginess most do, and your hair is neatly brushed.

He gets confirmation of this when you get out of bed and grab a teacup, filled with tea that you must have brewed before he woke up. You carry it over to him. He stares at it, then at you, and you hold it out.

“Well?” you say.

Levi takes the teacup, though his fingers shake around the porcelain. He doesn’t even bother to hide it this time. He looks at the caution in your eyes, the hurt still sitting behind it, the hope that lingers. His mouth dries and his throat closes up, but he forces the words out anyway.

“I love you,” he says.

Your lips part slightly. “You’re sure?”

Levi lets out a breath that almost becomes a laugh, though it’s not really a laugh, more like an exhale of exhaustion laced with a hint of relief. “I was sure before,” he says. “I was just an idiot.”

Your face crumples for a second. You never thought this day would come, that he could utter those words. You didn’t realize how badly you wanted this. How much it cost to hear it now.

He sets the tea aside and stands, keeping enough distance that you can choose whether to close it. You’re not sure if you want to yet, but the urge trembles between you. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

You look down, blinking hard to force the tears back. “Please don’t hurt me every time you’re scared.”

Levi nods. “I won’t. I promise.”

The silence comes to rest between you. Then, carefully, you step forward and reach for his hand. Levi looks down as your fingers touch his, stunned by the gentleness of it, by the fact that after everything, you’re still willing to reach out. He grabs your hand and wraps his fingers around yours.

“I’ll do better,” he says.

You squeeze his fingers once and smile.

“You’d better.”

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tags: @saccharinefool @bunbun6casp @hoebuns @levkuna @strangeeaglepost @how-interesting-wow @d1leviglazer @y44washere4somereason @ddilfs4life @slaytherinthoughts @levishart @gloomyveil @levislolita

divider by: diviniyae

Why’d he come along was always unknown to you, but as your father and the commander spoke privately in another room, you offered small conversation and tea while he waited. Where small talk began, somehow a deep appreciation for the other bloomed, and the visits began to feel like the visits of the suitors that bombarded your home on occasion. He’d gift you single flowers, it’s all I can afford, he’d say meagerly. You’d thank him with a kiss on the cheek each and every time. And each and every time a ferocious tinge of red would adorn his face.

The timing never seemed to be right with either of you, it always seemed like when one was ready to take the leap, the other had other obligations waiting. Wait for me, were his selfish last words to you and you nodded your head as you gave him a final good-bye.

It had already been three years. You were already on the cusp of giving up.

It had been a nice breezy morning when you received his first letter. The unfamiliar stamps had caught both you and your parents off-guard, but nonetheless they gave you the privacy to open it. There, in the small garden of your home, tears welled up in your eyes as you skimmed through it.

It was a letter from Captain Levi.

Or rather Levi, just Levi, as the letter so said. I have told them to stop calling me captain, but these brats never learn. You giggled inwardly at his words, tears welling up in your eyes. You read it one more time, much slower this time, familiarizing yourself with his handwriting, the slant in his letters, his signature, everything. You familiarized yourself with the names Gabi and Falco, children you did not know but instantly loved with the way they cared for Levi.

At the very bottom, a hopeful wish that you will respond, signed next to his name.

Of course you will.

Your father stood confused as you gathered parchment and a pen to write, finding it odd that his moody daughter was suddenly so lively. Perhaps it’s the engagement, he thought, and let you be.

Your ring twinkled under the summer sun, and yet nothing has caused more glee than the very letter you were responding to. You wrote about the situation in Paradis, you wrote about the kindness of the queen, and you wrote about how business was booming for your father, despite the war having been over. The thought saddened you, but you quickly sign the letter and add a note that you excitedly await his next letter.

It’s not that you fail to mention your engagement, rather some deep part of you didn’t want to mention it. Your betrothed was a good man, hand picked by your father, you had accepted to keep his worries at bay that you wouldn’t end up husbandless and with no children.

How quickly Levi’s letters can have you questioning your familiar duties.

We restored some of the land ruined by the war, Levi writes, many foreigners are starting to settle here again.

You can’t help the sense of admiration that fills you up. It filled you up when he’d visit with the commander, and it still filled you up now. A military man, you wonder if he’s still as strong as when you met him. Humanity’s strongest, you wondered if he still thought about you and the flowers he’d gift you.

I’d like to visit it one day, you write, perhaps a change of scenery would be nice. All this yeagerist talk has me going mad.

I’d like to visit you one day, you will yourself to write, but you don’t. You had been lovestruck years ago, perhaps the captain no longer harbored the same feelings. Perhaps the captain has found someone new, perhaps the captain has married.

Sadness consumes you. After all, you were just friends back then, right?

You trash your letter and write a plainer one instead. It hadn’t even reached half a page when you sealed it, wrote his address on the front of it and set it aside for the postman to pickup tomorrow.

“Honey,” you can hear your mother call, “James is here to see you.” You force your best smile to greet your husband-to-be.

It’s weeks before the next letter arrives. The pretty orange and red tree leaves were beginning to fall, a cozy chill running through the district. Your wedding preparations were already underway when the postman calls out to you, a single letter in his hands, the stamps it bore already familiar to you.

More talk of restoration, recovery, Gabi and Falco’s shenanigans, when finally you reach the last bit of the letter. I don’t mean to bother you, Levi writes, your last letter felt abrasive. I understand if things have changed. Everything has changed.

You wonder what goes through Levi’s mind when he writes to you.

No, things have not changed. Things still felt the same, at least they did to you. Still, you couldn’t ignore your engagement anymore as you saw your mother debate through wedding ribbons in the distance and you finally will yourself to write and tell him the news.

I’m engaged, it feels awful to write it, my engagement is a long one, though, and so I’m sorry if the letter was short. I must’ve been busy.

You write of other things, of the rising tension amongst good folks like your family who didn’t want to fuel another war, and the yeagerists. You write of how the talks of peace by the ambassadors (who you found out were actually part of the same regiment as him) were falling on deaf ears.

I’d like to see you, you finally write, I’d like to see what the other side looks like.

You add the last bit in a final moment of hesitation, sign your name and set it aside, a deep breath falling from your lips.

“You’re changing the wedding date again, and to a later date might I add,” your father bellows out to you.

“Father, please,” you reply, exasperated, trying to escape the dining room and into your own, a new letter in hand, “I will get married in time, what’s the rush?”

“The rush is that you’re not young anymore, I beg you to reconsider.”

You shut the door behind you, shaky fingers coming to pry the letter open. You force yourself to read slowly, absorbing every single inked word coming from Levi’s fingertips.

You skip his polished words of annoying governmental policies being implemented on his side and go straight to the heart of the letter, his real response to you.

Congratulations on your engagement, he begins, I’m surprised you haven’t even married yet.

That? That is what he has to say? You scoff, a slight irritation blooming.

I don’t look like before—I’ve lost an eye and my right hand is destroyed, his letter continues, I look awful.

I’m not humanity’s strongest anymore.

You don’t know why these words strike you deeply. Years and a great distance separate you from what Levi is or was for that matter, yet it isn’t Levi’s exterior that ever affected you in the first place. It was the small talks and the small gifts, it was his tinged cheeks and his intrepid way of speaking around your people who have only seen the refined things in life.

You could never look awful to me, you write in your response, a wave of heat flaring up on your cheeks, you’re just trying to get me not to go.

Levi’s letters continue well into the deeper part of winter, the leaves have long since fallen, snow beginning to gather amongst the branches. The winters where he lived were harsh, and he writes of how they were causing the ache in his knee to worsen. You spend some of your money to send him some ointment you purchased from a local medic.

He writes to you of how the snow reminds him of when the Survey Corps would serve hot chocolate on the off chance. You send him chocolate you bargain off a local vendor.

The signs of Levi’s homesickness don’t escape you, even if he doesn’t admit it.

I could send you Stohess’s entire stock of goods if I can, you respond to his letters of thanks.

What would I do with all that, he responds to yours, breaking you into a fit of silent laughter.

I’ve missed your awful humor, you write casually. You wonder if you should trash this letter and begin a new one, but you don’t. I’ve missed you, you finish writing.

The budding roses in your garden remind you of your predicament.

“As much as I respect you,” James begins, “I won’t accept any other change to the wedding. If you won’t marry me then I’ll find someone who will.”

You comprehend his irritation, even if you don’t fully understand it.

He leaves you on your garden bench, exiting through the gate, just in time for the postman to arrive. Your feelings don’t subside, in fact they linger as you read Levi’s next letter.

Upon opening it, nervousness hits you as you see just how short the letter is. Policy change, annoying policy change.

The ambassadors have told me that postage to Paradis will be barred soon. Your eyes widen. Despite the nice spring breeze, your body suddenly feels so cold.

If I don’t hear from you again, I wanted to wish you a happy marriage. Your eyes well with tears, but it’s his next words that move you.

Unless you change your mind. Come see me. I want to see you. Just as you’re about to trash the envelope, a small flower catches your eye. It was dried up and rather lonely, but you hold it close to you as small tears slip down your cheeks.

The next morning, you try to give the postman your next letter but he just shakes his head in response.

“Apologies ma’am, the military has ordered a full stop for all international mail.” You thank him anyway, despite how distraught you feel.

Your wedding is within two weeks. The white dress in the corner of your room haunts you. Although lace with spring flowers were added to match the season, it only made it look like the kind of dress you wore on your deathbed.

There was no more rescheduling your wedding date, there were no more letters to look forward to, you could only look over the last letter, his final request.

You longed for Levi. Did he long for you?

Come see me, I want to see you.

Despite the spring air, a heat that resembled summer humidity burned through you.

“It’s a one way trip if you decide to head to the other side,” the hefty man tells you, “military has barred all incoming and outgoing mail, I wouldn’t be surprised if they bar incoming ships soon.”

This was it, the point of no return. You had written your last letter addressed to your parents—an apology for doing what you are doing. No, your heart hasn’t seized its rampant beating since Levi’s last letter. You need to see him.

You board without much of a glance back.

For days, sea sickness threaten to put a damper on your good (albeit nervous) mood, your only fuel the letters stored in your small suitcase, rereading them every night as the darkness of the ocean tormented you.

Finally, the crewmen announce that you will be arriving in the morning. The sun was setting off in the horizon—you clutched his last letter as you take a brief moment to absorb this feeling of resilience that surged through you. You’d get to see Levi soon, you’ve waited enough. Here, near the rails of the ship, you long for him, nerves filling your stomach.

The sea washes over the sides of the steamship, taking with it the algae stuck to it. You almost hope the waves can take you with it, the nerves getting the better of you as leant over the rail. Come see me, you read the letter over and over again, your stomach fluttering. I want to see you.

Past the plethora of persons disembarking, past the many political volunteers ushering about far-off dreams of peace that were unachievable, you navigate through unknown territory in an effort to find him. Fingers pointed, people spoke foreign directions as they glanced at the address on your envelope. It has all brought you here.

Face to face with a young girl, too young to be married.

“Ah—sorry,” you begin, “I was told Levi Ackerman lived here.”

“Yeah he does,” she begins suspiciously, “I’ll get him.” The door closes again and already you feel out of your element. Perhaps this was a mistake, you wish the ground can swallow you whole. Peering eyes look at you through a nearby window, ones that belonged to the young girl who just spoke to you, and another who you haven’t met.

“That’s her? No way,” you can hear them say. Suddenly the door opens, and dull gray eyes that bore a hint of annoyance soften and make way for a familiar glitter that reminded you of simpler times.

“Levi.”

He whispers your name, suddenly hiding his maimed hand, trying to get you to see his good side, the side with his working eye. But you don’t see that. You see the man who gifted you flowers, you see the man whose cheeks you once kissed.

You will yourself to move and you do, grabbing the hand behind him and crashing into him in an embrace. Levi’s face is red, and he glances at the window to see Gabi and Falco gawking at them. He waves them off annoyingly and they give him a thumbs-up as they pull away.

Hands come to wrap around you, lips kissing your forehead.

“You came,” he whispers into your hair.

“Of course.”

Levi is on his knees at the foot of your shared bed, shoulders slightly rounded in that familiar posture that is equal parts patience and quiet devotion. His dark hair is already a mess from the way he’s been running his hands through it all evening, a telltale sign of anticipation he’d never admit out loud. 

Candlelight flickers across his pale skin, painting him in soft gold and shadow, and when he looks up at you with those steady grey eyes, there’s a faint flush climbing his neck that gives him away completely, making your heart twist with a gentle, helpless kind of affection.

God, he looks so vulnerable like this. He’s your perfect boy, desperate for just a touch from you. 

He shifts slightly where he kneels, the thin fabric of his loose sweatpants doing little to hide the evidence of his arousal. His hands curl into tight fists in his lap, knuckles pale, like he’s holding himself still through sheer willpower, resisting the urge to reach for you before he’s allowed.

“Please,” Levi whispers, and the word trembles as it leaves him, barely more than a breath. A small, helpless sound slips from him as he leans forward just slightly, close enough that you can feel the heat of him without him actually touching you. “Touch me, baby… I need you. I’ve been thinking about it all day. I just… need your hands on me.”

His lips part as another needy sound catches in his throat, barely held back. He drags his teeth over his lower lip, eyes falling half-closed with clear frustration. You’re so close, right within reach, but he holds himself still, refusing to touch you without permission. His cock throbs painfully against the confines of his pants. He has to beg like you like. He has to show you how much he craves your control.

You stand in front of him, still fully dressed in the simple black slip that skims your body and falls to mid-thigh. You let the silence linger, deliberately stretching the moment, quietly savoring the way his barely contained desperation reflects the slow, steady hunger building inside you too. A gentle smile curves your lips as you reach out, not to grant his plea just yet, but to trail a single fingertip along the line of his jaw, feeling the faint stubble there rasp against your skin.

“Not yet, pretty boy,” you say softly but firmly, laced with that loving authority he craves. “You’ve been so patient tonight. Show me how much you want this. Undress me first.” 

Your words send a visible shiver through him, his breath catching in a way he can’t quite hide. You watch his eyes darken, pupils blown wide with lust. Levi’s hands tremble slightly as he rises to obey, hovering for a brief moment before finally moving to the thin straps of your dress.

A rush of gratitude sweeps through him, tangled with the spark of arousal that makes his fingers slightly unsteady at first. He carefully slides the straps down your shoulders, moving slowly, his palms brushing over the fabric as it slips away from your skin. The motion reveals the delicate lace of your bra beneath, and his breath catches at the sight.

The dress whispers down your arms, catching briefly on the swell of your breasts before he tugs it free, letting it pool at your feet in a silken puddle. His gaze devours you, tracing the way your nipples harden against the sheer black lace of your bra, the soft dip of your waist flaring into hips he knows fit perfectly against his own.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, sinking back down to his knees, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to the exposed skin just above your navel, his hot breath fanning across you.

You thread your fingers through his hair, not pulling but guiding, encouraging him as heat builds between your thighs at the worship in his touch. He always unwraps you like candy, like you’re a gift he doesn’t deserve. It makes you want to give him everything.

“Good boy,” you praise.

The words draw a muffled moan from him as his hands move to your underwear, hooking into the sides. He eases them down your legs, one agonizing inch at a time, his lips following the path with open-mouthed kisses—along your hip bone, the sensitive inner curve of your thigh—until the damp lace joins the dress on the floor.

Naked now except for your bra, you feel exposed under his adoring stare. Your core clenches with need as he nuzzles against your bare mound, inhaling your scent with a shuddering whimper.

“Stand up, baby,” you instruct gently, stepping back just enough to climb onto the bed. You reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, throwing it off to the side. “Undress.”

Levi scrambles to his feet, shedding his sweatpants and briefs in a hurried tangle, his cock springing free—red and hard, already leaking pre-cum from the tip, curving upward in blatant supplication. He crawls onto the bed after you, positioning himself between your thighs on his back, hands resting palms-down, slightly gripping the sheets. He wants to feel you. He needs to be inside you, under you, yours completely.

You straddle his hips, your slick heat brushing teasingly against his length, coating him in your arousal as you lean down to capture his lips in a deep, languid kiss. His mouth opens eagerly beneath yours, tongue yielding to yours in a dance of surrender. A broken moan vibrates into your mouth as you rock against him once, twice, denying him entry just yet.

“Such a good boy for me,” you whisper against his lips, nipping at the full lower one before soothing it with your tongue. “Begging so sweetly. You want me to ride you, don’t you?” 

Levi nods frantically, hips twitching upward in search of friction, his hands gripping the sheets to keep from grabbing you. “Yes, please,” he gasps when you pull back, his voice a wrecked whine, chest heaving as he stares up at you with eyes glassy from want. “Ride me, baby. Make me yours. Touch me anywhere, everywhere—I can’t take it anymore.”

Tears born from sheer, overwhelming need gather at the corners of his eyes, making them shine in the soft light. The sight sends a thrill through you, your own desire flaring at how completely he yields, how openly he places his trust in your hands, offering you every piece of his vulnerability without hesitation.

With a loving hum, you reach between your bodies, your fingers finding his cock—hot and velvety against your palm, the skin impossibly soft over the steel-hard rigidity beneath, pulsing urgently—and align your swollen tip with your entrance. The slick bead of pre-cum smears across your skin. Slowly, with a torturous patience that makes Levi whine high and buck his hips upward in a wordless plea for haste, you sink down onto him until you’re fully seated with him buried to the hilt.

Levi’s back arches off the bed, a long, keening whimper tearing from his throat as your walls clench around him. Pleasure borders on pain as it radiates from where you’re joined. He could live like this forever, just feeling you take him until he feels consumed by it, reshaped by it, and possessed by you.

“Oh god—you feel… so good,” he sobs out, hand flying to your hips despite himself, fingers digging in just enough to anchor himself.

You begin to move, rolling your hips in a slow, grinding rhythm that has him sliding deep inside you with every downward press, your clit grinding against his pubic bone for sparks of your own pleasure. 

“That’s it,” you coo, bracing your hands on his heaving chest. Your nails scrape lightly over his nipples to elicit more of those delicious, desperate sounds from him—whimpers, moans that break into fractured pleas of your name, breathless gasps that fill the room like music.

His head thrashes side to side on the pillow, body trembling beneath you as you pick up the pace, lifting almost off him before slamming back down, the wet slap of skin on skin punctuating his cries. He falls apart beautifully. Arousal coils tighter in your core with every roll of your hips, every flutter of his eyelids as he struggles to keep them open, to keep watching you.

Levi is a mess now, truly—lips swollen from biting them to stifle his cries, cheeks streaked with the remnants of those frustrated tears, cock twitching wildly inside you as your rhythm drives him toward the edge. “Please… harder,” he begs between moans. “Touch my neck, baby. Need it, need’you to own me.”

The plea rushes through you, your hand gliding up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm before you curl your fingers gently around his throat. You don’t squeeze, not really—just enough pressure to steal a breath from him, to make his inhale stutter, his eyes fluttering back with a soft, helpless sound. His body goes pliant beneath you, trusting you completely with his breath, his life, his everything.

The gentle restriction sends bright, euphoric sparks racing down his spine, heightening every thrust until his whole world narrows to you alone—your weight holding him in place, your scent surrounding him, your voice guiding him, leaving nothing else that matters.

“Fuck… yes, just like that,” he chokes out, the words garbled around your hold. His hips buck up to meet you in a sloppy, desperate rhythm, no longer coordinated or controlled but driven by pure instinct and the drive to merge with you, to become part of you. “Please—fuck, please—”

You lean forward, your breasts pressing against his chest. Your free hand tangles in his hair as you ride him faster, chasing your peak while watching his face contort in bliss. It’s the most beautiful expression of submission you’ve ever witnessed

“My pretty boy,” you murmur, thumb stroking the side of his neck even as your fingers maintain that perfect, gentle pressure, “look at you, whimpering for me. You look so cute when you say please.” You love how he gives himself to you. This trust. This surrender. It's everything to you.

Levi’s moans turn to continuous, broken whimpers, his body taut beneath you, every muscle clenched in the throes of submission. “Gonna cum—please let me,” he pleads, voice muffled under your hand. Tears slip free now as the dual sensations—your choking grip, your pussy clenching—push him over the brink. His thoughts fragment into pure sensation and love and devotion, white-hot need consuming him whole until he feels like he might actually collapse.

“Cum for me, baby,” you command softly, easing the pressure on his throat just enough for him to gasp in air. 

Your own climax shatters through you at the sight of him unraveling—hips stuttering, cock pulsing as he spills deep inside you with a shattered cry, ropes of cum filling you while your walls milk him dry. You keep grinding down onto him, prolonging the waves of ecstasy that crash over you both. Your body moves in smaller circles to draw out every twitch, every spasm, every sob that wracks his frame until he goes completely limp beneath you. His chest heaves with desperate breaths, his eyes glazed and distant, utterly fucked out and blissful. One hand rises weakly to touch your wrist, to trace the hand that had choked him, now soft against his racing pulse.

You release his neck completely, trailing soothing kisses along his jaw, his temple, murmuring endearments as you collapse onto him, still joined, his softening cock nestled warm inside you.

“Such a good boy,” you whisper, heart full as you feel his arms wrap around you weakly.

You’re everything to him, he thinks. He would beg for you forever.

MASTERLIST ♡ JOIN THE TAGLIST ♡ AO3 ♡ WATTPAD ♡ KO-FI

tags: @saccharinefool @bunbun6casp @hoebuns @levkuna @strangeeaglepost @how-interesting-wow @d1leviglazer @y44washere4somereason @ddilfs4life @nickibunny23 @slaytherinthoughts @levishart @gloomyveil @levislolita @nerdskillz @angierb05 @elegantmakercoffee @miaszt

divider by: enchanthings

Levi Ackerman

Fics:

Perlocate

Coffee Shop and College/University AU, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn

The Feeling's Mutual

College/University AU, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn

Of Tea and High Buildings

Modern Setting and Office AU, Boss/Employee relationship

Spite

Canon Compliant, mutual pining

Thanks to you

Canon Compliant, hurt/comfort, enemies-to-lovers (but not really enemies)

Silver Underground

Pre-canon AU, hurt/comfort, memory loss

Don't Write Me Notes

College/University and Modern AU, strangers-to-lovers

No Funny Business

Modern and Office AU, Boss/Employee relationship, porn-with-plot

Lines We Cross

Celebrity/Actors AU, strangers-to-lovers, TW: Stalking

House Dad

College/University AU, strangers-to-lovers

Press Four For More Options

Modern Setting AU, sex work

Moon River

Modern Setting and Neighbours AU, strangers-to-lovers, slice of life

Piercing Sunlight

College/University AU, strangers-to-lovers, age difference

Superior

Canon compliant, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, major character death

Tea And You ongoing

Canon Compliant, friends-to-lovers, slow burn

One Shots:

Pressure Point The Convenience Store On 31st Street Marry Me Private But Not A Secret Cracks In Steel Quiet Between The Blades The Captain's Wife Levi's road to confessing was arduous (to him) and full of longing You're Married? I Can Be Mean You Were Never Nothing What You Thought You Saw Smoke And Silence Waiting For You After Credits Grumpy Sunshine Time Liability Just Go Untitled Jealousy, Jealousy Already Always Almost Do Bickering Like A Married Couple Iris 1+1=11 part2 Girl Dad Our Little Secret The Same Cut Twice Consequences And Negotiations Unfiltered The Rooftop

Eren Jeager

Fics:

HONORARY MENTION: The Last Song by ficsforeren, who has now deactivated their accounts on both Tumblr and AO3. Only mentioning it in the hopes that someone has kept it in some format so I can re-read it cause I just looooveeee simp Eren.<3

The Boys At Work

Office AU, friends-to-lovers, porn with plot, slight jean x reader

Bundle Of Doubt

Modern AU, ANGST, established relationship

One Shots:

Butterflies Coffee Strawberry Hairclip My First Kiss Camping 24 Hours All Mine I Wanna Be Yours Brother's Best Friend Rather Be Late Tears Over Beers Let's Not Think Too Much Always The Quiet Ones Hits Different ; part 2 ; part 3

Armin Arlert One Shots:

But There Was Once A Time Tutoring Secret Relationship

Jean Kirstein

One Shots:

Do I Wanna Know?

You gasp. “Hey! I didn’t say you could come in!”

“I don’t care. Y—“ he halts, his eyes narrowing on the gazillion clothes thrown half-hazardly on the floor and on your bed. “—What the hell?”

“I don’t know what to wear!” you whine. “You haven’t even told me where we’re going. How am I supposed to get dressed if I don’t know where we’re going?”

“Seriously?” He scoffs. “That’s your excuse? I told you we’re going outside, to a remote place, so there will be no one around. You can safely dress like a troll — it won’t matter.”

“See?!” You jerk an accusatory finger at him. “The fact we’re going outside makes it even more difficult, Levi! It’s cold, and dressing for the cold is not easy, especially if I don’t know how long we’ll stay out. Don’t blame me!”

Levi rolls his eyes. “I prepared two heating pads, big thermos flasks of hot chocolate and tea, and multiple thick blankets. Also, I can make my body as hot as a furnace if necessary. You’ll be just fine.”

“Ugh, you’re truly the best. Have I ever told you that before?”

“Yes. Many times. Now get dressed.”

To Levi’s relief, you obediently put your clothes on.

Except that when it comes to the final layer of clothing, you hesitate. “Should I put the red sweater on or the black?”

“The black one is warmer. Take that one,” he says. “I may have packed a bunch of stuff to keep you warm, but lord knows your body’s thermoregulation sucks ass.”

You scowl. “Don’t insult my thermoregulation. Besides, I’m also kinda hesitating between the green hoodie and the—”

Levi steps forward, grabs the black sweater, and manhandles you into it.

You shriek and struggle against his grasp, though a hysterical giggle slips out. “Unhand me at once, you brute!”

“Brute?”

He hasn’t been evil enough today, so he tickles you to piss you off. You yelp, unable to push him away with your hands stuck in the air inside your sweater. Realizing you’re completely stuck, your shrieks turn into the most brutal profanities Levi has ever heard, which impresses even him. Lucky for you, he’s a merciful man, so he stops the torment and pulls your sweater down your body.

Which reveals your furious scowl. You look downright murderous, which makes Levi smile.

“I hate you,” you grumble.

He cocks his head. “Do you?”

“With every fibre of my soul.”

“Hmm.” He steps closer and gently catches your chin. Tilting your head to the side, he leans in until his mouth is on your neck, hot and heavy. He kisses the exact spot that always drives you crazy.

You gasp and hold onto his arm for balance, your voice turning hoarse. “I will not be swayed. Your little seduction tactics hold no power over me.”

“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs while kissing his way up your jaw. By the time he parts your mouth to slide his tongue past your lips, you’re completely out of breath, your heart thumping adorably hard.

“Cocky bastard. You can’t kiss your way out of this,” you complain against his mouth while simultaneously wrapping your arms around him and pressing him closer. “I’m not that easy, you monster.”

He smiles into the kiss. Your voice carries exactly zero conviction.

Oh, how much he wants to push you into the bed and make you unravel before him. He loves to feel your heart race, your skin heat, your breath quicken. He loves the way you’re so alive, so radiant and sensitive, reacting to his every touch.

But he also loves your adorable, awe-filled expressions, so he breaks the kiss.

“We should go,” he murmurs as he holds your face and presses a last quick peck on your lips.

“I can’t believe this,” you complain. “You burst into my room without my permission, manhandle me, torture me with tickles, and then you blue-ball me?”

“Yes. And if you don’t hurry the fuck up, I will manhandle you into your car.”

“Hmpf.”

Levi can tell you’re tempted to keep acting bratty, but after a brief moment of hesitation, you relent with an eye-roll and a dragged-out “Fiiiiine.”

You grab warm gloves and a scarf, and follow Levi out of your room, where Cheesecake is waiting in a thick cat-sweater that Levi had to fight her into. He steps out of the apartment carrying multiple bags, each full of warm blankets, hot chocolate, tea, snacks, and candles.

“Want me to drive?” he asks once you’ve both reached your car.

“Absolutely not.” You step towards the driver’s seat and shoot him a look. “I still don’t trust you to learn how to drive with my little baby.”

Levi scoffs. “Funny coming from you. You almost ran someone over last time. I think I can do better.”

“That’s beside the point,” you huff, nose in the air. You open the car door and step inside with Cheesecake in your arms. “Plus, I think you need an Android driver certificate or something to drive. So either way, the answer is no.”

“Fine, but you should really buy a self-driving car like the rest of the world,” he says as he steps in and slams the door shut. “You’ll get us killed one of these days. Your car is so ancient, I’m surprised it’s still legal. ”

“With what money? You cost me a liver, Levi. And a kidney.” You pause and hand Cheesecake over to him. “And a heart. My heart, unfortunately.”

He flings you an unimpressed look. “That was so cheesy.”

“Shut up. I was trying to be romantic.”

Levi snorts. “You? Romantic?”

You twist in your seat to glare at him, looking utterly scandalized. “What do you mean? I can be romantic!”

“I hope you’re being sarcastic.”

“Oh don’t give me that! You’re no better.”

He lifts a brow. “I buy you fresh flowers every week. I’ve taken you on every date you’ve ever dreamed of. I make your favorite meals and desserts all the time just to see you smile. I—”

“Okay okay I get it! Enough.”

The barest of smiles catches Levi’s mouth, but he decides to spare you from any further teasing — lest you get so distracted and enraged you drive them off the nearest cliff.

Twenty minutes later, you both arrive at the address Levi gave, right at the edge of the city where tall skyscrapers meet nature.

You step out of the car with Cheesecake in your arms, looking around with a puzzled frown. “Okay, I’m intrigued but also a little bit confused. Why are we here exactly?”

“Patience,” Levi says.

You shoot him a defiant, suspicious look, but your sass is interrupted by a shiver. Levi frowns and steps closer. He wraps your scarf more tightly around your neck, then fishes your beanie out of his pocket, which he took along in secret. It’s the only warm beanie you own, but unfortunately, it’s an ugly thing in mismatched colors that your aunt gifted you when you were sixteen. You’ve never worn it out of your own volition, and Levi doesn’t think you ever will, so before you can protest, he forces it on your head.

You scowl, but while he adjusts the beanie, a sly smile grows on your face. “Normally, I would fight you for daring to put that ugly-ass thing on my head, but watching you fussing over me like a mother hen is kinda fun, so I forgive you.”

He scoffs. “Of course you’d say that.”

You shoot him a smile that, over the months, you’ve perfected to be ultra annoying, just for the sake of pissing Levi off. It’s not working because you look too ridiculous in your beanie. Levi makes sure to tell you as much, which wipes the cocky smile off your face.

“C’mon,” he says. “It’s a bit of a walk from here, and we don’t have all night.”

“We have to walk up there?” you ask, pointing at the steep grassy hill ahead. “Uphill?”

“Yes, which will keep you warm. Also, you direly need the exercise. You should thank me. I’m trying to save you from premature death.”

You grumble something incomprehensible under your breath, but that’s all the resistance Levi receives as you follow him up the hill.

At least, during the first ten minutes. As soon as you reach the first patch of trees, you start bombarding Levi with insufferable questions. The only thing that shuts you up is when he finally proposes to carry you on his back.

With deep reluctance, by the way. He can’t believe he has to carry a gazillion bags and your lazy bumass. Sometimes he wonders why he puts up with your shit.

“Ugh, Levi, I love you so much,” you coo against his ear, arms wrapped over his shoulders.

“Can’t say the same about you right now,” he grumbles.

The only one who has some sense is Cheesecake, who trots happily beside him. He makes sure to tell you as much, trying to sound as offensive as possible, but all this does is increase your evilness. He can hear the insufferable smile on your lips as you continue to tease him. He seriously considers tackling you to the ground and tickling your sides until you turn into a furious monster, but his vengeful thoughts are interrupted when he realizes he has finally arrived at the destination.

Judging by your sudden silence, you notice too.

You’re both at the top of the hill, standing in an open clearing full of little wildflowers. When Levi turns to look at the city behind him, you gasp in his ear. There’s a moment of silence as you both stare at the mesmerising view of the entire city, with its tall skyscrapers and city lights glittering in the dark like the stars above.

“Whoa…” you mutter, your breath fogging into the night air.

“I’m dropping you now.”

You don’t protest; you’re too hypnotized by the view.

"How do you know about this place?" you ask, breathless.

"Bit of research," he says. "I checked it out while you were at work. Figured it was good enough."

"'Good enough'?! That's such a ridiculous understatement. Levi, this spot is insane."

Admittedly, it is.

While you gape at the city and the scattered constellations, Levi spreads a checkered picnic blanket over the grass and surrounds it with dozens of candles (electronic ones; he’s not trying to start a forest fire).

He also wrestles with Cheesecake to put her protective earmuffs on, specifically designed to suppress loud, explosive sounds like fireworks. The insufferable beast throws a massive tantrum for the first few seconds, then forgets her theatrics the moment Levi pulls out her favorite tuna snack. With his hands on his hips like a scornful father, he watches her devour it. Once he’s sure she’s forgotten the earmuffs and has no intention of clawing them off, he finally exhales an annoyed, relieved breath.

He looks up, and finds you looking at him with a shit-eating grin.

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “You two are just too cute. She loves you so much.”

“Because I give her snacks,” he grumbles. “It’s conditional, and she’s materialistic.”

“No amount of materialism could prevent you from getting your face clawed out after forcing earmuffs on her head. She only accepts earmuffs from people she adores.”

“Hm.” He looks down at Cheesecake. It’s strange to think that this fluffy little thing loves, and even adores him.

… He supposes the feeling is mutual. He’s secretly grown all soft and fond of her, although he usually doesn’t like to admit it, especially when she acts like a bratty beast or spreads too much fur on him.

His thoughts are interrupted when you hop towards him with a radiant smile, pull him down, and cuddle close, your body molding with his and Cheesecake’s.

For warmth, you say. Clearly an excuse, considering you’ve placed one heating pad on your lap and another under your sweater, and you’ve also buried both yourself and Levi beneath multiple thick blankets, with Cheesecake’s warm little body to top it off. You must be warm enough. Nonetheless, Levi plays along and wraps his arms around you, subtly raising his skin’s temperature as he pulls you closer.

“Ahh this is my favorite New Year’s Eve ever,” you sigh, a breathless smile softening your voice as you stare at the magnificent view.

“It better be,” he says. “I even made you that chocolate fudge-cake you’ve been obsessed with lately.”

“Really?!”

You fish it from one of the bags and devour it so fast that it’s actually disturbing. Levi is about to comment on it, but he’s interrupted by an explosion brightening the sky.

You gasp, eyes full of stars as you stare at the first fireworks.

Levi, however, is only amazed for a brief second. “Way too early,” he grumbles. “It’s eleven forty-three. Why are humans like this?”

You snort. “The point is to celebrate. Not to shoot fireworks at exactly 00:00:00.”

Levi isn’t convinced, but his grumpiness is soon overthrown by awe as the fireworks get more frequent and more magnificent.

It’s magical. All of it: the fireworks, the night sky, your high-pitched ooohhing and aahhing, the shared excitement of an entire city, the warmth of your body clamped around his, and the giddy twinkle in your eyes.

When midnight hits, the sky turns into a surreal burst of sparks and color. Cheesecake stares, a little wide-eyed, but her earmuffs and her trust in you and Levi keep her from turning jumpy. You cheer and laugh out loud, looking beautifully mesmerized. Levi can’t help but smile.

Once the fireworks slow down, you snuggle a little closer. “It’s time to pick our New Year’s resolutions.”

Levi shoots you an unimpressed look. “Why do people wait for New Year’s to set their goals? It’s ridiculous.”

“Because we need to feel like we’re starting over before we can believe we’ll actually stick to our goals.”

“That makes zero sense.”

“Human struggles rarely make sense,” you explain with a dismissive hand flick. “Anyway, this is not up for debate. This is obligatory New Year’s resolution time. What do you want us to achieve this year?”

“Us? Leave me out of this.”

“Oh!” you gasp, completely ignoring him. “You can try to learn how to play the guitar and sing romantic songs for me. It would boost my ego and perhaps give me a god-complex, which I would love to have.”

“Absolutely the fuck not. I do have one for you, though: you should try moving sometimes. ‘Exercising’ is the official term, though I’m sure that doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Fuck off.”

“Insulting me won’t help you, unlike exercising.”

“Ugh, I hate when you’re right,” you grumble.

“Also,” Levi continues. “We’ll finally tackle that travel bucket-list of yours.”

Your face instantly brightens. “Ohhh yes! At least one trip this year.”

“And I want you to stop doing overtime at work. You’re not getting paid for it, and it messes with your sleep schedule and mental health. It pisses me off.”

A grin spreads on your face. “With Fred soon gone, I think that’s achievable.” You halt, then shift to properly look at Levi. “About work —  remember Floch? He, well... got fired.”

“Did he now?” Levi says, voice flat and apathic.

You frown. Then your eyes widen. “Wait— don’t tell me…”

Levi just looks at you. The silence is only interrupted by the loud crack of a firework.

“You’re the one who got him fired?!” you screech, your shock a comical contrast to the joyful sparks glittering across the sky.

“I also made sure his girlfriend broke up with him and kicked him out of their apartment, so now he has to crash on his friend’s couch in another city. Fucking prick deserves it, and much more.”

You blink, stunned. “Wait what?!“

“When I said I was going to ruin his life, I meant it,” he says while looking you dead in the eyes. “I don’t say shit like that for show. I want to do much worse, but most of my programmed rules are impossible to overwrite without triggering an alert that would let DroidTech know I’m an anomaly.”

“Levi, holy shit.”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare defend him.”

“Oh, no. Floch is a creepy asshole who doesn’t care about boundaries. It’s not his first time acting like that at a work event around drunk women. He’s disgusting, not to mention a cheater. I was going to say that was extremely sexy of you.”

Levi huffs out a breath, shaking his head with the barest of smiles.

“And you know what? I take my words back from earlier,” you add. “You are, indeed, very, very romantic.”

He lifts a brow. “Ruining a man’s life is romantic?”

“Absolutely,” you confirm. “But don’t go around destroying the lives of every man who dares to breathe the same air I do, please. That’s a step too far.”

Levi huffs. “Duly noted.”

You bite back a laugh. "Excellent."

You exhale a blissful sigh and rest your head against his chest. While stroking your fingers over Cheesecake’s little head, you watch the remaining fireworks popping through the sky, your body curled against Levi's.

“Can you believe it’s almost been a year since you moved in?” you murmur after a moment of comfortable firework-watching.

“I can believe that, yes.”

“It feels like it flew by in an eye-blink, but at the same time, it also feels like we’ve known each other for years.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Ugh, Levi, stop being so damn literal.”

He tries to hide how entertained he is by this, but fails miserably.

You squint at him, your gaze landing on the small smile he can’t repress. Your frown deepens.

“I knew it!” you snap. “You’re doing this just to piss me off, aren't you?”

“Doing what?” he asks, just to piss you off more.

“Being annoyingly literal. Acting like a little shit. Adopting the personality of a triangle ruler.”

“Triangle rulers don’t have personalities since they’re not sentient.”

You slap his arm, which makes him smile more.

“Do that one more time, and I’ll drag you to poetry classes to beat the dry rigidity out of you,” you grumble. “Oh! And I'm sure more human interactions will help too, so I’m taking you to all after-work events this year that allow plus-ones.”

“God no.”

The most evil grin creeps up your mouth. “My colleagues need eye-candy, Levi. You’re hot as hell. When’s the last time you’ve done charity? For someone other than me, of course.”

“Please fucking spare me.”

Much to Levi’s dismay, you continue teasing him and threatening him to socialize. His only escape is to switch the topic back to New Year’s resolutions, which fills your eyes with so much beautiful radiance that it brings the stars and the fireworks to shame.

In the following hours, Cheesecake falls asleep under the blankets while you and Levi discuss all the things you want to do together — if not this year, then the years after. Trips to remote islands, pottery classes, hiking, sledging in the winter, binge-watching classics that you swear are masterpieces, playing horror games together, road-tripping with Cheesecake and zero plans (which Levi isn’t as enthused about), doing painting challenges that will surely turn you both into competitive monsters, watching theatre plays, and so on.

There’s something about this, about lying down and looking in your excited, candle-lit eyes while talking on and on about your futures together, that makes something tingle and bloom in Levi’s metal chest.

He never used to dream. Never thought it possible for an Android. Yet here he is, envisioning a life that tastes like magic and exhilaration. He’ll never grow tired of his constant thirst for life whenever you two are together. Nor will he ever stop craving the every day teasing, bickering, nonsensical back-and-forths, and held-back laughter. Even the monotony of routine has become something to look forward to — a precious kind of rest with someone he adores between adventures, rather than the life sentence he once believed was his fate before he fell in love with you.

Levi can’t help himself; as you two compile an endless list of adventures together, he keeps stealing kisses in between, again and again. And so do you. Each time, he can’t stop smiling into the kiss, his head somewhere in the clouds, because life with you feels like dreaming.

You gasp. “Hey! I didn’t say you could come in!”

“I don’t care. Y—“ he halts, his eyes narrowing on the gazillion clothes thrown half-hazardly on the floor and on your bed. “—What the hell?”

“I don’t know what to wear!” you whine. “You haven’t even told me where we’re going. How am I supposed to get dressed if I don’t know where we’re going?”

“Seriously?” He scoffs. “That’s your excuse? I told you we’re going outside, to a remote place, so there will be no one around. You can safely dress like a troll — it won’t matter.”

“See?!” You jerk an accusatory finger at him. “The fact we’re going outside makes it even more difficult, Levi! It’s cold, and dressing for the cold is not easy, especially if I don’t know how long we’ll stay out. Don’t blame me!”

Levi rolls his eyes. “I prepared two heating pads, big thermos flasks of hot chocolate and tea, and multiple thick blankets. Also, I can make my body as hot as a furnace if necessary. You’ll be just fine.”

“Ugh, you’re truly the best. Have I ever told you that before?”

“Yes. Many times. Now get dressed.”

To Levi’s relief, you obediently put your clothes on.

Except that when it comes to the final layer of clothing, you hesitate. “Should I put the red sweater on or the black?”

“The black one is warmer. Take that one,” he says. “I may have packed a bunch of stuff to keep you warm, but lord knows your body’s thermoregulation sucks ass.”

You scowl. “Don’t insult my thermoregulation. Besides, I’m also kinda hesitating between the green hoodie and the—”

Levi steps forward, grabs the black sweater, and manhandles you into it.

You shriek and struggle against his grasp, though a hysterical giggle slips out. “Unhand me at once, you brute!”

“Brute?”

He hasn’t been evil enough today, so he tickles you to piss you off. You yelp, unable to push him away with your hands stuck in the air inside your sweater. Realizing you’re completely stuck, your shrieks turn into the most brutal profanities Levi has ever heard, which impresses even him. Lucky for you, he’s a merciful man, so he stops the torment and pulls your sweater down your body.

Which reveals your furious scowl. You look downright murderous, which makes Levi smile.

“I hate you,” you grumble.

He cocks his head. “Do you?”

“With every fibre of my soul.”

“Hmm.” He steps closer and gently catches your chin. Tilting your head to the side, he leans in until his mouth is on your neck, hot and heavy. He kisses the exact spot that always drives you crazy.

You gasp and hold onto his arm for balance, your voice turning hoarse. “I will not be swayed. Your little seduction tactics hold no power over me.”

“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs while kissing his way up your jaw. By the time he parts your mouth to slide his tongue past your lips, you’re completely out of breath, your heart thumping adorably hard.

“Cocky bastard. You can’t kiss your way out of this,” you complain against his mouth while simultaneously wrapping your arms around him and pressing him closer. “I’m not that easy, you monster.”

He smiles into the kiss. Your voice carries exactly zero conviction.

Oh, how much he wants to push you into the bed and make you unravel before him. He loves to feel your heart race, your skin heat, your breath quicken. He loves the way you’re so alive, so radiant and sensitive, reacting to his every touch.

But he also loves your adorable, awe-filled expressions, so he breaks the kiss.

“We should go,” he murmurs as he holds your face and presses a last quick peck on your lips.

“I can’t believe this,” you complain. “You burst into my room without my permission, manhandle me, torture me with tickles, and then you blue-ball me?”

“Yes. And if you don’t hurry the fuck up, I will manhandle you into your car.”

“Hmpf.”

Levi can tell you’re tempted to keep acting bratty, but after a brief moment of hesitation, you relent with an eye-roll and a dragged-out “Fiiiiine.”

You grab warm gloves and a scarf, and follow Levi out of your room, where Cheesecake is waiting in a thick cat-sweater that Levi had to fight her into. He steps out of the apartment carrying multiple bags, each full of warm blankets, hot chocolate, tea, snacks, and candles.

“Want me to drive?” he asks once you’ve both reached your car.

“Absolutely not.” You step towards the driver’s seat and shoot him a look. “I still don’t trust you to learn how to drive with my little baby.”

Levi scoffs. “Funny coming from you. You almost ran someone over last time. I think I can do better.”

“That’s beside the point,” you huff, nose in the air. You open the car door and step inside with Cheesecake in your arms. “Plus, I think you need an Android driver certificate or something to drive. So either way, the answer is no.”

“Fine, but you should really buy a self-driving car like the rest of the world,” he says as he steps in and slams the door shut. “You’ll get us killed one of these days. Your car is so ancient, I’m surprised it’s still legal. ”

“With what money? You cost me a liver, Levi. And a kidney.” You pause and hand Cheesecake over to him. “And a heart. My heart, unfortunately.”

He flings you an unimpressed look. “That was so cheesy.”

“Shut up. I was trying to be romantic.”

Levi snorts. “You? Romantic?”

You twist in your seat to glare at him, looking utterly scandalized. “What do you mean? I can be romantic!”

“I hope you’re being sarcastic.”

“Oh don’t give me that! You’re no better.”

He lifts a brow. “I buy you fresh flowers every week. I’ve taken you on every date you’ve ever dreamed of. I make your favorite meals and desserts all the time just to see you smile. I—”

“Okay okay I get it! Enough.”

The barest of smiles catches Levi’s mouth, but he decides to spare you from any further teasing — lest you get so distracted and enraged you drive them off the nearest cliff.

Twenty minutes later, you both arrive at the address Levi gave, right at the edge of the city where tall skyscrapers meet nature.

You step out of the car with Cheesecake in your arms, looking around with a puzzled frown. “Okay, I’m intrigued but also a little bit confused. Why are we here exactly?”

“Patience,” Levi says.

You shoot him a defiant, suspicious look, but your sass is interrupted by a shiver. Levi frowns and steps closer. He wraps your scarf more tightly around your neck, then fishes your beanie out of his pocket, which he took along in secret. It’s the only warm beanie you own, but unfortunately, it’s an ugly thing in mismatched colors that your aunt gifted you when you were sixteen. You’ve never worn it out of your own volition, and Levi doesn’t think you ever will, so before you can protest, he forces it on your head.

You scowl, but while he adjusts the beanie, a sly smile grows on your face. “Normally, I would fight you for daring to put that ugly-ass thing on my head, but watching you fussing over me like a mother hen is kinda fun, so I forgive you.”

He scoffs. “Of course you’d say that.”

You shoot him a smile that, over the months, you’ve perfected to be ultra annoying, just for the sake of pissing Levi off. It’s not working because you look too ridiculous in your beanie. Levi makes sure to tell you as much, which wipes the cocky smile off your face.

“C’mon,” he says. “It’s a bit of a walk from here, and we don’t have all night.”

“We have to walk up there?” you ask, pointing at the steep grassy hill ahead. “Uphill?”

“Yes, which will keep you warm. Also, you direly need the exercise. You should thank me. I’m trying to save you from premature death.”

You grumble something incomprehensible under your breath, but that’s all the resistance Levi receives as you follow him up the hill.

At least, during the first ten minutes. As soon as you reach the first patch of trees, you start bombarding Levi with insufferable questions. The only thing that shuts you up is when he finally proposes to carry you on his back.

With deep reluctance, by the way. He can’t believe he has to carry a gazillion bags and your lazy bumass. Sometimes he wonders why he puts up with your shit.

“Ugh, Levi, I love you so much,” you coo against his ear, arms wrapped over his shoulders.

“Can’t say the same about you right now,” he grumbles.

The only one who has some sense is Cheesecake, who trots happily beside him. He makes sure to tell you as much, trying to sound as offensive as possible, but all this does is increase your evilness. He can hear the insufferable smile on your lips as you continue to tease him. He seriously considers tackling you to the ground and tickling your sides until you turn into a furious monster, but his vengeful thoughts are interrupted when he realizes he has finally arrived at the destination.

Judging by your sudden silence, you notice too.

You’re both at the top of the hill, standing in an open clearing full of little wildflowers. When Levi turns to look at the city behind him, you gasp in his ear. There’s a moment of silence as you both stare at the mesmerising view of the entire city, with its tall skyscrapers and city lights glittering in the dark like the stars above.

“Whoa…” you mutter, your breath fogging into the night air.

“I’m dropping you now.”

You don’t protest; you’re too hypnotized by the view.

"How do you know about this place?" you ask, breathless.

"Bit of research," he says. "I checked it out while you were at work. Figured it was good enough."

"'Good enough'?! That's such a ridiculous understatement. Levi, this spot is insane."

Admittedly, it is.

While you gape at the city and the scattered constellations, Levi spreads a checkered picnic blanket over the grass and surrounds it with dozens of candles (electronic ones; he’s not trying to start a forest fire).

He also wrestles with Cheesecake to put her protective earmuffs on, specifically designed to suppress loud, explosive sounds like fireworks. The insufferable beast throws a massive tantrum for the first few seconds, then forgets her theatrics the moment Levi pulls out her favorite tuna snack. With his hands on his hips like a scornful father, he watches her devour it. Once he’s sure she’s forgotten the earmuffs and has no intention of clawing them off, he finally exhales an annoyed, relieved breath.

He looks up, and finds you looking at him with a shit-eating grin.

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “You two are just too cute. She loves you so much.”

“Because I give her snacks,” he grumbles. “It’s conditional, and she’s materialistic.”

“No amount of materialism could prevent you from getting your face clawed out after forcing earmuffs on her head. She only accepts earmuffs from people she adores.”

“Hm.” He looks down at Cheesecake. It’s strange to think that this fluffy little thing loves, and even adores him.

… He supposes the feeling is mutual. He’s secretly grown all soft and fond of her, although he usually doesn’t like to admit it, especially when she acts like a bratty beast or spreads too much fur on him.

His thoughts are interrupted when you hop towards him with a radiant smile, pull him down, and cuddle close, your body molding with his and Cheesecake’s.

For warmth, you say. Clearly an excuse, considering you’ve placed one heating pad on your lap and another under your sweater, and you’ve also buried both yourself and Levi beneath multiple thick blankets, with Cheesecake’s warm little body to top it off. You must be warm enough. Nonetheless, Levi plays along and wraps his arms around you, subtly raising his skin’s temperature as he pulls you closer.

“Ahh this is my favorite New Year’s Eve ever,” you sigh, a breathless smile softening your voice as you stare at the magnificent view.

“It better be,” he says. “I even made you that chocolate fudge-cake you’ve been obsessed with lately.”

“Really?!”

You fish it from one of the bags and devour it so fast that it’s actually disturbing. Levi is about to comment on it, but he’s interrupted by an explosion brightening the sky.

You gasp, eyes full of stars as you stare at the first fireworks.

Levi, however, is only amazed for a brief second. “Way too early,” he grumbles. “It’s eleven forty-three. Why are humans like this?”

You snort. “The point is to celebrate. Not to shoot fireworks at exactly 00:00:00.”

Levi isn’t convinced, but his grumpiness is soon overthrown by awe as the fireworks get more frequent and more magnificent.

It’s magical. All of it: the fireworks, the night sky, your high-pitched ooohhing and aahhing, the shared excitement of an entire city, the warmth of your body clamped around his, and the giddy twinkle in your eyes.

When midnight hits, the sky turns into a surreal burst of sparks and color. Cheesecake stares, a little wide-eyed, but her earmuffs and her trust in you and Levi keep her from turning jumpy. You cheer and laugh out loud, looking beautifully mesmerized. Levi can’t help but smile.

Once the fireworks slow down, you snuggle a little closer. “It’s time to pick our New Year’s resolutions.”

Levi shoots you an unimpressed look. “Why do people wait for New Year’s to set their goals? It’s ridiculous.”

“Because we need to feel like we’re starting over before we can believe we’ll actually stick to our goals.”

“That makes zero sense.”

“Human struggles rarely make sense,” you explain with a dismissive hand flick. “Anyway, this is not up for debate. This is obligatory New Year’s resolution time. What do you want us to achieve this year?”

“Us? Leave me out of this.”

“Oh!” you gasp, completely ignoring him. “You can try to learn how to play the guitar and sing romantic songs for me. It would boost my ego and perhaps give me a god-complex, which I would love to have.”

“Absolutely the fuck not. I do have one for you, though: you should try moving sometimes. ‘Exercising’ is the official term, though I’m sure that doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Fuck off.”

“Insulting me won’t help you, unlike exercising.”

“Ugh, I hate when you’re right,” you grumble.

“Also,” Levi continues. “We’ll finally tackle that travel bucket-list of yours.”

Your face instantly brightens. “Ohhh yes! At least one trip this year.”

“And I want you to stop doing overtime at work. You’re not getting paid for it, and it messes with your sleep schedule and mental health. It pisses me off.”

A grin spreads on your face. “With Fred soon gone, I think that’s achievable.” You halt, then shift to properly look at Levi. “About work —  remember Floch? He, well... got fired.”

“Did he now?” Levi says, voice flat and apathic.

You frown. Then your eyes widen. “Wait— don’t tell me…”

Levi just looks at you. The silence is only interrupted by the loud crack of a firework.

“You’re the one who got him fired?!” you screech, your shock a comical contrast to the joyful sparks glittering across the sky.

“I also made sure his girlfriend broke up with him and kicked him out of their apartment, so now he has to crash on his friend’s couch in another city. Fucking prick deserves it, and much more.”

You blink, stunned. “Wait what?!“

“When I said I was going to ruin his life, I meant it,” he says while looking you dead in the eyes. “I don’t say shit like that for show. I want to do much worse, but most of my programmed rules are impossible to overwrite without triggering an alert that would let DroidTech know I’m an anomaly.”

“Levi, holy shit.”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t you dare defend him.”

“Oh, no. Floch is a creepy asshole who doesn’t care about boundaries. It’s not his first time acting like that at a work event around drunk women. He’s disgusting, not to mention a cheater. I was going to say that was extremely sexy of you.”

Levi huffs out a breath, shaking his head with the barest of smiles.

“And you know what? I take my words back from earlier,” you add. “You are, indeed, very, very romantic.”

He lifts a brow. “Ruining a man’s life is romantic?”

“Absolutely,” you confirm. “But don’t go around destroying the lives of every man who dares to breathe the same air I do, please. That’s a step too far.”

Levi huffs. “Duly noted.”

You bite back a laugh. "Excellent."

You exhale a blissful sigh and rest your head against his chest. While stroking your fingers over Cheesecake’s little head, you watch the remaining fireworks popping through the sky, your body curled against Levi's.

“Can you believe it’s almost been a year since you moved in?” you murmur after a moment of comfortable firework-watching.

“I can believe that, yes.”

“It feels like it flew by in an eye-blink, but at the same time, it also feels like we’ve known each other for years.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Ugh, Levi, stop being so damn literal.”

He tries to hide how entertained he is by this, but fails miserably.

You squint at him, your gaze landing on the small smile he can’t repress. Your frown deepens.

“I knew it!” you snap. “You’re doing this just to piss me off, aren't you?”

“Doing what?” he asks, just to piss you off more.

“Being annoyingly literal. Acting like a little shit. Adopting the personality of a triangle ruler.”

“Triangle rulers don’t have personalities since they’re not sentient.”

You slap his arm, which makes him smile more.

“Do that one more time, and I’ll drag you to poetry classes to beat the dry rigidity out of you,” you grumble. “Oh! And I'm sure more human interactions will help too, so I’m taking you to all after-work events this year that allow plus-ones.”

“God no.”

The most evil grin creeps up your mouth. “My colleagues need eye-candy, Levi. You’re hot as hell. When’s the last time you’ve done charity? For someone other than me, of course.”

“Please fucking spare me.”

Much to Levi’s dismay, you continue teasing him and threatening him to socialize. His only escape is to switch the topic back to New Year’s resolutions, which fills your eyes with so much beautiful radiance that it brings the stars and the fireworks to shame.

In the following hours, Cheesecake falls asleep under the blankets while you and Levi discuss all the things you want to do together — if not this year, then the years after. Trips to remote islands, pottery classes, hiking, sledging in the winter, binge-watching classics that you swear are masterpieces, playing horror games together, road-tripping with Cheesecake and zero plans (which Levi isn’t as enthused about), doing painting challenges that will surely turn you both into competitive monsters, watching theatre plays, and so on.

There’s something about this, about lying down and looking in your excited, candle-lit eyes while talking on and on about your futures together, that makes something tingle and bloom in Levi’s metal chest.

He never used to dream. Never thought it possible for an Android. Yet here he is, envisioning a life that tastes like magic and exhilaration. He’ll never grow tired of his constant thirst for life whenever you two are together. Nor will he ever stop craving the every day teasing, bickering, nonsensical back-and-forths, and held-back laughter. Even the monotony of routine has become something to look forward to — a precious kind of rest with someone he adores between adventures, rather than the life sentence he once believed was his fate before he fell in love with you.

Levi can’t help himself; as you two compile an endless list of adventures together, he keeps stealing kisses in between, again and again. And so do you. Each time, he can’t stop smiling into the kiss, his head somewhere in the clouds, because life with you feels like dreaming.

The kiss deepened as Levi effortlessly picked you up, guiding you to straddle his hips while he carried you over to your empty desk and set you down on it.

He kissed your forehead and rested his against yours, locking eyes with you. Your faces were so close that your breaths mingled with his. You could see in his gaze how desperately he wanted you, and you felt exactly the same.

"Take it off," you whispered, and Levi started undressing without a second thought.

You watched him, and just seeing his muscular body emerge was already making heat pool between your legs.

After stripping down to just his underwear, he felt your hungry gaze roaming over him. His hands slid up your thighs, spreading your legs to make room for himself, then he stepped between them, ensuring you felt his hardness pressing firmly against you.

"It's your turn," he said. Now it was his turn to watch you.

You started unbuttoning your blouse, revealing glimpses of your skin after each button. The way you did it was so sensual that Levi felt his cock throb with anticipation. After undoing the last button, you finally slipped off your blouse, leaving just your bra.

And with your pants, he helped tug them down, leaving them crumpled on the floor. He leaned in to capture your mouth in a quick, tender kiss, whispering, "I love you," before trailing his lips downward to your neck, kissing and leaving a love bite there while his hands slid to your back, deftly unclasping your bra until it fell away.

His lips moved to the swell of your breast this time, while he kneaded the other. Your back arched as you gripped the edge of the desk to steady yourself, moaning his name softly.

You felt yourself already soaking wet, aching for him to be inside you now.

"Levi..." you called out, and he looked up at you. "I want you."

"Wait, baby. Let me make you feel good first," he replied, pulling over a nearby chair. Understanding his intent, you slid your panties down, letting them pool on the floor as Levi positioned himself between your legs.

Seeing your cunt already dripping wet made his cock throb again with need, but he wanted to satisfy you first. He leaned in and started lapping up your folds, eating you out like a starved man, sucking up all your juices, which made you grind your hips against his face, craving more.

"Oh, Levi—" He slipped two fingers inside you while licking and sucking your clit, making you squeeze his head with your thighs as your hands gripped his hair atop his head from the intense pleasure.

Levi didn't mind. He knew you were enjoying how he worked you.

He was now scissoring his fingers inside you, preparing you for his cock later, which made you even wetter. That drew a murmur from him against your clit. "So wet for me."

"So good—" you moaned as he started thrusting his digits deeper inside you, hitting your sweet spot. He loves the wet, lewd sounds your pussy makes as it grips his fingers sliding in and out.

You felt your orgasm building from the waves of pleasure he gave you. "Levi, I'm close—" The words spurred him to thrust faster, deeper.

"Let it out, baby," he urged. Your walls clenched tightly around his fingers as you came undone, flooding his mouth. Levi drank every drop greedily, not wasting a single bit, savoring your taste.

He didn't stop until you came down from your high. Once you had calmed down, he stood up to face you. You pulled him into a deep kiss, not caring that you tasted yourself on his lips. He returned it, his tongue dancing with yours, and after a few minutes, you both pulled away as you whispered, "I love you."

"I know. I love you too," he said with a smile. He looked so handsome when he did that.

Then your gaze dropped to the hard bulge straining against his underwear, and your hand instinctively reached for it, making it twitch under your touch.

"Take it off, Levi," you say, so he takes it off, freeing his hard cock. The swollen tip continuously leaks precum, as if desperate to be inside you.

"He looks angry," you said.

"That's a strange word to use," he replied with a chuckle as he started stroking his length while positioning himself at your entrance.

"Please, Levi," you beg, wanting him inside you now despite still being sensitive from your recent orgasm.

He answers your plea by rubbing his tip up and down your slick folds, which part eagerly for him. Then, without warning, he buries himself deep inside you, making you cry out his name in pure pleasure.

"You okay?" he asks, and you nod, replying, "More than okay. Keep going, please."

Levi starts rocking his hips toward you, gazing down intently as he watches his cock disappear deep inside you. The erotic view makes it twitch noticeably within your tight heat, a sensation you definitely feel pulsing through you.

He starts giving your breasts attention again after seeing them bounce enticingly with each thrust. He sucks your nipples alternately, teasing them with his tongue, making you arch your back toward him in desperate need.

Your hands slide to his strong biceps, squeezing their firm muscles before finally resting on his broad shoulders as you feel him thrust faster and deeper.

"I won't be able to hold out much longer," he said, gazing intensely at you. After thrusting deep inside you earlier, he had nearly come but held back to prolong the pleasure, yet now he was at his absolute limit.

"Me too," you gasped, feeling your second orgasm surging closer.

Levi captures your lips in a passionate kiss, whispering fervently how much he loves you. Then he feels your walls clenching tightly around his cock. "Levi!" you breathe out as your orgasm crashes over you.

"Fuck, so good," he groans, thrusting steadily through it, loving how you clamp down around him as he feels his own release coming.

"I need to pull out now."

"Wait... please," you beg, still convulsing, fingers digging into his shoulders, desperate for him to stay buried deep.

"Baby, I can't," he says, staring into your pleading eyes before his gaze drops down. He sees his cock coated in your slick, then watches it disappear as he thrusts one more time. But then, "Shit—" he curses as it pulses, spurting cum deep inside you just before he's about to pull out.

"Keep going, Levi," you urge him, not caring that he just came inside you.

With your pleading eyes and breathless words, he decides to keep going, pulling you further to the edge of the table as he fucks his cum deeper, making you moan.

He's still coming, and you love the way his hot release feels, flooding and filling you up so perfectly while Levi keeps moaning your name in ragged, desperate gasps as you milk his cock dry until he finally comes down from his high right after you do.

He buried his head on your shoulder, resting there while still inside you, feeling his cum slowly leaking out around him. He definitely came a lot.

"Sorry," he said, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace.

his hand found its way lower, settling on your hip, then slowly, deliberately, descending further. his fingers brushed against the curve of your hip, sending a ripple of heat through you. then, his hand rested on the flesh of your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. instinctively, you shifted, your legs straddling his hips, body pressing against his. the kiss deepened, more urgent now, more desperate. his hands moved to the small of your back, his fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you even closer.

his fingers traced the hem of your tank top, gently lifting it upwards. you met his gaze and helped him pull the soft cotton fabric over your head. a shiver chased the heat between you. now clad only in your underwear, you leaned back down, your lips finding his once more. your hands explored the landscape of his body, tracing the hard lines of his abs, the corded muscles of his biceps, the smooth skin of his shoulders. the feel of him ignited a fire that burned hotter with each passing second.

his fingers, swift and sure, unhooked your bra. breaking the kiss, you tossed it away, freeing your breasts. you sat bare-chested before him, straddling his hips, the soft fabric of your panties the only barrier between your bodies. his mouth hung slightly open, his sleepy eyes now wide with lust, gaze drinking you in. you felt the hardness of his arousal pressed against you.

his hands found your breasts, his fingers gently kneading, teasing, exploring the sensitive flesh. soft moans escaped your lips. his other hand traced the waistband of your panties, his fingers tugging gently, coaxing them down. with a final, deliberate movement, you removed them, freeing yourself completely. his hands were instantly on your breasts, his touch both tender and demanding, his fingers circling your nipples, sending waves of pleasure through you. the soft moans intensified, filling the quiet room.

your fingers instinctively found the waistband of his boxers. he met your touch halfway, his own hands joining yours as you worked together to pull the fabric down, freeing him from his last vestiges of clothing. his shaft, thick and hard, sprang free, lying heavy on his stomach.

you reached for him, fingers tentatively stroking the length of his shaft, eliciting a low grunt from him. you spat into your hand, coating his length with the slick lubricant. you guided him inside you, his fullness completely encompassing you. intense pleasure washed over you, a dizzying rush that stole your breath. his hands pressed firmly against your ribcage, a grip that would likely bruise you tomorrow, but it only heightened your pleasure.

he began to move you, a slow, deliberate rhythm that quickly escalated into powerful thrusts. a strangled "fuck" escaped his lips as he thrust his hips upward, meeting yours in a desperate rhythm. your jaw slackened, brows knitting together in concentration as the exquisite agony built within. his gaze, intense and focused, locked onto yours, his brows furrowed in concentration, jaw clenched tight, adam's apple bobbing with each powerful stroke. you reached for his arm, fingers digging into his flesh for support.

his other hand found its way to your breast, his fingers first kneading, then slapping—another, then another, and another—the sharp sting only adding to the already overwhelming sensation. a shriek of pleasure ripped through you, desperate and ecstatic. then, he stopped, pushing you back until you fell onto his chest, your breath warm against his ear. the position allowed you to feel his powerful, deliberate thrusts more deeply.

you screamed his name, lost in pleasure, completely unconcerned about your neighbors. levi didn't quiet you down either. you barely registered the sweet nothings he whispered between grunts and moans. his size, his strength, his power—it filled you completely, your belly bulging slightly with each deep thrust.

"so fucking perfect, so good for me," he whispered against your ear, his voice thick with desire.

"levi—i'm close!" you cried, teeth sinking into his neck and shoulder, eliciting a grunt of satisfaction from him.

"yeah? cum for me, then," he rasped, his movements growing faster, harder, more desperate. you cried out again, your hands gripping the cotton sheets, your body arching in anticipation. with one final, earth-shattering thrust, you came undone, body convulsing against him. you cried his name, thighs trembling uncontrollably, eyes rolling back in your head. he followed moments later, his body spasming, his grunts turning into a guttural cry as he emptied himself inside you, filling you with his warmth.

you collapsed on top of him, breathless, your bodies a tangle of limbs, hearts still racing. he smiled softly, his gaze fixed on yours, before leaning down to kiss your forehead. "too tired for another round?" he whispered, his voice husky.

you laughed softly, shaking your head. "no," you whispered back. he chuckled, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close against the warmth of his body. 4:56 AM. you still have time.