Charlotte !¡ ☆ミ.。o○

!¡

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

꧁༺ 𝔸𝕥𝕥𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕆𝕟 𝕋𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕤 ༻꧂

| 𝓞𝓷𝓮 - 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓼

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 彡ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 彡ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 彡ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 彡ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 彡ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐒𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 彡ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

| 𝓓𝓻𝓪𝓫𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓼

ೃ⁀➷ 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 彡ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ

Sipping

Levi didn’t look up when you entered his office that afternoon. His eyes were glued to the stack of documents in front of him, and his pen scratched furiously against the paper. You didn’t bother knocking, and he didn’t ask why. He knew exactly why you were there since you were the doc of his team too. His shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly as the door clicked shut behind you.

“Do I have to come to you personally?” That was all you said, voice calm but laced with that no-nonsense edge that made even the most reckless soldiers sit up straight.

Levi’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. He never did when you spoke like that. You weren’t yelling. You never yelled. You were just… inevitable.

You placed the medical case on his desk, right on top of the paperwork he was pretending to care about. His eyes finally flickered up to meet yours—narrowed, calculating, and vaguely annoyed.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, voice low, almost clipped.

“Sure,” you replied, deadpan. “And I’m a Titan. Roll up your sleeve.”

He stared at you, impassive as ever, but there was a glint of something in his eyes. Stubbornness. Maybe curiosity. He didn’t move.

“Levi,” you said, quieter this time. “You’re bleeding through your damn shirt.”

His gaze dipped for half a second. The white sleeve was slightly stained where the fabric were pressed against his arm. You didn’t gloat. You just waited.

“Tch.” A sharp exhale. And then, reluctantly, he pushed up the sleeve.

The gash wasn’t deep, but it was messy, trailing along his forearm in a jagged line. It needed proper cleaning, stitching. Nothing you hadn’t seen a hundred times before.

“Sit,” you ordered, already pulling on your gloves. He gave you a look that said I am sitting, but you ignored it.

The room was quiet after that, save for the gentle clink of your tools and the soft rustle of fabric as you worked. Levi stayed perfectly still, eyes flicking between your hands and your face with that unreadable expression of his. He didn’t complain, didn’t flinch, just let you do what needed to be done.

“Why didn’t you come to the infirmary?” you asked after a while, voice light but probing.

“Didn’t think it was worth the trouble,” he muttered.

“Right,” you murmured. “Because losing a limb over a ‘not worth the trouble’ wound is a great plan.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to.”

Silence stretched between you again. His eyes stayed on your face, watching the way your brows furrowed in concentration, the slight downward curve of your lips as you worked.

“Petra told me,” you added after a moment, not looking up. “If she hadn’t, would you have let it fester?”

“Tch. You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?”

You didn’t press him after that. Just kept stitching, hands steady and efficient. The wound was clean now, and your sutures were precise, but your mind was elsewhere — already running through the list of soldiers you’d have to check on next.

When you finished, you pressed a clean bandage against the fresh stitches. “Done,” you murmured, voice softer now. “Try not to rip it open.”

“Mm.” His response was barely audible, but there was something… almost appreciative in it.

"Next time you're on the edge of dying, tell me. Don’t go to the infirmary if you don’t want to." Your voice was quieter that time. You didn’t ask why he really avoided the infirmary, since he have told just a lame excuse, but you didn’t have to. The scent of antiseptics, of blood and death, the ghost of comrades that never made it — the infirmary was a graveyard of unspoken regrets. You could understand that.

He hadn’t said anything to that, only watched as you patched him up, movements efficient, practiced. When you were done, he had grumbled something about “wasting supplies” and “not making a habit of this,” but you had caught the way his gaze lingered on your hands, the way he seemed more… silent.

And now, here you were. Days later. Sitting across from him in his office, tea in hand. It was his way of saying thank you — in a Levi sort of way. He never said the words outright, but actions spoke louder with him. Inviting you into his space, offering tea (from his own cup, no less), was as close to gratitude as Levi Ackerman would ever admit.

“—and then, as if I didn’t have enough work, Oluo starts complaining about a sore throat. Like I don’t have ten other people to check on.” You were mid-rant, your voice tinged with exasperation, but the corner of your mouth tugged slightly upward. “If he gets one more splinter and demands I disinfect it, I swear—”

Levi was watching you, not interrupting, just… listening. His posture was as rigid as always, one leg crossed over the other, hands resting on his knee, but there was something almost… less guarded about him.

“Maybe you should start charging him.” His voice was dry, a quiet, almost deadpan suggestion that made you snort.

“Right. And what do I charge for emotional labor? Double?”

“Triple.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you took another sip from the cup. His cup. You hadn’t missed the way his eyes had flickered when you first lifted it to your lips, but he hadn’t said anything about it.

“Tea’s not bad.”

“Because I made it.”

“Oh? So now you’re bragging?”

“Tch.” He looked away, but you saw the faintest ghost of something — not a smile, but maybe the shadow of one.

The moment was quiet, comfortable in its simplicity.

Until, of course, it was shattered.

Petra had been the one to interrupt earlier, her expression a mix of guilt and urgency as she explained that Eld wasn’t feeling well after his operation. You didn’t waste time. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

That was hours ago.

It wasn’t long after that when Hanji showed up. She didn’t knock either — never did — Levi didn’t react.

“Levi!” Hanji’s voice was as loud as ever, full of barely contained excitement. “You’re gonna want to see the new data on the abnormal Titans. It’s insane — one of them actually avoided —” She froze mid-step. Her eyes locked on the empty chair in front of Levi’s desk.

Or rather, on the cup.

It wasn’t the cup itself that caught her attention.

It was the faint smear of lipstick on the rim.

The teaspoon resting neatly beside it — Levi never used a spoon.

The sugar bowl, half-empty — Levi loathed sugar.

Hanji’s brain short-circuited for a moment. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Hanji.” Levi’s voice was sharp, pulling her out of her trance.

“Huh?” She blinked, then looked at him.

“What’s so interesting?” His tone was neutral, but there was an edge to it.

Hanji’s eyes darted back to the cup, then to Levi. Then back to the cup.

“Is that…” She trailed off, eyes narrowing. “Levi.” Her voice was different now—less excited, more… curious. Almost amused.

“Get to the point,” he muttered, but he wasn’t looking at her.

“You hate sugar,” she said casually, leaning against the desk. “And you never use teaspoons.” Her gaze dropped back to the cup, her lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

Levi didn’t respond.

Hanji’s lips parted slightly, eyes narrowing as the gears in her mind whirred at lightning speed. “Levi.” Her voice was different this time. Quieter. Calculating.

“So… who is she? Who’s the lucky one?” she asked, far too casually.

“Tch. No one.” His pen scratched against the paper, movements a little too forceful now.

Hanji didn’t press, but her grin was impossible to miss. She leaned back, arms crossed, and watched Levi with something that looked suspiciously like a triumph.

“Well,” she drawled, “I guess the abnormal Titans can wait,” Hanji’s tone was sing-song, teasing in a way that only she could get away with.

Levi said nothing, but his grip on the pen tightened ever so slightly.

Hanji didn’t need an answer. She already knew.

“Damn,” she muttered under her breath, barely hiding her smirk. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Hanji.” His tone was a warning, sharp and clipped, but she was unfazed.

“Okay, okay,” she relented, leaning back with her hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll drop it.”

“Levi, this isn’t just anyone.”

Levi ignored her. But his ears… if Hanji looked closely enough…

Hanji saw it. Of course she did.

She said nothing more.

She knew better than to push her luck. For now.

Levi’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes lingered on the cup for half a second too long.

Smoking

The infirmary smelled like disinfectant, sweat, and blood — an overwhelming mix that never seemed to leave your nose, even after you washed your hands raw. Today had been one of those days. Hours of standing, bending over open wounds, fingers cramping from holding the damn needle for so long that they refused to move properly by the end of the shift. You’d stitched up too many bodies today, some that might not even make it till morning. You weren’t a stranger to this kind of exhaustion — the type that clung to your bones, making your hands tremble slightly even as you packed up, the weight of lives barely held together pressing down on you.

By the time you finally pushed open the door to your room, it was well past midnight. The barracks were silent, save for the distant echo of boots in the hall as a patrol passed. Your muscles ached, but your mind was louder, the adrenaline still simmering somewhere beneath the surface. You dropped your satchel with a heavy thud by the door and shrugged off your jacket, fingers already seeking the familiar weight of the cigarette pack in the pocket.

Levi was there.

Sitting on the bed, back pressed against the headboard despite the mattress that was offering softness, book in his hands. The low glow of the bedside lantern highlighted the sharp angles of his face and the way his eyes tracked the words with laser focus. It was a habit now — waiting for you to come back, even if he’d never admit it. You didn’t ask for it, but you noticed. He was always there, book in hand, eyes flicking up the second the door opened. Like clockwork.

“Long day?” His voice was quiet but not soft, carrying that familiar detached calm that most people mistook for coldness. You knew better.

You grunted in response, too tired for words. Your fingers finally found the pack, and you pulled it out, tapping the bottom to push out a cigarette. You didn’t smoke every day — only when the weight was too much, when your body was too tight, and your mind too loud. Some people judged you for it, but they didn’t live in your skin.

The match flared as you struck it, the flame catching with a soft hiss. You lit the end, inhaling deeply, feeling the tightness in your chest ease just a fraction. The first drag was always the best — the smoke filling your lungs, dragging the day down with it.

You felt his eyes on you.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you asked, voice muffled by the cigarette between your lips. The smoke curled around your face, the scent of burning tobacco threading through the air. You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but you saw the slight tension in his jaw. He didn’t have to say it — he hated the smell. Hated the reminder it brought of the Underground, the filth, and the suffocating closeness of it. But he never said a word about it. Not once. But you knew it, and that he would never such admit it.

“I said it the first fifty times,” Levi murmured, eyes back on the pages, though you knew he wasn’t reading anymore.

You smirked, exhaling slowly, the smoke drifting lazily upward. “And yet, here you are. Still sitting here.”

“Didn’t say I was leaving, either,” he replied, flipping a page. His tone was as dry as ever, but you caught the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

You took another drag, letting the smoke linger before blowing it out. Then, an idea — one that tugged at the edges of your exhausted mind, teasing a bit of life back into your limbs. You pushed off the wall, making your way toward the bed. He didn’t react, eyes still on the book.

“I think,” you murmured, taking another puff as you stepped closer, “that you tolerate it more than you let on.”

“Think whatever you want.”

“Oh, I do,” you said, stepping right up to him now. He didn’t look up, but you knew he was aware of your every movement. You could feel it — the way his body shifted ever so slightly, muscles coiled beneath his skin. You hovered over him, cigarette dangling loosely between your fingers. “In fact…”

You swung a leg over and straddled his lap, knees bracketing his hips. Levi moving the book a little to the left to give you more space, finally looked up, brow arching slightly. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Something I think you’ll enjoy,” you murmured, leaning in just enough that the end of the cigarette was dangerously close to his face. His nose twitched.

“Tch.” He tilted his head back slightly, eyes narrowing. “Don’t be an ass,” he said as he put the book down on his side on the blanket.

“Too late,” you said, lips twitching as you took one final drag. You let the smoke swirl lazily from your mouth, tilting your head up to blow it toward the ceiling, away from him — but close enough that he couldn’t ignore it. His expression was somewhere between annoyed and unimpressed, but he still hadn’t pushed you off.

You smirked, taking the cigarette from your lips and holding it up. “Want a drag?”

Levi’s brow furrowed. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.” You tilted your head, offering it to him like a peace treaty laced with sarcasm. “Come on. Just once. Won’t kill you.”

“Yet,” he muttered, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

“Live a little, Ackerman,” you teased, leaning in just a little closer, your free hand braced lightly on his shoulder.

There was a beat of silence. Then, to your utter surprise — and maybe a little satisfaction — Levi plucked the cigarette from your fingers, bringing it to his lips. His expression didn’t change, with no hesitation, just the same cool disinterest as he inhaled, holding it for a second before exhaling downward, keeping the smoke away from your face. What such of a gentleman.

“Happy?” he murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours again.

“Ecstatic,” you caught yourself using his catchphrases, it seems you two got too close. Before he could say anything, you leaned in, closing the distance and pressing your lips lightly against his. You felt the slightest hitch in his breath, but he didn’t pull back. His lips were warm, tasting faintly of smoke now — and something inherently Levi.

The kiss was brief, teasing, and when you pulled back, your smirk was firmly in place.

“You’re an idiot,” Levi muttered, voice low, but there was no bite to it. His thumb brushed idly against your temple.

“Maybe.” You snatched the cigarette back, taking a small drag before stubbing it out in the little ashtray he bought you the other day by the bedside. “But you’re the one who let me do it.”

Levi’s eyes flicked back to his book, but not before you caught the slightest quirk of his lips. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured, shifting to slide off his lap — but his hand caught your wrist, halting your movement.

“Stay.”

Just one word. Quiet. Firm.

You didn’t move, just watched him as he turned a page, as though he hadn’t just said something that made the air feel a little heavier. Your muscles, still sore and aching from the day, finally relaxed as you let yourself settle against him, head resting lightly on his shoulder.

“Fine,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “But only because I’m too tired to argue.”

“Sure,” Levi said softly, but you felt the slight shift of his body — the smallest press of his cheek against the top of your head, so subtle it could’ve been mistaken for nothing.

Neither of you said anything after that. The room smelled faintly of smoke, but it was drowned out by the steady rhythm of his breathing, the comforting warmth seeping into your skin. And for the first time all day, your hands stopped shaking.

Masterlist !¡

Kissing

Levi had been watching you for longer than he cared to admit. It had started with something simple — respect. You were competent, grounded, and sharp enough to stay alive in a world where most didn’t. You didn’t take unnecessary risks. You thought ten steps ahead. And yet, you were standing in front of him now, arms crossed, wearing that look he’d grown familiar with — the one that said you’d already made up your mind.

“Why this mission?” His voice was calm, steady, but the tension was in his jaw.

You barely blinked. “Someone has to do it. I don’t see anyone else volunteering to negotiate with that bastard.”

“You don’t have to,” he said quietly, and when you tilted your head, brow raised, he continued, “You can say no.”

“I could,” you acknowledged with a shrug. “But I won’t.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Why not?” Your voice was even as if you were talking about checking inventory in the supply room. “It’s dangerous, sure. But it’s a job. And if I don’t do it, someone less prepared will go in and get killed.”

“Someone less prepared,” he echoed, but his tone was clipped. “You talk like you’re untouchable.”

“I’m not.” Your lips curled into something like a smirk, but your eyes didn’t follow. “Just realistic.”

“That’s not realism,” Levi muttered. “That’s you not giving a damn if you make it back.”

Your expression didn’t change, but he saw it. A flicker. A hesitation that lasted less than a second. You had always been good at masking. Better than most. Maybe even better than him. But Levi had been watching too closely, for too long, and he knew when something cracked beneath the surface.

“Maybe I don’t,” you admitted softly, looking away. “I’ve made peace with the risks.”

“That’s a load of shit,” Levi snapped before he could stop himself, and for once, your composure faltered. “You’re not reckless. You’re not suicidal. So don’t stand there and pretend you don’t care whether you come back.”

You stared at him, and when you spoke, your voice was quieter, but not softer. “Why does it matter to you?”

There it was. The question. The one he’d been avoiding, dodging, pushing down for over a year now. It sat between you both, heavy and unspoken, but it was there.

“I can’t let you go,” he murmured, and for once, his voice was unguarded. Raw.

“Why not?” you asked again, this time slower, like you needed to hear him say it.

Levi’s throat felt dry, but he forced the words out, steady as ever. “Because I like having you here.”

You blinked, eyes narrowing slightly as if you were trying to decipher a puzzle you hadn’t realized was already solved. Levi’s jaw clenched.

“You like having me around?” you echoed, lips quirking just a little. “Like a spare blade?”

“No.” His voice was sharper this time, but it wasn’t anger. It was something else. Something heavier. His eyes met yours, unwavering. “Not like that.”

Your brow arched, but the sarcasm didn’t fully reach your eyes. “Then how?”

Levi inhaled, slow and measured, but the words came before he could stop them. “Their hearts are delicate like glass,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost as if he was thinking out loud. “But yours especially.”

You blinked, and this time, the slight tilt of your head wasn’t calculated. “You think so?”

“Yes.” His gaze didn’t waver, but there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before — something unspoken, raw, and honest. “You’re worthy of my grace.”

Your lips parted slightly, and for a moment, silence filled the space between you both. Then, the corner of your mouth twitched, and Levi could see the sarcasm trying to push through the crack in your armor.

“Your grace?” you repeated, voice tinged with a trace of amusement.

“I’m saying,” Levi said, quieter this time, “I like you.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than they had any right to be.

For a moment, you didn’t move. You just looked at him, your expression unreadable, but your eyes… your eyes said everything. It was like something clicked into place — a puzzle neither of you had realized you’d been piecing together all this time.

And then, like something out of a memory you didn’t know you had, you stepped closer. Slow. Purposeful. There was no hesitation in your movements, no flustered awkwardness. You were always sure of yourself, and now was no different.

Levi didn’t move, didn’t breathe as you pulled him into your room by the collar.

You didn’t speak. Neither of you did. But the silence was heavier than words could ever be.

You stood in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off you, but you didn’t touch him. Not yet. Your eyes searched his, steady, focused as if you were looking for confirmation — one last piece of the puzzle. Levi gave you nothing but honesty in return.

And then, finally, you leaned in.

It was delicate. Barely there. Your lips brushed against the corner of his lips, so softly that it was almost a question — one he answered by not pulling away. Then the kiss on the jawline lingered there for a moment longer than necessary, lips so afraid to scare him away. And finally, you pressed your lips gently against his brow, like a promise neither of you had spoken aloud.

When you pulled back, your eyes met his again, and this time, there was no mask. No barrier. Just quiet understanding.

“Don’t try to stop me,” you whispered, the voice softer, lacking the hard edge it usually carried.

“I’m not,” Levi murmured, but his hand finally, finally lifted, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “I’m asking you not to go.”

You didn’t answer immediately. You didn’t need to. The space between you both had shifted — changed in a way that couldn’t be undone.

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured, voice low, almost reluctant.

It wasn’t a promise. But it wasn’t a refusal either.

Levi’s thumb brushed lightly along the apple of your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to breathe.

“Good.”

Remaining

Levi never liked the term 'family.' It was a word too easily thrown around, stretched to fit anything from blood ties to a makeshift squad, hollowed out until it meant nothing. But somehow, it had found its way into the spaces between you and him — not because of obligation, not because of shared history, but because it was the only word big enough to explain what you had become to each other.

It started years ago when you, a fresh recruit, had looked him in the eye after a particularly bloody mission and said, "You need to eat something, or you'll collapse. I don't care if you’re a captain." He had scoffed, barely giving you a glance, but later that night, when exhaustion kept his body heavy and unmoving on the edge of his bed, he found a plate of food on his desk. Still warm. No note. But he knew it was you. And he ate.

From then on, you just... remained. Not a subordinate in the traditional sense. Not a friend in the casual way. Just a presence that filled in the gaps when no one else dared. When his tea ran out, another tin would appear in his quarters. When he missed sleep for too many nights, you'd pass by and toss an extra blanket onto his chair without a word. You never expected gratitude, and he never gave it. It was an unspoken agreement that neither of you needed to put into words.

You were stubborn in ways that reminded him of himself. Always in the thick of battle, always standing despite the weight on your shoulders. But it wasn’t admiration that tied you together — it was understanding. The first time you had gotten injured, he hadn’t said a thing. Just sat beside your bed, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, as if watching over you was the most natural thing in the world. And when you woke up, you only said, "Are you seriously standing guard over me? That’s creepy." He smirked, just barely, and left without answering.

The others noticed, of course. They whispered about it, trying to put a name to whatever it was you shared. Some called it camaraderie. Others thought maybe there was something more. But the truth was simpler, yet harder to explain.

One evening, long after the mess hall had emptied, you sat across from him, both nursing cups of tea. Comfortable silence stretched between you. Then, you broke it.

"Do you ever think about what happens after all this? When we’re done fighting?"

Levi exhaled slowly, staring into the swirling liquid. "Not really. No point."

You nodded, considering his answer. Then, with that infuriating nonchalance you always carried, you said, "You should. You’re gonna need someone to keep your grumpy ass in check when we’re old."

He rolled his eyes, but something about the words sat differently in his chest. Because as much as he avoided thinking about a future beyond bloodshed, the idea of it being one where you still existed — where you were still throwing extra blankets at him and forcing him to eat — didn’t seem so bad.

He didn't say anything else, but later that night, when he passed by your quarters, he left a fresh set of bandages by your door. No note. No words. And when you found them the next morning, you didn’t say thank you. Just like he knew you wouldn’t.

And so it continued. Years passed, scars multiplied, and yet, you remained. Through battles, losses, promotions, and sleepless nights, the quiet rhythm between you never wavered. When he grieved, you never told him it would be okay. You just sat beside him, silent, steady. When you were exhausted, he didn’t lecture you — he simply slid a cup of tea into your hands and kept you company.

One day, in the aftermath of yet another battle, as you stitched a wound on his forearm, you said, "If I go first, don’t you dare turn into some bitter old hermit. Find someone else to keep you in line."

Levi scoffed, gaze fixed on the flickering lantern light. "Not happening. No one's stubborn enough to put up with me like you."

You grinned. "Damn right."

For once, he didn’t argue. Because deep down, he knew it was true.

Sleeping

The shrill sound of the alarm shattered the quiet, dragging you reluctantly from the depths of sleep. Your mind barely registered the noise, eyes still glued shut as your hand shot out instinctively to turn off the offending clock. You reached across the bed without thinking, fumbling blindly until your fingers found the cool surface of the wooden nightstand. The alarm clicked off, and in your half-conscious state, you shifted back, seeking the familiar comfort of your pillow.

Except… it wasn’t a pillow. It was firm, warm, and breathing. For a brief second, your brain—still marinating in sleep—didn’t fully process the anomaly. You sank deeper into it, the rhythm of steady breaths under your cheek oddly lulling. Then it hit you.

Oh, shit.

Your eyes snapped open as you froze, a prickle of awareness crawling down your spine. Your cheek was pressed against a shoulder, arm draped lazily across a torso like you had every right to be there. You closed your eyes. You didn’t move. Not right away. Maybe if you stayed perfectly still, nobody wouldn’t notice. Maybe if you pretended to still be asleep, this whole situation would just disappear.

Except Levi wasn’t an idiot.

“You done?” His voice was gravelly, low with the remnants of sleep, but there was a distinct edge of amusement lacing his words. “Or do you want a few more minutes of drooling on me?”

Your lips parted, words fighting to catch up with your thoughts. “I was not drooling.” You glared, voice scratchy but firm, and before he could add anything else, you rolled away, turning to the opposite side of the bed. The cool air of the morning hit your back, and you tried to mentally reset, eyes squeezing shut like you could will yourself back to sleep and pretend this never happened.

Levi didn’t let you off that easily. “You’ve got an early shift,” he pointed out, voice muffled as he shifted behind you. “Might want to get moving before you’re late. Again.”

“Double. Should be fun.”

“Take a break in between.” It wasn’t a request.

“I’ll survive,” you muttered, but the look Levi gave you made it clear that surviving wasn’t what he was worried about.

“Fine,” you added, rolling your eyes for good measure. “I’ll take a break. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” His deadpan delivery would’ve been convincing if it weren’t for the way his gaze lingered a beat too long.

Your eyes stayed closed, but your lips quirked in a tired smirk. “You staying there all day, or are you going to get up?”

He gave you that blank stare that spoke volumes without saying a word. “I was up before you drooled on me.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.” His tone was final.

You sighed, sitting up fully and swinging your legs off the bed, the cold floor biting against your bare feet. Your body protested the movement, every muscle reminding you of the lack of proper sleep. “This is your fault,” you muttered under your breath, stretching out the stiffness in your back. “You invited yourself in, remember?”

“And yet,” Levi drawled behind you, “I’m the one who woke up with a human leech attached to my side.”

You threw a glance over your shoulder, smirking despite yourself. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ackerman.”

His eyes narrowed, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, so subtle most wouldn’t notice. “Hurry up. You’re going to make me late.”

“Oh, now you have a schedule to keep?” you quipped, standing up with a stretch, feeling the pull of tight muscles.

Levi didn’t respond, but as you moved around the room, gathering your things. You didn’t miss the way Levi’s eyes tracked your movement, his gaze lingered just a second longer than usual. You didn’t comment. Neither did he. And somehow, the silence felt just as loud. Of course, he didn’t say anything, didn’t give himself away beyond the way his head tilted ever so slightly in your direction. You ignored it, pretending to be entirely focused on pulling a clean shirt from the small chest of drawers tucked neatly against the wall.

The morning light filtering through the window was soft, barely warming the chilly air that seeped through the thin walls of your room. Your body protested every movement, but duty called.

“Oi,” Levi’s voice cut through the quiet again, sharper this time. “You plan on standing there all day, or do I need to dress you myself?”

You snorted softly, tossing the shirt over your shoulder as you grabbed a fresh pair of trousers. “You wish,” you muttered, half under your breath, but loud enough for him to catch.

“Excuse me?” His tone was flat, but the slight arch of his brow when you glanced over your shoulder gave him away. Levi didn’t say anything, but you could feel his gaze following you as you moved. You grabbed socks from the chest, heading toward the screen in the corner. “You’re really gonna change behind that thing?”

You stepped behind the screen. “If you want a show, you’re gonna have to buy a ticket,” your lips curved into a lazy smirk, tossing his own words back at him without hesitation.

“Tch.” You could practically hear the eye roll, but there was a warmth in his tone that hadn’t been there before.

As you peeled off your shirt and swapped it for a clean one, your mind wandered—again. You shouldn’t have been this comfortable with him.

Not with Levi. Not with someone who had built walls so high even titans couldn’t scale them. And yet, here you were. Waking up tangled in his warmth, trading dry remarks like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“What’s natural isn’t dirty,” you called out casually, the phrase rolling off your tongue with practiced ease. You’d said it enough times over the years that it had practically become your motto.

Levi’s scoff was immediate, a low, unimpressed sound from the other side of the screen. “Tch. And what’s unnatural?”

“Repressing basic human needs,” you shot back without missing a beat, pulling the fresh shirt over your head. The fabric was cool against your skin, a welcome contrast to the lingering warmth from sleep.

“Didn’t realize you were such a philosopher first thing in the morning,” Levi muttered, his voice closer now. You could practically feel him standing just outside the screen, probably leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Did you know,” you began, a hint of your usual sarcasm returning, “that stress can weaken the immune system? Makes people more vulnerable to infections, and slows down healing. Basically, if you keep running yourself into the ground, you’re making my job a lot harder.”

Silence followed, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thoughtful. Heavy with something unspoken. “Huh.” Levi’s voice was quieter now, more reflective. “Didn’t realize I was such a burden.”

You stepped out from behind the screen, adjusting your collar as you met his gaze head-on.

“You’re not a burden.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, but once they were out, you didn’t regret them.

Levi’s eyes met yours, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface. “Good.” His tone was flat, but the weight behind that single word was anything but.

“Suit yourself.” You emerged fully, adjusting your collar and brushing off imaginary lint from your sleeve. His gaze swept over you briefly, clinically, before settling back on your face. For someone who spent so much time avoiding emotional entanglements, Levi had an uncanny knack for noticing the tiniest details.

“You always talk this much in the morning?”

“Depends.” You finally lifted your head, propping yourself up on one elbow to meet his gaze. His eyes were half-lidded, the usual sharpness dulled by the lingering haze of sleep. It was a rare sight, one that most people never got to witness, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

“On what?” he asked, his tone quieter now, more curious than anything else.

“On whether or not I wake up on top of someone.” Your lips curved into a smirk, but it was softer this time, more teasing than sharp. Levi’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that made your stomach twist in a way that was becoming far too familiar.

“Then you should probably stop making a habit of it.”

“Funny,” you drawled, running a hand through your hair, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep. “I was going to say the same to you.”

Levi didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. He didn’t move to get up, didn’t make any effort to put distance between you. Instead, he stayed there, watching you with that quiet intensity that made your skin prickle.

“Your shift’s in twenty minutes,” he reminded you, though there was no urgency in his tone.

“I know.” You grabbed your boots, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull them on. The leather was stiff, and your fingers worked through the laces with practiced efficiency. Levi hadn’t moved, still watching you with that same quiet intensity. “You staying in bed all day?” you asked without looking up, your tone deliberately casual, though you were acutely aware of his presence.

“Why? You worried I’ll make a mess of your room?”

“Please.” You snorted softly, tugging the laces tight before standing. “You’re too much of a clean freak to leave so much as a hair out of place.”

“Damn right.”

You turned to grab your jacket, but Levi’s voice stopped you mid-motion.

“You didn’t sleep much.” It wasn’t a question.

Your hand paused on the fabric, and for a split second, you considered brushing it off. But you didn’t. “Neither did you,” you murmured, the words quieter than you intended. Levi didn’t respond immediately, but you didn’t need him to. The weight of the previous night still hung between you both, unspoken but ever-present. His nightmares, the weight of the lives he carried, the vulnerability he had shown by coming to you instead of suffering through it alone.

“I’ll manage,” he said finally, but there was no conviction in his tone.

“So will I,” you echoed softly, your eyes meeting his for a brief moment before you turned away, shrugging into your jacket.

As you adjusted the collar, you felt his gaze linger. It wasn’t the piercing, assessing stare he usually gave when he was scrutinizing something out of place. This was… different. “You’re going to be late,” he murmured, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

“And you’re going to steal half my blankets next time I let you stay over again,” you shot back, though the corners of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“Next time?” The two words hung in the air, heavier than they had any right to be.

You paused, glancing at him over your shoulder, and for a moment, you weren’t quite sure what you were expecting. “Don’t make a habit of it, Ackerman.” You turned before you could see his reaction, but the faintest trace of something that might have been amusement lingered in the quiet that followed.

“Same goes for you.” His voice was softer now, barely above a murmur.

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to. The unspoken understanding between you spoke louder than any words ever could. And as you stepped out the door, leaving Levi behind, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted. Something subtle, something quiet. But it was there. And for now, that was enough.

Comforting

The knock at your door came past midnight. You frowned. No one ever came to the infirmary at this hour unless it was urgent. You swung the door open — only to freeze.

Levi Ackerman stood there, his usual sharpness dulled, his shoulders tense like a coiled spring. His uniform was slightly dishevelled, his cravat missing. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, looked… tired.

“Levi? Are you hurt?”

Levi shook his head once, “No.”

You hesitated, “Then why are you here?” For a moment, he didn’t answer. The candlelight flickered between you, stretching the silence thin. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper —

“I just... didn’t want to be alone.”

Something deep in your chest ached. You had never heard Levi admit something like that before. You stepped aside without another word, letting him in.

Levi walked in slowly like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. He didn’t sit. Just stood there, eyes darting around the room as if grounding himself.

You closed the door softly behind him, “What happened?”

Levi exhaled, pressing his fingers against his temples. “I just…” He let out a humorless chuckle, “Couldn’t sleep. Again.”

You swallowed, “Nightmares?” Levi’s fingers twitched. Then, finally, he nodded. You knew he had them. Of course, he did. How could he not, after everything he’d been through?

But he never talked about them. He never let anyone see. And yet, here he was. Letting you see.

“Levi,” you said, stepping closer, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

Levi scoffed quietly, “That’s the thing, isn’t it? I do.”

“No, you don’t,” you reached out, gently tugging his hand from his face. “Not with me.”

Levi stiffened slightly, but he didn’t pull away.

You guided him toward the cot near the window. “Come sit,” you murmured, “Just for a little while.”

Levi hesitated. Then, with a slow breath, he sat down, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. You sat beside him, leaving just enough space for him to breathe.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The room was quiet, save for the occasional flicker of candlelight and the distant chirp of crickets outside. Then —

“It’s the same dream,” Levi muttered, “The same fucking dream.”

You turned your head toward him, “Tell me?”

Levi exhaled sharply through his nose, staring at the floor. “I see them,” he said finally, voice low, “Every single one of them. My squad. The recruits. The ones who didn’t make it,” his fingers clenched. “They look at me like I should’ve done more. Like I should’ve saved them.”

Your heart squeezed.

“They don’t say anything,” Levi continued, “They just stare. Like they’re waiting for an answer I don’t have,” he let out a bitter chuckle. “And then… then they disappear. One by one. And I wake up.”

You bit your lip.

Levi leaned forward, running a hand down his face, “It’s so fucking stupid. I know they’re gone. I know there was nothing I could’ve done.” His voice wavered slightly, “But it doesn’t stop me from seeing them. From hearing them.”

You shifted closer, placing a careful hand over his, “It’s not stupid, Levi.” Levi didn’t move, but his fingers twitched under yours. “You loved them,” you said softly, “That’s why it hurts.”

Levi scoffed, but it lacked his usual bite. “Tch. Love is useless.”

You shook your head, “No, it’s not. It’s what makes you you.” Levi went silent. “You think they hate you,” you said gently, “That they blame you.” Levi’s breath hitched. You squeezed his hand. “But they don’t, Levi. They never would.”

Levi finally looked at you, eyes searching, “How do you know that?”

“Because they knew you,” you said, voice firm. “They knew you fought for them. They knew you would’ve done anything to keep them alive. And they would never, never blame you for things beyond your control.”

Levi’s jaw clenched, “I should’ve done more.”

“You did everything you could.” Levi’s breath came out unsteady. His shoulders trembled, just barely. You shifted closer, your hand sliding up to his forearm.

“You’re not alone in this, Levi. I promise,” Levi swallowed hard. His fingers curled slightly under your touch.

For a long moment, he just breathed. In and out, slow and measured. Then — hesitantly, almost unsure — he turned his hand over, gripping yours. Your heart stuttered.

Levi’s voice was barely a whisper, “Can I stay? Just for tonight?”

You squeezed his hand, “Of course.”

Levi didn’t say anything, but the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. He stayed there, his fingers still curled around yours, as the candlelight flickered softly around you.

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone.

Stitching

The first time you stitched Levi Ackerman up, he glared at you like you'd personally offended him.

"This is unnecessary," his voice was as sharp as the needle in your hand.

"Really? Because the gash on your arm says otherwise," you didn't bother looking up as you tightened the suture. He scoffed but didn't pull away. That was the only permission you needed.

Levi had a bad habit of brushing off injuries. Being Humanity's Strongest meant that basic self-preservation didn't apply to him. If a wound wasn't outright killing him, he ignored it. This meant that you, as one of the few medics brave enough to stand up to him, spent an unfortunate amount of time stitching him back together.

And it never got easier.

Not because of the wounds themselves — you could handle those in your sleep. But because Levi Ackerman, despite his constant scowling, his clipped words, and his general aura of "stay the hell away from me," had the most unfairly attractive hands. Which was a ridiculous thing to notice.

But you did.

Every single time you treated him, you couldn't help but glance at them. The contrast between his strength and the way he kept them clean, his precise movements, the way his fingers curled slightly when he was trying to keep still.

You shook the thought away and finished the final stitch, "All done, Captain. Try not to rip them open again in the next twenty-four hours."

"Tch. No promises,” typical.

A week later, Levi showed up in the infirmary, uninjured but suspiciously hovering. You arched an eyebrow, "I don't see any gaping wounds on you. Did you finally learn the meaning of caution?"

Levi's expression didn't change, but his fingers flexed at his side as if suppressing the urge to cross his arms, "I need you to teach me.

You blinked, "Teach you... what?"

His jaw tightened, “Stitching.”

You stared at him for a full five seconds before bursting into laughter, "you? Want to learn suture?"

Levi's glare intensified, “Is that funny to you?"

"A little,” he huffed and looked away.

"Tch. Never mind."

You bit back your grin, "Wait, wait, hold on. I'm just surprised. Why the sudden interest?"

Levi was quiet for a moment. Then, almost reluctantly, he muttered, "If we lose a medic in the field, someone else should be able to handle wounds.” The words were practical and logical, but you caught something else in them.

If we lose you.

Warmth bloomed in your chest, but you kept your expression neutral, “All right, Captain. I'll teach you." He gave a short nod, but his ears were slightly pink.

Training Levi was... an experience. You had expected him to be competent — he was Levi Ackerman, after all. But he was almost annoyingly good. His hands were steady, his technique precise, his focus absolute.

You had never seen someone pick up sutures so quickly. Except —

"Too much pressure," you murmured, standing behind the guy, slightly leaning forward so that your chest almost touched his back and your cheek almost touched his.

Your hands gently guide both of his, reaching out to adjust his grip on the needle, showing how to maneuver such a delicate operation for him, and a simple one for you.

"You're strangling it,” Levi's hands twitched under yours, but he didn't pull away. You guided his fingers into a gentler hold, your hand lingering just a second longer than necessary.

"Better," you said softly. Levi didn't respond immediately, but you could feel the tension in his posture.

Then, barely audible, he muttered, "Your hands are warm," your breath hitched.

Did Levi Ackerman just —

You glanced up, but his eyes were fixed on the practice dummy. A little too intently. You swallowed a smile, "Yours are steady."

Something flickered across his expression, but he just hummed in acknowledgment.

You didn't comment on how his grip remained exactly where you placed it.

A month later, you found yourself in the field, wounded and short on medics. Blood dripped down your arm, your vision wavered, and for the first time, you understood why Levi wanted to learn.

Then, suddenly, he was there, "Knew I'd need to use this sooner or later,” Levi muttered, kneeling beside you. You blinked up at him.

"Captain?"

"Be quiet,” his voice was gruff, but his hands were gentle as he pulled out a suture kit. You were too exhausted to argue. Instead, you watched as Levi threaded the needle, his movements precise and practiced. He worked quickly but carefully, just as you'd taught him.

Your lips curved into a weak smile, "Look at you, applying yourself."

"Tch. Don't get used to it."

You chuckled, then winced as he tied the last stitch. Levi exhaled sharply. "Idiot,” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words. Only something softer, something quieter. You felt the warmth of his hands linger on your skin even after he pulled away.

And maybe, just maybe, you'd find an excuse to let him practice again. Just for the sake of training, of course. Right?