“Recruit Levi,” her voice is cool, smooth, but Levi has good ears, she can hear the faint amusement and condescension. “Above ground, women keep their shirts on.” A ripple of laughter goes through the assembled men. Levi sneers at the other woman, standing there amidst the other soldiers, perfectly in place and at home where Levi stands out, because she’s a frigid, feral little underground rat.
Levi shrugs off her oversized shirt. None of the women’s fit her shoulders or biceps, and none of the men’s were small enough, so Levi’s been wearing the smallest men’s size while she works on altering a few shirts to fit her. Her torso isn’t naked, Isabel had insisted that Levi wrap her chest in a few thin bandages, so she could be more like the other women. As if Levi cares, but for Isabel’s big green eyes she had conceded. Levi turns in a circle, arms held out.
“Tits covered. Happy, Blondie?”
“Not particularly, but carry on.” Yep, definitely condescending. Levi glares at her. She would prefer to fight bare-chested, she’ll be damned if the bastard pulls out a knife and she ends up dying of an infection because a scrap of fabric got caught in the wound. But she doesn’t argue (more). She’s not imagining things, she can see how the taller woman is eyeing the wrap with what looks like interest, hungrily devouring where Levi’s firm pectorals have a shadow between them, how the serrated muscles on her ribs move and stretch beneath the cloth, how the thin fabric just barely highlights the ever so slight curve of a petite breast, the soft puffy peaks of her nipples. Levi’s a fully grown adult woman, despite what people tend to say, and if Smith wants, she’d be quite happy to pull her into an empty room and show her exactly just how mature and developed Levi’s body is.
“You gonna stare at my tits all day, Blondie, or you gonna referee?” Smith doesn’t even have the grace or good manners to pretend like she wasn’t staring, pointedly keeping her eyes on Levi’s chest for a heartbeat longer before raising them, raising a dark brow along with it. Smith’s face is strong boned and beautiful, elegant even with her full lips and rosy cheeks, those bright blue eyes, but those brows are too thick for even a man to pull off. Levi hates how they somehow work with her other features, how they make her look even more attractive and imposing.
“Hmm? Oh, my mistake, I didn’t realize there was something to stare at.” The men laugh, and if Levi didn’t have such superb control over her temper (she does, Farlan, she does), she would flush bright red, walk over there and grab Smith’s own, grab hard and twist to hear her yelp. She bets Smith’s voice would go high, girlish, an utterly humiliating sound escaping her throat that Levi wants to hear so bad that hot rage burns in her stomach. Levi doesn’t, she doesn’t go over there or punch the other woman, or pull her into a vicious, feral-like kiss, she just clenches her fists at her side and glares venomously at the men who dared to laugh. “You may begin,” at this the bitch has the audacity to wave her hand airly, like she’s the fucking queen or some shit.
“Bitch,” Levi hisses, and a cool not quite smile settles on the other woman’s face.
“Perhaps,” she agrees, “but the pot is calling the kettle black, is it not?” Levi bares her teeth, fuck Smith for thinking that she knows even remotely what the bullshit that came out of her mouth just was.
“Aw, Captain, it’s not a fair fight,” the man complains, flexing his arms like it intimidates Levi in the slightest. “Look at her, she’s tiny!” It’s not false, Levi doesn’t even reach five feet, and she probably doesn’t even weigh half of the man. But Levi saw the way his eyes widened slightly and Smith’s had sharpened when she took her shirt off. She may be small, but every inch of her is corded in solid, hard and prominent muscle. Her shoulders are broad, biceps and core thick, so unlike the little waif that he was probably imagining that she would be.
“Would you prefer to forfeit?” The Captain asks, mild and pleasant. Levi’s brow furrows, what is the other woman playing at? Does she want Levi to fight her men? Smith’s face is calm, kind looking even, but Levi is very, very good at reading people, no matter how inscrutable they think they are. She can see how her icy blue eyes seem to glint almost coldly, cruel and vindictive. Oh. She wants the man to get his ass kicked, because she can’t do it herself. Oh.
Levi clenches her fists, gnashing her teeth as she glares at Smith with enough force to send grown men running away screaming. The blonde woman merely cocks an eyebrow, meeting Levi’s gaze without so much as a flinch.
“Is something the matter, Levi?”
Yeah, something is the matter. Fuck Smith if she thinks that Levi is just content to be her little attack dog because she doesn’t have the balls to punch the man herself. Fuck her.
“Yeah, fuck you. I’m not doing this.” Levi scoops up her shirt and goes to stalk off, but jeering stops her in her tracks.
***
I don’t really know where I’m going with this, just a snippet of a wip that I had
