#commanderbolo

GENOSONIC IS THE NAME

The ashes and skulls made me love them more. :'D

You sure may! (I really like this song, btw! Thanks for the introduction~)

>send me a letter and i’ll write you a mini fill

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It’s a filthy habit, Levi knows, and that’s why he’s trying to kick smoking. But it’s so damn hard, not when his hands start to twitch at ten in the morning, an ungodly craving for a cigarette howling its way through his lungs before his eyes even crack themselves open. 

Erwin knows this, knows only too well that Levi’s been trying for the better part of five years to quit it. He’s tried everything, going cold turkey (not advised), squares of Nicorette gum (not so bad, though Levi still can’t stop thinking about the rush of heat that coats the back of his mouth whenever he takes the first inhale), taking up gardening (horrible, all the flowers died in a week and Levi was still aching for a pack of Lucky Strikes). Erwin knows, but when Mike and Nanaba invite them out for a night on the town (see: clubbing), and Levi nods to accept the offer, erwin can’t help but light up a cigarette of his own in the dark corners of the nightclub they’re at. 

Levi’s eyes pierce through him, fixated on the cherry glow of the cigarette. Aching. Craving. Hungry. Erwin almost feels bad, but it seems a pity to get the scent of smoke in your hair and clothes without lighting up one yourself. And the buzz of nicotine goes well with the G&Ts he’s tossing back. 

“You want one?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Levi, who shakes his head furiously. His long, thin hands are curling into fists at his sides, relaxing, fingernails picking apart the sticky vinyl of the booth they’ve managed to slide into. His Jack and Coke on the rocks is melting slowly in front of him, and Levi takes another swallow of the dark liquid, almost angry, almost irritated, even as the warmth of the alcohol sets him ablaze from the inside out. “You sure?” 

“I’m sure,” Levi grits out, barely audible over the loud thumping bass that makes their drinks ripple in their cups. Suddenly he’s slipping out of the booth, dragging Erwin to his feet, lit cigarette still cupped protectively in the curve of his hand. “C’mon, let’s dance or something,” Levi grumbles, and Erwin wonders just how many drinks he’s had, if maybe the alcohol is more potent without the crutch of his vice. 

Their bodies press close together, limbs tangling, and the flashing lights pool in the swells of Levi’s cheekbones and the curve of his mouth. His lips are plush, pursed, wanting. 

“Give me a bit.” He breathes concession against Erwin’s mouth, tugging him down for a kiss that’s sloppy and smoky. “Please.” 

JEEEEAAANNNN.