#levi art

But it was more than that. You carried yourself with calm confidence. Shoulders straight, gaze steady. You didn’t try to impress. You didn’t need to.

Which, of course, made everyone want to impress you.

And that never failed to get under Levi’s skin.

Not that he said anything. He wasn’t exactly the flowers-and-declarations type. He wasn’t the jealous shouting type either. But you could always tell when someone got too close, looked at you too long, let their laughter drag on just a few seconds more than necessary.

His arms would fold. His mouth would tighten. And most noticeably he’d stop speaking altogether.

Which is why today was already teetering on the edge of something dangerous.

You had just returned from a two-day expedition—low stakes, mostly scouting paths for a possible expansion of the eastern outpost. You’d ridden beside Levi most of the time, a mutual rhythm long since established. Quiet nods. Silent trust. Shared maps. The kind of understanding that didn’t need words.

But now, back at HQ, with the mission done and your teams dismissed, you just wanted a hot drink and something vaguely edible.

You walked into the mess hall with your coat still half-unbuttoned and the scent of leather and pine still clinging to you. Your hair was loose, still slightly damp from your rushed shower. You were tired. Hungry. And blissfully unaware of the chaos your appearance was about to cause.

“Captain!” someone said brightly, too brightly.

You looked up. A table of scouts had gone silent the moment you entered. One in particular—new face, late teens maybe—was staring at you like he’d just seen an angel descend in combat boots.

You blinked. “Yes?”

“I just wanted to say…” He stood, pushing his tray aside. “You were incredible during that ambush near the riverbank. The way you redirected your horse around the slope and took that crawler out from behind? That was—” He stopped himself, smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. That was really hot.”

You raised a brow.

The table erupted into low snickers. One scout actually elbowed him in encouragement, which only seemed to fuel his misplaced confidence.

“Do you, um—have plans tonight? You probably get that all the time, I mean—look at you.” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just wondering—”

“She’s busy.”

It wasn’t loud.

But it was sharp enough to cut through the laughter like a knife through wet canvas.

Levi stood at the far entrance of the mess hall, arms crossed, eyes locked onto the scout like he’d just suggested feeding Titans. He wasn’t scowling exactly—his expression was calm, almost blank—but it felt worse than anger.

Every scout froze. The flirty one especially looked like he wanted to evaporate.

“I wasn’t— I didn’t mean anything by it,” he stammered. “Just being friendly—”

“Your ‘friendly’ gets you cleaning latrines if it happens again,” Levi said coldly. “Eyes up when speaking to your superior.”

The boy nodded rapidly. You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for him. He hadn’t meant harm. He’d just been… bold. Or stupid.

Levi strode forward and came to stand beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed. He didn’t look at you, but you could feel the heat in the air between you, like lightning waiting for the strike.

“I could’ve handled that,” you said quietly, once the scout had slunk away and the rest had gone back to pretending they weren’t listening.

“I know.”

You turned your head. “You jealous, Ackerman?”

His jaw clenched, barely perceptible. “Don’t like hearing people talk like that about you.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just sipped your tea and let the moment breathe.

“You could always do something about it.”

That earned you a sideways glance. Levi didn’t blink. “I just did.”

You smiled. “I mean something that doesn’t involve threatening to exile the entire scout regiment every time someone calls me hot.”

Silence.

Then, after a pause: “Tch. Don’t tempt me.”

You laughed, and to your surprise, so did he—just a soft breath through his nose, but genuine. His shoulder leaned into yours, subtly, almost accidentally.

You didn’t move away.

---

You didn’t expect him to come by your quarters.

You were halfway through bandaging a scratch on your thigh—nothing serious, just an unlucky brush with a branch—when the knock came.

Three sharp raps.

You didn’t bother to cover up. He’d seen worse.

“Door’s open.”

He stepped in, eyes immediately flicking to the exposed skin before politely returning to your face. Classic Levi—always aware, always in control.

“You’re injured.”

“It’s barely a scratch.”

He stepped closer, took the roll of gauze from your hand without a word, and knelt.

“Levi—”

“Sit still.”

You did.

He worked in silence, fingers deft and careful. The touch wasn’t romantic. Not obviously. But it was reverent in its own way.

“You didn’t have to come,” you murmured.

“I did.” He pressed the gauze in place. “Didn’t like how they were looking at you.”

“Who? The kid in the mess hall?”

“All of them,” he said flatly. “The way they stare. The things they say when they think I’m not there. It’s disrespectful.”

You looked down at him. “To me?”

“To you,” he confirmed. “And to me.”

There it was.

You inhaled slowly. “You know, Levi… You don’t need to just protect what’s yours.”

He looked up. “No?”

You shook your head. “You can claim it.”

A beat.

Then his hand left your thigh, came to rest on your knee—warm, firm, unshaking.

“You’re mine?” he asked, low and even.

“If you want me to be.”

“I do.”

You leaned down, fingers brushing his cheek. “Then say it.”

“I don’t share,” he whispered. “Not with idiots. Not with scouts. Not with anyone.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t practiced or smooth or romantic in the storybook way.

It was fierce.

Protective.

Possessive.

It was everything Levi Ackerman didn’t say with words.

And you kissed him back with all the fire he’d spent months trying to smother.

---

The next morning, you entered the mess hall again. Alone this time.

The same scout glanced up—and immediately returned to his food. No eye contact. No witty remarks. He looked like he’d aged ten years overnight.

You sat down with your tea and a smug little smile.

Across the room, Levi looked up from his own mug. Just once.

He didn’t smile.

But the twitch of his mouth said everything.

You were his.

And now everyone knew it.