Sans titre

“I wouldn’t die, Levi,” Erwin replied. “Not really.”

The tone of his voice made Levi bristle. It sounded too gentle, too patient, and just a little bit wry. As if he were making some self-deprecating joke and not debating the semantics of immortality.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Levi muttered, pushing off the wall to pace the length of the table. “You’d be as good as dead. The old laws are clear.”

“You asked me once,” Erwin said, “why I continue to lead men knowing the cost. I told you it was necessary.”

“Don’t start,” Levi snapped. “I’m not in the mood for your heroic bullshit.”

His boots echoed against the stone as he circled the war table, where carved maps gleamed beneath torchlight. Tiny iron ships lined the coast. Small figurines marked villages, cities and outposts—entire mortal lives reduced to neat pieces that could be moved around on a whim. Levi had once been one of those mortals, one of those pieces on the board.

That, perhaps, was what separated him from gods like Erwin. The others had emerged fully formed from myth and worship, born already knowing their purpose. Levi had been dragged into divinity kicking and screaming. He stopped pacing and finally looked at his commander.

“There are other generals who can lead this one.”

A faint smile touched Erwin’s mouth. “You know there aren’t.”

Levi let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. For weeks now, he’d watch the stronghold prepare for his commander’s march north. No one bothered to tell him Erwin wouldn’t be returning. At least, not as himself.

The village bells began to ring below. Levi glanced out the opening in the stone wall. Evening had begun to settle over the coast, and the harbor was dotted with lantern light. Fishing boats had returned early to avoid the storm gathering offshore. It looked idyllic, though he knew better than to romanticize mortals from this height.

“There’s a seeress in Trost,” Levi said, turning back.

Erwin was stone-faced as he considered his oath-sworn captain, then let out a quiet exhale. “She can’t change what’s coming.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She isn’t bound by the old laws, perhaps. But we are.”

Levi’s mouth twisted. He had heard this before, centuries of it—the gods’ endless invocations of fate. But to him, fate just seemed like a shitty excuse for surrender. Especially now.

“So, you’re really going to do nothing,” he said acridly.

“It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Levi shot back. He pushed away from the table, iron ships rattling in his wake, and grabbed his cloak.

“Where are you going?” Erwin asked.

“I’m going to see her,” Levi replied, striding toward the door.

“Do what you must,” his commander answered, his voice filled with the kind of tired acceptance that made Levi feel suddenly young and reckless.

You sat near the window and watched the sea.

It was a poor village, though no poorer than most coastal settlements you had passed through. It’d been decades since you last saw it, yet it remained largely unchanged. The houses leaned from the constant spray of wind, and fishnets hung between the battered eaves. The hour was growing late, and everyone, down to the last child, knew that a storm was approaching just from the scent in the air.

You could sense the man coming to see you long before he arrived.

He wasn’t exactly a man, not in the mortal sense of the word. Dark-haired with rain clinging to his cloak and a determined set to his brow. Two long scars you didn’t recognize ran down the length of his face. One cut across his right eye, now milky white. There was something almost fearful and desperate in his expression. You had seen enough love to recognize the uglier forms it sometimes took.

“Seeress,” he said, standing at the threshold of your room at the inn.

“Levi,” you said, watching the hungry flicker of purpose in his remaining steel-colored eye. “It’s been some time. I thought the old gods had little use for mortal prophecies.”

He stepped in, closing the door behind him. “Save your riddles. I don’t have the patience for them today,” he replied with a frown, skepticism rolling off him in waves as he tracked brine over the floorboards.

You sighed and stood from your perch by the window. The god of ambition’s most lethal captain had never been one to mince words. “You have questions. You may as well ask them.”

Outside, the waves were beginning to swell as the storm moved in. Wind whistled over the faded roof tiles. You gestured for the divine servant to shed his cloak and take a seat, but he ignored you. He had always been rude when he had something pressing driving him, and some things, apparently, survived death.

“Tomorrow, Erwin intends to set out and meet the beast descended from the giantess, Ymir, in battle. You and I both know the beast can’t truly die,” Levi said.

You studied him quietly. The years had carved away at him into something sharp and cold—like marble, pale enough to reveal the deep, permanent bruises beneath his eyes. But every so often, you caught glimpses of the boy who used to climb through your bedroom window smelling like seawater and stolen apples. That boy had once spoken about leaving this village. He had once slept.

Then, he had died. And the gods had found use for his rage.

“Whoever lands the killing blow absorbs the beast’s essence,” you said. “Yes.”

Levi’s jaw tightened. “I need you to tell me how to kill it without Erwin dying.”

“Erwin is a god. He cannot die.”

“He might as well be dead if he goes through with it,” Levi hissed. “He’ll be gone.”

“He will be reborn,” you reasoned.

“The Erwin I know will be gone,” he said sharply, fists curling at his sides.

It was intolerable. All of it. Erwin was revered. Mortals followed him into battle, to their deaths, because he inspired belief. His domain was ambition, victory through impossible odds. What was more impossible than defying prophecy and legend? Levi didn’t want to hear your pretty words about rebirth, no matter how pretty the mouth was that spewed them. Fleetingly, his mind conjured an image of that mouth, glistening and ripe, skimming his flushed skin, taking him in—

The memory jolted through him almost physically, and Levi gritted his teeth against it. The room seemed to press in, creaky windows rattling with the first real gusts of the storm. He forced the image away and focused on your silhouette, outlined by the blue of dusk.

“There has to be another way,” he bit out.

You stepped closer, the boards groaning under your bare feet. “Do you ever listen, Levi? Or does your anger crowd out every answer except the one you want?”

He scowled, fingers flexing. “I don’t care about the answers you’ve already given. I want the truth—the real truth. Not what you think will make me piss off and leave.”

Your lips curled gravely. “I don’t see you for several centuries, and this is how you speak to me?”

His stare faltered. His mouth opened, then closed. “What about you?” he demanded. “When’s the last time you passed through this village, huh?”

“You never really leave a place like this,” you said mirthlessly. “You should know.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not. You want to bend the laws of the world for his sake. I’m telling you, you’re not the first to try.”

He scoffed. “No one’s tried hard enough.”

You nearly laughed. Was this really the same Levi? The one who flouted authority and took orders from no one? You wondered as much from the very first day you’d heard the songs written about the divine executioner called Levi Ackerman and realized the dead man you had once loved had been remade into a weapon for gods.

“You think yourself different from Erwin, but your desperation is kin to faith,” you said, quietly but no less cutting.

He met your flat stare warily. “Don’t compare me to him,” Levi spat. “He already decided how this ends. He was just going to give up and die. I’m not letting him.” His voice was hoarse, his hand swatting uselessly at the air as he moved toward you. “If I have to drag him back from the edge myself, I will.”

You held your ground, tilting your head. “I see.”

“What do you see?” Levi huffed derisively.

“This is about you, isn’t it? About how you think you cannot survive losing another version of someone you love.”

He went stock still. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You watched Levi’s jaw clench, the old fury so long denied rising up in him. You remembered kissing that jaw, the hinge of it just below his ear that used to make him melt under your touch. “I know you, Levi. How many have marched behind him because they believed he would lead them somewhere worth dying for?” You reached out softly, only to pause when he flinched. “You were one of them. And then, you spent centuries watching other people die for his ambitions.”

Levi snapped his gaze away. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Is it?” You raised a skeptical brow at him and lowered your hand. “You’re terrified of losing him because you lost yourself, and he gave your death meaning. You don’t want to wake up tomorrow in a world where he is gone, and everyone expects you to kneel before whatever wears his face afterward.” 

His expression darkened. In a flash, his hand lashed out, snatching you by the wrist and hauling you in, close enough that his sharp breaths stirred the strands of your hair framing your face. “Tell me, damn it,” he snarled. “Tell me what I want to know.”

You didn’t struggle, but he could feel your pulse race under his grip. For a long, taut moment, you looked as if you were weighing your response. The conflict flickered behind your eyes, uncertainty swirling with the same violence as the storm raging outside. Then, you swallowed.

“There is a ritual,” you said, the hush of your voice edged with resignation.

“A ritual?” Levi’s grip on your wrist tightened. “What does it cost?”

“It isn’t a loophole,” you said evenly. “Don’t imagine clever words will free you from the old laws. The ritual isn’t a trick; it’s a trade. The essence must pass from the beast to something. Someone. The ritual only changes the vessel.”

His eyes narrowed, searching your face for deceit. “What does it cost?” he repeated coldly.

Waves crashed furiously against the rocks, sending seawater high as Levi climbed down the jagged path to the cavern. Ahead of him, you led the way with a lantern in hand. You had changed from the plain wool dress you wore in the village into ceremonial robes of gossamer fabric that clung to you like mist with the damp, glimmering in the lantern’s glow. His footsteps rang on the slick stone, boots scraping while your feet were silent beneath the sweep of your robes.

You glanced back. “This way,” you said. “We haven’t much time. The tide’s turning.”

Water pooled in the low points, and as Levi passed, he caught his bedraggled reflection. Ahead, the cavern grew drier and warmer with every step, as if they were slowly entering the belly of something ancient and alive.

“Here.”

You stopped at a broad shelf of stone and set the lantern down. You turned and beckoned him, bidding Levi to come closer. With a wary glance behind, he obeyed.

“Stand there,” you said, pointing to the circle hammered into the floor. Its lines glimmered with an unnatural sheen.

Levi hesitated only a moment, then stepped inside. The circle’s edge tingled against his boots. He removed his sword belt and set it aside. Then, his cloak. Then, the leather bracers on his wrists. Each movement felt strangely ordinary, like he was only preparing for battle and not something mystic and foreign to him.

“When this is over,” he said quietly, “he lives.”

You did not answer. Levi looked at you sharply.

“When this is over,” he repeated, “Erwin lives.”

Your lips thinned. “Yes.”

You held out a cup to him he didn’t see you pour. He took it, caution prickling along his knuckles where they touched the rim. The liquid inside shimmered faintly. It smelled faintly of salt and rust.

“Is this entirely necessary?” Levi asked you, catching your gaze.

“For the ritual, yes,” you said with a short nod. “Whether or not you feel it’s necessary personally, well, that’s up to you.”

He scowled at you and raised the cup to his lips. The taste burned with a bracing clarity that shot through his chest and fingers. Your silhouette doubled before his eyes, then steadied somewhat as his temples throbbed. Within moments, he felt his whole body shiver with a cold sweat, as if he’d been drenched by seawater again, and every breath began to heave out of him.

The cup slipped from his hand, landing with a loud clang on the stone.

“Fuck,” he groaned, instinctively reaching out to catch it but failing. The abrupt movement made his stomach lurch, every brush of his own clothes against his skin sending spikes of pain along his overstimulated nerves.

Levi reached out to brace himself, one hand landing on the shelf and nearly knocking over the lantern. The more he tried to focus his vision, the more it swam. He looked up at you just in time to make out the graceful flick of your robe as you untied it, the gauzy material falling open, though he could barely react to the exposure of skin.

“Here,” you said gently, taking him by the shoulders. He was too dizzy to fight you, letting himself be guided back to the center of the circle. Your touch was an instant, stinging pain, yet at the same time, exquisitely pleasant.

His gaze followed the line of your neck, down the valley of your breasts. It was surprising, really, how familiar your body was to him, even after years apart. The shape of you was like a memory from a life Levi had almost forgotten, and yet, the sight of you undressed, even in this strange, echoing place, caught at something inside him that was not divine at all.

Desire shot through him like a burning wave. He tried to speak, but his tongue was thick with the lingering taste of the ritual drink, heartbeat a thunder in his ears. Your face hovered above his as you pressed your palm flat against his sternum, your hand holding none of the reverence mortals normally showed to divinity.

“Don’t fight it,” you murmured, but some part of him knew the burning liquid he’d consumed didn’t construct this hunger from nothing. It only quickened what was already there, leftover from a time when your fingers had held him, not in ritual, but in love, years ago.

Levi’s knees buckled. You let him sink, guiding him down until his legs were half folded beneath him, arms trembling to hold himself upright. Your thighs settled upon his, straddled over his lap, and he realized only then that he was hard beneath you.

You cradled his skull with one hand, threading your fingers into the shorn hair at his nape. The fabric of his shirt seemed to scrape at his shoulders and chest; every brush of your hands, featherlight as they were, sent another jolt of want through him. Your other hand traced the lines of his ribs, pressed over the frantic beat beneath his heart.

A shudder ran the length of his spine as your hips settled more firmly over his. You cupped his jaw, thumb stroking beneath the edge of his scar. For a moment, Levi thought you might kiss him, but instead you leaned in, your breath warm against his ear, and whispered words not meant for the mortal world.

With a groan, he rolled his hips, thrusting up against you involuntarily. The barrier of his clothing between your bodies was unbearable. He almost tore at his own shirt, desperate to strip away whatever kept you from his skin. Your hands helped, fingers quick and clever working buttons and catching at buckles. Salt air swept over his chest as he let the garments be worked from his shoulders and arms.

Your thighs squeezed tighter around him as you guided him through the haze. Your palms mapped the old scars, the hollow above his hip, each touch dragging him further from thought and deeper into fevered need.

The words you whispered slid into his head, curling along nerves already raw from the ritual. Levi craved the meaning but could only seize you, nails digging into the expanse of your back. You gasped, head lolling back in surprise, just enough to let him press his advantage. He rolled, roughly flipping you onto your back and pinning you. The circle’s edge pulsed, silver threads of power humming beneath his knees.

His head pulsed, the pain like a dagger through the eye as his vision whited out. Hazy images intercut with his current reality. The soft outline of your stomach under his unscarred hands. His fingers tracing your spine and tangling in your hair. Tender and warm, contrasting the cold of the cavern and the savage need to devour mounting inside him. Levi groaned, pressing the heel of his palm hard against his brow as he tried to shake the disturbances, but the visions wouldn’t let go.

The world spun; his hands blurred, overlaying memory and now, past and present lovers, mortal longing and the cruel compulsion of divine change. Your legs locked around his hips, robe splayed beneath you, hair unbound and wild over the stone. You dragged his head down, biting at his lower lip, salt and sweat stinging where your teeth pressed above the scars.

(The taste of summer wood strawberries and elderberries on your tongue. Levi’s fingers threading into yours. Sunlit warmth and the sound of gulls over the crashing waves.)

He ground roughly against you, desperate for friction. Your hands claimed his shoulders, nails scraping new lines across old wounds, then slid down to urgently fumble between your bodies. You found his cock through his trousers, palm pressing hard against the aching length of him.

(Your naked back in the firelight, arching as he moved inside you. Levi’s lips ghosting across your shoulder. You had whispered for him to be gentle, but it‘d always been difficult for him, even then, to temper his appetites for you.)

Levi tore at the waistband of his trousers, desperate to be inside you. Your fingers wrapped around his length and guided him to you. The circle’s light flickered, spiraling upward around them as he pressed into you with a shuddering thrust, the collision of your hips echoing in the cavern’s hollow dark.

You clung to him, fingers digging furrows into his back as he rutted into you. The stone beneath you was cold, but Levi’s body above yours radiated heat, his chest slick with sweat and salt as he fucked you hard into the ancient floor. Pleasure burned between your thighs, blurring the guilt that tore through your chest at the cruelty of the ritual, which demanded what little autonomy Levi had left, the one thing you could not grant him, not even now.

The ritual was a violence, and you were its instrument.

The divine servant drew himself up, strong hands lifting your hips high off the ground to pound into you at a new angle. The euphoria burned through him so completely, he did not realize he had missed it all this time. Centuries of training, fighting, and being on constant alert, yet the adrenaline of battle couldn’t compare. Confession buzzed behind his gritted teeth.

“Been too long since I had you,” Levi admitted in a choked groan. “Since I had anything that felt like this.”

The forcefulness of his strokes made it hard for you to respond; you could barely do anything but release your breaths in staccato moans. His pace stuttered then, and Levi released himself inside you. Immediately, the insistent thrum beneath his skin calmed.

You shuddered as he pulled out, feeling the sudden emptiness and the warmth of his seed trickle from you. The ritual was complete. Except, Levi wasn’t done.

“What are you—?” you began as he eased you down and lowered himself between your thighs.

A quiver ran up the length of your body, gathering at the base of your throat. You gasped as Levi’s tongue pressed into your cunt. After the ritual’s violence, you had expected swift withdrawal, but instead his mouth was as gentle as it was insistent. Your knees instinctively clamped around his head as he lapped at the mess of his own release, moaning into you indiscriminately.

“Not done yet,” he murmured, spreading open your folds with his thumbs. “Not until you.”

He latched onto the hypersensitive bud of your clit, making you jerk and cry out, the sound echoing up through the cavern. Your hands found his hair, clutching at him, unable to resist the heat mounting inside you.

You tried to protest. “The ritual doesn’t require—”

“Fuck the ritual,” Levi growled against your cunt. The past was tangled up inside him now, reawakening memories he’d once thought lost, and he had never been satisfied leaving you unsated. That old, mortal urge drove him now as his tongue worked you, each stroke soaking up the taste of you. He groaned out your name, feeling his spent cock kick weakly in response to your pleasure. How had he gone so long without this? He had no answer, but now that he’d tasted you again, he knew nothing else could satisfy him like this.

Your hips rolled up against his mouth, the ache of your need building and building until you shattered on his tongue with a broken moan. Levi licked you through your release, until you’d ridden out every shudder, only then letting you slip from his grip. He pressed his cheek to your inner thigh, breath warm and ragged against your skin. You managed to catch your breath, blinking up at the vault far above.

When he finally rose, shifting himself back up your body, Levi settled himself beside you and drew you into him. You let him, your body aching and sore but not pained. The wind shrieked through the cracks in the cliffs in stark contrast to the muffled thud of his heart beneath your palm.

“I missed this.”

Your stomach churned as Levi’s lips brushed your ear. “Don’t say that,” you said, feeling the words catch in your throat with a pang so sharp it was almost sweet.

His arm circled around your waist possessively. “I missed you,” he insisted firmly. “The campaign north. It’ll be swift now. Wait here for me.” He pressed his mouth to your throat. “When it’s done, Erwin will be alive, and I’ll come back for you.”

Your pulse beat furiously under his lips. You didn’t untangle yourself from him, though you couldn’t help the slight tension in your limbs. It was tempting to believe him, to believe yourself capable of staying in one place. Of being someone not ruled by time and visions and the laws of the gods. But the ritual’s magic was already taking root. You could already feel the pattern of his heartbeat beginning to change beneath his skin. The hollow ache of transformation now seeded in Levi’s soul. It made you want to weep, though you didn’t let it show.

When he returned, Levi would not be the same man he was now. He would not be a man at all, but the same thing as the master he was trying to save. Then, he would serve no god.

The ritual’s influence worked quickly. He would not see it, not yet. But soon, he would realize that agreeing to be remade would lose him the very last vestiges of his old self, of what made him Levi. And would he still want you the same way without those mortal desires? Perhaps, as a consort, to consult on matters of war or prophecy, or to warm his bed—if he even remembered wanting you at all.

Your eyes closed against the salt sting of tears. For now though, you would lay in his arms, listening to his breathing as it slowed. “I’ll wait, but only until the new moon,” you promised. “I can’t linger here forever, Levi. I have duties of my own.”

Levi’s only answer was a faint, unyielding hum of assent. Then, he’d find you, he thought. He’d find you wherever you wandered. Such a task would be mere child’s play for a war god.

Well, yes. You've certainly caught a bit of a flu. If the heat radiating off your body wasn't a telltale sign, then the sneezing fit at six this morning was the giveaway—one that had Levi's palm pressed to your forehead before you'd even fully woken up, his frown deepening with every cough you let out. 

Still, you don't see the big deal. You're working from home today so you're not going to get anyone sick, and you can easily power through the day. It isn't like you're truly sick... and you hate to dump your workload on colleagues already drowning in their own. 

You tell him as such. The effect is somewhat undercut by the rasp in your voice. 

"Would you go into the office in this state?" he asks, crossing his arms again.

"No—"

"So that's that. Sick is sick. And you're not going to get better by standing around arguing about it." 

"Honey, be reasonable," you say, taking on that sweet tone of yours, the one that works on him more often than he'd ever admit. "I can do this, I promise." 

"Don't think that tone's gonna get you anywhere," he mutters, nose scrunching in displeasure—a sight that would be endearing, if it weren't aimed at you. "You're going to bed. Now."  

"Levi—" 

And then, having had enough of your protests, Levi swoops in and gathers you up, bridal style. Your protest dissolves into a cough halfway out of your mouth, which does nothing to help your case. In fact, it only makes Levi tug you closer, one hand splayed at the back of your nape, carrying you from one room to another like you were something precious. 

"Stop," you complain meekly. "M'gonna get you sick," 

"I highly doubt it."

"You're not invincible, Levi."

"No, but my immune system seems to be."

"Still…" 

"Just focus on getting better so you don't drag this out."

That's the thing about living with a germaphobe: getting sick under Levi's roof means rules. Quarantine protocols, for one. Every surface disinfected. And always: your boyfriend standing like a sentinel over your shoulder, making sure you get your mandatory rest. 

And so, begrudgingly, you accept your fate. You text your boss telling them you won't be working today and, under Levi's watchful eye, you're tucked into bed—covers pulled to your chin, pillow adjusted twice. 

"Here." Levi returns once, then twice more after that, ferrying supplies in careful trips: ginger tea, still steaming. Medicine and a glass of water. The book you've been reading. Your orange cat, Zeke, deposited at the foot of your bed—a feat Levi seldom allows. 

Everything within arm's reach. Everything accounted for.

"D'you really have to leave for work?" you mumble, watching as Levi now adjust his tie in the mirror's reflection, briefcase already packed and ready to go.

Levi's eyes meet yours through the mirror, and that's when you catch it: a crack in his usual composed expression, something quiet and unhappy passing over his face. 

He doesn't want to leave, either. 

"I'll be back early tonight," he promises, and delivers a kiss to your forehead—lingering a second longer than necessary, like he's taking your temperature one last time.

You sigh, watching him leave, and settle back in your warm, soft bed. 

Only, you're awakened by the sound of your boyfriend just a few hours later. You've just finished having lunch, having tucked yourself back into bed for a nap.

That's when Levi comes in, looking less put together than he did on his way out. His hair is slightly disheveled, and he's pacing.

"Levi?" you mumble, sleep in your voice. You sit up, rubbing your eyes with a yawn. "What're you doing here?"

Levi is already undoing his tie as he answers, "I'm sick."

You blink, lines of worry now etched on your face, as you attempt to discern signs of sickness. You don't catch much; already, Levi disappears inside your bathroom, and you listen to the shower run—knowing he's busy doing the full decontamination ritual—before he reemerges in a change of clothes several minutes later.

For a moment, you just watch him move with measured actions, moving to refill your water glass and medicine tray.  

"You don't look sick," you point out, watching him carefully.

"It's early stages."

You raise a brow.

"Scoot over," Levi mutters.  

You do, because you know better than to argue with him at this point, and your head still hurts too much, anyway.

And so, Levi slides in beside you, one arm coming around your waist like it belonged all along, promptly kicking Zeke out of the bed with a gentle shove of his foot, earning him a hiss as the cat lands on his feet. 

"Levi!" you protest. "Pff... this is why Zeke hasn't warmed up to you since we moved in together, you know." 

"That orange monstrosity is lucky I let it on the bed today. His nasty paws touch litter every day."

You shake your head. Some things, you suppose, will never change, despite your best intentions.

Still, you turn in his embrace, eying your boyfriend with a smirk.

"So you're sick, huh?" you say.  

Levi's expression stays blank.

You open your mouth to continue to tease him— 

"Quiet," he grumbles at once, flipping you over and tugging you against his chest. "You're supposed to be resting." 

You laugh, despite yourself.

Maybe sick days aren't so bad.

Levi Taglist

@tea-rae, @444anya, @levislolita, @sixpennydame, @dawnsoblivion, @nightthawkss, @levisaurus, @y44washere4somereason, @nisam.glasnik, @levisbrat25, @lissamaylee, @lysaisland, @levissssackrmans

"Sweet thing," he coos as he descends onto you, hot lips on your neck. "My darling girl."

"Please," is all you supply as an answer.

The fragility in your voice makes him take you harder—as if, perhaps, that might be enough to answer your pleas (when really, all your weak, juvenile heart desires is an answer to the insecurities festering within—festering long before you met him).

Take me away, you wish to cry.

Love me, you want to say.

Let me be enough for you.

And when at last your lovemaking is over and Erwin tugs you against his chest in practiced familiarity, you feel his breath settle into easy sleep. There, as he dreams, you watch his ring glisten against your breast in the moonlight.

And in those moments, you're left to wonder: