Won't you come and dance in the dark with me?

He doesn't understand why you’re so determined to stick around.

You shouldn't be involved with someone like him. 

Levi knows this.

More than anything though, Levi knows he is selfish.

He had never considered himself as such before and, despite his numerous flaws, has always tried to be as inconveniencing as possible—letting go of his own wants and needs in favor of prioritizing those around him, and blending into the background wherever possible. He kept his own emotions under lock and key, knowing that his shit was too heavy to rest on anyone and refused to have someone fussing over him.

But Levi must be selfish—it's the only explanation for why he allows himself this.

“This” being you.

He tried to fight it off—fight you off—at first, tried ignoring the temptation in your hips when you walked; the way your nose crinkled a bit when you laughed and that fire in your eyes when you refused to put up with his bullshit. At first, he told himself that it was only a natural response; you're around often since Hange and Erwin took a liking to you, so of course he would notice you.

When you came around more and tried getting to know him, Levi tried being more outwardly combative. He spared no insult or dismissal, because the guilt from seeing you hurt was more comfortable than that weird feeling in his chest.

But Levi is a weak man, and he crumbles every time you smile at him.

God, your smile.

It's what he’s been forced to look at for the last ten minutes, causing his resolve to crumble in the palm of his hands.

(Though, “forced” would be a small exaggeration as he had every option to cancel on you tonight.)

You were talking about your day, sparing no detail—and you had a great day, so giddy about it that Levi almost forgot what a shitshow his own had been.

Between work, his shitty uncle, and the yearly Christmas party Hange threw just around the corner, Levi has been miserable.

But seeing you this way helped.

“And then, to make it better, my boss finally told us about our Christmas bonus! And, guess what?” 

He hums casually, raising his brows in question.

“We're getting a crazy increase from last year!” Your face lit up like the string lights on your balcony, finally having some form of reward for the full year of relentless work you had put into your role. “Isn't that so cool?!”

“That's great,” Levi says, throwing an arm loosely around your shoulder.

“So?” You nuzzle into his side, curling up on the couch. “Anything exciting happen for you today?”

“I don't want to talk about my day.”

“Oh,” you sigh. Levi felt your shoulders deflate.

“Just a long day.”

“Is there anything I can do? Can I get you anything?”

Levi reminds himself again just how selfish of a person he is when he says, “Just you.”

And this is how it always ends: you and Levi in bed, clothes stripped away and thrown across the room, sweat clinging to your bodies and the smell of sex heavy in the air.

But it’s different tonight.

You're on top of him, your touch teasing and purposeful as you kiss down the length of his torso. Levi lays there with his arms draped above his head after you so gently asked—insisted—to take care of him. He can only think that this is too intimate—he isn't sure he feels cared for as much as he feels terrified, but he can't bring himself to stop it. Your lips are soft, mouth burning as you kiss and suck and nibble down his chest, stopping to toy at his nipples in a way that is unfamiliar but pleasurable all the same. You leave subtle bruises in his pale skin on your descent; marking his body as your own, you gently soothe the tender flesh with your tongue as your path continues down, paying no mind to the way he squirms and gasps underneath you. You pause at his hip bones where you remove his last remaining article of clothing, letting his aching cock touch the cool air.

Levi hisses in sensitivity while you're peppering small, barely there kisses into the delicate skin, interchanging with kitten licks and his heart hammers in his chest. With a light touch, you pick up a slow pace, stroking him while you gently mouth at the head of his cock.

This is too different—it's too sweet, too reverent for something like him.

He’s so close to stopping you—to manhandling you underneath him, pinning your wandering hands behind you and fucking you into the mattress until you're close to breaking because he doesn't know what else to do with this feeling.

But you look up at him from under your lashes and the only thing Levi can think is that you look like an angel in the dim lighting.

How could he ever tell you no?

Levi knows he’s among the worst of sinners; he doubts this will absolve him, but when your lips fully wrap around the flushed, dripping head of his cock, he thinks you feel close enough to salvation that he allows you to continue.

Your eyes lock onto his, forcing him to close his own to maintain a sliver of his pride when your light strokes force a whimper out of him. You take him into your mouth—wet and hot and the perfect amount of pressure on that spot just below the head—and he can't hold back the moan that escapes him as his head pushes back into the pillows. His hands flex, desperate for something to ground himself as you settle into a slow rhythm, using your hands to more firmly stroke what your mouth can't take. You build him up slowly—so much so that Levi almost doesn't notice when his fear morphed into reverie, getting lost in the warmth of your mouth and soft hands. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, overwhelmed with an emotion so extreme his body couldn't contain it.

And, because Levi is so rotten, he pulls you off of him just as he feels his orgasm approaching—not to deny himself the pleasure; he could never be so selfless. No, he needs to be inside you—needs to feel you pulsing around him, feel the way you tremble when he fucks you exactly how he knows you need; he wants to feel you come undone, knowing it’s only him that can make you feel like this. 

Worse than that, he needs to be back in control.

You, with your strawberry lip gloss and warm skin, have a way of picking Levi apart piece by piece. This time, he was in danger of not finding himself after.

So, that's exactly what he does.

He pulls you apart; he fucks you into the mattress until you're practically crying from the pleasure—he rips you open with his fingers and stitches you together with his mouth, relishing in your taste because it's almost as sweet as your voice. He leaves you shaking, overstimulated and boneless in the bed. 

The two of you lay together, legs tangled up in the sheets in the aftermath.

Levi used to leave right after.

Sleeping over was too intimate and he couldn't give you the wrong impression, couldn't let you think there was more to him than what he let you see—but it happened by mistake once and it’s kept happening ever since.

As he holds you against his chest, a distant thought tells him that he can't keep this up—he’ll only hurt you in the end—but you smell like strawberries and mint and Levi can't seem to let go.

“You're still going to Hange’s party, right?” You ask softly.

“Regretfully so.”

Hange cared little for Levi’s disdain of the holiday. He knew they would drag him out of his apartment if they thought he wouldn't attend, so it was easier to agree in the end.

That, and they already threw his name in for the gift exchange. 

He drew your name too. He thinks Hange orchestrated that. Nevertheless, he wouldn't let you be the only person without a gift even though the concept was a bit ridiculous to him as a whole.

“It's not that bad.”

You're tracing small patterns on his chest as you talk, wiping away remnants of your lip gloss off the skin.

“Says you—you've never been.”

“I've been to some of their other parties before,” you counter. “It was fun.”

“Depends on your definition of fun.” Levi put a hand in your hair, holding you closer to him. You yawn, burying yourself deeper in his chest, as if it was even possible.

Why can't he ever seem to let you go?

“Don't be such a grump.”

Levi lightly chuckles.

Before he can think to reply, he hears you snoring softly.

Something changed after that night, but he can't quite put his finger on it.

The routine stays the same.

Levi is over at your apartment more nights than not. You trade off on who brings or makes food for the night, watch shitty movies on the couch, and stay up later than what would be considered healthy. 

But something changed.

He tried ignoring it, chalking it up to an incidental moment of vulnerability clouding his judgment, but Levi realizes a week later—the night before Hange’s Christmas party—that something is undeniably different.

He was in a similar situation to the night that sparked the change that he realized.

He’d had another long day.

His uncle, the annoying bastard, had some select comments to make when Levi reaffirmed he would not be spending Christmas with him or his drunkard pals. His boss was on his case about a project that wasn't due until after the new year, his check engine light came on, and he woke up late which cut his morning shower short and subsequently started his day off horribly.

This time of year is always hard on him, as well. Too many tragedies piled up in the span of a season, tarnishing what little joy he would've otherwise been able to find in the grayness of winter.

He never told you, but you picked up on it.

You always pick up on it.

You started by pointing out how tense his shoulders were, moving behind him and massaging them, working out the tension from the day. 

A quiet moan escaped him when you worked out a particularly stubborn knot, eliciting a response from you he could feel as your thighs tensed from behind him and your breath caught. He’s found himself being more vocal around you, despite his best efforts to remain silent, and it spurs on a more dominant side Levi didn't know you had. 

You kept rubbing—your hands venturing to his biceps, down his back, then back up to his neck where your fingers carded through his hair and scratched at his undercut. It forced a shiver out of him, turning him pliant. You took it as an opportunity to press kisses to the side of his neck, his pulse quickening under your ministrations while your hands moved around his waist. Levi felt his body heating, blood rushing as he yearned to touch you. You kissed and licked, using one hand to lightly grip and move his jaw out of your way when his head instinctively curled into you. With your other hand, your nails scratched down his abdomen, eliciting a sharp gasp from him as chills erupted over his body.

“You're so tense,” you whispered as you palmed at the growing tent in his slacks and nibbled at his ear, making him gasp. “Tell me how to help.”

Your touch was both a catalyst and a balm to Levi’s nerves.

You continued touching him, refusing to go beneath his clothes and sticking to your incessant teasing. He felt himself growing desperate but he was sure for what, torn between moremoremore and toomuchtoomuchtoomuch.

“Levi,” you cooed. He bit back a moan, your tone lulling him further into submission. “Use your words.”

Levi’s breath grew heavier, stuck between fear of the unknown and the temptation of being cared for.

I can't, he thought. Not again. I can't do this.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed in a desperate attempt to find his sense of mind.

“You can,” you said, like you heard his internal struggle.

It scared him how you seemed to have a sixth sense for him.

Instead of forcing an answer from him, your fingers moved to the button of his pants, toying with the zipper as you whispered back in his ear. “Is this what you want?” 

He could hear the genuine question behind your teasing—you were giving him an out, a choice in case it really was too much and he didn't want you in control. He stopped for a second, considered if his brain or dick was talking for him and decided it was both. Maybe it's why he let out a breathy “yes,” helping you undo the button and lifting his hips to slide his pants down.

You hadn't pulled him out of his boxers yet, seeming to enjoy your teasing.

“Is this okay?” You asked, hands resting on his thighs.

“No– yesyes, I mean yes,” he said breathily, one hand coming around to grip your thigh resting at his side to ground himself and leaning his head back to rest on your shoulder. You gripped him through his boxers, teasing his sensitive head over the thin fabric. “You're driving me crazy.”

You shushed him, gently tutting at him. “Just enjoy it.” One hand toyed with the hem of his boxers, while the other placed gently at the base of his neck but applying no pressure.

Levi knows he’s selfish because he allows it.

He nods, words failing him and watches as you slip your hand beneath his boxers. He exhales heavily, leaning into the sensation.

“Good boy. Relax for me.”

Levi swears he could've came right there, listening to your gentle praise while your soft hands stroked his cock, but he couldn't live with himself if he didn't get inside you before this was over.

Which, in hindsight, is how he wound up here.

Here being Levi on the couch, while you grind against his dripping cock with only your panties and his boxers on and he fights back any and every reaction he possibly can—with no success. When he faced away from you, he had privacy, (albeit minimal) and a sense of security in the fact that you couldn't watch him fall apart. Like this, he can see everything and he knows you can too. He can see the thin line of sweat across your forehead as you grind against him, the wet patch on your panties that he isn't sure is from you or him, every one of your curves and facial expressions—looking like this is bringing you as much pleasure as him.

He’s horrified at what you may see in him, because he thinks you've broken him and he doesn't know how.

He's never felt like this—so exposed, so fucked out without being properly touched but he's too far gone to fight it.

“Please,” he says, almost imperceptibly. He doesn't care about his pride or shame or dignity—the only thing Levi can think about is you riding him to tears after being teased and edged into oblivion. “Need to be inside you—I’ll do anything.”

Your pace picks up, an evil smile telling Levi that you enjoy his misery a bit too much. “Anything?”

He nods his head fervently. “Yesyesyes, anything.”

Much to Levi’s chagrin, you stop entirely, acting as though you're pondering the meaning of anything.

“All you had to do was ask,” you coo cruelly. Levi feels his cock harden more than he thought possible in his current state, practically dizzy from the lack of blood flow to his brain. “But– hands to yourself.” You emphasize your point by pinning Levi’s arms above his head.

He breathes out a sharp ‘thank you’ as you pull his briefs down, finally exposing his cock—red, leaking and painfully flushed. You give him a few teasing strokes before moving your panties to the side and lining him up with your entrance.

You tease him a bit more, gathering your wetness on the head of his cock and grind yourself on him until his legs are shaking in anticipation. Mercifully, you take pity on him and slowly sink down on him. He watches as you take it, agonizingly slow—watches your face morph into that of pure bliss as he slips inside. He can feel how wet you are, no less affected than him from your torture, and it's killing him. It's too much, not enough, just right, and fuck– it's so much, you're so good to him, please don't stop. His vision goes white, knuckles paler than ever as he grips the back of the couch to restrain himself and follow the only order you gave him. 

What the hell is happening to him?

What have you turned him into?

He doesn't have the clarity to understand what spell you've put him under when you finally, finally take him down to the hilt, lightly rocking your hips as you settle yourself and Levi sees stars.

Fuck, he’ll cum soon if you don't stop moving. 

He doesn't want to stop you and he doesn't want this to be over so soon and he wants to regain his sense of control and he's never been in such a state of bliss. You must sense his turmoil, because you stop. You pet his hair, lightly scratching at his undercut and he feels the last of his stress melting underneath you.

“You're okay, Levi,” you say, holding his head to your chest. “Just let go for me.”

Levi shakes his head, gripping your hips until his knuckles turn white. “Can’t–” he tries but is cut off by the steady pace you start and his own moans. “Don't want to finish yet.”

“It's okay.” You're still moving, no longer showing him mercy. You're riding him like you're trying to kill him. He isn’t sure you already haven't. His head is swimming, so overwhelmed with you that he can't think clearly. He’s never been one to follow orders—sex or otherwise—and never one to allow himself to be cared for the way you have.

That nagging feeling he gets around you has increased tenfold, consuming him entirely and he fears there's nothing left of him after this.

You've ruined him.

When he finally cums, Levi’s vision goes white. You let him finish inside you, something that has always been an unspoken rule between the two of you to not chance. He can’t find it in him to pull out, not when you're so soft, so warm and your weight on him is so perfect. His moans are nearly inhuman—you hold him close, stroking his hair as he rides out the high. 

He stays like that, cock softening inside you while you play with his hair until his breath evens out and Levi finds himself again.

When he does, he realizes this can't happen again.

This… thing between you and him took a nosedive past the point of selfishness on Levi’s part into entirely uncharted territory.

He sits on the couch with you still in his lap, arms loosely draped around your hips and cherishes these last moments.

“I have to go,” he says abruptly. He tenderly moves you to the side and grabs his clothes from the floor.

“Are you sure?” He has to ignore that flicker of hurt across your face.

It's been nearly three months since the last time he left like this and he knows it hurts you. He should've known to not let things go so far with you—should've known you were never his to keep, even for a lingering moment.

“Yeah.”

“Okay… I’ll see you at Hange’s party tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

Levi finishes dressing, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric of your shirt and leaves without a word.

He doesn't text you when he gets home safe.

He doesn't call you after the new episode of the show you’ve been watching together—the one he should've been there for tonight.

He doesn't think about you at all really, save for the lingering smell of your perfume in his hair. He doesn't subconsciously choose the t-shirt you gifted him last Christmas to sleep in, pretending it wasn't a birthday gift even though the wrapping paper was suspiciously not Christmas themed; he doesn't think about you when he showers and uses the soap you gifted him the other week just because. He doesn't think about the cliffhanger from last week’s episode or if you're waiting for him to watch the new episode.

He doesn't think about your name, which he drew for Hange’s ridiculous gift exchange they insist on every year, or the gift waiting for you by the front door.

He just goes to sleep.

Or, he tries.

It's fitful. A fruitless effort to seek some semblance of control amidst all the thoughts of you that Levi has to tell himself we're never there in the first place.

By the time morning rolls around, Levi decides he won't be going to Hange's party.

He stashes your gift away in his closet, not having the heart to unwrap or regift, but not being able to look at it either.

Why are you so hard to get over?

Levi has never met someone so damned irritating—he can't get you out of his head and he wants to hate you for it. You ruined something in him last night. You broke him. Whittled him down bruised skin and hollowed out marrow, pressing on all his soft spots while you cooed in his ear. No one has ever been allowed to touch him like that; no one has ever made him feel safe being touched like that. Despite every inch of his body feeling raw, your touch was a balm to the sensation and he got swept away. Levi doesn't do that. He doesn't feel this way over hookups or friends or people in general.

So what the hell is so special about you?

(Somewhere deep down, Levi says the easier question would be what isn't special about you. The answer would be nothing.)

Levi tells himself he doesn't care to find out. It isn't like he’ll see you again.

Or so he believes.

Levi, in his self-induced haze of pity and loathing, forgets that you are likely the most stubborn person he's ever met—second only to himself. So, when he ignores yours and Hange’s texts and calls, save for a quick ‘I’m not going’ and proceeds to ignore every other communication, Levi really doesn't know why he thought this would end so easily.

He has a hard time remembering why he ever wanted it to end when his doorbell rings and you're standing on the other side.

He hadn't quite realized the time—nine o’clock in the evening, two hours after Hange’s party started, an hour and a half after you asked him where he was, and an hour since the gift exchange would have started.

“Levi, I know you're in there,” you say, ringing the doorbell again. “I saw you through the window.”

He cracks the door, leaving the chain lock. “I'm not in the mood.”

“I don't care.”

“And neither do I.” He watches you through the crack. You cross your arms, looking positively fed up with him and cradle a small gift box.

"I'm not leaving until you let me in and explain yourself.”

“Go home.”

“What did I just say?”

“I'm not doing this right now.”

“Levi,” you huff, closing in on the cracked door and pointing a finger towards him. “I will break in through the damn windows if you don't let me in.”

And he knows you're serious, so he opens the door.

You immediately go to the kitchen, helping yourself to a beer from the fridge. You take a long sip before you speak. Levi says nothing, lest he make this any worse than it has to be.

“Care to explain yourself?” You finally ask, gingerly sitting the gift box on the countertop.

“There's nothing to explain.”

“Really?” You scoff. “So, I don't deserve to know why you ran away from my apartment last night—”

“—I didn't run away—.”

“—ignored all of mine messages and Hange’s, skipped out on the party with no explanation, continued ignoring all of us, and locked yourself in your apartment on your birthday?”

He has nothing to say.

“Who the hell does that?” Your words are angry but Levi sees tears prick at the corner of your eyes. He realizes that the last twenty-four hours may have been worse for you than it was him. “Everyone missed you. I missed you.”

“I just… couldn't.”

“Why?”

He says nothing.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Yes and no.

“I…”

“Just tell me, please,” you say. You're crying now and Levi feels his heart snap in two. “Let me fix it.”

Levi has always considered himself to be a man that will break before he bends once his mind is made. He isn't swayed by the wants and needs of others—everything he does is according to his own needs and sense of morality. But watching you stand in his kitchen, fighting back tears while you play with the corners of the gift he assumes you bought for him, Levi’s iron will is melting. He's never seen you cry before, he realizes. He had never hoped to see it, much less when he was the cause.

He realizes he’ll do anything to stop it, even if it means breathing life into the nameless emotions you spark in him.

“You… you did nothing,” he says in a shaking voice.

“Then what is it?”

How is he supposed to say this?

“I–” Levi’s heart hammers in his chest. His knees go weak and his head hurts as he tries to parse through his own muddled emotions. You're asking him for an answer to a question he's never asked himself and he doesn't know what to say. He takes a deep breath. “I don't– I’ve never… you confuse me.”

You look at him quizzically. “What does that even mean?”

“I don't know,” he says. “I don't know what you're doing to me. I don't know if I like it.”

“I don't get it,” you begin, taking a step away from him. “Is it the sex? We don't have to–”

He cuts you off. “It's more than that.”

“You have to explain it to me, Levi,” you plead. “I don't want to lose you like this.”

“You… you make me feel… afraid. That's never happened before."

You go to speak again, but Levi puts a shaking hand up, wordlessly asking you to let him continue. You do. “This was supposed to be just sex, and– and it isn't. I don't know what it is.”

He sees understanding on your face. “You don't have to name it right now, Levi. It's okay if you need time.”

“What if I never can?”

“That's okay, too.”

He shakes his head, refusing your response. It's not okay—you deserve someone that doesn't feel sick trying to understand why you make him so nervous, so weak.

“I know it's hard for you,” you add.

“You don't deserve that.”

“That's not for you to decide.”

You both sigh heavily, the weight of both confessions hanging in the air.

“Where do we go from here?” You finally ask, picking up the gift from the counter.

“I– I don't know.” Levi crosses his arms, avoiding your gaze as he tries to put himself together. “Can we just… stay like this? How have we been?”

“I thought you didn't like that.”

“I don't want it to go away… but I don't know what I need either,” he says. “Can I just- just tell you as I figure it out?”

You smile at him, drying the last of your tears. “Yeah,” you sigh. “That's okay.”

Levi doesn't smile, but he feels his face light up a bit. The two of you stand in his kitchen for another moment, gazing at each other but making no move to close the distance.

“I have your gift,” he finally says. “It's in the closet.”

“Open this first,” you say, handing the box over to him. Just like year, the wrapping paper is distinctly not Christmas themed, but the tag says from your secret Santa so Levi sees it as a decent enough compromise.

He gingerly tears open the paper, having always had a dislike for the mess and the sound of ripping paper. He keeps it in as close to one piece as he can manage, throwing out the paper and picking off all the remaining pieces of tape before he examines the white box. It's rather small, very light with a red fragile sticker taped across the top. He sees you urge him to open the box, and he does, picking off the last bit of tape holding it shut and wincing at the sound of his nail scraping against the glossy cardboard.

Levi opens the box to a teacup—one that is almost identical to the one he remembered of his mother’s from his childhood.

It's ornate, porcelain white decorated with intricate green swirls and patterns. The handle is small, delicate in his grasp and Levi holds it by the rim to ensure there are no repeats of a broken up.

“How did you… it looks just like hers.”

“I found it in an antique store. It looked a lot like the one you described to me.”

“It's perfect,” Levi breathes out. He doesn't know what to do with himself, so he acts without thinking and places a kiss on your cheek. “Thank you.”

You look embarrassed as he pulls away. “Merry Christmas, Levi.”