Between You and I, P:1 (Baby Daddy! Levi x OC)
P: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6
Synopsis: Levi Ackerman and Amelia Evans are former high school sweethearts turned co-parents who are forced to confront their past while raising their daughter together. As old wounds resurface and buried feelings stir, they navigate love, regret, and the hope of a second chance.
Content Warnings: Mentions of grooming/child abuse/neglect heavy in beginning. Mentions of drug use. Alcohol consumption. Mature language. Trauma. Sex MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
Other Notes: Levi Ackerman X OC. Modern AU. Dad Levi. Ex Boyfriend Levi. Territorial Levi. Second chance romance. Guy falls first. Slight deviations with some cannon characters. Dual timelines.
Eleven Years Ago
Amelia Evans had been plucked from the wreckage of her motherβs life like she was barely human. She remembered the clipboard, the too-wide smiles, and the way the social worker perched on the edge of her bed before uttering the question:
βAnd when did he touch you?β
Just like that.
At first, sheβd thought the guy was a goddamn hero. Amelia had been doing the job of two parents since she was sevenβscraping together babysitting cash, hiding it under floorboards so her mother wouldnβt trade it for booze or oxy or whichever demon was whispering to her that week. Sheβd learned how to test milk by the smell, how to call 911 without panicking when her mom choked on her own vomit. Sheβd lived long enough in crisis mode for her brain chemistry to be totally altered.
So when her mother met a man who wore collared shirts and remembered birthdays, it was a fucking miracle. He brought home bags of groceries. He asked how Ameliaβs day was. He noticed her sneakers were falling apart and got her a new pairβjust showed up with them one night like that was normal. And Amelia, poor, stupid, fifteen-year-old Ameliaβ¦ let herself believe things could be normal. Just for fucking once.
Then the fight happened. The big one. Her mom had raided her bedroom. Found the cash Amelia had been saving for a homecoming dress. Blew it on Titoβs. Couldnβt even settle for the bottom-shelf shit had to spend her daughterβs money on the high quality crap because βitβs distilled more and doesnβt give you a hangover.β Bullshit. The woman was always hungover.
Amelia had screamed like a fucking banshee.
βWhy canβt you just get your shit together!?β
βWhy the hell did you let this be my life?β
She locked herself in her room, cried into her pillow, waited for the world to stop for a goddamn secondβand then he came in. Stepdad of the fucking year. Said he just wanted to talk. Just wanted to make sure she was okay. Said he understood, that her mom was struggling and needed grace. Said heβd take Amelia to get whatever dress she was saving for.
Butβ¦
Then his hand slid onto her thigh and his face twisted into something so vile it was almost subhuman.
Fifteen years old.
Amelia wasnβt even old enough to fucking drive yet, but she could tell you the exact process the Department of Children and Families followed when removing a minor from their home. Intake. Placement. Court order. Emergency contact.
Lucky, they said. She was lucky. Because they rescued her before it went any further. Before that happened.
They dropped her off with her grandfather like a stray dog someone didnβt want anymore.
Dae Evans.
Grumpy, ex-military, stubborn as hell. Korean War vet. Ran his house like it was still 1952. Wake up early, do your part, shut your mouth. But beneath all that bark was a caring man filled with unearned regret. He never said it outright but Amelia could tell he blamed himself for how her mom turned out.
Maybe thatβs why he spent what was left of his retirement shoving Amelia into Saint Katherineβs of the Sacred Something. A private Catholic school. Expensive as hell. He said maybe a little religion would help. As if Jesus could undo the shit he apparently left her in to begin with.
But of course, she didnβt argue. What the hell could she say? βSorry Grandpa, Iβd rather not accept the miracle of not being molested anymore. Mind if I just rot in public school instead?β
So she swallowed her pride and wore her thrift-store shoes through hallways that swimmed with trust fund babies and heirs/heiresses to this that and whatever the hell other.
Saint Katβs was hell in a rosary. It was like the rich kids could sniff out a working-class salaried household and would promptly avoid it like it was some kind of viral plague they were afraid theyβd catch.
Most days, Amelia didnβt give a shit. But today, in the girls' locker room before gym, when all those trust-fund princesses peeled off their Brandy Melville and slipped into matching $150 school tracksuits, she stared down at her thrift-store T-shirt and hand-me-down sweatpants and said fuck itβshe skipped class.
She ended up under the bleachers somehow.
Overcast light slanted through the metal grates casting everything below in straight shadows. It smelled like old popcorn and damp grass.
She sat quietly knees to her chest and tried to make herself small. She had been closing her eyes hoping maybe she could at least doze off but every time she did she saw images of that fucking house, that life.
Her stepdadβs hand on her leg.
Her mom passed out against the toilet.
She clenched her jaw, blinked fast trying to prevent the tears. What the hell was the use in crying. Crying makes you a victim, anger is better, anger makes you scary.
Suddenly, footsteps approachedβslow and deliberate. Probably a teacher. Or maybe another guidance counselor, ready to ask with that familiar discomfort in their eyes, βhow sheβs adjusting,β before handing her yet another brochure on surviving trauma and βthe miracle of God.β
She waited⦠but instead of another fawning, worried voice, a sharp crack of a can pierced the air.
βSkipping gym?β
Ameliaβs head shot up not to find a faculty member standing infront of her, but another student.
Levi Ackerman.
He was the guy who always made it a point to argue with anything she said in American History class. A scholarship studentβannoyingly smart, effortlessly competent, and irritatingly attractive, even if his face was stuck in a permanent deadpan.
His uniform was perfectly crisp, except for his slightly loosened tieβa subtle reminder, she assumed, that he wanted everyone to know he thought he was soooo above all this shit.
And he was holding a goddamn beer.
βYouβre in my spot.β
She blinked. βWhat?β
βThis place,β he gestured vaguely with the beer, βMy spot.β
Confused by his audacity, she huffed sarcastically, βSorry, didnβt see your name on it.β
He narrowed steel-blue eyes, inspecting her as if weighing something important, taking a casual sip of beer.
βSkipping gym because you canβt afford the uniform?β
βExcuse me?β
βSmall town, word gets around fast. Amelia, right? Junkie mom, creep stepdadβdidnβt peg you for someone who hides under bleachers, though.β
Her eyes narrowed. βIβm not fucking hiding.β
βCouldβve fooled me.β
She shot to her feet. βWhat the fuck do you know? What are you some genius trying to cosplay being a too-coo-for-school bad boy by drinking gross warm beer?β
A grin flickered across his lips, strangely pleased. βYou sound envious,β He held the can out. βI can share if youβd like.β
Ameliaβs face twists up in disgust looking down at it, βIβm good, thanks.β
βWhatever you say, Mils.β He says taking another swig, eyes still on her.
βMils..?β She asks incredulously.
βAmelia is too stuffy, doesnβt suit you. Milly sounds cartoonish, Ames doesnβt roll off the tongue right. By process of elimination: Mils.β
βYou just met me and think you can rename me? Always this rude?β
βGonna stop me?β He asked with a smirk partially hidden by the beer can.
His casual audacity, his blunt dissection of her life, the careless way he tossed her circumstances in her face ignited her anger. Without another thought, she jumped up snatched the beer right from his hand and chugged it defiantly.
Levi watched, mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised in surprise.
She nearly gaggedβthe taste was vile, and sheβd never drunk before, for obvious reasonsβbut Amelia refused to let this guy make her feel small. βFuck you,β she sneered, tossing the empty can behind her as she pushed past him.
His quiet chuckle froze her stepsβnot mocking, just genuinely amused, maybe even impressed. She looked back over her shoulder, meeting his gaze.
βSee you in History, Mils.β
And as she looked at him, for some reason, she had a strange feeling he was not going to let that nickname goβ¦
-*-*-*-*-*-*-
Now here she was, eleven years later, reminiscing on that day.
She wasnβt sure what brought it all up againβthe bleachers, the beer, Levi fucking Ackerman with his deadpan face and infuriating smirk.
Maybe it was the dull gray sky outside that looked just like it had that day. That same colorless hush that blanketed everything. A sky that didnβt storm or shineβjust loomed. Like it was waiting.
The cafΓ© was dead. That kind of still where the hum of the freezer and the tick of the wall clock felt deafening. A few crumbs littered the counter, the coffee pot sitting there, lukewarm and forgotten. The old guys had cleared out after breakfast, and the lunch crowd never bothered to show. Just Amelia. The silence. And way too much time to think.
Her eyes flicked to a photo on the wall above the espresso machine. Her grandfather standing outside the shop the day it opened, a cigar between his lips. She remembered that he used to say you couldnβt never get a decent cup of coffee in this goddamn city so he had to open a place himself. Typical Dae Evansβmaking a labor of love sound like a war declaration.
After he died, she didnβt stop. Didnβt pause. Just unlocked the door the next morning and opened the shop, like keeping it running might keep him around. His old chipped mug was still on the back shelf. She couldnβt use it. Couldnβt toss it, either.
And it wasnβt just her grandfatherβs old cafΓ© she was keeping alive these daysβshe had a daughter now too.
Lilly.
Five years old. Too clever for her own good. Sheβd already mastered reading adults like books. Loved jelly sandwiches cut into triangles, swore bandaids and βMommyβs kissesβ fixed everythingβeven when nothing was wrongβand called everything she loved her βfavorite forever,β no matter how many favorites forever she had.
Sometimes, Amelia would catch her humming while coloring at the back boothβtongue poked out in concentration, legs swinging, sunlight kissing her dark hairβand itβd hit her, hard, how terrifying peace could feel when you werenβt used to it. Like waiting for a bomb you couldnβt see.
She reached for the sponge, started wiping down an already-clean counter just to give her hands something to do. Just because it was slow today didnβt meant there wasnβt a thousand things to do, her life was like a balanced act of spinning plates.
After a short while of that the front bell rang, she figured it was just the old man in the corner having finished and left, but then she caught the scentβcheap cologne and desperationβand winced.
βHey stranger,β a man said, grinning like they were old flames. βDidnβt think Iβd catch you here.β
Mark, a lawyer she recently went out on a date with. ONE. She realized within the first twenty minutes this guy was *not* for her.
βI own the place, Markβ Amelia says turning back to the task she had halted. She knew she had told him about the place on their date. Knew he had also probably hoped she wouldnβt have remembered that. βCan I get you something?β
He takes a moment pretending to peruse the menu, she knew he was pretending when he said: βUhβ¦ Yeah, can I have a Frappuccino?β
Amelia blinked, βThisβ¦ Isnβt Starbucks.β
βOhβ¦β He says, sticking his hands in his pockets looking at the menu over her head and reading the items as if the grown man had never imagined drinking coffee in any other way then in the sugar bomb milkshake variety. The cretin.
Amelia blinks as she watches him pronounce cortado like it rhymes with potato.
Cor-tay-doh
βYou know what?β She begins furrowing her brows, βLet me see what I can do about whipping you up a frap, hang tightβ
βGreat!β He says obviously grateful for the small mercy of not having to pretend he knew shit about what a cor-tay-doh is. Amelia was just glad she had a way to avoid talking to him. Mark didnβt get the hint.
Amelia rings his order up on the POS and after he pays he leans on the counter clearly working up the courage to keep talking, βSo, I havenβt heard from you since our dateβ¦ I thought it went really well, wanted to take you out again.β
Ah, fuck.
There it was. That tangled root of people-pleasing she hadnβt quite exorcised. The part of her that smiled and nodded and said maybe even when she meant absolutely never again.
βIβm not sure, Markβ¦ Iβve beenβ¦ Really busy.β She says over the sound of the blender as sheβs mixing his drink.
βWell, when are you free?β
Goddamn it.
βSchedules packed for the next while, can I get-β
Suddenly her phone alarm goes off and the chorus of Watermelon Sugar by Harold Edward Styles starts blaring. Lillyβs *favorite forever* song, though Amelia is very careful to shield her little daughter from knowing what the song is *actually* about.
Saved by the bell, thank fucking God.
βShit. School pickup. Iβm going to be late,β she said, slapping a lid on the drink and sliding it toward him.
βWaitβschool pickup? You have a kid?β
βYes. My daughter. Lilly.β Amelia says quickly taking her gloves and apron off and hanging them up before shouting to the back room as Mark process this new information by himself βPetra! Iβm off to get Lil, cover the front?β
Petraβs voice floated out from the office. βGo, goβI got it!β
βSee ya later, Markβ Amelia says grabbing her bag and heading for the door.
βWait!β Mark trailed after her like a lost Labrador as she walked the sidewalk. βWhy didnβt you tell me you were a mom?β
She didnβt slow down. βNot exactly first-date small talk. And you didnβt need to know.β
βI meanβ¦ itβs not a dealbreaker. I love kids. Iβve got a dachshund. Basically the same thing.β
She stopped short. Turned. βDid you just compare my five-year-old daughter to a wiener dog?β
βNo! I meanβsort ofβbut like, in the emotional responsibility wayββ
Oh God, he was one of *those*.
βThatβs lovely, Mark.β A beatβ¦ βBye now!β
She picked up the pace. She didnβt want to be late. Didnβt like the thought of her kid being the last one left, clutching her backpack and waiting. She could see the school gates now. Just a block away. Just had to make it there without decking this idiot.
But then, a small little girlβs very big voice cut through the commotion.
βMomma!β
A tiny figure detaches itself from the crowd and barrels towards her, small arms wrapping tightly around her legs. Amelia looks down, her heart melting at the sight of her daughter, Lilly. Her dark, hair framing a face full of youthful exuberance.
"Lilly! What are you doing here?" Amelia asks, her voice laced with surprise. "Mommy was coming to get you."
Lilly looks up, her steely-blue eyes sparkling an infectious energy. "Daddy got me, Momma! Surprise!"
Amelia's heart drops. Daddy?
Oh shit⦠Mark was a goner.
She turns, her gaze sweeping over the crowd, and there he was, Lilly father, her ex boyfriend and still occasional romp.
Levi fucking Ackerman.
He was leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, his expression a mixture of something unreadable and a definite annoyance. Heβs watching the scene unfold, his sharp gaze fixed on Mark, who now hovered awkwardly beside Amelia and Lilly.
The years haven't softened his edges. He still carries himself with the same quiet intensity she remembers from their high school days. He's older, of course, a subtle maturity etched onto his features, but the essential Levi, the stoic, observant, impossibly intimidating Levi, is still there.
Mark, seemingly unfazed by the sudden appearance of Lilly's father, clears his throat and extends a hand towards Levi. "Hi, I'm Mark. Amelia's... friend."
Levi's death glare flicks to Markβs outstretched hand, lingers for a beat, then lifts to meet Markβs eyes. The silence hangs heavy, the unspoken message clear. The air crackles with a tension as he refuses to acknowledge the greeting.
Mark, finally reading the room, retracts his hand, a nervous flush creeping up his neck.
"Lilly," Levi says, turning his attention elsewhere finally, "What did I say about running off?" He bends down, his expression softer as he meets his daughterβs gaze. "You have to stay where I can see you, brat."
Lilly wraps her arms tighter around Amelia's legs, peering up at her father with wide, innocent eyes. "But Momma was here!"
Levi sighs, the sound carrying a hint of exasperation but mostly fondness. He pushes himself upright from his squat once more before scooping Lilly up into his arms, the little girl giggles wrapping her arms around his neck.
He glances at Amelia, a small, almost imperceptible βsomethingβ in his eyes.
"Hey Mils," he says.
Next Part:
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