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Word Count: 3.3k | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
“Give it up, Falco! It's already too late, everyone knows I'll be the one inheriting the Armored Titan!” Gabi shouted, punctuating the declaration by smacking the butt of her wooden rifle square against Falco's forehead.
“You don't know that yet!” Falco shot back, rubbing at the growing bump. “They could still reconsider.”
You sighed, already rising from where you'd been sitting. Separating Warrior candidates before they started a proper brawl had become an almost daily responsibility. You stepped between them before either could swing again.
“Hey,” you said, gently nudging Gabi's rifle downward. “What did I say about fighting?”
The two of them answered without missing a beat.
“Don't do it in front of you.”
“Exactly.” You folded your arms. “I've already got Reiner and Porco trying to tear each other's heads off every other week. I don't need you lot adding yourselves to the list.”
The words left your mouth so naturally that they almost made you wince.
The four candidates immediately straightened their backs, expressions turning rigid with practiced obedience. Something twisted painfully in your chest.
You sounded just like the commandants who'd raised you.
Just like the people who'd taught children to stand at attention before they'd ever learned how to simply stand.
“Captain...?” Zofia spoke first, nervously digging the heel of her boot into the dirt. “Are you alright?”
You blinked before realizing your expression had drifted somewhere far away.
“I'm okay,” you answered quietly. “Just... listen.”
The four of them watched you with complete attention.
“Friendly rivalry is fine. Compete with each other. Push each other to improve. But don't become enemies.” Your gaze lingered on each of them in turn. “You're all Warriors. One day you'll be trusting each other with your lives. I don't want you growing into adults who only know how to stand beside one another because Marley told you to.”
Your smile was small.
Almost tired.
“You should actually be friends.”
Silence settled over them, and embarrassment arrived almost immediately. Gabi looked away first. Falco scratched the back of his neck. Even Udo and Zofia suddenly found the ground fascinating.
“We're... sorry.”
“As long as you promise to get along,” you replied, “then we're all good.”
You dismissed them early, fishing a few coins from your pocket before dropping them into Udo's palm.
“Buy yourselves something sweet.”
“Captain, that's too much—”
“Which is why I'm trusting you to divide it equally.”
Udo puffed out his chest with all the seriousness of someone entrusted with military intelligence.
“Yes, Captain!”
You laughed quietly, waving them off.
As they disappeared down the street, your gaze lingered after them almost absentmindedly. Falco wasn't looking at the vendors, or the candy, or the coins in Udo's hand. He was watching Gabi. There was something almost painfully gentle about it—the way he unconsciously slowed his pace so she wouldn't have to catch up, the way relief crossed his face whenever she laughed, the way his eyes softened without him ever realizing it.
...Ah.
So that was it.
He liked her.
The realization settled strangely inside you. When you were their age, you wouldn't have recognized that look for what it was. You'd never had the chance to. Love had belonged to stories, not Warrior candidates.
Now you understood it.
And somehow...
That made it hurt even more.
Looking back, the signs had always been there. Every scraped knee had Falco rushing to Gabi before anyone else. Every compliment she received from the officers made him smile with quiet pride, even as disappointment settled over his own face. Whenever someone confidently declared she'd inherit the Armored Titan, he never argued because he thought she wasn't capable.
He argued because he knew exactly what inheriting it meant.
Thirteen years.
A life measured by a countdown.
The slow transformation from child...
...into a weapon.
You wondered if he even realized that himself.
Love was a strange thing.
Everyone carried it differently.
Moblit loved Hange by making sure they remembered to eat, sleep, and occasionally stop trying to dissect themselves alongside Titans.
Petra and Oluo buried theirs beneath endless teasing and arguments that fooled absolutely no one except perhaps themselves.
Levi...
You smiled despite yourself.
Levi had been hopeless.
For an entire month after realizing his feelings, he'd done everything short of requesting reassignment just to avoid being alone with you. Conversations became shorter. He found excuses to leave rooms you'd just entered. If you brought him tea, he'd thank you without looking up from his paperwork, only to stare at the door for several minutes after you'd gone.
The great Captain Levi.
Humanity's strongest.
Defeated by his own emotions.
The memory warmed your cheeks before you could stop it.
Then it faded.
Because that was all it was now.
A memory.
“Bad memories?”
The voice pulled you back to the present.
You turned to find Reiner standing a few paces away. He'd become broad where he'd once been gangly, the beginnings of a beard shadowing his jaw. The boy who'd followed Marcel with unwavering admiration was gone, replaced by a man who always seemed slightly hunched beneath a weight no one else could see. Nothing about him resembled the child you'd crossed the sea with.
Except his eyes.
They still carried the same desperate need to be enough.
“When are they ever good?” you asked.
It wasn't really a question. The two of you knew that.
You were still angry with him. Not the sharp, burning anger you'd carried in the beginning, but something quieter. Older. He had shattered the life you'd built inside Paradis, torn Iris away before you'd even been given the chance to mourn her properly.
But even that wasn't entirely his fault.
It had been Marley. The indoctrination. The impossible expectations forced onto children who'd never been allowed to become anything else. Reiner had simply been another victim trying desperately to survive.
Still...
Knowing that didn't stop him from becoming the face your anger chose. It was easier to resent him than the world that had shaped both of you.
He shifted awkwardly beneath your gaze, shoulders drawing in almost instinctively. Despite everything he'd survived, despite becoming the Armored Titan, despite growing into a man, he still shrank exactly the way frightened children did whenever they thought they'd disappointed someone.
The sight made your heart ache.
You didn't want to become another person who taught him he wasn't enough. There had already been too many.
So somewhere inside the exhausted remains of your heart, you searched for forgiveness. Not because he'd earned it. Not because either of you deserved it. But because no one else was ever going to offer it to him.
And because you knew, with painful certainty...
...you would probably never forgive yourself either.
You exhaled slowly.
“Want to buy me some of that juice I like?”
Reiner looked up so quickly it almost startled you. He nodded at once, tentative, careful—not because buying juice was any great burden, but because you'd given him something far rarer.
The chance to walk beside you again.
Maybe that was all either of you could offer now.
Small kindnesses. Quiet forgiveness.
Two broken children pretending they'd learned how to become adults.
You hoped that one day, somehow, the unforgiven children would learn to forgive each other.
You hoped, even more selfishly...
...that they might forgive you too.
—
When Levi realized what he felt for you was different from what he'd ever felt for anyone else, everything became a mess. He didn't know what to do with it, so he did the only thing he knew how.
He avoided you.
For an entire month, he treated you like the beginning of an epidemic, always somewhere nearby but never close enough to touch. Every time you entered a room, he'd find an excuse to leave it. Every report was handed through someone else if he could help it. Conversations became clipped, reduced to orders and acknowledgements. It was pathetic. The feeling had already been bad enough when he couldn't name it. Now that he finally could... it was worse.
Every time he'd catch the disappointment on your face when he brushed past you without so much as a greeting, he'd nearly stop. Nearly tell you the truth. Nearly admit it to himself. But he didn't. You were younger than him. You barely understood what love even was, and neither did he—not until you. So he convinced himself distance was kinder.
From afar, he'd watch you carry stacks of paperwork through headquarters, answer Erwin's requests before they were finished leaving his mouth, then disappear to train with the recruits whenever you somehow found free time. He noticed things he never meant to notice: the way you rubbed your wrists after writing too long, the way you'd space out in quiet moments, the way you laughed now. That one always caught him off guard. You hadn't laughed like that when you first arrived.
It was difficult, feeling something you'd never experienced before. Levi had never imagined romance was something he'd have to navigate. The Underground hadn't exactly taught him how. Feelings like this were embarrassing. Inconvenient. Harrowing.
He wanted to tell you that your cheeks looked better now that you were actually eating, that there was color in your face where there hadn't been before, that your eyes had stopped looking so... tired. And that fucking dress. The same dress he'd argued against buying because some stubborn part of him had known exactly what would happen if he saw you wearing it.
You'd looked beautiful.
Not because of the dress.
Because you looked alive. Hopeful. Like someone finally allowing themselves to exist instead of merely survive. He wanted to be the person who protected that. Who understood it.
Who understood you.
“No, she doesn't need to be on that expedition.”
Erwin barely looked up from the papers on his desk. “Levi, I need Iris in the field. Someone has to document the changes to the formation and the expedition itself.”
“Then tell her what happened afterward. You've got eyes.”
“Why are you being difficult?” Erwin sighed. “Everyone's noticed you've been avoiding her for the past month, and now that I'm assigning her to one expedition—one, Levi—in the last four months, you're suddenly objecting. Is it what I think it is?”
“She'd be dead weight.” His answer came too quickly. “We don't need another corpse out there. She's more useful here.”
“That's coming from Levi,” Erwin said calmly, “not me, Iris.”
Levi's head snapped toward the doorway so fast it almost hurt.
Fuck.
You'd been standing there the entire time.
“I apologize for being a burden in the field.”
Erwin rose from his chair, gathering a folder beneath one arm. “I'll leave the two of you to sort this out.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
“Iris...” Levi started.
You stood perfectly straight. “I understand if the Captain has found shortcomings in my performance. I'll work to improve them.”
There it was again. That empty obedience. The way you'd shrink the moment authority spoke, as though you were waiting for someone to tell you what shape you were supposed to become. It unsettled him every time.
“Fuck, listen...”
You fell silent immediately. No argument. No frustration. Nothing. Just that same vacant readiness to accept whatever judgment came next.
“Iris, I don't want you on the field.”
“Yes, because I'm dead weight outside the walls.”
“No.” You met his eyes. “It's... fuck, it's complicated.”
“It isn't, Captain. If I am lacking, then I'll improve.”
“Would you stop talking for one second?”
The words came out sharper than he intended.
You obeyed instantly.
Somehow that made it worse. He didn't want to order you. Not anymore.
Levi dragged a hand through his hair before letting out a long, frustrated breath.
“I don't want you to die.” You blinked. “I want you alive.”
You frowned as though the sentence itself didn't make sense.
“But I'm a soldier, Captain. That's my duty.”
“Your duty is being Erwin's secretary.”
“My duty is wherever the commander assigns me.”
“Not as Titan bait.”
“They said Tucker used to—”
“Fuck Tucker.”
The room fell silent.
Levi looked away before forcing himself to meet your eyes again. “I don't want you dead because...” He swallowed. “...because I care about you.”
You stared at him, thinking. Really thinking.
Then, quietly—
“...That's not true.”
His chest tightened.
“You don't talk to me anymore, Captain. You avoid me.” There was no accusation, only observation. “I know you don't have any obligation to speak to me...” You lowered your gaze, your fingers curling loosely at your sides. “But... I don't think I understand what caring is.”
A small, uncertain smile found your face.
“If this is what caring looks like... then I don't think I've learned it yet.”
—
It made no sense to you. What did Levi mean by caring for you? People cared in ways you understood. Hange cared by appearing wherever you were and deciding that your business was now theirs. Moblit cared through quiet reliability, through meals shoved into your hands and reminders to eat that somehow sounded less like nagging and more like concern. Petra cared through affection so freely given that it still startled you sometimes, through fixing your hair, linking arms with you, speaking as though your company was something worth seeking out. Levi... Levi had cared by disappearing.
You sat on the edge of your bed, fingers moving absentmindedly through your hair. Petra had braided it that morning. You'd already taken it apart hours ago, yet your hands kept searching for the phantom shape of it. The room was quiet. Too quiet. Your thoughts circled endlessly around the conversation in Erwin's office.
I care about you.
The words refused to settle. Not because you believed Levi had lied, but because you genuinely couldn't understand them. Caring wasn't supposed to look like avoidance. It wasn't supposed to leave you lonelier than before. It wasn't supposed to hurt.
A knock broke the silence.
You blinked.
Another followed.
Slow.
Deliberate.
You opened the door and immediately forgot whatever had occupied your mind before.
Levi stood outside.
Holding flowers.
Irises.
For a long moment you simply stared.
Silence stretched between the two of you before he looked away first, jaw tightening.
"...These are so fucking hard to get this season apparently."
The bouquet looked slightly crushed, not ruined, just handled by someone who clearly had no business carrying flowers. Like he'd spent the better part of an hour arguing with florists instead of simply asking for help.
Your lips twitched.
"Did you need something, Captain?"
His tongue clicked against his teeth.
God.
He'd rather fight Titans.
At least Titans made sense.
You didn't.
Not when you looked at him so politely, as though this wasn't the strangest thing either of you had ever experienced.
"You came here looking dead." His gaze drifted somewhere past you, as though the girl he'd first met years ago was still standing in your place. "You looked empty."
"You needed somebody to keep telling you what to do every second of the day," he said, his voice quieter now. "Like if nobody gave you a job you'd stop moving."
You looked down because he wasn't wrong. Back then, purpose had been easier than identity. Orders were simpler than choices. As long as someone told you where to stand, where to walk, who to become, you never had to think about who you actually were beneath the uniform. Or what you'd done.
"I always was alive, Captain."
The reply came automatically. Defensively.
Levi rolled his eyes. "Don't get smart with me, brat."
Against your own will, you smiled. There was something strangely comforting about being called a brat again.
He sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose like he already regretted walking here. "I'm shit with words."
"I know."
His glare landed on you instantly.
"...Sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
"...Sorry."
His eye twitched. "You see? That's exactly what I'm talking about."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, only awkward. Levi shifted his weight before finally forcing himself to look you in the eyes.
"I don't know how to do this."
That surprised you more than the flowers.
Levi always seemed certain. Even when he was angry. Even when exhausted. Even when the world was falling apart.
Yet now he looked completely lost.
"I don't know how people are supposed to act when they care about somebody."
Your breathing caught.
No sarcasm.
No insults.
No walls.
Just honesty.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to say." His fingers tightened slightly around the bouquet. "So I keep fucking it up."
Something inside your chest tightened. Not painfully. Just enough to make itself known, like discovering a bruise you hadn't realized you were carrying.
"I thought staying away would fix it." A humorless scoff escaped him. "Turns out I was just making things worse."
Your thoughts drifted back over the past month. Every conversation cut short. Every doorway he'd left through the moment you entered. Every report he'd had someone else collect.
You'd thought he'd grown tired of you.
Thought you'd somehow disappointed him.
Instead...
He'd simply been struggling.
The realization hurt in a completely different way because it meant you'd misunderstood him.
Levi awkwardly pushed the bouquet toward you again. "I'm shit with words."
"You've mentioned."
"I'll keep mentioning it."
The flowers bumped gently against your chest.
"Take them."
You accepted them carefully. The soft petals brushed across your fingertips.
Irises.
Your throat tightened.
Not because they were beautiful.
Though they were.
Because someone had thought of you.
You.
"I care about you."
There it was again.
Simple.
Blunt.
Entirely Levi.
"I care about you enough that the idea of something eating you pisses me off."
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
He pointed at you immediately.
"Don't laugh."
That only made you laugh harder.
Heat crept visibly across his face. Not dramatically. Just enough. Enough to make you realize this was probably the most embarrassed you'd ever seen humanity's strongest soldier.
"Petra says I should forgive people in my own time."
"Petra's getting stable duties if you don't accept my apology."
That did it.
You laughed properly.
Brightly.
Without restraint.
The sound echoed softly through the hallway.
Levi stared for a second before immediately looking away, as though even hearing you laugh was too much.
You hugged the bouquet to your chest.
"Thank you, Captain."
Your smile softened.
"I can feel the care so much now."
He groaned.
"You're impossible."
"And you're bad at this."
"I know."
"Terrible, even."
"Iris."
You looked up.
"If you keep talking," he muttered, "I'll take the flowers back."
You gasped dramatically and shielded them behind your back.
His lips twitched.
Only for a second.
But you caught it.
The tiny almost-smile somehow felt more precious than the flowers themselves.
Your own smile slowly faded into something quieter as you looked down at the bouquet again.
A strange realization settled over you.
People kept choosing you.
And somehow...
Levi had too.
Not because you were useful.
Not because you were efficient.
Not because you'd earned it through suffering.
They simply had.
The thought frightened you.
Because if affection wasn't something that had to be earned...
Then perhaps...
You had always been worthy of receiving it.
Levi shifted awkwardly in the doorway, clearly waiting for some sort of answer. Some conclusion. Some verdict.
You looked back up at him, smiling gently.
"I forgive you."
The relief that crossed his face was almost imperceptible.
But you knew him a little more now.
You saw it.
He gave one small nod, as though that settled everything, as though he hadn't just stumbled through the closest thing either of you were capable of calling a confession.
Hopeless.
The both of you.
One man who couldn't express affection without sounding like he was issuing military orders.
One woman who still confused love with forgiveness.
If there truly was a God watching over humanity, they were probably laughing.
Because standing there with irises cradled carefully in your arms and something warm fluttering embarrassingly inside your chest, you still believed those butterflies existed because Levi had forgiven you.
Not because somewhere, quietly and without either of you realizing it...
You suddenly wake up in the middle of the night feeling thirsty, and on your way to the kitchen, you hear a sound coming from your roommate’s room.
Levi? What is he doing up this late?
As you slowly walk toward his room, the sound also gets louder until you’re in front of the door, which is slightly open.
You peek.
The room is dim, lit only by a small lamp. It’s Levi, sitting near the edge of his bed, his breath ragged, and what you see makes your body freeze on the spot.
“Ah, fuck.” Plap, plap, plap.
He’s pumping his cock.
What’s even more shocking is hearing him moan your name.
Is this even real? Maybe you’re just dreaming, because there’s no way your roommate, who always nitpicks everything you do, is masturbating right now while thinking about you.
And holy shit, he’s big. Whenever you see him wearing his gray sweatpants, you always wonder what he’s hiding behind them. You were definitely right to guess where his extra height went. This man is packing SO MUCH down there.
You feel the heat pooling between your legs as you keep watching him fist his cock, while his other hand goes to his balls, squeezing them.
This is not right; watching your roommate jack off is wrong, you tell yourself. But on second thought, he’s doing this while thinking of you.
This is only fair, right?
Levi's hand movement speeds up, pumping his cock up and down as he quietly moans, "I'm coming, shit—"
You watch him spurt thick ropes of cum and, gosh, what a waste. You wish he would release that inside you instead.
Panic surges through you when you see him stand up and start walking toward where you are, probably heading to the bathroom to clean up, so you dash silently back to your own room.
After shutting the door, you lean your back against it with one question in mind: how are you supposed to sleep after witnessing that?
Ficlet Collection | Masterlist
Note: Also, if you want more roommate Levi, here’s my oneshot 👀
Summary: He watches the waves crashing against each other almost hypnotically. Then he feels a presence beside him, as he so often does these days. He doesn’t bother looking to see who it is, merely assumes he knows.
“What do you want this time?” his voice is surly.
“I just wanted to see you,” his mother’s voice echoes faintly from beside him.
Word Count: 683
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, angst, mother-Son Relationship, OC is supporting character not main focus
Characters: Levi Ackerman, Kuchel Ackerman, Original Female Character(s)
Relationships: Levi Ackerman & Kuchel Ackerman, Levi Ackerman/Original Female Character(s)
The moon reflects off of the water, casting an ephemeral glow on Levi’s surroundings. He pumps his arms on the wheels of his chair, propelling himself forward until he’s right at the dock’s edge.
It had taken a while, after the Rumbling and the so-called Battle for Heaven and Earth, to rebuild the port at Liberio. Once temporary structures were erected for the survivors, the work on the harbor began immediately. They needed supplies and medical personnel desperately, and so, needed to be able to receive ships from Paradis.
Now the port has been open for three months. Levi is able to move around again, mostly of his own volition. With the arrival of medical personnel, they were able to salvage his knee and prevent amputation. Some of his tendons were shredded and there was no guarantee they would heal properly. In the meantime, he was using this wheelchair for longer distances and a cane when he was at his lodgings.
He watches the waves crashing against each other almost hypnotically. Then he feels a presence beside him, as he so often does these days. He doesn’t bother looking to see who it is, merely assumes he knows.
“What do you want this time?” his voice is surly.
“I just wanted to see you,” his mother’s voice echoes faintly from beside him.
He turns his head sharply, the better to see with his remaining eye. Sure enough, there she is.
His mother, looking as beautiful as he remembers.
“Mom?” he says softly, almost like a little boy again.
“Hi sweetheart,” she whispers, reaching out a hand to him.
He pretends he can feel her caress his cheek and a sob wells up within him. He’s been crying a lot more these days as well. Of course, with the recurrent nightly visitors; Hange, Erwin, Isabel, Furlan, Petra; it makes sense. They visit regularly and it usually ends in him sobbing helplessly as they vanish in front of him.
Levi's taken to coming out here, so as to not disturb Echo, who has a hard enough time with her own sleeping issues and ghosts.
“You’ve done so well, honey,” Kuchel sings gently. “I love you, my sweet boy.”
“I miss you.”
The desperate words come out before he can stop them.
His mother smiles, grey-blue eyes like his glowing in the moonlight.
“I am always with you,” her voice grows even more distant.
Tears course down his cheek as he watches her fade from sight.
“Mom, no! Don’t go!” he pleads, reaching out his right hand, missing two digits.
“Always,” her voice echoes in his mind.
He sobs, covering his mouth with his broken hand to silence the sound. He weeps quietly to himself.
“Levi?” Echo appears behind him and hurries to his side.
She drapes a blanket over his shoulders and kneels in front of him, leaning heavily on her cane. Nimble fingers wipe the tears from his face and cradle his cheek. He begins crying anew as the feeling makes him miss his mother that much more. The aching hole in his chest radiates until it feels like it’s going to consume him.
Echo rises up and places herself gently in his lap, putting her weight on his good leg. She cradles his head against her chest and runs her fingers through his hair. She hums quietly to soothe him.
After a little while, his tears abate, but they remain in the same position.
“I saw her, you know,” Echo eventually says. “When I was a titan. I was in this weird place…I can’t describe it. But your mother was there.”
Levi raises his head to look at her in awe.
“You never told me.”
“I was waiting for the right time,” she continues softly. “She said to tell you she’s proud of you.”
Tears well once more at her words.
“You look so much like her,” she whispers, tenderly kissing his forehead.
He closes his eye at the sensation and a tear falls.
“You go ahead and let it out,” she whispers, cradling his head once more. “I’ve got you. Always.”
Word Count: 3.1k | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
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Romance never came easily to people who had spent their entire lives fighting for the smallest scraps of affection.
You had mistaken recognition for love long before you ever understood the difference.
If people acknowledged your worth, then surely they would love you. If you became useful enough, obedient enough, exceptional enough, then love would naturally follow. It had to. Why else would anyone give it away?
Your mother had always loved you.
You knew that now.
But as a child, love looked different. It looked like coming home too exhausted from work to speak. It looked like calloused hands, missed dinners, falling asleep still wearing work clothes because Marley had wrung every ounce of strength from her before she ever returned home to you. Add years of being told by Marley that Eldians were born owing the world a debt, and eventually you stopped believing anyone could love you without first being given a reason.
So you asked her to sign the papers.
The Warrior Candidate program.
Because if you became a Warrior, perhaps the neighbors would stop looking at your family with disgust. If you became an Honorary Marleyan, perhaps your mother wouldn't have to work until she collapsed at the dinner table. If you became valuable enough...
Maybe she'd finally have something to be proud of.
It never once occurred to you that she already was.
That was the tragedy of it all.
You'd spent your life chasing proof of a love that had existed from the very beginning.
And somewhere along the way...
You forgot to learn how to love yourself.
Love became something transactional.
Something earned.
Something that arrived only after enough suffering had justified it.
So when it was given freely...
You didn't know what to do with it.
Petra braided your hair whenever she had the chance, complaining that you never made enough time for yourself. Moblit somehow always appeared with food before you'd even realized you'd skipped another meal. Hange dragged you into conversations, experiments, and ridiculous outings simply because they refused to let you disappear into paperwork forever.
And Levi...
Levi told you to sleep.
Constantly.
"Oi."
You looked up from another stack of reports.
"...You didn't sleep again."
"You don't sleep either, Captain."
"Don't talk back to your superior."
"...Yes, Captain."
He sighed almost immediately.
It happened every time.
You'd argue right until authority entered the conversation, and then whatever spark had been in your eyes disappeared beneath years of conditioning. Your shoulders straightened. Your voice quieted. You obeyed before you even realized you were doing it.
It unsettled him.
Because you stopped looking like Iris.
You looked like something waiting for instructions.
"...Put the papers down."
You blinked.
"Erwin's going to be in Mitras all day."
Your brows knitted together.
"...He is?"
"You'd know if you stopped trying to work yourself to death."
He nodded toward the couch.
"Sleep."
"...Captain—"
"There."
He pointed again.
"I'm serious."
Somewhere along the way, his habit of talking to you had quietly become something else. Nagging. Ordering you to eat. Ordering you to rest. Ordering you to go back to your quarters before midnight. Ordering you to sleep whenever he caught the dark circles beneath your eyes growing worse.
Strangely...
His office became the only place where sleep came easily.
There were no nightmares on the Captain's couch.
Or perhaps there were.
Perhaps he simply woke you before they had the chance to become unbearable.
Some days you gave in because arguing with him required more energy than simply closing your eyes.
Other days you escaped before he noticed.
Being Erwin's secretary meant your quarters sat beside headquarters, close enough that messages could reach you at any hour. It also meant you had a room to yourself.
A room where no roommates would discover the maps you quietly redrew.
Or the reports you rewrote from memory.
Or the information Marley had sent you here to collect.
Love was something you didn't understand.
Levi wasn't much better.
—
It was never romantic.
Not in the beginning.
Neither of you knew what romance was supposed to look like. You worked together. He complained whenever you skipped meals. You made sure his tea was always brewed correctly and that his paperwork arrived on time. He nagged you to sleep. You nagged Hange to finish reports. Life simply settled into routines neither of you questioned.
It wasn't unusual.
It was... practical.
At least, that's what you told yourself.
Whenever Petra started talking about Oluo, however, you found yourself hopelessly confused.
"I thought Oluo was older than me when I first joined the Cadets."
"Iris!"
"What?"
"You're not supposed to pay attention to that!"
She'd groan into her hands while you stared back, genuinely unable to understand what you'd said wrong.
The whole thing was bizarre.
People developed crushes as though they were catching colds. They blushed over lingering glances, confessed feelings with pounding hearts, held hands because they wanted to, kissed because... because apparently that's just what people did.
Everyone else seemed to understand the rules.
You felt like you'd missed the lesson entirely.
Love didn't make sense.
It wasn't efficient.
It didn't win battles or secure promotions. It didn't earn Honorary Marleyan status. It didn't put food on the table or keep your mother from working herself sick. It didn't save children from becoming Warriors or stop Titans from devouring people alive.
It accomplished nothing.
So why did people chase it as though it were the most important thing in the world?
You couldn't understand how someone could simply... love.
Without being useful first.
Without proving themselves worthy.
Without giving something in return.
To you, affection had always come with conditions. Every kindness had to be repaid. Every compliment had to be earned. Every place beside someone else had to be justified over and over again, lest they realize you no longer deserved to occupy it.
Love was a reward.
Not a beginning.
So when Petra braided your hair simply because she liked doing it, when Moblit remembered whether you'd eaten before you did, when Hange sought you out because they enjoyed your company, and when Levi quietly slid a blanket over you after you'd fallen asleep on his couch, none of it registered as affection.
Only obligation.
Only habit.
Only people being... nice.
It never crossed your mind that they cared.
After all...
Why would they?
What had you done to deserve something as irrational as love?
—
Levi had brought you home.
Just as he'd said he would.
You entered your home while home remained outside, disappearing back into Liberio's streets to continue searching for Eren. The front door clicked shut behind you, separating the two of you with nothing more than a slab of wood, yet it felt like an ocean had opened between you all over again.
Making tea had become a habit you never managed to break. The leaves were brewed exactly the way he preferred—dark, bitter, left to steep longer than they should've been. You never understood how he could drink something that tasted like punishment, yet your hands prepared it from memory all the same.
"...You're home late."
Your tired gaze lifted to find your mother leaning against the staircase, already dressed for bed.
"...There was a lot of work."
You smiled faintly, your thumbs tracing slow circles around the warm teacup.
"When you're a Captain, there's always something."
She descended the stairs without another word.
"I never should've let you sign yourself up for the military."
Your brows knitted together immediately.
"...Mom."
"You were always such a good girl." She smiled sadly. "You never caused trouble. Never made me worry about you sneaking out or getting into fights. I never had to scold you, never had to teach you how to behave..."
Her hand found your cheek.
"And that's the problem."
You froze.
"I should have."
Her thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realized had escaped.
"I owed you that much as your mother. I brought you into this world... I should've been the one raising you."
Her voice trembled.
"My darling... your face is still so young."
Another tear slipped free.
"But your soul is spent."
"...Mom..."
"We should've been playing together." She laughed weakly through her tears. "I should've been fussing over dresses and ribbons instead of watching you disappear into a uniform. You should've been worrying about childish things, not military drills."
She pulled you a little closer.
"I failed you."
"No..."
Your voice cracked.
"I understand why."
"It doesn't mean it was right."
The words shattered whatever composure you had left.
You leaned into her embrace with a sob that felt years overdue, clutching at her as though you were that little girl again, waiting by the window for her mother to come home so they could play dolls together.
For years, you'd mistaken sacrifice for love. Believed affection had to be earned. That usefulness came before deserving to be cared for.
If you hadn't learned what love truly looked like—that irrational, unconditional thing—within the Walls of Paradis...
You never would've recognized it waiting for you here.
You never would've allowed yourself to cry so openly in your mother's arms.
You never would've remembered...
That before you were a Warrior, before you were a Captain...
You had always been her daughter.
—
You were younger than Levi. Perhaps that was why he found himself watching over you.
He never questioned it, never stopped to wonder why his attention lingered on you longer than it did anyone else. As far as he understood, this was simply what caring for someone looked like. You were younger, still learning, still carrying something in your eyes that reminded him too much of people who had been forced to grow up before they ever had the chance to be children.
What he felt wasn't different. Not at first.
Love, to Levi, had always been practical. You looked after the people you cared about. You made sure they ate, slept, stayed alive long enough to see tomorrow. You taught them to stand on their own feet so the world couldn't swallow them whole.
Wasn't that enough?
That was how Kenny had raised him, in his own brutal way. It was how he'd tried to raise Isabel and Furlan too. Keep them alive. Make them stronger than the world that wanted them dead. That was care. That was affection.
So when people spoke of love... of hugging. Of kissing. Of making love.
He couldn't understand why those things were supposed to matter.
What did they mean when they said love made you want those things?
His mother had done them with strangers almost every night. It was how she survived. How he had been born. How she managed to put food in his stomach and clothes on his back.
He had never thought she was doing something shameful. She always smiled when she tucked him into another room before customers arrived. Always told him she'd be back soon.
And every time he returned, she'd already be washing herself, exhausted hands scrubbing away the smell of men she didn't know before greeting him with that same gentle smile.
She always looked so tired.
So he never understood what was supposed to be beautiful about any of it.
Those men came and went. None of them loved his mother.
If that was what love looked like, then it seemed to demand everything while giving nothing back.
When Kenny disappeared and Levi tried climbing aboard a wagon bound for the surface, there were people who saw a starving child from the Underground and wondered how much coin he might fetch. Later, after he'd grown into himself, women looked at him with the same hungry expressions.
Maybe it was because of his reputation. Maybe they wanted the protection that came with his name. Maybe they simply wanted his body.
Whatever the reason, the moment he understood what they were offering, his stomach turned.
He couldn't stomach it.
Not when he'd watched his mother wear that same exhausted smile.
Not when he'd spent his childhood learning exactly what people were willing to do to survive.
So when others joked about romance or teased him about women, he never understood what there was to laugh about.
To him, love had never looked tender.
It had always looked tired.
—
But you weren't a child. You were an adult. An adult who simply lived the only way she'd ever been taught. Levi knew there was a difference.
Somewhere between reminding you to eat, forcing you onto the couch in his office whenever the exhaustion beneath your eyes became too obvious, and threatening to break your leg if you refused to rest, he realized that what you lacked wasn't maturity. It was permission. Permission to sleep because you were tired instead of because someone ordered you to. Permission to eat because you were hungry instead of because your body needed fuel for more work. Permission to laugh without first wondering whether you were allowed.
He couldn't keep treating you like something fragile forever. Not because you weren't, but because you deserved the chance to stand without someone constantly steadying you.
Eventually... you did.
He noticed it in ways you probably never would have. You started finishing entire meals instead of quietly pushing food around your plate until Moblit or Petra stared you into taking another bite. You stopped waiting for Levi to order you onto the couch before allowing yourself to rest after particularly long days. You lingered after conversations instead of slipping away the moment work was finished.
Petra had a habit of dragging you into every little conversation she could find, while Oluo somehow always found something stupid to complain about. Somewhere between the two of them, you learned how to gossip. Poorly. Awkwardly. Usually with a completely straight face that made it impossible to tell whether you were joking.
It was... entertaining.
Slowly, almost without either of you realizing it, you became less like someone surviving life and more like someone actually living it. Levi noticed. He simply never said anything.
Once he was sure you'd found your footing, things settled back into routine. Professional again. Morning reports. Tea brewed exactly the way he liked it. Paperwork stacked neatly across his desk before he ever asked for it. Occasional conversations that somehow stretched longer than either of you intended. Small routines. Quiet routines. The sort that became so ordinary neither of you ever questioned them.
He'd already accepted, long before then, that he cared about you. He'd figured that out sometime around the day he'd quietly bought a blanket to leave folded over the couch in his office because you always curled up without one. He never told you it was yours. He simply left it there.
And every time you fell asleep beneath it, he pretended not to notice.
That should have been enough.
It would've stayed enough... if Hange hadn't decided you deserved a celebration.
Your first anniversary as the Survey Corps' secretary somehow became an event despite your complete lack of involvement.
"I don't see the point," Levi muttered as Hange enthusiastically threw ideas around Erwin's office. "Tucker never got a celebration."
"Well uh... whatever! You're heartless!" Hange threw their hands into the air. "Have you ever seen her off duty?! If you had, you'd understand why!"
"I think it's a good idea."
"Thank you, Nanaba!"
"It wouldn't hurt to get her something nice," Dita added. "What does she even own? Clothes left behind by dead soldiers and Petra's nicer hand-me-downs."
"She doesn't need a dress," Levi answered flatly. "Get her a pen."
"...A pen?" Hange deadpanned.
"She writes all day."
"But she'd be so pretty in one!"
Levi pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I didn't say she wouldn't."
Silence.
Hange slowly turned toward Nanaba.
"...You heard that too, right?"
"I heard it."
"For fuck's sake..." Levi muttered.
One captain against four squad leaders.
The dress won.
You, meanwhile, knew absolutely nothing.
"Surprise!"
You froze in the doorway of your office, blinking at every squad leader crammed inside alongside Erwin... and Levi, who looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else.
"...Surprise?" you echoed cautiously. "What... is this about?"
You fidgeted with your hands, eyes darting around the room.
"It's been a whole year!" Hange exclaimed.
"A year of being such a great secretary!" Nanaba smiled. "Erwin approved this, by the way."
You looked toward the commander.
He nodded once.
"...I..."
A quiet laugh escaped you.
"I don't know what to say. I've never..." You looked down, smiling awkwardly. "...Wow."
"No need!" Hange grinned. "Just open the present! We all pitched in!"
"...Levi included."
Your eyes immediately found him.
"They forced me."
"Shut up."
The box they handed you was far bigger than you expected.
Carefully, you lifted the lid.
Your vision blurred before you'd even touched what was inside.
"...Iris?" Dita spoke first.
A quiet sniffle escaped you.
The room collectively froze.
"Do you... not like it?" Nanaba asked carefully.
"Is the colour wrong?" Dita added.
"Oh no..." Hange's shoulders slumped.
Slowly, you reached inside and lifted out the dress.
Not stitched together from a dead soldier's belongings.
Not another hand-me-down that carried someone else's memories.
Yours.
You held it against yourself, fingers trembling around the fabric.
Then you laughed.
Brightly.
"It's..."
Another laugh escaped between your tears.
"It's so pretty."
Hange burst into tears immediately.
"We'll buy you more!"
You laughed harder, clutching the dress against your chest.
No one had ever given you something simply because they wanted to. No expectations. No repayment. No purpose beyond seeing you smile.
You hadn't realized how starved you'd been for kindness until someone offered it freely.
Looking around the room, you saw Hange wiping their face, Nanaba smiling to herself, Miche pretending he wasn't invested, Erwin watching with quiet satisfaction...
...and Levi.
His eyes met yours for only a moment. Long enough to see your smile. Long enough to realize, with terrifying certainty, that all he wanted to do was walk across the room, wipe away the tears on your cheeks...
...and kiss you.
The thought struck him so suddenly.
He'd spent months convincing himself that worrying about you was normal. That buying the blanket, nagging you to sleep, noticing when you skipped meals or looked exhausted was simply what a captain did for someone under his command.
But this...
This wasn't duty.
It wasn't responsibility.
It wasn't the quiet affection he'd given Isabel, Furlan, or any of the people he'd lost.
It was selfish.
Because for the first time in his life...
Levi wanted someone for himself.
And that frightened him far more than death ever had.
Being acutely aware that one’s skills are inferior is never a good thing on the first day of any job. Normally, a veteran's skills are superior to a recruit's. However, their group was hired more than recruited precisely because their skills are supposed to be exceptional even when compared with the elites of the Scout Regiment. The brigade is hardly aware that Esmé is a pretend part of this group. She knows the basics, but only to the extent a cadet would. She is operational, not exceptional. And operational is almost certainly below standards in the Survey Corps. So, she knows this training will be anything but kind to her.
Horse riding, however, is a completely different ballpark. Esmé is nothing if not a good rider. Getting acquainted with a horse and galloping about the fenced area of the training yard came far more easily than fastening all the straps of the maneuvering gear. They need to finish the job before they find themselves at the gates for a suicide mission beyond the walls. She briefly wonders if being eaten by a titan is so bad. It might not be if the process is painless, she assumes, if they don’t bite limbs off and just swallow you whole.
Much less forgiving is the maneuvering gear portion of the training. The anchor points she selected are off by margins that cost her momentum, her grip on the handles uncertain in a way that shows. The dummy titans go largely unaddressed because her attention is split between not falling and remembering the sequence of movements she’s drilled in controlled spaces, infiltrating corridors and building interiors where the layout was predictable. Open air is an unfamiliar language entirely. Though she manages, that is the ceiling.
Then there is Levi.
She catches him in her peripheral vision mid-swing, and the internal monologue goes quiet for a moment. It’s not because of anything she can name; it’s just because her brain, trained to catalog and assess, has nothing to file this under except exceptional, and that word didn’t quite cover it either. The gear moves with him rather than under him, as if it is part of his body rather than a tool he is directing. Perhaps that is what a bird in flight feels like about wings; Esmé had wondered about that once as a child.
Flagon’s critique of her form is thorough and not inaccurate: “You’re so focused on maneuvering, and your form is stiff as a log. There’s no time to think about which lever to pull when you’re in titan country.”
She receives it without expression.
“How did you learn?” He asks, somewhere between a genuine question and a challenge.
Her eyes cut to Levi before she decides to look at him.
The claim comes out clean—self-taught, same methods. Flagon accepts it with a look that suggests he finds the standard underwhelming and moves on. When they are dismissed, Levi’s expression tells her he heard every word.
She falls into step beside him, just close enough to be private. “You didn’t have to do that,” says Levi.
“If I had said anything else, it would have been suspicious.” She keeps her voice low but level, “We’re supposed to be self-taught. What else was I going to say?”
He doesn’t argue. She didn’t expect him to. She is right, and they both know it.
Flagon’s parting comment about not picking up Levi’s style of holding his blades backward follows them out of the training yard. She says she will not. He looks as if he is reconsidering her continued existence.
Later, the lights in most of the barracks were out. Esmé had mapped three possible routes to Erwin’s office during training, marking the windows, the patrol rotations, and the blind spots between them. She was not expecting to need any of them tonight.
Farlan leaves the mess hall early. She makes a mental note of it and comments offhandedly about his habit of turning in early, as if her long acquaintance with him mildly exasperates her in that slightly affectionate way friends tend to be.
She finds him in Erwin’s office with his hands in a drawer and the door unlocked behind him.
“What would you have done,” she says quietly, “if I were Erwin?”
He goes very still, then straightens. The look on his face is the particular expression of someone who has been caught by the one person they cannot dismiss.
“We could both get caught.” Says Farlan.
“Then we tell whoever finds us we got lost looking for somewhere…private.” She crosses to the desk, “Erwin might not buy it. Move over.”
They search efficiently and in silence. Every drawer, every shelf, every folder. Nothing.
She steps back, crosses her arms, and looks at the empty desk.
“It’s on him.” Esmé declares.
Farlan’s jaw tightens. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Then we’ll have to figure out a plan with the others.” She moves towards the door, movement quiet as a cat, “Leave the sneaking around to me next time, Church. You’re good at a lot of things. This isn’t one of them.”
She lets herself out before he can answer.
The gates open at dawn.
Esmé has never been outside the walls before. She’s been many places inside and with considerably more control over her exit and entry. The long-range formation spreads out around them as they ride, and the scale of open territory does something to her chest that she doesn’t have a name for. Her skills suit rooms and corridors, and the specific geometry of human spaces allows her to predict exits and learn people's movement patterns.
Titans do not move in patterns she can learn. She has read the reports. The reports have not prepared her for the reality of riding through grass that stretches on forever and creatures the size of buildings somewhere in the distance, with the singular characteristic of finding people to eat.
She keeps her expression neutral and her horse moving.
By nightfall, the sky has changed. She clocks it, and the immense relief that seemingly always comes to her with the cover of darkness, now only intensified by the knowledge that titans can’t function in the environment she thrives in.
The brigade stops at an abandoned castle with orders to make camp in the ruins as she dismounts. She’s uninjured, and that is enough.
previous chapter | next chapter (coming soon!)
Author's note: greetings everyone! apologies the update was later than usual. i had my parents over for a month for my convocation, so I was too busy to write, but they have safely returned home now and I should be back to my usual routine for a bit until I have to move out of student house, hehe.
☆ Summary: It was supposed to be harmless dare: find a flower, hand it to Levi, walk away. No one accounted for what that flower would do to both of you.
☆ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader
☆ Genre/Tags: Modern AU, Enemies to Lovers, Smut
☆ Content Warnings: Alcohol use, explicit sexual content, dubious consent, sex pollen, aphrodisiacs, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected PIV, multiple orgasms, creampie, multiple creampies, cockwarming, biting, dom!Levi
☆ Word Count: 6.1k
☆ AO3 Link
☆ a/n: This was the second highest voted poll option for the 400 follower celebration, which I chose to write for celebration of 500 followers!
[ Art by usson0002 ]
You huddle on the worn plaid couch in the cabin’s living room, knees drawn up beneath you. The whole place smells like damp pine from the woods outside and the acrid tang of cheap alcohol burning your nostrils. Though the fire snaps and spits in the hearth, throwing orange light across the walls, it barely does anything to fight the cold that leaks through the old window frames.
It’s the final night of the group trip—Erwin’s grand idea, naturally, because apparently nothing says team bonding after a miserable work week like cramming everyone into a cabin in the middle of nowhere with questionable plumbing, too much alcohol, and Levi Ackerman. Levi, who is currently the primary source of the knot in your stomach. Levi, with his permanent scowl and tongue sharp enough to fillet someone alive before breakfast.
You put up with him because everyone else loves him, or at least claims to, but your patience with him has always been thin. Hange insists he’s just “misunderstood,” Petra calls him “harmlessly grumpy,” and Erwin gives you that weary, knowing look every time you and Levi end up snapping at each other like two feral animals. But you know better. Every comment he throws your way feels personal, like he’s dissecting your every flaw.
Two days ago, when everyone had first piled out of the cars, Levi had taken one look at the muddy footprints you tracked across the porch and said, loud enough for you to hear, “Great. Took five minutes for the place to turn into a pigsty.”
You’d turned on him instantly, your bag slung over your shoulder, and said, “Maybe if you weren’t such a neat freak, you’d unclench your ass long enough to enjoy a vacation.”
Erwin had clapped a hand on Levi’s shoulder, steering him away with a diplomatic smile. Miche had just stared as usual while Hange laughed so hard they nearly dropped their suitcase. Petra had given you a sympathetic pat on the back.
Everyone knows about the tension between you and Levi by now. It’s not even subtle. It’s an open secret, a running joke, a little spark that Hange claims makes group events “more interesting.” You’ve told them they should seek help multiple times.
Now, the men have migrated out back to the fire pit. Erwin is grilling burgers, Miche is drinking a beer, and Levi is probably critiquing the alignment of the logs or something as stupid as that. Meanwhile, you, Hange, and Petra have taken over the living room for girl time.
On the coffee table sits the punishment lineup for Drink or Dare: grain alcohol for you, absinthe for Hange, and ouzo for Petra. The rules are simple. Take the dare, or take a drink of whatever awful bottle has been assigned to you. It was Petra’s genius idea to choose drinks each of you personally hates, which means the dares have become progressively unhinged.
So far, you’ve eaten a raw onion slice on Hange’s dare. They streaked through the thankfully empty kitchen. Petra had confessed, in horrifying detail, her most embarrassing hookup story involving a clown costume. Against all odds, the bottles remain mostly full.
“Okay, my turn!” Hange announces, practically bouncing in the armchair, their glasses sliding down the bridge of their nose. They’re already tipsy from an earlier forfeit, having chosen to drink rather than send their boss a dick pic—which, frankly, is the first wise decision they’ve made all weekend. “Petra. Call your ex and demand that he moan your name. Loudly.”
You choke on your water so hard it burns your nose. Petra’s face flushes beet red, but to her credit, she snatches up her phone with grim determination. “Fine,” she says. “But if he blocks me, you’re buying drinks on the next trip.”
Next trip. You silently pray Levi won’t be invited.
The ringtone rills the room on speaker. When Oluo answers, sounding cautious already, Petra launches in before he can even say hello properly. “Hey, Oluo, I need you to moan my name right now. Make it good!”
There’s a stunned pause, then a sputtered, “What the fuck, Petra?” The line goes dead. You and Hange absolutely lose it. You fold forward, laughing so hard your stomach hurts, while Hange makes a strangled noise somewhere between a cackle and a death rattle. Petra, mortified, throws her phone onto the couch and reaches for the ouzo bottle. She takes a shot and immediately coughs.
“Why did you drink?” you wheeze, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes. “You did the dare.”
“I needed one after doing that,” Petra shudders.
“Fair,” Hange says, still giggling.
“Alright,” you say, leaning back, cheeks aching from laughter. “Your turn, Petra.”
Petra recovers, eyes still watering, and then turns toward you with a look so wicked that your smile falters before she even opens her mouth. “You. I’m coming for you.”
Your stomach flips. She’s got that look—the one that says she’s about to escalate. “Lay it on me.”
She points at you with one devilish finger. “Go outside into the woods behind the cabin, find a flower—any flower—and bring it back to Levi. No explanation. Just hand it over and walk away.”
The room goes silent, save for the crackle of the fire. Your heart stutters. “Levi?” you repeat, staring at her. Petra smiles innocently.
Of all people, Levi. Levi, who once told you your coffee breath qualified as a biohazard after you leaned too close to argue with him. Levi, who treats every interaction with you like an endurance test handed down by a cruel god. Levi, who will absolutely look at a random flower in your hand and somehow turn it into a federal crime.
Heat creeps up your neck, equal parts embarrassment and irritation. Why him? Why not Erwin, who would accept it politely and probably say something poetic? Why not Miche, who would sniff if and move on? This is absolutely sabotage, but the alternative is grain alcohol, and the thought alone makes your throat close.
You glare at Petra. “Fine,” you mutter, pushing yourself off the couch. As you slip on your shoes, you add, “But if he kills me, I’m haunting your ass first.” You flip them both off on your way to the back door.
The hinges creak as you slip outside, and the cold night air smacks you full in the face. The backyard fire pit glows amber, silohuetting the guys: Erwin standing over the grill, Miche sitting with his beer while staring into the flames, and Levi lounging in a chair with a mug of tea cradled in one hand.
You veer left before anyone can call out, keeping close enough to the cabin that you can still see the light from the windows. Moonlight filters through the canopy, turning the forest floor silver. Twigs snap beneath your sneakers with every step, obnoxiously loud in the quiet.
Stupid dare. Stupid Petra. Stupid Levi and his stupid face and his stupid ability to make your heart feel weird for reasons that are obviously anger and nothing else.
The air grows damp, alive with cricket chirps and the distant hoot of an owl. Your skin prickles. What if you get lost? What if you run into a bear? You tell yourself you’re being ridiculous. You’re a grown adult. You can walk twenty feet into the woods without turning into the first victim in a horror movie. Probably. You push deeper, the flashlight from your phone cutting a beam through ferns and underbrush. Your friends are probably snickering inside.
Then, you spot a cluster of wildflowers, delicate white petals glowing ethereally. You kneel and pluck one. It’s perfect. As you lift it, a bead of amber sap oozes from the break, sticky and glistening like dew. Great, it’s messy. Levi’s going to love that. You wipe it halfheartedly on your jeans, but it clings, tacky against your fingers.
Heart hammering, you trek back, the flower clutched in your hand. The cabin lights beckon you back. You skirt the fire pit’s edge, avoiding the gravel path where the guys sit. Levi’s profile is stark in the firelight. Erwin laughs at something Miche says. Your stomach twists. Just do it. hand it over. But doubt floods you: He’ll think I’m insane. Or flirting. God, no. Or worse, he’ll realize it was a dare and mock me forever.
You step into the firelight. “Levi.”
Three heads snap toward you. Miche’s nostrils flare subtly—he’s got that weird sniffing thing—and Erwin’s blue eyes widen in polite surprise. But Levi… Levi freezes, mug halfway to his lips. His gaze locks on you. Suspicion etches his features: narrowed eyes, slight tilt of his head, mouth pressing into a thin line.
You thrust the flower forward, the sap gleaming. No explanation. No apology. No context. Just you standing there like an idiot, arm extended, cheeks burning. Your pulse thunders in your ears.
Take it, you bastard. Don’t make this weird.
Erwin clears his throat, glancing between you. Miche shifts, arms crossing over his chest, and you catch the faintest suggestion of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Levi stares a second longer. You don’t know what his deal is. He doesn’t even have to say anything. He just needs to take the damn thing.
Then, his fingers brush yours as he plucks the flower from your hand. He turns his slowly between his fingers, the white petals catching the firelight, the amber sap shining at the stem. For a second, you wait for the insult. The dry little remark he always seems to have prepared. The inevitable, what the hell is this? It never comes. He says nothing. He just looks back up at you with an intensity that makes your heart stumble. You can’t stand it.
You spin on your heel, fleeing before he can speak, your heart slamming against your ribs. What was that look? Did you imagine the tension? No, he’s probably just plotting revenge. Gravel crunches underfoot as you burst through the back door, slamming it harder than intended. Hange and Petra are peeking from around the corner like spies, faces lit by their phone screens—of course they’re recording.
“Oh my god!” Hange whisper-shrieks, yanking you into the living room. “He took it! Without a word! Levi Ackerman accepted a mystery flower!”
Petra collapses onto the couch, clutching her sides. “Your face! Why did that look so romantic?”
“Romantic?” you say, eyeing your alcohol bottle. You definitely need a drink after that. But the confusion stops you. Why didn’t he snap? Why didn’t he make some little cutting comment and flick the flower into the fire? The fire inside pops mockingly, and from outside, muffled voices drift: Erwin’s chuckle, Miche’s rumble, Levi’s low murmur—too quiet to catch.
Hange pours celebratory shots—water, mercifully. “Your turn to dare now. But spill—did he smell it? Crush it? Fall madly in love? What?”
You flop down, forcing a laugh to drown the unease. “Nothing. He just took it like a weirdo.”
Hours blur after the game. The living room devolves into a haze of laughter. Petra passes out first on the couch, her assigned bottle clutched to her chest like a teddy bear. Hange drags you to the shared bedroom upstairs, a cramped space with twin beds. Both of you giggle too loudly, whisper-shouting at each other to be quiet. Hange drops into one bed and is asleep almost instantly, sprawled on their stomach with one arm hanging off the mattress.
The cabin quiets. The guys’ voices fade from the backyard, and doors creak shut. You strip to a tank top and shorts and slide under the quilt. You stare at the slanted ceiling. Moonlight pours in through the thin curtains. Exhaustion threatens to tug at you, but sleep evades, your body too restless. Your skin feels too warm under the covers. You shift onto your side, then onto your back again, then kick one foot out from under the blanket, irritated by the sudden heat gathering under your skin.
At first, you blame the alcohol. But you didn’t have that much. Then it creeps in: a low throb between your thighs. You shift, pressing your legs together, but it flares hotter. What the hell? Your nipples harden against the tank top. Heat pools in your core, slickness gathering. You turn your head and squint at the clock. It’s 2:17 a.m. Maybe it’s just stress from the game. Or… Levi’s touch? No, that’s insane.
The memory of his fingers on yours sparks unwelcome imagery—his eyes, his shirt clinging to his muscles. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing it away, but your clit throbs, demanding attention. Slick heat gathers until you feel trapped inside your own skin. You know this isn’t normal, but you have to get a grip. Hange snorts in their sleep. The sound should make you laugh. Instead, the room feels stifling, the walls closing in.
You can’t take it. Slipping from bed, your bare feet hit the cold floorboards. The hallway is dark and endless, lit only by a light from the main floor. Your heart races. You’ll just get some water and fresh air. Then it’ll pass.
You creep downstairs, every creak of the stairs amplified. Petra is still in the living room on the couch. The kitchen is dark, the fridge humming. You fill a glass with icy water but it does nothing to quell the fire raging inside. The heat still rushes through you, making your hand tighten around the glass until your knuckles ache. Your body betrays you with every breath.
A hand suddenly clamps your wirst, yanking you sideways. You don’t even have time to scream. You gasp, glass shattering on the floor in a spray of shards. Panic surges as you’re dragged, stumbling, into the spare bedroom off the kitchen. The door slams shut and you’re shoved against the wall, the wood biting your back.
Levi looms, his breath ragged and eyes wild in the sliver of moonlight that pours in through the window. His hair is disheveled, his shirt untucked, his pants… oh dear god. There’s a strain against his sweats, unmistakable.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” he growls, pinning your shoulders.
You blink, confusion crashing against fear. “What—get off! I didn’t do anything!” you whisper-shout, hands shoving at his chest. Arousal spikes tratiorously at the contact, your core clenching. What the hell has gotten into you?
His eyes narrow, face inches from yours. Fury is etched in every line. “Don’t play dumb. You drugged me. What was it?”
Drugged? The word yanks you back. “You’re crazy! I didn’t do shit. Let go!”
He doesn’t budge, his grip tightening just enough to terrify you. “My dick has been hard for the past hour no matter how many times I jerk myself off. What kind of aphrodisiac did you drug me with? Did you give me a pill? Slip it in my tea?”
His voice drops to a hiss, his cheeks flushed—not just anger, you realize. Desperation. The outline in his pants twitches, and your own body responds, wetness soaking through. Shock ripples through you. Images flood—Levi’s hand down his pants, letting out frustrated grunts. Your thighs rub together.
Then the pieces slowly start fitting together.
“It’s the flower,” you blurt.
He stares, incredulous, like you’ve slapped him. “Very funny. Now tell me what you drugged me with before I report your psychotic ass.”
“No, listen!” You twist against him, but it only presses your breasts to his chest, your nipples scraping deliciously. You shake your head internally. You need to focus. “It’s the only thing we both touched. You took it from me. The sap got on your fingers too. Our friends wouldn’t drug us, not even for a prank.”
You’re not sure if you even believe yourself, but Levi’s expression shifts and his breath hitches. His eyes flick to your lips, then down your body—tank riding up, shorts clinging to your thighs that rub together. His eyes widen ever so slightly. He must realize that you’re going through the exact same thing. He releases your shoulders, raking a hand through his hair.
“Great. A fucking flower got me hard,” he spits.
You meet his gaze. “Yeah, well, a fucking flower got me wet. We’re even.”
Silence lengthens between you. His eyes darken, pupils blown, scanning your face, your heaving chest, then lower. His confusion mirrors your own. This can’t be real. A flower that releases an aphrodisiac? But the pull is undeniable.
Heat crackles between you, the air thickening and charged like a storm about to break. Slowly, your bodies lean in like magnets, the fight dissolving into shared desperation. He’s too close. He smells so good. He’s still hard against your thigh.
You don’t know who moves first. Your lips crash. You moan into it, hands grabbing his shirt, pulling him close. He groans, a low sound in his throat, his tongue invading and claiming yours. It’s messy and frantic. Teeth nip your lower lip. His hips grind his rigid length against your core. You break for air, foreheads pressed, both of you panting.
“Fuck,” he rasps, hand sliding to your hip, gripping hard enough to bruise. “This… we can fuck it out. Get rid of it. Then we’re done.”
“Yeah,” you say, nodding, even though your mind is reeling. Are you really about to have sex with Levi? But the ache demands it. All logic is lost. “Just this once.”
Levi’s gaze sears into you, stripping you bare before a single thread hits the floor. Your back hits the mattress with a muffled thud as he throws you down. Your entire body is buzzing, waiting for any sort of contact, your nerves screaming for more. He cages you. Forearms brace on either side of your head, trapping you between his body and the bed. The heat radiating off him is suffocating.
Then his mouth descends. It isn’t a kiss so much as a collision—hunger made physical. Your lips part under the assault, yielding to the invasive slide of his tongue. Teeth knock together. Saliva slicks your chin. You taste the black tea on his tongue as you arch up, hands clawing at the muscle in his shoulders. He answers with his hips, grinding down. The thick ridge of his erection drags against your soaked core through the thin fabric. The pressure drags a whimper from you, swallowed by his mouth. Your clit pulses with each thrust of his hips.
The kiss deepens into passionate chaos. His growl vibrates against your lips. Your nails rake his back under his shirt. He breaks away, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. His teeth graze your pulse point, sucking hard enough to bruise. You gasp, head falling back against the pillow.
Sensation detonates across your skin, but the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins turns every spark into an inferno. Your flesh feels raw, hypersensitive to every touch. Every lick sends jolts straight to your core. His hands roam, shoving your tank top up to bunch under your arms. The sudden kiss of cold air stiffens your nipples, and then his mouth is there, closing over one breast.
His tongue swirls before sucking hard. You cry out, back arching off the bed, fingers twisting in his hair. The slight pain lights a fire in your abdomen. He switches sides, teeth nipping, drawing another moan—a moan that’s too loud for the paper-thin walls. Levi’s hand flies up, clamping over your mouth mid-gasp. His eyes lock on yours, dark and commanding.
“Stay quiet if you want my cock in you,” he warns, thumb pressing your lower lip.
How the hell are you supposed to stay quiet? Still, you nod frantically, eyes wide, biting his palm to stifle the next inevitable sound. He smirks and slides his free hand down your body, shoving your shorts aside. Fingers find your folds, slick and swollen with need. He groans against your skin at the copious wetness that coats his hand. Two fingers plunge in, curling ruthlessly. His thumb circles your clit. You whimper into the cage of his hand, hips jerking, walls clenching around him. He pumps steadily, scissoring and stretching you to prepare you. His hawkish gaze never leaves your face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every grimace of need.
Your orgasm builds like a rising tide, hovering just out of reach, but every time you teeter on the edge, he eases back, denying you. Tears prick your eyes. You nod again, muffled pleas vibrating against his palm. The room spins in lust’s haze.
Finally, he withdraws, both of you shedding your clothes in a frenzy. Shirts are yanked off, shorts are kicked away, his sweats hit the floor. His cock is freed, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s thick, heavy, veins tracing the rigid length, the head flushed dark and weeping. You know, with a certainty that settles in your gut, that he’s going to ruin you.
He hauls you toward the bed’s center, palms gripping your hips, flipping you onto your stomach with a suddenness that knocks the breath from your lungs. Face down, knees sinking into the mattress, you push up slightly on your forearms, ass lifted in involuntary offering. The position exposes everything, rendering you utterly vulnerable to the weight of his gaze and the hunger you can feel radiating off him.
His weight crashes down atop you, a heavy, furnace-hot blanket of muscle. His knees force yours wider, spreading you until the air ghosts against your drenched entrance. The blunt head of his cock prods your slit, dragging through your arousal in a teasing slide that has you whining into the bedding, hips twitching back.
Then he drives forward. One smooth thrust buries him to the hilt, splitting you open on his length with a stretch that’s almost agonizing. You scream, but the sound dies against the pillow as you bury your face in the fabric, teeth sinking into cotton. He fills you impossibly, the sheer girth of him forcing your walls to accommodate. Levi stills, chest heaving, his breath scalding the shell of your ear. You feel the tremor in his thighs.
Then he moves. He pulls back and snaps forward, flesh slapping against flesh, driving the air from your lungs. He sets a brutal rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that jolt you forward on the mattress. Every ram of his hips is angled perfectly to strike that tender, swollen spot inside you. The bed shakes, the headboard thumping softly. You bite the pillow until your jaw aches, trying to swallow the sounds, but a moan rips free.
His hand clamps your mouth again, sealing the sound inside. “Shut the fuck up,” he warns, his hips slamming harder in punishment. You obey, breaths ragged through your nose. He fucks you without mercy. Sweat slicks the seal where your bodies slam together. His chest is plastered against your back, trapping you completely beneath him.
Wet kisses pepper your neck, tongue tracing your vein before sucking marks into the skin. His groans build. To muffle them, he bites your shoulder. The pain melts into ecstasy. You clench around him, chasing the peak he denied earlier, but he controls it, pace faltering as his own end nears.
“Fuck—where do you want it?” he rasps, thrusts erratic.
“In me,” you beg, words muffled against his hand.
He snarls, burying deep one last time, grinding against your womb. His release floods you, hot ropes painting your walls. Levi shudders atop you, biting harder to silence his moan. You teeter on the edge, clenching to milk him, but he slips out too soon. Cum trickles down onto the bed.
He rolls off, chest heaving, but he’s still hard. His cock glistens in the moodnight, twitching back to life. “Shit,” he curses, glaring at the ceiling. “That damn flower.”
Panting, you prop yourself up on your elbows. You roll onto your back and look at him. “Wow, so you’re not even going to get me off?”
Levi’s eyes snap to yours, narrowing at your quip. A spark of challenge ignites in the storm grey. He shoves your legs wide and he settles between your thighs, breath ghosting your slick folds. Out of all the ways you expected him to get you off, you thought this would be the last. For a clean freak like him, you thought he’d despise giving. Clearly, you were wrong about him. In more ways than one.
His tongue comes hot and flat against your core. He licks a slow stripe up your center, gathering your mixed release. You jolt, hands fisting the sheets, a whine escaping your throat before you can swallow it. He groans into you, vibrations shuddering through your core. He seals his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking with precision. His fingers part you, delving in to curl against your g-spot, pumping in time with his tongue’s assault.
“Levi—” you moan, too loud. His hand covers your mouth again, eyes flashing warning above your mound.
“Quiet,” he hisses, muffled by your skin, but he doesn’t stop. His tongue lashes harder, fingers curling relentlessly. Your moans are swallowed by his palm. The stars behind your eyelids deotnate into surpernovas. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, walls spasmsing violently around his thrusting digits. Your release floods his mouth. You cry out into his hand. He laps you through it greedily until you slump, trembling.
He rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His cock stands rigid against his abdomen, angry and red, twitching with renewed demand. “I’m not done,” he says, positioning over you.
He hooks his legs over the crooks of his elbows and folds you open—wider, wider still—until your knees press toward your shoulders and you feel the stretch of your hips, the total exposure of your core to his gaze. The position renders you helpless, a vessel for his use. The swollen head of his cock nudges your slit, dragging through the mess of your combined arousal, then he thrusts home, burying himself to the root.
You gasp, a desperate sound, arms flying up to wrap tight around his neck, anchoring yourself as he splits you open on his length. But the moans spill free despite your best efforts—volume rising with each savage snap of his hips.
Levi snatches the pillow from beside your head and slams it down over your face. Darkness engulfs you instantly, the scent of old cotton and sweat filling your nostrils. His voice filters through the barrier: “Tap my arm twice if you can’t breathe.”
You nod frantically under the fabric. You have no need to tap. He fucks you hard, setting a punishing pace. The sound of his skin hitting yours echoes softly. The mattress springs scream. When the bedframe hits the wall too hard, he curses under his breath and slows to deep, grinding rolls that press his pelvis flush against your thighs. They still hit every sweet spot inside you. Sweat drips from him onto your stomach.
Pleasure coils again despite the recent peak. He shifts the pillow aside abruptly, tossing it across the room. The air hits your flushed face. His mouth claims yours with feverish hunger—lips bruising, tongue plunging to swallow the moans you can no longer contain. The kiss is salvation. You taste yourself on him. Hands roam—yours in his hair, tugging; his gripping your thigh, angling deeper until he’s grinding against your cervix.
His thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles to match the rhythm of his hips. You break the kiss to gasp, but he chases your mouth, refusing you air. Pressure builds, inexorable. Your walls flutter, your release barreling forward with terrifying speed.
“Levi—gonna—” The words die in your mouth as you cum first, lightning spiking your nerves while your vision whites out. Your nails dig crescents into his back.
Your clenching triggers him. He buries deep, groaning into the kiss, hot jets of cum pulsing inside you, filling your womb again. Your bodies lock together, shuddering through the aftermath, muscles spasming in unison. He collapses half-atop you, forehead to your shoulder.
And yet, he doesn’t soften. His cock twitches, still hard, trapped in your fluttering heat. Levi lifts his head, frustration etching his features. “Fuck—this thing won’t quit.” He pulls back slightly, staring down at where you’re joined, at the sight of his length disappearing into your cum-slick, swollen folds.
Panting, you meet his gaze. “Stay inside. Just ride it out.”
Levi pauses. He looks somewhat skepitcal, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, but he sighs and shifts. “On your side,” he commands, laced with fatigue.
You comply, rolling onto your side. Levi mirrors you, molding behind you with his chest to your back and his thighs slotting against yours. One strong arm snakes under your head like a pillow, and the other hooks your top leg over his hip, opening you. He lines himself up and slides back in with a slow push. Inch by inch, he sinks all the way in, reclaiming the territory he never truly vacated, until his pubic bone is pressed flush to your ass.
You reach back instinctively, fingers gripping the jut of his hip. Levi envelops you fully, wrapping both arms around your torso, one hand splaying possessively over your stomach, the other cupping your breast. He groans low, the sound rumbling through your joined bodies. He twitches inside you, like a heartbeat against your walls. His lips find your neck, pressing soft kisses along the fresh bruises.
Neither of you moves. You stay connected, breathing synced in the quiet. The fullness is exquisite torture, his thickness stretching you as your cum-slick walls flutter around him, milking him without motion. Minutes pass and the tension simmers, a banked fire waiting only for the breath that will ignite it again.
“Why do you always act like I shit on your parade?” you murmur, turning your head slightly against his bicep.
Levi huffs, breath hot on your ear, hips shifting minutely—enough to cause your stomach to flip. “Me? You’re the one with the attitude, snapping like everything I say is an insult.”
You snort softly, clenching around him involuntarily; he hisses. “You nitpick everything. Calling me messy like you’re perfect, Mr. Disinfectant.”
His grip tightens on your breast, thumb circling the nipple lazily. “You are messy. Doesn’t mean I think I’m perfect. But…” He pauses, his voice dropping. “Fuck it. You’re hot as hell. You drive me insane.”
Heat floods your cheeks. You can’t exactly say that you don’t feel the same way. You just never wanted to admit it—to anyone else, or even yourself. “Well… I think you’re attractive too. Stupidly. I just didn’t want to admit it, so I pushed back.”
His chuckle vibrates into you. “Mutual torture, then.” Fueled, he stirs, hips drawing back an inch then pressing forward in a slow, deep thrust.
“Levi,” you moan, arching back.
He holds you tigher, spooning your trembling body. His body envelops you completely like a protective cocoon. “Stay quiet,” he murmurs against your hair, thrusting again. It’s a slow, grinding slide that buries him to the hilt, stirring your depths.
There’s no frenzy now, no desperation—only a deep, rocking connection that grinds his pelvis against your ass with each forward press. His cock drags against your swollen walls, the ridge of his head stroking that aching spot inside you. The pace builds languidly, a rising tide rather than a crashing wave, each roll of his hips designed to wind you tighter rather than break you apart.
One hand slides down your stomach, calloused fingers dipping through the slick mess of your combined arousal to find your clit. He rubs gentle circles, syncing the pressure perfectly with his thrusts—up and in, press and roll. The other hand rises to knead your breast, fingers pinching and rolling the nipple until it aches.
The triple assault overwhelms you. Your clit throbs under his fingertips, his cock strokes a sensitive spot inside you, and the sharp tugs at your nipple thread a wire of sensation directly to your core. Moans build, muffled against his arm. You bite your lip, but they escape—his name, whimpers, pleads. The bed, mercifully, stays silent. His mouth trails hot, open kisses along the curve of your shoulder.
Your climax creeps in, inevitable. The feeling in your stomach spreads like liquid fire. “Levi—close,” you gasp, hand clutching his veiny forearm, nails digging into the taut muscle.
“Cum,” he orders, voice strained to breaking, the single word a command against your ear. His thrusts deepen, fingers pressing harder. It breaks you open, waves crashing against you as your pussy clamps around him, your wetness soaking his hand and cock. You tremble in his arms, crying his name into the pillow.
Your release milks him and triggers the flood of his own climax. Levi sinks in all the way, groaning your name against your neck as his essence erupts for the third time, painting you full. He pulses endlessly, hips stuttering in shallow jerks as he empties everything left inside him. Warmth overflows you, his seed trickling despite his plug.
Exhaustion claims you both. Your limbs feel heavy, your breathing slows, and neither of you move. You’re too spent to disentangle and return to separate beds. It’s risky, but you both decide without even speaking it aloud that you’ll stay like this. His arms remain around you. His heartbeat thuds against your back. Your eyelids droop.
The flower’s fire turned you from enemies to lovers, if only for the night.
.
Sunlight pierces the spare room’s window, a golden blade slicing through the dust. It rouses you from your sleep. Your body aches, a delicious soreness. Your thighs are sticky, and your core is tender from Levi’s relentless claiming. He’s still behind you, arms lax but draped possessively. His morning wood twitches half-hard inside. You hope it actually is just morning wood and not the flower.
You shift and he stirs, his eyes cracking open. His cock slips free with a wet sound, cum trickling anew. Levi tenses, rolling away. No words. The vulnerability from your confessions has evaporated, replaced by awkward silence. You both dress hastily. He cracks the door open first, and you follow.
Everyone is staring at you. Not subtly, either.
Erwin is at the counter, mug suspended halfway to his mouth, his expression neutral in a way that somehow makes it worse. Miche stares at you like he already knows what went down. Petra blushes furiously over her cereal, and of course, Hange is grinning like a maniac, chin propped on one hand, eyes bright with the knowledge that they’ve been handed blackmail material gift-wrapped by the gods.
Levisteps in behind you and stops. You freeze, heat crawling up your neck. You eye the ground where the broken glass should be. It’s swept up into a broom pan. Clear evidence. Recovered evidence. The worst kind. No one speaks. Tension crackles, and eyes dart between you two like witnesses to a crime.
Levi veers upstairs without a glance, shutting the door behind him. You bolt after him, cheeks burning, slamming your bedroom door. You consider simply staying here forever. Then you peel yourself away from the door and start stripping. Your tank top hits the floor, then your shorts follow. You grab a towel and turn toward the mirror, only to stop dead.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whisper.
Hickeys are covering your throat and collarbone. Bite marks, too, faint but unmisktable, trail along places you absolutely cannot explain away with mosquitoes. A shower calls to you. Hot water. Soap. Steam. The chance to scrub away at least the sweat, if not the memory of every humiliating sound you apparently made in a cabin full of your friends.
You wrap the towel around you and take one step toward the bathroom. Then footsteps pound down the hallway, and the bedroom door bursts open. Hange barrels in.
“Hey, so by the way,” they start, flopping on their bed, “did you know that flower you picked up yesterday—the female ones anyway—have an aphrodisiac sap? It’s loaded with pheromones. Apparently it makes woodland critters go absolutely feral. Little sex rabbits everywhere. Nature is beautfiful.”
You whirl on them. “You couldn’t have told me before—”
“Before you fucked Levi’s brains out at 3 in the morning? Yeah, we all heard. Thanks for waking everyone up, dude! ‘Levi, oh god, Levi’—classic.”
Mortification washes over you, drowning you. Your face flames and you dive under your blankets, burrowing like a child. The sheets muffle your groan. Hange’s laughter erupts. They poke your foot.
“Spill. Was he any good?”
“Out!” you yelp, kicking blindly at them through the covers.
*.✧summary: a rumor that Captain Levi is dating someone.
*.✧content warning: none
"Captain Levi is dating?"
"That cold captain? Impossible."
"I bet he would rather date his cleaning tools."
The three start laughing without knowing that someone is approaching behind them.
"I guess you idiots are done taking a break, considering the fact that I can hear you laughing from over there."
Their bodies instantly freeze when they realize they’ve been caught by none other than Levi, the person they were talking about.
“50 laps right now.”
“Yes, sir!” The three immediately start running, since protesting would only make things worse, knowing their captain’s personality.
Levi lets out a “tch” while watching them blame one another as they run their laps.
Later that night, instead of going to his room, he goes to yours and knocks. You open the door and greet him, “Done with the paperwork?”
"Yes," he replied and let himself in as you shut the door.
“Are you aware of that rumor about you spreading?” you ask, and his brow furrows as he looks at you.
“What rumor?”
“That you’re dating someone?”
“Who did you hear that from?”
“It’s basically anywhere if you listen closely,” you smile. “Are you mad? It’s true, though.”
“I’m not mad. I just want to know who spread it so I can assign them to clean the stables for one month,” he replies, which makes you laugh.
“Enough with that talk and focus on me.” Levi grabs your waist and pulls you closer.
“Miss me?” you tease, a grin plastered across your face as you wrap your arms around his neck.
“Brat, what do you think?” he asks, looking at you as if the answer is already obvious.
"I want to hear it from you."
“Yeah? I’ll let you feel it instead,” Levi says, and before you can even respond properly, he lifts you up and carries you to the bed, spending the night cuddling.
Ficlet Collection | Masterlist
Note: I just want to write and post something so I can feel motivated to update my fic.
PAIRING: Levi Ackerman/Reader
RATING: 18+ (violence, eventual nsfw)
TAGS: major character death, slow burn (and I mean SLOW burn), eventual romance, eventual smut, canon-typical violence, reader is an engineer, girls with guns, balls & galas, protective Levi Ackerman denial of feelings, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, plot heavy, PTSD/trauma, mystery, canon divergence (in some parts)
CHAPTER WARNINGS: graphic descriptions of violence, death and corpses
CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 10.6k
Read here on AO3 | Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Your ears feel like they’re stuffed with cotton, your mind dulled by fog.
Your body doesn’t entirely feel like your own as the morning dissolves into a frantic rush: soldiers hurry past you, questions are asked and you’re aware that your mouth moves with a response, but your voice falls as a foreign sound to your ears. You hardly register the clunky weight of the gear at your hips, the condensed ball of anxiety you’ve tried to dismiss these past few weeks now bursting at the seams and ready to spill.
Grabbing Pages’ reigns, you mount your horse and take your place with Mike’s squad, feel yourself nodding numbly along as the Section Commander runs through any final reminders. Ultimately, it’s Erwin’s booming voice carrying over the green-caped crowd that disperses the haze in your head, grounding you once more as the clarity returns.
Flashes of the blue and white wings pierce through the sea of green as the troops around you raise their swords and fisted hands with a powerful cry. The gates of Karanes open with a resounding groan and as the first of the Corps begin to move, Mike throws a glance over his shoulder, eyes locking with yours. Though the nod of his head is barely perceptible, his steady gaze keeps you rooted in reality. You nod back, swallowing hard.
Your heart thunders wildly when Pages strides forward— first with a gentle walk before the pace breaks into a rhythmic canter and all of a sudden, you’re shooting through the gate, past the Walls and out into the open plains.
Sun glaring in your eyes, exhilaration floods your system as you lean into the wind, feel the ripple of muscle under each bounding motion. Every man and their horse falls into a perfect rendition of Erwin’s formation and you snap out your brief wonder to ensure you’re keeping your own position with the squad.
The last dregs of your awe tides over into apprehension when the first column of red cuts through the sky— titan spotted. Your stomach lurches, grip tightening on the reins. Several streaks of crimson smoke follow as the message passes from squad to squad when a new flare erupts from where the original first did, only this time, it shoots up black.
Abnormal.
Henning swears under his breath. Nanaba utters an incredulous, “Already?”, voicing your own thoughts. The sound of another flare firing shocks you all out your disbelief, your eyes fixing onto the fresh pillar of green in the distance— redirection from Erwin.
But as Mike veers to the left towards the new bearing, the rest of you following suit, you can’t help but look back at the fading black in the sky, a dark stain amongst the red. No other flares have been shot from that region since the announcement of the abnormal. Your anxiety returns tenfold with the dread of what that could mean.
It doesn’t take long for the answer to come: it starts with a slight tremble in the ground, hardly noticeable at first, followed by a thundering crash that sends a flock of birds fleeing. A glance behind you has your blood freezing, eyes widening at the sight of two hideous titans barrelling towards you from behind, heavy-footed and clearly starving.
“One nine metre, one six metre!” you shout, heart in your throat as you whip back around.
“Gelgar! Let’s go!” Thomas yells and together, the two men flanking the back immediately change direction, riding away from you and towards the pair of brutes. You watch as Gelgar charges at the tallest of the two, Thomas taking down the six metre with the same speed and precision you’ve seen him exhibit during training.
“The whole thing’s a mess,” Lynne mutters beside you, “Titans shouldn’t be this deep into the formation.”
“I didn’t see any new flares from the right flank,” Henning says, his words directed to Mike, “What’s the situation with them?”
“I don’t know,” the Section Commander replies from over his shoulder, “I think— Shit!”
It’s by pure instinct that Mike drives his reins upwards, barely swerving past the foot that comes crashing down. Panic flaring, you can hardly process what’s happening when the other foot follows, slamming right into the earth in front of you.
There’s no time to react— Pages trips over the foot with startled alarm and you’re thrown off your saddle onto solid ground. Pain fires straight up your shoulder, a searing type of agony that pulls an involuntary cry from your throat. Someone calls your name - Mike, you think - but chaos reigns around you and this pain is different. It’s nothing like the type you felt when you and Mike fell onto the platform together back in your first training session; it’s sharp and then it dulls, prickling your nerves and leaving you disoriented as it throbs angrily under your skin.
But then the same foot stomps down again, missing you by a breath, and you have no choice but to work through your pain and dizziness, staggering to your feet as you risk a look up.
It’s Gelgar, still engaged with the same nine-metre that’s now chased him here. You can hear the drone of his ODM as you try to run, the grinding of the mechanics whilst he swings around and you feel yourself frown because something sounds off. Something is wrong.
Without any warning, the titan twists carelessly around, hands flailing to swat him away. Why hasn’t the damn thing been killed yet? You narrowly dodge its stumbling feet, feel your fear in your throat with each near miss as the ground churns under the titan’s floundering. Your mind has yet to fully clear when your boot catches on the earth and you tumble back to the ground.
“Smith!”
Relief overwhelms your system when your head snaps up and you see Mike riding towards you, urgency written in the way he kicks his horse into a faster pace. Leaning to the side, he stretches out a hand.
“Grab on!”
Pushing yourself up, you catch his hand as he passes, feel his fingers secure around your arm when he grips and pulls.That same shooting pain instantly returns as you realise it was the same shoulder you landed on that Mike was holding. You suck in a sharp breath, the sound poorly concealed.
“Are you hurt?” Mike asks, effortlessly hauling you onto his horse.
“No, I’m okay,” you lie almost autonomously, breathless.
Your shoulder pulses with a burning ache that has your jaw clenching, but you convince yourself it’ll fade, that the sensation is disproportional to the actual severity of the injury. You’re grateful you’re sitting behind Mike, the broad expanse of his back concealing the way your face scrunches in pain as you reconvene with the squad, his horse slowing to a stop.
To your relief, a quick look over reveals no casualties as Lynne comes up to you, Pages and his reins safely with her. She explains how she quickly retrieved him once you fell, saving him from running off - or worse - getting trampled under the titan’s foot. You thank her profusely as you swing back onto your saddle, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the strain in your shoulder.
A resounding thud sounds off the side and your head turns to see the nine-metre finally crumple to the ground, a deep slash carved into its nape. It’s Nanaba who took the kill, and from the way she marches off the steaming corpse and slams her blades back into her sides, you can tell— she’s furious.
“Fucking hell Gelgar, are you trying to kill us all?” she snaps once she nears. Gelgar bristles at her hostility.
“What?”
“Don’t what me, you idiot. What took you so long? Why didn’t you kill it?”
“Look— I don’t know what happened, okay?” Gelgar splutters, “I just— I don’t know! I needed to warm up.”
“Warm up?” Nanaba repeats, her voice a whole octave higher, “We were almost crushed to death because you didn’t warm up?”
“Enough,” Mike cuts in sharply. The pair open their mouths to protest, but a scathing glare from the Section Commander effectively shuts the argument down, “We’ll lose the formation if we waste our time here fighting.”
Turning his horse away, the rest of you follow, the remainder of the ride continued in dour silence. Flares of varying colours and directions continue to fire around you, but your eyes ultimately settle on Gelgar and the ODM jostling around his middle, something uneasy squirming in your gut as you recall his performance earlier.
It was subtle, but something didn’t sound right, the smooth whir you would usually expect replaced by the gritty rasp of sliding metal. You debate asking about it, if Gelgar himself had noticed anything off, but your worries of paranoia and overthinking has you suppressing your question, because why wouldn’t it be fine? His set was from the new shipment - allof them were - and you had spent hours rigorously inspecting them before the expedition, any defects resolved immediately. You wouldn’t overlook a fault, you’re sure of it.
Your inner turmoil draws to an abrupt end with the arrival of another soldier. He pulls up beside the squad, red-faced and gasping for air and as he shouts over the rapid canter of hooves, you feel your heart sink impossibly lower.
Erwin’s formation is devastated, he tells you all, confirming the worst, an abnormal was responsible.
“A female titan summoned the horde!” the soldier continues, “They’re tearing through the formation as we speak!”
“Summoned them?” Henning repeats, causing several wary glances to be traded amongst you . Your eyes lock briefly with Mike’s and without exchanging a single word, you know you’ve both come to the same conclusion: that this female titan was the traitor, the other suspected shifter, that yet another one of Erwin’s notions had proved themselves true.
“The right flank?” Mike asks once he looks away, but he already knows the answer. The air is rife with blood: rich, coppery and sickening. His nose twitches.
“Completely annihilated. The Commander’s directing the troops around the forest— follow the flares!”
Then the soldier departs, no doubt to relay the same message to whoever was left standing, and Mike delivers his orders— keep your heads down and avoid any combat. The aim is to reach the forest. Despite the way your stomach twists, you listen; since the soldier left, the number of flares and titans spotted has drastically increased. The horde must be catching up.
Even as large hands snatch bodies off steeds and red splatters across the grass, your vision narrows only to the view directly in front of you, a heavy lump in your throat. Your eyes close when you pass those engaged in action, but it doesn’t block out the pleading, the screaming, the bloody crunching of bone.
“Fuck!”
One yell has you making the mistake of looking up, eyes honing in on a soldier in the near distance. His name escapes you, face faintly familiar, but you watch as he battles with a eight-metre, hooks sinking into pallid flesh. Wires pull him in an arc as he aims for the nape, and as you approach, you hear his ODM: the whirring, the grinding, the moving of metal parts and then—
Click.
His wires go slack and his momentum is lost.
Tumbling to the ground, the soldier rolls out the way, dodges the hand that swipes for him. He jerks to his feet, nape in view once more and his fingers quickly pull at the triggers. The anchor digs into the titan’s neck and he’s anticipating the yank of the ODM when you hear it again:
Click.
Nothing. The gear doesn’t reel him in. Gas wheezes out with a dying pressure.
He’s stuck.
The realisation strikes him the same time it hits you, and all you can do is watch in silent horror as you ride past when the eight-meter jerks around, eyes bright with morbid delight at the sight of cornered prey. The soldier pulls at the triggers again, the action frantic, panicked, when another click! taunts your ears and your stomach drops, because you know that sound— you’ve heard it before in Gelgar’s gear.
A hand rams down, killing the soldier instantly.
“Mike!” You yell, heart thundering as you twist back around, “That soldier back there, he—“
“Turn around and look forward.”
You don’t recognise Mike’s voice when he cuts you off, face dark and tone void of empathy as he glares ahead, cold, composed. Stunned, you look to the rest of your squad, but no one meets your eye. They too, have missed the detail you caught.
“But I think—”
“Turn around.”
The forest finally comes into view, trees cresting over the hill.
"The gear—"
"Now, Smith.”
“But Mike—“
“Turn around!” The older scout snaps louder, angrier and you flinch, because Mike would usually hear you out and rarely would he ever be so short with you. But then you remember that both him and his squad have seen this before - this chaos, the bloodshed, all this needless death - and have since learnt to push through. To them, that soldier back there was yet another unfortunate casualty, another number to account for. But to you, that soldier and his end only further deepened your suspicions that beyond the immediate threat of the traitor, something was terribly wrong and right now, it seemed like only you had noticed.
But as your horses breach the first line of trees, you listen to Mike, swallow your doubts and lower your head. The Section Commander orders the rest of the squad to remain on the outskirts, to keep watch with the rest of the Corps whilst the two of you ride deeper inside. There’s confusion, a few questioning looks, but nobody explicitly protests, the chain of command obeyed as they leave their horses at the base of the trees and settle on the branches above.
You follow the cobbled path to a clearing where no more than twenty soldiers are present— the select few entrusted with the traitor’s capture. Hange’s here, Moblit too and above, you spy your brother on a branch where Mike joins him, carefully observing the entire operation.
Immediately, you get to work. Soldiers approach you, ask where and how you exactly want the traps to be set up and in return, your answers are swift and direct, the details extracted verbatim from your memory of the blueprints that you poured hours over.
The trees in this woods are massive, far larger than the ones you’ve trained with at the Corps’ headquarters. Their sturdy size easily accommodate the clunkiness of the spike-filled barrels you haul up as people are directed to their positions. Multiple times do you find yourself glancing at your brother, the urge to tell him about that soldier from earlier and your suspicions with the gear gnawing away at you, but you’re working with an expended timer, the Female Titan no doubt rapidly nearing you all. Right now, this takes precedence.
And just as you find your place behind a trap, your fingers ready on the rope attached to the trigger, that’s when you hear it— footsteps.
The force of each lunging stride trembles through the ground and straight up the branch you stand on, hands gripping the bark of the trunk to stabilise yourself. You spot Eren and his squad before her: a blur of blonde hair and muscle as she charges forward in pursuit, sharp, focused and deadly.
Soldiers are slapped away with heartless ease, a trail of screams and bloody corpses left in her wake. She’s getting closer— closer to Eren, closer to you, but drawing her focus solely on the squad proves a fatal error on her part.
It’s at the last second that she notices the soldiers in the trees. Pale blue eyes widen, but it’s too late— she steps exactly where you want her to. Erwin’s voice booms through the air.
“Fire!”
With all your strength, you yank the rope, hooks bursting out the barrels with a flash and tearing through layers of sinew. Erwin’s command to empty the arsenals is barely audible over the deafening rattle of each explosion; gunpowder kicks into the air, smoke pollutes your lungs, and despite your attempt to cover your ears, a faint ringing persists inside them.
It takes what feels like minutes for the sound to fade, and it’s only then do you realise that the onslaught had ended, the chaos over. And as the dust settles on the forest floor, her silhouette fades into defined features and you finally see her in her entirety— the Female Titan, the traitor, the one who scattered the right flank across a bloody field, now caught and rendered completely immobile.
“These traps were perfect!” a giddy voice exclaims, and you don’t have to turn to know it’s Hange who’s landed behind you, “She can’t move to scratch even an itch. Good job, Smith!”
A hearty slap is delivered straight to your back, but you’re hesitant to claim a complete victory yet, your stare glued to the arrowheads hooked into tender flesh. With bated breath, you watch as the Female twitches, the movement ever so slight, and just as you observed back then with Hange and their two titans, the arrowheads sink deeper with a grisly squelch. It’s confirmed: you’ve immobilised her completely.
You allow yourself a sigh, but it’s not enough to rid yourself of the tension that hangs heavy over your shoulders. You may have restrained your intended target, but the thoughts of that soldier and his gear lingers incessantly in the back of your mind, dampening the relief of this success. You can feel it— this isn’t the end.
“Something’s wrong,” you mutter softly.
“With the traps?” Hange says, and you startle slightly, forgetting they were still beside you, “What do you mean? They worked fine!”
“No,” you quickly amend, because if there’s anyone who’s going to listen to you, it’s Hange, “It’s the gear. I think—”
Something shatters above you and you straighten up instantly, both you and Hange stunned to find fragments of ultrahard steel hailing down. Mike swears loudly as he swings back up with blade-less hilts, succeeded by the Captain who launches himself into the air. He raises his blades, body turning in a deadly arc to slice through the hands covering the nape—
—Except his blades shatter directly upon impact, the same outcome as Mike’s. Hange taps your shoulder, points to something on the titan’s hands. Your neck strains as you just about catch the crystal-like solid coating her knuckles.
“That’s what broke their blades,” they murmur to you as the Captain lands beside Mike. The pair assess the scene below with faces stiff, concerned, “I watched it form on her fingers when Levi tried to attack.”
Your lips thin, “If we can’t cut through whatever it is—”
“—Then we’ll have to blow it up,” Hange finishes for you, nodding.
This realisation seems to hit Erwin as the order to ready the traps is given once more and Hange returns to their post. Your hand grips the rope, skin prickling with anxiety as you wait for the signal, but as Erwin raises his hand, ready to drive it down, the Female Titan parts her mouth, sucks in a breath and screams.
Hands slam over your ears, cape and hair whipping your face with a rush of air. The sound is inhuman, a desperate, bestial screech that reverberates deep in your chest and pervades through your very bone. The forest carries the echo and after a loaded pause, one by one do the soldiers around you emerge from where they were crouched, a sea of uncertain glances and low whispers. It greatly contrasts the seriousness with which Mike approaches your brother, a dark certainty set in the furrows of his brow.
“Erwin— it stinks,” he announces, loud enough for you to hear. Erwin turns, eyes narrowing slightly.
“From where?”
“Every direction, multiple sources,” he pauses, sniffs again, “It’s a whole horde of them.”
No sooner had the words left Mike’s mouth does the ground begin to rumble, a light tremor that rapidly escalates into sudden, violent shaking. Blades are drawn, orders are barked out but the noise is drowned under the sound of hundreds of footsteps closing rapidly in when the first of the titans breaches the clearing and clamps its mouth around the Female’s leg.
Another follows, then three, then seven, until the entire drove pushes through and you realise it’s not the soldiers their eager fingers reach for, but the captured titan herself.
She’s swarmed in a matter of seconds; teeth rip through muscle and nails tear through layers of tissue as she’s devoured alive in her restraints. All you can do is watch with revolted horror at the squelching of flesh and the volley of blood that follows, steam rising through the air and quickly obstructing your view.
But Erwin’s reaction is just as fast— the gravitas of his voice carries over the commotion below to knock his soldiers out of their own disgust. The command rings out loud and clear.
Fell the horde. Protect the Female Titan.
Every Scout moves to follow the order, but not without some hesitation— to defend the one who slaughtered without mercy felt like a mockery, an insult to those crushed by her hand. And if the bitter look on your brother’s face was anything to go by, then it was clear that the irony of the circumstances has not been lost on him.
The sound of your name has you whirling around, your eyes finding Moblit in the tree beside you, several branches up. He gestures you over and before you can overthink your actions, you trust your training, squeeze your triggers and launch yourself in the air.
It’s definitely one of the taller distances you’ve had to cover and your landing still has a slight stumble to it, but you make it to Moblit unscathed nonetheless. He darts an arm out to stop your momentum, helps you stabilise yourself once more as you straighten up.
“I saw several twelve-metres down there,” he tells you as explanation for why he called you, “Even if we’re not their targets this time, you need to get out of range.”
You nod, recognising that the situation was far beyond your abilities. Given the little time you had to train, all you had drilled were the ways to move and cover distances with the gear. The closest you’d come to learning any offensive strategies was when Mike showed you how to attach the blades to the hand grips — in case you need to, in emergencies, he told you. Otherwise, you weren’t expected to swing a sword, let alone kill a titan. The best thing you could do right now was watch the Corps slowly hack their way through the horde below themselves.
So when you spot Moblit’s near-empty scabbards either side, you don’t have to think your decision through. Relinquishing your own entirely of their blades, you hand them over. And after reassuring Moblit that he would find more use in them than you would, he thanks you, refills his supply and drops from the branch to face the swarm again.
By now, the steam has billowed up into a cloud of suffocating heat with each titan that pile around the Female’s mangled body. Even through the muggy haze however, you manage to pick out Mike. He’s hanging dangerously low, weaving scrappily between the legs of the masses. You frown. What is he—
Click.
“Mike, get back!”
Mike twists around at your warning, eyes wide as he just about misses the foot that slams down. Immediately, you descend to a lower branch, watch as Mike struggles to manoeuvre towards you, lacking his usual coordination. He all but rams into the branch with a heavy grunt as you rush over to help him up, feel a keen pull in your shoulder as you do.
“Take off your gear,” you demand once he’s stood, your heart ready to lurch out of your chest right there and then. Mike pulls back, bewildered.
“What?”
“Take off your gear, Zacharias,” you repeat impatiently, frustration building fast because Mike wasn’t listening to you and you didn’t have time. You were so sure you had thoroughly examined the supply beforehand, why the hell—
“—would I do that?!”
“Just listen to me for once and show me your gear!”
Your sudden outburst renders Mike silent, stunning him into compliance as he detaches the main housing of the ODM from behind. He watches as you grab it from him and pull out a small knife, flicking the blade out and wrenching it into the screws. Unlatching the side of the gear, your reaction is instant: your face drops, blood draining as your expression morphs into one of utter horror.
What you face inside isn’t the polished finish of metal parts and cabling— no, what greets you instead is rusted mechanics, the metal corroded into something brittle, ruined and beyond repari. Perfectly fresh, brand-new ODM, damaged completely from the insides.
That soldier from earlier— his gear must’ve been in the same state, Gelgar’s too. Someone had sabotaged the new supply.
“Shit.”
It’s barely a whisper, but Mike hears it regardless.
“What is it?”
“The gear’s been messed with,” the words fly out your mouth, Mike’s gear temporarily discarded as you start unbuckling your own, “I don’t know who, I don’t know how, but your ODM’s rusted entirely.”
You waste no time in removing the screws, wrenching open the side and feeling your shoulders sag at the sight of untarnished metal. So some were damaged, others weren’t, the erosion all at varying stages of decay. The Scouts were currently in the deadliest game of chance and with the way things were going, you didn’t like this operation’s odds.
“Smith—”
“Get rid of the rest, it’s useless,” you tell Mike, head jerking to the remaining belt around his waist as you fix your own gear back on.
“About earlier—”
“Not now, Mike,” you dismiss half-distractedly, detaching the main body of his damaged gear as you scan the canopy for your brother.
“I’m sorry—”
“It’s fine,” you clip impatiently. Where is— there. You spot Erwin on a branch on a tree on the opposite side of the clearing, a fair distance up.
“No, it’s not,” Mike presses firmly, stepping closer, “I should’ve listened to what you were trying to say earlier. I should’ve trusted you.”
You finally look at the Section Commander, feel the frustration radiating off of him. Releasing a sigh, you cast your eyes back down below, watching the heap of steaming corpses stack steadily higher.
“I get why you didn’t,” you say, “You had every reason to think I was just rattled. I’m not holding it against you.”
“But—”
“I don’t need your apologies, Mike. Just trust me with this now.”
Swallowing his words, Mike nods, watches as you secure his gear over your back and step closer to the branch’s edge.
“Stay here. I’m going to Erwin.”
With a steady inhale, you step off, hooking your cables above you as your gas hisses out. The extra weight of Mike’s gear leaves a slight wobble in your movements as your ODM pulls you up, and although this titan mob’s target isn’t human, it doesn’t make it any less daunting as you manoeuvre over them. Reaching the branch where your brother stood, you ignore the slight strain in your legs from your haphazard landing.
“Commander!”
Blue eyes shift to your direction, the concern creasing his face mirroring the tight pull of your lips. Erwin had seen you by yourself on a branch of your own just now. What on earth were you doing here?
“You’re making a mistake. Call your men back now.”
The directness of your tone takes him briefly by surprise, but he steels his expression as you march towards him. Below, his men were steadily culling the horde. No doubt there would be casualties but you were usually trusting of his judgement.
“No.”
“Erwin—”
“No,” he reaffirms, countering your furious disbelief with a warning look, “I believe I was clear in my orders and you’re in no position to—“
“The new gear’s malfunctioning,” you interrupt, removing Mike’s gear from your back and holding it up. First Mike, now Erwin. No one was listening to you today.
“Someone’s sabotaged the supply,” you continue quickly, “This one’s Mike’s— the outside’s fine, but the insides are completely rusted and I think Gelgar’s gear is the same. I can’t tell how many are affected, but I saw a soldier dying earlier because of this. If I’m right, then—“
“The Special Operations Squad,” Erwin catches on and you nod, anxious. Both Eren’s safety alongside theirs was now compromised in light of this sabotage.
“Your gear?” Your brother asks.
“I checked, it’s fine. What about yours? I can have a look.”
Reaching behind him, Erwin removes the main body of the gear and hands it to you without another word. Dropping to a knee, you grab your knife and wedge it into the screws, feel your pulse spike when they meet you with resistance. They’re tight— too tight, as if a hand other than your own had removed and replaced them before. Your breath hitches when you look inside.
“How bad?” Erwin asks sharply.
“Not as bad as Mike’s,” you start shakily, “But it’s enough.”
You hold out the gear as you stand once more, an uneasiness spreading at your brother’s stony expression. But despite his clinical detachment, you catch the way his fingers tighten around the casing when he sees the rust crawling around the gas valves, threading through the inner frame and tarnishing the surrounding wires. Silently, he returns the gear to you to fix back the screws as he steps closer to the edge, surveying the carnage below.
Most of the mob have been killed, but this feels like no victory. Even without the sabotage, he knows this operation was a failure. The traitor was either dead in a titan’s mouth or worse— vanished, gone, and likely smart enough to slip away amidst the commotion. Knowing his luck, he’s leaning towards the latter.
“Smith!”
On instict, Erwin turns and finds both Hange and Moblit rushing towards you, breathless.
“We just saw Mike— he told us everything,” Hange says, gripping you tightly at the arms, “Is it true? The gear?”
“It is,” Erwin asserts as he approaches, watching the way their faces falls when you hand them Mike’s ODM. You also return your brother’s gear, the main body reattached to his belt. The weight does more to trouble him than soothe him.
“This was from the new supply?” Moblit asks disbelievingly, rubbing a thumb over the rust.
“I don’t understand how it happened either,” you say, shaking your head, “Everything passed the inspections and this level of decay doesn’t just happen overnight. The only time I’ve seen damage to this extent was with gear that wasn’t cleaned for weeks and that was from—”
You pause, the pieces clicking into place faster than your heart could catch up.
“Titan blood,” you say softly before your head snaps up, “Hange— the samples.”
Both Hange and Moblit’s eyes widen with yours as your minds infer the same thing: whoever was behind this had used the blood samples stored in Hange’s office to destroy the new supply. Of course, this was all speculation, but it would explain how the damage was targeted, intentional, focused mainly on wearing down the inner mechanics.
“When did you last check them?” Erwin asks them both.
“Yesterday morning,” Moblit says, “They were all there as far as I could tell.”
“Whoever tampered with the gear must’ve done it after you finished all the inspections last night,” your brother says, looking at you.
“But even if they used the samples, the decay wouldn’t have been this bad,” Hange thinks out loud, a hand over their mouth, “Titan blood is highly corrosive, sure, but even then, rust doesn’t spread this fast— something accelerated the process.”
“Heat, friction,” you realise stiffly, “From using the gear.”
Erwin’s jaw tightens, “So the gear would only start failing mid-operation.”
“They wanted us to fall,” you whisper, horrified, “Mid-air, whilst fighting so we have no time to think or react.”
Hange glances at your brother, swallows hard.
“Targeting the ODM of those on the right flank meant the Female Titan could easily breach the formation. The rest of the blood was likely used on the gears of those who posed a threat — you, Mike.”
What Hange was saying made sense. With their focus poured into their leadership rather than engaging in active combat, both Mike and Erwin barely used their ODM this expedition. A large volume of blood must’ve been used on their gears to create rust of that degree. As for the other soldiers, the damage caused by a smaller volume of blood would’ve worsened under the heat and friction from their repeated use of the gear.
Whoever orchestrated this wanted to tear the Corps apart— to wreck the chain of command and let the titans finish the rest. You think of Gelgar, Mike, Erwin, how close they all were to devastation. And then that nameless soldier from earlier pushes himself to the forefront of your mind and you’re hit with a wave of nausea— a dreadful guilt that spreads through you like a fever from a rotting plague.
It was you who ran the inspections, who saw to any repairs. The gear was your responsibility and you had signed it off with conviction, had told Erwin that it was ready to use, and in your blind confidence, you had missed the possibility of sabotage. That soldier, the right flank— how many more had fallen victim to your oversight? How many did you doom to die with rusted steel around their waists?
“Have either of you noticed anything off with your own gears?” You hear Erwin ask the pair beside you. Your head feels heavier, like the shame had settled on your tongue and left you choking on your words.
“Nothing with mine so far,” Hange replies.
Moblit nods, “Same with me.”
“If you’re not experiencing any obvious faults, then you should be fine for now,” your brother surmises, “Still, limit how much you use them, just as a precaution.”
Reaching into his inner pocket, there’s a subtle shift in his posture as he makes his decision. That same sickening feeling worsens when you spot his flare gun and the colour of the shell he loads it with. Blue smoke draws a clean streak through the sky and although you know this was the right call, it feels like you’re swallowing sand, your throat impossibly dry.
“We’re retreating back to Karanes,” Erwin announces, “There’s an abandoned village on the way where we’ll reconvene. I need you to check everyone’s gear then,” he adds, addressing you, “Give the ones that still work to those who can still fight and discard the ones that don’t.”
“And the dead?” you ask stiffly, remembering the wagons assigned to carry the corpses. You had passed them and their riders earlier when they were still empty, but dread floods your chest when you consider how full they may be by the end of this.
“Check theirs too,” your brother says, “We need to salvage as many sets as we can. For now, find Mike and give him your gear.”
Wordlessly, you manage a nod as Hange and Moblit leave to find the rest of their squad. There’s a voice in your stomach as you follow suit, regrouping with Mike and handing him your gear as instructed. Your arms wrap around his neck as he swings you both back to the ground where your horses rest, and in a matter of minutes, you’re rushing back down the path to the edge of the forest where the rest of the Corps wait.
It’s on the way there that you repeat everything to the Section Commander, your voices hushed and mind a half-tangled mess of fears and suspicions. You explain the rust, the samples and the targeting of certain people and units when pure white consumes your vision and it takes you a second to process— lightning. Two strikes, both mere minutes apart.
There’s a piercing scream, one that resonates from deep within the forest from where the lightning struck. But it’s not the Female Titan who caused such a noise. This one was deeper, pained, a sound injected with raging despair. This wasn’t a cry befitting of a heartless killer, but someone who knew the taste of anger, whose emotions burned with the ferocity of a fuel-fed fire.
“Eren?” Hange gasps, head craned towards the direction of the commotion. Even Erwin glances behind him, expression hardening.
“Keep moving!” he commands over the nervous murmurs, “We need to leave, now.”
You reach the outskirts of the forest not long after and the remaining soldiers posted in the branches above join you, Mike’s squad included. They share the same confusion from earlier, ask questions about the lightning, the scream and the rumours of the abnormal, but both you and Mike deflect, unsure on how much can be shared.
The village falls into your sights after a short ride. It’s small, the buildings aged and beyond repair, but it’s sufficient enough to use as a temporary base. Erwin wastes no time in assembling his men to disclose the situation— the gear was malfunctioning and each set had to be looked at. No hows or whys, just the issue stripped bare to its skeleton, revealing only what was necessary.
Lines form before you, Hange, Moblit and a few volunteers. Quickly, you fall into a rhythm: undo the screws, scan the insides, then depending on its condition, dispose of it or hand it back. The repetitiveness is enough to keep you afloat, to occupy your mind from anything but the mound of broken ODM growing at your side.
Those who were seen to return to their duties: tending to the wounded, the horses or checking supplies and serving as lookouts. It’s from one of these soldiers perched on a roof that you’re alerted to the arrival of some stragglers — the Special Ops Squad, you think, but once the group reaches the village and dismounts in what used to be its plaza, a quick scan reveals that none of them are anywhere to be seen.
None, except their Captain himself and Eren Jaeger, unconscious in Mikasa’s arms.
She rushes to an empty cart where she lays Eren down, Armin joining her side. Deep grooves mar the young shifter’s cheeks like tears tracks and that void from before seems to eat you alive, sucking all the warmth from your skin.
Where was the squad? Your eyes fall to the rest of the new arrivals and find only two other soldiers resting by their horses, a wagon pulled by each.
Bodies, you realise. Swathed in shroud, piled in a heap. That’s what fills each wagon, a stray hand dangling limply out from the thin cloth.
Before you even realise what you’re doing, you ask the soldiers before you to join another line, muttering a quick apology before you’re on your feet, heading for the carts. But as you rise, so does Moblit, his hand on your shoulder causing you to turn.
“You don’t have to do this to yourself,” he says quietly, glancing to the pile of white fabric, “Me and Hange can do it.”
“It’s okay, Mob, I’ll be fine,” you try to smile, but its weak, barely reaching your eyes. You appreciate his concern and the attempt to save you the burden of such a terrible task, but the gear was your duty. You need to check them yourself.
“Are you sure?”
“Someone has to do it. And Erwin ordered me to anyways.”
“I’ll join you once I’m done with my line,” Moblit proposes, eyes flicking back at the row of soldiers waiting for him, “I shouldn’t take too long.”
You nod, grateful, “Thank you.”
He shoots you a quick half-smile before leaving, one you try to return as you near the wagons. After explaining the situation to the two soldiers - both of whom you recognise to be members of Hange’s squad - the carts are relocated behind the village where the earth evens out. Abel and Nifa introduce themselves properly before the pair help you in carrying each covered body to the grass, lowering them down with a tenderness that crushes your heart.
Twenty six. That’s how many corpses you count. That’s how many were recovered alone.
You check Abel and Nifa’s gears yourself as a token of thanks and feel that void grow impossibly larger when you discover that the rust has found theirs too— just like Hange’s.
Both them and Moblit had examined their ODM first thing once the Corps settled in the village, and whilst Moblit’s turned out clean, it was just as Erwin had cautioned. Despite their initial claims that their gear were fine and without fault, the inside said otherwise, corrosion creeping stealthily through the metal and eating away at the parts like a silent killer.
It’s hard to stop the tremble in your hands when you uncover the first body, eyes fixed on the gear and only the gear as you gently remove it from their middle. You check it, salvage what you can and move onto the next, blanketing each corpse once more as you go.
You don’t look at their faces— you can’t, even if it feels wrong, even when your peripheral catches mangled features and missing limbs and a dark curiosity tempts you to. You ignore the red staining their uniforms, the joints bent out of place and bones protruding out, resist the urge to flinch when you accidentally brush against cold fingers.
But despite your attempts to focus, your breath is thin, hands still shaking. You’re not making progress as quickly as you’d like to, delayed by the images your brain supplies of what state her body must’ve been in when she was supposedly pushed from the Wall.
Her funeral was closed-casket, after all. Neither you, Erwin or your father could bear to tarnish the life she had in your memories with the sight of her rotting corpse.
Cursing your mind even making the connection, you’re thankful when Moblit joins you soon after as promised. The remaining corpses are divided between you both and though you share no more than a few scarce words with each other, the presence of another person is enough to help you push through.
You’re on the last row of bodies when you finally reach her. You don’t notice at first, too preoccupied with detaching her gear when the wind catches the edges of the shroud, rustling it with a taunting whisper to flash a familiar shade of auburn. Instinctively, your gaze follows upwards, towards her face, but by the time you realise your mistake, it’s too late.
Petra Ral stares back at you, eyes dead, hollow and bleak.
Startling back, you take in her blood-smeared face, her half-lidded expression and the crumpled contortion of her body. Bile burns your throat, your fingers clenching around her gear as your eyes drift to the three other bodies beside hers and your suspicions from earlier, the news you dreaded to hear is confirmed.
The Special Operations Squad - once hailed as the toughest, most skilful unit in the Corps - now reduced to four broken corpses, their legacies buried under bloody sheets and shattered steel.
Oluo lays twisted on the cloth like Petra, his mouth warped into a haunting distortion of his usual grin. Gunther bleeds from his neck and middle, two deep, vicious cuts slashed brutally into him. And Eld— Eld’s in pieces, ripped in half at his waist where organs and shattered bone pool on the woven cotton below.
It’s his body that finally does it, a hand pressed against your mouth as the acid surges upwards and you empty the contents of your stomach in the seclusion between two houses. Your insides churn with guilt, your skin clammy and burning and although you already know the outcome, although you know what’ll greet you when you open that compartment, you take each of their gears and look inside.
Rusted, broken, and completely useless.
Tears track a silent path down your cheeks as you pull the fabric back over their bodies, closing the eyes of those still open. Something slow, final. It’s Eld who’s last - last of the squad and last of the bodies you have left - and as you’re about to cover him once more, your eyes spot the empty space on his jacket where the Wings of Freedom should be, threads sprouting out from the tan fabric from where the patch had been ripped from.
“It’s a sort of tradition,” a voice says gently, a deep sadness in Moblit’s eyes as he crouches beside you, “That when a Survey Corps soldier dies in the field, that at the very least, you try to get their patch. Sometimes it’s all we’re able to bring back of them, but most families are grateful we get something nonetheless.”
“Who took their patches?” you ask, though you have a feeling you already know.
“Captain Levi did.”
Face impassive, the tears still run as you stare emptily at the four bodies.
“Do you know what happened?”
Moblit swallows, nodding.
“From what I heard, the Female Titan managed to track down Eren’s location. The squad went to protect him and she…” he sighs, a steady exhale through his nose, “She killed them.”
Your eyes drop to the four sets of gear at the foot of each body, the rust that coats what should’ve been otherwise spotless metal. What was it that got them? Was it their wires jamming when they tried to fire them, or was it their gas cutting out mid-manoeuvre?
“Eren transformed and tried to fight her himself,” Moblit continues quietly, “She overpowered him, bit him out the nape and was ready to run when Captain Levi and Mikasa arrived and they managed to retrieve him. He’s passed out now after transforming, but he’ll be fine.”
“And Mikasa and the Captain? How are they?”
“Mikasa’s fine as well. I think she’s just glad we got Eren back,” Moblit says, a faint smile on his face, “As for the Captain, he…” he pauses, smile fading as he searches for the right words, “He seems okay for now, but things are different once we’re back inside the Walls. On top of his ankle, a loss this big will take some time to process.”
You straighten up, “He’s injured?”
Moblit nods, “He said he landed on it funny when he went to grab Eren. I had a quick look at it, and at the very least, he’s sprained it badly.”
Mouth dry, your stomach turns again, though there’s nothing left to give.
“Did you check his gear? The Captain’s?”
Moblit says your name, regards you with concern, “You shouldn’t—”
“Did you, Moblit?” you push, because you need to know, need to see just how much your oversight cost you. Moblit hesitates, lips pressed when he eventually gives in.
“I did.”
“And?”
“Rusted,” he admits. You close your eyes, clenched fists releasing on top of your legs as you breathe a heavy sigh and stand up. Moblit shuffles behind you, says your name. You cut him off.
“I’ve checked all the bodies,” you tell him tonelessly, “There’s nothing left to save here.”
With nothing more to say, you lift the first of the wrapped bodies and return it carefully to the cart. Moblit follows suit, helps you haul each one but even with another hand, each corpse feels heavier, more difficult to move. You can’t tell if it’s your exhaustion that’s weakened you or the added load of your conscience you now have to carry, only that the same heaviness follows you when you see the number of gear you and Moblit could save from the dead.
Three. Three out of twenty-six was all you could recover, the rest damaged beyond repair. Although it’s not certain that every death was caused directly by the gear, you know that one way or another, it contributed to each life that was stolen. How could it not when the ODM was the sole advantage the Corps had out here? That same advantage a pile of broken parts and blood-splattered metal.
You feel yourself fall back into that same state from this morning— loose, detached, like your body wasn’t yours. The throb of your shoulder is the only thing that tethers you down, thrumming under your skin as a constant ache.
Fortunately, no one catches onto your discomfort: not Moblit, not Mike, not his squad and not even Erwin as you prepare to leave. Any sets of functioning gear you retrieved are distributed to those still able-bodied and ready to fight, whilst the rest are disposed of in one of the neglected houses.
You leave them there to succumb to the rot as the Corps departs. You don’t look back.
-+-
There is no relief to be found when the Walls come into view.
Where you thought you would find comfort in your survival, you find only dread as the gates creak open, its height more imposing than inviting. Grass fades into stone as your horses lumber onto the rugged path, flanks streaked with sweat and blood. You know what’s about to happen, have seen it yourself when you’d wait for the Corps’ return if only to see if your brother had make it back alive, unscathed, and feel yourself tense as you brace for the worst.
The whispers start off hushed, confused. Why was the Corps back so early? Why were the wagons, usually packed with the bodies of the fallen, now barren and empty? The silence the crowd receives only feeds their resentment and it doesn’t take long for their impatience to swell as contempt and insults hurl towards the stumbling army with Erwin at the head of it all.
You don’t say anything when the voices start to overlap and the tension rises, just hang your head and stare as your hands grip the reins, knuckles white. You understand their anger, their outrage, can feel it rise inside you yourself now that the adrenaline was starting to dissolve, making space for you to process everything: the failed traps, the sabotaged gear, the countless dead with nothing to show for it.
You weren’t even five minutes away from the village when it happened. Two soldiers, blinded by their anguish, had returned to recover a body. Their blatant act of defiance had drawn the attention of several titans to the retreating force and with the open plains stretching in every direction around you, the Corps was at a disadvantage.
The carts were too heavy, your horses too slow to outpace the vast strides of the monsters behind you. You all knew what was weighing you down, what was allowing the distance between the Corps and the titans to rapidly close. But to give it all up, to throw it away like they were nothing felt like a cruel joke, the knife in each dedicated heart twisting deeper.
But the order was given anyways: dump the bodies. Use the corpses as a distraction to get out of reach.
The words turned your blood cold, the voice who commanded them only reigniting that horrible, all-consuming shame. Despite the callous bark of his tone, grief darkened the Captain’s glare, his fingers curled around his injured leg.
You watched as the first body fell. Then the next, then the one after that, until one by one each shroud-covered body was thrown from the back, smashing carelessly onto the solid ground from where they were plucked by giant hands into gaping mouths.
There was no time to mourn the losses when you were still within their reach. You pushed your horses forward, faster, felt the rush of frustration when the body the two soldiers carried was dropped in their panic, devoured with the rest. Another casualty, another pointless loss.
In the end, you managed to get away, the titans no more than mere specks in the distance. But the carts were now empty, the bodies exchanged for your survival and the faces of those around you have never looked so sombre.
That tightness in your throat from back then keeps its choking hold on you as the Corps passes through the district and trudges towards headquarters. The streets of Wall Rose are quiet, the sun partway through its descent as cold shadows stretch over the buildings.
Though the shouting had been contained in Karanes upon your arrival, discontent spreads like a plague, clear in the sneers of passers-by and the slamming of shutters as you pass. Somehow, the silence cuts deeper.
You stop momentarily as the wrought-iron gates of headquarters are pulled open and the regiment shuffles wearily into the main courtyard. For a second, there’s a pause, as if no one knows what to do with themselves, until that bleak haze fades and soldiers slowly disperse into their respective duties.
Some escort their horses to the stables whilst others unload the wounded. A few just wander, stumbling to the sides where they sit and stare into nothingness— dejected, disoriented and broken beyond the remedies of gauze and salve.
Your squad falls into the first category. Swinging off your mounts, Pages gives a soft grunt as you relieve him of your weight and guide him to his stall in the stables. There, you find several stacks of hay and buckets of water, rewarding your animal with his fill as you gently stroke his mane.
You’re just about done with scanning him for any outstanding injuries when you sense your squad tense, slouches snapping into perfect posture. The reason for their behaviour is clear once you turn.
Erwin has entered the stables and he’s heading straight towards you all.
Fist pressed over your heart, you slowly lower it alongside your squad when Erwin raises a placating hand, greeting the others briefly before his eyes meet yours. You catch the short once-over he gives you, searching for any obvious wounds. Your shoulder tingles with warmth. Erwin doesn’t notice.
“A quick word?” he asks and you nod. You ask Nanaba if she could tidy away the bridle and saddle you had haphazardly thrown over the door to which she agrees, slipping you a reassuring smile when you give Pages a final pet and follow your brother out the building.
Despite the madness of the day, the tiredness doesn’t show in Erwin’s gait, his steps solid and shoulders square as you cut through the courtyard. Only his face reveals a glimpse of his weariness, his features creased as they’re pulled into a small frown. Neither of you utter a single word during your short walk and it’s only when you’re far enough from the main throng of soldiers do you finally speak.
“Don’t ask me how I’m feeling, Erwin,” you start, having sensed the question from the beginning, “We both saw the same things out there. Just tell me what you have to tell me.”
Erwin sighs, the air steadily expelled.
“There’s something you need to know,” he discloses, slowing his pace to a stop, “An order came from Premier Zackley. He’s summoning us to Mitras.”
Your stomach turns. You swallow, uneasy, “Us?”
Erwin nods, “Me, Mike, Levi, Hange… And you.”
“Right now?” you ask shakily, and you can hear it in your voice— your apprehension, your fear, You know what this is going to be about, can feel that dread seeping back into your system. If the head of the entire military himself is asking to see you, you know this can’t bode well.
“In an hour,” your brother clarifies, before confirming what you knew, “He’s asking that you bring the gear. You brought some back, yes?”
“A few,” you nod, swallowing. You and Hange had kept several rusted sets from your checks to later dissect, hoping to extract any scrap of information about the sabotage from them.
“Good,” Erwin says, “Zackley will ask you questions— hard ones and not all of them will be kind. Just remember that he’s looking for an explanation for what happened today. Be honest and tell him exactly what you saw.”
Again, you nod, unable to do much more as your anxiety makes its return. Erwin exhales, his voice dropping to something softer, concerned.
“I know you’ve been through a lot today,” he says gently, “I’m sorry you’re being dragged to this too. Clean up and try to get some rest before we go.”
Another nod, another wordless response. Erwin regards you for another second like he has something to add when someone calls for his attention and he has no choice but to leave. With the remaining hour your brother said you have left counting its way down, you make your way into headquarter’s main building, your feet carrying you to your room.
Absently, you undo your cape and unbuckle your straps, feel the chafing flesh under it smarting as you peel each leather band off. It falls to the floor in an orderless heap, and with your gear and equipment still in Mike’s possession, you search for a clean uniform and grab your toiletries.
With the rest of the Corps still recovering, the communal showers are more or less empty when you enter, your towel thrown over the half-wall of the stall as you strip off the remainder of your clothes. The mirror at your side reflects yourself back to you, and for the first time since this morning, you take in your appearance.
The bruises the ODM left are nothing new, a semi-permanent mark on your skin ever since you started training. Still, that doesn’t make them any less sensitive when you gingerly brush a hand over the discolouration, your stare falling to the shoulder you had landed on earlier, now dark and tender.
Shifting slightly, you test the joint and find that movement is possible, but slow, aching. There’s a slight swelling to the surrounding skin, and whilst you’re certain that nothing is torn or broken, you know you can’t afford to strain it any further.
Cold water splutters out the shower head before gradually fading to a lukewarm temperature. Suds lather between your fingers as you scrub away the layers of dirt and sweat, your skin crawling when you see your nails and the dried blood caking their undersides— most likely from the bodies, you assume, the colour resembling a brown too similar to rust.
Once they’re thoroughly cleaned, your arms wrap around your middle as the water washes away the soap, the blood and the muck, swirling down the drain as you stare vacantly at the stone wall in front of you.
You don’t know exactly how long you spend shivering under the shower, only know that it was perhaps too long when you return to your room to find that your hour had shaved down to fifteen minutes. Hair damp, you head down to Hange’s office where you find neither them or Moblit, only the damaged sets of ODM you retrieved tossed into a corner.
Taking one with you, you make your way back to the courtyard, hoping to summon some confidence with each step you take, however fake it may feel. But what little of your conviction wavers when you exit the building and find a carriage waiting outside the gates, three of the four veterans are already standing there: Erwin, Mike and Captain Levi.
Both your brother and Mike acknowledge your arrival with a subtle nod, before returning to their conversation, voices low, muted. You don’t catch the subject of their talk, don’t hear anything beyond Zackley and Mitras when your eyes meet with the Captain’s and his squad flash between your eyes, the image of their bodies scorched into your mind.
You look away hastily, struggling to swallow past the lump in your throat as you’re reminded of the blood under your nails, your hand, your conscience. Guilt drives your stare downwards, your arms tightening around the set of gear.
“Have you seen Hange?” Erwin questions, and it takes you a second to register that he was addressing you.
“They weren’t in their office,” you manage to reply, “Neither was Moblit.”
Mike sniffs, “Where are they? We’re due to leave soon.”
“I’m here,” a voice responds from behind as Hange briskly approaches, their face uncharacteristically solemn.
“What happened?” Erwin frowns, but Hange shakes their head, eyes flicking to the carriage driver and the last of the soldiers still in the courtyard.
“Inside,” is all they say, head jerking to the carriage. Whatever they had to say was evidently not meant for ordinary ears and as you pile into the cabin - you, Erwin and the Captain on one side and Hange and Mike on the other - you feel your pulse quicken, each thud loud in your ears. The door closes, curtains drawn.
“What is it?” Erwin turns to Hange once the carriage begins to move, volume dropped a tone lower. Although the wind outside should muffle out the details to the driver, he doesn’t want to take the risk.
“It’s confirmed,” Hange states, sucking in a shaky breath, “The blood samples were stolen— all of them. Someone came in, took them, and replaced all the vials with animal blood as a decoy.”
What? Your brother frowns, presses for more, “How do you know?”
“Back in the forest, we suspected that someone had stolen them to carry out the sabotage, right? So imagine my surprise when me and Moblit open the trapdoor and we find every vial accounted for and filled with blood. Just to check, I popped one open and expected it to slowly evaporate. You know, just like titan blood should.”
“But it didn’t,” Mike finishes.
“No, it didn’t,” Hange affirms, “And when I took a closer look under a microscope to check, the stuff was full of white blood cells. Titan blood shouldn’t have any at all.”
“That’s what they used on the gear then?” the Captain speaks up from where he sits on the other side of your brother, “One hundred percent?”
Hange nods solemnly, “Has to be. Having the samples stolen and gear sabotaged in the span of a single day can’t be a coincidence.”
“That’s one hell of a task for someone to pull off in a single night,” Mike points out and his remark sparks a debate regarding the logistics of carrying out such a thing. How did they get in? Who was involved? The Female’s shifter, the Armoured’s, the Colossal’s or all three?
You retreat back into your seat as the discussion picks up, guilt sealing your mouth shut. The jostle of the carriage does little to soothe you as talk of ODM, blood samples and sabotage, sabotage, sabotage bounce around the cabin’s cramped interior, the gear a crushing pressure on your lap.
In time too short for you to ever prepare, you’ll be standing before one of the most powerful men in the military and you’ll have to answer for what you saw, what you did and what you failed to do.
And you know that when that time comes, your silence won’t be enough to help you.
-+-
[A/N]: Apologies for the lack of Levi this chapter! The plot took precedence this week to set up the future chapters, but I promise he'll appear consistently from this point onwards 🙂↕️ I hope you all enjoyed the chapter regardless of his absence— if you can't tell, I absolutely love Moblit and Mike, so naturally, I had to give them their share of attention this time
Thank you again for reading! Every kudos, bookmark and comment honestly means a lot so for everyone who's shown their support— I see you and I love you LMAO
See you all next week again <3
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@dont-rainonme do not copy, translate or feed my work into ai
Hold Still - Levi Ackerman x Gender Neutral Reader One Shot
Summary: Levi is in desperate need of a haircut and you offer to cut it for him. The last thing you expect is for him to accept the offer.
Word Count: 1k
Read on AO3
It breaks my heart that Levi probably cuts his own hair. I wanted to believe he would let the person he loves and trusts most to do it for him. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it♡
Thank you to @levislolita for proof reading and @levionlyyours for hyping me up to write this♡
You had already noticed the Captain’s hair. The longer undercut tickling his ears. The way his fringe kept getting in his eyes. The almost constant motion of his hand pushing it back throughout the day. Hange had even made a joke about him growing it out like Eren.
The first time you mentioned it Levi had answered with a look sharp enough to kill the conversation where it stood. However, it didn't stop his hair from falling back into his eyes five minutes later. You watched him shove it away again as he finished signing the last report, his expression pinched with quiet annoyance.
"You're staring."
You tilted your head at him with a small smile.
"Your hair's annoying you."
"Tsk."
The second time you mentioned it Levi had answered with a long, defeated sigh. He was beyond infuriated that he had not had time to cut it. You said it quietly. Reserved. You had often cut your dad's hair before joining the Scouts. You offered to cut his. As usual, you were met with—
"Tsk."
But the annoyance wasn't there. Not anymore.
The knock at your door was so soft you almost missed it.
"Come in."
You looked up from the book in your lap, surprised to find Levi standing in the doorway. His expression was that of someone on the edge. The slightly longer strands at the nape of his neck stuck out at wild angles behind his jaw.
"You busy?"
You set the book down next to you softly.
"Not particularly."
A brief silence settled between you.
"You still offering?"
It took you a heartbeat to realise what he meant.
"The haircut?"
He gave a single nod.
"If the offer still stands."
A warm smile made its way onto your lips before you could stop it.
"It does."
Before long, a towel was draped over his shoulders as he sat in the chair you'd pulled into the middle of your room. A pair of sharp scissors rested in your hand and a razor on the side table. Levi eyed them suspiciously.
"If I leave here looking ridiculous, I'm blaming you."
You laughed. Something in his posture had softened.
"Trust me."
"Tsk."
You rolled your eyes.
"Come on Captain, just trust me."
"I have a high opinion of competence."
"I know you do. No pressure then."
The corner of his mouth twitched. Only for a second. But you caught it. The ghost of a smile.
The room fell quiet except for the rhythmic snip... snip... snip of the scissors. Your fingers ran through his hair holding it gently to trim away at the wild ends. Every so often, your fingertips brushed against his scalp or ear. Each time you felt his shoulders tense. Loose strands clung stubbornly to the back of his neck. You placed the scissors down and reached for the razor.
"Head down a little?"
Without a word, he obeyed. Your hand moved through his hair, pushing the longer strands forwards and holding them out of the way. Your hand rested on the crown of his head, your palm pressing against him. You paused. You blinked a couple times. His head leaned into your palm. You felt it. Captain Levi Ackerman leaned into your hand. Humanity's Strongest Soldier was letting you cut his hair. Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn't about the haircut. It was about trust.
You moved carefully. With precision. Every time you moved your hand, his head went with you. The undercut slowly returned to its usual clean and neat state. Just the way he liked it.
Your fingertips brushed lightly against the warm skin at the nape of his neck as you dusted away the loose hairs. You knew those would irritate him otherwise. He stayed perfectly still, shoulders relaxed in a way you rarely saw.
"You alright?" you asked quietly.
"Hm."
"I'll take that as a yes."
He didn't say anything back. He didn't have to. A smile found your face as you continued to neaten the edges around his ears. For a little while, neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to. The silence felt comfortable. Somehow it felt warm.
You set the razor down and walked round to face him. Your lips pursed and eyes narrowed as your hand came up to style the hair. You brushed the hair to the natural part. Both hands, fingers spread wide, ran through either side of the parting. Your heart felt like it shattered. Levi's eyes fluttered closed. His breathing slowed. The crease between his brows eased away. The tension in his neck loosened. He looked... peaceful. You weren't sure you had ever seen him like this before.
You finished styling it and took a small step back, studying your work with the same concentration you had the entire time.
"Done."
Levi opened his eyes, blinking once as if waking from a nap he hadn't intended to take. You held up a small handheld mirror. He took it from you, his fingers brushing against yours. He held it up, inspecting the fringe and the edges of the undercut. His hand ran through the top once, the sides falling perfectly above his eye.
"Looks even."
You breathed out a laugh.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
He handed the mirror back without another word. He stood, removing the towel from his shoulders carefully to not drop loose hair all over the floor. He placed it on top of the chair and turned to you.
"I'll come to you next time."
The words felt like being hit mid-air by a Titan. It felt as though the air had been sucked from your lungs. Your heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted to break free. You couldn't think of any words. All you could do was smile. The warm, genuine smile that Levi somehow always managed to get out of you.
He turned on his heel and made his way to the door. Just before crossing the threshold into the hallway, his head swivelled round. His gaze met yours as you were rooted to the spot.
"Tea?"
Your eyes widened.
"Now?"
"You earned it."
There it was again. The ghost of a smile. The slightly upturned lip and tiny eye crinkle you had grown to crave seeing on his features. You nodded once. Some things didn't need to be said. They never had. Trust had always looked more like this.
general cw: levi ackerman x fem!reader, fantasy au, royalty au, friends to enemies to lovers, reader has a default name
chapter cw: none
word count: 7648
Soft voices murmur over the sound of silverware on porcelain when Theo walks into the dining hall.
Mud is caked onto his boots from the journey from Desovik to the manor. Round droplets of water still cling to his hair from the rain that started up an hour ago. Normally, he’d head straight for his chambers to freshen up before dinner, but a steady pulse of indignation keeps him marching forward.
At the head of the long table, the king and queen sit in their usual seats. There’s an empty spot next to Theo’s mother, while Zeke sits immediately to the king’s right. He doesn’t look over as Theo approaches, still talking as he cuts into a serving of roasted chicken.
Theo doesn’t sit.
Instead, he walks to the head of the table, standing at the junction between where the king and Zeke sit. When he stops, everyone turns.
“Theo.” The king’s eyes travel slowly over his appearance with a mild expression, then follow the line of dirt tracked into the room behind him. “You’ve hardly missed dinner. Perhaps you’d like to clean yourself up and join us.”
“I would be glad to,” Theo nods, keeping his fists clenched at his sides, “but first, I’d like to give you an update on Victoria.”
Beside his father, the queen sits up a bit straighter and rests her fork on her plate.
“Oh, there’s no need,” the king says, waving his hand. “Zeke was just telling me that his men have given him a full report. I know they’re climbing Mount Stygia.”
“It’s possible they’ve made it to the other side by now,” Theo says. “There are several towns and villages in the valley that they could run to. There’s no telling where they’ve gone, and it will take my men over a week to go around.”
“Actually,” Zeke cuts in, “I suspect they’re on their way to Fendon.”
Theo’s head snaps to the other man. “What evidence do you have of that?”
Adjusting his glasses, Zeke returns his attention to the king. “Are you certain Victoria and Levi Ackerman weren’t in communication before she left?”
He’s given a quick nod.
“Yes. She wasn’t allowed to send or receive mail from anyone outside of our immediate family.”
Zeke seems to consider his answer. “Yes, well she also wasn’t allowed to leave the manor.” His gaze returns to Theo. “I find it strange that a girl such as herself was able to easily escape twice under the nose of Orenfeld’s newest sergeant major. My general told me that you interfered with their pursuit.”
“Yes, I’m glad you brought that up.” Theo takes a step forward, and if he didn’t know any better, he would think Zeke was sizing him up. It takes all of the effort in the world to not rip him up from his seat. “Would you care to explain why your men shot at my sister?”
It’s almost imperceptible, but a brief look of surprise flashes over Zeke’s features before it shifts to concern. If the news is not actually a shock to him, he does a convincing job of making it seem like one.
After a moment, he moves the linen cloth from his lap to the table and gets to his feet.
“I can assure you that I did not give that order,” he says, his mouth pressed into a thin frown. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and take care of this matter immediately.” Tentatively, he regards the king and queen before continuing. “I care very deeply for your daughter and only wish to see her returned unharmed. Anyone found in my ranks with ill intent will be sent back to Sondaria for trial.”
With a short bow, he makes for the doors to the encampment outside, leaving Theo with the king and queen. Two staff members appear from the adjoining kitchen to take plates and clear out the mud he’d tracked in.
“I’m sorry for interrupting dinner,” he begins, but the king raises his hand to stop him.
“Go and get cleaned up,” he says, gesturing wordlessly for the staff to take Zeke’s plate. “After we’ve eaten, I’ll get your report.” His gaze lingers for a moment on his son. “Thank you, Theo.”
With a nod, he exits out the main doors leading to the grand staircase.
His hands remain in tight fists until he makes it to his bedchamber on the second floor. After a weary thank you to the guard posted outside that opens the door for him, he allows his shoulders to sag once he’s alone.
All this time, he’s been adamant that this arrangement was beneficial for everyone involved. You, restless as you were, would get out of the tight clutches of your overprotective parents. Orenfeld would see victory over the south. A new alliance would form between Sondaria and Orenfeld.
He wasn’t exactly overjoyed when he first met Zeke, but the man had seemed pleasant enough in conversation. He was ambitious and quick-witted, bold when others were reluctant to speak their mind. He had considered Zeke a good match for you—someone strong. Someone who could rule.
But seeing you with him on the evening of the feast, how you had seemed so stiff and reluctant to take Zeke’s hand for a dance. The way he seemed to handle you like a possession. It was that night when Theo began to see the dangerous pride that dwelled underneath.
It would have been easy to wipe that breezy, confident smirk off of Zeke’s face, but he needs to control himself. One lapse in judgment and not only would Sondaria back out of their agreement, but he’d have his father to answer to.
Theo walks into the bathroom adjacent to his quarters, stripping off the layers of armor along the way. When he’s left to wait for water to fill the tub, he leans against the wash basin to look at his reflection.
There is something in Zeke’s reaction that doesn’t sit right in his mind. And why had he avoided answering why he thought Victoria was heading to Fendon?
He thinks again of the memory of arrows flying through the air, headed straight to your retreating back before something diverted them off course. For a moment, he thought his fear and anger had manifested another power within him, but he hadn’t felt the distinct stir of magic coursing through his body in that moment like he has so many times before. Whatever it was—whoever it was—had saved your life that day. If they hadn’t…
A dull crunch breaks him out of his thoughts, and he looks down to see that the basin has cracked in several places, starting where his hands were clenched around the edge before blooming outward like roots in the stone.
***
Five days pass without a single stone out of place around the perimeter of Fendon. All of the surrounding villages–Greenhaven, Barrowford, Glundhill, Silver Creek–are quiet. There have been no reports of anything amiss or unfamiliar travelers passing through.
That reassurance should put Levi at ease. Why then, does it feel like he’s missing something? Like whatever is amiss is staring him in the face.
He’s felt that a lot over the last two weeks. It’s as if something has shifted by degrees, slowly, ever since that night in Jaskin City.
It’s part of why he volunteered to look into the reports of soldiers spotted near the outskirts of town. A return to normalcy would usually help to restore some balance, but after the three days traveling across the gently sloped hills and valleys of West Orenfeld, he felt more unnerved than ever.
Not seeing Orenfeldian soldiers was usually a good thing, but now…
Unbidden, you slip into the forefront of Levi’s mind, and he sighs. A strange sensation accompanies it, low in his stomach, much like it has every moment he’s thought of you in the last three days and in reflex, he draws the hand not guiding Jasper’s reins to his brow. His head swims and pounds with the movement.
“Not even around and she’s still a nuisance,” Levi mutters to himself.
And yet, even as he says it, he knows the words don’t quite ring true. Not like they used to, at least.
He brings his hand back down to his side where a dark red stain has bloomed through his tunic and soaked into the hem of his trousers. It’s more important right now that he focuses on getting back to the farm before bleeding to death.
He crosses through the low stone wall that trails along the entrance of town, passing the decorated square.
When he first arrived back in Orenfeld, Fendon was the first place he visited. It had a rougher reputation back then. A haven for vagrants and other people deemed too unsavory for polite society. Access to the port drew all kinds of attention for people wanting an easy escape route. The harbormasters were known for turning a blind eye for a bit of coin.
He met Petra and Oluo in his first three months back. After being bitten by a venomous manderi, he had wound up at Dr. Ral’s front door. He had healed him and given him a room out of the cold.
Sometimes it felt as if destiny had manipulated the string of his fate. He ended up spending most of his time in the hardy coastal town, and Fendon became more like a home to him than anywhere else.
Now the main square glitters like a jewel in the receding halo of the sun. Enchanted lanterns filled with sun stones illuminate the marketplace, casting empty stalls in shadow as Jasper trots down the lane.
Thankfully, he doesn’t need to be reminded how to get home. It takes all of Levi’s remaining strength just to hang on as the familiar outline of the farm crests the horizon.
When he arrives, he thanks any deity that will listen that Petra is still awake.
As Levi waits with his weight bolstered against the kitchen table, she emerges from another room. The collection of things in her hands isn’t unfamiliar, but Levi always dreads the part that follows.
“So, what got you this time?” she asks as she comes to stand on his left.
With a bit of effort, Levi slowly lifts the hem of his shirt, revealing a long, bleeding gash on his torso. It’s too shallow to be a mortal wound, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling slightly nauseous at the sight of it.
“I don’t actually know,” he says. Without warning, she presses a cloth to the wound, now soaked in alcohol, and he winces. “Owen caught me on the way back into town and said something had been killing his goats. Thought it was just going to be another fiend, but the damn thing had claws the size of my arm.”
Blood mixes with the astringent smell of alcohol in the air, and Levi looks down to see the cloth pressed to his skin has now taken on a deep crimson color. After a few passes, his skin comes away clean.
“There are new creatures showing up every week.” Petra sighs, her brows furrowed in concentration as she shifts to thread a needle. “Kathrin had a den golem show up in her house yesterday. At least they’re helpful around the house but—oh, sorry!”
She falls silent after he hisses in pain, redirecting all of her focus into stitching his side.
A comfortable silence settles in between them for a few minutes, then Levi asks, “How has everything been going?”
Petra’s silent long enough to finish threading the suture through his skin. “Slower than expected,” she finally says, knowing exactly what he’s asking. “But I don’t think it’s an issue of learning. She seems… distracted.”
Levi hums. He’s seen it too. The way you would twitch and whimper in your sleep by the fire. How the smile you always put on never quite meets your eyes.
He had hoped that giving you an actual bed to sleep in would help with the nightmares. Maybe then you could focus, but it seemed there was more to it than a lack of sleep.
“How are the preparations coming for the feast?” Petra asks, changing the subject. The little wrinkle between her brows that forms when she’s worried begins to deepen.
“I’ll be helping tomorrow with a few final things,” he says, and he watches as her shoulders visibly relax. “Whatever those soldiers wanted, they seem to have moved on, so everything should go as planned.”
With a nod, Petra turns back.
“She asks about you a lot, you know?” she suddenly says, tilting her head. A tinge of gentleness seeps through her words that reveals there's something on her mind. Whatever it is makes her lip curl up into a half-smile. “Wonders where you are and when you’re coming back.”
There’s something about knowing that you ask about him that makes him feel a little guilty. Truthfully, he could have been around more, but the three nights alone has helped to clear his head.
“It's funny,” Petra continues thoughtfully. “She doesn’t act like a tavern girl. You should see her try to peel potatoes. You’d think she’s never worked in a kitchen a day in her life.”
The deliberate choice of words has him turning to look at her, and she meets Levi’s gaze with a pointed look.
Petra raises her brows. “Could that be because she’s not who she says she is?”
His first instinct is to deny it, but Levi knows she wouldn’t have brought it up if she wasn’t already confident she was right. Instead Levi sets his jaw and his mouth forms into a thin line. It sets Petra into a fit of laughter.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me who she actually is, are you?” she asks when she’s finally calmed down.
He sighs, at a complete loss for what to say. Telling her the truth was too much of a risk, and he’s not even sure she’d believe him if he tried. After a beat, he finally settles on, “It’s complicated.”
“That’s fine.” She waves her hand dismissively, still grinning. “I figure if you’re hiding it from me, you’ve got a good reason.”
That would be putting it lightly. Petra could be many things, but she wasn’t stupid. Or malicious. While you’re safe here, he knows she wouldn’t be pleased to know that he was harboring the princess of Orenfeld under her roof. And that’s not even to mention if soldiers get an idea that you’re here. It’s safer for everyone if she doesn’t know.
He’ll consider admitting it when you’re long gone. But until then, he could at least divulge one thing. Something that’s been bothering him since that night in Desovik.
He opens his mouth to speak, hesitates, then tries again. “She said a doe led her into Jaskin City.” Beside him, Petra’s movements pause. “That’s where I found her. I think a silvern led her to me.”
Petra gives him a long, thoughtful look. “Well, isn’t that good news?”
He shrugs. “Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“Well, un-complicate it.” Like the issue is resolved, she gathers the leftover items and heads back for the door. “I know you like to pretend like you haven’t got a heart in there, but it wouldn’t kill you to open up a little. Invite her to the festival tomorrow. She could use a break, I think.” She pauses for a moment, considering her words before adding, “you both could,” and slips out of the room.
***
You’re in the Mordonian forest again.
It’s dark. All around you are trees, the canopy so thick that you can hardly see the ground beneath your feet.
It’s impossible to tell which part of the forest you’re in. Every direction looks the same. You try to get your bearings, but something howls in the distance, turning your blood to ice.
Before you know what you’re doing, you run. Loud, galloping footsteps follow, growing louder as your heart pounds in your chest. A snarl echoes against the trunks of trees. There could be more than one creature, but you don’t dare a glance over your shoulder to find out.
Scrambling over a fallen oak, a paved path of pearly white stone appears to break between the trees ahead. A figure is standing there and you shout. When they turn, you see that it’s Levi.
He extends his hand and relief washes over you. If whatever is following you is some creature, there isn’t anyone better to take it down. When you reach him, he takes your hand in his.
“Hurry,” he says. “You’re going to be late.”
The footsteps behind you have stopped, but now Levi’s leading you down the stone pathway in a sprint.
“Where are we going?” you ask.
He doesn’t answer.
“Levi?”
“Hurry up,” he growls. “He’s waiting.”
You frown. Who is waiting?
In the distance, the pathway opens up until you see the end. Two people stand on the stone edge, waiting.
Your stomach lurches as you realize one of them is Zeke. The other is your father.
It’s an altar.
You fight to pull your hand from Levi’s, but he doesn’t let go.
“What are you doing?” All of your strength isn’t enough to get away. Panic sets in as you get closer.
“You would never make it out here,” Levi says. Behind him, in the tree line, a small doe emerges from the forest, watching. “Stupid, spoiled brat. You never were good enough for me.”
He forces you to Zeke’s side despite your protests. Two strong hands bind your wrists, then you’re looking from another angle, watching as Levi and Petra stand before one another, their hands clasped as your father stands before them. You watch in stunned silence as they embrace one another, sharing a kiss as husband and wife.
You bolt upright with a gasp, hands trembling as you rub away the sensation of tight fingers from your wrists.
The familiar outline of Levi’s room slowly comes into focus in the dark, and you breathe a shaky sigh.
It was just another bad dream.
You take a moment to ground yourself, curling your shaky fingers around the blanket pooled in your lap and looking around the room. It’s still late. There’s one candle still lit, the flame just barely casting a glow bright enough to see much of anything beyond the edge of the bed. Only hot coals remain in the hearth nearby.
The room is cold enough to produce goosebumps over your arms and shoulders. You frown as the sensation prickles over your skin, making you shiver.
You shake your head, willing your thoughts to return to the present and not on how that dream made the pit of your stomach coil like some angry, provoked beast. It’s cold. That would explain why you’re having strange dreams about Levi and Petra of all people. At least it beats the usual ones you’ve been having lately of being eaten, you suppose.
As you wait for your heart rate to return to normal, you give up on the prospect of falling back to sleep and wrap the blanket around yourself. With the waning candle in one hand, you drag your heavy limbs to the sofa in front of the fireplace. It takes a few tries with the kindling that Oluo had chopped for you that morning, but eventually, you get another fire going.
Without really thinking about it, you step over to your bag to grab a book to pass the time. The day before, Petra had indulged your interest in her garden and offered to let you read some of her father’s journals on medicinal plants. At the very least, reading them would keep your mind from wandering until sunrise.
You reach into your bag and feel around for a spine, but a dim glow from inside piques your curiosity instead.
The necklace Zeke had gifted you seems to have somehow grown more radiant since you last looked at it over a week ago with Levi on the mountain. You pull it out, holding it from a distance with two fingers. Each amber crystal swirls with its own internal light and you get the unusual urge to put it on.
The sudden sound of the door opening behind you nearly causes you to drop it.
Levi is standing in the doorway. His clothes are ripped and torn in places and his skin appears unnaturally pale and clammy.
“Levi,” you greet, your surprise of his return heavy in your tone. “You’re back.”
For a moment, Levi just watches you, taking in the violet half-moons under your eyes and the subtle slump of your shoulders.
“It’s late,” he replies, shifting his attention to the kitchen. “What are you doing awake?”
Exhaustion burns behind your eyes, but you keep your expression mild. “Just reading.”
There’s a noticeable limp in the way that Levi walks into the kitchen, and when he makes it into the light, you see the crimson stain of blood on the front of his tunic.
Before you even know what you’re doing, you’re on your feet, abandoning the necklace and your bag on the table. “You’re hurt.”
“I’ve had worse,” he says. “Would you like some tea?”
You watch from a short distance as he retrieves two mugs from the cupboard and a small pot of tea leaves. There’s tension in his shoulders, and a stiffness in his movements in general as he moves that prompts you forward.
“Let me,” you say gently. “I’m not sure you should be standing.”
You reach for the small pot of tea leaves in Levi’s hand, fitting your fingers between the gaps of his own, but he doesn’t let go. When you attempt to tug it out of his grip, he scowls.
“I’m fine.”
Neither of you yield your hold on the small pot.
You’ve only been this close to him once in recent memory—after the mimic attack—but you hadn’t been looking into his eyes then. They’re a stormy blue, the shade of slate-grey familiar in a way that makes you pause and think of the last time you both held eye contact this long.
It brings back the fresh memory of the dream you had, and the subsequent shame you feel almost makes you pull away.
“Please sit down,” you murmur.
You half expect him to resist again, but he doesn’t. With a sneer, Levi finally lets go.
“Fine.” He goes to the nearest chair a few steps away and sinks into it with a heavy sigh. “Just don’t burn it.”
You grin but it’s hidden with your back to him, much like the subtle flush of your cheeks. “I know how to make tea, Levi.”
He mumbles something unintelligible, but you set your focus on heating the water and pouring enough leaves into the porcelain teapot for the both of you. The feeling of Levi’s gaze as you move about is ever-present, but you must brew tea to his liking, because he stays silent until you’re finished.
When you have two cups poured, you carry them to the small table where he’s sitting.
“So, are you going to tell me where you’ve been?” you ask, taking the seat opposite him.
Levi’s hands close around the cup you place in front of him, but he doesn’t immediately move to drink it, choosing instead to stare into the steam gently swirling up from the surface. “I’ve been tracking the soldiers that Oluo saw near Greenhaven.”
Your hand pauses with your own cup halfway to your lips. With everything else going on, you forgot Petra had mentioned them. “Did you find them?”
He shakes his head. “Whatever they wanted, it seems it didn’t have anything to do with you.”
He finally takes a cautious sip and you wait as he appears to let it settle on his tongue before swallowing.
“How is it?”
His head tilts slightly, clearly thinking about it. “Not bad.”
Something about his attempt to choose his words carefully makes you want to laugh, but you get the feeling that it would likely strike a nerve. Still, it doesn’t stop the corner of your mouth from twitching. “You’re a horrible liar.”
“I didn’t say it was great,” he points out.
“In my defense, I don’t usually make it for myself.”
“It shows.”
A brief, but not entirely awkward, silence stretches between the next two sips you take. Exhaustion continues to cling to your eyelids, and your body is starting to feel weighed down and sluggish. It seems the lack of sound sleep is beginning to take its toll.
Levi idly looks around the room. His eyes spot the preternatural glow of the necklace from the other table, the rumpled blanket, and the crackling fire in the hearth, now a bit smaller than when he first walked in.
“Are you going to tell me why you’re awake?”
The question itself is benign, but there’s a sincere earnestness in Levi’s eyes that takes you off guard. It’s the first time since you met him in Jaskin City that he’s asked in his own roundabout way how you’re feeling.
Does this mean that he actually cares, or is this going to be like the other times where you act too familiar and he backs off? But then, you doubt he would have bothered to ask if he didn’t want to know.
You open your mouth, but for several long seconds nothing comes out.
“I’ve been having nightmares,” you finally confess. “Sorry, I know that sounds silly when you’re sitting across from me covered in blood, but…” You trail off slightly, feeling a knot forming in your throat. Embarrassment floods your eyes, making them burn, so you close them and try to breathe. “It’s just been really difficult to adjust to all of this.”
Across from you, Levi’s expression stays fixed in a look of mild contemplation. You used to be able to read his microexpressions with ease, but now you can’t discern what he’s thinking. You think again of your dream. Maybe you really wouldn’t make it out here, in the real world.
“It isn’t silly.” Finally, Levi breaks the silence, briefly casting his gaze down to his tea. “Honestly, after the week we’ve had, you’re doing better than I expected.”
So, he does trust that you’re ignorant to most of the things you’ve encountered at least. As for the rest of it, you don’t know.
You want to bring it up again. You want to remind him that it wasn’t you who told your father about his identity, just to see if he’ll acknowledge it in some way. Forgive you, shout at you. Anything but ignore it. Just to know where you stand.
But ignoring it is an answer on its own in a way. By not acknowledging it, he gets to keep you at a distance. Maybe that’s what he’s been subtly trying to communicate this whole time. Surface level stuff is fine. Objective truths—the weather, what needs to be done in order to meet both of your goals. You’d need basic levels of camaraderie in order to see it through, but nothing deeper than that.
You suppose after all this time, maybe you owe it to him to just let it rest. If that’s what he wants.
“I didn’t know,” you say, feeling more comfortable to speak freely now that you know he isn’t judging you. “About magic, about you, about those…creatures.” Absently, your hand goes to cover your other one that’s still healing and Levi’s gaze follows the movement.
Despite his grisly condition, he looks slightly amused. “I still can’t believe you punched it.”
You chuckle, but the sound lacks warmth. “Yeah, well. I doubt he felt it much.”
“It was a female, actually.”
You watch him for a moment, expecting a laugh or for him to tell you he’s joking, but he doesn’t. “How do you know?”
“The males are much larger,” he says without a hint of humor. “I’m assuming you got too close to a den.”
All you can do is blink. It was terrifying enough to face one, much less to consider that mimics have sexual characteristics and breed. And the males were larger?
The thought alone makes you want to shiver, but you breathe out a shaky sigh instead. “Just got lucky, I guess.”
“My point, Tori, is that you’ve experienced a lot this week. And it’s scary, going into something blind like you’re doing, but you’re making the choice yourself. As long as you’re happy with that, don’t let anything stop you.” He finishes the last of his tea, then gestures to your own. “Drink all of it. It’ll help you sleep. I’m going to clean up.” He gestures to himself.
He gets to his feet and retreats into the bathroom. Still at the table, you look down into your almost empty cup.
So, that’s why you feel so tired all of a sudden. Tired enough to actually sleep. He had taken one look at you and knew just what you needed. That’s thoughtful.
The realization hits you like a tidal wave, and you’re filled with a mixture of gratitude and wistfulness.
Tori. He hasn’t called you that since you were kids.
***
You don’t wake until the early afternoon. Levi is already gone when you come to. The bed has been made and his boots and bags are gone. If it wasn’t for the mug left in the sink, you’d wonder if the night before had been some bizarre extension of your dreams.
You feel lighter as you get ready for the day, refreshed despite sleeping on the cramped sofa. Even though he had told you to take it initially, you figured it was only fair to give Levi his bed back since he was injured, and he apparently hadn’t protested. Or maybe he just didn’t want to wake you when he returned to find you already asleep in front of the fire.
Petra is already out in the garden when you find her a little while later.
It’s a bright and sunny day, so you had opted for one of your simpler dresses and pulled your hair back into a plain braid when getting ready. It would make it easier for picking plants.
“Morning, Iz!” Petra waves. She’s standing in front of an overgrown bed of white flowers, a pair of gloves already on her hands resting on her hips.
You smile in greeting. You’re getting better at acknowledging the fake name you gave her.
“Morning, Petra,” you say. “I thought you weren’t working for Oblation Day?”
She shrugs. “Normally I wouldn’t, but if I put this off, these will overmature.” She gestures to the white flowers, with their blooms no bigger than the palm of your hand.
You recall seeing them in one of the journals she had given you, on a section that her father had dedicated to wound care.
“Yarrow?” you guess, to which Petra smiles. “It’s used to stop bleeding right?”
Grabbing a wide wicker basket waiting on the ground nearby, she stoops slightly to trim a few of the stems. “You’re right! I had to send my stores of a more concentrated mix to Silver Creek a few weeks ago, so I’ll dry these and grind them into powder tomorrow.”
Feeling rather useless, you offer to hold the basket as she keeps plucking the stems.
It’s fascinating to learn about what sorts of plants Petra grows. Most of them are medicinal in nature, helping to cure colds and fevers and dull pain. It’s a science you had never been exposed to in the past, but you’re learning to accept that it was by design.
“You never know when you’re going to need it,” she continues, “so I like to keep ample stock on hand for emergencies. Oh,” she gestures down several rows to a section of large pink and red roses, “we’ll also need more of those for the kinship feast tonight.”
“Kinship feast?”
Petra plucks another bundle and stands up. “Yeah, Levi didn’t tell you?”
Your fingers tighten around the basket’s handle. Is this something that the real Isabel would already know about?
You quickly try to think of a neutral response, but Petra just shakes her head.
“Leave it to him to not mention it. He hates big gatherings.” Dropping the last of the stems into the basket, she leads the way down to the other side of the garden. “It’s the big celebration that we hold each year for Oblation Day in the town square. There’s music and food and drinks.”
You perk up.
“That sounds like fun.”
Petra turns to you. “You should come. I think you’d like it.”
She starts plucking at a bush of large yellow roses. Beside her, you have to temper your interest. As fun as it sounds to eat and dance, to belong, you doubt it would be safe. Trouble seems to follow wherever you go.
“What do you do with these?” you ask, stopping your thoughts in their tracks.
“Oh, these are sold at the feast.” She smiles. “It’s become a bit of a tradition after dinner for people to give one another flowers. Yellow is for friendship,” she gestures to the bloom in her hand before dropping it into the basket, “Pink is given to initiate a romantic courtship, and red is for professing love.”
You follow along as she moves around the bush, gathering clippings into her arms. Has she ever been given a rose? Surely, she has. Petra’s pretty and smart, and if the amount of people coming in and out seeking help for their ailments can vouch for anything, she’s also important to her community. To torture you further, your mind conjures images of Levi approaching her with a large bundle of red and pink roses. A full bouquet.
The feeling of something grazing your temple pulls you out of your thoughts, and you snap to attention to see Petra reaching toward you. When you meet her eyes, she pulls away, leaving a small rose bud tucked into your hair.
She grins, gesturing to a yellow flower she’s carefully tucked behind her ear. “There. We match now.”
“What are you two doing?”
You nearly startle at the sound of Levi’s voice on the other side of the bush.
He looks considerably healthier than the night before. Some color has come back to his skin and all of the blood and dirt has been washed away. There’s a small cut above his left eyebrow that you hadn’t noticed the night before, but it isn’t deep enough to be concerning.
“It’s called having fun, Levi,” Petra says. “You should give it a try sometime. Look, isn’t she cute?”
With his arms crossed over his chest, Levi’s focus shifts to the flower in your hair, then meets your gaze with total indifference. It makes you want to sink straight down into the earth under your feet.
“You're both going to get bugs in your hair,” he replies, ignoring her question entirely. “Everything’s ready in the square. Oluo is loading the rest of the supplies into the carriage now.”
“Oh, perfect.” With a renewed purpose, Petra pulls the basket of flowers from your arms. “I’ll get these sorted then so we can get going. We’ll see you both there.”
With another wave, she disappears inside.
For whatever reason, her departure leaves behind a heavy silence. Levi stares at you for a moment, and under his scrutiny, you awkwardly pull the flower from your hair.
“I found a ship that’ll take us to Plomaria,” he says after a moment.
“Really? When?”
“In three days, they’re sailing a shipment of goods into the capital. It would put us right where we need to be.”
You absently twirl the stem between your fingers. “Three days,” you repeat, nodding. “Okay.”
Even though you knew this was coming, it’s still difficult to wrap your head around. In three days, you’d leave Orenfeld and likely never come back. You’d leave Levi and Petra and Oluo. Theo and your parents. Zeke.
Were you making the right choice? Did you really want to be free of them forever?
“Did you want to go?”
You look at Levi for a moment, confused. “Well, that’s what we’re here for,” you say slowly. “I agreed to help you.”
“I meant the feast tonight. For Oblation Day.” He sighs like he already regrets asking. “Probably the last bit of fun you’ll have for a while.”
Oh. Well, when he puts it that way, maybe you should.
You smile. “It sounds fun.”
“Then let’s get going.” Unfolding his arms, he turns. “It starts at sundown.”
***
It’s not like any other feast you’ve ever attended.
At the most ambitious, you had anticipated a large group of people somehow gathered together in the main square, but the reality exceeded every expectation.
Dozens of shops and merchant stalls lined the winding main street, shouting out to onlookers and potential buyers in hopes of a sale. There are flower merchants selling bouquets, jewelry-makers, bakers displaying fragrant fruit pies and breads crusted to golden perfection, tailors and cloth traders, butcher shops. Everything you could have ever imagined and more.
You take it all in slowly, standing under an awning in the main square where a troupe of eight artists perform to music nearby for a crowd. They ring bells and dance in step with one another, fluid and graceful as they twist and turn and flip. The crowd oohs and aahs. A few vendors nearby call their thanks to patrons: May her light guide you!
Beside you, Levi watches the crowd. He hasn’t said much other than to clarify what things are when your curiosity has prompted questions. But mostly, he’s just watched like a sentinel on guard.
Once the performing troupe has dispersed, the crowd clears slightly. Music begins again and people begin to pair off in the street, creating an improvised dance space. Among them, you find Petra and Oluo, swaying and laughing together to the music.
Wordlessly, Levi begins walking.
“Wait,” you say, catching up to him. “Did you not want to stay?”
He glances at you. “I thought you might want to take a look around.”
“Well, I do but I’d like to see everyone dance for a bit too.” You fall into step with him. A question builds on your tongue, but you think you already know the answer to it. “Do you not want to dance?”
He scoffs. “I don’t dance.”
So maybe you do still know him a little bit. “You don’t dance, or you don’t know how to?”
“Does it matter?”
“Have you ever tried?”
He gives you an impatient look. “I don’t dance.”
“Fine, spoil sport.” Still, not wanting to dance doesn’t completely explain why he’s been so quiet and tense since you first got to the square. You think back to when he first started to walk away and make a guess. “Is it because of Petra and Oluo?”
His brows furrow. “What? No.”
“Then why are you rushing about with your shoulders up to your ears?” you ask, at a loss. “This is supposed to be a relaxing night of fun and you’re walking around like you’re being hunted.”
Levi’s quiet for several paces down the busy street. It’s hard to see his face in the soft light, but from what you can see, his brows are drawn together and his mouth is pulled into a deep frown.
“I don’t like crowds.”
He says it so quietly that you almost don’t catch it over the sound of the music.
For a moment, you don’t know what to say. After seeing him fight five men at once (and win), traverse a mountain like it was a brisk walk, and then take down a creature you wouldn't have been able to think up in your nightmares if you hadn’t seen it in the flesh, a fear of crowds seemed like the least likely thing he’d have. Petra’s words echo through your mind: Leave it to him to not mention it. He hates big gatherings.
But you remember what he did for you when you admitted you were having nightmares. He listened and had a solution already in place.
You look around where you’ve temporarily stopped. There are people everywhere, lined up and down the street on both sides. The way that a peal of laughter bounces off of the opposite buildings makes you look up, and you find a balcony on the second floor of what looks to be a tavern across the street. It’s mostly empty.
You point. “What about up there then?”
Levi follows your line of sight. There’s still a frown on his face when he sees it, but something like relief settles into his posture.
“Better than being down here.”
You set off down the street together, slipping through the crowd until you come to the road. A carriage passes by, and you stop next to a large statue carved from bronze. At first, you think nothing of it, but more than anything, the name etched into the placard on the stone it’s raised on makes you do a double take.
[Kenny Ackerman]
[30th Lord of Fendon]
It feels like you read those words a dozen times and it still doesn’t quite feel right. He’s standing with his gaze to the harbor, his stance proud and shoulders back. This was the man who tried to kill your father?
You realize about a half-second too late that Levi is already halfway across the road and you rush to catch up, trying to push the monument out of your mind.
The walk into the tavern and up the stairs feels like a blur. The night air becomes warm and thick with tobacco smoke and the smell of ale, then you're back out in the cool breeze again. Somehow, even though it’s just one floor, it feels quieter.
Levi’s standing with his elbows over the railing, watching people pass across the street. The tension in his shoulders seems to have lifted a bit, but he isn’t totally relaxed. He must have seen your interest in the statue.
You join him but keep your gaze on the people below. You incline your head toward them. “Do they know?”
He shakes his head, already clued into your thoughts. “You’re the only one here who knows. To everyone else, I’m just Levi.”
You turn to him then and find that he’s already looking at you, waiting. You offer him a smile. “Well, I guess we have that in common now.”
To your surprise, he mirrors it. Barely, but it’s there and that’s enough. You have more questions, but they can wait.
Behind you, the door opens.
“Would you like a drink, miss?”
A barman smiles and extends a large round tray of ale your way. When you both decline, he nods his head. “May her light guide you both.”
The door swivels closed behind him once again, leaving the phrase hanging in the silence that follows. You’ve heard it said so many times tonight, but for some reason it finally registers as one you’ve never heard.
“What does that mean, ‘may her light guide you’?” you ask, “I’ve heard it everywhere tonight.”
Levi’s focus is out on the horizon. For a moment, you think he hasn’t heard you, too busy lost in his own thoughts.
“They’re referencing the goddess of abundance and good fortune,” he eventually says.
“The old gods?” You tilt your head. “I didn’t know they were worshiped anymore.”
“They are here.” Levi nods. “Some of them rule the laws of magic, some rule natural law. This festival is practiced to give thanks for a good harvest.” His gaze flicks to you then, softer than before. “And it serves as a reminder to nurture new beginnings.”
You pause, not anticipating the olive branch he suddenly seems to be extending to you. It isn’t clear if he’s insinuating he trusts you, but at the very least it sounds as though he’s willing to try.
“I don’t think I’ve thanked you properly.” You turn to him after a moment. “Whether or not you decide you can ever trust me again, I do appreciate your help. I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”
Levi listens as he watches the crowd ebb and flow on the street below. “No, you wouldn’t.”
His response makes you think of when you were children all those years ago, of the day when you argued beneath your favorite oak tree over how long you’d survive alone on an adventure. The day he told you about his family. The day you asked him to kiss you.
Levi’s mouth curls into a small smile, as if he’s remembering that day too.
“I think this calls for a celebration,” you tell him. “Have a drink with me.” His smile vanishes, but you quickly hold up a finger. “Just one. My treat. You can stay here out of the crowd and I’ll get it.”
He looks at you for a moment, clearly conflicted, but he finally sighs. “Fine. We’ll have one. But hurry. We’re going back to the farm after this. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to.”
Before he changes his mind, you leave him to hurry downstairs to the bar. You weave carefully through the crowd, sticking to the perimeter in an effort to not draw undue attention to yourself.
It seems almost pointless at this rate. Not a single person has identified you all night and it feels like the entire town is in the square.
You order and pay for two ales once you reach the bar but before you can retrieve them, a soft voice murmurs in your ear through the low hum of conversation.
tags: evil brother-in-law Levi: the fic, pining, sexual harassment, infidelity, jealousy, rape/noncon elements, somnophilia, alcoholism, drugging, blackmail, degradation, vaginal sex, stealthing, oral sex, breeding kink, choking, stalking, (there will be a happy ending, wait 45 chapters for it, every character is morally gray, toxic dynamics (and it's between everyone), plot twists, sadism, slow burn, crime, generational trauma, slight unreliable narrator, the first husband is an OC, the dove is dead and it's gonna remain buried six feet under
You fall for the kindest man you have ever met and marry into his rich, blue-blooded family. The problem is that the older brother of your husband seems to hate you for no reason.
*.✧summary: Levi had just retired from the military and bought a house, but something felt strange. It seemed like he wasn't living there alone.
*.✧tags: modern au, eventual romance, fluff and humor, ghost, haunted house
*.✧content warning: none
*.✧word count: 764
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Levi didn't manage to sleep at all because of the woman in his house. No, she should probably be called a ghost instead. Still, he didn't understand why the two of you could touch each other.
"Levi, what are you doing?" he almost dropped his phone when you suddenly appeared above him from the ceiling.
"Can't you just appear normally?" he hissed, glaring up at you.
"What do you mean, appear normally?" You dropped down from the ceiling and now stood in front of him.
He let out a tired sigh before answering, "Just walk on the floor."
Levi didn't know what to do now that he had met his roommate.
Should he just sell the house and find another one? He sighed again because it was really a hassle, and this house was already perfect. He liked the scenery and the area. It was peaceful until you appeared.
"Levi, what are you going to do today?" you asked, walking in a small circle around him while he remained deep in thought.
"Should I just call an exorcist?" he murmured, making you stop in your tracks.
"You can drop that thought," you said, and he glanced at you.
"And why is that?" his one eyebrow arching sharply.
"A few of them already came here before, but they couldn't seem to walk past the door. They all just turned tail and ran back."
He watched your expression carefully. You didn't seem to be lying, so pushing further would be useless.
Levi walked past you without a word, heading to the kitchen to brew his usual black tea. The rich, bitter aroma soon filled the air. You trailed after him, leaning against the counter as you watched.
"Don't you get tired of drinking that every day?"
"Don't you get tired of talking?" Levi shot back, voice dry with exhaustion. You had kept him up all night with your endless chatter, stealing his sleep entirely.
It wasn't like he could throw you out. He had also learned you had stayed silent for an entire week before finally revealing yourself. You were afraid he might flee like all the past residents. If only he had known, he never would've bought this house at all.
"Not at all. You can't imagine how hard I controlled myself to not talk to you for a whole week," you whined.
"Maybe you could shut up for the next whole week again," Levi retorted dryly.
"You're mean. I bet you don't have friends."
"Well, do you?" He glanced at you, one eyebrow raised.
"How can a ghost have friends?" you huffed.
After Levi finished brewing his tea, he carried the teacup to the dining table and sat down. You followed, settling across from him.
Just as he lifted the cup to his lips, he paused. He recalled your earlier words. A sharp question surfaced in his mind.
"Wait, you said you controlled yourself to not talk to me for a whole week. Does that mean you were watching me the entire time?" he asked, fixing you with an unreadable expression, gray eyes narrowing slightly.
"Yes, why?" you replied casually.
Levi suddenly remembered Hange's words: "Are you sure about that? What if the ghost suddenly visits you later in your sleep and lies next to you, or watches you when you're showering?"
"The fuck. Don't tell me you also watched me shower like a pervert?" his eyes flashing with sudden suspicion.
"Huh? Why would I do that?" you replied, tone laced with slight disgust and wide-eyed innocence.
"Are you really sure about that?" he asked again, still suspicious of you.
"Why would I watch you shower? Plus, you're not even my type," you said firmly. Your disgusted expression, nose wrinkled and lips pursed, finally convinced him, even though it offended him in a way he didn't understand.
"Then good," he muttered, lifting the cup to his lips at last to drink his tea.
A minute later, he spoke again. "Can you stop staring?" He was truly bothered. You had been gazing at him the entire time, and he couldn't enjoy his tea in peace.
"Why?" you asked innocently.
"What do you mean why? Can't you tell it's bothering me?" His tone dripped with annoyance, as if speaking to a clueless idiot who couldn't read the room.
"You're bothered by everything. Me talking, me staring. I heard in the past, that's the attitude of someone whose age is catching up to them," you shot back.
"Fuck. I'll go insane at this rate," he whispered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.
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