𑣲 K. KOZUME :: you knew that kenma didn’t have the greatest stamina despite his athletic history, and you decided to take advantage of that. but little did you know that you would be outsmarted in your own game.
₊˚ʚ (+18) content | switch!kenma x fem!reader, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, slight nipple play, praise, degrading, filming/photographing, overstimulation, both of them r freaks | read at your own risk .ᐟ.ᐟ
you knew that kenma didn’t have the greatest stamina despite his athletic history, and you decided to take advantage of that. but little did you know that you would be outsmarted in your own game.
the great kodzuken had finally hit that 50 million sub goal, and to celebrate, you had excitedly prepared a home cooked dinner that wafted through the halls of your shared apartment. you had cooked up a creamy pasta and steak, with expensive wine to wash down the flavor. you beamed at every stir of the pasta sauce, eager to celebrate with him.
he ended his celebration stream shortly after, and padded outside of his office towards the kitchen island, and carefully observed as you plated the meal.
“hi kodzu, you’re just in time. i just need a sec to plate.” you focus on the steak in front of you, not turning to face the other man.
he hums, “can’t wait to try it, kitty.”
you roll your eyes at the childish nickname, turning around to set the steak down on the table.
dinner ran smoothly, you greeted him with enthusiastic congratulations and warm words of encouragement, clasping his hands together with his. you had always adored kenma’s humility, despite his massive online presence, he never let it get to his head or ego. he carried the same attitude as he did on screen— quiet, timid, funny— it was ironic on how his lack of charisma eventually followed his rise to fame.
you two decided to keep your relationship mostly private, save for the occasional instagram stories where he would post updates where your hair would just be barely seen in the frame, the reflection of your hand slightly visible on the glass, or a candid photo of you on one of your dates. it was sweet, and it allowed him to set boundaries with his fans, who admired you from a far away.
before you knew it, the plates were licked clean, yet chatter continued to fill the air between you two.
“thank you for dinner, it was really good.” kenma’s eyes look into yours, a subtle smile curling on his lips. his hand snakes behind your head as he pulls you close, planting a sweet kiss onto your forehead. “you’re the sweetest, you make me so happy.”
he thought that was it, that was his reward for his 50 million sub breakthrough. he didn’t know that you still had something else reserved specially for him. you just smiled into his chest.
“congratulations again, kodzu.”
⋆˚࿔
“haah— fuck, s-slow down…” he pants, hands gripping tightly onto your waist as you rolled your hips onto his, his cock burying itself deeper and deeper into your aching cunt.
“mm… are you tired already, ken?” you tilt your head, and cup his face with your hands. you look at his golden irises, tinted with desperate want need for you.
all for you.
you continue the momentum, before slightly lifting your hips up to let his dick breathe, then slamming yourself fully down onto him once again.
“fuck…!” he groans, his grip on you tightening even more— enough to leave a bruise later on.
“you feel so good, kitty…” you lean down to kiss him, licking his lips for access into his mouth, which he pathetically accepts. whore.
he hums into the kiss, slipping his tongue to meet with yours. you can feel the heat basically radiate off of his body, slick with a sheen of sweat.
“you’re— mmh.. such a good boy.” you trail your lips down his chin, to his neck and collarbone. inhaling deeply, and you find the comforting aroma of laundry detergent settling into something dizzying. the smell of melted amber, friction, and the salty musk of his sweat pooling at the dip of his collarbone fill your senses, radiating a feverish heat that you just couldn’t get enough of.
pulling away, you pick up the pace again, rhythmically lifting your hips up and down. you trace your hands lower to his chest, soft whines and moans escaping your lips. you couldn’t exactly recall when you two had started, but you could tell he was reaching his limit. his dick continued to twitch inside you with every bounce you made, and it was tantalizing.
kenma couldn't take it anymore. the constant, agonizing friction was unbearable, overriding his exhaustion completely.
before you could lift your hips again, kenma interrupts you. “wa-wait! wait, stop.” he rasps, pulling you down closer to him once more to catch his breath. your bodies collide with one another, both shiny from the sweat between you two. you hear his unsteady breaths by your ear, his chest heaving as he pants for air. his hand traces the dip of your spine, moving in slow circles til he finally rests them on your lower back.
“let me make you cum— ‘don’t wanna cum first.”
wow. this is quite new.
the kenma you knew was one lazy fuck when it came to sex. always content to just lie back and let you do all the work while he enjoyed the view. not that you minded, you liked doing things for him and making him feel good. you knew exactly how to grind your hips, when to bounce, when to kiss and where to touch him, and you drink up all the noises and movements he makes every time. you would notice the subtle jerk of his hips when he’s about to cum, the bruising grip he would have once his dick was overstimulated, the flush of red that would tint his cheeks when you two would get into it too early.
but your favorite thing to take in would be the pathetic whines and whimpers that got you even wetter at your core.
so this was new to say the least. did his ego get bigger after hitting that 50 million?
before a sly retort could even slip past your lips, his hands clamp down onto your waist and he thrusts his hips upward, the length of his dick burying deeper into you, tip pressing right against your cervix.
a loud sob tore from your throat, nails digging crescents into his shoulders for leverage. your spine arches from above him, the sudden change in momentum catching you completely off guard now.
“my turn, ‘kay?” he says sweetly, adjusting the both of you so that you’re laying comfortably on the bed, and he he settles on top of you.
you whine at the change in position, and he slips himself into you again, the wet squelch of your pussy reverberating through the air. kenma rocks his hips upward with minimal effort, causing the mattress to dip and squeak from the sudden shift.
you try to regain control— to try and hear those sweet, pathetic whimpers your boyfriend would make again, by pressing you hips closer toward him to take him deeper. yet, your attempt remains futile as his kept his hold on you, pinning you back down onto the bed and forcing you to adjust to his weight.
he tuts, “don’t try to take over, i told you it’s my turn. you know better than that, don’t you, babe?”
“‘m sorry, baby…” you pull back, allowing him to take more control of the situation.
“that’s what i thought. keep still.” he continues rocking into you slowly, relishing in the feeling of your pussy accommodating to the shape of his cock.
“you’re still so tight, did you not stretch yourself out on me enough?” he mocks you, eyes locked on yours as he drove his hips up once again, unbothered by the mewl that left your lips.
you didn’t want to admit it, but you were getting pretty fucked out at this point, eyes hazy and body tired, but you were still determined to wear him out even if you were in a different position now.
“i know what you’re trying to do,” he leans into your ear. “im going to win, you know?”
fuck. he’s so fucking hot.
his palm makes its way to the curve of your breast, squeezing lightly before pinching your nipples in between his thumb and index and giving it an experimental twist.
“k-ken…” you whine out, who’s getting desperate now?
his hips began to ram into you with more fervor, and your tears begin to well up in your eyes as you keep taking him in fully.
a low, breathy sound escapes his throat, a sound so rarely heard from him that it sends a fresh wave of electricity straight through your core.
“look at you,” he massages the flesh in his palms, his thumb stroking over the peak of your tits as he maintains the steady upward thrust of his hips that press against that sweet spot every time. “you look so pretty for me.”
he reaches over to the nightstand with one hand, snagging his phone without staggering his pace. “this is all for me, right? say it.” the screen light illuminates the dimly lit bedroom, reflecting off of his sharp, golden eyes. he opens the camera with a quick swipe, angling the lens down where your bodies meet, recording the slickness of your thighs and the flush painting your skin from your chest up to your cheeks.
“no– kenma, put that away…” you whine out, embarrassment flushing your cheeks pink as you try to cover your face with your free arm.
he pauses his thrusts to catch your wrist, and pins you gently back down against the mattress, keeping the camera locked on your figure.
“why? you seemed so proud of yourself earlier,” he says lazily, almost mockingly— with the amount of feign concern that laced his words, yet you refused to meet his gaze. “look at the camera babe, c’mon… i wanna treasure this forever. just for me, please?”
“ken—“ you’re cut off by the sudden snap of his pelvis, “this— hngh—“ you moan out, unable to form your words with the pressure quickly building inside you. you try to pry your arm away from his grip to cover your face again— to save whatever dignity you had left after your failed attempt to tire him out.
his lips twist into a mischievous smile, “i’m working so hard for you right now, the least you could do is to let me see you.” his grip on your wrist remains, “look at the fucking camera.”
his words are hypnotic, laced with a hint of frustration and impatience. you involuntarily glance at the phone, seeing yourself on the reflection of the lens. you wrap your hips around his waist to pull him in closer, the creak of the bed frame hitting against the wall combined with both of your moans and gasps and the sound of skin on skin was enough to overwhelm your senses. you weren't too sure what he was up to anymore, but you just needed him closer. he pulls out just enough of him to leave only the tip inside, before angling his hips upward and thrusting back in, bottoming out inside you. Another shock of electricity courses through your body and you wail loudly through a choked sob.
“fuck! just like that!” you arch your back, feeling his tip press flush against that spongy part inside of you. it sends a violent tremor down your thighs, curling your toes into the mattress and your head tossing back against the pillows as your vision goes completely white.
“ken- kenma, please—“
“yeah? you close already?” he peppers gentle kisses onto your damp skin, the phone soon forgotten as he sets it upright on the nightstand, leaning against a lamp as it continues to record. he uses both his hands to anchor your hips to his as your body begins to grind against him desperately. “i said don’t close your eyes, look at me,” his voice is rough and desperate.
if you had a dick you’d probably be so hard right now.
his breathing is wrecked, a heavy, ragged sound that echoes in the space between your lips as he continued to thrust himself into you, deliberately chasing the frantic, wet heat of your climax.
“you’re going to make me cum— please, fuck!”
you come undone almost immediately, sobbing his name into the dark room as the ripple of your orgasm spreads throughout your body, your pussy squeezing tightly around him.
“you’re taking me so well…shit— doing so good for me, baby.” his golden eyes wide, locking on the rise and fall of your chest. your tight, twitching walls completely derails his rhythm. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, sinking deep into you as he reaches his orgasm as well. you feel the sudden, burning heat of him filling you up as he spends the last bit of his energy inside of you.
for a long minute, the only sound in the room was the overlapping sound of both your breathing.
eventually, his weight goes slack on top of you, his forehead resting against your bruised up shoulders as he pants for air. a soft, breathless huff of laughter leaves his lips against your damp skin.
“told you,” he wheezes out, yet his voice was dripping with that smug, lazy satisfaction you knew all too well whenever he had finished conquering an incredibly difficult boss fight and was about to brag to you about it. “i won.”
⋆˚࿔
the next day, you’re making breakfast as kenma patiently waits sitting by the kitchen island, when you hear an erotic moan play from his phone speaker.
“what was that?” you ask, flipping the egg over on the frying pan.
“my favorite milestone reward,” he says, his eyes still glued to the screen. “you’re so noisy here, god.”
“don’t post that.”
“hmm, maybe i’ll make it a sub-count.”
@ miripopopo, 2026
i miss kenma so bad can u guys tell i wrote this with one hand
playboy!scara falling head over heels for shy!girl reader and is shocked when she’s a massive nymph !!!
scaramouche x fem!reader. smut. quite a bit of swearing. creampie. scara enjoying himself.
to say that scaramouche lost interest in any other girls when he met you is an understatement. fucking hell you are perfect. shy, and quiet. delicate, and sweet almost to a fault.
usually girls chase him. he chased you. he didn't think he would ever chase a girl quite like this. it took him a bit because of how shy you are. he went the whole nine yards for you. flowers. dates. good morning and good night text messages. stuffed animals.
you make him utterly weak in the knees.
you have this cute little habit especially that makes him melt. when you are walking side by side with him, you reach out, and cling to his hand. a nervous little tick you have whenever you think there are too many people around.
never did he imagine you would be a total nympho. hungry for his cock. utterly insatiable. which he is 1000000% fine with. no complaints there. not one single one.
and as for you.
you fell hard for scaramouche. when he kissed you the first time, it made your heart tremble. you wanted more. that want led to wanting to feel his hands on you, underneath your clothes. groping around on your bare breasts, pinching, and stroking your nipples hard. his fingers rubbing you wet outside your panties.
the first time he fucked you, you couldn't get enough. his long, thick cock always hit that one special spot. you didn't think you could moan or whine like that before.
you are already tugging your shirt over your head as you straddle his lap. tossing your shirt aside, you hastily reach around to unclasp your bra. scaramouche knows exactly what you want. his cock throbs, and hardens watching your bare breasts pop out of your bra.
his hand comes up to grasp your chin. "tell me what you want?" he squeezes your jaw, and a shiver dances down your spine, going straight to your cunt.
putting one arm around him for leverage, you reach down, and pull your panties aside. "i want you," you lift your hips slightly, tucking his cock between your drooling pussy lips. he groans as you rock your hips, gliding your cunt on his cock, "i want you inside me. very very badly."
scaramouche chuckles, and smirks. "such a needy little thing," he fucking loves it when you are cock hungry for him like this.
it stretches his ego knowing that the shyest, quietest girl on campus is addicted to his cock.
he holds his cock for you, watching satisfied as you rub your cunt wet. soft moans sound from you as his cockhead grazes your throbbing clit, making you tremble. "get yourself nice, and wet for me," he fingers slide from your jaw to your throat teasingly, applying no pressure.
you sigh as a shiver runs through you. just the mere feeling of his fingers on your throat makes your pussy drool. "you are teasing me," you whine softly. your cunt squeezes around nothing, anticipating the feeling of his cock fucking into you.
"whiny thing to," he scoffs, pushing you off his lap, and back onto his bed. he hand tugs your soaked panties off as he crawls on top of you. "still though," he spreads your legs, bringing his thumb to your clit, "sweet of you prepare yourself for me."
your body jolts as he presses circles on your throbbing clit. you moan as you rock your hips up, grinding needily on his thumb. he stimulates your clit, watching your eyes fill with a deeper desperation. can you blame him for basking in your neediness?
his cock only throbs harder when your lower lip quivers with need. "i'll make you scream," he lines his cock up with your drooling hole, and pushes it inside. your back arches off the bed feeling the delicious stretch of your cunt.
scaramouche bottoms out with one calculated thrust, tearing a lewd moan from your throat. "no mercy," you moan as pleasure jolts through you, "i love it."
it doesn't take long for his cock to start squelching in your cunt. his hips snap against yours as he leans down, swallowing your moans in an open mouthed kiss. that familiar weakness hits him as you sweetly open your mouth for his tongue.
your head spins as you muffle moans into his mouth. you practically see stars following every thrust. he hits that one spot every single time. you tear your mouth from his, crying out as he nudges particularly deep into your sweet spot. "cum inside me! oh fuck, please, cum inside me."
you wrap your arms around him, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as you whine. scaramouche practically purrs as you cling to him. "shit, you are too fucking good to me," he moans, bending one of your knees up to your chest.
the position is perfect. the angle gives him the perfect view of the white ring forming on his cock. it absolutely blows his mind that you beg him to cum inside you, even when he fucked you for the first time.
the pleasure is almost searing as your orgasm hits you. your body jolts at the intensity as the scream of pleasure he was aiming tears from your throat. it's a satisfying sound in his ears.
scaramouche hisses as your walls clutch his cock. "shit, you are cumming fucking hard," he moans, his fingers slippery on your clit, helping you ride out your orgasm.
feeling the tight warmth of your spasming walls empties his cock inside of you. "you are too good to me. too fucking good to me," he is barely able to swallow a soft whine before he laughs shakily, "let's plug you up after i pull out. i have to keep this pretty pussy full."
----
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☆ Summary: Levi Ackerman has never been good at flirting, which is unfortunate, because insulting you is no longer enough to hide the fact that he’s hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with you.
☆ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader
☆ Genre/Tags: Canon Compliant, Female Reader, Mutual Pining, Levi Ackerman is Bad At Feelings, Soft Levi Ackerman, Flirting, First Kiss, Love Confession, Humor, Fluff, Smut
☆ Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected piv, creampie
☆ Word Count: 9.0k
☆ AO3 Link
☆ Check out the other fics in this collection!
☆ a/n: this is day 2 out of 7 for my birthday week celebration! thank you to my beta reader @slaytherinthoughts <3 also please don't ask for a part two i will take a sledgehammer to my laptop if you ask for a part two
Levi first sees you in the morning in the hallway outside of Erwin’s office. You’re holding a stack of reports tucked under one arm, your cloak clasped crookedly, and a half-finished piece of bread pinched between your teeth because you realized eating breakfast and walking to your briefing is an efficient way to multitask.
Levi sees you from the end of the hall and stops walking. His entire body locks up for the stupidest reason—because it’s you. He immediately thinks There she is. Then, because his mind is determined to ruin him, it adds, Her hair looks nice. He almost turns around and walks directly back to his office just to avoid facing you, but because he’s Captain Levi Ackerman, a man who has faced Titans without blinking and therefore shouldn’t be taken down by a woman holding paperwork and chewing bread, he keeps walking forward.
“You look like hell,” he says as soon as he’s close enough.
You stop and look at him, taking the bread out of your mouth as you lift your brows. “Good morning to you too, Captain.”
Levi stares at the bread, then your mouth. He tries to find something else to focus on. Maybe he can tell you your cloak clasp is twisted and Erwin will absolutely notice. Maybe he could ask whether you slept, because the shadows beneath your eyes look darker than yesterday, and yesterday they had already irritated him enough that he left a cup of tea outside your office and convinced himself he only did it because your exhausted handwriting was difficult to read.
“You look better than yesterday, though,” he adds, because he doesn’t know how to shut up around you.
You half-smile. “That might be the closest you’ve ever come to saying something nice to me.”
He feels his stomach drop. Was it? Was that nice? Had he been too obvious? No. No, that’s impossible. No one could hear “you look like hell” and think it was sweet unless they were deranged. But you’re not deranged. In fact, you’re too competent and too observant for his peace of mind.
“You’re insane,” he says, reaching forward before he can stop himself to fix your cloak clasp. The moment he brushes his fingers against your throat, he wishes the floor would swallow him whole.
You freeze out of surprise, then lift your chin slightly as his knuckles graze the skin beneath your jaw. Levi’s mind goes blank in the most humiliating way possible. He hears the scratch of your breath, feels your pulse at your neck, smells the soap you use—because of course you would be the only other person with proper hygiene standards—and everything he’s learned in life to survive abandons him. He steps back as if you’d burned him.
“There,” he says, voice flat. “Try dressing yourself like an officer next time.”
You glance down at the straightened clasp, then back at him, amusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Are you always this charming before breakfast?”
“No.”
“Only with me, then?”
He turns and walks away. Behind him, you laugh, and Levi immediately knows by the burning of his cheeks and the repeating Stupid, stupid, stupid in his mind that this is going to be a very long day.
He insults you again five minutes later inside Erwin’s office, where Erwin stands at the head of the table. Hange lounges over a chair, looking as if they’ve only slept for either four hours or not at all. Miche stands near the window quietly, as always. You take the seat across from Levi, who keeps his eyes on the meeting notes. He refuses to look at you. If he does, he won’t be able to stay composed.
“You’re quiet,” Hange says to him after Erwin begins explaining the revised training schedule for the week. “You’re either listening or plotting something.”
“Unlike you, I can do both quietly,” Levi says.
Hange grins. “That’s what I admire about you, shorty!”
You snort under your breath. Levi looks at you without meaning to. You’re clearly trying not to smile, one hand pressed over the bottom half of your face, eyes lowered to the table. He sees it all, because he always sees too much where you’re concerned. That’s the problem. It means he notices the loose strand of hair against your cheek, and the warmth in your eyes when you catch him looking at you. Levi looks away immediately, thinking to himself Idiot.
“Something wrong, Levi?” Erwin asks, quirking up an eyebrow.
“No,” Levi says.
“You were staring into nothing.”
“I was just assessing whether her paperwork is as sloppy as her uniform.”
You mock an offended gasp. “My paperwork is pristine.”
“It’s tolerable.”
“From you,” you say, pointing your quill at him, “that is basically a marriage proposal.”
Everyone in the room goes quiet. Hange inhales like they’re about to burst. Levi goes completely and utterly still. Marriage proposal. You said it as a joke. Obviously, right? It’s just a harmless, casual joke, banter shared between squad leaders when too much paperwork has turned everyone’s brains into horse feed. There’s no reason for his mind to take the phrase, drag it and him into an alley, and start beating him with it.
Marriage proposal. His mind races before he can stop himself, supplying a series of images: you standing at an altar, you and him in his office alone, your laughter at breakfast, your hand in his, your mouth on his—
No. He’s not going there again. Not now.
Hange’s grin grows wider. Miche looks out the window, but his shoulders shake with silent laughter. Erwin, who is the worst kind of friend to you both, simply looks between the both of you, silently filing this moment away for later to use against either of you when the time comes.
Levi picks up his teacup. “You’d make a terrible wife,” he says.
You grin and rest your chin on the top of your linked hands, elbows on the table. “Why’s that?”
“You’re loud, annoying, and you don’t even know how to chop a carrot.”
“You notice the strangest things about me.”
Levi drinks his tea to avoid having to answer, and even though the tea is too hot, he refuses to cough. Unfortunately for him, you notice his eyes squinting slightly, and your smile softens so much it nearly kills him on the spot. No, he thinks. I can’t let her do this to me.
He spends the rest of the meeting saying as little as possible, which would work better if Hange didn’t keep sneaking glances at him with barely contained excitement.
Levi expects the week to improve after that. It doesn’t. The problem is that you’re everywhere. You’re in the training yard in the afternoon, walking between your squad members to correct their positions. You’re at the stables in the evening, arguing with someone about your saddle in disrepair. You’re at the mess hall the next morning, laughing with Nanaba over something silly, your head tipped back in a way that fully exposes your throat and immediately makes Levi think of how nice it would be to kiss it.
It’s nothing. It’s not attraction, it’s not a crush, because he’s a full-grown man and he has no use for romantic attraction. It’s just… a normal appreciation of competence. It’s nothing.
Then you bend to pick up a dropped training knife, showing off your ass perfectly, and Levi walks straight into a wall.
So, not nothing, then.
.
By the fifth day, he’s found numerous excuses to pass through the training yard—at least three times.
The first time, he claims he’s merely checking formations and whether the recruits are holding it correctly. The second time, he claims the training dummies aren’t being raised correctly. The third time, he says nothing at all because even he knows another excuse won’t fool anyone.
You catch him near the fence line with his arms crossed, watching as you demonstrate a disarming technique to your squad. “Captain Ackerman,” you call, breathless from your exertion. “Are you here to criticize my form again?”
His mind immediately says Yes, then No. Tell her she moves well. Tell her that her squad trusts her. Tell her she can command a room without having to do anything. Tell her—
“Your stance is less terrible than usual,” Levi says. He slaps himself in his mind. Stupid.
You turn slowly. “Less terrible? Are you praising me?”
“It wasn’t praise.”
“Definitely sounded like praise,” you sing.
“Get your hearing checked.”
You grin. Levi looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. Your squad disperses after another hour, groaning with exhaustion, and you remain behind to gather the practice blades, humming under your breath while the wind blows through your hair.
Levi knows he should leave. He has reports, he has inspections, he has an office to clean and tea waiting for him that’ll oversteep if he continues standing here like some lovesick idiot. He finds himself walking toward you anyway.
“You’re wearing that wrong,” he says.
You look down at yourself, squinting your eyes. “Wearing what wrong?”
“Your harness.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’ve worn ODM gear for years.”
“Then it’s embarrassing that you managed to fuck it up this badly.”
You put both hands on your hips, cocking your head at him. “Alright, then. Fix it if it bothers you that much.”
His soul practically leaves his body, but because he has absolutely no self-preservation, he mutters, “Fine.”
He steps behind you and reaches for the strap crossing your back. It’s only slightly twisted, barely enough to matter, but he focuses on it as if the fate of the Walls depends on that strip of leather lying flat. Focusing on the strap is easier than focusing on how warm you are, how close you are, how you freeze when his hands settle at your waist to adjust the lower buckles.
This is normal, he thinks. You’ve adjusted soldiers’ gear before. He pulls and tightens. Then, he finally realizes this is not normal at all. He’s too busy thinking about your waist. How nice it feels under his hands. How nice it would be to hold it while he presses up against you from behind. Goddamnit, get it together. He tightens one strap, loosens another, checks the angle, then checks it again because he can’t bring himself to pull away.
“You’re awfully thorough,” you say.
Levi freezes. He hears the smile in your voice. A small one. Possibly innocent. Probably innocent. He can’t lean forward and investigate, because if he sees your expression, he may just blurt something stupid out like I like standing this close to you, and then he’ll have to desert the Scouts and live alone in a cave for the rest of his life.
“If you fall out of your gear, I’ll have to hear about it,” he says.
“Ah, so this is precaution.”
“Obviously.”
“You’re very thoughtful.”
“More like annoyed.” You laugh softly, and he finishes the adjustment too quickly, stepping away in an attempt to restore whatever part of his dignity just died. “There,” he says. “Try not to embarrass your rank.”
You turn to face him, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s just survived an internal war. “Thank you, Levi.”
He blinks at the use of his name. You usually don’t say his first name. It’s always Captain, Captain Ackerman, or Captain Levi. Never just Levi. He looks away before his expression can give him away.
All he says is a simple, “Tch.”
.
You still don’t realize that Levi thinks of you differently, even weeks later.
Levi is rude to almost everyone, blunt with everyone, sparse with praise and allergic to any kind of emotional displays, so it doesn’t occur to you immediately that the insults he gives you are not the same as the ones he gives everyone else. You just assume Levi tolerates you, perhaps even respects you. You don’t assume Levi watches for whether you’ve eaten, or that he’s memorized how you take your tea, or that he once spent ten minutes deciding whether he should knock on your door with medicine in his hand when you were out sick one day.
Hange assumes all of it, and unfortunately for you, Hange assumes very loudly.
In the mess hall, you sit alone at the end of one table with a bowl of stew, a cup of tea, and a stack of formation notes you’re trying to read without dripping broth on them. Even now, you don’t know how to stop working. Hange slides into the seat across from you so quickly that the table shifts. You look up, raising your brows.
“Hello to you too,” you say.
“You and Levi,” Hange says.
You pause with your spoon halfway to your mouth. “Me and Levi what?”
“Oh, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you haven’t noticed.”
You stare at them, and Hange stares back, eyes bright behind their glasses, their expression so gleeful it’s almost terrifying.
“Hange,” you say slowly. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Their smile falters, then returns even wider. “Oh, that’s even better.”
“Why am I scared?”
“You should be. I know something.”
“You say that a lot.”
Hange waves that away, then leans closer. “Levi has a crush on you.”
You almost drop your spoon into your lap. Surely they must be joking, right? The words don’t even make sense at first. They enter your brain, bounce around for a few seconds, then immediately get rejected by every sensible part of you.
“Levi,” you repeat.
“Yes.”
“Captain Levi Ackerman.”
“Yes.”
“Humanity’s strongest soldier. That Levi.”
“Do we have another emotionally stunted short man named Levi wandering around?”
You look across the mess hall at Levi, standing near the far wall, speaking with Erwin. His arms are folded across his chest, face blank as always. Nothing about him suggests he has a crush on you. The man looks like he was born to disapprove of everyone and everything. To be fair, he already does.
“He insulted my uniform,” you say.
Hange leans even further in. “I saw him fix your cloak.”
“He told me my paperwork was tolerable.”
“Levi considers tolerable high praise.”
“He said I would make a terrible wife.”
“He was totally thinking about you being his wife.” You open your mouth, then close it, because you have absolutely nothing to say in response to that. Hange presses on with a devilish smile. “He brings you tea, too,” they say.
“So?”
“Good tea.” That makes you pause. “He corrects your supply forms before Erwin sees them.”
“So? He corrects everyone’s forms.”
“No, he writes ‘redo this garbage’ on everyone else’s. Yours come back fixed.” You can only blink in response. “He always says something when your squad gets stable duty, and somehow those assignments always mysteriously change.”
“That could be Erwin.”
“It’s not Erwin, trust me.”
“Okay, well… he criticized my gear.”
“That was only an excuse to touch you.”
“Hange.”
“What? I’m observant.”
You sneak a glance at Levi again, and as though sensing your gaze, he looks over. His eyes meet yours across the mess hall, and you see the smallest shift in his expression. A fondness you hadn’t seen before. He then notices Hange sitting across from you, sees the wide grin on their face, and he narrows his eyes with immediate suspicion. Hange waves. Levi looks like he’s considering whether he could get away with murder. Then you notice—and you’re entirely convinced you’re just seeing things—the redness blooming across his cheekbones when he looks at you again.
Oh.
Oh?
That is, unfortunately, very cute.
Then you realize. It all hits you at once. The tea outside your office, the fixing of your cloak, the bread that mysteriously showed up on your desk, the fact that he somehow always manages to appear when you’re carrying something heavy, the way his insults land just a little softer when they’re directed at you.
“You’re enjoying this, you naughty thing,” you accuse Hange.
“Immensely.”
“If you’re wrong, I’m going to look very stupid.”
“I’m not wrong.”
“You’ve been wrong before.”
“I’m rarely wrong in matters this entertaining.”
Across the room, Levi pushes away from the wall and starts walking toward you. You feel your stomach drop as Hange stands up.
“Good luck,” they whisper.
You look to them in panic. “Hange, don’t leave—”
“Be gentle. He’s not emotionally housebroken.”
They vanish before Levi arrives, leaving you sitting with your lukewarm stew, your scattered notes, and the sudden realization that Levi Ackerman has been crushing on you for who knows how long now?
Levi stops beside the table. “What did they say?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
He narrows his eyes. “Nothing usually means something.”
“It means nothing, actually.”
“That’s somehow worse.”
You look up at him and, for the first time, allow yourself to study him with the possibility of affection returned. He looks the same as always: tight mouth, sharp eyes, neat cravat, straight posture. But now you see the tiny tells beneath it. He doesn’t look at you directly for too long. His attention flicks to your tea, your food, your notes. His fingers twitch once at his side before he forces them to be still.
He’s nervous. Levi Ackerman is nervous.
You nearly break into a way-too-obvious smile, but thankfully, you manage to just tilt your head. “Captain,” you say, “are you worried about me?”
“No.”
“Well, that was a quick answer.”
“Because it was an easy question.”
“So you’re not worried about me.”
“No.”
“And if I skipped dinner?”
His eyes flick to your bowl. “You’re eating dinner.”
“But if I did.”
“Then you’d be an idiot.”
“You’d notice, though.”
Levi looks at you pointedly, and you smile. You see the visible tightening around his mouth and the subtle shift in his breathing.
“Hard not to notice when someone is being an idiot in public,” he says.
You lean your chin into your hand. “You know, if you wanted my attention so badly, you could’ve just asked for it.”
You swear Levi stops breathing. You see the hitch in his breath. His face doesn’t change as much, but you see the subtle shift in his eyes, the catastrophic collapse happening behind them that he’s so desperately trying to hide.
She knows, Levi thinks, then with rising horror, She knows, and Hange told her. I’m going to kill them. “I have better things to do than ask for your attention,” he says, swallowing through the tightness in his throat.
“And yet, here you are,” you say, smiling widely.
Because he doesn’t know where else to look, he peers at your notes. “Your handwriting is messy again.”
“Deflection.”
“Mere observation.”
“You make a lot of those about me.”
“Someone has to.”
You laugh. Levi wishes he didn’t love that sound as much as he does.
You become an absolute menace after that.
.
You don’t do it immediately—you’re too clever for that, and Levi is too slippery to corner. So, you start with small things, such as sitting beside him instead of across from him at the next briefing, which he notices immediately. He stiffens in response.
“Morning,” you say cheerfully.
He looks at the empty chairs around the table. “There are other seats.”
“I like this one.”
“It’s too close.”
“To what?”
“To me, idiot.”
You look at him innocently, batting your eyelashes. “Am I bothering you, Captain?”
Yes, Levi thinks, because you’re too close that he can clearly smell your divine scent, and because your sleeve brushes his when you reach for a report, and because he can see the little crumb that you must not have fully swept away on your mouth and wants to stupidly wipe it off.
“No,” he says.
“Good.”
Hange bites their knuckles across the table.
Later in the mess hall, you ask Levi to pass you a fork. The utensils are closer to you than to him. It doesn’t go over his head, but he reaches for it anyway, because he’s embarrassingly obedient to you. When he hands it over, you deliberately brush your fingers over his. Levi nearly drops the fork. He doesn’t, thankfully, but he manages to keep his hand steady, even though internally, he wants to run face-first into a wall.
You lower your voice. “Careful, Captain. You seem distracted.”
He glares at you. “You’re imagining things.”
“Oh, am I?”
“Yes.”
“That was also a very fast answer.”
“You ask stupid questions.”
“And you still answer them anyway.”
You catch his eyes flicking down to your mouth only once, only for the smallest amount of time, but you see it, and all traces of wanting to tease him escape your body.
For all your amusement, for all the fun of watching him unravel, you’re not immune to him. Levi’s awkwardness is adorable, yes, and his insults are ridiculous as they are normal, but you know how to decipher the way he shows you attention. He’s always fiercely contained. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to crack that composure just a little.
After dinner, he follows you in the always-empty corridor outside the mess hall, the one just around the corner. He positions himself in front of you, standing near a window where the moonlight cuts across his face.
“You’re doing this on purpose now,” he says.
You stop walking. “Doing what?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
“I’m not. I want to hear you say it.”
He clenches his jaw. There’s no one else in the corridor, so surely, he can say it with little repercussions, right? Levi looks at you, then shifts his gaze away.
“You’ve been acting strange,” he says.
“I’ve been acting strange?”
“Yes.”
“That’s interesting.”
“No, it’s just annoying.”
You step a little closer, but Levi doesn’t move. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” you ask softly.
“No.”
“No?”
“You’re not making me uncomfortable.”
“Then what am I making you?”
His eyes meet yours, and for once, he doesn’t seem to have an insult resting on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike. The silence stretches for a moment longer than necessary.
“Annoyed,” he says finally, crossing his arms.
“Ooh, that’s the answer you’re going with?”
“It’s the answer you’re getting.”
“Levi.”
His name again. You use it gently, and the effect it has on him is visible in the slight flare of his nostrils and his fingers flexing once against his sleeve.
“You can tell me to stop,” you say.
“I know.”
“And?”
“And I won’t.” Levi looks irritated by his own honesty, but he doesn’t retract. His gaze drops to your mouth, snaps back to your eyes, drops again before he can stop it, and this time both of you know. Both of you feel it. Both of you stop denying it. “I can’t think straight around you,” he says very quietly. The words seem to surprise him as much as they surprise you.
Your smile melds into a softer one. “Do you want me to back off?”
“No.”
You take another step closer. “Do you want me to keep teasing you?”
Levi looks genuinely pained when he says, “You’re enjoying this too much.”
You shrug. “A little.”
“Brat.”
You raise your hand slowly, giving him enough time to move away if he so wishes, and you touch the edge of his cravat, feeling the fold beneath your fingers. He tracks the movement with his eyes as if your hand is a blade.
“Do you want to kiss me, Levi?” you ask.
Levi’s heart drops straight through the floor. There are many things he can do under pressure. He can make impossible decisions with blood on his hands. He can move faster than fear. He can face death with a blank expression. But this—a direct question, so clear in its intent, asked in your soft voice while you stand close enough for him to count your eyelashes—destroys him completely.
But he’s tired of losing to himself.
“Yes,” he says.
“Then what’s stopping you?” you whisper.
He waits a second longer, just enough to make sure you don’t step back or retreat fully, just enough to give you the chance to change your mind. You don’t, so Levi kisses you.
At first, he’s too careful, his mouth pressed against yours with restraint. It feels like he’s holding back an army, one hand hovering near your waist before he places it there. You feel the tension coiled in him, the uncertainty buried inside him. Levi doesn’t kiss you with any sort of confidence. He’s scared. You can tell. So you help him. You step into him, sliding one hand to his shoulder and the other to the side of his face, and kiss him back hard enough that his breath leaves him in a startled exhale.
Then he changes. Some guarded place inside him finally lets down its walls as his hand grips your waist and his mouth moves against yours with deeper intention, having thought about this moment for longer than he’ll ever admit. Every insult and cup of tea has been leading him here, to this corridor, to this moment, to the relief of wanting you and discovering that you want him too.
And goddamit, do you want him.
When you part, you stay close, your noses brushing, his hand still at your waist, having forgotten to let go—and when he remembers, he still doesn’t pull away. He notices your smile first.
“What?” he asks.
“You’re totally blushing.”
“What? No I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Stop it.”
“Levi Ackerman is blushing from one kiss?”
“You and your fucking ego.”
You laugh, and he can’t help the small smile that creeps onto his lips. Then he’s pulled back to exactly how you even got to this point, and his almost-smile curdles into a scowl.
“Don’t flirt with me in front of Hange again,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because they’ll never shut up about it.”
You tilt your head. “And?”
Levi looks down the corridor once, then turns back to you. “And because I’ll probably embarrass myself,” he almost mumbles.
“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” you say. He looks slightly skeptical. “Levi. I asked you if you wanted to kiss me and you said yes. That was actually very impressive.”
“Tch.”
“For you, I mean.”
He narrows his eyes. You just laugh and kiss his cheek once before walking away with glee in your steps, leaving behind a very miserable, blushing Levi.
.
The days after your kiss are strange, for lack of a better word. You and him don’t announce anything to anyone else, which Levi appreciates, because if Hange finds out, he’ll never know peace again. But privacy doesn’t mean mercy—you’re too evil for that. You’re gentle with him still, but you’re also you, and you’ve realized very quickly that Levi’s composure is a door with a faulty hinge.
You touch his hand in meetings. You call him Levi and sometimes Vi in passing and watch him stop as his face flushes red. You smile at him over your drinks and soup and bread in the mess hall. You tell him, after one long afternoon of reports, “You know, you’re almost sweet when you’re pretending not to be.”
He looks up from his paperwork and accidentally leaves a line of ink across the page. You stifle a laugh. He’s not going to be happy when he looks back down.
“I’m not sweet,” he says.
“Almost sweet.”
“Still wrong.”
“You brought me tea yesterday unprompted.”
“I always do. And you looked dead.”
“Aw, you noticed?”
“Hard to miss.”
“Because I looked pretty?”
“Because you looked dead.”
“Pretty dead?”
He stares at you. You stare back. His mouth twitches first.
Another thing that fits into your long, exhausting days are the stolen kisses. A brief one in the narrow hall outside the records room. A longer, messier one in his office after you bring him corrected notes. One in the shadowed stairwell that ends with him muttering, “You’re going to get us caught,” even though he’s the one who pulls you back by your wrist when you start to leave.
Every kiss teaches you something. Levi likes to pretend he isn’t affected by you, but he’s always betrayed by his hands. They start almost formal, then grow bolder when you respond, fingers spreading along your waist, your back, the side of your neck. He doesn’t make much sound unless you surprise him, and once you realize that, you become silently determined to surprise him every chance you can get.
He learns too. He learns that you like when he says your name softly, in the low, rough voice he uses when he’s too flustered to hide behind composure. He learns that you laugh into kisses when he deepens it out of nowhere. He learns that if he cups your jaw and tilts your face toward his, your breath catches so beautifully that it makes his heart flip.
One night, after a late strategy review, after Erwin dismisses the squad leaders and Hange leaves with an extremely pointed and suggestive look, Levi mutters, “Walk into a Titan’s mouth,” under his breath as soon as the door shuts and returns to his office. You join him because Levi still has your patrol notes. It’s just an excuse—both of you know it.
Rain taps gently against the windows. Levi stands behind his desk with your papers in one hand while he scans the revised schedule. Meanwhile, you lean against the edge of a cabinet and try not to watch his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
“You changed the rotation,” he says.
“Mhm.”
“It’s better.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Was that praise I just heard?”
“Observation.”
“A positive one.”
“You’re making it weird.”
He looks up, but there’s a different look to his eyes, something worn down by days of wanting you and stopping and wanting you again. You feel your body answer, a warm pull in your lower stomach, the ache that’s been building every time he kisses you longer than you expect. Levi sees your expression shift, and he grips his papers tighter.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to start trouble.”
You push away from the cabinet slowly. “Would you like me to stop?”
He hates that question with a passion. Every time you ask it, it matters. You give him enough space to refuse, to breathe, to get himself together, and it makes him want you more than any stupid flirtatious remark ever could.
“No,” he says.
You approach him slowly. Levi sets the papers down, aligning them with the edge of the desk, as he always does. When you reach him, you don’t smash your lips against his—even though you desperately want to. Instead, you touch his sleeve first, then his wrist, then the back of his hand where his fingers rest against the desk.
“Stop thinking so hard,” you say.
“It’s what I’m used to.”
“I know.”
His gaze drops to your mouth. “You make it worse.”
“Good worse or bad worse?”
“Depends on what you do next.”
You kiss him, and there’s nothing quick about it this time. Levi’s hand rises to cup your face almost instantly, gripping your jaw firmly. The little sound he makes when you press yourself up against him is so involuntary, it makes your pulse jump and heat spread through your limbs. You back him into the desk by accident or maybe not, and he reaches up to grab your waist with his other hand. The desk creaks behind him.
Levi breaks away first, breathing unevenly, forehead nearly touching yours. “Wait,” he says.
You freeze immediately. “Sorry.”
“No, not—” He exhales sharply, frustrated with himself, then looks away. “Not stop. Just wait.”
You nod, sliding your hands down to rest against his chest. “We can wait.”
“That’s—no, that’s not what I—I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
There’s no insult waiting on his tongue this time. Levi looks down at your hands against his shirt, at the simple intimacy of being touched without being grabbed or wanted without being cornered. He swallows. You watch the anxiety move through him, which might not be visible to anyone else, but it’s obvious to you now.
“I’m not…” He stops, then sighs. “I’m not inexperienced, but I’ve only done this once before. A… a long time ago. It wasn’t—” His mouth twists. “It was fine. But it wasn’t this.” Levi looks angry with himself for even saying it. “And now you’re looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“I—I don’t know. Like I’m—like you could break me.”
“I don’t think that. But you are nervous, aren’t you?” His silence answers for him. You lift one hand to his face, touching him with enough care that he nearly closes his eyes. “That’s okay.”
His laugh is barely a breath. “Doesn’t feel okay.”
“It is. I promise you.”
“I don’t want to be bad at this.”
You smile and brush your thumb along his cheek. “Levi, you’re not being graded.”
“That sounds like something you say before giving a bad grade.”
You laugh softly. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I want you,” you say, and your directness makes him freeze. “I don’t want a perfect version of you who knows exactly what to say or do. I want you. Nervous you, awkward you. A you who insults me because you don’t know how to flirt—”
“I know how to flirt,” he frowns. “I told you that you looked better than you did yesterday.”
“That is the worst excuse for flirting I’ve ever heard, baby,” you whisper. His ears turn red, and you grin.
“Shut up,” he mutters.
You kiss him again. His hand comes to rest on your waist, your fingers slide beneath his jacket, and his breath hitches when you move closer. Levi’s anxiety doesn’t just disappear, but his nerves settle under your touch. With your comfort, he’s able to move through them instead of having them stop him.
When you begin taking off his jacket, you pause, waiting. He nods once, so you continue, and the jacket falls from his shoulders. Levi catches it before it can hit the floor, and in a motion that stuns you, he turns, folds it once over the back of the chair, smooths the fabric out, then turns back to look at you.
You stare at him. He stares back. “What?” he says.
“Are you seriously folding your clothes right now?”
“I’m not leaving them on the floor like an animal.”
“Levi.”
“What?”
“We’re having a moment.”
“And I can have a moment and have basic standards too.”
You look at him for a second, then you start laughing, almost too loudly. It spills out of you before you can stop it. You don’t know what you expected, but you honestly shouldn’t be surprised that Levi Ackerman can be flushed, breathless, visibly aroused, and still be a clean freak.
“If you laugh at me right now, I’m leaving,” he mumbles.
“No, you’re not.”
“No… I’m not,” he says, irritated that he’s proven your point.
You catch his face in both hands and kiss him before he can recover, and that completely breaks his restraint. He grips your waist as he turns you and presses you back against the desk, enough to make you gasp and make his breath shudder in response. You feel him tremble once, or maybe it’s just you, or maybe it’s both of you. When you slide your fingers into his hair, ruining his neat parting, he makes a low, strained sound against your mouth.
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You tell me if—”
“Yes.”
He searches your face for any hesitation. “Don’t just say it because—”
“Levi,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his. “I promise. I’ll tell you. You tell me too.”
He swallows, then he nods. He folds his cravat next, because that’s also non-negotiable, and you bite your lip so hard to keep yourself from laughing that he points at you and says, “Don’t.” You help him with your own clothes and he tries not to stare too obviously until you step closer and guide his hands to you.
“You can touch me,” you say.
He flexes his fingers. “I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m not trying to be an idiot.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“But I trust you.”
Levi pulls you into the adjoining room—his quarters, a space you’ve only seen in glimpses before. He leads you there with your hand in his, fingers laced tight. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, you both stare at each other. You feel your heartbeat in your throat as you both begin shedding the rest of what you’re wearing.
Levi pauses, his shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes flicking over you with that same mix of hunger and hesitation that’s been building for weeks. “Can I… undress you?” He sounds like he’s asking for permission to breathe.
You nod. “Yes.”
He exhales, the sound shaky, and steps closer. His hands rise to your shoulders first, sliding your shirt off. He follows the path of the fabric with his mouth, soft kisses pressed to the curve of your shoulder, then the side of your neck. His breath is warm.
Then you feel the faint tremble in his fingers as they roam lower, tracing the line of your ribs, the dip of your waist, mapping you without looking. He tugs at the rest of your clothes, peeling them away until you’re bare before him. His eyes are dark and wide with want. He can’t believe that you’re real, that you’re here, that you want him. The anxiety spikes again, making his hands shake just enough that you notice.
You reach up, covering one of his trembling hands with yours. You whisper against his ear, “It’s okay, Levi. Breathe. I’m right here with you.”
You see his shoulders loosen by a fraction. He presses a longer kiss to your neck, sucking gently at the skin until a bruise blooms. He then pulls back to finish undressing himself. You don’t pay attention to where the rest of his clothes end up, because by the time they’re off, he’s guiding you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as he climbs over you.
He doesn’t hesitate when he shifts lower and settles between your thighs. Without warning, he dives in, mouth hot against you as his tongue strokes in a long, slow lick. It sends a jolt straight through your core. You jump, a gasp tearing from your throat. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through his locks and gripping tight. The sensation is overwhelming despite its lightness.
Levi pulls up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, then you see the panic overtake him. “I’m sorry, I should have asked first, I just—”
“Don’t stop,” you breathe out quickly, your grip on his hair easing but not releasing. “I was just surprised. It felt good—really good. Please, keep going.”
You see the relief wash over him. Something hungrier takes its place. He nods once, then lowers himself again. His tongue teases your clit in firm strokes, alternating pressure that makes your hips twitch upward. At the same time, one hand slides between your legs, fingers slicking through your folds before one presses inside, curling just right as he adds a second.
The combination is devastating—his mouth sucking and licking with growing confidence, fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm that gathers heat in your belly. Levi’s thoughts race. He wants you to feel good. He wants to make you fall apart—and it shows in the way he devours you. His tongue flicks faster over your sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers work deeper, scissoring gently to stretch you.
Your moans threaten to spill out too loud, so you grab the corner of the pillow and bite down hard, the fabric muffling the sounds as your back arches. Levi notices, glancing up with a small, breathless laugh.
“Cute,” he says, the word soft and fond before he doubles his efforts. His tongue presses flat and broad, then flicks rapidly while his fingers pump in time. The wet sounds of it mix with your muffled gasps. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter, your thighs trembling around his head as he pushes you higher.
Your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Your body clenches around his fingers as you ride it out, hips rolling against his mouth. He doesn’t pull away, licking you through every pulse, drinking you in with appreciative sounds until the peak fades and you’re left panting. The pillow is still clutched in your teeth.
Only then does he ease back. He presses gentle kisses to your inner thighs before crawling up your body again. His lips find yours in a deep, lingering kiss. The taste of you is shared between you. He presses against you, hard and aching to feel you, but he’s content to just hold you close.
He trails kisses from your jaw down to the middle of your throat. You feel the rapid beating of his heart against your chest, matching your own. When he pulls back slightly, his eyes are dark and wide, but you can see the flicker of anxiety within them—the hesitation that he's been dragging with him the moment you stepped into his quarters.
“I want to,” he says. His fingers trace your hipbones. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t—” He stops, clenching his jaw, searching for the right words that won’t make him sound as vulnerable as he feels inside.
You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You won’t hurt me,” you whisper. “We go slow. We stop if anything feels wrong. I trust you, Levi.”
The sound of his name seems to unlock something in him. He exhales shakily, nodding once, and shifts his hips to align with you. His length presses against your entrance. You feel the tremor that runs through his arms as he braces himself above you. He’s trying so hard to be controlled, to be careful—but you can see the strain in his shoulders and his breath hitching.
He pushes in slowly, and the stretch is intense. Your breath catches, back arching slightly as your body adjusts. He’s thicker than you anticipated, filling you almost overwhelmingly. Levi notices instantly and freezes, his eyes snapping to yours with panic.
“Are you—should I stop?” he gasps, already starting to pull out.
“No!” you manage to say, gripping his shoulders tight. You wait a moment, letting yourself relax around him. Then you let out a breathy laugh that’s half wonder and half sensation. “You’re just… you’re big. Really big.”
Levi scoffs, though the sound is strained and his face is flushed. “Stop exaggerating,” he mutters. He’s still holding himself perfectly still, afraid of causing you pain by moving.
“I’m not exaggerating,” you insist, squirming slightly beneath him, which makes him groan low in his throat. “I need a minute to adjust. You’re filling me up so much, Levi.”
The explicit confirmation completely breaks him. His face goes red—truly, deeply red, even coloring the tips of his ears—and he lets out a choked sound of embarrassment. He ducks his head down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, hiding from you. You feel the heat of his blush against your skin and his chest rising with mortified breaths.
You can’t help the small giggle that comes out. You thread your fingers through his hair, holding him close. “Hey,” you whisper. “It’s a good thing. I promise. Just… give me a second.”
He mumbles something unintelligible against your neck. His hands slide down to grip your waist. You feel the slight shaking of them. Even now, while he’s joined with you, he can’t shake his nerves. It’s almost endearing.
Once the initial burn eases into a pleasant ache, you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him deeper. “Okay,” you breathe. “Okay, move. Please.”
Levi lifts his head slowly. His expression is still flushed, eyes glassy with arousal. He searches your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he begins to move. His first thrusts are almost torturous in their gentleness. He rocks into you with shallow rolls of his hips, testing the rhythm and depth, watching your face carefully for any adverse reactions.
“You feel,” he starts, then stops, letting out a sharp breath. “You feel too good. I can’t—”
“Then don’t hold back,” you tell him, dragging your nails down his back. “Let go, Levi. I can take it.”
The leash around his neck snaps. His pace quickens, thrusts deepening as he loses himself in the sensation of you wrapped around him. The bed shifts beneath you, the frame groaning as he moves faster and harder. The sound of your skin meeting grows louder in the quiet room. He’s still trying to maintain some control—you see it in the strain of his neck muscles. But it’s slipping, eroding with every clench of your body around him.
You look up at him, watching the first bead of sweat forming on his forehead. His hair has fallen into his eyes. He’s beautiful like this—undone and desperate.
“Captain,” you whisper.
Levi’s eyes flash. He responds with a single, brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs and causes you to throw your head back against the pillow. You cry out, hands flying to grip his biceps. Your nails dig in hard enough to leave marks.
He doesn’t apologize. He leans down, kissing you as he continues to drive into you. His tongue sweeps through your mouth, devouring, and you meet him eagerly. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he increases his pace. The kiss becomes messy, teeth clicking, breaths mingling in gasps. He pistons his hips, each thrust rocking the bed against the wall.
You’re his. That’s the only thought in his mind now, primal, washing away the last of his nerves. You’re here and you’re his and you want this, want him. He can’t focus on the kiss anymore, can’t split his attention between the taste of your mouth and the heat gripping him so perfectly. He breaks away with a low sound, forehead dropping to rest against yours. His eyes squeeze shut. He surrenders completely to the need pounding through him.
His hips become relentless, a rhythm that has you gasping and clutching at him. You feel the tension coiling low in your belly again. The friction of him drags against your walls, building you toward another peak. The sounds coming from you are embarrassingly loud—moans and whines that seem to echo. You instinctively raise a hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the noise.
Levi’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist before you can hide your sounds. He pins your arm back against the pillow, then does the same with the other. He traps both wrists in one of his hands above your head. His eyes open, burning into yours.
“Don’t,” he growls, voice gravelly. “Don’t cover your mouth. I want to hear you. Need to hear you.” He ruts in particularly hard, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. “Louder,” he demands, practically begging. “Please, let me hear how good I’m making you feel. Let me—fuck—let me hear it.”
His words, the desperation in them, the way he’s holding you open and vulnerable while he pounds into you, has your toes curling and back arching off the bed. You let the sounds come freely, cries of his name breaking from your lips. He groans in response, a visceral sound of satisfaction. His free hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing in circling strokes.
“Levi—” you gasp, straining against his grip. “I’m close, I’m so close—”
“Cum for me,” he pants. His own rhythm falters slightly as his own peak barrels down on him. “Cum on my cock, let me feel you—”
The coil snaps. You cry out loudly as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. Your cunt clamps down on him so tightly he curses, a strained, filthy sound. He keeps thrusting through your climax, dragging out the bliss until his own control breaks.
With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his body locking into place above you. You feel him pulse inside you, feel the heat of his release flooding you as he cums with a ragged groan. He collapses forward, but catches himself on one arm. The other releases your wrists to cradle your face instead.
He kisses you messily as he empties himself into you, his hips giving small, involuntary jerks with each pulse of his orgasm. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He kisses you through the falling peak, his tongue languid against yours now. When he finally pulls back slightly, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed. The anxiety has been completely washed away and replaced by something sated.
“You okay?” he mutters, thumb stroking your cheekbone.
You laugh and press a kiss to his jaw. “Better than okay. You?”
He huffs out a sound that might be a laugh. He hides his face in your neck again. “Yeah,” he breathes against your skin. “Yeah. I’m good. We’re good.”
When he pulls back again, you see the color high on his cheeks again. He slowly withdraws and falls beside you. The room is dark except for the grey light from the window. Levi lies stiffly at first—as if sharing a bed with you is somehow more intimate than the sex. You almost laugh again, but then you see the uncertainty in his expression.
You touch his bare chest, fingers stroking his skin. He looks at you. “You can relax,” you whisper.
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re all tense like you’re on trial.”
His mouth twitches, so you move closer, resting your head on his shoulder. After a moment, his arm wraps around you, tentative for half a second before it relaxes, drawing you against him.
“There,” you say. “Wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“Tch. You’re annoying.”
“You like me.”
He’s quiet for long enough that you think he’s either asleep or just ignoring you, but then his arm tightens around you.
“Yeah,” he says.
.
Morning arrives. You don’t know where you are at first. There’s a strange warmth at your back, light pouring through at an angle that you usually don’t see in your room, the faint smell of black tea and clean linen, and an arm resting around your waist.
Then Levi shifts behind you, and everything comes rushing back to you so fast your only response is a small squeak. You remember the office, his confession, his stupid folded jacket, his mouth and hands, his body fitting against yours.
You turn carefully. Levi is awake, his hair slightly disheveled as his eyes fix on you, less guarded than usual. “Morning,” you whisper.
He stares at you for a few seconds, then, because he’s Levi and doesn’t know what else to say, he says, “You drool.”
You open your mouth in offense. “I do not.”
“You did.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“On my pillow.”
“You’re lying.”
“Badly, apparently, since you’re not convinced.”
You shove his shoulder lightly, but he grabs your wrist without the intent to stop you. He brushes his thumb over your inner wrist once. You look past him and notice his boots aligned near the wall, his pants half-folded on the chair beside it. Then, on the floor near the foot of the bed, you see his shirt. Wrinkled and abandoned and scandalously unfolded. Your eyes widen with joy. He follows your gaze, then freezes.
“Oh,” you say softly, “Captain.”
“No.”
“You left that on the floor.”
“Stop.”
“Like an animal.”
He groans and closes his eyes. You start laughing before you can help it, and he rolls onto his back with a long sigh. He knows it’s way too early in the morning for such nonsense. You know it too. Will you stop? Absolutely not.
“I—I was distracted,” he stammers.
“You? Distracted?”
“Don’t sound so happy about it.”
“I’m incredibly happy about it.”
“You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters.
Levi realizes what he said at the exact same moment you do. He opens his eyes, but he doesn’t turn to look at you yet. He stares at the ceiling, wondering if it’s possible to just disappear off the face of the earth forever. You turn toward him slowly, your grin widening and softening at the same time.
“You love me?” you tease.
His face changes in increments: irritation, realization, horror, resignation. “No.”
“Really? You just said it though.”
“I’m tired.”
“So am I, and I’m talking just fine.”
“Fine. Then I was… vulnerable.”
“That’s even worse for you.”
“Shut up.”
You prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him while your heart beats hard. “You love me.”
Levi stares at the ceiling, hoping it’ll fall on him and crush him at this very moment. Then, with a sigh that sounds like it was dragged from the very bottom of his soul, he reaches for you and pulls you down against him, hiding his face near your neck where you can’t see the color in his cheeks.
“You’re making this weird,” he says.
“It is weird.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
“It definitely does. You insulted me for months because you had a crush.”
“I brought you tea.”
“You called me sloppy.”
“You were sloppy.”
“You also fixed my cloak. What was that about?”
“It was crooked.”
“And you told me my paperwork was tolerable.”
“It was.”
“Marriage proposal,” you whisper.
He groans into your shoulder. You laugh, smiling into his hair. Levi doesn’t tell you to stop, and instead just holds you there, letting the morning continue in all its noise and duty, while the two of you exist in the aftermath of your surrender to each other.
Levi still has no idea what to do with romantic feelings. They’ll remain inconvenient for now. Messy and, quite frankly, a nightmare. But when you trace circles over his shoulder and whisper that he’s the sweetest man you know, when you laugh softly against his mouth after he tells you not to push your luck, when your hand finds his beneath the blanket and he squeezes without thinking, he decides that maybe being terrible at feeling doesn’t mean he can’t learn how to feel.
After all, if you’re the one teaching him, he might just survive it.
Can you recommend fanfics about Levi, and Levi x reader?
Hi Anon! Oh my goodness, there are so many good Levi fics out there that it's difficult for me to list all the ones I've read and loved over the years. @littlerequiem wrote a VERY GOOD list of Levi x reader fics that is better than I could ever put together, but here's some that I've read in the past and really, really enjoyed:
Multi-Chapter Fics
we all bleed red by @littlerequiem (vampire AU, 18+)
we mourned the sea by @littlerequiem (postwar)
Silver Underground by @amywritesthings (pre-canon)
press four for more options by @amywritesthings (modern au, nsfw)
dating on airplane mode by @amywritesthings (modern au, nsfw)
Kintsugi by @humanitys-strongest-brat (figure skating AU)
Unspoken Words by @chaotic-on-main (mute reader)
To You, 1000 Years From Now by @lordalastar (reverse isekai)
Fable by @mrsackermannx (postwar)
To Sing a Song of Steel by CaptainDegenerate (ao3 only, royalty AU, nsfw)
The Carnivore by CaptainDegenerate (ao3 only, reverse isekai, nsfw)
Military Brat by @nilfgaardianleviosa (ao3 only, military AU, nsfw)
"get me a damned matcha" by @humanitys-strongest-bamf (coffee shop and roommates AU)
Fragments by @mrsackxrman (canon, ao3 only)
ONE-SHOTS
Midnight Ventures by @littlerequiem (canon, nsfw)
For the Living by @thechaoticarchivist
Redecorate by @thechaoticarchivist
All the one shots by @jlle-marie (it's too difficult to pick just one)
Why Can't We Have Both by @romantichomicide95 (two shot - all of her one shots and drabbles are great!)
Letters from the Other Side by @willreigns
There's so much more out there that I haven't been able to properly dive into yet (I'm looking at you, @alizha @nightthawkss @bumblebeeonthistle and @inkedwhimsee), but I hope this gives you a place to start. Thanks for stopping by!
tw: cockwarming, sex (what else did u expect from me??)
"you are soo bad at this game"
your voice cut through the slashing and grunting sounds coming out of the video game your boyfriend was currently playing. you didn't even know the name of it, but you knew it was boring as fuck. your boyfriend's eyes drifted from the screen to gaze at you, lips parted and reading to protest at your remark before the character on the screen collapsed once more.
"fuck! maybe if you stopped making comments every two seconds, i would be able to end this shitty boss"
you could only roll your eyes at his behavior. poor guy is lying to himself, you thought. but you knew better than argue, this man's ego inflated like crazy whenever he got the controller in his hands. he was cute though, eyes focused, jaw tensed, breathing slightly shallow... god it was torture to look at him without being able to pull him into a kiss.
"just hurry up and beat him... do you know how hard it is to stay still?" your whiny tone almost made him twitch inside you. he couldn't deny it, it was hard to stay still for him too. your walls were just clenching to well around his cock, the tightness and warmth keeping him painfully hard.
"but we agreed on-"
"i don't care about that. it's been 30 minutes, i can't take it anymore!" your walls clenched tighter around his dick, as if your body was agreeing with your words. a strangled moan escaped his lips, hips jerking forward to thrust into that familiar heat. at that moment, you knew it: he lost for real this time.
the controller went flying across the room and you found his arms gripping your ass to lift you up. his cock dragged along your walls, the tip almost slipping out of your hungry hole before he lowered you back on it. a whimper tore from your mouth as he hit your spot, a rush of pleasure coursing down your spine after an eternity of waiting and craving for it. your hands grabbed his shoulders like an anchor, nails biting the skin in a pathetic attempt to not already cum on the spot. his dick was just too good. filling you up to the brim and stimulating your sweet spot with every thrust.
lifting your head, you saw the look on his face - hungry, lustful. but when your eyes met? his gaze suddenly softened, filled with affection. a hand came up to your face, cupping it to pull you into a sweet kiss while his thrusts slowed, now deep and purposeful. your hands slid down to his forearms, holding the meaty flesh to steady yourself. the constant stimulation soon overpowered your self-control and you felt yourself tilting over the edge. he sped up his thrusts when he felt you coming apart, fucking you through your orgasm anddd past it.
you figured he was just really pent-up from the cockwarming session but the pressure in your stomach increased as he kept drilling his cock into you without signs of stopping. soon enough, pleasure coiled again inside you and you knew you would be cumming again if he didn't get over with it in the next seconds.
"what the hell are you doing, just come already" you weakly pushed against his arms, squirming on his lap as you started to feel overwhelmed with the pleasure he was procuring you. your walls squeezed him harder, a telltale sign of you being at the edge again.
"i thought after cockwarming, we could try overstimulation too, no?"
author’s note: not proofread! i got this idea at 3am while trying to make a kenma bf smau (scrapped if).
you’ve been quietly watching kenma play for almost five minutes now. half of the time your eyes weren’t even on the screen, they were on him. well— his hair to be exact. you twirled a piece of his hair around your finger, inspecting his long overdue roots. you let go, finger caressing lovingly along his jaw.
“baby” you murmured. “have you thought about re-dying your hair?..”
he looked up at you, his catlike eyes meeting yours.
“i have, i’ve been procrastinating on it for some time.” the softness in his voice almost made you melt. you could listen to him for hours honestly. you already have before.
you mumbled a ‘mhm’ to show you were listening.
“do you wanna go back to black?” you suggested, blonde or black you didn’t care he’d look good either way.
he looked back at his monitor, resting his cheek in his palm.
“do you guys think i should go black or blonde?” he asked his viewers.
to be honest, you didn’t even know he was streaming. when you walked in he was quiet, even giving you a few kisses. you quickly recovered from your slight shock to stare at the chat. they were moving so fast you weren’t even able to read one!
“black it is.”
you side eyed him, did he even read the chat or just decide for himself?.. he stood up, stretching his limbs after being seated for hours. he let out a soft groan as he felt the relief spread through his body. you felt your cheeks get warmer, you continued staring not really caring if he saw. you wore your blush as a badge of honor.
a small chuckle escaped his lips, “really?” he said with a small smirk.
“what?” you answered shamelessly, a playful smirk on your own face as well.
he walked past you, placing a quick peck to your lips as he passed by. you followed him into the bathroom, noticing his phone was already propped up. you made the assumption he switched the live to his phone. you shrugged it off, crouching down to grab the unopened hair dye box.
kenma was sitting on the toilet, talking to his viewers. while he talked, you unboxed. you soon finished the necessary steps, now ready to start the coloring process.
while kenma was talking you squished his cheeks together, cutting him off.
“your skin is so soft, im jealous honestly.” you joked
you let go, gently caressing his cheek instead. he looked up at you, looking like he was wrapped around your finger.. and to be honest, he really is. he rested his hands on your hips—
fiftyshadesofgay donated $15 ‘infront of my salad?’
you both let out a giggle at the reference. you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling away to get the dye.
“the moment kenma actually decides to re-dye his hair.” you joked to yourself while mixing the dye.
“that wasn’t even funny why are they laughing..?” he jokingly complained after seeing ‘LOL’s and ‘LMAOOOO’s in the chat.
“not you being jealous ‘cus they like me more” you teased.
you stood infront of kenma and instantly felt his hands rest on your hips. your actions didn’t waver, already being used to his constant need to touch you. you dragged the small brush on the blonde parts of his hair, watching it disappear under the black.
kenma kept his eyes on you the whole time, as if you’d disappear if he looked away. his face had a small smile on it as he watched you enjoy yourself. his fingers slipped underneath your shirt, warm hands settling on your waist instead.
shulios: “he is so whipped bro😭”
fiftyshadesofgay: “i’m crying he not even hiding it no more”
kenlikesmen: “i love my wife final boss”
korasunae: “kenma you lucky bastard”
littlekodzuren: “someone clip this!!🥹”
99+ comments.
—
the stream had ended long ago, and the two of you were now in bed. your fingers raked through his hair, taking in the darker color instead of the fading blonde. kenma was rested on-top of you, his face pressed against your chest. he had fallen asleep an hour ago, claiming it was easier to sleep when he was with you.
his legs were tangled with yours as he hugged you in his sleep. even in his sleep he clung to you… cute.
you picked up your phone, seeing 99+ notifications on your screen. you raised an eyebrow and opened the app. you were on kenma’s account, so of course you’d get a lot of notifications. the first tweet you seen on the homepage was a clip of kenma looking utterly in love with you. kenma was just staring at you with a soft smile, seeing that made you smile too.
you swiped off the video to see what they titled the video as.
“streamer kodzuken is wrapped around his wife’s finger, many wish to have a relationship like theirs.”
you giggled quietly, careful not to wake kenma up. you turned off the phone, placing it back on the nightstand. you wrapped your arms around your kenma, soon drifting off to sleep with your husband in your arms.
crazy part is was they weren’t wrong. kenma loved waking up everyday being able to call you his wife. he wouldn’t know what he’d do without you. he would choose you to be his wife in every lifetime.
— kenma donates to your stream just for you to say his name.
ts!kozume kenma x streamer!f!reader
c: full of fluff!
i have been called unhinged, way too many times on this app because of my random ass ideas and i’m not really complaining.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
love, at its worst, is waiting two hours for your streamer girlfriend to start her live because she decided to nap. love, at its best, is still waiting two hours, dropping ten thousand dollars in twitch donations the second she breathes into the mic, and typing out something so embarrassing that your stock-trader-ceo-gamer pride cracks like a raw egg on hot concrete.
and kenma kozume—beloved boyfriend of the internet’s it girl streamer, sworn enemy of sunlight, permanent sufferer of chronically bent posture—is unfortunately in the latter camp.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the loading screen music starts. your fans (your “little gremlins,” as you call them lovingly) are already flooding the chat, 250k strong, typing at inhuman speeds.
@ ratking97: LETS GOOOOOO
@ frogchair: MOTHER IS HERE
@ yuumama: omg she’s late but she’s pretty so it’s fine
@ thecheeseempire: do i drop out of college to watch this live???
the screen flickers and then you appear. a blur of soft lighting, glossed lips, headphones crooked over your ears, oversized hoodie that could probably house a family of raccoons.
“hi, hi, hi!” you chirp, leaning close to the mic. “sorry i’m late, i, uh… overslept.”
the chat goes feral.
@ rdgnbeertoe: i forgive u
@ shrimpgod: step on me queen
@ milkbottlepop: YOUR HAIR. OH MY GOD.
@ chairfan77: i waited three years in line for taylor swift tickets and this feels more important somehow
kenma is sitting in his own setup, in his own room, watching this unfold with a blank expression that doesn’t match the fact that his heart is sprinting a marathon.
he’s already logged in. his finger is already hovering over the button. he doesn’t even blink before the first donation flies across your screen.
$10,000 donation from @ kodzuken:
i haven’t been this premature since birth.
you blink. mid-sip of water. almost choke.
“oh my—” you clap a hand over your mouth, laughing so hard your chair squeaks. “oh my god. kenma!”
the chat collectively combusts.
@ kingcrab420: PREMATURE??????
@ eggsaladprince: HE DID NOT
@ uwu2: that’s ur man huh. that’s the ceo. okay.
@ toiletseatcover: nah this is true romance
kenma slouches lower in his chair, hoodie swallowing his face. he types nothing. he simply clicks again.
$5,000 donation from @ kodzuken:
hi honey.
“hi honey,” you echo instantly, smile softening despite your attempt to keep it together. “you’re… you’re insane, you know that?”
chat is gleeful, feral.
@ pottedplant: HELLO??? HE JUST DROPPED 15K IN TEN SECONDS
@ ilovebreadsticks: nah he’s down bad. down catastrophic. down cataclysmic.
@ 7elevenhotdog: tell me why i feel single watching this
@ ghostofmywifi: prematurity speedrun any%
“kenma,” you squint at your monitor, “why are you like this? don’t you have stocks to trade? meetings to attend? a corporation to run?”
he doesn’t reply. not in words. only in another click.
$2,000 donation from @ kodzuken:
please say my name i miss you.
you pause, warmth rushing up your neck. “kenma.” you say it gently this time, like handing him a glass of water after running across the desert. “kenma, kenma, kenma.”
the sound of his name in your voice does terrible, wonderful things to him. he buries his face in his hands, groaning like you’ve personally attacked him.
chat is losing their collective minds.
@ taxfraudchamp: DID SHE JUST SAY HIS NAME LIKE IT WAS SACRED???
@ imjustapigeon: bruh if my gf streamed and said my name like that i would literally explode
@ yeehawmilk: kodzuken rn >>>>> romeo montague
@ raccoonwife: HE’S ROLLING ON THE FLOOR I JUST KNOW IT
“you’re ridiculous,” you murmur into the mic, giggling, trying to focus on the actual game you’re supposed to be playing. “ridiculous and—so cute. i love you.”
kenma, who has not physically moved in ten minutes, blinks like you’ve just hacked into his chest and turned his ribcage into an instrument.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
twenty minutes later, you’re mid-match. your concentration face is on, tongue peeking out, brows furrowed just a little. chat is in awe, writing entire novels about your skill and, frankly, your existence.
@ dietcolaangel: ur so pretty when ur focused wtf
@ doginboots: HOW IS SHE THIS GOOD
@ lettuceleaf_: i would pay for her hand in marriage like it’s ebay
kenma, meanwhile, is spiraling. because you’ve said “hi chat” like forty times but you haven’t said his name again. his bloodstream is basically carbonated soda at this point.
so he clicks.
$1,000 donation from @ kodzuken:
hi it’s me again. your boyfriend. remember me? say you remember me.
you burst out laughing mid-shootout, losing the round entirely. “KENMA. i literally just said i love you like—five minutes ago. of course i remember you!”
@ floorboard69: NAH HE’S SO INSECURE 😭😭😭
@ bugjuice: “remember me” HE ACTS LIKE HE DIED IN WW1
@ cucumberking: we are witnessing devotion on a spiritual level
@ lilypadfairy: i want someone to miss me like this
kenma groans into his sleeves. his ears are pink. you’re glowing on screen, laughing like you have the whole world in your throat, and he thinks maybe he actually would sell the company if it meant keeping you happy forever.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
after a while, you switch to just chatting, leaning on your desk, chin in your hand.
“okay, okay,” you say, scrolling through chat. “who wants storytime?”
chat erupts.
@ beanstalkbaby: MEEEEEEE
@ fishinthebucket: MOTHER TELL US A TALE
@ wifebeaterbottle: YESSSSSS
you smile, and kenma is done for. utterly, irreversibly ruined. because you’re telling some silly story about how your toaster almost set fire to your kitchen this morning, and you’re so animated, so bright, and everyone is in love with you.
he knows you love him. you say it all the time. but watching thousands of strangers adore you too? it lights something sharp in his chest. not jealousy. more like a fever. like he wants to carve his initials into your laugh so no one forgets it belongs to him.
so he types again.
$3,000 donation from @ kodzuken:
i’ll buy you ten new toasters if you say my name again.
“oh my god,” you laugh, covering your face with your hands. “kenma, i don’t need ten toasters. i need… one toaster. just one.” you peek at the camera, eyes soft. “kenma.”
he melts. literally melts into his chair. his bones turn to pudding.
chat notices immediately.
@ seaurchinlover: SHE SAID IT AGAINNNN
@ pencilpusher22: man’s addicted to hearing his own name 😭
@ slayturtle: he’s like a cat who meows until u call him cute
@ smellysock: this is the healthiest parasocial relationship i’ve ever seen
“you’re so dramatic,” you murmur, shaking your head. “but i love you.”
kenma’s throat goes dry. he whispers at his monitor, like you can hear him through sheer force of will: i love you more.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
the stream lasts another hour. you’re radiant the whole time, effortless, unbothered, while kenma hemorrhages money just for crumbs of your affection.
by the time you end it, the donation total from him alone is nearing twenty-five thousand. chat is unwell.
@ firehydrantfan: 25K??? FOR AFFECTION??? I NEED TO DATE A STREAMER
@ bugdust: this is what love looks like huh
@ treefrog: kodzuken is either insane or the blueprint
@ eggrolls: nah he’s insane and the blueprint
you yawn into the mic. “alright, i think that’s it for me tonight. thanks for hanging out, gremlins. kenma, thanks for, uh… your… really dramatic donations. i’m literally going to bonk you when i see you.”
chat screams.
@ picklejuicequeen: BONK HIM???
@ sleepdeprivedowl: THATS FOREPLAY
@ dustmite: ma’am we are in the room
@ toelicker69: heh, kinky
you blow a kiss at the camera, all glittering eyes and tired smile. “love you guys. love you, kenma. goodnight!”
the stream ends.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
kenma doesn’t move for a long moment. the silence is loud, like his ears are still ringing from the sound of your voice. then, slowly, he pulls his hoodie over his head, face burning.
his phone buzzes. it’s you.
future wife: you’re ridiculous.
future wife: also, come over. i want to kiss you until you stop acting like my sugar daddy.
future wife: (thank you though. i love you.)
kenma stares. then slumps forward, forehead against his desk, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
he comes to you. hoodie, headphones still hanging around his neck, soft hair falling in his eyes. he knocks like he’s got no patience for doors.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
“kenma,” you beam when you open up, hair still smelling faintly like your shampoo, skin dewy from your skincare routine, hoodie sleeves sliding down your wrists. you’re so unfair it hurts. “hi.”
he doesn’t even say hi back. he just drops his bag by the door and shuffles in, like a cat making itself at home in someone else’s living room.
you close the door behind him, amused. “what’s wrong with you?”
he stops in the middle of your living room, turns slowly, and looks at you with eyes half-lidded, pout carved into his mouth like it’s permanent.
“you didn’t pay enough attention to me.”
you blink. then laugh. “excuse me? ken, you practically bought my whole stream tonight.”
his brows knit together. “didn’t work. chat got… everything. i got, like… a crumb. a molecule. an atom. the kind of portion size they’d give in a three-star michelin restaurant where the plate’s bigger than the food.”
your laughter doubles, sweet and fond. “oh, baby,” you coo, crossing the room to cup his face in your hands. “are you jealous of chat?”
he doesn’t answer, but the way his cheeks warm under your touch is answer enough.
so you kiss him.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a peck on his lips, soft and brief. then one to his forehead. one to his nose. both cheeks. then another to his lips, just because.
he blinks slowly, eyelashes fluttering like he’s trying not to show how much he needs it.
“better?” you tease.
kenma shakes his head immediately. “not even close.”
so you go again. kisses like raindrops: on his jaw, down his throat, over his temples, eyelids, the little crease of his smile. every patch of skin you can reach, you cover in affection until he’s sighing like an overworked office drone sinking into a hot spring.
“you’re so needy,” you whisper against his skin, but your grin is soft, indulgent.
“don’t care,” he mumbles back, voice thick, hands sliding to your waist to hold you in place. “want more. want… all of you. more than chat. more than everyone.”
“oh, baby,” you coo, peppering kisses over his face like you’re stamping him with a love-brand. “you already have all of me.”
“say it again.” his voice cracks, barely a whisper, like he needs it to live.
you pause between kisses, lips brushing his cheek. “you already have all of me, kenma. every single part.”
he exhales shakily, like you’ve pulled a thorn out of his chest.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
you don’t stop. you don’t let him go. your kisses turn relentless, ridiculous, like a child armed with stickers covering a notebook page until no white space remains. kisses to his ears, down his neck, across his collarbone through the fabric of his hoodie. he tips his head back, eyes fluttering shut, letting you do whatever you want because he trusts you with everything he is.
his voice goes soft, almost slurred with warmth. “feels like… i can’t hold it. like my chest’s too full. you’re—” he swallows. “you’re everywhere.”
“good,” you hum, brushing your lips over his jaw. “that’s exactly what i want. i want to be everywhere for you.”
his arms tighten around your waist, holding you like you’re his anchor. “you are. you already are. you don’t even know—”
and then you kiss him properly.
slow at first, lips slotting against his like puzzle pieces, coaxing him open. then deeper, like you’re pouring all the affection he’s been begging for into his mouth. he sighs into it, sound vibrating against your tongue when you slip it past his lips, gentle but deliberate.
he kisses back clumsily, almost desperately, like someone who’s been parched for years finally given water. his fingers dig into your waist, your hoodie bunched in his hands, keeping you so close there’s no space left between you.
when you finally pull back, he’s flushed to the tips of his ears, lips pink and swollen, eyes hazy like he’s been spun around too many times.
“enough attention now?” you murmur, brushing your nose against his.
he stares at you, dazed. then shakes his head once, stubborn. “…need more later.”
you laugh, breathless, and kiss him again.
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
♡‧₊˚✧ ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊‧♡
a: ok i’m gonna sleep, i have 5 hours. i’m so nervous !! i spoil the pretty people way too much
calling them ‘pretty’, and seeing how they’ll react.
ft. kageyama, oikawa & kenma.
haikyu!! mlist | akaashi & iwaizumi ver
tobio kageyama ۶ৎ
it happens seemingly out of the blue.
he’s practicing with hinata in the karasuno gym, and you’re watching them.
they’re doing their usual thing. practicing everything till they physically drop, which doesn’t even happen. but regardless.
with kageyama occasionally sneaking a glance towards you when he thinks you’re not looking, but you are. and everytime it makes him bite back a small smile.
your eyes are on him, but more than usual. he can feel your eyes on him at all times, with every move that he makes.
it’s almost like you’re in a trance, completely unaware of anything else other than kageyama.
a few minutes later, he decides it’s time for a break. and to confront you about your constant staring.
he sits next to you on the hard floor, shoulders nearly brushing eachother.
he gives himself a moment to catch his breath, wipe the accumulated sweat on his face, and have a drink of water.
‘y/n?’ ‘yeah?’ you turn your head towards him, a curious look on your features.
‘you’re staring. a lot.’
he looks even prettier like this, you think to yourself. eyes half-lidded, some stray hairs stuck to his forehead from the sweat on his face, and lips slightly parted.
‘sorry. you’re just really pretty, tobio.’ you say it like it’s the most normal thing on the earth, which it kind of is. but not for kageyama.
you see the change in his expression immediately, the second the words left your mouth he was settled speechless.
his blue eyes went wide, and his head turned towards yours immediately.
there’s a tinge of pink adorning his cheeks and the tips of his ears now, and his brows are furrowed in confusion.
‘..tobio?’ you carefully wave a hand infront of his face, he looks almost dazed right now.
‘y-yeah?!’ his voice cracked the second he opened his mouth, a high pitched sound that you didn’t expect from leaving his mouth. making him slap a hand over his mouth almost immediately.
his face goes bright red in a millisecond.
hinata’s staring at you both right now, which doesn’t help kageyama’s growing embarrassment.
you and hinata simultaneously burst out in laughter, hinata cackling and clutching his stomach from the amount of laughs. on the verge of rolling around on the floor.
you’re desperately trying not to laugh as hard as hinata, attempting to save kageyama even more embarrassment.
but it’s pointless to stifle your laughs, since now the doors to the gym open. showing both nishinoya and tanaka.
they see kageyama’s impossibly red face, and you and hinata laughing your asses off.
so automatically they burst into laughter too, without even knowing the reason.
if you squint really hard you’ll see that kageyama’s practically glowing red now. all because you called him pretty.
tōru oikawa ۶ৎ
oikawa likes being called pretty, or pretty boy. doesn’t matter to him which one, either of them and he’s jelly in your hands.
but only when you call him that.
you’re sitting on the bench, phone in hand and doomscrolling through your socials.
oikawa convinced you to come and watch him practice, deeming it’d be ‘fun’ to watch.
he lied, it’s incredibly boring.
watching a bunch of high school boys all sweaty, isn’t your exact idea of fun. but whatever, the least you can do is entertain his request with minimum effort.
he would’ve nagged you non stop if you didn’t agree, so here you are.
you only look up when oikawa calls out your name, and says ‘this one’s for you.’ and proceeds to hit the ball with unnecessary force. the sound of the ball hitting the floor echoing through the space.
you blow him a kiss when the ball makes contact with the floor, and then shift your eyes back to your phone. not that that’s more entertaining than watching them practice, but what else can you do.
around 20 minutes later, they’re in the middle of a 3 on 3 match. making you peek up from your phone to watch them actually play.
you’re barely able to watch the ball as it keeps moving from side to side in flashes, but it’s definitely more fun than your phone at this point.
phone discarded, arms crossed over eachother and eyes on the court.
in the span of a second, the ball ricochets off of oikawa’s arms in an attempt to recieve it, and it flings your way.
you barely move away fast enough to avoid the impact. all it did was graze your arm thankfully, anything worse than that and it would’ve been over for you.
you stand up from your position on the bench, reach for the unfortunate ball next to you. and your eyes flick towards oikawa for a moment.
‘y/n-chan! i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean for that ball to hit you!’ oikawa yammers, looking at you with wide eyes. just like everyone else in the gym.
your hands grip the ball with a fierce grip, you take one sharp breath in, and throw that same ball at him with terrifying accuracy, hitting him in the chest with it.
‘don’t receive the ball so lousy then, you stupid pretty boy!’
‘s-sorry!’ is all he manages to croak out before getting hit by another volleyball. this time to the back of his head, and by iwaizumi.
kenma kozume ۶ৎ
kenma’s a naturally pretty boy.
slanted cat-like eyes, average height and slim body, pale clear skin, and bleached blonde hair.
and he doesn’t even try to look pretty, he just does.
you’re almost envious that he can look like that without even trying, but he doesn’t understand why you do.
it’s lunchtime, and you’re on your way to the convinience store right around the corner, along with kenma. whom you dragged with you.
he’s playing something on his gameboy, and you’re telling him random things that happened in the previous week.
it may not look like he’s paying attention, but he hears ever word you say, and very rarely comments on something. but he’s always listening to what you have to say.
he settles for 1 or 2 word comments, things like. ‘that’s cool,’ ‘that sucks’ and regular yes and no’s.
until you say something unexpected, even if it’s simply a passing thought.
‘you’re super pretty, ken. you know that?’ it makes him freeze in his tracks. automatically making you look back at him since he stopped walking all together.
‘kenma, you okay?’ you look at him with confusion, head tilted for added effect.
‘…huh?’ you step closer to him, and notice the look on his face.
he looks surprised, which you don’t see from him often.
he’s dazed. head empty except for the words you just said.
‘kenmaaaa..?’ you pinch his cheeks in an attempt to get him to pay attention, making him flinch from the sudden contact.
‘…sorry.’ ‘it’s okay, let’s keep walking, ‘kay?’ you’re still confused why he suddenly stopped walking, you don’t even remember what you said.
‘ ‘kay.’ he turns off his gameboy, and instead focuses his attention on what’s infront of him.
a little while later at lunch, when you’re sitting next to him and it’s quiet enough.
you hear him murmur, ‘you’re pretty too.’ with a slight blush on his cheeks.
a/n: was gonna add like 3 more characters but i got lazy
Summary: Sometimes Wanderer looks at you and is filled with violent affection.
Word Count: 500+
Contains: Gender-neutral reader, established relationship, Wanderer POV, fluff
You weren't doing anything special when he found you; just eating. The kitchen smelled sweet with freshly baked muffins, a plate sitting neat and organized on the counter with the baked treats. He could smell the dark chocolate in the air and feels a swell of affection at your thoughtfulness. You tended to pick out more bitter flavors just for his sake.
You were leaning against the counter, one cheek puffed up as you chewed away happily without a care. Both hands were occupied holding a split muffin as you squirreled it away into your mouth bit by bit. You look like a hamster. A stupidly adorable hamster. Wanderer feels one of his hands clench at his side with the urge to pinch your cheeks.
His line of thought is temporarily halted when you look up to see him watching you. "Oh, hey! I made some muffins for us." And then you grin at him too wide and lovingly in that specific way you do that reveals how happy you are to just be in his presence. It makes his heart clench so viciously that he nearly stomps over to you. But no, he walks over calmly, stopping at your side as he raises his hands to your face.
You blink in confusion, unsure of what he was doing up until his palms press against both your cheeks and pushes them together. Your lips purse into a bewildered pout as your face gets squished. Wanderer can't help but grit his teeth, a sharp smirk on his lips as he feels that rush of cuteness aggression.
"What are you doing?" you mumble in amusement before swallowing down the muffin bits that were stored away in the sides of your mouth.
He doesn't say anything right away. Just stares at you silently, indigo eyes tracing your features slowly. He loves every part of your damn face and it drives him nuts. His jaw clenches ever so slightly, but enough so that you notice and realize what's coming.
"Don't pinch—!"
He pinches your cheeks, pressing down hard enough with his thumb that it nearly hurts. He tugs at the squished skin between his fingers and makes an annoyed sounding huff.
"Stop making that face," he demands, brows furrowing in what looks like irritation, but you know it's just him losing self control.
"I'm not doing anything!" you whine, hands hovering in the air awkwardly with the muffins still occupying them. You have no way to defend yourself against his vicious onslaught.
"You're making that face. Quit looking so cute," he continues, giving your cheeks one last squeeze before finally granting you mercy and loosening his hold. But the relief is short lived as he tilts your face to the side and leans down to chomp on the fat of your cheek.
"Heeeeey!" you squeal through a fit of laughter, squirming in his grasp in an attempt to get free.
Your adorable sounds only fuel the flames of his affection.
He nibbles on your cheek lightly, lips pulled into an amused grin. "It's your fault for being so damn cute. Now quit moving," he mumbles against your cheek, refusing to let go.
"Chew on the muffins, not me!" you cry out dramatically, eyes watering from how hard you're laughing now.
"No thanks. I prefer you," he responds without hesitation.
His hands hold your face firmly as he playfully begins to litter your face with hard kisses. He just wants to squeeze you tight and never let go.
"Oh, now you're smothering me to death!" you wail having given up on escaping anytime soon.
The strange thing about Levi Ackerman falling in love is that absolutely nothing changes.
At least on the surface.
He doesn’t become softer, doesn’t suddenly smile, doesn’t start complimenting you.
If anything, he becomes even more insufferable.
The squad immediately notices something is different.
Not obvious, just different.
Levi’s eyes follow you during briefings.
You somehow end up assigned to his side more often.
The captain who hated unnecessary conversation now occasionally asks you questions that have nothing to do with missions.
Small things like what book you’re reading, why you’re limping, if your shoulder still botheres you.
Tiny questions.
Tiny concerns.
Tiny cracks.
Nobody misses them.
Especially not Hange.
Meanwhile, you’re having your own problem.
Because somehow Levi keeps showing up.
You wake up early? He’s already cleaning. You stay up late? He’s still working. You go to train? He’s there too. You visit the stables? There he is.
It had gotten to the point you were convinced he was following you.
Then one evening you’re sitting alone outside headquarters.
The sun is setting.
The air is cool.
Peaceful.
For once.
You hear footsteps.
Without looking up, you already know who it is.
“Captain.”
Levi sits beside you.
Neither of you speak.
Five minutes pass, ten, fifteen, and somehow it’s not awkward.
Eventually Levi speaks.
“You don’t have to call me Captain when we’re alone.”
Slowly turn toward him.
“…What?”
He immediately looks annoyed.
“As long as we’re not on duty.”
You stare, not sure what to say. Because somehow this feels oddly significant.
Much more significant than it should.
“Then what am I supposed to call you?”
“Levi.”
The name sounds strange coming from him.
Like something private.
Something reserved.
You try it.
“Levi.”
Something unreadable flashes across his face.
Gone almost immediately.
But you see it.
And for some reason your heart stumbles.
After that, things become worse.
Or better.
You aren’t sure.
You start seeking him out.
Not intentionally.
At first.
You find yourself lingering after meetings.
Walking slower when he’s nearby, looking for him across crowded rooms, waiting for his sarcastic comments.
The problem is neither of you says anything.
Months pass.
Nothing happens but so does everything.
You learn his habits.
He learns yours.
He knows when you’re upset before anyone else. You know when he’s exhausted even when he’s pretending otherwise.
He starts saving a cup of tea whenever he thinks you’ll be working late.
Never mentions it.
Just leaves it there.
You start fixing paperwork mistakes before he finds them.
Never mention it.
Just do it.
The two of you become a partnership without ever discussing it.
One night an expedition returns badly.
Too many casualties.
Too many funerals.
Too many empty beds.
The entire headquarters feels heavy.
You can’t sleep.
So you end up outside, staring up at the stars trying not to think.
Footsteps.
Again.
Always him.
Levi sits beside you.
No questions.
No lectures.
No empty reassurances.
Just presence.
Minutes pass.
Then quietly—“I hate this.”
You don’t specify what.
You don’t need to.
Levi stares at the sky.
“Yeah.”
The word is barely audible.
But somehow it means more than any speech could.
Because Levi never admits weakness.
Never.
Yet here he is, sharing it with you.
You realize then that he trusts you.
Completely.
And the realization steals your breath.
You look over.
He’s already looking at you.
For a moment neither of you move.
Neither of you speak.
The world feels strangely small.
Just the two of you.
The stars.
The silence.
Then Levi looks away first.
And the moment breaks.
But neither of you forget it.
A few weeks later, things finally go wrong.
You get injured.
Not badly.
But enough.
Enough to scare him.
A Titan grabs your leg during an expedition.
You escape, you survive.
Everything is fine.
Except Levi witnesses the entire thing.
The second you’re safely back behind the walls, he rounds on you.
“You call that being careful?”
“What?”
“You nearly got yourself killed.”
“I was fine.”
“You weren’t.”
“I am now.”
“You—”
He stops, jaw clenched
The anger doesn’t make sense.
Not this much.
Not for a minor injury.
And suddenly you understand.
“Levi.”
The anger vanishes instantly.
He knows you’ve figured it out.
“You scared me.”
The words seem dragged out of him reluctantly.
Your heart nearly stops.
Because doesn’t say things like that.
Not unless he means them.
And he never says things he doesn’t mean.
After that, there’s nowhere left to hide.
It’s late, again.
At this point, neither of you question why you’re still awake together after everyone else has gone to bed.
The reports are finished.
The office is quiet.
Neither of you have left.
You sit across from Levi, absentmindedly turning a pen between your fingers.
Outside, the headquarters is silent.
Peaceful for once.
“You should get some sleep.”
You glance up.
“You’re one to talk.”
Levi clicks his tongue.
A few months ago that would’ve been the end of the conversation.
Now the silence settles comfortably.
Neither of you rush to fill it.
You study him for a moment.
The dark circles under his eyes.
The way exhaustion sits in his shoulders.
The slight crease between his brows.
He’s tired.
He always is.
“You know,” you say quietly, “you’re allowed to let other people handle things sometimes.”
Levi snorts.
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“Not everyone is incompetent.”
“Most people are.”
You roll your eyes.
And for some reason, Levi’s gaze lingers.
Just for a second longer than normal.
Your smile fades.
Not because you’re uncomfortable.
Because suddenly the room feels smaller.
Quieter.
Levi notices it too.
You can tell.
The air changes.
Subtle.
But undeniable.
Neither of you look away.
For months you’ve danced around this.
For months you’ve pretended those moments meant nothing.
The late-night conversations, the concern, the way he always looked for you after expeditions, the way you’d find yourself searching for him in every room.
Levi exhales slowly.
Then he stands.
You expect him to leave.
Instead, he stops beside your chair.
Your heart immediately starts acting ridiculous.
“Levi?”
He looks down at you, his expression unreadable.
For a moment, it seems like he’s about to say something.
Levi leans down.
And kisses you.
It’s not dramatic, not rushed, just certain.
Like a decision he’d already made weeks ago.
Maybe months ago.
His hand shifts to the side of your face, careful and slightly hesitant.
The way he handles things he actually cares about.
When he finally pulls back, the room remains silent.
Then he steps back.
“…Took us long enough.”
You stare at him before laughing.
Levi immediately looks irritated.
Which somehow makes it even better.
“You say that like this wasn’t entirely your fault.”
10.17, kinktober friday two bonus – the summoning feat. kenma kozume
pairing: businessman husband!kenma x wife!reader
cw: MDNI, nsfw, established relationship, dry humping, fingering, oral sex (reader receiving), praises & body worshipping, p in v, passionate sex, unprotected, lovesick married couple, all characters are 18+
song: the summoning – sleep token
the chilled night air bit at your exposed shoulders as kenma unlocked the heavy oak door. the click echoed. a tiny, liberating sound in the vast silence of their opulent hallway. the gala's lingering perfume clunged to your dress, a cloying mix of champagne and expensive florals, began to dissipate, replaced by the familiar scent of home, of him. kenma's hand found your lower back, a gentle pressure guiding you inside. the heavy door swung shut with a soft thud, sealing off the world, the flashing cameras, the forced smiles, the endless drone of polite conversation. a sigh, long and quiet, escaped him, a sound you knew intimately, a shedding of burdens.
he stood before you. his golden eyes, usually so guarded, now soft, molten with an unspoken hunger. the tie, a silk knot of constraint, seemed to loosen its grip on its own. he looked at you, truly looked at you, and the exhaustion that had etched itself around his features moments before melted away.
"finally," he breathed, the word a soft exhalation of relief. his fingers traced the delicate lace strap of your gown, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver through you. "i thought the night would never end."
you leaned into his touch, your body already craving the warmth of his. "me too," you whispered, your voice coming out a little hoarse from disuse. the silence between you was a balm, a language only you two spoke.
his gaze dropped to your lips, then traveled slowly, deliberately, over your face, down your throat, to the swell of your chest. "you look… breathtaking." the words were a murmur, a private confession. "every man in that room wanted to look at you, wanted to talk to you." a low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound of possessiveness that thrilled you. "i hate every single one of them."
a small laugh bubbled up from deep within you, a genuine sound. "kenma."
"they can't have you though," he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. he took a step closer, his body a warm presence against yours. "only i can." his hands moved from your shoulders, down your arms, intertwining his fingers with yours, pulling you gently forward until your bodies brushed. the silk of his suit jacket felt cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from him. "i wanted to leave that damn party the very moment we arrived."
"i could tell," you teased. "your patience was wearing thin."
he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your chest. "my patience was nonexistent, darling. all i could think about was this." his thumbs stroked the back of your hands, a slow, hypnotic rhythm. "us. alone."
he leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek, smelling faintly of the expensive whiskey he'd nursed all evening. "no cameras. no forced smiles." his lips brushed your ear, sending a jolt through you. "just you and me."
his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. the heavy fabric of your gown became a thin barrier. you could feel the rigid proof of his desire pressing against your stomach, a delicious heat. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "god, you smell incredible." his lips brushed your skin softly.
a soft moan escaped you as his mouth found the sensitive skin beneath your ear. his tongue flickered out, a warm, wet caress that had your knees weakening. "kenma," you breathed, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
he lifted his head, his golden eyes blazing with an intensity that stole your breath. "look at you, sweetheart" he murmured, his gaze sweeping over your face, lingering on your slightly parted lips. "so perfect." he lowered his head, his mouth claiming yours with a fierce hunger that mirrored your own.
his kiss was deep, demanding, a desperate release of pent-up longing. his tongue plunged past your lips, tangling with yours, a sensual dance of exploration and possession. you met his fervor with equal passion, fingers digging into his hair and pulling him closer, if that were even possible. your tongue sucked at his, drawing him deeper, eliciting a low groan from his throat.
he broke the kiss, lips red and swollen, chest heaving. his hands, no longer content to linger at your waist, moved lower, cupping your ass through the layers of your gown. he lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. you cried out softly as the hard ridge of his cock pressed firmly against your center.
"you're wet," he whispered, his voice thick with desire, his eyes locked onto yours. "i can feel it." he began to rock his hips, a rhythmic grind that sent shivers of pleasure through your entire body. the silk of your dress chafed gently against your clit, a sweet agony.
"kenma," you gasped, digging your nails into his shoulders. "please.”
"please what, love?" he challenged, eyes sparkling with mischief, though his movements remained steady, relentless. "tell me what you want."
"you," you pleaded, your voice barely audible. "i want you, baby."
he carried you into the living room, a soft lamp casting a warm glow. he didn't break the rhythm as he lowered you onto the plush rug, settling between your thighs. your dress rode up, exposing your bare legs, the fabric bunching around your waist. he pulled at the zipper, his fingers fumbling slightly in his eagerness. the dress slid down, pooling around your hips, revealing your lace thong, already damp and clinging.
he peeled the thong away with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes never leaving yours. a gasp escaped you as the cool air hit your slick skin, followed immediately by the heat of his gaze. "beautiful," he praised you, his voice reverent. he leaned down, brushing his lips against your inner thigh, sending a jolt through you. "you're absolutely stunning, darling. the most beautiful woman i've ever seen..."
his long fingers found your clit. a soft, teasing touch. you arched into him, a soft whimper escaping your throat. his thumb circled, slow at first, then with more pressure, eliciting a series of soft moans from you. he watched your face, absorbing every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features.
"you like that?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.
"yes," you panted, your hips bucking instinctively. "more."
he smiled. a slow, predatory grin. his middle finger slid into you, slick with your own wetness. one finger, then two, then three, stretching you open. he began to thrust them in and out in a steady, rhythmic motion, while his thumb continued its delicious assault on your clit. the pressure built. a sweet, unbearable tension coiling in your core.
"look at you," he murmured, his eyes still locked on yours. "so eager. so responsive. you were made for this," his fingers worked their magic, pushing deeper, faster. each thrust eliciting a gasp, a moan, a desperate plea from you. "made for me."
"baby, i– i'm gonna–," you choked out, body trembling.
"not yet, sweetheart" he whispered, pulling his fingers out with a soft schlick. he moved his head lower, his warm breath fanning across your pussy. he licked once, a searing trail from your clit to your asshole, and you cried out, back arching. "i wanna taste you first."
his tongue swirled around your clit. a gentle, tantalizing torment. then he sucked hard, drawing your clit into his mouth. his lips creating a vacuum that pulled at you, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. you gripped his hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more. he lavished attention on you, tongue flicking, darting, teasing. then sucking again, deep and insistent.
your hips bucked, your body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through you, a scream tearing from your throat, mingling with his satisfied groan. your muscles tightened around his tongue. your legs trembled, body slick with sweat. he continued to suckle, not letting up until the last tremors faded, until you were a panting, quivering mess beneath him.
he lifted his head, his lips glistening, a satisfied smile on his face. "mine," he declared, his voice rough with triumph. he moved up, straddling you, his hard cock pressing against your still-pulsing pussy.
"kenma," you whimpered, your body still humming from the aftershocks.
"wanna be inside you, love," he said while unbuckling his belt and tugging his pants down, voice raw with need. he positioned himself, eyes burning into yours. "need to be inside you."
then he pushed, slow and deliberate, into your slick depths. a sigh escaped him as your body enveloped him, tight and welcoming. you gasped as he filled you completely, stretching you, making you his. he paused, letting you adjust, letting the sensation sink in. golden eyes never leaving yours, a silent communication passing between you.
"so good," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "you always feel so good..."
he began to move in slow, deep thrusts that had you arching your back, hips grinding against yours, producing a wet, rhythmic squelch. your bodies slapped together in a symphony of skin on skin. his balls slapped against your ass with each deep thrust. he leaned down, his mouth claiming yours again, tongue tangling with yours, tasting of your own sex and his desperation.
he pulled back, his eyes still locked on yours, his expression a mixture of fierce love and primal hunger. "look at me," he commanded. "look at me while i make you mine." he thrust deeper, harder, his body a relentless piston. your cries mingled with his grunts, a passionate duet in the quiet of your home.
the intensity built, a rising tide of sensation. you could feel him swelling inside you, feel the pressure building, the heat intensifying. his thrusts became more frantic, more desperate. his breath hitched, a guttural groan escaping his throat. your own climax was building again. a familiar, delicious rush.
he moaned your name. a raw, primal sound, as he emptied himself deep inside you. his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. you cried out with him, your own climax hitting at the same time, body convulsing around his. he collapsed onto you, his weight a comforting pressure, breath ragged against your neck.
he buried his face in your hair, his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close. the world outside, the gala, the flashing lights, the forced smiles... it all faded into oblivion. there was only this: the warmth of his body, the scent of him, the steady beat of his heart against your chest. "you're mine, love" he whispered again, his voice thick with contentment. "mine forever."
you simply held him, stroking the soft hair at the back of his head with gentle fingers. your body humming with the afterglow, knowing that in his arms, you were home.
you've got my body, flesh, and bone
the sky above, the earth below
nothing to say and nowhere to go
a taste of the divine
happy birthday kenken! ik it was yesterday but still lol i love you pudding head <3 (kenma is so sleep token coded to me ughhh i love it)
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in which kenma kozume strategically falls, fakes partial paralysis, and accidentally signs the coach’s granddaughter up for a side quest neither of them expected to complete.
you hadn’t meant for volleyball to become the thing people associated with you, but it had a way of following wherever you went, clinging to your name like an afterthought that refused to be forgotten.
back in the uk, it had started innocently enough. a school trial you’d attended out of boredom, a coach who had raised his eyebrows at your first serve, teammates who had learned very quickly that you did not hesitate when it came to swinging hard.
you hadn’t been the loudest on the court, nor the most dramatic, but you’d been efficient in a way that unsettled people. your hits were explosive, your timing clean, and your serve had a sharpness to it that made receivers flinch half a second too late.
people liked to call it natural talent, which you never bothered correcting. the truth was less glamorous; you simply hated doing anything halfway, and if you were going to play, you were going to play properly.
it was fun for a while. tournaments, away games, the particular echo of rubber soles against polished floors, the way a gym always smelled faintly of dust and adrenaline. you liked the rhythm of it, the structure, the simple satisfaction of watching the ball hit exactly where you’d intended.
but you never loved it in the all-consuming way some of your teammates did. you didn’t go home replaying matches in your head. you didn’t tape inspirational quotes above your desk. volleyball fit into your life neatly, like an accessory you could remove when it no longer matched the outfit.
the injury happened in the most unremarkable way possible.
no dramatic collision, no heroic dive. just a bad landing, your ankle rolling at an angle it had no business attempting, and the sharp, immediate sting that told you something had gone wrong before you even hit the floor.
you remember staring at the ceiling of the gym while your teammates crowded around you, their voices overlapping, someone squeezing your hand too tightly as if pressure alone could undo it.
infact, you remember the inconvenience of it more than the pain, the way your mind leapt straight to the recovery timeline and the months of physio that would follow.
you had tried, at first. you showed up to appointments, did the exercises, nodded through the lectures about stability and strengthening. but somewhere between the third week of elastic bands and the fourth reminder that you’d have to sit out the remainder of the season, your motivation thinned.
it wasn’t devastation that made you stop.
it was indifference.
volleyball had been good to you, yes, but it had never been the center of your world. and if returning to it required months of meticulous effort for something you only moderately missed, you found you didn’t particularly feel like fighting.
so you let it go.
#1 captain:
sis u cant be fr rn
ur my best outside hitter
u gotta come back when ur fully recovered 😭😭
You:
i deaduzz cant be bothered
twas a good run 💔💔💔💔
your parents didn’t protest much when the conversation shifted from recovery to relocation. they had been discussing moving back to japan for years, always circling around the idea of giving you the chance to reconnect with your roots, of practical things like work and opportunity and timing.
the conversation about moving back to japan does not happen under dim lighting with tense silence and heavy sighs.
it happens in the middle of your parents arguing over whether coriander belongs in everything.
“it absolutely does,” your father insists, leaning across the kitchen counter like he’s presenting a thesis instead of a herb.
your mother rolls her eyes with theatrical disbelief, reaching up to flick flour from his cheek with unnecessary tenderness. “you only say that because you think it makes you sound cultured.”
“i am cultured.”
“you’re so dramatic, honey.”
you sit at the table watching them like you always do, somewhere between exasperated and deeply fond, because this is how they’ve always been: slightly unbearable, completely inseparable, incapable of finishing a disagreement without drifting back into shared laughter.
it’s in the middle of that nonsense that your father clears his throat in a way that signals a topic shift.
“speaking of cultured,” he begins, grinning at your mother as if this is all part of an elaborate performance, “we’ve been thinking.”
you immediately narrow your eyes.
“that’s never good.”
“that's rude,” your mother says lightly, sliding into the seat across from you and reaching for your hand. “it’s actually a very good thought.”
your father nods with exaggerated seriousness. “a brilliant one, really. groundbreaking.”
you wait.
“what would you think,” your mother says carefully, though her eyes are already bright with anticipation, “about transferring to nekoma in japan? just for the next chapter.”
“ew, mom, don't say chapter— this isn't some freaking wattpad fanfiction,” you cringe, trying to hold back your laugh.
“new country, new school,” your father elaborates, draping an arm around your mother’s shoulders as if they’re about to announce a vacation instead of a life change. “well— old country— but you get my point. plus, you'll be closer to family."
“and closer to proper rice,” your mother adds.
you stare at them both.
they stare back, clearly expecting some dramatic protest that never comes.
you lean back in your chair, considering it. the idea doesn’t feel threatening. it feels… interesting. a shift, yes, but not a loss. you’ve never been particularly attached to staying in one place simply for the sake of familiarity.
“nekoma’s good,” your father continues, softer now but still warm. “and your grandfather’s been pretending not to miss his dear, doting, princess granddaughter.”
your mother laughs. “he absolutely has not been pretending.”
you picture your grandfather squinting at a computer screen, muttering about volleyball and attendance and probably you, and you feel something that isn’t dread so much as curiosity.
“and you two are coming too,” you say, eyeing them suspiciously.
“of course we are,” your mother replies immediately. “did you think we were shipping you off like a parcel?”
“ooh, that's tempting though,” your father muses. "we could just send her off and we could finally have our alone time." he adds, wiggling his eyebrows up and down in an exaggerated rhythm, like he’s personally auditioning for the role of most annoying person alive.
"oh my god?? you guys are so nasty.. now i wanna go to japan alone." you physically recoil, dragging a hand down your face.
your mother elbows him without looking.
the kitchen falls into that familiar comfortable noise, cutlery clinking, your parents bickering about logistics with an ease that suggests they’ve already decided this will work because they’ll make it work together.
you watch them for a moment longer before shrugging lightly.
“okay,” you say.
they both pause.
“okay?” your mother repeats, almost suspicious.
“okay,” you confirm, reaching for your glass. “it’ll be good.”
and good it was, because— nekoma does not swallow you whole the way some new schools threaten to.
it opens instead, slowly and curiously, and you step into it with the kind of confidence that doesn’t demand attention but gathers it anyway. you don’t have to try particularly hard; you’ve always known how to hold eye contact just long enough, how to laugh without sounding rehearsed, how to ask someone about themselves in a way that makes them feel genuinely interesting.
the girls who approach you first are exactly the kind people would stereotype without thinking twice.
they're loud in the hallways, skirts slightly shorter than dresscode allows, lip gloss perpetually fresh. they know who’s dating who before homeroom ends and have opinions about everything from teachers to cafeteria food. they look, at first glance, like the type who would smile sweetly and slice you apart the moment you turn your back.
they do not.
they're warm in a way that surprises you.
they ask about your move without prying, about london without romanticizing it, about your old team without turning it into some dramatic loss. they shove their phones into your face to show you pictures, complain openly about tests and boys and life in general. when you laugh, they laugh harder, not because they’re performing but because they genuinely enjoy the sound of it.
within a week, you are walking to class together.
within two, they are saving you a seat at lunch without asking.
it isn’t calculated, and it isn’t fragile. there’s no tension humming beneath the surface, no secret resentment about your accent or the way people look twice when you pass. if anything, they seem faintly proud of it, as though your presence has elevated their collective aura.
they text you at night about trivial things and serious things in equal measure. they drag you to convenience stores after school and sit on the curb sharing drinks, talking about futures that feel both distant and uncomfortably close.
it was somewhere during those early weeks that you properly met kuroo.
you had noticed him before, of course. he was difficult not to notice, all sharp grins and lazy confidence. he watched people with an assessing look that suggested he enjoyed understanding the mechanics of social dynamics almost as much as he enjoyed poking at them.
your first real conversation happened by accident, if you could call it that.
you’d been leaning against the railing near the courtyard, half-listening to one of your friends recounting a story, when kuroo approached with the air of someone who had decided something and was now simply following through.
“so you’re the transfer everyone’s talking about,” he’d said, tone light but eyes curious.
“am i?” you replied, matching his ease without missing a beat. “should i be concerned?”
he laughed, and there was something approving in it.
you learned quickly that he enjoyed banter, that he sometimes pushed at people’s reactions to see how they held up. you also learned that he respected resistance, that he liked when someone didn’t fold immediately under his teasing.
you didn’t.
so a kind of understanding formed between you, not constant but steady. you weren’t inseparable, but you moved in overlapping circles, trading comments and glances across classrooms, occasionally finding yourselves side by side at school events without having consciously planned it.
he mentioned volleyball once, casually.
“you used to play, right?” he’d asked, leaning back in his chair.
you had tilted your head, considering how much you wanted to give away. “a little.”
“a little,” he repeated skeptically, as if he already knew that wasn’t the whole story.
you only smiled.
it never occurred to you that this small thread of connection, this shared understanding that you were more capable than you pretended to be, would eventually loop back around and tie you to the very gym you had so easily walked away from.
at the time, nekoma was simply a new setting, a fresh stage on which you could choose whatever role you pleased.
which, unfortunately, included the role of granddaughter.
your grandfather, yasufumi nekomata— or as students call him— coach nekomata, insists you visit his office at least once during your first week, claiming it is for “administrative purposes,” though you strongly suspect he simply wants to look at you in person and confirm you are real and not just a concept his son-in-law keeps mentioning on video calls.
his office is cluttered in a way that suggests he knows exactly where everything is despite appearances. papers stacked in uneven piles, old photos pinned to a corkboard, a half-finished cup of tea going cold near his elbow.
“hm,” he says, his signature smile on his face.
“that’s all i get, old man?” you ask, closing the door behind you. “no dramatic welcome? no tears?”
“you’re late,” he replies calmly.
“by three minutes?”
“unacceptable.”
you narrow your eyes at him before dropping into the chair across his desk without permission.
“my dear granddaughter, you’ve grown,” he continues.
you fight a smile and lose.
“that tends to happen over several years,” you reply, taking the seat across from him without waiting to be offered one.
he hums as if this is groundbreaking information, leaning back in his chair with the air of someone evaluating a long-term investment.
“you’re louder now,” he adds after a moment.
“i was like six back then..” you remind.
he just chuckles and reaches over to ruffle up your hair before he reaches for the cup of tea near his elbow, takes a slow sip, then grimaces faintly at the temperature before setting it back down without comment.
“so,” he says, steepling his fingers together in a way that immediately makes you suspicious, “how is nekoma treating you?”
“it’s fine.”
“fine,” he echoes, unimpressed.
“people are nice. classes are normal. no one’s tried to fight me yet.”
“that’s promising..?”
you tilt your head. “should i be concerned that you phrased it like that?”
he ignores the question entirely, instead pulling open a drawer with deliberate slowness. you watch his movements carefully, already anticipating some form of paperwork.
you are not disappointed.
he slides a single sheet of paper across the desk toward you.
you look down at it.
club registration.
you look back up at him.
no words are exchanged for a full three seconds.
“absolutely not,” you say finally.
he blinks once, calmly. “you didn’t read it.”
“i don’t need to.”
“students are required to join a club.”
“required is a strong word.”
“it is the correct word.”
you lean back in your chair, crossing your legs with exaggerated nonchalance. “i just transferred. i deserve a grace period.”
“you’ve had one.”
“it’s been only 19 days.”
“exactly.”
you stare at him in disbelief.
“what if i’m still adjusting,” you argue.
“you adjusted on day two,” he replies without hesitation. “your teachers already say you participate too much.”
“that’s because they ask easy questions.”
“hm.”
you eye the paper again but make no move to touch it.
“i don’t feel like committing to anything,” you admit, tone lighter than the statement sounds. “i like keeping my afternoons open.”
“for what.”
“existing.”
“you can exist in a club.”
“well— not peacefully.”
he studies you for a moment, and you recognize that look immediately— the one that means he’s two steps ahead of whatever excuse you’re preparing next.
“you’re avoiding effort,” he says, almost lazily.
“i’m conserving energy.”
“for what.”
“social obligations,” you reply promptly.
“you’re popular,” he says bluntly.
you blink at him.
“that was fast.”
“i hear things.”
“that’s mildly invasive.” you exhale through your nose, fighting the urge to smile again.
“just pick something,” he says, nudging the paper closer to you with one finger. “i don’t particularly care what it is. art. literature. chess. as long as you’re not wandering the halls after school pretending you’re above participation.”
you lift your chin slightly. “i am above participation.”
he raises one eyebrow.
you hold his gaze.
“…selectively above participation,” you amend.
his lips twitch.
“end of the week,” he says calmly. “you’ll submit that form.”
“or what.”
“or i will choose for you.”
the audacity.
you stand, snatching the paper from the desk with a dramatic sigh. “you wouldn’t dare, you old fart.”
he smiles— not warmly, not threateningly, but knowingly.
and that is somehow worse.
you pause at the door, glancing back at him once more.
“if you sign me up for something weird,” you warn, “i will hold a grudge.”
“don't say that like i don't know you— you're already holding one,” he smiles.
you narrow your eyes at him again before slipping out of the office, the form folded loosely in your hand. "whatever, see ya' later, love you."
you fully intend to ignore the form.
you do not yet realize that your grandfather has been coaching for decades, and patience is a skill he possesses in terrifying abundance.
but since you're you— you do, in fact, ignore the form.
for three full days, it lives folded in the front pocket of your bag, migrating between notebooks and loose worksheets as if trying to remind you of its existence. every time your hand brushes against it, you pretend you’re looking for something else. a pen. lip gloss. literally anything more urgent than commitment.
you tell yourself you’re weighing options.
in reality, you’re procrastinating with remarkable dedication.
by the fourth afternoon, the topic finally surfaces.
you’re walking out of the school gates with your friends, the late-day sun casting everything in that warm, forgiving glow that makes even concrete look cinematic. someone is complaining about a math quiz. someone else is scrolling through her phone, trying to decide where to stop for snacks.
“wait,” one of them says suddenly, turning to you. “what club are you joining?”
you groan softly.
“don’t.”
“what,” she laughs. “you have to pick one, right?”
“apparently,” you mutter.
“oh my god, join something fun,” another chimes in. “like dance. or drama with us. you’d be so good at drama.”
“i don’t want to rehearse things,” you reply. “that defeats the point of being naturally impressive.”
they laugh, shoving your shoulder lightly.
“what about sports?” someone suggests. “didn’t you used to play something?”
“a little,” you answer automatically, and the phrase feels suspiciously familiar.
“volleyball, right?” she presses.
you wave a hand dismissively. “that was abroad. and also inconvenient.”
“inconvenient,” she repeats, amused. “you make everything sound like it’s optional.”
“it is optional,” you insist. “that’s the beauty of it.”
“not clubs,” she sings.
you open your mouth to argue further when the friend walking slightly ahead of you stops abruptly.
“…no.”
the tone alone makes all of you freeze.
“what,” you ask.
she slowly turns around, eyes wide with dawning horror.
“i left my homework in my desk.”
there’s a collective pause.
“you’re joking.”
“i’m not.”
“it’s due tomorrow.”
“i know.”
you stare at her for a moment, calculating the distance you’ve already walked from the school gates, the effort required to turn around, the sheer injustice of it all.
she grabs your wrist before you can slip away.
“come back with me.”
“why me.”
“moral support.”
“you don’t need moral support to retrieve paper.”
“yes i do.”
you sigh dramatically but allow yourself to be tugged along as the group collectively pivots and begins heading back toward school.
the campus is quieter now, the end-of-day rush having thinned into scattered students and lingering club members. your friends peel off one by one, offering exaggerated condolences as they continue home, until it’s just you and her climbing the stairs toward your classroom.
“you owe me,” you inform her.
“i know,” she replies breathlessly. “i’ll buy you something tomorrow.”
“make it expensive.”
she laughs.
when she finally retrieves the forgotten homework, clutching it triumphantly like a recovered relic, she looks far too pleased with herself.
“see,” she says. “worth it.”
“let's agree to disagree..”
you both head back toward the entrance, but as you reach the gates, you pause.
“hey— your legs stop working or something?,” she says slowly. “are you coming?”
you glance toward the courtyard, then toward the administrative building where you know your grandfather’s office is.
you had overheard earlier that he was holding one of his practices today, something about extended drills and a stubborn team that refused to listen.
you hesitate for only a second.
“i’ll stay a bit,” you say casually. “my grandpa’s here.”
she nods, unsurprised. “text me when you get home.”
“i will.”
she waves once before disappearing down the path toward the gates, leaving you standing in the soft quiet of an almost-empty campus.
you don’t rush.
you never rush.
you wander instead, taking the longer route through the courtyard, listening to the distant thud of something rhythmic echoing faintly from the direction of the gym. the sound is familiar, though you haven’t let yourself dwell on it properly since arriving.
the gym doors are propped open slightly when you approach, warm air spilling out along with the muted squeak of shoes against polished floor. you don’t step inside immediately. instead, you lean lightly against the outer wall, peering in just enough to catch the motion of drills unfolding.
your grandfather’s voice carries clearly, sharp but not unkind, correcting posture, calling out adjustments.
you’re still deciding whether to make your presence known when someone exits through the side doors.
you glance over without thinking.
he doesn’t see you.
his head is tilted down, attention fixed on his phone, steps unhurried and slightly distracted in a way that suggests this is a routine rather than a rare lapse.
you recognize him distantly from passing glimpses in hallways, from the way kuroo occasionally refers to a “lazy setter who's actually the brain of all of their operations.” with too much fondness.
he looks entirely unremarkable in this moment.
until his foot catches.
it happens quickly.
too quickly.
one misstep against uneven pavement and suddenly he’s tipping forward, hands shooting out too late to prevent the inevitable. the impact is loud in the quiet courtyard, palms scraping harshly against concrete, knees following with a thud that makes your breath hitch before you can stop it.
for a fraction of a second, you simply stare.
then you’re moving.
“oh my god—” you drop to a crouch beside him without hesitation, reaching for his arm. “are you okay?”
he’s sitting upright, staring down at his hands like they’ve personally offended him.
there’s a shallow scrape along his palm already beginning to redden.
“did you hit your head?” you press, leaning closer. “can you stand? are you dizzy?”
he blinks up at you slowly, as if surfacing from somewhere else entirely.
“my legs feel weird,” he says after a pause, voice quiet but oddly steady.
your stomach drops.
“what do you mean weird.”
he shifts slightly, attempting to push himself up, and there’s just enough instability in the movement to make your concern spike. his hands press against the pavement, fingers flexing once as if testing sensation, and you don’t notice the way his expression flickers— not pain, not quite— but calculation.
practice had run longer than usual.
you hadn’t been there for it, but he had, and the evidence is written in the slight slump of his shoulders, in the way his breathing is heavier than the short walk outside should warrant. coach had made them run extra laps that evening, and kenma had endured it with the quiet resignation of someone who hates cardio but lacks the energy to protest.
he’d come outside under the perfectly reasonable excuse of refilling his water bottle.
fresh air, a brief pause, a moment to delay the inevitable return to drills.
he had not, however, anticipated gravity betraying him.
“okay,” you murmur, already sliding your arm under his before he can protest. “we’re going back inside.”
he considers correcting you.
he considers saying he can manage.
he does neither.
instead, he allows his weight to tip slightly toward you, just enough to make the support necessary rather than optional. his legs do work. they absolutely work. they are simply protesting the idea of further exertion, and if your concern grants him a few extra seconds of reprieve, he sees no reason to decline the offer.
you don’t notice the subtle adjustment, the way he times his steps to seem marginally unsteady without fully collapsing. you’re too busy scanning his face for signs of dizziness, too focused on keeping him upright as you guide him toward the open gym doors.
“did you hit your head?” you ask again, frowning.
“no,” he replies quietly.
“are you sure.”
“yeah.”
he leans a fraction more when you tighten your hold, not dramatically, not enough to alarm you further, but enough that walking suddenly requires less effort on his part.
it’s efficient.
the gym doors swing open with more force than you intend, the sound loud enough to draw a few glances from the court.
practice immediately pauses, everyone's eyes snapping to the entrance.
you’re not entirely unfamiliar with nekoma’s boys’ volleyball team, not really, mostly because kuroo has a habit of orbiting your conversations whenever it suits him and dragging pieces of his team along in passing. you’ve seen them in hallways, heard their names tossed around in jokes, picked up fragments of inside stories that never quite included you.
and kuroo is the first to fully clock the situation.
he’s halfway through saying something to yamamoto when his gaze lands on you— specifically, on the fact that you are half-carrying their setter like he’s just returned from battle.
there’s a beat.
then his eyebrows shoot up so high they practically leave his forehead.
“…what,” he says slowly, dropping the volleyball in his hands without looking.
“he fell,” you reply immediately, tightening your hold instinctively. “his legs feel weird.”
kuroo blinks once.
then twice.
then, to your mild confusion, his expression shifts into something dangerously amused.
he strides over with exaggerated urgency, stopping just in front of you before placing a dramatic hand over his chest.
“thank you,” he says solemnly, voice ringing with mock gravity, “for rescuing our delicate little setter.”
you narrow your eyes at him. “i’m so serious right now.”
“so am i,” he insists, reaching out to take kenma’s other arm. “we nearly lost him.”
kenma, traitor that he is, says nothing.
kuroo smoothly transfers kenma’s weight from you to himself with practiced ease, though he gives you one last grateful nod as if you’ve performed a heroic deed.
“you’re safe now,” he tells kenma in an exaggerated murmur. “she carried you through the battlefield.”
“i walked,” kenma mutters faintly.
“barely,” kuroo replies.
you cross your arms, unconvinced but still watching closely in case he actually collapses.
kuroo straightens, clearing his throat as he shifts into something more formal.
“since this is apparently a life-altering moment,” he says lightly, gesturing between you and kenma, “allow me to introduce you properly. (y/n), this is kenma, our tragically fragile setter.”
kenma glances at you, expression neutral but eyes sharper now that he’s upright.
“hi,” he says.
“yup, hi,” you reply without thinking.
his gaze lingers a second longer than expected.
kuroo’s eyebrows begin doing that shameless, up-and-down waggle like he’s discovered a national secret.
before he can speak again, another voice cuts in.
“what’s all this noise?”
your grandfather approaches at an unhurried pace, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the scene.
his gaze lands on you first.
then kenma.
then kuroo.
he exhales through his nose in something suspiciously close to laughter.
“you,” he says, pointing mildly at kenma, “couldn’t even make it to the water fountain without incident?”
kenma blinks.
“i tripped.”
“hm.”
your grandfather’s eyes shift to you.
“and you,” he continues, “were escorting him like he’d broken both legs.”
“he said his legs felt weird,” you defend immediately.
kuroo coughs into his fist.
your grandfather looks between the two of you again, amusement growing.
“how ironic,” he murmurs.
you don’t like that tone.
“what.”
he gestures vaguely toward the court.
“you still haven’t joined a club.”
you freeze.
“gulp.”
“manager,” he says simply.
“no.”
“yes.”
“absolutely not.”
“you’re here anyway.”
“that’s different.”
“how.”
“i’m visiting. please don't start, grandpa."
you glare at him.
he smiles faintly.
“we could use a manager,” he continues calmly. “someone attentive. someone who notices when a player is about to collapse.”
you open your mouth to argue, but yamamoto suddenly appears at your side with the energy of someone who has just received divine revelation.
“WAIT,” he blurts, eyes wide. “you’d be our manager?”
you stare at him.
“no.”
“that would be insane,” he continues, already spiraling. “we’d finally have a pretty manager. karasuno wouldn’t be able to flex kiyoko at us anymore.”
“i am standing right here,” you inform yamamoto dryly.
“exactly,” he says earnestly, as if that proves his point.
“we are not recruiting based on aesthetics,” your grandfather interjects, though he does not look particularly opposed to the enthusiasm.
“i don’t even want to be in a club,” you protest. “this is coercion.”
there’s a faint snort from somewhere behind yamamoto, and you catch a glimpse of a tall first-year, who you know as lev, squinting at you both with growing confusion.
“wait,” he says slowly, pointing between you and your grandfather. “why are you talking to coach like that.”
inuoka nods. “yeah. didn't you just transfer?.”
“and you called him grandpa,” yamamoto adds, suspicion finally catching up to his enthusiasm. “who calls the coach 'grandpa.'”
you blink.
your grandfather looks deeply unimpressed.
“students usually call me coach,” coach nekomata says dryly.
kuroo’s eyes light up with interest, clearly enjoying the unfolding mystery.
“oh,” he says slowly, like he’s assembling a puzzle in real time. “oh no.”
you glance at him.
“what.”
he looks between you and your grandfather again, eyebrows beginning to lift— not in the cartoonish waggle yet, but close.
“don’t tell me—”
“tell you what,” you reply flatly.
"(y/n), are you related to coach nekomata or something.." lev questions, earning himself a kick from yaku who questions how lev could be so impossibly clueless.
there’s a collective intake of breath.
you watch the realization spread across their faces in waves, starting with confusion, morphing into horror.
your grandfather exhales once, as if he’s been waiting for someone to catch up.
“yes. she’s my granddaughter,” he says calmly.
the silence that follows is immediate and deafening.
yamamoto’s jaw drops.
“WHAT.”
kuroo physically steps back like the information has force.
“you’re kidding.”
“i don't joke about family,” your grandfather replies.
you fold your arms, mildly amused by the chaos. “surprise.”
“since when,” yamamoto demands.
“since birth,” you answer.
“we’ve been—” he gestures vaguely around the gym. “—acting normal around you.”
“what were you planning on doing instead,” you ask dryly.
kuroo drags a hand down his face, then looks at kenma, who has gone suspiciously quiet.
“you,” he says slowly, “just fake-died in front of the coach’s granddaughter.”
“i did not fake-die,” kenma mutters.
“you said your legs stopped working,” you cut in, narrowing your eyes slightly.
kenma’s gaze flickers to yours for half a second before dropping.
“i said they felt weird,” he corrects.
kuroo makes a strangled noise that sounds very much like disbelief.
“this is insane,” yamamoto declares, running both hands through his hair. “we finally get a manager and she’s royalty.”
“i am not royalty.”
“you are coach royalty.”
“that’s not a thing.”
“it is now.”
your grandfather watches all of this unfold with poorly concealed amusement.
“if you’re done panicking,” he says mildly, “practice is not over.”
the team scrambles back into position, though the energy has shifted noticeably. there are still glances in your direction, still whispers that cut off when you look their way.
you feel none of the awkwardness they seem to expect.
you’ve been someone’s granddaughter your entire life.
it has never once intimidated you.
what does catch your attention, however, is the way kenma avoids looking directly at you now, shoulders slightly tense in a way that wasn’t there before.
you file it away without fully understanding why.
the decision becomes official the next day.
you sign the form with a pen borrowed from kuroo, who watches with open delight as if witnessing history in the making. your grandfather accepts it without ceremony, merely nodding once before announcing to the team that nekoma now has a new manager.
you feel, briefly, like you’ve just volunteered for something irreversible.
there is a moment— a small, dramatic one that exists only in your head— where you consider how easily you could have joined literature club instead.
and yet here you are.
official.
responsible.
required to show up.
you die a little inside at the thought of effort.
because effort means consistency, and consistency means expectation, and expectation means you can’t simply drift in and out when you feel like it. you now have a role. a title. duties.
you try to tell yourself it won’t be that bad.
it is worse.
managers, it turns out, actually do things.
you start with the obvious tasks first.
water bottles, towels, recording stats, collecting stray balls that roll too far during drills. you keep track of substitutions during practice matches and scribble down rotations with neat precision, telling yourself it’s purely administrative and not at all a sign that you’re invested.
nekoma doesn’t need help with strategy.
that becomes clear quickly.
their plays are deliberate, their formations calculated, and at the center of it all is kenma, who orchestrates everything with the quiet efficiency of someone who sees three steps ahead and finds no reason to explain himself.
you don’t interfere with that.
instead, your attention shifts elsewhere.
conditioning, fatigue, all that stuff.
you notice the way kenma’s shoulders start to slump long before anyone else does, the way he presses his lips together slightly when drills drag on too long. you see how he lingers a second too long near the water cooler, how he tilts his head back as if bracing himself before returning to the court.
he doesn’t complain loudly.
he doesn’t need to.
you begin timing his breaks more carefully, handing him his bottle without asking, refilling it before he can wander off again. you remind him— casually, always casually— to stretch properly instead of halfheartedly reaching for his toes and calling it a day.
“you’ll regret that later,” you tell him once, nudging his knee lightly with the toe of your shoe.
“…i won’t,” he replies, not looking up.
“you will.”
he sighs but stretches properly anyway.
it becomes a pattern.
you don’t hover, not exactly, but you pay attention. when your grandfather pushes them through extra laps, you’re already waiting at the sidelines with a towel in hand before kenma makes it back around. when he drifts toward the exit after practice under the pretense of refilling his bottle, you watch closely enough to ensure he doesn’t collapse again— strategically or otherwise.
“don’t trip,” you jokingly tell him one evening as he passes.
he pauses.
“…i won’t.”
there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
surprisingly, this is where the two of you fit.
not in loud exchanges or dramatic revelations, but in quiet, consistent proximity. you don’t try to fix his game, and he doesn’t try to impress you with it. instead, you exist in the in-between moments— during cooldown stretches, while the rest of the team argues about something trivial, while your grandfather lectures them about focus.
sometimes he’ll stand beside you while you update notes, glancing down at your handwriting.
“you’re writing a lot,” he murmurs once.
“it’s called doing my job.”
“you said you hated effort.”
“i do.”
“then why are you trying.”
you consider that for a second before shrugging.
“i don’t like doing things badly.”
he hums softly, as if that answers more than you intended.
it’s easy, unexpectedly so.
you’re louder with everyone else, sharper with kuroo, more animated with your friends when they visit the gym. with kenma, though, your voice lowers without conscious decision. you sit beside him on the bench without making a spectacle of it. you don’t ask invasive questions. you don’t force conversation.
and in return, he doesn’t retreat.
he lingers.
he hands you his empty bottle instead of refilling it himself.
he lets you fuss over minor scrapes without protest.
the irony is not lost on you.
you didn’t want responsibility.
now you’re monitoring the physical state of a setter who pretended his legs stopped working just to avoid running extra laps.
and, worse, you don’t entirely mind it.
it becomes noticeable before either of you intend for it to.
kenma has always been selective about what he listens to. when kuroo tells him to stretch properly, he grumbles. when yamamoto reminds him to hydrate, he ignores it entirely. when your grandfather pushes for extra conditioning, he complies with visible reluctance, as though every additional lap is a personal betrayal.
and yet.
“stretch.”
you don’t even look up from your clipboard when you say it one afternoon, watching him attempt to half-commit to a cooldown.
“…i am,” he replies.
“that doesn’t count.”
there’s a pause.
then, without further argument, he bends properly.
kuroo freezes mid-sip of water, lowering the bottle slowly.
“…interesting.”
you glance at him. “what.”
he walks closer, eyes narrowing slightly at kenma, who is very deliberately avoiding eye contact.
“i’ve been telling him to stretch correctly for years,” kuroo says thoughtfully. “years.”
kenma remains bent forward, fingertips actually touching his toes now, as if deeply invested in hamstring integrity.
“and yet,” kuroo continues, “one casual comment from you and suddenly he’s compliant.”
“i am not compliant,” kenma mutters.
“you just folded.”
“did not.”
“did too.”
you roll your eyes lightly. “maybe he just respects proper instruction.”
kuroo’s eyebrows begin their obnoxious up-and-down waggle, enthusiasm radiating from every inch of him.
“ohhh,” he says slowly. “is that what this is.”
kenma straightens, ears faintly pink.
“shut up.”
“no, no, i’m fascinated,” kuroo continues, circling slightly like he’s studying an anomaly. “i, the captain, say stretch and he acts like i’ve personally insulted his bloodline. you say stretch and he listens immediately.”
“that’s because you’re annoying,” kenma replies flatly.
“and she isn’t?”
you blink.
“excuse me.”
kuroo grins. “present company excluded.”
you shake your head, but there’s no real irritation behind it.
“maybe he just doesn’t want to like.. eat shit infront of someone again,” you say mildly.
kenma shoots you a look.
kuroo gasps. “trauma bonding?”
later that week, your friends finally visit during practice.
they’ve been curious, of course. the novelty of you voluntarily committing to something structured has not gone unnoticed.
they lean against the wall near the entrance, whispering commentary that you pretend not to hear while organizing equipment.
“you look busy,” one of them calls lightly.
“i am busy.”
“you look responsible.”
“please don't. this feels like employment. and you know how i desperately love living life unemployed.”
they giggle, watching as the team rotates through drills.
it doesn’t take long for them to pick up on the pattern.
“why do you keep looking at that one,” another asks quietly, nodding toward kenma as he wipes sweat from his forehead.
“i look at everyone.”
“no, you don’t.”
you pause.
you absolutely do.
but perhaps not equally.
“you handed him his bottle first,” she continues, eyes narrowing with amusement. “and you told him to stretch. and you keep hovering near him specifically.”
“i do not hover.”
“you’re hovering.”
“i am monitoring.”
“him.”
“the team.”
“him.”
you sigh.
“he forgets things.”
“like what.”
“hydration.”
“so does everyone else.”
“not like him.”
there’s a beat.
one of them smirks.
“you’re weirdly attentive.”
“i’m doing my job.”
“sure.”
you glance toward the court again without meaning to.
kenma happens to glance back at the same time.
it lasts only a second.
but your friends notice.
“oh,” one breathes dramatically. “oh, this is so embarrassing.”
“nothing is happening,” you insist immediately.
but nothing doesn’t mean much when you’re standing closer to him than you stand to anyone else.
nothing doesn’t mean much when your hand finds his sleeve before your brain catches up, when your eyes track him even during rallies you pretend to watch objectively.
and nothing definitely doesn’t mean much after a match.
the gym is louder than usual during the practice game against karasuno, the kind of loud that settles into your bones. sneakers squeak sharper, serves crack harder against palms, and every rally stretches just slightly longer than comfortable. you stay near the bench, clipboard tucked against your hip, attention split between the scoreboard and the court.
kenma moves differently in a match.
more precise.
more deliberate.
his sets are clean, almost effortless in appearance, but you can see the strain building in subtler places— the way he exhales through his nose a second too long, the way his shoulders round slightly between plays.
you don’t interrupt.
you wait.
when the final whistle blows and the teams separate, energy dissolving into post-match chatter and towel-snatching and exaggerated complaints, kenma drops onto the bench with quiet resignation, leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. he looks fine to anyone glancing casually.
you step into his space without announcing yourself, fingers brushing lightly against his shoulder before sliding down to his forearm.
“congratulations, pudding hair.” you tell him.
“pudding hair..?” he questions.
you raise an eyebrow.
“…has no one ever told you your hair looks like pudding?”
"no.. trust me, people tell me all the time."
you step closer, close enough that your knees almost brush his. you adjust his hair so it isn't all sticky against his forehead. your fingers steady and practiced. your touch is careful but unhesitating, like you’ve done this a hundred times before.
you tilt kenma’s chin up slightly when he looks like he might brush you off, your thumb grazing just under his jaw for half a second before you let go.
“don't forget to breathe properly, idiot,” you instruct softly.
he does.
without complaint.
and that, more than anything, is what makes kuroo choke on his water across the court.
because nothing might be happening.
but nothing doesn’t usually look like this.
you glance to the side briefly and catch a cluster of orange and black standing a little too close to the net.
karasuno— they’re pretending to be engaged in conversation.
they are not subtle.
hinata is openly staring.
kageyama’s gaze flicks between you and kenma with sharp assessment.
tanaka nudges nishinoya so aggressively he nearly stumbles forward.
“…is that normal?” you hear hinata whisper.
“for nekoma?” nishinoya replies. “no idea.”
kuroo notices them noticing.
and immediately makes it worse.
he strolls over with the air of someone about to provide commentary, resting an elbow casually on kenma’s shoulder.
“don’t mind her,” he calls lightly toward karasuno. “she’s our very dedicated manager.”
“i can hear you?” you inform him.
“good.”
tanaka leans toward daichi, eyes wide.
“since when does nekoma have a manager like that.”
daichi looks faintly exhausted already.
“focus.”
meanwhile, hinata is craning his neck shamelessly.
“she’s really close,” he mutters.
kageyama doesn’t answer immediately.
he watches as you press a bottle into kenma’s hand without being asked, watches the way kenma takes it without complaint, watches the way you say something low and quiet that makes kenma nod once in acknowledgment.
kageyama’s brows knit together.
“…that’s why,” he mutters under his breath.
hinata leans closer. “why what?”
“that’s why he doesn’t drop off in the third set,” kageyama says, tone tightening slightly. “he’s pacing better.”
tanaka blinks. “dude. what are you even talking about.”
kageyama gestures vaguely toward the two of you, though he makes it look like he’s stretching his arm.
“he used to slow down faster,” he continues, half to himself now. “but today he adjusted.”
hinata squints. “he was still annoying to play against..”
“i know that, you dumbass!,” kageyama snaps quietly.
his eyes flick to you again, narrowing.
because to kageyama, that’s not romance.
that’s strategy.
noya slowly processes this.
“so you’re saying—”
“if that’s how he’s maintaining consistency,” kageyama interrupts, jaw tightening faintly, “then it’s an advantage.”
hinata’s eyes widen as he jumps to the absolutely wrong conclusion.
“are you jealous...?"
“i’m not jealous.”
“you’re jealous.”
“i’m analyzing.”
kuroo leans down toward kenma with a grin that spells trouble.
“congratulations,” he murmurs. “you’ve triggered kageyama’s.. setter rivalry mode.”
kenma follows his gaze lazily, remembering his first encounter with kageyama. hinata was really right. kageyama was exactly like a grumpy, scary sabertooth tiger.
“…why.”
“because,” kuroo says cheerfully, “apparently having a manager who monitors your hydration counts as a power-up.”
you catch only the tail end of that exchange.
“what counts as a power-up,” you ask.
“nothing,” kenma replies quickly.
kuroo snorts.
meanwhile, kageyama is still watching, eyes flicking between kenma’s posture and your proximity.
if this is how kenma maintains stamina—
if this is how he stays sharp—
then it’s something to account for.
and suddenly, what karasuno thought was just you being attentive looks suspiciously like a competitive edge.
you don’t realize you’ve just entered setter politics.
kenma does.
and for once, he doesn’t look particularly bothered by it.
because rivalry is familiar territory. competition makes sense. if kageyama sharpens up, if karasuno recalibrates, if someone across the net starts watching his tempo more closely, that’s predictable. that’s part of the system.
what does bother kenma, though, is when the attention shifts from the court to you.
this time, it was a training camp with other schools, the gym more crowded, air thick with the smell of sweat and polished floors. you’re near the bench again, taking notes, keeping score, doing your job with that quiet efficiency that makes everything around you run smoother.
earlier, though, you hadn’t been inside.
between games, you’d stepped out into the open-air corridor that wraps around the side of the gym, needing a moment where the noise didn’t press against your ears. a few other managers from different schools had gathered there too, clipboards tucked under arms, comparing schedules and complaining about how none of the boys refill their own bottles properly.
it’s easy, standing there.
easy in a way that feels different from inside the gym.
you’re laughing at something one of them says, leaning lightly against the railing, sunlight catching along the edge of your hair. no one’s watching you like you’re responsible for them. no one’s waiting for your signal. you’re just another student, just another girl talking about trivial things.
one of the managers nudges you lightly. “you’re coach nekomata's granddaughter, right?”
you groan softly. “unfortunately.”
they laugh.
it feels normal.
then someone calls them back inside, their team needing something, and one by one they peel away with hurried apologies, leaving you alone by the railing for a moment longer than intended.
you don’t rush back in.
you’re still smiling faintly when you turn toward the entrance.
and that’s when the guy from the opposing team wanders over during a break, water bottle dangling loosely from his hand. he doesn’t hesitate when he approaches you, doesn’t glance at the court to check if anyone’s watching.
“hey. you’re the manager, right?” he asks, leaning slightly against the wall beside you.
you nod, polite but distracted.
“yup, that's me.”
“you’re here every match?”
“well.. usually?”
his eyes flick over you in quick assessment before he smiles, pleased with whatever conclusion he reaches.
“i gotta say— you don’t look like a manager,” he says.
you tilt your head slightly. “what does that mean.”
he shrugs, grin widening. “just seems like you should be on the court instead.”
you let out a soft breath through your nose, amused but unimpressed. “retired early. tragic story.”
he laughs like you’re charming, like this is going somewhere. then, he smiles, easy and confident. “you joined recently? last time i checked, nekoma didn't have a manager.”
“mm.”
“figured. we wouldn't forget faces like yours.”
it’s bold, but not aggressive. practiced.
you offer a neutral smile, more amused than flustered.
“that’s convenient.”
the boy in front of you continues talking, unaware of the shift unfolding behind him.
“you should visit our school sometime,” he says. “we’ll give you a proper tour. might even convince you to switch sides.”
you almost laugh at that.
before you can respond, a familiar presence steps into your peripheral vision.
kenma.
he doesn’t wedge himself between you dramatically. he doesn’t glare. he doesn’t even raise his voice. he simply stops close enough that the space changes.
his gaze lands on you first.
“coach wants you to track the next game more carefully,” he says, tone neutral.
you blink.
“right now?”
he nods once.
there is absolutely no prior instruction from your grandfather about this.
the other boy shifts slightly, glancing between you and kenma.
“we were talking,” he says lightly, not confrontational, just pointed.
kenma finally looks at him then, expression unreadable.
“matches aren't over,” he replies, voice flat in a way that leaves little room for argument.
it isn’t hostile.
it isn’t loud.
it’s simply final.
there’s a brief pause where the air feels heavier than it should for something so small.
then a whistle blows, cutting through whatever tension had started to gather.
the opposing player backs away with a half-smirk, jogging toward the entrance of the gym.
“guess he needs you,” he calls casually over his shoulder.
you turn to kenma slowly once he’s gone, folding your arms.
“did that old geezer actually say that.”
his eyes glance around for a second then his eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder.
“…no.”
the admission is quiet.
you stare at him for a moment longer than necessary.
“kenma.”
he exhales faintly, like you’re the one making this complicated.
“you were distracted,” he says.
“i was being polite.”
kenma’s jaw shifts slightly, not in anger, not quite in frustration either, but in that subtle way he does when he’s trying to reorganize thoughts he didn’t expect to have.
“you don’t have to be,” he says finally.
you blink at him.
“i don’t have to be polite?”
“not to him.”
there’s something almost defensive in the way he says it, though he’s clearly trying to sound indifferent.
you study him more carefully now. the tips of his ears are faintly pink, his gaze refusing to settle directly on yours for more than a second at a time. he’s not good at disguising physical tells. not when it’s about something he doesn’t fully understand yet.
“why,” you ask, an eyebrow raising.
he hesitates.
this is the moment.
this is where it shifts.
kenma is good with systems, with rotations, with patterns he can predict. this, however, isn’t structured. there’s no clear input-output response to explain why the sight of someone else standing close to you tightened something unfamiliar in his chest.
“he was looking at you,” he says instead, like that’s explanation enough.
“people look at me, a lot, infact.” you reply lightly.
“not like that.”
the words come out before he can filter them.
and now he’s forced to commit.
you don’t say anything right away.
the gym noise feels distant for a second, like it’s happening behind glass. you’re suddenly aware of how close he’s standing.
“and how was he looking at me,” you ask, softer now.
kenma finally meets your eyes.
it’s not confrontational.
it’s not dramatic.
it’s honest.
“like he thought he could take up your time.”
the phrasing makes your breath hitch faintly.
“and that bothered you?”
another pause.
he could deflect here. he could say something about efficiency again. about distractions. about focus.
he doesn’t.
“…yeah,” he admits.
it’s quiet.
but it’s real.
something in your chest loosens at the same time something else tightens.
you don’t tease him.
you don’t laugh.
instead, you step just slightly closer, closing the space he tried to control earlier.
“well, you’re already taking up my time,” you say, voice gentle but deliberate. “on purpose.”
he goes still.
completely still.
the gym could be empty for all he notices.
“i am,” he says slowly.
“yeah.”
you tilt your head a little, studying his expression the way he studies plays mid-match.
“so you don’t have to lie about coach next time.”
the faintest flicker of embarrassment crosses his face.
“…okay.”
“you could just say you don’t like it.”
he swallows.
“i don’t like it.”
there it is.
the words land between you, and instead of feeling heavy, they feel strangely obvious— like something that had already been sitting there for weeks, waiting for one of you to finally say it out loud.
you blink at him once.
then twice.
kenma looks mildly horrified at himself, as if the sentence escaped without permission and he’s now watching it float away beyond retrieval.
you can’t help but smile. it's not teasing. not smug. just soft amusement.
“you know,” you say, tilting your head slightly, “most people would’ve just said they were jealous.”
his ears turn pink immediately.
“i wasn’t—” he starts, then stops, clearly realizing that arguing will only make it worse. “…maybe a little.”
the honesty makes you laugh under your breath.
around you, the gym is still loud— someone arguing about serves, a ball rolling across the floor, yaku shouting at lev somewhere in the distance— and somehow that makes this feel less serious, less fragile. just two people talking a little too close during a break.
“for the record,” you add lightly, “i wasn’t interested.”
kenma looks up quickly.
“…you weren’t?”
“no. i was waiting for my setter to stop being weird.”
he exhales a quiet laugh— surprised, relieved— and some of the tension leaves his shoulders all at once.
“i wasn’t being weird,” he mutters.
“you lied about coach.”
“yeah but…strategically.”
you grin.
the moment settles into something lighter, easier, the tension dissolving into quiet amusement instead of awkwardness. kenma looks calmer now, shoulders no longer drawn tight, though the faint pink at his ears hasn’t faded.
you watch him for a second longer than necessary.
then another.
a thought crosses your mind— simple, obvious, impossible to ignore now that it’s there.
“…let me ask you something,” you say.
he nods immediately, cautious but attentive. “yeah.”
you hesitate only briefly, surprising even yourself with how calm you sound.
“do you like me?”
kenma freezes.
completely.
it’s not dramatic— just a full system pause, like his brain has suddenly encountered an unexpected variable.
“…oh,” he says quietly, buying time.
you almost laugh.
“that wasn’t a trick question.”
he looks at the floor, then back at you, clearly running through several possible responses and discarding all of them in real time. there’s no strategic answer here, no optimal play, just honesty waiting uncomfortably at the center.
“…uh— yeah,” he admits finally.
the word comes out soft but certain.
your chest warms instantly.
“yeah?” you repeat.
he nods once, more firmly now, as if committing to the statement makes it easier.
“i think i have for a while,” he adds, voice quieter. “i just didn’t realize it was obvious.”
you smile. “it wasn’t. you’re very subtle.”
“…i thought i was.”
there’s a beat where both of you just stand there, the air suddenly charged in a completely different way — not tense, not heavy, just aware.
you shift a little closer without thinking.
“good,” you murmur.
his brows lift slightly. “good?”
“because,” you say, unable to stop the small smile forming, “i like you too.”
that does it.
kenma’s composure slips in the smallest way— surprise softening his expression, relief following immediately after, like something he didn’t realize he’d been bracing for finally settles.
he lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh.
“…okay.”
the space between you feels smaller now, comfortable instead of uncertain.
you reach out without really thinking, brushing a stray damp strand of hair away from his eyes where it’s fallen loose from his last game. it’s an absentminded gesture, the same kind of adjustment you’ve made a dozen times before, but this time your hand lingers a second longer than necessary.
this time, when your hand lingers, neither of you pretends not to notice.
his gaze drops briefly to your lips, then lifts again, silently asking a question he doesn’t quite know how to voice.
you answer by leaning closer.
the kiss is soft, tentative at first, more curious than practiced— warm and quick and unmistakably mutual. he stiffens for half a second in surprise before relaxing, fingers lightly catching at your sleeve like he needs confirmation this is actually happening.
when you pull back, both of you blink at the same time.
kenma looks faintly stunned.
“…oh,” he says again.
you laugh quietly. “you already used that reaction.”
“…i don’t have another one.”
and somehow that makes it even better.
you’re both smiling— small, almost shy smiles— when, just around the corner, out of your sight, absolute chaos is unfolding in complete silence.
karasuno has not moved.
they had originally followed hinata insisting he'd come to look for kenma.
they had not expected to witness emotional development.
“we should not be listening,” daichi murmurs under his breath, voice firm but noticeably quieter than usual.
no one moves.
asahi nods solemnly in agreement while also leaning slightly closer to the wall.
“…we’re not listening,” tanaka whispers.
they are absolutely listening.
hinata is frozen mid-crouch, both hands clamped over his mouth, eyes so wide they look physically painful. he is shaking violently with the effort of not making a sound.
nishinoya grips tanaka’s shoulders like he needs structural support to remain upright.
tanaka, meanwhile, is mouthing something that looks suspiciously like NO WAY over and over again without producing audio.
just behind them, tsukishima has stopped walking entirely, one eyebrow raised as he peers around the corner with open, undisguised curiosity. his expression doesn’t change much, but the slight upward tilt at the corner of his mouth gives him away.
“…wow,” he murmurs under his breath, voice barely above a whisper. “kozume kenma. didn’t think he had it in him.”
yamaguchi, standing beside him, looks like he doesn’t know where to focus— the wall, the floor, the ceiling— anywhere except directly at the scene they are very much witnessing.
“tsukki,” he whispers urgently, tugging at his sleeve, “we shouldn’t be watching—”
tsukishima doesn’t move.
“and yet,” he replies quietly, eyes still fixed forward, “here we are.”
yamaguchi turns faintly red, clearly torn between moral responsibility and overwhelming curiosity, ultimately settling for covering the lower half of his face with his hand while still peeking through his fingers.
behind them, sugawara has both hands pressed over his mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter, while asahi looks like he has accidentally witnessed something deeply sacred and isn’t sure where to look out of respect.
daichi, meanwhile, slowly scans the entire group with the exhausted expression of a man realizing he has completely lost control of the situation.
“no one,” he whispers firmly, “makes a sound.”
everyone nods.
another soft murmur from you drifts down the hallway.
karasuno collectively leans forward at the exact same time.
the synchronized movement nearly causes hinata to lose balance, hinata nearly squeaks anyway despite the earlier instruction.
nishinoya slaps a hand over his mouth just in time.
everyone freezes.
luckily, you and kenma remain blissfully unaware.
behind the wall, daichi slowly turns toward the group with the exhausted expression of someone herding extremely emotional children.
“again.” he whispers, voice deadly calm, “be quiet.”
hinata nods aggressively.
too aggressively.
his water bottle slips from his hand.
and their hero, again, nishinoya catches it mid-air with reflexes worthy of nationals.
they stare at each other, silently celebrating.
tanaka wipes imaginary tears from his eyes.
“they kissed,” he mouths dramatically.
sugawara nods solemnly, like confirming a prophecy fulfilled.
kageyama crosses his arms, expression serious.
“…that explains his focus lately.”
daichi stares at him.
“that's your takeaway?”
meanwhile, just a few steps away, you laugh softly at something kenma says, the sound drifting toward them again.
hinata nearly ascends.
daichi physically pushes the entire group backward from the corner before anyone combusts.
they retreat in tiny, frantic steps, still refusing to break the sacred rule of silence until they’re far enough away—
and then—
silent screaming.
arms flailing.
pure chaos.
completely unaware, you and kenma remain standing in the hallway, the moment still warm and new, neither realizing that seven volleyball players have just collectively witnessed the beginning of your relationship.
LMAOOO I JS HAD TO ADD KARASUNO TO THE SCENE OF THE CRIME
I LOVE MY BABY KENMA SO BADD HES SO CUTE
i have another atsumu fic coming up for yall toooooooo
Being one of his final comrades who had actually survived from Levi’s past, rendered him so protective that you did not even realize that this was the reason he behaved so coldly toward you.
At first, Levi resolved to distance himself, refraining from forming any attachments or deepening those that remained. Meaning…you. Unintentionally, Levi created a rift between the two of you through the manner in which he conducted himself regarding your involvement in training the troupes.
“What is that supposed to mean, Levi? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? That I am weak? That I am incapable of managing a team of our soldiers?”
It occurred prior to a mission. It was meant to be the one assigned by Erwin to command the troops, an expedition lasting scarcely two days within the forest. Levi came to interrupt your training with them and the planning for the impending night, in the middle of the training field.
“I informed Commander Erwin that you are not suited for it. You were in the past. Not anymore.”
Silence filled the field; only the currents of wind could be heard through the whistling they left behind.
What Levi intended to convey is that, although entirely justifiable, when you witnessed your friends dying one after another, the grief and the impulsiveness to avenge them (as he himself had done) made Levi feel as though his life was flashing before his eyes, saving you at the very last moment when you had been overpowered. An image he cannot remove from his mind.
He knows you are capable; he has always known. That is precisely why both of you were assigned as leaders.
“I’m sorry I am not constructed from stone like you fucking are. Don’t ever meddle in my business again.”
And you didn’t speak to him after this time, except when absolutely necessary. And that resulted in Erwin sighing heavily at both of your stubbornness to not get along. Even Hange could not dodge the subject with something else.
And you also didn’t know that Levi didn’t really sleep that night. Nor many nights when you were on missions without him. Having nightmares that you would be next. The person from his past whom he respects the most, the one who makes him break his walls, hammering into them each time you challenged him or dismantled his arguments that, at times, his punishments and his brutal discipline shouldn’t be the only option for others to learn.
And the worst part—you proved to him how profoundly he had been mistaken when it was his fault that something happened to you. At least, that is what he told himself.
When Eren surprised all of you and called you to provide backup in Marley, Levi’s plan functioned flawlessly until, in the distance, he saw your body collapsing, thrown against a wall that was stained with your blood.
It was the only moment when Levi ceased to be Levi. His heart pounded relentlessly, and luck—if it could even be called luck, as Levi did not believe in such things nor did he experience it in this life—was that he trusted the soldiers whom both of you had helped train. Differently, yet somehow complementarily.
He took you into his arms immediately, your head resting against his chest while two fingers checked your pulse. Faint, but it was there. Barely.
“It is my fault. You were right. I am the one who failed. I was supposed to prevent this from happening. It is all my fault. Live. Please, live.”
And for Levi, the many nights that followed, with you confined to a bed, were without rest.
“I am certain she would not want you to not even eat, Levi.”
Hange attempted to speak after checking your vital functions once again—at Levi’s insistence, multiple times that day.
Levi did not say anything; his mind was completely shattered into fragments as his eyes were reddened. From the lack of sleep? Perhaps. But that was not the only reason.
His training sessions became harsher than before. And he was a man who could handle it all? What a fucking joke. He heard your voice in his mind every time he lashed out at others. Even Erwin was surprised by his depressive demeanor.
When you awoke, seeing him as the first presence after being in a coma, Levi almost left the room. He did not feel he deserved it to be here.
“Do not you dare leave the room or I will never forgive you.”
Your eyes tingled with the violent feelings you felt flooding your veins as you wait for any hint of an answer. Levi’s shoulder dropped, eyes hidden between his bands as his head leaned toward the floor in a shameful greediness he shouldn’t be allowed to feel as he finally comes back next to your bed. He gave you a quick glance as he sit down on the chair. Only one because he avoid looking directly at you, afraid to don’t see your sad soul, broken by his careless actions. He couldn’t fathom the fact you were on a completely different spectrum: He waited for me here. He was always here. I misjudged his poorly attempts of showing he is still here.
You rested your hand at the edge of the bed, the movement made his eyes trace it until he saw how you impatiently ask for his one.
“Levi.” Hesitantly like it will burn his skin, only one of his finger touched yours until you grab it firmly. “Can you look at me? Please?” Levi gulped slowly before he did so. He is not a cowards. He should face his own mistakes. But, when he locked his eyes on yours, they widened. Filled with only softness, the little smile only accentuated your real thoughts of all of that happened. “Thank you.”
He scoffed, turning his head to look in a random spot in the hospital room, too little to give enough oxygen for him to don’t feel suffocating.
“For what? For the failure I was the one to—“
“No. No, Levi.” Making him to bit his tongue by your sudden words, he looked back at you as you add. “For not being a coward and turn your heart to stone.”
He didn’t say anything. Shouldn’t he? What’s the point in not doing so? The silence in the room was filled a couple of minutes later by you again.
“I knew you care about me, asshole. I didn’t knew I should almost die for you to show me that.”
The sight of a flustered Levi was something you never believed you’ll ever see, making your heart tremble.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t b—“
You felt his hand squeezed yours while he forced the subtle confession to escape between his lips.
“And I do. I really do.”
His gaze was so intense that it took you seconds to react, giving him a sight he also didn’t think he will ever see, provoked by him. A happy, wide smile, the redness in your cheeks making you more beautiful than he already saw you.
summary: levi isn’t bad at a lot, this just happened to be one of them. or: five times levi tries to propose and one time he does.
wc: 4.5k
levi ackerman is not a man that feared many things, in fact some would say he's fearless but that's not the case.
levi, like many people, has his own fears.
they just look a little different than everyone else's.
levi didn't know what the right way was to go about this. if it were up to him the two of you would just go down to the courthouse and elope. and if he was being totally honest, that had been his plan until hange caught wind of it.
after teasing him a little, they'd insisted on him buying a ring, even offering to go with him and as much as he didn't care for those things he knew one thing, that you did.
so he went and bought one.
a simple oval cut ring with a gold band. he wasn't sure of what to get, it's not like you two spoke about marriage often. you couldn't really plan for the future in your line of work.
but levi knew life was too short to not do what one desires.
which is exactly why this should have been simple.
it was not.
the small velvet box had been sitting in his uniform pocket for days now. it was something he was constantly aware of, something he knew he had to do but he, for whatever reason, kept putting it off. so it continued to sit there, burning a hole in his pocket.
i. in his office
he sat in his office chair, filling out documents like usual when you'd barged in.
he knew it was you because no one else would ever have the courage to walk into his office like that unannounced.
he didn't exactly hear much that you said when you came in, but he knew it had you heated. you were pacing his office as you spoke passionately, clearly you had been wanting to get this off your chest for a while. but he wasn't paying attention to that. he was paying attention to you.
he watched your face silently as it glowed in the dim lights of his office.
god were you beautiful.
"levi, you're not even listening." you said, stopping in front of him.
"¡ am. you just began to repeat yourself."
"because you weren't listening."
"i'm sorry. finish what you were saying." he said, gently taking ahold of your wrist.
you took that opportunity to slip into his lap, letting him wrap an arm around your waist as you continued talking again.
and he let you, let your voice fill his office once more as he silently studied your features. the way your eyes squint as you furrowed your eyebrows, or the slight pout your lips had when you spoke about something that upset you, or-
"levi!"
he blinks slowly. "hm?"
"what's up with you?"
"you look pretty." was all he said, catching you off guard.
his compliment brought a smile to your face, taking that opportunity to lean in and press a gentle kiss to his lips.
“thank you.”
he'd grunted in response, acknowledging your words.
a comfortable silence surrounded the both of you, one that was familiar. it was nice, familiar.
maybe he should do it now.
levi pulled you closer to him, looking at you deeply which caused you to tilt your head slightly in question as his free hand slowly gravitates toward his pocket.
"what is it?" you asked, messing with a bit of his hair.
deep breaths.
"i wan-"
he couldn't even start his sentence before someone barged into his office panting, catching you both of guard.
"captain lev-oh."
it was jean. the annoying brat.
"i'm so sorry captain." he apologised quickly, bowing his head.
you took this chance to get off levi's lap, straightening yourself up.
levi let a small noise of disapproval, the sudden lack of warmth not welcome.
"you're being requested urgently by higher ups, sir. i didn't mean to-"
"that enough." he grunts, standing from his chair. “let’s go then.”
he glanced at you as he walked toward the door, silently apologising for the interruption. you didn’t say anything, just nodding in response. you knew it wasn’t his fault.
ii. your bedroom.
rays of sunlight shone through the gaps in the curtains, casting a warm glow onto your boyfriend’s chest.
he was up, of course he was.
the fact he’d slept last night was a miracle but you were forever grateful he did because it meant you had his chest to sleep on.
you turned over to be met with levi, seated upright on the bed with some documents in hand.
he heard your movement, placing them down on the bedside table, giving you his full attention.
“good morning.”
“good morning, handsome.” you greet, leaning up to giving him a soft kiss.
levi liked mornings like these.
though they were rare because you never seemed to be up on time, he cherished them deeply.
you rested your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes again, and levi took this opportunity to look at you.
really look at you.
his gaze lingered, taking in every small detail he’d already committed to memory. he often found himself wondering how he had gotten so lucky.
he wasn’t one that was used to expressing his emotions and for whatever reason, you understood that.
you let him take his time as he tried to get comfortable with it.
and even now, though he may not be there yet, he was definitely getting better at it.
his eyes flickered briefly to the bedside table. the top drawer to be more exact. where the ring sat in its box, waiting for him to open, waiting for him to ask you. where he’d placed it there earlier without much thought.
but now it felt impossible to ignore.
this could be it.
it was quiet.
you were here.
there was nothing to interrupt him, no one to get in the way.
just the two of you.
“..levi?” you mumbled quietly, your voice thick with sleep.
“hm.”
“come back to bed.” you murmur, shifting closer to him, your hand resting against his side.
he removed himself from his thoughts, looking down at you. at the way you were barely awake, completely relaxed against him.
and suddenly it felt wrong to do it now, not when you were half asleep.
so he pushed down the thought, sinking back into bed and wrapping an arm around you to pull you close.
iii. campsite
it’d been four days since that morning.
it was dark out, the sky clear with occasional bright white dot visible in the sky.
you’d insisted on sitting out in the dark for a while and who was levi to deny his girlfriend?
you both sat outside your tent, your head resting on his lap as you looked up at the sky. pointing at the occasional star or constellation you would spot in between idle chatter.
levi didn’t say much.
not that he really did.
he much preferred listening to your voice as spoke, his hand resting on your waist, thumb absentmindedly moving back and forth.
“that one.” you say, raising your arm to point.
“which one?”
you nudge levi’s leg, raising your arm again. “there, the really bright one.”
he follows your finger this time, looking up.
“i see it now.”
you smiled to yourself before getting yourself comfortable as familiar silence fell between you both again.
your eyes remain fixed on the sky, watching the stars flicker faintly above you.
“wait,” you gasped, sitting up suddenly.
levi’s hand naturally reached out to steady you. “what?”
“look.” you say quickly, pointing at the sky again.
he follows your gaze just in time to see a bright streak of light cut through the night sky.
a shooting star.
“make a wish!” you say, immediately closing your eyes.
levi watches you for a moment.
“that’s not how it works.” he huffs, earning a nudge from you.
“just do it.” you insist.
he sighs in defeat, but he doesn’t close his eyes. just watches you quietly.
your soft expression, the small smile on your lips.
he didn’t need to close his eyes to make his wish.
he already knew.
you open your eyes and look up again, as if expecting the star to still be there and then turning to look at levi.
“what did you wish for?”
your question earned a scoff from him. “you’re not meant to say.”
“i know,” you smiled. “i’m going to tell you anyway.
he doesn’t reply. just looks at you, waiting for you to continue.
“i wished for things to stay like this. just us. for as long as possible.
if you looked closely you could see the smallest shift in levi’s expression.
“what about you?”
his face remained unreadable, stiff. but his hand reached for yours, holding it in his gently.
this was it.
the perfect opportunity to tell you just how he felt, no–
“captain!” a distant voice called, followed with the heavy sound of footsteps.
really? levi thought.
he slowly closed his eyes, composing himself before rising to his feet, holding his hand out to help you up next.
the scout was stood before you now, drawing deep breaths.
“captain, you’re both needed urgently. some movement has been detected at the left wing.”
and just like that the both of you were sucked back into work, your previous moment forgotten.
iv. on a walk
the spring breeze felt nice on your skin, cooling you down as the hot sun continued to beat down on you.
for the first time in a while, you had some time to yourself before training. but that wasn’t even the most shocking part. the most shocking part was the fact levi also had that same period of time off. so what better way to spend it than basking in the late afternoon sun whilst taking a quiet stroll through the grounds.
this was a rarity you both enjoyed whenever you had the chance.
the two of you walked a familiar path, hand in hand, taking in the stillness around you. it was quiet, peaceful in a way your lives rarely allowed, and for once there was nothing pressing waiting for either of you. no orders, no responsibilities.
this was perfect.
“we should think of heading back soon. i’m sure training will begin shortly,” levi said, glancing ahead.
you sighed softly, turning to face him. “come on, levi, don’t be like that.”
he frowned slightly, not understanding what he’d said wrong. he was right, you both had to head back soon.
“don’t you want to spend time with me?” you asked, stepping in front of him and wrapping your arms around his neck.
his hands found your waist easily, like they always did, holding you without thought. he liked when you touched him, even if he’d never say it out loud. there was something grounding about it, something he’d grown used to without realising.
“i am,” he said simply.
you smiled at that, studying his face for a second before leaning in. he met you halfway, your lips moving together in a way that felt second nature now.
he definitely liked this.
you let out a quiet hum against him as his grip tightened slightly, pulling you just a little closer as the kiss deepened. for a moment, everything else faded away.
levi knew.
this was it.
he’d planned it this time. waited for the right moment, made sure no one would be around, no one to interrupt or pull you away. everything was exactly how it should be.
slowly, his hand slipped from your waist, moving toward his pocket. his fingers closed around the small box, steady but deliberate as he pulled back from the kiss just slightly.
you followed instinctively, your forehead resting against his, your breath still warm against his lips.
“…what?” you murmured.
he hesitated for only a second before pulling the box out, holding it low between you. his thumb brushed against the lid, heart steady in his chest even as the weight of the moment settled around him.
this was it.
“…i—”
a drop of water hit your cheek.
you blinked.
then another.
and another.
you both glanced up at the sky just as the clouds that hadn’t been there moments ago seemed to roll in all at once.
“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered.
within seconds, the light drizzle turned heavier, rain falling fast and sudden, soaking through your clothes before either of you could properly react.
you laughed, grabbing onto him as the rain came down harder. “okay, maybe we should go.”
levi stood there for a second longer, the box still in his hand, the moment slipping away in real time.
then he exhaled sharply, snapping it shut and shoving it back into his pocket.
“come on.”
he grabbed your hand, pulling you along as the two of you rushed back toward shelter, your laughter mixing with the sound of the rain hitting the ground.
by the time you made it inside, you were both soaked.
you pushed wet hair from your face, still smiling. “that was fun.”
“…you’ll catch a cold,” he muttered, clearly not happy with the rain.
“loosen up, grumpy,” you teased.
he didn’t respond.
just watched you for a second, taking in the way you looked; soaked and laughing.
the moment had been perfect.
everything had gone right.
and somehow, it still hadn’t happened.
v. at dinner
it was a special night tonight.
it was date night, which meant one of you cooked while the other stayed out of the way, and then you both sat down and ate together like nothing else mattered. it was a tradition you kept every month or so. something simple, but something you always found yourselves looking forward to. though tonight felt slightly different.
“wow, levi.” you smiled, taking a seat across from him.
he didn’t say much, just adjusted your chair slightly before sitting down himself. everything was neat, organised, exactly how he liked it. the food was still warm, the table set properly, not a single thing out of place.
levi had one rule on nights like these; no one was allowed to disturb. and everyone knew better. tonight, he had made sure of it.
because tonight, he was going to propose.
you picked up your fork, glancing at him again. “you went all out.”
“…it’s nothing.”
you smiled slightly, shaking your head. “it’s not nothing. this is really nice.”
he hummed quietly, his attention on you more than the food. he’d planned this. every detail, every moment, making sure nothing would go wrong. for once, everything was exactly how it should be.
the box sat in his pocket, heavier than usual.
this was it.
the conversation stayed easy between you, light and familiar, the kind that didn’t need effort. you spoke about nothing important; training, small things, whatever came to mind, and he let it happen, waiting for the right moment to shift it into something more.
when you finished, you leaned back slightly, letting out a soft breath. “i enjoyed that.”
“yeah.”
you smiled at him, softer now. “i like this. just us.”
his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual. “so do i.”
silence followed, calm and steady, the kind that usually didn’t need filling. this was the moment.
levi felt it.
his hand moved slightly, brushing against his pocket where the box sat, waiting.
say it.
just say it.
“there’s something i want to say,” he said.
you looked up at him, curious but relaxed. “okay.”
his chest felt tight, not in fear, but in the weight of it. of what it meant. of how much it mattered. you watched him patiently, like you always did, and for some reason that made it harder.
his fingers curled slightly against his leg. the words were there, he could feel them. all he had to do was say them.
“…we should do this more often,” he said instead.
you blinked, then smiled faintly. “i was just thinking that.”
he nodded once, like that had been what he meant all along, like that had been the question. the moment shifted, just like that.
you kept talking, completely oblivious to what had almost been said.
and levi sat there, listening, responding when needed, like nothing had happened.
like he hadn’t just failed again.
this time, there was no interruption. no bad timing. no one to blame but himself.
just him.
and the words he couldn’t seem to say.
iv.
the room was warm, lit softly by the lamp in the corner, the glow low and golden as the record player spun lazily in the background. the music wasn’t loud, just enough to fill the space, paired with the faint crackle of the vinyl.
you were already halfway through the song when levi walked in.
bare feet against the floor, hair still damp from your shower, wearing one of levi’s shirts that hung loose on you. you hummed quietly to yourself, moving around the room without much care.
he stood near the door for a moment longer than necessary, watching you move around. it wasn’t anything new. he’d seen you like this before. but for some reason, tonight it felt different.
“if you fall and hurt yourself i won’t help.
you turned immediately, grin already forming. “don’t lie.”
“i won’t.” he lied, he knew if anything were to happen he’d be by your side in an instant.
“liar.”
he didn’t bother responding to that, but his eyes followed you as you walked toward him, like you’d expected him to just… join in.
which he wouldn’t.
“come here,” you said, holding your hand out.
“…no.”
“levi.”
“i said no.”
you pulled him forward before he could finish, laughing softly as he stumbled the slightest bit, more from surprise than anything else.
“you’re no fun,” you murmured, placing his hands on your waist yourself before resting yours loosely around his shoulders.
he looked down at you, unimpressed on the surface, but he didn’t move them away.
“i’m not dancing,” he muttered again.
“you don’t have to dance,” you said, already placing his hands on your waist. “just stand there and look pretty.”
“i don’t do that either.” he scoffs in disbelief.
“you’re doing it right now.”
he gave you a look for that.
you smiled wider.
and then you started swaying again, slow and easy, guiding him without asking, like you always did.
it didn’t take long before he stopped pretending to resist.
“see?” you murmured. “not so bad.”
he doesn’t respond to that, just grunting at your words.
you laughed, leaning in slightly, your forehead brushing his for a second before you pulled back just enough to look at him properly.
“you’d be miserable without me.”
“i’d be able to get more done.”
“exactly. miserable.”
he never said anything, but something in his expression softened just slightly.
enough for you to notice.
“do you like being with me?”
the question came out of nowhere and it caused you to look at him with confusion.
“of course i do.” you said like it were obvious.
“why..?”
you let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “what do you mean why?”
“why?” he repeated.
the tone in his voice told you he wasn’t joking with you and it made you frown a bit. to you it was obvious why you were with him but levi was failing to see the same.
because.. you’re always there when i need you, even if you pretend it inconveniences you. you care for me and you’re honest. you make me feel safe.”
levi’s eyes never left your face, even when he finished speaking. instead he ket silence consume the both of you as he thought of what to say.
“i know i don’t talk a lot about how i feel.”
you huffed quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “you could say that.”
“i don’t.. but i think about it. i think about it way more than i say it.” he speaks slowly.
your smile faded slightly, your attention fully on him.
“i’ve lost a lot of people growing up. people i thought would see grow old alongside me. and i constantly think of all the things i never said to them.”
his words made you chest tighten. he didn’t talk about his past often and you knew there were scars there, scars that would most likely never fully heal. but whenever he spoke of it to you, you couldn’t help but feel grateful that he trusted you enough to open up to you.
“i know that nothing in this lifetime is promised, especially with our line of work but also know i wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything were to happen to you. i can’t let it happen again, not with you.”
your expression changed, your hands resting on his shoulders.
“i don’t want this to end because of something i should’ve said. i don’t want to lose you knowing i could’ve prevented it.”
you shook your head in response. “you’re not going to lose me.”
“you don’t know that.”
“i do.” you said, stepping closer, your hands tangling in his hair. “i’m not going anywhere.”
he looked at you properly, like he found it hard to believe.
“..then marry me.”
you couldn’t believe the words that’d left his mouth, you breath caught in your chest.
“what?” you questioned in disbelief.
his voice remained firm as he repeated his words.
“marry me,” he repeated, just as steady. “so i don’t have to keep wondering if you know how much i love you.”
your chest tightened at that, something warm and overwhelming settling in all at once.
“levi..”
you knew your answer and you also knew the fact that you hadn’t given him a proper answer yet was eating at him so you decided to mess with him a bit.
“there’s no ring.” you huffed in fake annoyance.
he paused, mentally cursing himself for being so unorganised.
“right..” was all he said before pulling away.
before you could react, he’d already crossed the room, opening the top drawer beside his side of the bed. you watched him, confusion settling in for a moment before he turned back around, the small black box now visible in his hand.
“…no way.”
he walked back over to you, slower this time. when he stopped in front of you, there was a brief second where he just looked at you before lowering himself onto one knee.
“will you marry me?”
you couldn’t believe this was actually happening. you just stared at him for a second, pure disbelief written all over your face before you nodded quickly, almost stumbling over your words.
“yes–of course i will.”
he slid the ring onto your finger carefully, his touch steady despite everything. when he stood, you didn’t even give him a second to say anything before you were pulling him into you, wrapping your arms tightly around him.
“i can’t believe you,” you murmured, your voice slightly shaky against him.
“do you like the ring?” he asked, his arms settling firmly around your waist.
you pulled back just enough to look at it again, a small smile breaking across your face. “of course i do.”
your gaze lifted back to his.
“i love you, levi.”
and for the first time in a while, you were met with a small smile.
“i love you too.”
you barely had a second to react before he pulled you back in, one hand coming up to your jaw, holding you there as he kissed you firmly, pouring all his emotions into the kiss.
when you pulled back, you let out a quiet laugh, still a little breathless. you shakily placed your hand on his chest, staring in pure shock as you get a proper look at the ring.
you stared at it properly this time, like it had only just sunk in.
“…oh my god.”
your voice was softer now, almost disbelieving, your thumb brushing over it like you needed to make sure it was real.
levi didn’t say anything.
he just watched you.
you glanced back up at him after a second, a small smile slowly forming. “did you plan this?”
he scoffed at the question, shaking his head.
“no.” he started. “i tried five times before this.”
that caught your attention immediately, laughter bubbling up in your chest.
“what? you’re kidding.”
levi shook his head, completely serious.
“i’m not.”
you pulled back slightly just to look at him properly, eyes narrowing a little like you were trying to figure out if he was messing with you. “…you’re lying.”
“…i’m not.”
“levi,” you laughed, shaking your head. “there’s no way you tried five times and i didn’t notice.”
“you didn’t.”
“that’s actually embarrassing for you.”
he gave you a look, unimpressed. “…it wasn’t my fault.”
“oh, so now it’s my fault?” you shot back, smiling.
“things kept getting in the way.”
you tilted your head, clearly entertained now. “you have to tell me about each time. in detail.”
he sighed quietly, like he already regretted saying anything.
the music from the record player continued to spin softly in the background, the faint crackle filling the space between you, playing a familiar tune.
you stepped a little closer, your arms settling comfortably around him as the two of you began to sway gently to the music.
“fine,” he muttered after a moment.
you smiled against him, resting your head on his shoulder as he started, reluctantly, to tell you about each failed attempt.
and as he spoke, quiet and low, you listened, that same warm feeling settling deep in your chest.
because every almost, every failed moment.
it had still led him here.
to you.
you smiled to yourself, eyes closing briefly as you held onto him just a little tighter.
💚Thank you, @meldl18, for the request. I fear I have written another monster fic here lol…hope you enjoy💚
Description: After weeks of tension and unresolved feelings, a confrontation with Levi pushes everything to the surface—especially after your night without Jean.
WC: ~8k
Tags: Jealous!Levi Ackerman x reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers, jealousy, tension, emotional angst, dominance, canon typical violence, Jean Kirstein mentioned, (Oh shit!), SMUT ofc, and some fluff stuff towards the end (As fluffy as Levi can afford to be, anyways!)
MDNI!
✧༺❀༻✧༺❀༻✧ ✧༺❀༻✧༺❀༻✧ ✧༺❀༻✧
You don’t know when it started. The hostility, that is.
Or why it seemed to settle so naturally between the two of you, like it had been inevitable. It was as if he was destined to hate you even before he met you.
Captain Levi Ackerman, that is.
Maybe it wasn’t as personal as it felt. Levi didn’t take to anyone easily.
Still… it had been three years.
Three years since you joined the Scouts. You weren’t some wide-eyed recruit anymore—you were sharp, calculated, and deadly. Not to mention appreciated by those around you. Captain Erwin had taken a liking to your tenacity, and even Mikasa liked to chat while you repaired gear.
So it didn’t make sense.
The way he looked at you—like you were something beneath his boot.
Levi was harsh with everyone; that much was true. But you weren’t blind—you saw it. He did care to a certain degree. Like the way his eyes tracked his squad during missions, always counting.
He did care.
Just not about you.
With you, there was no restraint. No quiet understanding. Just cold scrutiny—sharp and unrelenting.
And that made your blood burn. Because you knew what you were worth. You were strong—strong enough to stand beside the best of them. Mikasa included.
You didn’t ever break formation out of panic.
You did it because you refused to stand there and watch someone die when you could do something about it.
And every time—
he made you pay for it.
He would call you reckless. Airheaded. Or a dipshit.
Once, he’d even snatched you by the front of your cloak, yanking you close, his voice lethal as he tore into you for breaking ranks—publicly.
For “endangering the squad.”
For being selfish.
Selfish.
The word still made your head hurt.
You’d snapped back sometimes—chin high, refusing to be spoken to like you were dirt when you were only doing your job. It was your life to throw away. Not his. And still, he looked you dead in the eye and told you that you weren’t saving people for them.
You were doing it for yourself, he said.
So here you stood during morning muster, shoulder to shoulder between Connie and Jean, boots planted firm despite the tension coiling tight in your chest. Levi stood at the front, going over assignments.
It would be a dull day with no missions lined up.
Levi moved down the line, inspecting.
Then—he stopped.
Right in front of you.
Of course.
You felt it before you looked—his scrutiny, heavy and suffocating. Your stomach jumped, but you forced yourself to stay still. His eyes dragged from your head to your boots.
“Next time,” he said flatly, “try starching your uniform.”
He paused, eyeballing you from head to toe.
“It looks like shit.”
It shouldn’t have bothered you, but of course it did. Because as much as you hated to admit it, you wanted his approval.
“Yes, sir.”
You kept your gaze forward, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
Still, you felt his gaze linger a second too long before he moved on. When he was out of earshot, you exhaled, glancing at Jean.
“I swear,” you muttered, “he catches one whiff of my ass and comes crawling out of nowhere.”
Jean snorted. Connie barely held it together.
“I’m serious,” you pressed. “He’s always looking for something...”
“Maybe he likes you,” Connie said.
You shot him a look. “Yeah. I can just feel the affection.”
When they broke formation, Jean fell into step beside you, close as usual. You didn’t mind. He was easy to talk to, and you didn’t have to brace yourself around him.
“So,” Jean started casually, “we’ve got liberty tonight.”
You glanced at him with a half smile. "Yeah?"
“Thought maybe I could take you out again. For another drink, play some cards, take a walk...whatever you like.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Yeah… I’d like that.”
Then there came that feeling. Like something pressing into your back, and creeping up your neck. You didn’t have to guess.
Levi was standing still, across the way. Watching, but not casually or passively. His burning gaze was fixed on you and Jean, smoldering.
And then he moved—straight toward you.
“Oh, great,” you muttered. “Don’t react,” you warned Jean, who was visibly confused. Levi was on top of the two of you before you could elaborate.
“Jean.” he shot, his tone flat and controlled. “I have you going out on a supply run.”
Jean straightened immediately. “Yes, sir.” His eyes met yours, saying a silent goodbye.
"Then go." Levi spat.
And just like that, Jean turned and was gone. Leaving you alone with him. You turned your attention to the ledger, pretending to read. But he was still there, standing far too close.
You glanced up—
What a mistake.
He was just looking at you, as if he didn't know what to make of you. You began to squirm under his gaze, heat rushed through you—sharp, and unwarranted, but not unwanted. At least not to your body.
What the fuck…
You began to internally panic, not knowing the right thing to say, the right thing to do. Why did he have this affect on you?
“It’s… cold out here,” you muttered.
“Then you should dress like it.” he lowered his gaze to your chest, where you noticed a button had fallen loose, and your chest was slightly exposed
His eyes moved slowly over you.
Your throat tightened.
Don’t react.
Don’t—
His gaze lifted and met yours, making your chest tighten in all the wrong ways. He stepped back, just like it never happened.
“Get your assignment and move.” He said, deadpan.
“Yes, sir.”
The armory smelled like oil, metal, and worn leather. You sat cross-legged on the bench, ODM gear spread in pieces in front of you. Your fingers worked methodically, tightening bolts—only for them to slip out of place again.
You sighed.
“I’ve always hated putting these things back together,” you muttered.
Across from you, Mikasa adjusted her gear.
“Mm.”
For a while, neither of you spoke.
Then—
“…Levi cornered me earlier.”
“Mmm. Shocker.”
You frowned slightly. “He was… weird.”
That got her attention.
“Weird how?” She puzzled.
“He wasn’t griping. Not even really bitching.” You hesitated. “Just… looking at me...like in my eyes, and lingering around.”
Click.
“…He obviously likes you.”
You blinked. “What?”
“He watches you. Like all the time.”
“That’s because he thinks I’m a liability.”
“He doesn’t watch liabilities like that.” A pause. “He lets them die of their own stupidity.”
You opened your mouth then closed it.
“…Well,” you muttered, wiping your blade harder than necessary, “even if he did—hypothetically—that doesn’t mean anything.”
Mikasa tilted her head.
“…You like him too.”
You froze.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I don’t—he’s just—” you gestured vaguely, “objectively attractive. And stoic. And strong—”
Mikasa raised an eyebrow.
“…and brave,” you finished weaker.
Silence ensued.
“And those are all qualities you’re attracted to.”
You groaned. “Oh my God.”
“But Jean is different,” you said quickly.
Mikasa waited.
“He’s… soft. Kind. He actually talks to me like I’m a person.”
Mikasa nodded once.
“That’s nice.”
A pause.
“But that’s not what you want.”
You stared at her blankly before going back to your work, but internally you cursed yourself, because you feared she could be right.
You were alone while getting ready in the barracks that night. Most people had someone to go home to—family, partners. Those who didn’t, like Mikasa, Eren, and Armin, had already gone ahead to the tavern.
You hesitated.
You wanted to be excited. Jean was using one of his few liberty nights to spend it with you—even though he had family he could’ve seen.
But Levi kept creeping into your thoughts...those stormy gray eyes...
You tossed your shirt onto the bed, arms crossing tightly.
“I’m not going,” you muttered.
It wasn’t fair.
One look from him—and suddenly everything you’d been building with Jean felt… shaky. It wasn’t fair to Jean either. You didn’t want to let him down.
But the heart wants what it wants.
He’d understand that.
“…Like hell,” you muttered, grabbing your blouse again. You undid the top two buttons, adjusted it slightly, and headed for the door.
The tavern was loud.
Laughter spilled over itself, glasses clinked, chairs scraped—heat and noise wrapped themselves around you like a blanket, dulling everything else.
And for once—
you let yourself relax.
Jean sat beside you, shoulder brushing yours as he laughed with Connie and Armin. His sleeves were rolled, hair slightly messier than usual, drink loose in his hand.
He looked… good.
After a while, he led you to a quieter corner. A small round table sat tucked near the wall. Instead of sitting across from you, he pulled out the chair beside his—and you took it. Now you were angled toward each other, knees interlocked underneath the table. Close enough to feel his warmth.
It made it harder to think.
You held your cards low in your lap. Jean mirrored you, leaning back, one arm draped over his chair, the other holding his cards near his thigh.
“Trying to peek?” he murmured.
You scoffed, tilting your cards closer. “Please. Your hand can't be that interesting.”
“Mm,” he hummed, glancing sideways.
Heat crept up your neck—but you only shifted slightly, making your knee rub the inside of his thigh as if it were unintentional.
“Funny,” he replied, leaning in just a little closer, voice lower, “I was thinking the same thing.”
You shuffled your cards.
“You’re losing.”
“I’m winning.”
“You keep saying that.”
“And I’ve been right.”
You reached across him to steal a card—his hand caught your wrist mid-motion.
You froze, then looked up. He was already watching you.
“…You always cheat?” he asked.
“Only when I’m losing.”
“That’s most of the time.”
“Wow,” you breathed, mock offended. “You’re bold tonight.”
“Maybe I’ve had enough to drink that I just don't care."
Your pulse picked up. You pulled your hand back slowly, but his fingers lingered a second too long before letting go.
The noise around you faded.
“…Hey,” he said softly.
You turned toward him.
“Yeah?”
His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then lifted again.
“You know I—” He stopped, exhaling. “I’ve been meaning to—”
“You don’t have to say it,” you murmured.
He studied you.
“Yeah?”
You nodded. That was all it took.
He leaned in—slow enough to stop him if you wanted. You didn’t. His lips met yours, soft at first—testing. Then you kissed him back. Your head spun as you sank into it.
Maybe it was the alcohol—
but he was a good kisser.
The kiss broke slightly as you both shifted, turning heads to kiss one another more deeply—And your heart jumped into your throat.
Because over Jean’s shoulder...you saw him.
Levi.
He was watching, unmoving. His gaze locked on yours. Not angry--no something worse.
Searing.
Why the hell is he even here…?
He should’ve been with the officers—not here with enlisted soldiers. He lifted his drink slowly, eyes never leaving you, then set it down harder than necessary. His jaw tightened.
He almost looked amused. Like he wanted to laugh.
Your stomach twisted.
Jean pulled back, noticing the shift.
“Something wrong? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” you said quickly. “I just… maybe we should go outside. I’d rather be alone with you.”
Jean lit up instantly.
“Yeah—of course.”
He stood, taking your hand, leaving the cards behind. You walked wide around the tables—avoiding Levi entirely. Jean didn’t notice anything wrong, eager to lead you outside.
But you couldn't shake Levi's stare as you let Jean lead you out the door. His gaze was set on your back the whole way out.
As Jean walked you back to the barracks that night you felt defeated. He left you at the steps, giving you a small smile before turning and disappearing into the night. You stepped inside letting out a frustrated breath, then—
“FUCK!” you hissed, dragging a hand down your face.
You stood leaning against the door still, unwillingly remembering what had just taken place: The night air. The tree at your back. Jean’s mouth on yours—warm, and insistent—his hands had been needy, touching all over your body. The way you’d melted into it, let yourself get pulled under.
And still—
You hadn’t been there. Perhaps physically, yes, but in your mind...
Levi had lived inside of your thoughts. You imagined that Jean was him.
His voice.
His presence.
The way he groped you.
Levi's gaze had followed you both outside, clinging to you, threading through every touch until you couldn’t tell who you were feeling anymore.
You remembered pulling away, your breath uneven, and your thoughts all tangled up. And the look on Jean’s face when you told him you couldn’t do it. That you didn’t trust what you were feeling. That it wasn’t fair to him.
He’d taken it better than he should have.
That almost made it worse for you.
"Ugh! WHAT the FUCK am I doing?!" You shouted, believing you were alone.
“Making it harder than it needs to be.”
Mikasa’s voice cut cleanly through the room. You jumped slightly, turning toward her. She was sitting on her bunk, book resting in her lap, eyes already on you like she’d been watching the whole time.
“When did you get here? Care to announce yourself, I mean GOD?” you groaned.
“I've been here a while,” she said, turning a page in her novel. "Technically, you're the intruder here."
Of course she had.
You dropped onto your bunk with a frustrated exhale, staring at the ceiling.
“Well...I messed that up. Like...bad.”
Mikasa turned a page.
“Mhm.”
Silence.
Then—
“…So,” she added casually, not even looking at you, “you stopped because of Levi.”
You turned your head sharply. “I did not—”
She finally glanced up, completely unimpressed.
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You were thinking about him while kissing Jean, weren't you?”
Your mouth opened—
Closed.
“…I hate you. Stay out of my head.”
“Mm...Right. I'll do that.”
A beat passed between you.
Then, with the faintest hint of dry humor:
“I told you so...”
You groaned, dragging your blanket over your face.
“Oh my GOD do you ever shut up?.”
Mikasa laughed, her eyes lingering on you.
"Sometimes I wonder the same thing about you." She snarked playfully. "In all seriousness, just take some time for yourself. You're obviously all tied up."
"Right." you shot back.
But she was right. You needed space. No Jean, no Levi, just room to breathe.
The next week—after you started taking a little space from Jean—was made worse by the fact that Levi had somehow grown even more impossible. He assigned Jean every unwanted job. And wherever Jean ended up, you were placed on the complete opposite side of the world.
You couldn’t even be upset about the distance—you needed it.
But you knew exactly why Levi was doing it--you were convinced:
It was because he wanted to punish you for being happy.
And yet—
Everywhere you were, he was near. Close enough to feel his presence, which made your heart race. Watching him train, his muscles rippling, leaning over maps and plans with Erwin, those sexy arms with his sleeves rolled up... But he was never close enough to acknowledge you.
It drove you insane.
Did I just ruin something good with Jean for a man who won’t even acknowledge my existence?
You refused to say it out loud—to admit it—even to yourself. But it was impossible to ignore the attraction to him. To stop the thoughts of you, paired with him. To imagine him fucking you in the captain's quarters with his tongue deep in your mouth, catching every single moan.
Ugh...What's wrong with me?!
Besides… how were you even supposed to know if he was interested when he acted like he couldn’t stand you?
The tension between you grew thicker by the day. He became more critical. More overbearing. He’d approach without warning, pointing out flaws that didn’t exist—adjusting your gear like you were a cadet fresh out of training. His fingers were quick and efficient… lingering just long enough to make you tingle, dragging over the skin above your neckline as he walked around you, tightening straps, his breath brushing softly over your shoulder...
Followed by some sharp, unnecessary correction. You always considered yourself a reasonable person, but by the time the squad's weekly sparring session had arrived, you were ready to snap.
You were paired with Sasha.
One by one, you had put down every opponent before her, but Sasha made you work for it. The two of you tangled, struggled—limbs locking, slipping, and striking—until finally, with a desperate burst of effort, you slammed her into the dirt.
Silence.
You stood over her, chest heaving, sweat dripping, and blood running from your busted nose, dripping down onto her uniform. Your hands braced against your knees. You’d been out there since early afternoon. Now the sun was beginning to set. You were exhausted. You offered her a hand, which she took, and you pulled her to her feet.
“Again.”
Levi’s voice cut through the field. A collective groan rippled through the group.
“Or you can all run,” he added flatly. The groan died instantly, and everyone began to fall back into formation, ready to pair with a new partner.
Heat prickled across your scalp, but not from exertion.
From sheer anger.
Fuck that.
“Then I guess that’s what we’re doing,” you shot back, straightening despite the way your body screamed in protest. Your hands planted firmly on your hips. “Because I’m not sparring again. Enough is enough.”
Silence pierced through the air like an arrow. Levi stopped dead in his tracks and turned slowly, his head tilted slightly, as if he couldn't believe it.
“Excuse you?” His voice was low and deadly.
You stepped forward, unrelenting.
“Excuse yourself. But before you do, how many miles do you want from me, Captain?” You gestured sharply toward the field. "We’ve been out here for hours—with no rest, and no food. I am beyond done with this shit.”
Connie choked on his water.
Armin shifted uncomfortably.
Reiner muttered something under his breath.
No one else moved. Levi’s eyes narrowed.
Then he moved. Fast—closing the distance. One second, he was across the field, and the next, he was right in front of you. Close enough that his breath stirred the loose strands of hair clinging to your face. You straightened instinctively, chest puffing—unwilling to back down.
Even as your pulse spiked.
He smelled clean.
Like tea and expensive soap.
It was distracting.
“I don’t care who you take down,” he said quietly. “If you don’t know the technique, then you’re dead weight to me.”
You scoffed.
“You're so right. I’m sure the titans are going to be real impressed by my vertical suplex.”
Your voice was sharp, your glare unwavering. You were dangerously close to putting him on his back just to prove a point. Your palms sweated as you prepared to make your move. Your heel shifted upward. A hand landed on your shoulder just as you were about to lunge, holding you firmly.
Jean stepped in.
“That’s enough, y/n. Captain, please. She's just dysregulated...tired.”
His other hand settled around your upper arm, grounding, steady. Ensuring he could pull you back if need be. You didn’t move.
Levi’s gaze flicked to him.
Then back to you.
A quiet, humorless scoff left him.
“Tch.”
His eyes dragged over you—slow, deliberate.
Judging you.
“Of course,” he muttered. “Running to her rescue.”
Jean’s jaw tightened, and he lowered his gaze.
Levi leaned in just slightly—Not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough that you felt it in your chest.
“He can't save you from me,” he said under his breath.
Your stomach dropped. Your blood was boiling hot again.
“Look at you,” he added, straightening. “Covered in sweat, acting like you’ve done something impressive.” His lip curled faintly.
“You’re filthy.”
Your body reacted before your brain could catch up.
Heat.
Sharp and sudden, it traveled directly to your core. It was an electric feeling.
You hated it. But your body loved it.
Really? He calls you filthy, and it does this to you?
You clenched your jaw at him, trying to hide the arousal in your eyes.
“Get cleaned up,” he said, voice dropping just for you. “Then come to my office.”
A moment passed. You wanted to hit him.
Kiss him.
Fuck his stupid brains out.
“I’ll deal with you there.”
He turned away like it was nothing.
“The rest of you are dismissed. Bunk inspection. 0500,” he yelled.
The formation broke quickly, murmurs spreading like wildfire.
You caught pieces—
“…she really said that to him…”
“…we’re all screwed…”
“…he’s gonna kill her…”
Eren stepped into your space almost immediately. “What were you thinking?” he snapped. “You can’t talk to him like that! You really think that's gonna fly?”
You shot him a look.
“That’s rich. Coming from you.”
He opened his mouth— then closed it, giving you an annoyed look before turning towards the barracks. You didn’t care. You were coming undone.
You were tired of the constant pressure. And with how infuriatingly he affected you. You hated how much you wanted him—and he hated you. That much was obvious. So why couldn’t you stop thinking about him? Why did every glance feel like something more? Why did you want him to fuck you through the wall?
You cut the thought off.
Hard.
No, no, no.
You weren’t doing that. Not here. Tensions were too high, you needed a cold shower to gather your composure and thoughts.
You’d cleaned up as best you could. The cold shower hadn't helped cool your irritated skin—or your troubled mind. The busted nose was still giving you issues, so you kept a handkerchief tucked in your pocket just in case it gushed again. Your mind raced about what to say to Levi.
He’s going to rip me apart for this.
The walk to his office felt longer than it should have. Your half-laced boots echoed against the stone, each step a reminder of just how sore you were. Your muscles were aching, shin splints throbbing, and your body was worn down to the bone.
Good.
You thought.
Let him see exactly what he’s done.
The halls were quiet at this hour; most had already turned in. Lantern light flickered along the walls, shadows stretching ahead of you.
You tried—once—to gather your thoughts. An apology or an explanation, but nothing stuck. Every time your mind circled back, it landed on the same thing—
his voice
his proximity
the way he looked at you
And the anger came rushing back.
Good.
You’d rather feel that than the other feelings that kept coming to the surface.
You stopped in front of his door.
For a second, you hesitated, your hand hovered.
knock. knock.
You straightened slightly, jaw crunched into a firm line, already bracing yourself for impact.
Levi
The knock came right on time.
Of course it did.
He hadn’t been looking at the clock—but he didn’t need to. Levi sat behind his desk, one hand resting loosely against the surface, the other wrapped around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold.
He hadn't noticed or cared. His eyes flicked once toward the door, then back down.
"Tch..."
He should’ve handled it out there. Shut you down in front of everyone, and ended it. But no, you just had to push. He’d let it go too far. It needed to be addressed one-on-one.
An image flashed uninvited—
You, earlier.
sweat-soaked, and breathing hard,
defiant
looking up at him like that…
He cut the thought off immediately.
Irrelevant.
He set the cup down with a quiet click, shaking his head. He walked around the desk, propping himself up on the corner, and grabbed a sheet of paper, pretending to be observing the writing scrawled there.
“Enter.”
He kept his voice flat and controlled, not allowing any emotion underneath it. The door creaked open and you slipped in.,
For half a second, he didn’t look up, deliberately. He let you stand there, and let the silence set in steadily. He was in control here.
Not you.
Then, his gaze lifted and froze involuntarily. Because you didn’t look like you usually did. You weren't carefully composed, sharp, or even halfway prepared to defend yourself against him.
You looked—
tired.
But...disarming.
Your hair was still slightly damp and loosely combed, your shirt was thrown on without much care, and your collar was open more than enough to be noticeable. The fabric was thin and hung more softly on your frame than your uniform ever did; it looked loose and unstructured.
And underneath—
You wore nothing.
No support, and no effort to hide it. Just you.
Your posture was held together by will alone. You smelled clean. It was a faint, subtle scent—he recognized it now, a light hint of lavender. It wasn't too heavy; he could just hardly smell it as your presence filled the room, making him curious. He wished he hadn’t, because it immediately went to his groin. He wanted more of it.
He quickly composed himself.
"You’re late.”
You weren’t. But he didn’t care.
“No, I’m not.”
God he wanted to fix that mouth of yours.
“Shut the door” he demanded coolly.
You did as he said. He didn’t offer you anything. He just looked at you with a cold expression while assessing you.
“You’ve been getting careless,” he said, sitting on the edge of the desk, with his hands crossed.
Your brows pulled. “Careless?”
“You're defiant,” he corrected. “You think because you can hold your own, you get to ignore orders.”
“I didn’t ignore anything,” you shot back at him. “I defended myself, I pushed back for once because you are constantly on me, no matter how hard I try, or how well I do," you shot back, throwing your hands up at your sides.
He couldn't miss the way your breasts moved under that loose-fitted, thin shirt...He sharpened his resolve.
“You don’t push back.” He said plainly, leaning off of the edge of the desk and stepping a bit closer. “You follow orders. That’s it.”
Your jaw tensed until you felt like your teeth would crack. “Not when they don’t make a lick of sense.”
Tch.
“There it is.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Have you even stopped to consider that titans are not our only enemies?”
That hit you; he could see it in the way that your eyebrows knitted together. There was hesitation as you swallowed hard.
“Doesn’t matter,” you said, steadier than you felt. “Not if I’m too beat down to train properly.”
Excuses, excuses.
He knew how strong you were--he needed you to be stronger. On his level. He needed you to be able to protect yourself when he couldn't be there.
And he knew for a fact 'Jean boy' couldn't keep you safe.
“Or maybe,” he said, quieter now, “you've just been too distracted lately.”
Your eyes sharpened. “By what?" You laughed at him. "If there's something you want to say, don't be coy. Just spit it out, Captain."
He didn’t answer right away, because he didn't know how to go about it. He didn't know how to pry without seeming as if he cared too much.
“You and Kirstein putting on your little show in front of everyone.”
Your expression shifted, just barely.
“You made a spectacle,” he continued. “Both of you did.”
“That’s not what that was—He was just trying to stop me from escalating the situation because you—"
“It looked like it,” he interrupted flatly. “And it’s enough to make the rest of the squad think they can fall out of line whenever they feel like it.” Silence hung in the air as he eyed you, studying your expression. You swallowed hard, and your breathing was faster.
“And whatever you think it is that you have with him… It’s going to cost you in the end. I've seen it many times. He can't keep you safe out there—he's just a distraction.”
Your eyes flashed with anger.
“You don’t have the faintest clue what you’re talking about.”
“No?”
“No,” you snapped, not even caring to explain that you had distanced yourself from Jean romantically. “I get it. You fucking hate me, Levi. You think me obnoxious and reckless, and now you're insinuating I'm a careless whore, so you know what? Just—kick me from the squad and get it over with.”
Silence fell between you.
He didn’t even know what to say.
You looked as if you would burst into tears; your watery eyes were swimming with defeat and shame.
His heart dropped at the sight of it.
He could admit he hadn’t been the warmest—hell, he never was with anyone—but he couldn’t figure out where he’d gone so wrong that you thought he felt all of that toward you…
When, in reality, he’d only ever wanted to be closer to you.
All the times he placed you near him on missions. The way he adjusted your gear without asking. He wouldn’t admit it—he had too much pride for that—but he hadn’t done any of it without reason. And he sure as hell didn’t want you walking around with the wrong idea about where you stood with him.
“Exactly." You quipped. "Nothing to say."
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you said, your voice choking; he could tell you were on the verge of tears. “Give you something to brag about—how you finally put me in my place, kicked me back to the cadets, or had me disbarred.”
You scoffed softly, already turning away.
“I’ll save you the trouble. I’m done.” You took a breath, hoping it would stifle the tears. “I’ll transfer. Find another section—or go to the MPs. I’ll talk to Erwin in the morning.”
You swallowed hard, forcing the words out.
“I won’t be a burden to you anymore.”
Your voice cracked anyway. You turned before he could see the pain in your expression, moving for the door.
He let you take one step.
Two...
Then his hand shot out, gripping your arm firmly. Stopping you cold in your tracks.
“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice lowered. “Stop talking like that.”
You turned sharply, trying to pull free—but he didn't let you. Instead, he pulled you in closely. So close that your forearms rested on his chest, you were gazing up at him with those big, y/e/c eyes. They were swimming with tears, as if you were going to burst at the seams at any moment. Your breath hitched in your throat as you fought to hold back the raw emotion, the sadness, and the desire that were mixing and bubbling up all at once.
He had never wanted you more than right now—right in this moment.
He wanted to fuck you until you cried for completely different reasons.
His grip tightened just enough to hold you there against him; his voice was low and measured, but no longer clean. He was cracking, but he didn't even care anymore. Stubbornness be damned. And the opinions of the other people on his squad. And certainly Jean.
“He’s not the man for you—he can't protect you like..."
The words fell just short. His pride was still trying to stand in the way of his feelings for you.
Fuck, she's killing me...
His jaw tightened up, and he breathed heavily out of his nose, his grip still tight around your wrist. He brought up his other hand now, holding the opposite wrist gently. There was so much tension that he was afraid he would explode. Your eyebrows furrowed, as if you were thrown off, but you weren't pulling away. A sign that you wanted him to keep going.
“Like what?” you breathed, barely above a whisper.
His eyes locked onto yours; something in them had shifted now. They were calm and doleful, as if you were anticipating him. Hanging on his every word like a prayer.
He just had to say it.
To let go.
“He can't protect you like I will.”
The room went still. That was it. That was the line. Now there was no taking it back. Your lips parted— and that was enough of a sign for him. He closed what little distance was left between you, and kissed you.
Y/n
He kissed you.
What in the fuck...
Your mind raced. This couldn't actually be happening. His lips were soft. He smelled like Jasmine tea. Like clean linen. Just like you had imagined he would.
You were curious. How could you possibly help yourself? You moved your mouth against his, in rhythm with him. He brushed his tongue against your lips, begging to deepen the kiss.
Finally.
You were getting to taste him—to taste his tongue as it coiled with yours, exploring you deeper. He tasted so sweet, like honey. You were aching for more. His hands moved from your wrists to your waist, holding you there for a moment before turning you towards the desk. He lifted you up effortlessly as if you weighed nothing, momentarily breaking the kiss while he sat you down on the desktop.
"He can't make you feel the way I will..."
"Yeah?" you sighed, lips crashing back into his as his hands felt up the hem of your shirt, reaching underneath and caressing firmly, making sure to stop over your soft nipples and pinch slightly--teasing you.
You exhaled sharply through your teeth, the intense sensation shot straight to your womanhood, wetness began quickly pooling there. He lifted the shirt over your head entirely, taking in your bare breasts. His tongue traveled down your neck, sending shivers all over your spine and goosebumps rising over your whole body. He smirked at how easily your body reacted to him.
He moved his mouth over one of your nipples while his hand moved to the other—massaging and toying lightly with his slender, expert fingers. At the same time, his lips worked softly, pulling you into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the soft bud, which was already tightening under his touch. Soft whimpers left your lips shamelessly. Levi's pants were stretching tightly around his waist as your moans brought him closer to his full length.
"He can't make you moan like this either..."
He continued the assault with his tongue, sliding his hand lower, tracing down your defined stomach all the way to your center, where you wanted him to caress most of all. His hand slid shamelessly into your loose-fitted pants; you hadn't bothered to completely button them. His fingers hooked into your panties, sliding them gently from out of his way.
He softly fingered your pussy, his digits sliding in and out slowly with ease. You couldn't help it now—you moaned loudly, helpless against his brutal assault as he quickened his pace, using his middle and ring fingers, curling them upwards inside of you, hooking into that most sensitive spot, drawing loud noises from deep inside of your throat.
"He definitely can't make you this wet...can he?” He paused slightly, his voice dropping low, dripping with malice, only for a split second—
“Has he…?”
You didn't answer—partially because you couldn't find a break in the pleasure long enough to breathe—your eyes were screwed shut, and your head thrown back, fighting not to get too turned on too quickly.
Too late…
You also didn’t answer partly because you didn't know what Jean was capable of. You hadn't had the chance to tell Levi that Jean had never done anything more than kiss or grope you.
"Answer me," he demanded, pushing his fingers deeper and circling them inside of you, bringing you back to reality—here with him, his fingers stuffed deep inside of your pussy, causing you to shudder.
You moaned helplessly.
"N--no.." you offered. “He never touched me…”
You were shocked at his forwardness, it was amusing to you. “Why, are you jealous?” You teased.
He pulled away from you slightly to look at your face—his eyes were dark.
“Jealous…” he repeated, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
“Do I need to be jealous…?”
His hand slipped away from between your thighs, slowly—only to bring his fingers up to your mouth.
You barely had time to breathe before he pressed them past your lips. You didn’t hesitate. Your tongue curled around them instinctively, tasting yourself, your eyes fluttering as you sucked them clean—soft, and needy. His gaze darkened at the sight. He exhaled quietly through his nose, something almost amused flickering beneath the surface of his gaze.
“…when I can do that to you?”
He didn’t give you the chance to answer—his hand coming up to tilt your chin as he took your mouth again, slowly consuming you. Your arousal still lingered on your lips as he swirled his tongue, mixing with his own unique, sweet taste…It was dizzying and intoxicating. He suddenly pulled back, leaving you yearning, and looked at you.
And just…looked at you
Really looked.
His gaze dragged over your body slowly, deliberately, like he was saving the moment in his memory for later use. It made your stomach tighten. You watched him in return, your pulse hammering as he pushed his pants down his hips, never breaking eye contact. The outline beneath the fabric alone made your heart beat faster.
You weren’t inexperienced—but it had been years.
Then he finished stripping. Your eyes widened before you could stop them.
…Fuck.
He was bigger than you expected. A lot bigger.
Your breath shook, chest rising a little too fast as you stared. Of course he noticed, he seemed to notice everything about you.
Levi’s mouth tilted—just slightly into a small smile.
“Tch,” he muttered, acting unimpressed by your reaction on the surface… but his eyes gave him away, they were brimming with satisfaction and pride. A faint smirk tugged at his mouth.
“Scared of it?”
His voice dropped, quieter now as he closed the distance between you.
“…Relax.” He paused for a moment, nestling between your thighs as your knuckles gripped the desk, you shifted your weight, knocking a pen that rolled onto the floor as you made room for him between your thighs.
“I won’t break you.” He brushed your lip carefully, ever so gently—as if he wanted to comfort you.
His length brushed along the inside of your thighs as he kissed you one last time. When he pulled back, his gaze dipped, his hand wrapping around himself, giving a few slow strokes before guiding himself into place.
Then his eyes lifted to yours, locked in.
He dragged the tip along your labia—slowly teasing—up and down your slick heat, watching the way your breath caught sharply, the way your body reacted to every movement. He was testing you. He was enjoying how easily he could unravel you. He didn’t look away, not for a second.
“Levi…” you gasped, grabbing his strong arm, and looking in his eyes. “It’s been a long time…”
His eyes didn’t waver.
“I can tell.”
He brushed your bottom lip softly with his thumb.
“Breathe.” He whispered.
You took a sharp breath inward...
Then—slowly—he pushed into you.
You gasped, your hand flying up to grip his shoulder, fingers tightening as your head tipped back. A shudder ran through you at the almost unbearable stretch, your breath shifted hard, and your head lulled back as he filled that space inch by inch.
His lips found your neck, hot and sloppy—unlike the Levi you knew previously who was precise and neat—a low groan rumbled against your skin as he pressed closer—until there was nowhere left to go.
The feeling hit all at once—so intense and raw.
“…fuck,” you whimpered, barely holding onto the word as you screwed your eyes shut.
“That’s excessive…” you laughed breathily, like it personally offended you.
Levi pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand sliding firm around your lower back, dragging you flush against him again—holding you there, making sure you felt every inch of him, every second of it.
“Your body says otherwise… you’re not exactly pushing me away…quite the opposite."
Heat rushed to your face—he was right. Your body betrayed you, your pussy was tightening around him without mercy. That sharp, pulsing ache settled deep as he touched your cervix.
You moaned deeply.
“I guess that means you like it?” he murmured, voice low—too calm for what he was doing to you.
“You have no idea…” you breathed.
He didn’t say anything further, just started moving.
Slow at first, allowing you to adjust to his impossible size. Each motion was calculated, like he was testing how much you could take before you broke. You felt every shift, and every pull, your grip tightened on him as your body reacted without permission.
A soft sound slipped from your lips when he pulled back.
Another when he pressed forward again.
Then he found a rhythm.
Which was relentless.
The desk trembled beneath you with the force of it, his breathing growing heavier. His gaze locked onto yours, sharply, holding you there so you didn’t have the option to look away.
And when his hands shifted—spreading your legs wider, and pulling you closer, you thought you would fall completely back onto the desk.
He was most intentional, as if he had already decided exactly how this would go down. You chuckled as he fucked you senseless. His hand quickly shot up in response, gripping your chin.
“Something amusing here?” He grunted, his voice a deep warning. He wouldn’t be taken lightly.
“Already had this figured out, didn’t you?” you murmured, eyes flicking up to his. “Been planning it? Exactly how and where you were going to fuck me?"
His next movement was swift as he hauled you across the room and dropped you onto the love seat tucked in the corner. You fell back, instinctively drawing your knees together, arms crossing over your chest—but that smirk was still there as you looked up at him. He towered over you, one hand braced on either side, caging you in—his presence was consuming and overwhelming in the best way.
“You’re exactly right,” he said quietly.
His voice was calm.
“And the next thing I had planned…” he continued, leaning in slightly, eyes dark, “is to make you cum right here on this love seat.”
Your breath hitched
"Uncover yourself.” he commanded, low and controlled, planting a small kiss on your bent knee. “Don’t hide from me.”
A pause.
His hands slid to your knees.
“Open your legs..." He said sharply, pushing them apart with steady, unhurried pressure, "And don’t close them again until I’m finished.”
His gaze locked onto yours.
“Understood?”
There was no room to argue, so you simply swallowed hard and nodded.
"Good...Just like that."
He settled between your legs, weight pressing you back into the cushions, his presence heavy. He entered you again and immediately started fucking you wildly. You moaned—long and languid as he hit the right spot with every single thrust.
He slid one hand between you, finding your clit as he drove you into the cushions. Your legs hung helplessly at his hips as his fingers moved in slow circles. You could feel yourself getting close—a sensation no one had pulled from you in years. Something you had only ever given yourself for so long.
And now here you were.
Letting him force it out of you.
“Levi… I—I think I’m about to—” your words came out broken, your voice pitching higher with each violent thrust. You could barely keep up with the feeling building inside you as he kept that same relentless pace.
“I know…” he breathed, voice rougher now, his control slipping away from him. “Do it now… fuck…” he muttered under his breath. His grip tightened slightly, holding you there while he pounded mercilessly into you.
And you did just that, as if he controlled your body— commanding it to do exactly as he willed it to. You quivered around him, nails digging into the small of his back as you rode out waves of pleasure. Each stroke started back up the orgasm all over again. The only thing you wanted him to do was fuck you as hard as he possibly could—
You must have said so out loud because his thrusts became intolerable, he rutted inside of you violently as he cussed and groaned under his breath.
Then the heat faded, leaving you with a raw, satisfied feeling. You zoned out as your high faded—you floated away in your mind, eyes clamped shut tightly.
He said something you didn’t catch, until he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you over onto your belly—jolting you back to reality again. He dragged your hips up towards his pelvis, bringing you to your knees, and pushing your head downward into the cushion.
“Do what I say when I say it…” he warned. “We’re not finished just because you are.” He bit, gathering your hair into one hand before driving back inside of you.
You yelped.
Your aching core was so sensitive you didn’t know how much more you could possibly stand to take. You babbled and whimpered as he used you—taking every single wave. His name left your lips over and over, as if it were the only thing left that you could possibly remember how to say.
“That’s right…not Jean, not anyone else. Just me…Now keep saying it…”
His hips began to stutter, his breathing was turning uneven. He was losing that perfect control he always carried.
He was so close.
“Levi… It’s all yours…” your voice broke, tears threatening to spill as everything overwhelmed you at once. He gripped your hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you up—firm but not rough this time—guiding you onto your palms, and pressing you firmly into that position. Your body trembled, and your back arched deeply, completely spent. Any rational thought left was slipping through your fingers. Emotion was taking over. And maybe that was why it came out so easily.
“I’ve thought about you every day… for months…” you panted.
You felt him shift closer, his breath hot against your ear.
“That right…?” he murmured—low and dangerous, but quieter than before.
“Yes!” you cried, tears spilling freely now. “I’ve always felt this way about you… There’s no one else for me… It’s only you.”
Your words broke apart as you spoke them, emotion finally spilling over as your body followed right behind, once again letting go around him. The tears fell freely, soaking into the couch beneath you as he drove into you unforgiving, like he was trying to force something out of himself just as much as he was forcing it out of you.
“…Don’t say things like that unless you mean them,” he muttered, voice rougher than before, control slipping. “… I’m not letting you take it back.”
“I never want to take it back…I only want you…fuck—please!”
Your voice—spent and needy— sent him over the edge. You could feel him pulsing inside of you as he filled you completely with cum in hot bursts. He wrapped his arm around your chest, holding you to him as he came inside, planting soft kisses on your shoulders and panting softly into your neck.
He slowly eased out, watching his seed drop from your swollen pussy—something that belonged only to him now. Your legs were shaking, and your hair was falling along your back and shoulders.
You slumped onto your side, body still trembling, as he pulled away and stood. He moved quickly, scanning the room before grabbing something to clean you with.
“Uhh… this’ll have to do for now.” He handed you a small towelette. “Clean up. Then get dressed.”
You frowned immediately, your brows knitting together.
“Oh… alright then…” you trailed off, your heart sinking as you instinctively covered yourself, suddenly aware of how exposed you were.
Maybe that was all this had been.
A plan,
Then a moment.
And now, he would be done with you.
“Tch… don’t look so upset.” His voice cut directly through your thoughts. “You don’t plan on walking to my bedroom like that, do you?”
You blinked, the tension in your chest eased up just slightly.
“Oh… okay…” You let out a small breath, something like a quiet, relieved laugh slipping out. He clicked his tongue softly, like your reaction annoyed him more than anything else. "For a second I thought—"
"I’m not that kind of man,” he said flatly, cutting you off before you could finish. “Don’t start making assumptions.”
His gaze flicked over you briefly, taking in your naked body, as if he was satisfied with his hard work.
“I’m not going anywhere…so get used to it." He said, pulling on his clothes. "You’re sleeping in my bed tonight.”
You caught traces of a faint smile on his lips as he finished dressing, and though you knew he’d never admit it, you could tell he was smugly happy that he got his way.
Your heart fluttered joyfully again as you dressed and took Levi’s hand—leaving the office and following him to his room, where you were hopefully in for a much gentler round two.
Levi's road to confessing was arduous and full of longing.
content: angsty fluff. canon universe, reader joined the survey corps a little before Levi became Captain. mentions of canon typical events and minor character death. mostly focused on Levi's view of things. Miche and Erwin are rooting for the two of you, and they gossip about your relationship in their minuscule free time. slow burn ish. no smut.
wc: 6.2k
To Levi, meeting you felt like further proof that the world wanted to consistently push him to the edge of insanity, even if at a smaller scale than every unfortunate event of his past. It was the first time he felt completely weakened by something so harmless, idiotic infatuation.
He realized very early on, during your first week as a new member of the Corps, that he had an unparalleled interest in you. It appalled him.
For the first couple of months he refused to admit to himself that what he felt when you were around meant anything beyond idle curiosity.
He chalked up his harsh treatment of you during training to simply proving you were a good soldier; instead of what it actually was, a weak attempt to make you give up, because he felt someone like you shouldn’t have to deal with the horrors of the world.
He convinced himself the headaches he would get when you were called on for patrols or expeditions were just a result of his lack of sleep. And that the constant thoughts of you swirling in his mind every damn night would dissipate the longer you were around. He was very wrong about that.
He made it a point to not interact with you outside of training, missions, or briefings. Nonetheless, that didn’t mean he didn’t feed into his curiosity. As subtly as he could.
He watched you a lot. Enough to know that you were always late for breakfast, trained yourself to the bones even on your off days, volunteered to help around with anything you could, and were particularly good at mending clothes. He knew you liked eating with Hange almost every night, and it was the part of your day he enjoyed the most. On each of those nights he followed the two of you into the mess hall, sitting far enough that Hange wouldn’t get the idea of asking him to join, but still giving himself the appropriate distance to observe you. To commit to memory every little detail he could, how you ate, how you sat, what you talked about, if your nose also scrunched up at the disgusting taste of the tea everyone but him was subjected to; any information he could gather before the sound of your laugh warmed his chest enough to make him leave.
Truthfully, he could have kept that stalker-ish routine going for ages, and he fully intended to; being able to keep his distance while still getting the smallest doses of you seemed like an ideal arrangement in his mind.
It wasn’t until one damning night that he decided this restrictive mindset had to change. He saw you walking with another recruit, late, and alone. He couldn’t properly hear whatever wildly amusing conversation you were having from where he stood; regardless of that, he could still clearly make out the faint sound of your laugh accompanying it.
The small scene was enough to break him from his ridiculous self-imposed prison. Levi didn’t want to allow himself to indulge in his desires for you. He didn’t feel he deserved to be with you in any capacity further than working alongside each other. Despite that, the idea that someone else could come in and take from him the possibility of a chance with you was much more mortifying than his own insecurities and concerns.
From that alone, he made the decision to allow himself a sliver of your time. And so, the very next day you were graced with your first private conversation with the captain, if you could even call it that.
He approached you after you were done with training, standing against a wooden beam trying to steady your breathing, hair messy, and sweat coating your forehead.
“Your stance was horrible today.” The abruptness of his presence and his comment caught you off guard.
“What?” You looked at him with a puzzled look, processing whether he was actually addressing you or not.
“During training. You were terrible.” He explained, his tone maintaining its harshness despite your confusion.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess so, I’m out of my element today.” You explained plainly, a half-smile tugging on your lips both at the bluntness, and the fact this was probably the first time he came up to you alone.
“And yesterday as well.”
“Right.”
“You’re not sleeping well.” More of a statement than a question, the dark circles you've been sporting this week probably gave it away.
“I've been having a hard time with it, yes.”
He gave you a firm nod, pursing his lips together in thought.
“I’ll come find you tonight, I have a tea for that.” He turned around the moment he finished without a second look, not giving you an actual chance to accept or refuse.
Since then, the two of you started a small routine. He’d look for you after dinner and guide you on a brief walk to the top floor of the main building. A teapot and two cups already placed on the window ledge in the back of the room, with a singular candle lit close by; he hoped that the minimal amount of light would make his intense gaze less noticeable.
It was supposed to last only for however long you were struggling to sleep but continued far past those days. Most times he wouldn’t talk, only listened; he’d let you rattle on about the day if you pleased, indulging you by participating in idle gossip.
“I can reprimand them for that. I trust you’re aware.” He’d slip in when you shared a little too much about the escapades of some recruits, forgetting for a moment he had recently become your superior.
“Well, this is all alleged. Maybe I didn’t hear it right. This tea is great by the way; is it a different kind?" A blush creeping up your cheeks while you attempted to change the subject, looking at him with a sheepish smile that begged him to forget your prior information.
It took a few weeks, but he started contributing with topics of his own little by little. An opinion, a small anecdote, a complaint. Slowly chipping away at the facade of mystery and harshness that used to be all you got from him before. A part of Levi worried that the more you learnt about him, the less interested you’ll be, but the enjoyment he got from your small interactions vastly outweighed that concern.
A year into meeting you, Levi had grown accustomed to having you near him, even if for brief moments. He enjoyed your company and physically couldn't continue hiding it from you. He still kept enough distance to make his ever-growing feelings unknown to everyone else, and didn’t properly confess anything to you, but his advances grew slightly bolder.
Your nightly routine changed a lot from how it originally started. Moving from ten minutes of sipping tea in a semipublic space to secluded meetings in the dead of night. Going as far as sneaking you in his private quarters when he came back from travels you were not part of.
Being away from you became the key that pushed your connection forward. Every time he came back, he wanted to have you around for the night, and he needed the certainty that you wouldn’t be interrupted; the reassurance of it enabled him to make these encounters last for hours.
He sat in a wooden chair next to his desk, beckoning you closer with a simple command. “Show me what happened.”
“You can’t see the bruise with my uniform on.” You argued with a stifled laugh; you had complained to him about a minor injury you sustained recently, something insignificant that happened while he was gone.
“Then change.”
You stared at him bewildered.
“Do I have to do it for you?” His stern tone didn’t falter; it would’ve seemed like an order more than playful teasing, if it wasn’t for how relaxed he looked.
“You returned as tactful as ever, I see.” You laughed, amused at his actions. You made your way to the bedroom, missing the smirk on his face.
You returned to the room in a thin nightgown that made Levi tense at the sight, hands tucking into fists on his lap before relaxing again. His hand sprawled on the back of your right thigh without question once you stood in front of him, pulling it closer to properly view the wide bruise on the outer side of it; purplish hues going from your mid-thigh to the bottom of your glute.
“This is nothing to you?” It came out softer than he intended. Thinking of you being hurt when he wasn’t around, no matter how little, lowered his guard.
“It looks worse than it is.”
His hand carefully grazed the bruise, hiking up the edge of your gown in the process. You shivered at the touch. Goosebumps covered your skin, and it did not go unnoticed by him. “Does it hurt?”
“No. I think this helps.” You humored, not bothering to hide your enjoyment of his treatment.
“I’m sure it does, brat.” He smiled, small, but enough for you to notice. His hand still caressing your leg despite his response.
It took Levi five years to make his feelings for you properly known. But it’s not like you, or others, hadn’t suspected them before that. Despite keeping the matter private, much like most things about him, sometimes he struggled to adequately hide that he had a soft spot for you.
He never outright said he cared about you, never properly held you, but all the things he did do, they proved to be more intimate and sweeter than any regular courting could ever be.
For your first birthday after joining the Corps he went out of his way to gift you a treat from a bakery in your home district. It became a tradition that he fulfilled every year since; he’d go as far as getting it for you in advance if an expedition took place around the date, just in case one of you didn't make it back after.
In your second year, after an expedition where two members of your graduating class were tragically lost, he sneaked you into his quarters every night for a week—Both Erwin and Hange knew but they didn’t say word of it—he’d lay you down next to him, let you cry out your grieve for as long as you needed to, and patiently waited until you grew tired enough to sleep to get some shut-eye of his own.
“I’ll never get used to it, will I?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.
“No.” While your eyes were glued to the ceiling, Levi’s gaze was fixed on you. His expression was unreadable as usual, but he was completely tormented, wishing he could take this hurt away from you.
“Am I being weak?”
“You’re being human.”
“That’s a yes.” You smiled, attempting to joke, yet the humor in your voice didn’t reach your eyes. Tears fell down in a stream, and Levi had to try his hardest not to reach out and wipe them off your cheeks. “I just—” Your voice broke. To him, the sound evoked a feeling adjacent to being stabbed. “I feel I should be stronger than this. I shouldn’t be surprised over what I signed up for.”
“You’re not surprised; you’re hurt.” Levi chastised, shifting his position to look at you properly. “You did your job, you don’t have to be strong now. Now stop this nonsense of acting like it's shameful to grieve. At least don't do it with me.”
You didn’t say anything—instead looking back at the ceiling while your hand found his arm, curling up to his side when the tears started burning your eyes once again.
He didn’t try to hold you, but he didn’t pull away. Even after you fell asleep.
In your third year, when Erwin told him he’d be pulling you out of his team to make you a squad leader, he became sick almost immediately. The notion that you would no longer be under his supervision, that even if you went on the same expeditions as he did, he’d have to wait until the very end before he could know if you were still alive. It circled his head all morning and gave him a headache so outstanding he had to dismiss himself from training that afternoon.
“What do you think?” Erwin ended the silence that persisted since he broke the news.
Levi stared absentmindedly. “I think she’ll be a fantastic leader.”
“Is that it?”
“Are you asking for my permission?”
“No, I simply respect you enough to ask for your opinion.”
“Unless you’re willing to put my preferences above what’s best for humanity, don't ask for my opinion on what you should do with her.”
“Because your preference would be to retire her immediately?” Erwin prodded, with no real expectation for Levi to speak up. It wasn’t the first time he brought you up, and it wouldn’t be the last if Levi kept refusing to trust him with this information. “You don’t have to answer that. I understand you want to avoid telling me what I already know.”
Following your change in rank, the order of retreating met Levi with a wave of asphyxiating dread rather than relief, one that didn’t dissipate until he was able to spot you on your horse, still breathing and in one piece. These concerns were never brought up to you or anyone else for that matter—despite Erwin being aware and willing to speak with him about it if he could just be honest—even if his fear of losing you and not being able to do anything about it grew stronger with every expedition, he kept his worries regarding your well-being private. You always returned; he had no reason to discuss anything he felt. If you were alive and well, he’d be able to mask his love for you for a while longer.
It wasn’t until your fifth year as a member of the Survey Corps when his ‘while longer’ ended. When he had to come to terms with his fears, and his feelings.
He kept his composure as best as he could while going through the list of those dead and missing with Erwin, while watching other scouts load bodies into carriages, though he’s sure it did not go unnoticed how tightly he was gripping his gear while he waited for every name to be read. Even then, after all bodies were loaded, the trek to the walls started, and confirmation that you were not one of those lost received; his heartbeat did not return to a healthy rhythm. He needed to see you.
This was the most stressed he ever felt trying to find you after an expedition. Deep down, he could feel something about today was different, as if you not being okay was something he could physically feel. And it didn’t help the fact that it took him so long to spot you; carriages and horses already on the move to safety without him being able to catch a single glimpse of you.
Every second that passed he could feel his body tense further, cold sweat reaching his palms, a knot tight in his throat that only got tighter the moment he saw you. That sickening feeling of dread he thought he had grown used to crashed down on him and threatened to finish him right then and there. He spotted you being carried by Miche when he made it past the wall. Your body limp in his hold, your inability to even keep your head up made Levi assume the worst and had him rush in your direction before he even realized it.
He got off the horse calm and collected, as if his heart wasn’t threatening to rip itself out of his chest. His relief upon seeing you were still breathing was immediate, yet short-lived as he paid more attention to your injuries. Your left thigh and arm were bandaged. There was blood all over you, dripping from your nose, your mouth, and the seams of the binds on your wounded limbs; you must’ve been hurt close before the order to retreat was given.
It made him sick and brought a vile sting to his eyes, a sensation he had long forgotten.
“She’s okay.” Miche assured him, smiling lightly at how Levi was frowning at you as though telepathically reprimanding you for getting to this state. “Nothing’s broken, but she’s weak. She couldn’t keep riding.”
Levi nodded firmly, not trusting himself to speak right away. He reached under your body, taking you in his arms with little protest from the other man. “I’ll take her. I don’t want her in a carriage.”
“She’d be laying down.” Miche pointed out yet still took a step back once Levi had a solid hold on you, not really wanting to interfere.
“She’d be alone.”
Miche nodded, holding back his reaction at what the captain was displaying, and promptly retreating to his horse; more than ready to get back and tell Erwin about this little interaction.
You were conscious enough to hear the conversation, although far too drained to register the worry behind Levi’s tone let alone comment on it. You had half a mind to realize he carried you back to his horse, helping you on it before getting behind you. He took a hold of the handle and took off in a slow ride, while his left arm went around your waist, keeping you tucked back against him.
One of your hands went to his forearm, giving it a small squeeze to show your acknowledgement before relaxing again.
“Are you okay?” He questioned quietly. As if anyone would be able to hear him past the sound of hooves against the ground and the many murmurs of all civilians watching them pass by.
You turned your head enough to look at him out of the corner of your eye. The concern written all over his face almost made you forget the waves of pain crashing through you. You nodded, small, before letting the back of your head rest on his shoulder; the tiny action having wasted the remainder of your energy.
“Liar.” He murmured against your hair, the touch of his lips against your scalp so fleeting you could only assume you imagined it.
That night Levi had been more consumed in his own thoughts than he would have appreciated. You were out most of the ride back to the base; the only thing keeping you upright was his firm hold on you that didn’t falter once. He spent that time wondering what happened, how did you injure yourself, did somebody help you, did you have to drag yourself all the way to your horse and pretend you didn’t feel so bad until it was inevitable?
He imagined every single heartbreaking scenario his brain could come up with, images of you crying out while you bled in the woods flashed through his mind, torturing himself with the idea that maybe you had been near him, maybe you even called out for him and he didn’t hear it, trying to find ways to blame himself for your poor state.
He woke you gently once you made it to the base, helping you off the horse and onto your feet, guiding you to wrap an arm over his shoulder to steady yourself when you were unable to suppress your limping. Everything was a blur for you, every step you took forgotten when the next one happened. You could remember briefly smiling at Hange when she approached the two of you, catching some of their conversation, and Levi whisking you away promptly after.
“You really busted yourself out there.” You chuckled at her comment and winced immediately after, a stabbing pain reaching your ribs, the mixed noise making her laugh. “You’re okay?”
You nodded, not getting the time to answer before Levi interjected. “She is.” He stated, adjusting his grasp on your hip when you clutched your side.
“Okay, I’ll get one of the scouts to take her to the infirmary. Erwin wants to talk to us.”
“No.” Levi spoke up before Hange could even attempt turning on her heel. “I will take care of it, and I’ll go to his office after. Tell him I’ll only be a moment.” He kept walking without another word, not giving her any time to make a comment on his behavior.
He took you to his quarters, helping you out of your stained cloak and muddied boots before starting to undo the soaked bandages on your limbs. He seemed unaffected by the sight he was met with, the gashes and lacerations covered in dried blood were nothing he hadn’t seen before; but the fact that they were on your body, it brought a shake to his hands he was completely unfamiliar with and he thanked the heavens you were too busy scrunching your eyes together at the stinging feel of him cleaning the open wounds to notice it.
You don’t know if you talked, if he asked you anything, you don’t think so. The only thing you committed to memory was the feel of hardened hands touching you in the softest ways imaginable, guiding you to his bed when he was done and easing you into laying down. He caressed your face before he moved away; the way he looked at you carried a mixture of longing and restraint.
He left promptly after, knowing that if you said anything, if you made even the slightest sound, he’d discard his meeting altogether to lay next to you.
Levi came back less than an hour after with a thick bag under his arm, having raided your room before coming for anything you might need. He was being exceedingly obvious today; he knew more than well his friends no longer needed a heartfelt confession to know exactly why he had been so special to you in the past five years with how he's behaved, but for once he couldn’t care less about that matter.
He found you just as he had left you, now asleep with your mouth slightly agape. Your messy hair tussled all around was the only indication that you moved while he was gone. He pulled a chair next to the bed, not wanting to risk waking you up; ready to patiently wait until he could get you out of your filthy, blood-stained uniform. Your change of clothes and a clean set of sheets awaiting next to him already.
He doesn’t know how long you were asleep for, but it continued through enough hours for him to follow suit at some point.
He vaulted out of the chair when you woke up with a loud cry; the sound was completely gut-wrenching.
“What happened? What’s wrong?!” He grabbed you by the shoulders with a desperate pull, his eyes searching for yours. The sting of tears threatening to break free he felt earlier returned with a vengeance when you coughed up blood, tears streaming down your face.
“Talk to me, angel. Please.” He begged, hands reaching for your face, wiping your tears. You didn’t speak, didn’t explain what was ailing you, instead your cries became louder, deafening.
Levi could feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest, and before he could do anything, more blood came out of your mouth, then your nose, then from your wounds, white bandages drowned in the crimson red liquid. He couldn’t find the words; he didn’t even know what to do. He frantically moved around the room, searching for anything to wipe the blood with, to apply pressure and stop this someway.
Before he knew it, his own eyes were welled up with tears as he desperately tried to stop you from bleeding out, the sound of your crying overwhelming him completely.
“You’re going to be okay. You’re okay.” He repeated like a mantra, the room spinning around him when he looked at the pool of blood under you. He wiped his tears with his forearm. His heartbeat grew louder, and the sound of it seemed to echo through the room.
You wouldn’t stop crying, and God, you wouldn’t stop bleeding, it was futile to try. Your hands went to his shoulders, bringing him closer to you while you sobbed hysterically.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.” He wrapped his arms around you tightly, crying onto your hair, hopelessly clinging to you. “I can’t do anything. Please forgive me, angel. Please.” He wept, his grip tightening the quieter your cries became; your energy depleted the longer you kept bleeding.
“Don’t leave me.” It became uncontrollable; he felt completely out of himself, the sound of his thunderous heartbeat, the feel of your blood on his hands, the pain in his chest crushing him further and further. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Levi?... Levi.” He woke up with a jolt to see you standing above him, mind completely fogged by the images his brain came up with. His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the room, looking around the now empty bed then back to your fragile frame.
The glow of the moon coming from the window was the only source of light, but it was enough to see you properly; not in tears, and not bleeding out. Instead, you were looking at him with a confused gaze, an arm cradling your midsection as you tried your best to stand upright.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I’m—” He closed his mouth before continuing, rubbing his eyes before he looked at you again, a slight wet feeling coating his fingertips—was he crying?—it was just a dream. “Don’t worry. Is something wrong?”
“I wanted to get out of all this blood and stuff. But I could barely make it a few steps past the bed.”
He hummed, burying his face in his hands for a moment, trying to regain his composure. “I’ll help you.” His eyes found you again, narrowed. Going over every inch of your body to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary, to prove to himself that you wouldn’t randomly start bleeding out in front of him. He debated telling you about his dream, telling you about how worried he was earlier and how the stress of his concerns was swallowing him whole right now, but that would mean delving into a conversation he’s unsure he’d be good at. Maybe he’ll need to practice it.
He walked you to the bathroom, arm stretched out for you to hold onto through every step. “You look terrible.” He murmured, helping you stand in front of the small tub.
“Aren’t you sweet.” You laughed dryly, slowly loosening your grip on his forearm to let him stand back.
You and Levi stared at each other willfully, both waiting for the other to take the next step.
“Can you do it alone?” He asked while reaching for the top button of your shirt, undoing it slowly before you could even reply, groggy and restless voice adding something new to his usual stoic tone.
You wanted to object, tell him he didn’t need to continue. But you were sure you’d end up falling face first on the floor at some point if he wasn’t holding onto you. “Maybe I could.”
“Sure.” He muttered, gaze focused on where his hands undid the rest of your shirt, a deep frown covering his features at the side of fresh red bruises covering your left side.
He carefully undid the bandages on your arm to slowly slide off the shirt. You didn’t care to watch his movements; you couldn’t look away from his face, how concentrated he was, how troubled he seemed over your wounds. It made you smile, both that and the pink tint of his cheeks when he exposed you further.
If you knew him less, you would’ve asked him to kiss you right then and there, but by now you knew well his only answer to that would be questioning if you were concussed.
Levi also kept himself from speaking. Too focused on the crushing weight in his heart over the sight of your bruised and battered frame that grew more draining the more of your clothes he got rid off.
His mind also trotted over the idea of kissing you. He thought about it every single day, but now more than ever he wished he had done so before. That way he could pepper every single inch of your body with small soothing kisses now and it wouldn’t be strange, there wouldn’t be a possibility of you freaking out, because by now you would’ve been used to his affections.
If only he had been braver about it before.
He desperately wished to hold you tenderly in his arms, to caress your skin and kiss you senselessly, trusting that every bit of his devotion would help you forget about the pain you must be feeling.
“What happened?” He helped you stand above the drain, squeezing your hand before letting you stand on your own. He soaked a cloth before he started carefully scrubbing your arms, trying his best to not pressure the slash on your left arm into bleeding again.
“It was my stupidity. One of my scouts was kicked off his horse, and a titan was going to grab him, and I— It was impulsive. I threw myself at them and I didn’t realize another titan was coming. It was a big mess and I wasn’t thinking clearly.” You yawned between your sentences, watching him with tired eyes, following his hands whenever he bent to dampen the cloth and settling back on his face when he returned; his eyebrows furrowed at your anecdote. “I couldn’t tell you exactly what happened, I just know I flew through more trees than I would like, and when I finally got my cables to stick to something I was hanging two inches from the floor and looked like this.”
Levi stayed silent for a moment, trying to picture the situation, as if that helped him in any way. “How did you get on your horse?”
“Miche found me. I would have only been able to drag myself until I found someone. It’s hard to lift this leg.” His grip on your waist tightened at the notion, his eyes now meeting yours to avoid staring at where he scrubbed on your chest, ever-present frown adorning his features.
Levi saw the images of your explanation vividly in his mind; he could clearly see you dragging yourself out of the woods in fear that you wouldn’t make it, as if it actually happened, as if he had been present. It was completely nauseating. “I’m sorry.” His hands stopped, both settled firmly on your hips, indifferent to his proximity and your bare skin.
“For what?”
“I could’ve been there.”
One of your hands reached his bicep, tentatively caressing him. “Don’t do that.”
He pursed his lips together; he knew it was ridiculous to upset himself over something he had no control over, and yet he couldn’t stop. He stayed silent, instead opting to watch you get closer, your hands rubbing up and down his arms to ease him. The delicate body he’s grown to yearn for standing less than an inch away from him, laid bare for his eyes only.
“I’m supposed to be taking care of you.” He murmured, tense muscles taut under your touch as it rose up to his shoulders then back down to the front of his chest.
“I know, but you seem to be more troubled than I am. I may need help getting up, but you’re looking at me like I’m dying.”
“I don’t know what to do with myself.” Levi let himself get closer, his hands hesitantly moving to your back. “Seeing you like this.”
“I’ve been hurt before.” Your tone was confused, and he hated that it urged him to continue.
“Not like this. Not when I’m not around.”
“I thought you didn’t care if I was not by your side.”
“I lied.”
You couldn’t help the weak laugh that left your lips, looking away from him as you tried to retrieve your composure.
“Are my worries amusing to you?” His gaze narrowed, not in his usual scowl—in dismay.
You shook your head, a hand coming up to caress his face, looking at him with nothing but utter reverence. “I’m more than appreciative of your worries. But I do find it humorous that I have to come back like this for you to say these things.”
The time seemed to stand still between you. Patient, as always, you waited; letting him find the words he’s been struggling to muster. He hated how difficult this was; to expose feelings he has been certain of for years. “Sit, we need to wash your hair.”
You sighed, hands dropping from him with a small nod. He helped you sit in the middle of the tub, kneeling down on the floor next to you, holding onto a small water pitcher with trembling hands.
You closed your eyes at the feeling of water slowly dripping onto your scalp, finally relishing in a soothing feeling. “Don’t look at me when I say this." His voice was low, unusually unsteady, despite being completely certain of his words. "I’m terrified of losing you.”
Your lips pursed together, trying your best to keep yourself from turning your head; wanting to indulge him if it meant being able to hear what he had to confess. “Why is that?” You asked quietly, eyes stuck to the water falling from your shoulders, bloody and muddy dark streaks slowly disappearing, becoming clearer the more his fingers helped brush water through the thick locks of hair.
Silence lingered for a moment. The only sound being the slow rush of water, and Levi’s deep breaths. He could do this, if there’s someone he could say anything to, it was you. So why did his chest ache this much?
“I’ve belonged to you from the moment I met you.” Levi’s voice came out ragged, broken. His hands softly brushed through your hair, moving back the strands that fell on your face. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. “And I don’t know what will be of me if the one reason I hold any hope for the future is no longer with me.”
You couldn’t help meeting his gaze, lips parting and closing with suppressed praises. To hear something that gentle, romantic, out of the very lips you’ve wished had graced yours long before today; it could’ve been enough to push you through every day of your life from now on.
Levi watched you uneasy, his throat running dry, unsure of what he was even waiting for. “Please say something.”
The way you were looking at him was his undoing, a softness he did not deserve, and that he could only ever receive from you.
Words evaded you completely, too stuck on repeating that sweet confession over and over again in your head. Instead of coming up with some clever poetry of your equal feelings, you did the one thing you knew no amount of prodding would make him do.
Your hands slowly reached for him, cupping his face to bring him closer to you. And you waited, for a moment; not wanting to miss how he relaxed, how he gave in. Only then did your lips meet his with a tenderness that made Levi’s stomach flutter.
One of his hands went to the back of your neck, long fingers twisting into your hair, keeping your lips flush against his while he inched closer to you. His free hand gripped the back edge of the tub, his body looming above yours, completely trapping you under him.
The kiss was searing and all consuming. As if you were trying to pour into him every unsaid word; as if Levi was trying to make up for every single moment he wished your lips had been on his since he met you. It grew desperate within seconds, teeth clashing and noses bumping while both of you tried to absorb each other’s oxygen. It’s only when you tried to wrap your arms around his neck to drag him down did you break away, wincing at the sting from a gash on your bicep.
“I’m sorry.” Levi’s voice was breathless, a small whisper followed by him pulling back, softened gaze raking over you to make sure he didn’t hurt you.
“It’s my fault, I should’ve waited until we were laying down.” You quipped, instinctively reaching out for his arm to keep him somewhat close.
He laughed, openly, warm. “That might’ve ended worse.”
A comfortable silence fell in the room after your chuckles died down. Both staring at each other with the sweetness of two madly in love idiots. All flushed lips, red cheeks, and stupid smiles.
lil bonus
—
“And then what happened?” Erwin asked while flipping through pages of planning, the words he had written already mixing together from how long he had been staring at them, and how late it already was.
Miche stood by the window, looking out to the empty grounds below them. “I told him she’d be lying down in the carriage, probably more comfortable.”
“Mhm.”
“And he argued she’d be alone, very solemnly.”
“He did not.” Erwin dropped the papers, turning on his chair to meet Miche’s gaze, the other man already snickering to himself.
“He did, and then he just took her away. And I’m completely certain he kissed her hair when they got on the horse.” Miche whispered the last part, as if he was sharing the most confidential work information he could ever manage to get his hands on.
“In front of everyone?” Erwin stared at him dumbfounded, imagining the scene he described before letting out a quiet laugh. “If they remain nothing but friends after tonight I fear we might have to send Hange in.”
