┊ ┊ ┊ ♡ ┊ AOT - ! Waking up in their bed
The first thing you felt was warmth.
Not the kind from blankets, but from a body beside you steady, quiet, controlled even in sleep. Your eyes fluttered open to dim morning light slipping through curtains you didn’t recognize.
Gray sheets. Clean scent. A perfectly neat room.
And then the realization hit you like a punch.
Levi Ackerman was asleep next to you.
Your heart jumped into your throat.
He lay on his side, facing you, one arm loosely draped over the space between you as if he’d fallen asleep reaching for you and forgotten to pull back. In sleep, the lines in his face softened. His lashes were dark against his cheeks. A stray piece of hair fell over his forehead, making him look impossibly… human.
Last night’s memories rushed back: the tension, the way his fingers brushed yours a second too long, the heat in his eyes when he finally closed the distance between you. A night you thought you’d never get, not with someone like him.
You swallowed hard, trying to quiet your breathing. The last thing you needed was for him to wake up and see you staring like an idiot.
Except his fingers twitched.
Slowly, absently, Levi’s hand slid until it rested against your waist like his body moved before his mind did. You froze. Every nerve sparked with awareness.
At least… you thought he was.
You shifted slightly, meaning only to ease his grip, but his fingers tightened firm, intentional. A quiet, barely-there sound escaped him. Not quite a sigh. More like he didn’t want to let go.
Your pulse raced. “Levi…?” you whispered.
You should’ve looked away. Given him privacy. But your gaze kept drifting—to the sharp line of his jaw, the faint stubble, the small crease between his brows. You’d never seen him like this. Unarmored. Unaware. Close.
Your hand hovered, trembling, over his cheek. You didn’t touch him, but just being near him made your chest ache with something you refused to name.
Silver and sharp, locking onto yours immediately, as if he’d been awake longer than you realized.
You jerked your hand back, heat rushing to your face. “I—I wasn’t"
“You were staring,” he said, voice low from sleep. Rough. Dangerous in a way that made your stomach twist.
“I wasn’t”
He raised an eyebrow. You exhaled. “Okay, maybe a little.”
He didn’t pull his hand from your waist.
If anything… it tightened.
A slow, unreadable expression crossed his face half annoyance, half something much darker, much quieter. Something that made the space between you feel too small.
“You should’ve woken me,” he murmured.
“You looked peaceful,” you whispered before thinking.
Levi huffed a soft laugh, the kind you only ever heard when he forgot to hide it. “I’m not sure that’s the word people usually use for me.”
His eyes softened just for a heartbeat but then he leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. His breath brushed your lips. Your pulse roared in your ears.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he said quietly.
You swallowed. “Like what?”
But his thumb brushed your skin, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver through you.
Whatever last night was, whatever this morning could become Levi wasn’t running from it.
He wasn’t pretending nothing happened.
He was right here.
Closer than ever.
Levi didn’t move away.
If anything, he shifted just a little closer, close enough that you felt the subtle warmth of his breath against your skin.
The room was quiet, painfully quiet, the kind of silence that made every small sound echo the rustle of sheets, your uneven breathing, the faint creak of the bed frame when Levi adjusted his hold on your waist.
“Didn’t expect you to still be here,” he said finally, voice low and unreadable. “People usually bolt.”
You blinked, startled. “Is… that what you thought I’d do?”
He shrugged one shoulder, though his fingers still rested on you, steady and warm. “Would’ve made sense.”
Your chest tightened. For a second, you forgot he was humanity’s strongest soldier, commander-level calm, impossible to shake. In this small moment, he looked almost… uncertain. Like some part of him genuinely expected to wake up alone.
“I wasn’t going anywhere,” you said quietly.
Something flickered in his eyes something sharp and startled, quickly smothered, but you caught it. And Levi didn’t show vulnerability. Not unless it slipped through the cracks.
He looked at you for a long moment, gaze steady, intense enough to steal the air from your lungs. Then he spoke again, softer:
Just that one word. But coming from him, it felt bigger, heavier. Almost like a confession.
You shifted, trying to sit up a little, and his hand reflexively tightened around your waist before he caught himself and pulled back half an inch.
“You don’t—” your voice caught, “You don’t have to let go.”
Not dramatically. Not visibly.
But his breath hitched, so faintly you might’ve imagined it. And then, slow as a warning, he let his hand return—not gripping this time, but steady, deliberate, fingers resting just above your hipbone like he was relearning the shape of you.
“You talk too casually,” he murmured. “Like it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” you whispered. “Not to me.”
Levi exhaled—a slow release that trembled at the end despite how hard he tried to hide it. He leaned in until his forehead touched yours, his eyes closing briefly.
“You’re going to make this complicated,” he said softly.
“I thought you hated complicated.”
“I do.”
His thumb brushed your waist again.
“But I hate the idea of you leaving more.”
He opened his eyes, inches from yours, silver and warm and conflicted in a way Levi never let anyone see.
“Last night…” he began, then stopped like the words were difficult to shape. “It wasn’t just ... don’t make me spell it out.”
“You don’t have to,” you said. “I know.”
He studied you, searching for something doubt, fear, regret but found none. His jaw eased, tension melting out of his shoulders.
Slowly, Levi lifted his hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing your skin with unexpected gentleness. His thumb traced your cheekbone in a slow, uncertain line.
“You woke up staring at me,” he said, voice dropping.
You flushed. “You noticed?”
You opened your mouth to tease him, but Levi’s gaze dragged down to your lips slow, intentional before returning to your eyes with a kind of quiet hunger he didn’t bother to hide.
It sent a shiver through you.
His fingers curled under your chin, guiding your face a fraction closer.
“Don’t say my name like that,” he warned softly, almost pained. “You’re going to make me-”
You never found out what he was going to say.
Because Levi leaned in, closing the final inch between you the moment so slow, so charged, you felt it everywhere and then..
Close enough to feel his breath, close enough for your lips to almost touch, but not quite.
Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. You nodded, barely a breath.
And Levi’s eyes softened relief, want, and something deeper.
He just whispered, “Come here,” voice low and rough…
And finally closed the space between you.
That was the first thing you registered heavy, solid warmth pressed against your back, an arm draped over your waist like it belonged there. The sun slipped through unfamiliar curtains, soft and slow, lighting a room that definitely wasn’t yours.
Right. Last night.
The wild tension. The arguments that weren’t really arguments. The way he looked at you like he was tired of pretending he didn’t want you. And the way you finally gave in to what had always been there between you.
You swallowed and dared to turn your head.
Eren Yeager was asleep beside you.
And not just beside you he was practically wrapped around you, chest against your back, one leg tangled with yours like he’d claimed you in his sleep without even realizing it.
His face was pressed into your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. His hair was loose, falling over his eyes, the strands brushing your neck. He looked so different like this peaceful, unguarded, almost boyish.
You shouldn’t have stared.
You really, really shouldn’t have.
You reached up, brushing a piece of hair from his face as quietly as possible. Your fingers barely grazed him.
Eren’s arm tightened instantly.
Not fully awake. Just instinctively pulling you closer, like his body knew you before his mind did. Your breath caught as his chest pressed more firmly against your back.
“Mm…” His voice was a low, sleepy rumble against your shoulder. “Don’t move.”
Your heart skipped. “Eren”
“Didn’t say you could go anywhere,” he mumbled, still half asleep, tightening his arm again. “Stay.”
You froze, heat rushing up your neck.
He wasn’t awake. But he wasn’t dreaming either not with how deliberately he held you, how his fingers brushed your hip as if checking you were real.
You shifted just slightly, trying to see his face better.
Slow. Heavy-lidded. Green and intense even in the blur of waking.
Instead, he looked at you with a slow, lazy smile the kind that made you feel like you were in trouble.
“You’re staring,” he said, voice rough, morning-deep.
“Yeah, I know.” His fingers drifted across your waist, teasing, intent. “You were staring.”
Your cheeks burned. “Okay, maybe a little.”
He hummed, pleased. “You can look all you want.”
He shifted, rolling slightly so he was propped on his elbow, his arm still around you. His hair fell around his face, framing his eyes as he studied you, gaze darkening.
“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” he admitted quietly, surprising you. “Didn’t think you’d actually stay.”
“I wasn’t planning on running off.”
A slow, relieved breath escaped him just barely there, but unmistakable. His hand slid up your arm, tracing your skin in a soft line that made heat pool in your chest.
You swallowed, pulse racing. “Why?”
Eren leaned in until his forehead touched yours, eyes locked on yours, expression raw in a way you rarely saw.
“Because I don’t want last night to be the last time I wake up with you,” he said softly.
He watched you, waiting, searching your face for something hesitation, regret, anything that said you wanted distance.
You reached up, brushing your fingers against his jaw. His eyes fluttered half-shut, like your touch physically affected him.
He exhaled shakily. “Don’t—” His voice cracked just a little. “Don’t say my name like that unless you want me to—”
You lifted your chin the slightest bit, inviting him closer.
Then his lips curled into a slow, hungry smirk.
“Yeah,” he said softly, leaning in until his mouth hovered just above yours, “that’s what I thought.”
And then Eren closed the distance slow, deliberate, like he intended to memorize the exact moment your lips met his.
Not overwhelming, not heavy just a soft, steady heat that wrapped around your side like sunlight settling on skin. Blinking into the quiet morning light, you slowly realized the sunlight wasn’t the warmth you were feeling.
A breath brushed the back of your neck.
Gentle. Even. Familiar.
Memories of the night before rushed back. Armin’s nervous smile, the way his hands shook just slightly when he reached for you, the surprising certainty in his eyes when he finally closed the space between you.
Your heart picked up pace.
You swallowed and dared to turn your head just enough to see him.
Armin lay behind you, face relaxed, blond hair a soft mess over his forehead. One of his arms was draped over your waist, not possessive, just… tender, like he’d fallen asleep hoping you wouldn’t leave.
His fingers rested lightly against your side, and he looked so peaceful it almost hurt.
You hadn’t seen him like this.
Ever.
And you didn’t mean to stare but it was impossible not to.
You shifted slightly, trying not to wake him.
But Armin stirred almost immediately.
His hand tightened around you not forcefully, but instinctively, like his body recognized your movement even before his mind did.
A soft noise escaped him, half sigh, half something deeper. He nuzzled lightly against your shoulder before going still again.
He blinked slowly. Sleepy blue eyes met yours, still hazy, soft, confused for only a heartbeat before recognition settled in.
His cheeks flushed pink instantly.
“Ah—good morning,” he mumbled, voice rough from sleep. He didn’t move his hand from your waist, but he did tense slightly, as if only just realizing where it was. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to um ... hold you like that”
You grabbed his hand before he could.
“You don’t have to let go,” you said softly.
Armin stared at you, wide-eyed, breath caught in his throat. Color bloomed across his face, but he didn’t pull back again. Instead, fingers hesitantly threaded with yours, like he was afraid to expect too much.
“You’re… still here,” he said quietly, voice cracking in the middle. “I wasn’t sure you would be.”
Something in your chest tightened. “I wanted to be here.”
Armin let out a breath a shaky one relief flooding his features in a way so honest it made your heart ache. He shifted slightly closer, touching his forehead gently to the back of your shoulder.
You rolled onto your back so you could see him better. He pushed himself up on one elbow, hair falling into his eyes, expression tentative but warm.
“You were staring at me,” he said, trying to sound playful but failing because his voice was too soft, too vulnerable.
“I was not,” you protested weakly.
Armin smiled small, genuine, entirely disarming.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I was staring at you before you woke up.”
Your breath hitched. “You were?”
He nodded, eyes flicking from your eyes to your lips and then quickly back again, shy but unable to hide the way he looked at you.
“I just… wanted to make sure last night wasn’t something you regretted.”
You reached up, brushing a thumb across his cheek. He leaned into the touch instinctively, lashes fluttering.
“I don’t regret anything,” you whispered.
Armin’s hand tightened around yours.
For a moment, the air felt charged not the heavy tension of Levi or the wild intensity of Eren, but something quieter, just as powerful. Something that made your heart feel too big for your chest.
“Can I…” he started, voice barely above a breath, “can I stay close? Just for a little longer?”
His expression melted into something soft and overflowing relief, affection, hope.
He lay back down beside you, arm slipping around you again with more intention this time, holding you gently but securely.
“Good,” he whispered into your hair. “I didn’t want to let go yet.”
It was the quiet that woke you.
Not the usual morning sounds of the barracks, not footsteps, not chatter just an unfamiliar stillness, warm and heavy, wrapped around you like a blanket.
And then you realized it was a blanket.
One that definitely wasn’t yours.
Your eyes fluttered open into dim light, and the first thing you noticed was the sheer size of the arm around your waist. Strong. Steady. Relaxed in a way you doubted he ever let anyone see.
Slowly very slowly you turned your head.
Erwin Smith was asleep beside you.
That alone felt unreal. The commander, the man who carried an entire world of responsibility on his shoulders, was lying on his side facing you, blond hair mussed, jaw softened, lips parted slightly in the kind of deep sleep he probably hadn’t had in years.
He looked almost younger like this.
Almost human in a way few ever got to witness.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly.
You took in every detail the way his hand splayed along your waist, the faint crease between his brows even in rest, the quiet rise and fall of his chest.
You shouldn’t have stared.
But how could you not?
You reached up without thinking, fingers brushing a stray strand of his hair
He inhaled sharply.
Not awake yet, but aware enough that his arm tightened around you, pulling you a fraction closer. Your breath caught as your back pressed to his chest.
“Mm…” A low sound rumbled from him almost a sigh, almost a growl. You weren’t entirely sure which.
He nestled his face slightly against your shoulder.
“Erwin,” you whispered, barely audible.
His breathing shifted slowed, then steadied and then his eyes opened.
Blue. Clear. Sharp, even half-asleep.
Instead, he studied you silently for a long moment, gaze calm but searching, as though assessing your expression before he allowed himself to speak.
“You’re awake,” he said softly, morning-deep, voice rougher than usual.
“So are you,” you replied.
He gave the smallest hint of a smile. “Only because you’re staring.”
Heat rushed to your face. “I wasn’t-”
“You were.” His voice had that low, quiet authority, impossible to argue with. His thumb brushed your waist an unconscious motion, but intimate all the same. “I don’t mind.”
He finally loosened his arm just enough that you could roll to face him if you wanted. You did.
Erwin’s eyes softened when you turned toward him, though his expression remained composed he was always composed but there was something else beneath it now. Something quieter. Something rarely shown.
“I wasn’t certain you’d stay,” he admitted, tone even but eyes giving away the truth. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t I stay?” you asked softly.
He studied you for a moment, as if weighing a thousand possibilities behind those blue eyes.
“Because what happened last night… was not something I take lightly,” he said. “And I wasn’t sure if you saw it the same way.”
You reached out, brushing your fingers along his jaw strong, steady, but tense as if waiting for your verdict.
“I saw it exactly the same way,” you whispered.
Erwin’s eyes softened not dramatically, not obviously. Just barely. But it was enough to shift the entire room.
His hand rose to your cheek, large and warm, thumb tracing a silent line you felt down to your bones.
“You have a way of making me forget the world for a moment,” he murmured. “It’s… disarming.”
You swallowed. “Is that a good thing?”
A rare, genuine smile tugged at his lips one that reached his eyes.
“For the first time in a very long time,” he said, “yes.”
The air between you thickened charged but calm, heavy but tender. Erwin leaned in just slightly, not closing the distance, but waiting, offering.
“May I?” he asked quietly.
Erwin Smith, commander of the Survey Corps, was asking.
And his forehead pressed to yours, breath warm, touch steady gentle but full of all the emotion he rarely let slip through.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
For staying.
For choosing him.
For the moment of peace he never thought he’d have
