✧˖°. Coco (23) ✧˖°. I'm just an aspiring author with a fable for problematic characters -`♡´- Make sure to check out: masterlist | AO3 | buy me a ko-fi -`♡´-
You still feel it, icy hands against your windpipe and his hot breath on your neck. He was hot, yet cold at the same time and you know that deep inside he genuinely felt the desire to kill or ravish you. The first option is more to your liking. You would rather die than to be the object of anyone's desire. The thought alone disgusts you. Levi looked at you a certain way; with pupils blown black and the urge to kill. You are sure that his muscle memory still rembers you and that he deep down does too.
You were covored in dirt and wore a hood. The alley was dark and he was stressed. The thought that he never actually was able to make out your face is not absurd. And you are sure that he would have ended your life back in that alley, just because of a stupid tea set.
With a painful groan you stand up from the ground and wheeze as you try to take a deep breath. Clouds form from your mouth and white little flocks starts to softly sway around you. Snow, the first time you see the beautiful art of nature and its in this wracked situation. You stand up, stumbling around to climb back up the hill. You move through the pain and watch the fresh snow fall instead.
You tumble back to the base, holding your stomach that gramps painfully. Not able to recall when or how Levi kicked or punched your stomach, you try to suppress a whimper with every step.
“I hope he feels pain too.” You murmur to yourself, crawling through the fields as the buildings get closer.
“Disgusting bastard. Motherfucker.” You curse, spitting blood before you enter the base and walk straight up to Erwin's office, ignoring the shocked stares your comrades give you.
You knock twice, waiting to be invited in.
“Yes?” Erwin's melodic voice hums and you let yourself in, closing the door behind you as you walk up to his table.
“Nyx, my dear, what happened to you?” His concern doesn't affect any of your emotions, you simply let yourself fall in the seat opposite of him.
“Your dog was off his leash,” you groan, anger clearly seeping through your emotionless facade.
“Captain Levi used me as his literal punching bag, choked me and left me to rot in the woods. Is that something your higher-ups usually do in their free time?”
Commander Erwin is stunned and carefully places his pencil down to place his hands over each other. While he may appear calm inside he feels a mixture of amusement and annoyance rise in his gut.
“I must apologize. I thought you and Levi might get on well, since you share similar backgrounds,” Erwin declares, casually gesturing to her neck.
“But it appears there might be issues. Do you want me to punish him? Such behavior is unacceptable of course.”
“Issues? He's completely insane!” You complain, anger rising in your voice as you gesture wildly around yourself.
“He treats me like shit and tells me I'm a liability. I can see past that, alright. But beating me up for no reason? Choking me? Fuck he even sniffed me-” Erwin breaks your rage filled monolog.
“Levi sniffed you?” He seems skeptical, not really sure what to make out of the information. He was used to such behavior from Miche, not Levi. Erwin turns a little in his seat, the wood underneath the leather pillow creaks unforgivingly, indicating the many hours he and commanders before him sat on it.
“Whatever. Just please take me off his squad, Commander,” you nearly beg, trying to be extra polite. You have learned that arguing with Commander Erwin only leads to more disappointment on your side. He is a man who likes to be smeared in honeyed truths and pleads, not demands.
“I can't do that Nyx, I'm very sorry. I am planning something and the only people I trust to do the mission are you and Levi.” This argument angers you.
“With all due respect Commander Erwin, I know that you don't trust me. And we both know that the Captain is more fitted for whatever you have planned. He demonstrated it well,” You gesture over your wounded body, crossing your arms again to build up your imaginary wall against him. His blue eyes catch yours and fix you on the spot, giving you the feeling of being the center of his attention, something you absolutely hate. It makes you feel exposed, naked even and the silence that stretches is painfully uncomfortable.
“I will repeat myself one last time. I have chosen you for one good reason, which is not of your interest. You will stay under Captain Levi's leadership and you will not negotiate this any further. Is that clear, soldier?” Erwin's voice comes out harsh, strict, and he makes it clear that you are in no position anymore to talk back. Just a week ago you were and slowly you start to take Otto's threat to heart. You wonder if the death penalty would have been the better choice at this point.
“Yes, Commander.” Good, obedient. This will please and lead you through the military safely. You stand up and place one hand over your heart and the other one behind your back, giving him the salute to desperately please his ego more.
“Very good. Now-” Erwin turns to a cabinet behind him and opens a drawer, searching for something specific.
“-tomorrow is the winter market and the official day off everyone in the regiment. I want you to go there with your roommates.” You can't help but to note how this suggestion sounds more like a demand. Then he pulls a brown pouch and places it on the table between you. You are able to make out the faint noise of coins shifting inside the pouch, making your heart race in anticipation.
“See it as an apology for me throwing you into Levi's hands. Treat yourself to something nice tomorrow, will you?”
Pile rises in your throat, as your skin turns even paler. The military is no different from the brothel and you are the whore choosing money again and again. Your shaking hand grabs for the money and for a second you catch the intruding stare of Erwin again, taking your breath as you see the emotion in his face noticeably shift. A small, sardonically smirk has replaced his annoyed grimace.
“Thank you, Commander,” you whisper and turn your head away from him, feeling like the table between you is not enough. It makes you regret everything. You know he gives you money to stay quiet and timid, his expression speaks volumes. He's a smug and selfish bastard, reaching his goals with intel and gold. It makes him different from Levi in that aspect. Where Erwin is charismatic Levi is repellent and where the Commander is manipulative the Captain is violent.
“I will have a shower now. Have a nice day Sir,” you offer a goodbye and don't wait for him to answer, you simply turn and leave.
The next morning surprises you with a white colored landscape, which instantly lightens up your mood.
"It's so beautiful!” You admit and turn a circle around yourself to catch all the details of your surroundings. The Strohfelds no longer look gray and dumb, but white and fluffy. You can only describe the sterile sight as beautiful and harmonic.
“Isn't it? But training will be a pain, I can guarantee you that,” Petra notes, matching your awed expression with a soft smile.
“You kneel down and carefully touch the snow with a finger, pulling it back in shock.
“That's so cold, why is it so cold?” You gasp and dare to burry your hand in the fluffy and white snow, feeling the freezing coldness burn your fingers as they instantly turn red.
“Its frozen water. All these are little snowflakes made from ice crystals,” Ilse explains as she wiggles her scarf tightly around yourself. You pull your hand back only to watch the little snowflakes melt on your skin.
“Fascinating,” you state and follow after your roommates, with Nifa leading the group.
“Have you ever been to a market before?” Petra asks, clearly curious about your life without the sun.
“There are markets in the underground,” you confirm, voice steady as your eyes follow the puffs your breath leaves in the air.
“Are they any fun?” This time it's Nifa to ask you a question. She usually holds back, probably unsure how much you would let them ask you questions about the underground without jumping them in annoyance. You understand their curiosity though, there are not many people making out.
“If you consider starving thieves and raging murderers to be fun, then I guess,” your sarcasm seems to put them off for a second, but Ilse is quick to change the topic.
“Have you ever had mulled wine? Oh or punch and hot cider, that's delicious-”
Chatting you stamp through the snow, noticing how the freezing coldness slowly starts to nag on your body. The clothes you wear belonged to now dead soldiers. Their belongings were collected and given to the less fortunate,like you. The skirt you wear is wool and ends just over your calves and your leather boots are just a little too loose, much like your coat. The only thing that fits perfectly is your scarf that you choose to wear around your neck and head. You never wore skirts in the underground, but those surface girls seem to own nothing but skirts, other than their uniform pants. Wool stockings are the only thing keeping you truly warm and you don't get the appeal of skirts or dresses.
You enter the small village, Himmlein, only to be greeted with the smell of spiced alcohol, burning wood and something else that has your water running in your mouth. You had lunch only three hours ago, but you still notice your stomach churning. It's almost like your stomach is still consumed with endless hunger, even when you get three meals a day now.
“That smells delicious,” you admit and let your head turn through the market. Since it's slowly getting dark, candles give the streets a lively brightness and people are standing around booths, chatting and laughing with steaming cups in their hands.
“Roasted almonds. They also have Feuerflecken. You should try them!” Petra cheers, pulling you with her. Her enthusiasm is a whirlwind, pulling you through the slushy cobblestone streets as the market comes alive in a blur of orange lantern light and the scent of caramelized sugar. Her hand is a warm anchor on your arm, but your mind is miles away, still stuck in the suffocating silence of Erwin’s office or the damp chill of the forest floor. The cheerful atmosphere feels like a performance you haven't learned the lines for yet.
Nifa and Ilse soon become captivated by a merchant selling intricate lace and hand-carved ornaments, their voices rising in melodic excitement that blends into the general hum of the crowd. You take a slow, deliberate step backward, allowing the vibrant chaos of the group to swallow your absence. You need a moment where the air doesn't smell like spices and the heavy, cloying scent of "normalcy."
And as the sun slowly fades and the evening moves closer you have already had a taste of two different drinks and the so-called Feuerflecken. It’s rye dough baked over fire and dipped into different types of sauce and garlic. You drift toward the edge of the square, where the festive glow begins to fray into the shadows of the side streets. The transition is immediate, the noise dampens, and the biting winter wind regains its teeth. You lean against the cold stone of a bakery wall, your fingers tracing the outline of the coin pouch in your pocket. It feels like a brand, a reminder of the transactions that define your existence.
As you turn your gaze toward the darker corners of the village, seeking a reprieve from the light, you spot a solitary silhouette.
Tucked into a narrow alleyway, far removed from the communal benches where soldiers are clinking mugs and singing off-key, stands Levi. He is a dark, sharp edged shadow against the soot-stained brick. There is no squad surrounding him and instead of looking bitter, like he usually would, the Captain just looks tired.
He stands with his shoulders hunched slightly against the cold, his heavy charcoal overcoat buttoned to the throat.
In his hands, he holds a steaming cup of punch, the white vapor curling around his face like a veil. He isn't drinking. He is simply staring at the dark, trodden slush beneath his boots, his expression unreadable and profoundly isolated. You find yourself frozen, caught in the gravity of his loneliness, wondering if he is capable of feeling such things like sadness, fear or loss.
“Miss, would you like a cup of our mulled wine? It's the best in town and only costs 5 bronze coins!” Your guys drift from your Captain to a jeerful young girl who holds a tray with steaming hotness drinks in her hands.
“Yeah, why not,” you decide and pull out your pouch placing the coins onto the tray and take one of the cups, smelling the scent of raisins, honey and wine.
Your attention turns back to Levi almost instantly and to your surprise he has already locked you in place with his eyes, sipping from his drink while he leans back against the wall of an inn. Something pulls you to him, even when your gut twists in panic, as you start pacing to his direction, walking past your comrades and into the dark alley. It's like you two were magnets; pushing and pulling depending on which side of the magnet you are currently on. He pulls you to him, yet always pushes and pushes the moment you come closer. You would never be able to kill him, because he is the one deciding when to pull and when to push.
“Nyx,” he muses under his breath, eyeing you with disinterest as you come to a stop before him.
“Can't you see I want to be left alone?” He complains, but his words don't come out with force or annoyance. He actually sounds tired, suffocated from work.
“You know I always imagined you exactly like that.” You pour out in a drunken haze, instantly recreating your body's easy stimulation to alcohol. He merely frowns at you.
“I mean- Kenny's protégé? I knew you'd be a bundle of aggressive hatred. Didn't think you were so small though-” you try to save your suspect behavior, but it simply irks him on even more.
“Alright. Fuck off.” Levi straightens his posture and pushes you out of his way, making you nearly lose the grip on your cup and spilling the hot liquid over your freezing hand. The pain makes you let out a hiss.
“Its probably why you did what you did to me, right?” That stops him, his shoulder barely touching yours as he turns his head to the side, his expression no longer exhausted but sour.
“You have mistreated me from the start. Why? Is it because I am a woman? Do I remind you of your past or do you just get off on hurting me?”
You now recall why you don’t drink. The drug makes you an unfiltered mess,unable to control your words or actions. In the underground it would have mentioned your death.
“No and I'm offended that you'd even think of that, brat.” He looks down to the drink in your hands, then back up to you.
“Is this how you bury your emotions, Nyx? Drinking, perhaps partying. You are so blinded by the hatred towards people stronger than you, it makes you rely back on dirty tricks and fool words. It’s sad, you’re sad.”
You gulp at him and much to your surprise those words don’t hurt as much as they should.
“Didn't we both survive because of that, Levi? Because of hatred?” You bite your tongue, feeling the awful need to drop more than you should. These words hold a double meaning and you are sure he understands that too, because his eyes light up with something that looks awfully a lot like recognition.
“Hm. I’m still trying to figure out where we met. You know me, pretty well so it seems,” he speaks and you are able to feel his hot breath on your face. You swallow harshly, not once daring to break eye contact from the man.
“Oh,” he breathes, tilting his head as his eyes widen ever so slightly.
“If we were involved intimately with each other-” you black out at his words, a dark shade of red blushing your cheeks as you back away. He just turned the situation into something much worse.
"Disgusting. You are fucking disgusting to even imply that.” Your drunken awkwardness has turned into anger. To break eye contact and purely out of desperation, you take a big gulp of your mulled wine, letting it burn down your throat.
Levi doesn't look convinced. In fact, seeing you recoil seems to satisfy something dark within him. He takes a slow step closer, invading your space until the heat radiating from his overcoat pins you against the soot-stained brick. He looks down at you, his silver eyes tracking the frantic movement of your pulse in your throat, the very spot he had been so obsessed with in the woods.
“I don't hate you. I hate the fact that I know you, but I don't know how and that irritates me.” He admits, slightly pulling on your woolen scarf to free your neck, giving him direct sight of the assault he caused yesterday. His eyebrows turn into a frown, as his lips coil upside down.
“I am sorry I did this to you. You are my subordinate, mine to protect and guide.” He takes a step back, watching your reaction closely.
“The sparring didn't feel like training anymore and I hurt you. It is unacceptable, I take every punishment you desire.” His words surprise you and a warm shower runs down your back. Captain Levi does seem to have a kind side to him, something you haven't expected from someone like him.
“Erwin and I had a talk. He won't punish you, he compensated differently,” you bring out, gripping your cup tighter around the handle.
“Yeah? How so?” Levi questions, frowning as he observes the estranged expression on your face.
“He gave me money. Like I was some whore,” you spit in anger and cross your arms.
“You are not a whore.” His words leave you stunned, with your mouth gaping at him dumbfounded and then you laugh, making it almost sound like a sarcastic scoff.
“You literally implied I was one yesterday.” Levi rolls his eyes, matching your stand as he playfully lifts the corner of his lips, almost forming a smile. It looks rather disturbing on him if you are being honest.
“And you were, even if it was for just a short time. I'm sorry I used that knowledge to shame you. I shouldn't have done that, my mother followed that occupation.” Levi's honesty has you even more flashed and the fact that he revealed something so personal makes the whole situation even more awkward. He certainly would have never told you if he was aware of your identity. But the feeling quickly fates and you cant help but to nod in sympathy. Not pity, never pity anyone from down there.
“Well. Shame on you Captain, that was so unbecoming of you.” You taunt, feeling more comfortable as you smile at him and dare to sip down the last remains of your mulled wine.
“I’m usually not one to indulge in hypocrisy. I hope you can accept my apology,” he speaks, watching your tongue lick over your lips. In your drunken state you believe it to be necessary to catch every drop of the tasty liquor.
“Sure. But next time I'll be the one choking you stupid, you'll see.” Maybe you should stop drinking for today. Levi's irritated face tells you te same. Its funny how such a nonchalant person can have such an expressful face.
“Don’t play your luck, brat.”
“Will try sir!” With that being said, he strolls away from your, brushing your shoulder just slightly, as he says: “Have a good evening, Nyx. Don’t drink too much, I want you in perfect form tomorrow.” You instantly salute him, like a reflex that you were born with, but I know that it gas been intoctrated into you. A few days past and you already turn out to be a conditionated dog. Great.
“Yes, Captain!” Play along and you won't die.
He leaves you standing alone in the alley without another word, merely looking back at you, as you turn to hus direction, your smile slowly fading into a thin line. You know that this interaction cant mean anything good, not for you and not for him.
It won't take long for him to realize and when he does hell will break loose.
It’s really interesting how unacknowledged this is, but Levi is quite literally nobility in canon - an exiled one. In a regular setting he would have titles and land and quite the political power as well, as the man of the highest rank in the special knight class closest to royalty 🙂↔️👑💖
Since the last chapter of my levi x reader fanfic hasn't had any interaction, I wanted to ask you guys if it maybe went down somewhere in the depths of tumblr and ao3? Or maybe it was too soon to post after chapter 5? I posted it like two days later.
Or it was just bad idk 🤷♀️ please let me know your thoughts in the comments or dm me!
Levi has not slept the past night at all. He has been sitting on a pile of paper work and when he finished said pile he merely sat in his chair, eyes wide open and tiredness nagging on his heavy lids. But he did not fall asleep, not even for a second. The underground has been haunting him for the past few days, gripping him like a tight leash. He thought he was able to bury his past with Isabel and Furlan, but it seems like that something, or rather someone, has triggered those thoughts to burst out all of a sudden.
His eyes roam through the fields, while he adjusts his winter coat, repressing a shutter as he feels the cold air creeping through the fabric. The only reason he has to freeze off his ass on a Saturday afternoon outside on the training grounds is you. And it is also you who causes his insomnia to worsen and his thoughts to spin circles. You are rude, impulsive and bitchy, cynical too. She's a feisty rat, a murderous thief who has bark and bite. Knows one to know one.
He understands your attitude, truly, but a healthy woman in the underground is rare. Down there he had learned not to let them get too close to him, walls forbid to love him. It's not because he was a prude, on the contrary actually, but women in the underground were nothing but mere tools. They were used by men to control other men. Levi hates the thought of that, but can't help himself but to few you as such a tool.
He has heard of you for the first time four months after joining the corps. Nyx, a corrupted shadow hunting for heads. He thought your name was stupid, but couldn't help himself but to be impressed by the fact that a woman has chosen a path in a male dominated field and found quick success while doing so.
Now that you stand before him he knows that this was just an illusion. You are no free woman, you never operated your missions on your own terms and you prostituted yourself to get out and see the sun, only to be placed under his command. Ironic, really.
“So far you haven't disappointed,” Levi admits, crossing his arms as he watches you do one sit-up after another.
“You learn quickly. That's good. But if you don't gain a few pounds until spring I'm afraid the wind might blow you from your horse's back.”
“Can't really control the rations, can I?” You huff under your breath, pressing your eyes shut as you try to force another sit-up, but instead you break down, letting yourself fall back into the frozen grass. It's truly astonishing how much the weather changes in one week. You are excited to see the snow fall for the first time, Petra mentioned it wouldn't be much longer, since the temperature has fallen drastically.
“Our first mission will be at the end of the year. During the winter ball. Details will follow, but I'm sure this will be a piece of cake for you.” Levi’s words leave a bitter taste, making you frown in confusion. The wording is questionable.
“Our? What do you mean?” You move back into a sitting position, holding yourself up with one arm, while you brush the sweat from your forehead with the other. The chilling air feels soothing to your hot skin.
“You think Erwin's gonna send you off all alone? There's a reason he made me your babysitter,” he answers with a frown, like it's obvious.
You don't reply and merely stand back up to get rid of your coat, as you feel too warm and sweaty in the thick wool.
“You'll get sick,” your Captain criticizes and you know he's right, but you could care less right now. You simply shrug your shoulders and decide to ask him another question.
“Are we finished for today, Sir?”
Levi carefully observes you and weighs your question. While yes, training is supposed to be over by now, another idea has come to his mind, making him wonder if that was a good idea. You are completely drained and exercised from the early morning hours to late afternoon with just a lunch break. It would be completely unfair to put you into a situation that would require even more physical strength. But somehow he can't help himself, somehow he wants to see more of you and most importantly of all; learn what you are capable of.
“Not yet. I want you to spar with me.” The demand lingers heavily between you, but you don't question it. You know that you have no literal chance against him and from what he's seen, he must be sure of it too. You are not weak by any means, you killed hormones after all, but Levi? He counts those you wouldn't dare to get involved with. Too deadly. The thought alone triggers a fear in you, you haven't felt in a long time and suddenly you are able to feel him again; pressing down on you, piercing your skin with porcelain shard and nearly killing you.
“Whatever you desire, Sir.” You speak automatically, your stare losing itself in his. Is this it? Is he going to get his sweet revenge on you now? The two of you are alone in the Stroh fields, bordering the pine forest that stands proudly behind you. If he killed you now, he could make it look like an accident and everyone would believe him.
“Try to not shit your pants. Relax, I just want to see how dangerous you really are.” Feeling insulted by this, you slowly walk closer, pulling your arms up and forming your hands into fists. Maybe you would be able to land a blow or two, preferably into his perfectly shaped face. The adrenaline hits your system like a jolt of lightning, sharpening your senses until the rustle of the frozen grass sounds like thunder. You move first, not because you are faster, but because you are desperate. You lunge, fingers hooked like claws, but Levi is already gone. He sidesteps you with a grace that is insulting, his hand catching the back of your shirt just long enough to send you stumbling toward the treeline.
“Focus,” he hums, his voice a low vibration that seems to come from the shadows themselves.
You snarl, turning on your heel and swinging a roundhouse kick that he blocks with a solid forearm. The impact sends a shudder through your bone, but you don't stop. You drive him back, strike by strike, forcing the fight away from the open field and into the claustrophobic embrace of the pines. Here, the light is dim, filtered through heavy boughs, and the ground is a treacherous carpet of slick needles and hidden roots. It feels familiar, having to dance around structures reminds you of the streets of your home. Surely it would mean an advantage to you.
Levi isn't just defending; he is playing with the distance, leading you deeper into the thicket where the air is colder and the silence is absolute. You swing again, a desperate hook that he ducks, and then he strikes. His first punch shatters into your rips, making you almost tumble over. The gasp that leaves your lungs is quickly ignored and he moves to land another, this time to your shoulder. You are able to dodge, groaning harshly as his fist meets your arm instead.
“Son of a whore,” you bark and kick his hip, forcing him to step back.
“Funny how you whore-shame my mother when you fucked men like me for money.” The implication is clear. You prostituted yourself for criminal's, thugs and killers like him. Levi didn't mean to offend you like that, truly, he knows it must have been horrible for you to sell your body in desperation to get out of there, but the heat of the moment has taken over him. You don't hold back. Punches turn into scratches and blood starts to flow freely. You are no longer sparring, you are actually fighting each other. This isn't training anymore.
You kick him into his guts and in return he pushes hard against you, making you step back from the force. When you try to gain back your stand, you suddenly feel the world tilting backwards. In shock, you grab onto Levi's coat, taking him down with you. The two of you roll down a hill, you have miscalculated it to be so close already. Dirt and leaves smoothen your fall, but the surprise of the fall has you unable to react in time. Levi is instantly onto you, crawling over the frozen, rooty earth just to fix you against it. His legs are over your torso, spread to ensure that your hands are crushed down, forcing them into a still position.
Then he does something unthinkable, something that could kill you in mere seconds if he decided it to be necessary. The moment his hands lay around your neck you panic, your eyes widen, your breath hitches and you buckle your hips, hoping it would throw him off. It doesn't.
You wiggle under his grasp like a worm, breathless sounds escaping you, as you pry on his hands. The violating act doesn't even last a minute, Levi instantly pulls back, his eyes filled with shock. If you weren't distracted with catching your breath and crawling away from him you would have noticed his pupils to be blown. Almost like the time he-
“Get back to the barracks. We're done,” he breaks your thoughts, brushing over a bleeding scratch on his cheek that you caused. If it bothers him, he doesn't comment on it, just simply looks at the red on his fingers that in contrast looks like blood on a white fabric. He stands up with a grunt, beats the dirt out of his coat and turns to leave the pine forest.
"I am not finished with you," you rasp, the words clawing their way out of your bruised throat.
The sound of his retreating footsteps stops instantly. Levi doesn’t turn around, his back a stiff, uncompromising line against the dark pines. He expects you to stay down, to play the role of the defeated rat he just spared. But the phantom sensation of his fingers on your windpipe has set something ancient and feral on fire in your gut. You aren't a cadet. You aren't a tool. You are the shadow from the graveyard, and you do not let an enemy walk away with the last word.
With a low, guttural cry, you launch yourself from the dirt. You don't aim for a clean strike; you throw your entire weight at his back, your arms locking around his neck like a vice.
Levi grunts as the impact sends him stumbling forward. He reacts with the speed of a coiled spring, reaching behind his head to grab your hair, trying to flip you over his shoulder. You dig your nails into the skin of his collarbones, refusing to let go. You both hit the ground again, but this time, it’s an ugly, desperate tangle.
The hierarchy of the Survey Corps vanishes. Out here, in the dim, freezing heart of the forest, you are back in the mud of the Underground. You fight dirty because it’s the only way you know how to win. You drive your knee into his crotch. It's the first time you feel him noticeably shrink from pain much to your satisfaction.
"Get. Off," he growls, his voice losing its icy composure and is overcome with a mixture of pain and pure anger.
"Make me," you spit back, blood from your split lip spray-painting his white cravat.
You scramble over him, scratching at his face, trying to find a grip on his throat to return the favor. Levi’s hands are everywhere; blocking your wrists, shoving at your shoulders, his movements becoming more frantic and less clinical. He isn't the Captain anymore; he’s a man wrestling for his life against a ghost he can't kill.
In the struggle, your white shirt hitches up, the fabric catching on the rough bark of a nearby root. The biting air hits the bare skin of your stomach, but you are too consumed by rage to feel the chill. You manage to pin one of his arms, your chest heaving against his, the heat radiating off him in waves.
The fight slows as exhaustion finally begins to settle into your marrow like lead. You aren't throwing punches anymore; you are grasping at each other, nails digging into skin, breaths mingling in the frigid air. Every accidental brush of his skin against yours feels like a searing brand. Your fingers catch in the messy dark locks of his hair as you try to shove his head back, and he counters by slamming his weight down on your chest, effectively crushing the air out of you.
You collapse beneath him, your muscles turning to jelly, a weakness that feels almost painful and forces your movements into uncontrolled shaking. You can't fight anymore. You can only lie there in the dirt, staring up at him through a haze of sweat and tears. Levi remains hovered over you, his knees pinning your thighs, his heart thundering so hard you can feel it through his ribs. It's the third time in your life you lie under him, unable to move and unable to complain. He reduced you to nothing but a whimpering mess.
He looks at you, truly looks at you, his silver eyes wide and unreadable. The silence of the forest is deafening. Levi eyes you, watching his own blood drip on your face. Then he observes your neck, an ugly bruise forming where he gripped you minutes before. Finally he notices your bare torso, the pale stomach that radiates a welcoming warmness. He flushes at the sight and quickly looks up again, watching your tears stream down your cheeks and mix with his blood.
In a moment of unhinged impulse, driven by curiosity and the sight before him, he leans down. Levi buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply. Pine, earth, blood and something so familiar fill his senses, making him shutter.
The contact is electric. His nose brushes your frantic pulse, his hot breath fanning over your damp skin. You freeze, your heart stopping for a terrifying second, before it hammers wildly against your ribcage.
New found adrenaline tingles in your guts, as you quietly whine into his touch, confused at his action, yet oddly satisfied. You fear him, really fear him, yet something about this unhinged, unpredictable gesture makes your abdomen jump in excitement.
Then, he recoils as if he's been burned by your skin. He scrambles to his feet, his face pale, and as he glares at you in bewilderment he realizes that he just massively fucked up.
“I want to give her up. I'm not gonna train her any longer. Place her with Miche or something,” Levi argues, his leg is relentlessly bouncing up and down while he gulps a cup of burning hot tea down his throat.
“No,” Erwin replies, not even looking up from his report.
“What do you mean no? Have you seen what she did to my face?” The Captain places his cup down harshly, finally catching the attention of his Commander. Erwin raises a brow at him, giving the scratches on his face a quick but piercing look.
“Nyx relies on dirty measures, she reminds me a lot of you.” Levi huffs at him annoyed.
“That's not the point, Erwin,” he complains and crosses his arms, his hair, still a mess, falls into his face. If looks could kill his dear friend would fall dead right now.
“Then what is the point, Levi? You know I trust your judgment and admire your loyalty. But right now you have done nothing but complain about a criminal with PTSD.”
An eerie silence follows them and their eyes locking on each other, quicksilver meeting azure. Levi leans forward, placing both of his elbows onto the table only to let his head fall into his hands. He lets out a heavy breath and looks down onto his now empty cup.
“I’m sleep deprived.” Erwin tilts his head.
“Yes. I’m aware.”
“And Nyx she-” Levi gulps, letting his head fall back while he rests his back against the wooden rest.
“-she knows me. I'm sure of that, but I can't recall where I met her. She hates me, so it must be pretty bad.”
Commander Erwin observes his comrade critically, wondering about the connection himself. Perhaps Levi's desire to place her in a different squad is legitimate, considering how she marked him with scratches and bruises her desire to inflict pain on him is suspicious and the fact that she even marked humanity's strongest is impressive.
“Perhaps she's an old lover of yours?” Levi rolls his eyes at that.
“No. I remember the women I slept with,” he replies, a sassy attitude to his statement that makes Erwin smile.
“I’m sure it can't be that bad. Take a day off tomorrow and we'll see what Monday brings.” Captain Levi closes his eyes for a second shifting back into a straight position.
“Something's off about her.”
Erwin merely shrugs, turning back to his paperwork. “You know, Flagon used to say the same about you,” he notes, ignoring the dissatisfied groan Levi offers him.
“And? He was right about me. You're just proving my point, eyebrows.” Levi moves from the chair and stands up, grabbing his cup to leave the Commander to his work.
“Just don't try to strangle her again. I should have you punished for this, Levi.” The black haired stills, turning his head to his rivalry turned friend.
“She was here wasn't she?” Levi asks, boredom tracing his apathetic tone. He figured she would complain, he understands. Him being on edge is no excuse for his behavior, he was out of order.
“Of course she was. She asked to be removed from your squad.”
“And what did you tell her?” Curiosity has finally gotten to him and he makes the effort to face Erwin one last time. The blonde man looks up, a cocky smile on his usual strict face.
“I told her no, obviously. I believe you disciplining her works though. One week in and she doesn't talk back to me anymore. Perhaps I should use such drastic measures on her too, what do you think?” Erwin admits, swirling the pen between his fingers. Something about his eyes makes him appear to be deep in thoughts and a dreamy expression has taken over his smirk.
“Shitty creep.” Levi spits, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the suggestion.
“You Sina men are disgusting perverts.” Levi doesn't care that he is bluntly insulting his superior and Erwin doesn't seem to care either, matching the Captain's energy with mocking words himself.
“Funnily the underground city counts to the territory of Sina, so what does that say about you, dear friend?”
Levi balls his fist, moves it up and stretches his middle finger, pointing it directly at Erwin, only to leave his office the next second, angrily shutting his door harshly.
You an Erwin can go fuck yourself, better yet each other, than he wouldn't have to deal with your shits.
"So, what district are you from?" Captain Levi asked.
Boredom was written all over his face. It seemed he was only forcing the conversation to kill the suffocating silence between you. He was kneeling in the dirt at your feet, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency as he adjusted the leather straps of your harness.
"Graveyard district," you replied, looking down at the top of his head. There was a dark, twisted satisfaction in seeing a man this powerful, the man who had nearly broken you, forced to kneel before you, even if it was only for a gear check. "What about you?"
Levi didn't look up. "Call me 'sir' or 'Captain' from now on. And my business is none of yours."
The dismissal was cold and immediate. You bit your tongue. Why bother asking the question if he wasn't willing to offer anything in return?
"Feel that?" He suddenly yanked a strap around your thigh. You felt the leather bite into your skin, threatening to cut off your circulation. You sucked in a sharp breath. "That’s how it’s supposed to feel. You need the support when you’re moving at high speeds. Got it?"
He stood up and gave the chest harness one last, brutal tug. The force was enough to jar your spine, and a small, involuntary whimper escaped your throat.
"Don’t be sensitive," he barked. He didn't offer an apology for the rough touch. He didn't even look at your face.
"Yes, sir," you muttered.
The realization hit you again, more offensive than the physical pain. He really didn't recognize you. He had every chance to kill you now, to finish what he started when he drove that porcelain shard into your bone. Instead, he treated you like any other annoying, incompetent brat. Part of you was relieved, but a larger part was insulted. To him, you had been just another piece of filth to step on, a face so insignificant he couldn't even recall it two years later.
"Come on, brat. I don't have all day."
Levi turned and walked toward the heavy oak doors. You scrambled to follow, the weight of the iron gear on your hips feeling like a lead weight. Every step was a struggle as you tried to find your rhythm in the restrictive leather.
When you stepped outside, the air was sharp and cold, but you stopped dead in your tracks. You couldn't help it. You gawked in pure, unadulterated awe. The sky was a bruised canvas of pink and deep orange. Clouds were rimmed with liquid gold, and a heavy, silver mist clung to the broad fields, slowly retreating toward a forest that stretched into the infinite distance.
This was a sunrise. It wasn't the flickering light of a candle or the dim glow of a lantern. This was true harmony.
"Oi. I know. It's pretty." Levi’s nonchalant voice shattered the moment. "But we’re wasting time. Get moving, kid."
"I’m not a kid, sir," you snapped under your breath.
"If you're my age, every teen is a kid," he replied. He hadn't even turned around, yet he heard every word. You rolled your eyes, wondering if he had ears in the back of his head. You hadn't expected him to be so talkative, even if his words were nothing but insults.
"I'm not a teen either. I’m twenty-two. And you can't be much older than me, Captain."
He stopped and shot a sideways glance over his shoulder. The look in his eyes was like cold steel. "I’m well over thirty, idiot."
"Could have fooled me," you whispered.
"You would do well to shut your mouth," Levi said, his voice dropping an octave. "Soldiers don't talk back to their superiors. Keep your opinions to yourself, salute, and follow orders. I’m sure even a street rat can manage that much."
You clamped your jaw shut, your teeth grinding together so hard they ached. The urge to lash out was a physical heat in your chest, but you forced it down. You had chosen this path. You could have stayed in the dark, selling your body or your blade to the highest bidder. Instead, you had chased a dream of freedom, only to find yourself a slave to a man who didn't even remember your name.
A woman waved from a few yards away, her friendly expression a small mercy in the morning chill. It was Petra. Levi led you toward her and a group of three men who stood in a semi-circle.
"I hope you’ve been running laps during my absence," Levi said as you approached. "It took longer than expected. My new subordinate is as slow as she is chatty."
You stared at the back of his head, imagining the exact weight of a dagger between his shoulder blades. He had been the one dragging you into a conversation, yet he blamed you for the delay.
"Squad," Levi continued, his tone clinical. "This is Nyx. She never attended the Trainee Corps. She’s only here because the Commander does as he pleases. Introduce yourselves."
The air turned heavy. You were an intruder in their perfectly organized world. This was the Special Operations Squad, the elite of the elite, and you were a criminal dropped into their midst for "safety."
"This is Eld, my second in command," Levi said, gesturing to a tall man with his blonde hair pulled into a neat bun. He gave you a reserved, professional smile. "That is Gunther." A brown-haired man gave a curt wave. "And this is Oluo."
The last man looked like he was trying to swallow a lemon while simultaneously mimicking Levi’s posture. He looked at you with clear disdain.
"You’ll be formally introduced to the others at lunch," Levi said. "For now, run five laps. Then join us at the ODM parkour by those trees." He pointed to a distant cluster of oaks. "We have long sessions ahead. At least you'll be in form for your first mission after the winter break."
As they walked away, the word 'winter' echoed in your mind. So that was what this was. You had heard stories about the seasons, but experiencing the biting frost was another thing entirely.
After finishing your laps, your lungs burning and your legs feeling like jelly, you marched over to the parkour area. "I’m ready," you announced, chest heaving.
Levi looked at you, his expression cranky. "Your running is pathetic. We’ll have to fix that. For now, try to figure out how the triggers work on your own."
You stared at him, your blood boiling. He wasn't going to teach you? You gripped the handles, your fingers fumbling over the switches and buttons. You aimed both hooks at a sturdy-looking tree and, without a second thought, squeezed the triggers.
"Wait!" Levi shouted.
It was too late. Hiss. The sound of pressurized gas was a roar in your ears. The recoil was violent, jerking your arms forward as the hooks slammed into the bark. The next second, the ground vanished. You were yanked into the air with such force that the wind was knocked out of you. You screeched, pulling your knees to your chest in a panicked attempt to stabilize yourself, but your center of gravity was gone.
You flipped backward in a clumsy arc. Your legs and back slammed into a thick branch with a sickening thud. You ended up dangling face-down, the wires tangled around your thighs and torso, the ground a dizzying distance below.
"You fucking idiot," Levi spat from below. He closed his eyes and shook his head in irritation.
"Well, excuse me for not being born with wings, sir!" you sneered. Your voice was strained, and you could feel the blood rushing to your head, making your vision swim.
Gunther let out a short laugh, which was immediately silenced by a lethal glare from the Captain.
"The only thing I see is a dumb ass dangling from a tree," Levi said. "Get down. Now."
"I haven't seen such incompetence before," Oluo added, sneering as he crossed his arms. "Are you sure she belongs in this squad, Captain?"
"I remember you being in the exact same position when you started, Oluo," Petra snapped, coming to your defense. "Shut up."
Levi waved them off. "Enough yapping. Continue training."
A chorus of "Yes, sir!" followed, and the squad zipped away, leaving you alone with your disappointed superior. You wriggled, but the wires only bit deeper into the flesh of your thighs, nearly slicing through the pristine white fabric of your new pants.
"Rumors say the real Nyx is a nimble little thing," Levi said, looking up at you. "I think you're just a cheap knockoff."
The insult stung more than the wires. You kicked out in frustration, but it only caused you to swing helplessly back and forth. You hated him. You hated his hair, his voice, and his total lack of empathy.
"Can you please help me get down, Captain?" you finally forced out. The words tasted like ash.
Levi didn't tease you. He simply gripped his own triggers and launched. In the Underground, he had been fast, but here, he was something else entirely. He looked like a bird of prey. He landed on the branch above you, the impact making your wires jolt.
"I’m impressed," he muttered, leaning over the edge to inspect the knots. "Not even the cadets manage to get this tangled."
"Shut up," you started, but a quick, sharp kick to your shin made you yelp.
"Sorry. My bad," Levi said, though his voice was dripping with sarcasm.
He worked in silence for a minute, undoing the mess you had made. Then, he secured his own hooks and lowered himself until he was level with you. You were still hanging face-down, but you felt his hands, strong and calloused, grip your hips firmly. He wrenched your body around in a full 180-degree turn to pull you against him for the descent.
Because you were still hanging upside down and he was upright, the move brought your face inches away from his waist. You froze, your breath hitching as you found yourself staring directly at his belt, the heat of his body radiating through his uniform.
The blood continued to rush to your head, but it was no longer the only thing making you dizzy. In this inverted position, the world was a blurred mess of gold and green, yet the man holding you was the only thing in sharp focus. Levi didn't seem to care that your face was inches from his midsection, or that your ragged, shallow breathing was warming the fabric of his trousers. To him, you were simply a problem to be solved, a piece of malfunctioning equipment that needed to be recalibrated before it wasted any more of his morning.
He shifted, his boots digging into the bark of the tree to anchor his weight. Slowly, he loosened the iron grip of his left hand from your hip. You felt a momentary flash of terror as you began to tilt, but it was instantly replaced by a different, more suffocating sensation. He snaked his arm around your middle, hauling your body flush against his side to secure you. The strength in that single arm was staggering; he held you aloft with the effortless grace of a man who moved through the air as easily as he walked the earth.
With his dominant hand free, he began to work on the snarled mess of wires around your legs. His fingers moved with a terrifying precision, clicking the metal components of your gear with sharp, rhythmic snaps. You were trapped in a cage made of leather and his own heat, your cheek resting against the rough fabric of his uniform. The power imbalance was no longer an abstract concept; it was the weight of his arm crushing your ribs and the cold, clinical way he manipulated your body to reach the knots.
"You’re lucky the branch caught you," Levi said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly drone that vibrated through his ribcage and into yours. "Most idiots with your level of coordination end up as a red smear on the grass. Do you always jump into things without thinking, or are you just trying to see how much of my time you can burn?"
You tried to find your voice, but the proximity had stolen your air. He was so close that you could see the fine weave of his cravat and smell the sharp, clean scent of antiseptic and black tea that seemed to radiate from his skin.
"I don't like repeating myself, Nyx," he continued, his thumb brushing the underside of your ribs as he reached for a particularly stubborn latch. "In the Survey Corps, stupidity isn't just an annoyance. It’s a death sentence for everyone standing next to you. If you can’t master a simple trigger, you aren't a soldier. You’re a liability I’ll have to discard."
He gave the wire a final, violent yank, and the tension snapped. For a heartbeat, the only thing keeping you from the forest floor was the crushing pressure of his arm around your waist. He looked down at you then, his silver-gray eyes hooded and unreadable, devoid of any warmth or recognition. He looked at you the way a hunter looks at a wounded animal, calculating the effort required to keep it alive versus the ease of letting it fall.
"Hold your breath, brat," he commanded, his fingers tightening one last time before he engaged his own release valve. "And try not to vomit on my boots when we land."
The descent was a blur of gravity and pressurized gas. Levi didn't let go; he kept that punishing grip around your waist as you both plummeted, the ground rushing up to meet you in a dizzying streak of green. Just before impact, he fired a secondary burst, slowing the fall enough for his boots to hit the gravel with a heavy, muted thud.
He didn't release you immediately. He held you there for a heartbeat too long, your feet dangling inches above the dirt as your head finally began to clear. When he finally opened his arm, you stumbled, crashing into the dirt face first. You felt pathetic, trying to get up while he stood perfectly still, not a single hair out of place.
"The ground is that brown stuff beneath you. Try to stay on it for at least five minutes," Levi said, his voice flat and cutting. He began to wipe his palm against the side of his trousers, a familiar, obsessive gesture that made your chest tighten with a flicker of memory. "I’ve seen toddlers with more spatial awareness. Lets just hope your abilities as an informant are more useful."
He stepped closer, invading your space until you were forced to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. Up close, his eyes were even colder, two chips of flint that seemed to see right through the uniform and into the scar hidden beneath.
"I don't care what deal you made with Erwin," he leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that only you could hear. "In this squad, you’re nothing but a project. And I’m a man with very little patience for projects that don't produce results. You’ll spend the rest of the day on the training dummies. If I see you touch a trigger again before I give the word, I’ll have you back in that MP dungeon before sunset. Am I clear?"
The power he held over you was absolute. He wasn't just your Captain; he was your judge, jury, and the only thing standing between you and a hangman’s noose.
"Crystal, sir," you managed to rasp out, your throat raw.
"Good," he said, turning on his heel without a second glance. "Clean the dirt off your face. You look like a disgrace."
As he walked away toward the other soldiers, you stayed rooted to the spot, your fingers trembling as they brushed the white fabric of your pants where his hand had just been. He truly didn't remember. To him, you were just another piece of trash the Commander had dragged in and you realized that as long as he didn't know who you were, you were safe.
Your family sets you up with potential husbands….. rich, influential JJK men… for a business marriage. You try to scare them off by acting weird but it backfires… and now you have 4 men obsessed with you.
Pairings: Yandere JJK men x Reader
Ft. Gojo, Sukuna, Toji, Nanami
TW : MDNI, some 18+ jokes, fanfic
part 1 - Part 2 - part 3
In Which You Learn That Rich Men Are Like Glitter (Impossible To Get Rid Of Once They’re On You)
“You’re fucked.”
Shoko’s voice… through your phone speaker had that particular tone of someone delivering bad news while also finding it hilarious, like a doctor telling you that you have a weird rash but also it’s shaped like a dinosaur.
“I’m aware,” you said, lying on your floor…. your cat was sitting on your chest. “That’s why I’m calling you at…” you checked your phone “…. fuck, is it really 3 AM?”
“What the fuck is wrong with these men?" You stared at your ceiling, which had a water stain that looked like either Jesus or a mushroom. You’d been meaning to get that fixed since you moved in. That was two years ago.
Silence.
Then Shoko started cackling like she’d just witnessed someone slip on a banana peel in real life. “Maybe they’re into weird girls?”
“It’s not FUNNY… ”
“It’s SO funny,” she wheezed.
You groaned. Your cat adjusted herself, digging her claws into your chest.
“Okay but here’s the thing,” Shoko said, and you could hear her typing, which meant she was already stalking, which meant this was about to get worse. “I did some digging”
“And?…”
“And babe.” More typing. “These guys don’t DO second dates.”
“What do you mean”
“I mean… Sukuna’s last 3 arrangements all withdrew. One of em moved to Sweden” More clicking “Gojo fucks his first dates and then ghosts them. Dick and dip”
“SHOKO!!”
“Oh and Toji’s dates end up becoming his sugar mommies.”
You sat up, dislodging your cat, who gave you a look of pure betrayal before walking off to knock something off your counter.
“So what you’re saying is…..”
“What I’m saying is you somehow did the impossible.” She sounds gleeful. “How does that feel?”
“Like I need to fake my own death and join the Swedish meatball girl”
You spend the next hour on the phone, going through theories. Maybe you weren’t weird enough. Maybe you were too weird. Maybe they’re all in a cult and you’re the sacrifice. Maybe this is an elaborate prank show and Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out of your closet.
“Or,” Shoko offers, “maybe you’re just hot and they’re willing to overlook the crazy.”
“I spilled water on Toji’s DICK.”
“Some guys are into that….”
You hung up and stared at your phone. At the four messages still sitting there. Haunting you.
Outside your window, a pigeon was trying to fuck another pigeon on your fire escape, which felt oddly appropriate for this situation.
You can do this.
You are GOING to do this.
(You can not, in fact, do this, and what happens next will haunt you for the rest of your natural life.)
Sukuna Ryomen - After the first date
Sukuna sat in his office, looking out at Tokyo’s skyline, and tried to remember the last time someone had annoyed him this much without ending up in a hospital.
The audacity. The fucking AUDACITY of sitting across from him and dropping designer labels like they were supposed to impress him.
A shameless gold digger. The kind of woman he'd normally have escorted out before the appetizers arrived.
Except.
Except something was off.
He couldn't place it at first. He'd seen gold diggers before. Hell, he'd dated a few. They had a certain ease to them, a comfort in luxury that came from either experience or genuine desire.
You had neither. You looked like someone playing dress up.
"Get me everything on her," he tells Uraume the next morning.
The report landed on his desk five days later. Sukuna opens it expecting a lifestyle propped up by daddy's money.
What he finds instead makes him laugh out loud.
Forty seven pages of utterly ordinary information. No luxury purchases. No country club memberships or spa packages or any of the shit gold diggers usually had.
Groceries from 7 Eleven.
Bank account balance: Depressing
Sukuna leaned back in his chair, staring at your photo attached to the report. You were smiling in it…. holding a cup of what was definitely not champagne while standing in what appeared to be your kitchen.
You looked... soft.
He picks up his phone… a small smile on his face.
Name your terms. I'm interested.
Send (why tf did he phrase it like a challenge?)
Date 2 Sukuna Ryomen
Location : Shopping district
Threat level : High (probable yakuza connections, definitely judging you)
Sukuna picks you up in a black car. The driver opens the door for you without making eye contact, which feels ominous. Sukuna is already inside, taking up most of the backseat.
“Hi!!” you beam at him "I'm so excited for today. I've been thinking about it all week.”
“Have you” He looks amused. That's... new.
Your soul leaves your body for a second, then reluctantly returns when you realize he’s still watching.
“Of course.” you laugh “I love shopping”
Twenty minutes later, you're standing in a store that doesn't have prices on anything. Which means you don’t know what to buy because you have no idea what anything costs.
A sales associate instantly recognises Sukuna "Mr Ryomen. A pleasure. How can we assist you today?"
"The lady wants to shop." His eyes slide to you. "Give her whatever she wants."
This is a trap. This is DEFINITELY a trap.
You approach the nearest display… a rack of coats and pull one off with zero delicacy.
"Ooh, this is cute!!!!" You hold it up, checking the label. Your eyes don't recognise the brand name at all. It's something German, maybe? Or Italian? Fuck. "Is this..." You squint. "Valentino?"
The sales associate's eye twitches. "That's Brunello Cucinelli, ma'am."
"Right, right. Bruno something." You wave your hand dismissively. "Same thing."
Behind you, Sukuna makes a sound. It might be a cough. It might be a suppressed laugh.
"This one….”
"That's a child's backpack."
You stare at the tiny pink monstrosity in your hands. It does, in fact, have a cartoon character on it.
"I knew that," you say weakly. ( Error 404 : Brain not found )
The corner of his mouth twitches. Is that a smile? Is he making fun of you? You can't tell and it's driving you insane.
"Perhaps," he says, stepping closer, "I should help you."
What follows is the most humiliating hour of your life.
Sukuna guides you through the store like a disappointed tour guide at a museum for idiots. He corrects your pronunciation of Louis Vuitton…. twice.
"You don't shop here often," he observes, handing you a dress"Try this."
"I… what?"
"Try it on." He gestures toward the fitting rooms. "I want to see how it looks."
You stumble toward the changing room… (THERE’S A CHANDELIER IN THE CHANGING ROOM) … clutching the dress. The fabric is soft… softer than anything you've ever owned… and when you put it on, you barely recognize yourself in the mirror.
You look... expensive. Like someone who actually belongs in a place like this.
"Well?" Sukuna's voice comes from outside the curtain. "Are you hiding?"
"No." Yes. "I'm just... adjusting."
"Come out."
You step out, feeling exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the amount of skin showing.
His eyes move slowly… face, shoulders, waist, back up. The way he looks at you makes every inch of skin feel suddenly, stupidly alive.
"Better," he says finally. "We'll take it."
"We'll… what? No, it's too much, I couldn't…. "
"I thought you wanted expensive things." He raises an eyebrow
Shit. Shit
"I do" you say, too bright. "This is great. Let's buy all of it.”
You gesture wildly at the nearest rack. Sukuna follows your hand to a display of men's accessories.
"You want me to buy you cufflinks?"
Your stomach drops into your fucking shoes “I… no. Those. Over there. The... things."
"The hats?"
"Yes!!! Hats. I love hats!"
You don't wear hats. You've never worn hats. The last time you tried to wear a hat, Shoko laughed so hard she choked on her drink.
But Sukuna is still watching you with that expression… amused, knowing, waiting (smug asshole)… and you can't back down now.
"Pick one," he says. "Whichever you want."
He pays for it, along with the dress you didn't ask for, and several other items you don't remember selecting.
After your date, you know three things.
One: couture is terrifying.
Two: rich people are stupid.
Three: Sukuna knows
Nanami Kento - After the first date
Nanami Kento was having a problem.
The problem was not work related, though his colleagues would probably disagree given that he’d missed two meetings and had to redo a contract because he’d been too distracted to catch a critical error.
The problem was not health related, though his doctor would probably be concerned about his blood pressure given how many cold showers he’d taken this week.
The problem was that he could not stop thinking about you. About your mouth on that wine glass. About the sound you had made and how he had to grip his fork so hard he’d nearly bent it.
About what you would look like on your knees….
He was in the middle of a client call when his mind wandered to what you would sound like if he…
“Nanami san? Are you still there?”
“Yes. Apologies. Please continue.”
This was unacceptable. He’d built his entire career on discipline and self control. He didn’t get distracted. He didn’t let his personal life interfere with his work. And he certainly didn’t spend five days straight having increasingly inappropriate thoughts about a woman he’d met once.
But here he was. Day five. Still thinking about you.
He tried to rationalize it. Tried to tell himself this was just physical attraction. That he needed to see you again to confirm there was no actual compatibility. That a second date would cure him of whatever this was.
(This was a lie. He knew it was a lie.)
On day seven, he broke.
I would like to continue our discussion. Are you free Thursday evening at 7:00 PM?
He hit send. What the fuck was happening to him?
Date 2 Nanami Kento
LOCATION: French Restaurant, Different This Time
THREAT LEVEL: Low (too polite to murder you, probably)
You arrive five minutes early.
Nanami is already there. Of course. The man probably arrived at the restaurant's founding and has been waiting ever since. His suit is different from last time…. but somehow just as pristine. Just as distracting.
Stop noticing his suits, you tell yourself. You're supposed to be making him uncomfortable, not yourself
"Mr. Nanami." You slide into your seat with what you hope is a seductive smile.
"Please." He stands as you sit…. gentleman, goddamn him…. before settling back down. "Nanami is fine."
"Nanami." You lean forward… smelling his cologne. It’s a nice cologne. Stop smelling him "I have to admit… I was surprised you wanted to meet again. You don't seem like the type to call women for second dates."
"I'm not."
"So what's different about me?"
There's an intensity to his gaze that wasn't there before… or maybe it was, and you just didn't notice. "I haven't determined that yet."
Okay. That's either flattering or terrifying.
You push forward with your strategy and order the messiest thing on the menu… pasta with red sauce, specifically chosen because there's no elegant way to eat it. You twirl your fork, let sauce drip onto your chin.
"Sorry," you say, dabbing at your mouth with a napkin. "I'm such a messy eater. But it's so good. Don't you think food just tastes better when you're not worried about being neat?"
"I... wouldn't know."
"You should try it sometime." You tilt your head. "Don't you ever just want to... let go?"
His eyes turn dark and hungry in an instant, sending your belly into free fall.
Oh
"I assure you," he says, voice low, "I am perfectly capable of letting go. When the situation calls for it."
Your heart rate spikes. “I need the bathroom….. ”
You practically RUN.
When you come back, he’s still there, perfectly composed, looking at you like you’re dessert and he’s planning how to eat you.
“Shall we order dessert?” he asks
“I’m good…..”
“Pity. I was hoping to watch you enjoy something sweet.”
Abort. Abort mission. This is not going according to plan.
Toji Fushiguro - After the first date
Toji wasn’t a stalker. He wouldd like to make that clear.
He followed you out on instinct, hands in pockets, expression bored, telling himself he was just making sure you got into a car and didn’t kill yourself crossing traffic.
You were different from the other rich bitches his family throws at him.
He had seen women play dumb before. Usually it's an act… a way to seem unthreatening, to make men feel smarter, to manipulate without being obvious.
This one couldn’t even walk straight… in heels you clearly couldn't handle, and….
You tripped.
Right there on the sidewalk. Over literally nothing. Your bag went flying, contents scattering across concrete.
"Fuck my life," you muttered, loud enough for him to hear from ten feet away. "Fuck it right in its stupid face."
Toji snorted.
He followed you all the way to your apartment building, watched you struggle with your keys for a full two minutes before getting the door open, and then stood on the street below your window like the world's most pathetic stalker.
Your light turned on. Then off. Then on again. You’d probably forgotten something in the dark.
Cute.
The word popped into his head uninvited. He immediately wanted to punch himself for thinking it.
Toji was fucking gone.
Hey, he typed on day seven. You're weird. I'm in.
His family's going to lose their shit when they find out he actually wants a second date for once.
Date 2 - Toji Fushiguro
LOCATION: Some random address in Shibuya
THREAT LEVEL: Unknown (not much details, which is concerning)
The address turns out to be an arcade.
An arcade???
You stand outside, staring at the neon lights and the sounds of digital explosions leaking through the doors, and wonder if you've been pranked.
"You came."
You spin. Toji is leaning against the wall beside the entrance, looking like he wandered in from a motorcycle gang's photo shoot. Leather jacket. Jeans. That scar on his lip curving with his smirk.
You follow him inside, immediately assaulted by flashing lights and the cacophony of a hundred games happening simultaneously.
"What are we doing here?" you ask, dodging a kid running past with a stuffed prize twice his size.
"Having fun." He looks back at you with an expression that's almost... soft? "You do know how to have fun, right?"
You tried your bimbo act. “I…. yes, of course I know how to have fun, I'm very fun, I'm the funnest…”
"That's not a word."
“Oh”
You lose spectacularly at every game you try.
"You're terrible at this," he says, leaning against the machine while you die for the fifteenth time.
You huff, pushing away from the machine. "Whatever…. the game is broken…”
Toji laughs, full and genuine, and something in your chest does a weird flutter thing.
No. Absolutely not. Focus.
"Let me try something," he says, and steps up to a basketball shooting game. He feeds in coins, picks up a ball, and proceeds to sink fifteen shots in a row without missing once.
Tickets pour out of the machine like a waterfall.
He hands you the tickets. "Pick a prize."
"What?"
"You've been looking at that giant cat thing since we walked in. Go get it."
He noticed that?
"I don't need you to win me prizes," you say, trying to recover your strategy "I can win my own prizes…..”
He's already walking toward the prize counter, your tickets in hand. You trail after him, protests dying on your lips.
The giant cat is even fluffier up close. The employee hands it to Toji, who hands it to you
"There," he says. "Now you have something to show for today."
You clutch the ridiculous stuffed animal to your chest and feel something dangerous building in your ribcage.
Don't, you tell yourself. Don't you fkn dare.
But when he drives you home on his motorcycle (motorcycle???)… you clutching the cat with one arm and his waist with the other….you can't help thinking that this was the most fun you've had in months.
Gojo Satoru - After the first date
Gojo knows you're lying before you even sit down.
It's the eyes. The too bright smile. The way your voice goes slightly higher when you're saying something you don't mean.
He's spent his entire adult life surrounded by liars. Business partners who smile while plotting. Models who swear they're "not like other girls" while being exactly like every other girl. Family members who claim to love him while treating him like a prize show pony.
He's learned to spot deception… instantly, instinctively, with a vague sense of disgust.
You're not as good at it as you think.
The church talk? He almost laughed. Your lockscreen might’ve had a church on it, but your nails had remnants of black polish, and there was a tiny tattoo peeking out from your collarbone that you had tried to cover with concealer.
The purity workshop thing? Just to avoid temptation.
Oh, sweetheart.
You wanted him to be tempted…. he thought…. That was the whole point, right? You had dressed like a nun specifically to make him think about undressing you.
Reverse psychology. Classic move. Bold as hell, though…. he'll give you that.
Most women try to impress him. They wear tight dresses and push up bras, laugh at his jokes, agree with everything he says.
You showed up looking like you were about to lead a prayer circle and told him he needed Jesus.
Gojo is delighted.
He pulls out his laptop, cracks his knuckles, and gets to work.
Social media: Private Instagram…. which yes, he has access to…. with party photos going back to college. Twitter that was mostly complaints about your job and retweets of cat videos.
Dating history: College boyfriend for two years, ended badly. Three short term relationships after that, all ending with you ghosting them when you got bored.
Employment: Work in management, hates your boss, online shops during meetings.
“Miss Virgin Mary,” he grins, scrolling through a photo of you doing a keg stand in 2019. “You absolute fraud”
Round two, sweetheart? My place, Friday. Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior. He hits send
He can practically hear you screaming when you read it.
Perfect.
Date 2 - Gojo Satoru
LOCATION: His Place (concerning)
THREAT LEVEL: Maximum (the man is a predator)
Strategy: Bring actual chaperone.
You arrive with Shoko in tow. She's agreed to play the part of your "church friend" aka chaperone… for the evening, which basically means she's going to sit in the corner, drink his expensive alcohol, and watch you make a fool of yourself.
"You brought a chaperone," Gojo says when he opens the door. He doesn't look surprised. He looks delighted.
"I told you I would." You fold your hands primly. "This is my friend Shoko. She's from my congregation."
Shoko waves. "Praise Jesus."
Gojo's eyes sparkle. "Please, come in."
His apartment is obscene. Floor to ceiling windows with a city view.
Furniture that costs more than your entire existence. A kitchen that's clearly never been used for actual cooking.
You sit on the couch… knees pressed together, hands in your lap, the picture of modesty.
“So," Gojo says, settling across from you. "How's God?"
"Huh? Oh… He's... good. Great, actually. Very blessed."
"Mmm." He leans forward. "And what does God think about us? Did he give you any revelations this week?"
"Actually, yes." You clasp your hands together. "I've been praying a lot, and I really feel like the Lord is telling me to take things slow. Very slow. Probably years of courtship before any... physical contact."
"Years?" he asks
"At least."
"How many years?"
"Um." You hadn't thought this far ahead. "Seven?"
Shoko chokes on her wine.
Gojo's smile doesn't waver. "Seven years. Of no physical contact."
"Exactly."
"No kissing?"
"No." You smile brightly
"No hand holding?" he pouts
"Probably not."
"What about eye contact?" Those blue eyes fix on yours
"I…. what?"
"Eye contact can be very intimate." He's leaning closer now, voice dropping. "Some people find it even more intimate than touching."
You swallow. "I suppose... brief eye contact would be acceptable."
"How brief?"
"A...a few seconds?" you stutter
"Three seconds?" he asks
"Sure?"
"Like this?" And then he just... looks at you.
Three seconds stretch into five. Five into ten. His eyes are impossibly blue, impossibly bright, impossibly knowing. You feel stripped bare. Exposed. Like he can see right through your modest dress and your fake cross necklace and your bullshit act straight to the core of you.
Your face burns.
"Stop that," you manage.
"Stop what?" His smile is innocent. His eyes are anything but….. "I thought eye contact was acceptable."
"Not like that."
He laughs, low and warm, and you feel it in places you definitely shouldn't.
The rest of the evening is a torture. He finds ways to make everything sound suggestive. Offers you water and comments on how good you are at swallowing.
By the time you leave, Shoko is crying with suppressed laughter and you're seriously considering actual prayer for the first time in your life.
"This was fun," Gojo says at the door. "We should do it again."
"I don't think…. "
He cuts you off "Without the chaperone next time."
"There won't be a next time."
"Mmm." His hand reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is feather light. Devastating. "We'll see."
Fuck Fuck Fuck
AFTERMATH - The great ghosting
You decide to disappear.
No texts. No calls. No responses. Complete radio silence. Maybe if you ignore the problem hard enough, it'll go away on its own.
(This has never worked for any problem in the history of problems, but hope springs eternal.)
Day 1: Peace.
Day 2: Your mother called 47 times.
Day 3: Your father sent an email in all caps.
Day 4: Silence.
Day 5: Maybe they gave up….
DAY 6:
A cheese platter arrived at your office.
Expensive cheese in a wooden box with a card: “Since you can clearly tell the difference. - Sukuna”
Your coworkers descend on it like vultures. You barely get a piece.
When you get home: you can't open your front door. Because there's a bouquet blocking it.
Not a bouquet. A monument. Red roses…. hundreds of them…. piled so high you can't see over the top. It takes thirty minutes to drag the whole thing inside.
Card: “Red suits you better. - Gojo”
Three missed calls from Nanami.
Shoko sends you a screenshot of Toji lingering outside your building. “Should I be concerned?" She texts
Day 7
"There's four guys at reception," your coworker, Mei says, poking her head into your office. "They're asking for you.”
Your blood leaves your body “Four?”
"They're kind of... arguing? With each other? Security is considering calling the police."
You walk to reception like you're walking to your own execution. And there they are.
Gojo, arms crossed, glaring at Sukuna. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Sukuna, looking murderous. "I could ask you the same thing. How do you know [name]?"
Toji, leaning against the wall. "Keep her name out of your mouth."
Nanami, trying to be the voice of reason. "Perhaps we should discuss this calmly….”
"Fuck calm," Sukuna snaps.
Mei appears at your elbow. "Are those guys here for you?"
"Please kill me."
"Do you owe them money?"
"I wish." you whisper
You take a breath. Then another. Then you walk into the chaos.
"Excuse me," you say.
They don't hear you. "Excuse me."
Still nothing.
"HEY!!!” you shout
Four heads turn. Four pairs of eyes land on you. Four expressions shift from hostile to... something else entirely.
Nanami opens his mouth, probably to say something reasonable, but you cut him off.
"Do you all…. know each other?" you ask weakly.
Silence.
“Unfortunately." Toji mutters
Gojo just grins. "Small world, isn't it, sweetheart?"
Your coworkers are watching this like it's the season finale of Love Island.
You are so fucked.
A/n : Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated 🫶💕
Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults.(I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)
Warnings: Omegaverse, age gap, arrangemarriage.
Ao3 link to the whole work.
Masterlist with all the chapters
Author's note:
Hi! I want to dedicate this chapter to two very important people. Sorry for the long wait.
One of them is to a long time follower who told me they used to read my stories while pregnant with their beautiful baby and that now, they keep doing it while the baby is asleep. I’m so happy I could unconsciously be part of such a unique and beautiful time of your life. Thank you for making me part of it.
And the second one, is a reader who got a surgery recently and I hope that for the time this chapter drops you’ve already recovered. I wish you nothing but the best.
Extra long chapter to made up for the lost time. 14k, enjoy
Dear Nanna,
How is everyone? How is Mother handling her condition? I am dying to hear from you all soon, but I know that wait is a burden we must both carry, not only for my sake, but for yours. I find myself writing to you every other day, even though I cannot send these letters. Somehow, the act of putting pen to paper grounds me. It is the only thing that feels certain.
The days on the road are long and exhausting. That continuous tiredness I spoke of before leaving the Walls still haunts me like a shadow. I fear I lack a true purpose here, and the constant mockery regarding my inability to fit in only exacerbates the ache. When my husband is near, the other soldiers do not even dare to lift their gaze from the floor. However, the second he is out of sight, the story changes completely. They mock my accent, my upbringing, my beliefs, and my physical limitations. Their prying eyes devour me, and their whispered comments terrify me. It is my fault, I am aware.
You told me to be receptive and lovely—that kindness would eventually win him over. I am trying, Nana; I swear I am. I know my current struggle is merely the consequence of my own hesitance; after all, a claimed Omega is a respected Omega. "Boys will be boys," they say. I do my best to mitigate the damage by dressing modestly, but in this heat, the fabric feels like a shroud.
Do not fear, I do not bother my husband with these trifles. He is a busy man. I try to spend as much time with him as possible, if only to quiet my fears, but he seems to have a finite amount of patience for my presence. Sometimes he goes hunting or patrolling for hours and insists I remain behind. The Commander mentioned that he needs his "solitude." Mother always said I would eventually learn the signs of when a husband wants dedication and when he desires to be left alone. I think I am finally beginning to recognize the weight of his exhaustion.
He got angry with me the other day. I am still not entirely sure why. He shouted, then disappeared for a long walk, only to return with meat for dinner. He ruffled my hair in what I believe was a silent apology. I have learned he is a man of rigid habits; from the few conversations we’ve had about our "arrangement," it’s clear he had little interest in acquiring anyone to fill his solitude.
However, I am grateful. My only request before abandoning my childhood room was that my husband (whoever he was meant to be) would not be a cruel man. God had mercy on me in that regard. My husband is not cruel; quite the opposite. He is kind and gentle to me. He does not strike me, and he takes diligent care of my well-being and the well-being of those who depend on him.
Lately, I have tried harder to fulfill my role as a beloved wife, hoping it might allow him to fulfill his. Sometimes, I think this whole issue would be resolved if he would simply claim me. I believe he wants me to desire it, too. But if I am allowed to ask you: what exactly should I be desiring?
On our wedding night, he told me he had no intention of doing anything if I did not want to. When I asked him, 'What if I never want to?', he only shrugged and said it would be a long wait until spring.
I do not understand what he is waiting for, Nanna. He is my husband; this is his right, yet he speaks as if I have a choice in the matter. Because he refuses to claim me, I am left standing out like a sore thumb. They see me, they smell that I am still unmarked, and they look at me as if I am a failure. I try to be a good wife, but if he does not want me, then what am I even doing here?
I miss home. I miss certainty. The other day, I had a conversation with another soldier, and I remembered something my husband said. He mentioned that he had accepted this "punishment” (this marriage) just so that other girl in his family, Mikasa, could enjoy her youth.
Looking at her makes my blood boil. I know I am not being a good person; I hate myself for these horrible feelings. But why? Why does she have a choice that I don’t? I know I should be more grateful for the opportunity to honor my family and be useful to my parents. I should be thankful to serve my country in the only way I am capable. I am being spoiled and childish, and I should stop complaining. But why does it bother me so much that she enjoys a freedom I never even knew existed?
—
The flap of the tent suddenly snapped open, letting in a blinding shaft of sunlight. Levi stood there, bended down to check inside, silhouetted against the brightness. He looked fresh, his hair slightly damp from a wash, and he frowned when his eyes adjusted to the dim interior.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked, his voice more blunt than he probably intended. "The sun is finally out. It’s a decent day for once, and you’re sitting in the dark."
She flinched slightly, sliding her hand over the letter to hide the ink. She forced her shoulders to relax, looking up with a practiced smile. "The sun is lovely, but I... I have a bit of a headache."
She added a calculated grimace of pain and kept her voice a mere whisper to complete the play. The word seemed to work its magic as it always did. An unspoken code between them that meant: whatever pain my body is going through, you wouldn't understand it. Levi’s frown deepened, not in anger, but in a sort of confused, distant understanding.
"A headache," he repeated, his brow furrowing. He hovered at the entrance, unsure if he should reach for her or stay back.
"I could get you something to eat," he offered. It was his way of trying, awkwardly so. He had done it the night they met, and he was doing it again now.
"No, thank you. I’m not very hungry."
"Tea, then?"
She looked at the small stove and then at the heavy fabric of the tent. "With this heat? No... thank you. I just need a little rest."
Levi lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on her. He wanted to tell her that she was missing the breeze, but he didn't want to push her. If she was "indisposed," he felt it was his duty to give her the space he thought she wanted.
"Fine. I'll leave you to it," he said, turning back toward the flap. "I'll be nearby if it gets worse. Don't be a martyr."
As soon as the canvas fell shut and his footsteps faded into the grass, the smile dropped from her face like a lead weight. She looked down at the honest, heartbreaking letter she had been writing, crumpled it into a tight ball, and tossed it aside.
"Everything here is doing great. The weather is improving, and Levi is so attentive. We are very happy over here. I am learning so much about being a wife, and he makes it all so easy. I couldn't have asked for a better match."
There were at least easily two lies in that statement but also at least two truths.
Heavy boots pressed into the sludge, the terrain yielding under the weight until each step became a chore. A loud puff of air left Levi’s nose as he pushed stray hair out of his vision. He remained nearly stationary, ruminating on the salt in his mouth as his mind chewed through his problems with the same slow persistence.
“I don’t know what’s worse—the rain or the aftermath,” the Commander commented, their face twisted in a grimace of disgust.
“No.” Levi shook his head slightly and resumed his pace around the shifting camp.
It was easily the third time in a week that she had implied she was feeling under the weather. Whether that statement was true or not escaped his humble understanding. As he’d noted before, his knowledge of an Omega’s real nature (aside from the obvious mechanics of a heat) was almost non-existent. Most lower-class Omegas were never allowed to interact with the opposite gender for their own safety, or they were quickly shuffled off to female-only boarding institutes. I mean, I know she isn’t bleeding like a Beta, but…
Did they suffer from pains? Hormonal shifts that changed with the seasons? Whatever it was, Levi had no choice but to trust her blindly. She didn’t strike him as the type who would grant him the pleasure of detailed explanations. Rule number one: if a woman tells you she feels bad, she feels bad.
However, it wasn’t the potential for pain that bothered him. The excuse had been repeated so frequently now that he had started to wonder, or rather, freak out. His eyes instinctively drifted back toward the tent where she was supposed to be. She doesn’t smell particularly different to me… and he certainly didn't feel reactive.
The formation was taking longer to move than usual; after the deluge, reorganization was key. At this rate, everything felt heavy. Tent-mates who were once long-standing friends now felt like mortal enemies. The horses were moodier, the food had lost all pleasure and become a mere duty to keep the body alive, and the carts—once brand new—had each developed unique, annoying ways of breaking down. After three exhausting days of rain, the formation was reaching the end of its willpower. They were on the last leg of the trip, and had the weather held, they would have been there already.
Much to his disappointment, Levi kept ruminating on the idea with no success. He did the only thing he felt capable of doing: he grabbed a cup, poured a well-blended hot tea inside, and placed it safely among the rocks of the running river nearby, hoping the water would cool it down.
Eventually, she walked out. Despite the extra time they’d taken that morning, it was already time to get moving again. The cat was perched in her arms as she surveyed the scene with a tired, confused expression. A cart was buried deep in the mud, and four cadets were struggling to shove it free. The grunts of the four young men combined into a chorus of intense physical labor; or so she thought.
Clearing her throat, she mumbled a few quiet hums to get their attention. “Perhaps... you could add some wood planks under the wheels? So the cart has something to gain inertia against?”
“Look, sweetie,” one cadet drawled, the nickname dripping with mockery. “Men are trying to work here.”
She stared blankly into the abyss, biting the inside of her cheek to hold back a grimace of anger mixed with impotence. However, when she saw the shape of her husband approaching, her eyes followed him in silence.
“Sir!” The cadets scrambled to straighten up.
“What are you fuckers doing?” Levi’s lip curled into a subtle sneer as he frowned. “Hold this.”
To her surprise, the command was meant for her. He pushed the metal cup into her hand, and she stabilized it against her chest alongside the cat.
“I—we thought of using wood planks under the wheels for initial inertia,” the cadet stuttered, stealing her idea.
‘Bruh…’ Her mouth parted in disbelief.
One cadet moved to fetch the planks, but the Captain was already at the back of the cart. “Drop it. I’ve got it.” With a grunt that sounded as if the cart weighed nothing at all, he heaved it onto more solid ground.
She pressed her lips together, trying to maintain a neutral face. Levi slapped his hands together to knock the dust off as he walked back to her. Her eyes grew rounder as a chill ran down her spine. I felt woman-stuff…
“Ehm, your cup?” She moved to return the object, but Levi, still in his focused work-mode, only looked back for a split second.
“It’s yours. Drink it.”
She was about to complain about the heat, but as her hand touched the bottom, she realized it was perfectly chilled. A soft smile appeared, and she sighed in contentment. She took a long sniff of the tea before letting it wet her lips; there was still a lingering bad memory of accepting "affective" drinks from him, but this was different.
She wasn't sure if the long trip was catching up to him too, but their eyes kept meeting—across shared meals, across the formation, and back again. She tilted her head, wondering what could be happening.
“So… what’s going on?” Hange questioned, noticing Levi’s continuous absence of mind. “What did Jean do now?” they asked, seeing him staring at the distant, dirty-blonde teenager.
In the distance, Jean cracked an absurd joke that made the only Omega in the camp shake her head in second-hand embarrassment, a chuckle escaping her lips.
Scoffing in annoyance, Levi kept his grey eyes glued to the scene. “Don’t you think she’s being stupidly receptive to their bullshit?” he asked, hands on his hips. The Commander only shrugged. A silence followed, filled with Levi's internal grunts and scoffs, until he was ready to admit his ignorance. “Do you think… she could be going into heat?”
Hange, who had simply accepted Levi’s usual grumpiness, snapped to attention. They smiled nervously. “This time of year? Why? Did you catch a scent?”
“No, but—” He lingered on the suspicion. “She’s been under the weather, staying inside even when we're moving. Kinda like—”
“Nesting,” the brunette finished for him, grimacing uneasily. “I don’t know. Never heard of it.”
“But with all the exposure... mixed up with us. A bunch of Alphas stinking like shit.”
The logic seemed to land, making Hange nod even as they remained skeptical. “I’ve heard of stress forcing presentations out of season but not heats. I’m not a doctor, though,” they admitted. “I think you’re overthinking it, shorty. If she were going into heat, we’d all be entering a pre-rut.”
“You say that as if that possibility wasn't the worst,” Levi groaned, the mere thought unbearable. “Here. In this place. At this time.”
“It almost sounds as if you don’t want her to go into heat,” the Commander remarked jokingly. But noticing the guilty silence from the other Alpha, he repeated, more seriously, “You don’t want her to go into heat? What kind of Alpha are you?!”
Levi shrugged, avoiding the question, though clearly affected by the topic. “Besides, it’s been what—?”
“Eleven years,” Hange chimed in.
“Eleven years since I had a rut—” Levi started, picking up the information automatically, before he stopped to frown. “How the fuck do you know that?”
“Well… you had one during your first year in the Scouts. I remember because Erwin complained about it for months,” Hange mumbled, their lips gripping a cigarette they were about to light. “He sounded like my mother; it was unbearable when he went into martyr mode.”
—
“So, let’s go over it again,” Erwin’s calm voice echoed through the room on an uncharacteristically bright spring morning.
The sun was blindingly bright for 7:00 AM, illuminating the office where the blonde man sat, insisting on micro-managing every detail of the upcoming two weeks. To Erwin, these dates were essential for the Survey Corps' survival. As he explained every minute part of the schedule, Levi was busy pouring his fourth glass of water, feeling the intense, silent stare of the oldest man in the room, Mike.
At the time, Levi wasn't a Captain yet. He was only there because Erwin was using him as a "pageant queen" to woo rich sponsors. Levi hated it with every fiber of his being, but Erwin had promised him that if he cooperated with the social events, he could finally stop sleeping in the communal barracks and get his own room. Levi wasn't sure which he hated more: the upper-class parties or the sound of thirty men snoring in bunk beds.
“Erwin,” Mike interrupted the long monologue. The sudden break in voice made Hange, who had been dozing off in their chair, jump awake.
“I’m awake!” they declared, looking around wildly.
Erwin ignored them, looking at the tallest Alpha with confusion. “Yes, Mike?”
“I think your 'main event' is going to be… indisposed.”
The word took a second to sink in, especially for the newly reformed thug from the Underground. Levi set his fifth glass of water down and realized everyone was staring at him. To him, "indisposed" sounded like fancy noble talk; to the military, it was the official term used in reports to explain why a soldier was off-duty for their cycle.
Erwin’s blue eyes locked onto Levi. “Are you sick? Do you feel alright?”
Levi clicked his tongue, a grimace of pure exasperation crossing his face. “What is all this shit about? I’m fine.” He wasn't exactly lying. He felt powerful, if a bit off. “My stomach just feels a bit shitty, that’s all.”
“No,” Erwin groaned loudly, the sound of a man watching his funding disappear.
“Told ya,” Mike added calmly.
“I just said I’m fine!” Levi spat. “Why does that asshole know how I feel better than I do?” He pointed a finger at Mike in pure vitriol. They hadn't gotten along since the day Levi was dragged into the light.
The oldest of the four wrinkled his nose. “’Cause you stink, brat.”
Erwin, seeing his grand plans going to waste, stood up. “How is this even possible?” His tone shifted from despair to accusatory. “Have you been sneaking around after curfew? Who have you been seeing to trigger a rut now?”
“Are you accusing me of sleeping around?” Levi’s eyes flashed dangerously.
Hange began to chuckle, using the armrest of their wheeled office chair to spin toward Levi’s face. “Boo, you whore,” they teased.
Mike tried to keep a straight face. “Come on, Erwin, don’t blame him. You’ve been parading him around those fancy spring galas for weeks. Surrounded by upper-class Omegas and expensive perfumes? You set the boy up for failure.”
“I said… I’m… FINE.”
“I feel like shit. Just kill me already.”
Levi was curled on the infirmary couch, sweating like a guilty witness and vibrating with a mix of icy chills and the sensation of being boiled alive.
“I’m not going to kill you; I went all the way to the damn Underground to recruit you,” Erwin paced the dark, tiled room like a caged lion. “Do you know how much I planned this? How could you do this to me, Levi?”
Levi propped himself up on one elbow just to hiss at him. “Yeah, Eyebrows. I’m sure that out of the two of us, you’re the one suffering the most right now!”
“SHH!”
The sharp command from the nurse made both men shut up instantly. Still in her pajamas, she had finally arrived in the middle of the night to check on the "emergency" she’d been summoned for. She, a claimed omega, looked at the young Alpha, and then looked back at Erwin in disbelief.
“He’s about to go into his rut. This isn’t an emergency; half the cadets in the barracks are going through the same thing. Give him a private room and I’ll make sure he has supplies.”
She was clearly exhausted. Erwin, using his best diplomatic voice, stepped forward. “No, you see, we have very important events to attend, and Levi is over twenty-five. Right, Levi?”
The half-asleep nurse adjusted her cardigan and turned slowly to look at the sweating young man on the couch.
“I’m twenty-six,” Levi lied, his voice strained between pants of hot air.
The nurse stared at him, her eyes tracking the line of his jaw and the scent spiking in the room. “Twenty-six? And I’m the Queen of the Walls. Don’t waste my time. How old are you?”
Defeated, Levi looked to the side. “...Twenty-three.”
The nurse scoffed and began preparing a kit. “You know the rules, Erwin.”
“Come on,” Erwin pleaded, desperate. “He’s a special case. He’s not going to grow any taller, anyway”
“No rut-suppressants for anyone under twenty-five. He’s too young,” she insisted. “If his body is going through this, it’s because it needs to. Forcing a young Alpha to skip a rut can have serious consequences for their hormonal development. I’ll take him to the basement—it’s cold there. Give him some pillows, a mattress, and water. Your little schedule will have to wait.”
“It’s very important—”
“How many times do I have to tell you that nature’s timing is perfect, Erwin?” It was clearly an old argument between them. “Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”
She signaled for Levi to stand, placing a protective arm around him. Her status as a claimed Omega and the fact that she was twice his age made her nearly immune to his aggressive pre-rut scent.
“I’m not a baby,” he grunted, though he leaned into her slightly.
“Sure thing, kid. Sure thing.”
—
“I remember that,” Hange laughed at the memory. “I’ll never forget how disheveled you looked when you finally crawled out of there, trying to shove an entire breakfast down your throat in a single spoonful.”
The memory was almost as painful as the experience itself. “You only laugh because your heats are barely a blip—you just get a little extra needy,” Levi grumbled. “I could never look that nurse in the eye again.”
“She had a dozen kids of her own, Levi. I’m pretty sure she’s well aware of what happens during a rut.”
The air had begun to shift. The previous nights, which had been unbearably humid and stagnant, were now surprisingly forgiving. The humidity remained heavy, yet the wind became more noticeable, carrying a bracing coldness that was hard to describe. It wasn't just the weather that had changed, but the landscape and its fauna; more than once, her eyes caught birds she had never seen before—wings of snowy white with dark, kestrel-like edges and flat feet like ducks.
As the environment transformed, so did the mood of the troops. Everyone was extra attentive, their movements sharp and jagged with anticipation. For her, however, there was little to do besides stay out of the way. At this point in the trip, she had stopped wondering exactly where they were. The three-week mark had long since passed, delayed by the terrain and the sheer friction of moving an army. After a month on the move, she found herself caring less about the map and more about the simple act of breathing.
Whatever was supposed to happen soon was clearly monumental, but her focus was elsewhere.
“Are you even listening to me?” Levi asked. He was finishing the adjustment of his uniform straps, his movements methodical and tight. Blades were snapped into place, thunder spears were secured to his legs, and his full ODM gear was cinched over the new, dark material.
“Since when are the uniforms all black?” she asked, her eyes tracing the way the light hit the fabric. Without the traditional leather jacket and olive shirt, the sleek, tactical black uniform looked formidable on hims.
Levi stared at her in disbelief, his hands pausing on a buckle. “I swear,” he muttered under his breath, “between you and the damn cat, I’m not sure which of you ignores me more.”
Setting her papers aside, she straightened her posture and finally locked eyes with him. Her gaze had been lost in the details of her husband. Specifically, the way the inverted triangle of his back and his narrowed waist were accentuated by the dark gear. “Sorry. I was thinking about something else.”
“Clearly,” he grunted. “I’m telling you to stay your ass right here until I come back for you. Got it?”
“That’s all? Alright,” she accepted, already reaching back for her pens.
“!!” A small squeak escaped her as Levi suddenly gripped her face, his fingers firm but not cruel, forcing her to look up at him from her seat.
“Do not ‘alright’ me, doll face,” Levi insisted, his silver-grey eyes boring into hers. “Every time I tell you to stay put, you hear ‘wander off.’ I’m not playing. We’re at the coast. This was Marley’s backyard until five minutes ago. We don't know if some piece-of-shit leaked our position or if they’ve got an ambush waiting for the Titan’s shifters. You stay a few hundred meters back where it’s safe. You don't move a fucking inch until I’m standing right in front of you.
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, commanding gravel. “You hear me? DO NOT MOVE. Alright?”
Her pout intensified as Levi’s grip pressed her cheeks together, making her lips bunch up. “Alright,” she muffled.
“I want to hear the goddamn words.”
“I won’t move until you come back for me,” she repeated, her voice distorted by his hand.
“Good.” He let go, but the tension didn't leave his shoulders.
Her frown didn't withdraw. “And… what if you don’t come back?” she asked quietly.
“I’m coming back,” he replied, turning away to finish his final checks. If the assault went as planned, he wouldn't even have to draw his blades.
“But—”
“I said I’m coming back, didn’t I?” he insisted, looking back over his shoulder. He gave her his back again, double-checking that his gas canisters were seated properly. Despite his stoic posture, the subtle, sharp scent of her fear reached him. It was faint, she was trying her best to mask it but he could smell the spike in her anxiety.
He caught her picking up her pen again, her leg bouncing with a restless, nervous energy. “How many times do I have to say it? If I tell you it’s safe, it’s fucking safe.” He was repeating himself now, his alpha ego stung by her distress. It felt like a lack of faith in his capabilities. His rational side knew it was a natural reaction to war, but the wilder part of his brain chafed at the idea of his prospect of a mate doubting his protection.
“Yeah, yeah,” she dismissed him, waving a hand as if he were a nagging mother.
“Oi.” That actually offended him. The people inside the Walls put their lives in my hands without question, but my own wife treats me like a nuisance. The accumulated stress of the month seemed to simmer in his chest. His eyes moved to the parchment in her lap. “What are you writing so much, anyway?”
“Letters to my family,” she replied, barely looking up.
His eyes squinted. The distant gaze, the avoidance, the strange excuses to stay behind—he had seen this pattern before. “Your family,” he repeated wearily. “Your family? Or the people you meet when you’re telling me you’re visiting your family?”
That got her attention. She gasped, the sound sharp in the quiet tent. “I told you nothing happened!” she cried, standing up to face him.
“And I told you I know nothing physical happened,” Levi argued back, stepping into her space. “Luckily for them. I’m an only child; I don’t do ‘sharing.’ It’s not in my fucking vocabulary.”
Her cheeks turned a brilliant, furious red. “Then why—”
“What I’m saying is that I look like an idiot. You trusted some toxic ex enough to meet him in the middle of nowhere, but you don't trust me? The man who’s been keeping your ass breathing this whole shitty month?”
“Because you lie to me!” she exclaimed. “You treat me like some brat, telling me everything is fine when you’re heading into a goddamn war zone. You don’t know it’ll be fine!”
“The hell I don’t,” he hissed. “I know because I’ll come back crawling dirt if I have to.”
The tent fell into a heavy, ringing silence. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she struggled to maintain the eye contact. The common scents of the road: pine, horses, and old leather; were suddenly overwhelmed by her sweet, floral aroma. She couldn't hide the blush crawling up her neck.
“Alright,” she whispered, her voice barely a thread. Searching for a way to end the suffocating tension, she glanced at his gear again. “Black is a good color on you.”
“Is it?” he muttered back, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Then get a damn black cat next time, because I’m tired of picking white fur off my gear.”
‘All I heard,’ she thought defiantly, ‘is that I'm allowed to get another cat.’
The minutes dragged into what felt like hours as she waited for the green light. To be fair, she didn't even need Levi to return to know the area was safe; the sight of the first few scouts returning with relaxed postures told the story. The collective need to finally stop moving and settle down was a shared, palpable relief. Everyone began gathered their belongings, ready to embark on the final leg of their never-ending journey. She did wait for him, but as they began to move again and he was giving out orders; she did move.
—
The white foam surged and withdrew with a rhythmic deliberation that startled her. Her chest tightened and then expanded, as if she were trying to physically swallow the view rather than just look at it. The sand beneath her feet felt ridiculously tender and warm, a strange contrast to the indomitable way the water crashed against the shore.
How could they ever have considered it? she asked herself, the thought feeling utterly absurd now. The idea of the earth being flat. It made sense inside the walls, but here, admiring the horizon and the way it merged seamlessly with the sky, the curvature was so obvious it was terrifying. It made her feel hauntingly insignificant.
Wrinkling her nose, she realized the air felt heavy with a scent she couldn't name—a bracing, saline aroma that somehow felt healing. As the sun dipped lower and the darkness bled in, the reflection atop the water turned it to liquid silver, like mercury spilling from a broken thermometer. It felt unnatural, as if something this vast and beautiful shouldn't be allowed to exist.
Despite growing up spending summers at a countryside manor and swimming in the property’s lake, she was terrified of taking a single step into this water. She gasped when the crystal waves, now churned into white bubbles, brushed against her toes. She stumbled back several steps, heart racing. The ocean was growing—or so it felt.
In a fit of nerves, she scooped the cat up again. The animal let out a sharp complaint; both were exhausted from the journey, but the cat, in particular, was finished with the constant movement and the indignity of being hauled around.
The pendular motion of the tide began to relax her, even as it provoked a hollow sense of emptiness in her gut.
“There you are,” Levi’s voice cut through the sound of the surf.
His heavy boots, designed for the resistance of muddy terrain, were powerless against the shifting silk of the dunes. Instead of his usual disciplined stride, he was forced to slide down the sandy hill toward the coast. His groans echoed, he was about to complain that he had the entire formation searching for a person among the dunes.
She met his gaze over her shoulder, the fading sun casting her features into a deep silhouette. Only the silver underlight of the water defined her face now. The dying light caught the fabric of her clothes, making them appear almost translucent and tracing the shape of her body in a way that was distractingly, temptingly clear. To his surprise, she looked entirely emotionless. In a rare reversal of their roles, he seemed to be wearing more of an expression than she was.
“Where does it end?” her voice was barely a whisper, lost to the breeze.
Levi approached her slowly, his eyes momentarily focused on the shifting ground beneath his boots. “Not sure it actually does. I know it changes names depending on where you are, but that’s about it.”
She simply hummed in response, turning back to the horizon. In what felt like a matter of minutes, the sunset had bled out into pitch darkness. “How deep is it?” she asked.
He hesitated, a low "Eh..." escaping him as he searched for the right words. He seemed a bit lost in the sheer scale of the environment himself. “I think it’s unknown.”
“We don’t know?” she asked, turning to him.
“We, as a country? Or we as humans?”
“Both?”
“Either way, it’s a no. I don’t think anyone has ever found the bottom,” Levi replied.
She wrinkled her nose, a small frown marring her features. “How can that be? It has to end somewhere,” she insisted. “Like... did the Colossal Titan come walking through it?” She tried to picture the largest thing she had ever known, imagining it wading through the silver surf.
“No. It’s deeper than that.”
Her eyes widened in genuine shock. “Really?”
Finally reaching her side, he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her. “Yeah. They even build these boats—ships as big as castles. And when they sink, they’re just gone. Never found again. That’s how deep it is.”
A chill ran down her spine. What had seemed like a beautiful dream only moments ago now felt like a terrifying, swallowing abyss. The darkness of the ocean at night was penetrating, vast, and horribly enveloping. She pulled the cat tighter to her chest, as if shielding the small animal from the sheer weight of the world in front of them. Yet, she didn't move. She couldn't take her eyes off it.
“What’s... what is that smell?” she asked, the sharp, briny aroma lingering in her nose.
Levi shook his head. “Save the scientific questions for Hange. I have no fucking idea,” he concluded. “Here.”
Her attention snapped to his face, but as his gaze drifted downward, she instinctively extended her hand. Levi placed a small, white shell with purplish-pink dots into her palm. Her eyes softened, and she let out a tender, quiet hum.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “It’s so pretty.”
“Be careful which ones you pick up. Some of them have weird crabs inside that'll take a piece out of you,” he warned.
“What are these?” she asked, mesmerized by the colors.
“A type of snail, I think.”
She chuckled softly. “Even the snails are pretty here,” she mumbled. “I could stay and look at this forever.”
Levi allowed her a few more moments of silence, letting her eyes stay glued to the dark horizon before he finally cleared his throat. “Well... you’ll have the entire year to watch it,” he declared. “We need to keep moving.”
She let out a groan, tilting her head to the side with a grimace of irritation. “Oh, Levi. The camp can wait.”
“We aren't setting up a camp,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get moving.” Levi’s voice was flat, already setting a brisk pace for the final leg of their pilgrimage.
"To where?" she asked, her voice tinged with confusion. She tried bunching the edges of her skirts in her hands, but the salt-heavy wind seemed to drive the sand everywhere regardless. The cat scooped up and her struggle to keep pace with Levi's long strides. ‘We have all day to set up camp,’ she wondered bitterly. ‘Can’t I just enjoy this for a moment?’
Dedicating only a brief, sharp look over his shoulder, he answered, "To the house."
"House? Whose house?!" Her frustration vanished instantly, replaced by a surge of genuine interest. She hurried her step, rushing until she was walking right at his side.
Levi was busy sorting through a handful of keys he had pulled from his belongings. Without looking up, he simply said, "Ours."
A small squeak of excitement escaped her—an octave higher than usual—as she practically jumped in place. "We’re getting a HOUSE? Levi! Why didn’t you say so?!"
He remained entirely unmoved by her outburst. If anything, his frown deepened, his face settling into a subtle grimace of pure exhaustion. "I told you."
"No, you didn't!"
"Yeah, I did," he insisted. He turned away, mumbling the rest under his breath. "You were too busy having a mental breakdown about... kids, or the no-kids you have. I've no idea."
The logic of her struggle from a month ago clearly still escaped him; to his pragmatic mind, it remained an unsolvable, messy mystery. The excitement grew up not only by the possibility of the house but as she followed him down the path, but the change of prospect.
It felt as if the world had shifted on its axis, a sudden bloom of society appearing where she had expected only desolation. The cadets, who had looked travel-worn and homeless on the road, now moved with a fresh spurt of energy. The settlement was bustling with such life that Levi had to raise his voice just to be heard over the din.
“Follow me,” he called out, his voice nearly a shout as he guided her through the crowd.
After a month of grueling travel, the sight of a functioning community left her wide-eyed and breathless. The formation had clearly bypassed the raw, unsecured coast in favor of this established settlement.
‘He could have mentioned… ALL of this,’ she thought, her mind racing.
The village was well-distributed and the Scouts were being received with genuine enthusiasm. People she assumed were local farmers were greeting the soldiers with buckets of cold water, pouring it over the weary men's necks to break the heat. She watched Hange shaking hands with civilians, sheep peering curiously through fences, and chickens darting between the stone houses. Winding, rustic roads led toward larger buildings in the back—likely the barracks—and the hillsides were meticulously planted with vegetable fields. It was endearing; a place where people had clearly done their best to turn a remote outpost into a home.
A strong tug on her forearm broke the enchantment. Levi gripped her arm, forcing her to keep moving through the throng.
“Levi! You could have mentioned all of this!” she pouted. She had arrived expecting to live in a tent in the mud for a year, only to find this lovely, hidden gem. It wasn't the grand city she was used to, but it was a delightful surprise.
As they moved away from the main tumult, he shot an askance look back at her. “I told you,” he repeated, his voice biting and bitter. It felt like salt in a wound; he seemed genuinely annoyed that she was only now excited about information he felt he’d already provided.
“But you could have been more explicit—”
“Captain!”
They both stopped abruptly. She instinctively moved a half-step behind her Alpha, a subtle, practiced smile appearing on her face. She gave a short nod of acknowledgment as a man approached them, appearing to know her husband well.
She noticed immediately that the man moved with a stiff, heavy gait in one leg, though there was no fresh injury. What added to the case were the three missing fingers on his left hand.
“Captain, a pleasure to have you here,” the man said, reaching out. Levi met him with a firm, professional handshake. “I hope you find everything up to your expectations.”
“Yeah, everything seems alright,” Levi replied. “I hope you’re settling in well here, too.”
‘That’s a strange accent’ she mused, her eyes darting between the two men. ‘He’s a Beta,’ she concluded quickly. The farmer seemed ready to say more, but his gaze finally landed on her, and he faltered.
“Ah! A pleasure to meet you—ehm—” The words hung in the air as he looked to Levi, searching for an explanation.
As if silently coming to his aid, she raised a hand to push a stray strand of hair from her face, lowering her head with a touch of modesty. And just like that the golden string around her finger flashed.
“My wife,” Levi stated.
At the words, she unconsciously leaned into him, her cheeks flushing a soft pink.
The man tried his best to mask his shock, but failed. “Ah!” he gasped, his eyes wide. “Congratulations!” He scrambled to fill the awkward silence. “We met half a year ago and I had no idea, so—” He realized he was digging a hole and wisely stopped. “Congratulations,” he repeated firmly.
“Thank you very much,” she accepted sweetly, while Levi merely offered a low hum of approval.
“I hope the house is suitable for a newlywed couple,” the farmer said, looking slightly abashed.
Levi, however, had reached his limit for social niceties. The man’s curiosity, the welcome party or whatever was none of his interest at this rate. “It’s fine,” Levi grunted, shifting his weight. He looked at the farmer dead in the eye, his expression filled up with clinical boredom.
Each passing minute standing there was physically painful for him. “We’ll be holding a welcome party tonight—“
“Ah, that’s very kind of you,” Y/N said, her social filters clearly far more practiced than his.
From the corner of his eye, the Captain could see more people beginning to notice his presence, peeling away from the crowd to come and offer their own greetings. “The trip was long,” Levi interrupted. He stepped forwards, effectively cutting the man off, “We had been on the road for a month. She’s tired and I need to take a shit in a real bathroom.”
“!!” A surprised squeak vibrated in her throat as Levi didn’t wait for a reaction. He gripped her arm, firmly but not painfully, and dragged her with him. Using her free hand to shield her eyes, she instinctively hid her face in a wave of pure second-hand embarrassment.
“Levi!” Her voice carried the intention of a scream but the intensity of a whisper.
Her complaints died in her throat the moment the cottage came into view. It was small, crowned with a gabled, greyish-blue roof that sat atop rugged, weathered stonework. A single, curved stone path cut through the tall, swaying grass of the front yard, leading them toward the door. They both approached it cautiously, like deer stepping into a clearing in the deep tranquillity of a forest. Levi walked a few paces ahead, their heads moving in sync as they scanned the surroundings. There were other houses nearby, but none close enough to intrude. Some had been personalized by their occupants, standing out from the repetitive military architecture, but theirs remained untouched. A simple shelter waiting for a human hand to transform it into a home.
A heavy silence reigned over their footsteps as they reached the front door. It felt like a continuation of a waltz they had been dancing for weeks; their boots were caked in mud, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself as the coastal wind grew unforgiving, the temperature plummeting with the dark.
Levi stopped midway, pulling a lamp fuelled by the glowing crystals of the island from his pack. The light flared to life, casting a cold, ethereal glow over their path. Once again—and who knew how many more times they would do this—they stood before a threshold as he fumbled for the keys. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, cycling through the ring to find the one that fit the lock. The arched door was made of a deep, dark wood, matching the frames of the windows she could see from the exterior. Up close, the varied shades of the stones were mesmerizing; tiny details began to emerge in the lamplight, making her secretly wish they had arrived during the day. She traced the rhombus patterns in the larger windows and the slivers of coloured glass in the door’s transom. Small spiders had already claimed the corners for themselves before any human could.
Her eyes wandered over every inch, taking it all in. The cat in her arms let out a sharp mewl of protest, wanting to be set down.
“Finally,” Levi grunted as a key finally turned. The door groaned open, shielding them from the wind. Both peered inside with wary curiosity, but the cat was the first to act—bolting from her arms to enter with its tail held high and proud.
Levi stepped to the side, extending an arm in a stiff gesture. “Ladies first.”
She didn't move. Instead, she looked back at him with a spark of excitement. “Aren't you going to pick me up?”
Levi frowned, his face a mask of genuine confusion. His silent ‘What are you talking about?’ was written in the tilt of his brow.
“It’s considered good luck to cross the threshold with your wife in your arms,” she explained.
“But,” he lingered, his voice flat, “that’s for when you first marry. We’ve been married for three months. Just in case you’ve forgotten.”
She didn't miss a beat before pouting, her disappointment visible. But the look hadn't even fully settled on her face before she let out a squeak of surprise. Levi bent down, his right arm sweeping under her knees, hoisting her up in one fluid, effortless motion.
A fit of giggles echoed through the quiet house; she hadn't expected him to actually do it, let alone make it look so easy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, chuckling like a little girl.
“You too, little shit,” Levi muttered. He reached out with his free hand and snagged the cat by the scruff as it tried to dart past again.
Two, three, four heavy steps in, and he set her back on her feet. “The things you make me do,” he mumbled to himself, though his tone lacked its usual bite.
Once inside, the house opened up to them. Levi placed the lantern on the window ledge, and they both took in the view. In contrast to the rough rubble of the exterior, the interior was bright with whitewashed walls and exposed wooden supports that blended beautifully with the polished floors. To their right, the red bricks of a large hearth promised warmth, and a small, tinted glass window looked through into an adjacent room. There was furniture—not much, but enough for the locals to have made the place liveable.
The dance repeated. She stood in the centre of the room, but this time, her weary look was replaced by pure wonder. Unable to hold back an ear-to-ear smile, she shot him a final glance before sprinting through the space. The cat leaped down as Levi closed the door with a heavy thud, shutting out the world. ‘One task down,’ he reminded himself. Safely delivering her through the wilds outside the Walls felt like the most grueling mission he had ever completed.
He stood back, watching as she explored. ‘Three doors and one staircase,’ she counted mentally, rushing toward the largest door at the back. She stopped, her hand lingering on the knob as she looked back at him. Unlike the heavy front door, these were made of a light, warm wood that matched the red bricks of the hearth. The black iron hinges and knobs stood out sharply against the pillars.
“May I?” she asked.
To her surprise, Levi seemed far less excited than she was. Now that they were finally behind closed doors, the exhaustion was visible in the lines of his face. The continuous stress of the journey was finally catching up to him.
“Don’t ask me,” he said, his voice low and tired. “It’s mine as much as it is yours.”
The weight of his words stunned her for a moment as she stood on the small brick step before the door. She pushed it open, and it gave a soft, high-pitched squeak. The kitchen ceiling was lower here, following the slant of the roof. To the right, stone counters and a sturdy stove waited for use. A large window sat above the workspace, and next to a thick back door was another small, square pane. She propped herself up on the counter to peer through the glass; as she had guessed, there was a backyard.
The tinted glass she’d noticed earlier connected the kitchen to the living area, allowing a soft, colorful light to filter through. In here, the floor was made of the same rustic stone as the outside, and the room sat a step or two lower than the rest of the house—a little trip-hazard of a threshold that made the cottage feel ancient and full of character.
Levi stepped into the kitchen to perform his own inspection, running a gloved hand along the back of the surfaces. He checked for dust and immediately clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“What’s that door?” she asked, pointing to a much smaller door on the left wall. She tugged at the knob, but it remained stubbornly stuck.
“Probably a cellar for food storage,” he guessed, reaching for his keychain again to see which one matched. To his surprise, the door wasn’t locked; it was simply swollen from the dampness. He gave it one sharp, practiced shove with his shoulder, and the wood gave way with a groan.
“Tch,” he muttered as she peered into the cold, humid space.
“The hinges are a bit rusted,” she noted. The cat leaped onto the counter, but Levi scooped it up and set it back on the floor, only for the animal to jump right back up the second he let go.
“Yeah, the reports mentioned the ocean air fucks everything up,” he said. Despite his grumbling, he seemed almost as interested as she was in exploring. “Not bad,” he whispered. ‘My first real kitchen,’ he thought, the feeling a strange, bittersweet ache in his chest.
While she was caught up in her excitement, rushing back to the living room to open the remaining doors like a kid on Christmas morning, Levi paced through the house with a trace of melancholy. The last time he had owned anything similar to a house was when Farlan and he had claimed a spot in the Underground. There had been no plumbing or kitchen back then, as the Underground had no gas or water supply. Then Isabel had joined them, and it was the closest thing he had ever had to actually owning a full home himself.
Catching a glimpse of her checking the door opposite the chimney with a bright smile almost reminded him of how excited Isabel had been as a little eight-year-old girl when he first brought her home. When he had found her on the streets, she was so weak—who knew what she had in her system—that it took a while until she was fully on her feet. And when she finally was... ‘God, she was a hurricane.’ He had never seen so much energy in a kid until he saw fifteen-year-old Eren during his first 3DMG training.
“It’s an office!” she called out from the other room.
Levi forced himself out of the nostalgia to join her. It was a solid space; the largest window faced what was supposed to be the street, and though the room was smaller than his office at headquarters, it felt right. It had the same whitewashed walls, wood accents, and enough empty shelves to satisfy his need for order.
“I’m guessing the other one is the bathroom,” he said, his voice level.
By now, they were moving in sync, checking the rooms one by one. The door next to the chimney led to the bathroom, and beside it stood the spiral stairs to the second floor. Unlike their last place, this house wasn’t empty because of Levi’s decoration choices—or lack thereof—but because it was a shell, ready for them to morph it to their liking. One long hallway ran through the upper floor with two clear doors: one on their left and the remaining one at the back.
“A bedroom,” she whispered as they pushed the first one open. “The view is so pretty.”
The windows here were smaller and set slightly higher to fit the slope of the roof.
“Lucky for us, we’re both short as fuck,” Levi remarked, a rare bit of dry humor surfacing. The low ceiling didn't bother them at all. There was a queen-sized bed flanked by small nightstands and a decent set of built-in wardrobes. She noted the way the natural light hit the floor, thinking it would be the perfect spot for a vanity.
However, the space felt cramped, and there wasn't much room for anything else. While this spiked an upsetting feeling in her gut, Levi seemed completely unbothered by it. He was already moving to check the only remaining door while she stood behind him.
“Just one bedroom,” she said softly, unable to pinpoint why that specific detail bothered her so much.
Levi, busy inspecting the small washroom nearby, clicked his tongue again. “Why would we need more?”
He gestured toward the small room containing only a toilet and a basin. “Look, a toilet to take a shit in the middle of the night so you don't have to wander downstairs.”
But she held onto that thought: Why would we need more? There was an implication to that—one she didn't like.
Meanwhile, the Captain carried on with his inspection of the house as if he held some kind of construction degree. He felt an imposing instinct to judge the build, as if being an Alpha male made him an experienced house builder. He hummed in surprise when he noticed a small door opposite the bedroom and tried to open it. Taking his keys out once more, he used the tiniest one for what was obviously the smallest door.
“What is it?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“I think it’s a loft.”
It was indeed a loft, and she let out a gasp of delight as the door swung open. The floor was raised, requiring a small step up to enter. The roof was very low, forcing them to stoop, and the corners where the ceiling met the floor were practically useless for storage. But the skylights made her smile widen.
“I can see the sea!” she cried, pressing her face to the glass.
Levi, however, was focused on the layers of dust and the clear signs of rodents. “Oh, I love this room! It has so much character!”
“Yeah, and shit everywhere,” he groaned. “Let's keep it closed.”
“No!” she protested immediately.
“The place is a rat heaven. It’s only meant for storing junk nobody wants.” Levi’s pragmatic mind had already dismissed it.
“I love it,” she whispered. He had a million logical reasons to shut the door and forget about it, but they died in his throat when she added, “I want it to be my art room.”
He didn't argue, at least not out loud. He let out a series of unintelligible grunts and groans as he turned away, letting the subject drop. To settle the matter and end the day, he announced as he headed for the stairs, “I’m taking a shower.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed. “Good idea!” She hummed in happiness; her wildest dreams of taking a hot shower and sleeping in a real bed had finally come true after what felt like an eternity. “We need to get ready for tonight!”
Levi, who had been practically dragging his exhausted body down the stairs, spun around and bounded back up in the blink of an eye. He stared at her in pure, unadulterated distress. “You are seriously not thinking of going to that damn party, are you?”
Oh, they were going.
Simplified acoustic versions of well-known songs filled the spaces that the loud voices and roaring laughter didn’t, carried by the casual strumming of one or two guitars. The massive stone fireplace illuminated most of the hall, casting a warm, flickering glow over the gathering. Everyone (especially Sasha) was absolutely delighted by the feast, finally getting to eat something that wasn’t canned, cold, or just plain grey stew for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t anything actually fancy; mostly, it was beer flowing like water alongside mountains of roasted local game and fresh vegetables. Compared to their usual rations, it was a real feast, but compared to what she had imagined a formal welcome party to be... not so much.
It felt much more like a rowdy local fair. Levi was trying his best to scrape together whatever social skills he possessed, and whenever that failed, he was shamelessly trying to escape the crowded room. Sitting amidst the chaos, she was slowly catching on to the fact that this place was nothing like what she had expected.
“Armin,” she whispered, trying not to catch everyone’s attention. When he didn't hear her over the noise, she tried again. “Armin!” she repeated, louder this time, forcing the blond Beta, who was currently shoving shredded meat into his mouth with his bare hands, to look to his left.
She was trying to eat, but eating everything with her hands wasn’t exactly inspiring delight in her refined sensibilities. “Where are all the girls?” she asked, a note of sadness creeping into her voice.
“Huh?” the Beta hummed in confusion, wiping his mouth. “What girls?”
The Omega took a careful look around. While most of the village members were Betas, with the occasional Alpha scattered about, there were no Omegas. In fact, there were no women at all. “The girls… the female population?”
Armin let out a loud, nonverbal sound of realization as he finally understood. “Ah, you see, as Levi probably mentioned, we are building this settlement to claim the lands before Marley does. By geopolitical rules, if a land has nobody living there, you can claim it.” Armin slipped easily into his explanation mode. “So, what we are trying to do is build little towns so we can finally claim the whole island. This is the port the Marleyans used to use, so for warfare reasons, it’s the first one we took.”
“I see… but why no girls?” she asked again, having desperately hoped for some female companionship, only to find none.
“Well... you traveled all the way out here. It’s a very far, grueling journey, at least until we build a train.”
“A train?”
“Yes!” Armin said enthusiastically, his eyes lighting up. “It’s this new transportation method! It runs on tracks and goes incredibly fast! The idea is to build it so we can connect all the corners of the island in a matter of hours!”
She only hummed in response, mustering no real excitement, but Armin kept going, as this topic was obviously of great interest to him. “You see, even when everything is quiet, there’s always a chance Marley decides to launch an attack on us here. It’s a very remote place with no permanent buildings yet, and a high chance of getting attacked… moving here to break ground and create a settlement wasn't a task where we wanted to bring female civilians just yet.”
“But they are all so excited to see me,” she pointed out, recalling how, hours earlier when they had first arrived at the venue, everyone had been doting on her.
“Don’t take that the wrong way! I think they believe that your presence here means they will soon be able to bring their own families over,” Armin explained gently. “In their minds, if Captain Levi’s wife is moving here, then it must be safe enough for their own wives and kids to move here soon, too.”
“They left their families behind?” she asked in shock. “Oh, the military must be paying them a lot of money to do so.”
The blond Beta looked a bit confused. “Not really,” he admitted. “Well, it’s true that at first, we had a very hard time finding volunteers. I mean, most citizens don’t even want to put a foot outside of Wall Rose just yet,” he added with a dry chuckle. “But for them? It’s a huge chance at a better life.”
Her silence gave away not only her ignorance but her deep confusion. Armin sighed softly. “I mean, even with all the promotions and social work we are doing, most factories in the industrial cities or fancy manors in the Capital won't hire them. Not even farmers who desperately need working hands on their land want to take in people from the Underground. The prospect of moving out here to create little towns where nobody knows their past and nobody will judge them... it’s such a great opportunity that it’s worth leaving their families behind for a while.”
She froze in place. It all made sense now—the lingering injuries, the weird accents, the sick legs, and the missing fingers.
“You alright? You made a weird face just now,” Armin asked, his brow furrowing in concern. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. This whole resettlement project was the Captain’s idea.”
‘His idea?’ The information was heavy and hard to take in, especially amidst the raucous noise and the heat of the fire around her. ‘Don’t look scared,’ she told herself, but then quickly realized she was already failing at that task. Growing up with ingrained prejudices about a particular place and its people wasn’t something that just vanished from your moral compass from one day to the next. But the memory of her childhood friend’s words over tea time rang in her ears, calling her out like a priest’s sermon about loving your neighbour.
Her initial fear was swiftly replaced by a hollow guilt. The thought of her fear making her act like Grace made her stomach twist in disgust. ‘I am being judgmental,’ she reprimanded herself bitterly. Despite the obvious lack of high-class manners exhibited during this wild dinner party, these men had been nothing but incredibly welcoming to her. They are just families trying to live in peace.
If one could even compare the two, she felt an odd, sudden sense of similarity to them. Lately, the world they lived in had changed so drastically that everyone needed to adapt, yet the harsh judgments from previous social rules still remained. ‘I know what it feels like to not fit in,’ she thought, a bittersweet smile touching her lips. ‘Though my situation is still highly privileged compared to theirs.’
However, the social interactions were still hard to navigate. They carried an underlying uneasiness that she had almost begun to expect, bracing herself for it rather than being surprised.
And just as Armin had mentioned, the excitement surrounding her unexpected presence was tightly woven into their hopes for reunion.
“We’ve been thinking of building a schoolhouse next, for when the kids finally arrive,” one man mentioned, leaning over his ale. She could only nod sweetly.
“Maybe yours will be the first kid to use the new infirmary!” another chimed in warmly.
Each innocent comment broke her heart a little bit more.
“How long have you two been together now?” someone asked.
“Three months,” she answered softly.
Her response was met with a chorus of chuckles, knowing nods of agreement, and repeated expressions of camaraderie mixed with a bold, drunken cockiness. The sneaky, supposedly subtle remarks began to pile up, pressing down on her shoulders:
“We’ll make sure not to show up at the house too much.”
“Newlyweds need their sweet time, after all.”
“We’ll keep the welcome party short; wouldn't want to keep you from your... private celebrations for too long.”
“Try not to tire her out too much on the first night, Captain; she still needs to see the rest of the town tomorrow.”
“I imagine we won't be seeing much of you two for the next few days, will we?”
“You look a bit thin, dear. Make sure you’re eating the fatty fish from the morning catch; your body will soon need all those calories.”
One after the other, the comments felt like individual bullets piercing her heart. Just like all the other suffocating social interactions she had endured before leaving the Walls, each knowing wink and friendly tease was a constant, blinding reminder that she was failing. She was failing at all of her wifely duties.
"When is the wedding?"
The blunt question broke her out of her routine of forced, subtle smiles and picking at her food. She fought back the urge to wrinkle her nose as the distinct scent of an Alpha washed over her.
But before she could formulate a polite response, another man beside him answered for her. "They are already married."
Her eyes caught the unfolding scene like a slow, silent movie. The Beta who had spoken was completely oblivious to the tension, but the Alpha shifted from mild surprise to a deep frown of confusion. He stared right back at her, his expression an open book. She could read his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud: They are already married? With no claiming mark?
Forcing a light, airy chuckle, she executed her practiced escape. "If you'll excuse me, I need to refresh myself." Spinning on her heels, she walked away, but her ears still clearly caught the hushed conversation behind her.
"Why would you ask her that? Didn't you see the ring?"
"I thought they weren't married yet... it's just, she's not bitten. She doesn't even smell like him."
It was not shaping up to be the best night for either of them.
"Do you know how many poker games I won?!" Hange exclaimed from across the room, their tongue getting caught up on the slurred words. "Seven! Beat that!"
"You’re drunk," Levi stated simply. He held a drink in his own hand, but the amber liquid remained barely touched. "Tch. I want to get the shit out of here."
"Come on, shorty! The night is young!" Hange exclaimed, throwing their arms in the air and projecting their voice far too loudly. "They are all so happy to see you! Our precious little celebrity!"
The short Captain was clearly not interested in the celebration, nor did he care for the extra attention he was getting from every corner of the room. But his look of utter disinterest suddenly shifted as he caught a glimpse of his Omega walking away from the crowd, her face drawn and long. Pushing the stumbling Commander aside, he quickly made his way toward her.
"That’s it! Go claim your wifey!" Hange cheered after him. The loud, obnoxious comment only made Levi's shoulders tense with sheer embarrassment and irritation.
Unbothered, Hange turned around to a group of soldiers who were in no better condition than they were. "I was their witness, you know! Until that farmer took them from me," they babbled. The young men merely exchanged grimaces of doubt, as whatever their Commander was saying made absolutely no sense to them.
As Levi carved a path through the crowded hall, he kept raising a hand in curt recognition to those who called his name, subtly acknowledging their existence without dedicating any real time to them. "Oi," he called out, just loud enough for her to hear over the din as she poured herself a glass of water at an empty table. "Why do you look so constipated?"
With him now standing right next to her, she reflexively offered the practiced look and the exact same excuse that had saved her from every uncomfortable conversation so far. "I have a headache."
To her utter shock, Levi seemed surprisingly thrilled by the news. "Really?"
"Ehm," she hesitated, entirely thrown off by his reaction. "Yes?"
"Hold on to that," he instructed sharply. He snatched both of their glasses—including the one still in her hand—and abandoned them on the wooden table. Her cheeks flared a sudden, deep red as he firmly grabbed her hand, lacing his calloused fingers through hers, and started to walk.
What has gotten into him?! she panicked internally, stumbling slightly to keep up with his brisk pace.
"Captain?! Leaving us so early?" a few men exclaimed as they neared the exit.
"She’s got a headache. What kind of husband would I be if I let her walk back in the dark alone?" Levi announced smoothly. He paraded her through the remaining crowd like a festival queen. Every single time someone tried to insist on them staying for one last drink, he fired off the excuse like a perfect shield.
"She has a headache."
"We wanted to stay, but she’s feeling unwell."
"A headache, what a pain. Goodnight."
Only when they were finally out of the square and trudging up the quiet, windy hill toward their newly claimed house did he let out a massive sigh of relief. "Ah, what a fucking blessing," he muttered into the salty night air. But her eyes remained glued to his hand, which was still firmly wrapped around hers, dragging her along.
"Can’t wait to get inside," he added, his pace quickening.
‘Oh... alright,’ she mentally braced herself, her heart doing a nervous flutter. ‘Maybe I’ve done something right.’
The moment they took one step inside the cottage and the heavy door clicked shut behind them, Levi dropped her hand and practically collapsed onto the small sofa with a groan. "Fucking yes."
She, however, walked around the quiet living room, testing each step cautiously on the wooden floorboards.
"You know... I didn’t realize you were the one who organized all this," she said softly, reaching up to take out her earrings and begin unbraiding her hair. "I was very surprised when Armin was talking to me about the town preparations. And the train—that seems like a huge investment—"
"Y/N," his voice cut through the air, surprising her just as the cat trotted out from the kitchen to happily greet them both.
"Yes?" She spun around to face him, moving almost too quickly, her eyes wide and far too expectant.
"Don't."
Just like that, she fell into a stunned silence. She didn't entirely understand what he meant by that single word, but it wasn't enough to kill her lingering hopes. "I—"
"I have been on the road for a month. I've been sleeping on the hard ground and taking shits behind trees," he said, rubbing his temples. She opened her mouth to add that she had been suffering through the exact same journey, but her Omega instincts urged her to resist interrupting him. "I've been keeping everything together, only to get dragged to that damn party. I just want peace and quiet for a few hours. So, could you not?"
To his visible relief, silence reigned for several minutes.
"Alright," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Even so, her presence continued to linger. She moved through the room with painstaking slowness, removing her jewellery piece by piece, unbinding the tight coils of her hair, neatly arranging her shoes by the door, and methodically feeding the cat. She was waiting. Every second was a quiet plea for some kind of sign, a look, or a change in his posture.
"I am... going to bed," she finally declared, her voice sounding rough after the long stretch of forced silence.
"Night," he mumbled. Unlike her strained tone, his voice was soft—not out of caution, but out of a genuine, weary tranquillity.
"Are you... going to bed?" she asked. She lingered on the words, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of her wedding ring. She tilted her head slightly, trying to catch a better view of his face in the dim light.
"In a minute."
For her, the tension in the room was thick enough to be cut with a spoon, though it was clearly a one-sided feeling. Reluctantly, after a few more agonizing minutes, she made her way toward the stairs. She climbed them slowly, painfully so, as if each step were a heavy burden.
"Night," she repeated from the landing.
She waited. She waited while sitting upright on the edge of the mattress. She waited while reclining against the headboard, and she waited while curled tightly under the blankets. The entire moment felt like a cruel déjà vu. The bedroom door remained ajar; almost closed, but not completely. She could hear his faint movements in the other part of the house and waited nervously in a room that smelled foreign, tucked into blankets that offered no warmth and resting on pillows she didn't recognize.
But in a bitter coincidence to her wedding night, the door never opened; at least not while she was awake.
‘I thought... I thought I did everything right during the trip,’ she thought, her throat tightening. ‘I gave him goodbye kisses. I tried to give him space. I stayed silent when he needed it.’ She felt the hot sting of tears threatening to spill.
There had been a blind, desperate hope that he would simply claim her tonight and make her life easier; that he would mark her and silence the whispers. ‘He doesn’t want me. I just don’t understand.’
The only comfort came from a subtle weight at the end of the mattress. She felt it move toward her until a soft, warm body curled up against her side.
"Goodnight, Clauwy," she whispered, feeling the cat’s happy purr vibrate against her as she finally closed her eyes.
The subtle, flickering tail of the cat brushed her left hand as she scooped him up. It tingled, and her clothes were quickly covered in the fur shed from her peaceful stroking; it had happened at night while she slept, and it was repeating now as she sat in the attic.
“If you go for a stroll around the coast, stay nearby. The zone is still not safe.”
The memory of his words made her scoff, though it was out of pure, bitter amusement. Her husband’s warning before leaving early this morning couldn't be further from her current reality. Her mind was lost in the canvas as she tried her best to represent the view using only graphite. She repeatedly clicked her tongue when something didn’t come out perfect, or when she had to improvise with the meager tools she had at her disposal.
“Can’t I draw a damn straight line today?” she cursed under her breath. Her attention shifted momentarily from the painting to her own fingers. Not only were they stained black, but she also noticed the lines in her hands—the dryness.
Her memory shifted to her own hands moving gracefully over a piano as she played to entertain her father’s business companions. She remembered looking up with starry eyes as they praised him, then back to her hands to ensure she didn't lose the rhythm. Soft, glowing, and perfectly taken care of. Her manicure was always neatly done, without a single trace of hard labor.
What had started as the subtle, whitish light of the early morning had now turned into the task of her eyes adjusting to the orange glow of late afternoon. The cat repositioned himself in her lap, pushing his paws against her stomach as if the spontaneous creation of more space would somehow result. The movement caused her charcoal to fall and break.
“God, Clauwy!” she complained, bending down to pick it up. She noticed the edge of her dress was dirty, still stained from her days on the road. The constant use and washing (the result of only being able to carry a few items) had worn down the fabric. She was struck by the sheer simplicity of her current wardrobe.
She remembered her first formal parties during the Season; her presentation to society. Her mother had insisted on spending well over the budget for her dresses, believing the firstborn’s success would set the stage for the entire family.
“Ugh, Y/N! It’s not fair,” Grace had complained. It was Grace's second year in the Season, yet Y/N’s dance card was already full of reserved names.
Her cheeky giggles back then had been on purpose, designed to annoy the other Omegas. Her waist had been accentuated by a gorgeous corset, and her majestic dance gait moved every little ruffle with her. She recalled raising that white paper with golden accents to her face, giving a superior look to her friend in a display of faked narcissism.
“The Earl asked me for a dance,” she had sang.
“Ugh,” the older girl pouted. “What’s your secret?”
“I’m just delightful,” she had mocked.
The invitations from the nobility had been constant—something her family talked about for weeks afterward. They were wealthy, but nobility was another level entirely; the possibility of landing a match like that was everything. Of course, she never admitted that she had studied the venue beforehand, choosing a dress colour specifically to stand out against the room’s décor.
The suitors, the presents, the invitations for strolls around the Capital during the warmer months... “Any man would be lucky to marry her.”
She had blushed at the comments from her father’s friends, lowering her head to accept them with practiced modesty.
“Remember, nobody likes someone full of herself,” her mother had said while helping her get ready. “A good wife knows how to stand out, but also how not to outshine her husband.”
“Yes, mother.”
They used to praise her talent for organization when she took over the household roles while her mother was feeling under the weather. “She will be great with kids,” they would say as she kept everyone in line during dinner parties.
All the things she was supposed to grow into: a prideful daughter, a beautiful bride, a delightful fiancée, a modest wife, a devoted mother.
‘Lord… I’m so far away from home.’
She remembered her little sister asking their grandmother to write on the back of a messy, finger-painted piece of paper: ‘I’m an artist like my sister.’ She remembered being admired, praised, desired, and loved.
But when she looked up and saw her reflection in the tilted window of the loft, she saw lips pressed tight to hold back tears that were already running free. She saw messy locks escaping her hairstyle because she had nobody to help her pin it up anymore, and the neckline of a rough apron she wore to protect her only dress.
“I had so much potential,” she whispered, turning back to the painting. “Now I can’t even do a stupid landscape.”
The bedroom door protested with a sharp, high-pitched squeak, much like every other door in the newly built cottage. It was obvious the construction materials were still learning how to settle into the frames and adapt to the coastal environment.
“Hey,” Levi’s voice was as soft as a breath, testing to see if she was even awake.
Curled in her bed with the cat tucked into her arms, she didn't even look up at him. She simply remained there, rooted in place. “Hey,” she replied, her voice a poor excuse for a sound.
“All good?” This time, he took a few steps inside, the floorboards groaning under his weight. It didn't take a genius to notice she wasn't alright, but it took a brave man to face the heavy scent of melancholy filling the room. “I had a lot of work; couldn’t get back earlier. I thought you were asleep.”
The sadness in the air was thick enough that he didn’t even need to be her mate to feel it. “It’s alright,” she mumbled. To her surprise, he actually took a seat on the edge of the mattress.
“You been here all day? I didn’t see you down at the coast.”
‘If you already know the answer, why do you ask?’ She only hummed, neither affirming nor denying.
“Why don’t you go out and catch some fresh air?” he insisted, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, restless beat against the mattress while his eyes remained fixed on her. “It’s late, but we can still go for a stroll.”
We.
“I have a headache.”
Levi’s grey eyes squeezed shut painfully. He held his breath for a long moment before letting out a heavy, tired sigh—either finding the strength to keep going or a way to lie to himself. ‘Come on, I’m not that stupid,’ he thought. He sat there with his knees parted, staring blankly at the stainless paint on the wall.
‘Maybe Eyebrows was right; I’m too much of a softie deep down,’ he thought bitterly, slowly turning to his right to look at her huddled form. ‘But fuck, it hurts feeling this useless.’
“A cup, maybe?” he asked softly, but she only shook her head against the pillow. Still, he remained.
Suddenly, he rose from the bed. For a second, she imagined he was finally leaving, but he only reached for the piece of paper resting on the nightstand before sitting back down. “Mh,” he hummed, admiring the sketch. “Is it finished?”
She gave a small, nonverbal nod.
“Not bad, Froggy,” he said, hoping the nickname would coax a smile or at least some reaction out of her. He turned to look at her again, but her expression didn't budge. “Is it our view from the loft?”
Another hum of approval. He tried once more, forcing a real praise out of him “Looks good.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she spat out suddenly. “The shadows are over-blended, the edges aren’t sharp enough, the lighting is weird, and the perspective is all wrong.”
“Well, it looks good to me,” he declared flatly.
She didn’t reply, at least not for a long while. When she finally decided to speak again, she only said, “I’m going to sleep.”
Levi wished he knew how to comfort people better, or at least how to communicate what he was actually feeling. “Alright,” he puffed out, letting out a soft groan of effort as he stood to leave the room. But before he reached the door, his hand reached down, catching her face and messing up her hair against the pillow. “Sleep tight.”
The walk of a defeated man is hard to hide.
“Levi,” her soft voice stopped him midway through the doorway. He glanced back into the room. “Thank you.”
His teeth gritted; it annoyed him to be so powerless in his own home. “For what?” His question wasn't just for her, but for himself.
“For being so gentle.”
One hand closed the door behind him while the other squeezed his heart. “Oh, fuck me,” he whispered to the empty hallway.
The next morning, her footsteps resonated on the ceiling of the bottom floor at an unusually early hour. She had been woken by a repetitive, systematic thumping.
Bracing herself against the staircase, she peeked down to see what was going on. Her confusion only grew when she saw Levi’s back. He was standing on top of one of the kitchen chairs that had been dragged into the living room, facing the wall opposite the chimney.
“Be careful with the nails,” he said. How he knew she was standing there behind him, she didn’t know.
“What are you doing?” she asked, purely perplexed. As if tracing a crime scene, her eyes noticed the rolled-up thin pieces of wood on the floor, the nails, and a saw; as they moved up, they finally saw him getting down from the chair. She frowned, almost angry but out of pure confusion. “Why did you do that?”
Her art piece, put in an improvised frame and held proudly on display on top of the wall by some nails he had strategically hammered to the wall.
“Well, you said we needed decoration,” he declared. He began methodically sweeping the floor and putting his tools back in their place.
“Levi, that’s not decoration. That’s a stupid charcoal drawing.”
He acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened; or at least, that’s what his stoic face gave away as he finished putting on his uniform. Her deep frown followed his every movement.
“How many houses on this shitty island have a painting of the sea?” he asked casually. “None. So it’s the best one by default.”
All the internal noise in her mind went completely blank. She just stood there, watching the sketch hang on the wall like a divine figure. The front door opened. “I’m going,” Levi announced, pulling on his jacket.
“Captain! What took you so long?” Sasha complained from outside, where the team was waiting for him.
“What’s that?” Jean asked, his eyes landing on the new frame through the open door.
“She painted it.” Levi’s thumb pointed back toward her. Suddenly, every eye in the squad fell on her. she stuttered, still trapped in shock.
“You did?” Connie asked, impressed.
She didn't have time to respond before Levi did it for her. “Of course she did,” he said, heading out. “She’s an artist.”
The house fell silent. Her attention remained unwavering, locked on the piece. She could still see the flaws; the wrong perspective, the crooked lines. But the nail in the wall seemed to be holding her up as much as the art.
‘Am I… an artist?’
She thought of the party organisation everyone had praised, the way she arranged the decor, the specific colours she chose for her dresses to stand out in the venue. Everything she had ever done had been through that lens.
‘I am… an artist.’
A memory of her own voice, screaming at Levi back at the camp, echoed in her mind: “Who am I if I am not a mother?!”
She looked at the sea on the wall and finally had the answer.
“I am an artist.”
Author's note:
Hi! How is everyone? Did you miss me? I missed you all haha
Where have I been? Well trying to survive haha, I promise that once my life its not a fanfiction itself, I will be able to update more frequently.
I hope all of you have an amazing beginning of the year and that this chapter allows you to ignore the world wide chaos haha. Thank you, as always for this amazing amount of support that this fic always gets. From the bottom of my heart.
Lucy
P.S: I CRIED LIKE A BABY WRITING THE FINAL ARC OF THE CHAPTER SO YOU ALL BETTER CRY WITH ME SO I DONT FEEL LIKE AN IDIOT. Thank you
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really is bizarre the way fandoms largely do not like women at ALL. it’s been happening for ages but when you see people straight up just hating on women characters more often now (+ the general rise in misogyny) and then you come on here and everyone’s just pretending women don’t even EXIST in any media ever. it’s like that’s not much better. fandom isn’t activism but it does reveal people’s internal biases. like women being excluded, sidelined and erased in everythingggg. people will take characteristics that are compelling in a female character and give it to a man in fan content just so they don’t have to engage with a woman ever. fics, fan art, ships, etc. a hollywood produced movie/tv show won’t even sideline a woman as much as the average fandom blogger will
Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults.(I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)
Warnings: Omegaverse, age gap, arrangemarriage.
Ao3 link to the whole work.
Masterlist with all the chapters
Period of time? Unknown. Exact hour? No clue.
The space and time he found himself in was a very particular one: too late to know you’re losing valuable sleep, and too early to actually wake up.
In situations like this, everything seemed to linger in an extra uncomfortable area. The sleeping bag was too itchy and too hot. Everything was too hot, actually. Levi felt like he had been boiling in his own skin, wishing he could peel it off and purge it entirely. The sounds of wild animals at night annoyed him—sounds that, on other occasions, might have awakened a sense of nostalgia that never truly existed. A longing for a memory in nature, built entirely from fictional expectations rather than real experience.
‘Too loud,’ he thought.
Too loud, too tight, too hot. Everything clung.
His head turned to the left, and he observed her sleeping peacefully. Her messy hair spread over the sleeping bag’s cover, which had been turned into an improvised pillow with some of her clothes stuffed inside. Back in his tent, he felt both happy and annoyed at the same time. Happy that the silly cold war was over; annoyed because during the one or two nights he had slept alone in his tent, he’d been able to sleep almost naked and fight June’s weather with less grace but far better results.
“Ugh, fuck it,” he muttered, lifting himself slightly to pull off the pants that felt like a medieval torture machine. Nothing had ever felt more freeing. One or two minutes of pure, cold bliss. Before everything began warming against his skin again.
Why was he awake? He blamed the heat, but anyone would know he simply had too much in his head.
Suddenly, he groaned.
Two paws pressed against his lower belly, and the cat seemed to weigh as much as the Colossal Titan. Four legs followed, the animal bumping its head against Levi’s and purring contentedly. Then, as if it weren’t already boiling hot inside the tent, the pet decided to tuck both pairs of legs underneath itself and settle right on top of Levi’s chest.
He couldn’t bring himself to push it away. The closed eyes, the steady purr of contentment. It was oddly satisfying. The rhythmical vibration, the peaceful expression that almost looked like a smile.
“I’m trying to sleep here,” Levi complained, as if blaming the animal for his wakefulness would make any difference.
The cat lifted its head, bumped his again, then curled closer to the alpha’s neck and kept purring. ‘I know. I’m helping,’ it seemed to say telepathically. Levi stayed motionless as the subtle, continuous vibration lulled his eyelids into heaviness.
His attention was stolen by a couple organizing bottles on the top shelves. The dark-chocolate-haired man laughed as she failed to reach the spot to put the whiskey back. She pouted in mock anger as they enjoyed their little corner of happiness in that wretched place. Her hand lifted to pinch his arm playfully, and the simple ring on her ring finger shone brightly. It was stupid how eye-catching it was, even in the dim light.
“Levi… are you even listening to me?” Farlan spoke from the other side of the table.
The truth was that the ring was simple, probably cheap, made of no particularly valuable metal. It wasn’t extravagant at all. It just was to him.
“You know… we could go to another pub,” the greyish-haired young man added, only to follow it with a sassy remark. “I mean, if it affects you that much.”
Levi let his full weight sink into the back of the chair, casually throwing one arm over it as he raised the glass to his lips and clicked his tongue. “Don’t be stupid. Why would it affect me?”
The blond stared at him silently, unmoving, as if waiting for the alpha to notice that his façade of nonchalance was about as convincing as a kid walking with both arms extended and eyes closed, pretending to be a mummy.
‘Why would it affect me? She only went and got engaged in a couple of months, with some guy, and started a damn pub. Just like we once talked about.’
“Let’s carry on and think of a place where we could train with the new equipment we got,” Levi muttered.
Seeing Farlan roll his eyes and laugh annoyed him. “How many times do I have to tell you that it was a mutual split?”
“Whatever allows you to sleep at night,” the blond replied between chuckles.
With consciousness, he might have noticed that he couldn’t recall their faces—any of them, really. Faceless people his mind accepted without question, placeholders standing in for who they were supposed to be.
‘It’s alright. We have different dreams,’ he had convinced himself, back when they’d finally gotten their hands on the 3DMG. Back when it felt like learning to fly would be enough to bring them one step closer to the surface.
“You know… it’s probably wrong of me to say this, but my sister wouldn’t say no if one day you invited her for a drink or two.”
The underground’s scratched glass and damp walls dissolved, melting into the steady stone of Trost’s military facilities. The edges of the memory blurred. People moved slowly, voices reaching him without faces attached, his mind knew what was being said, even if his eyes couldn’t supply the details.
Some old training friend of Erwin’s suggested it. The blond had chuckled, nervous.
“I appreciate it, but… I’m too focused on the cause.”
“Geez, Erwin…” Levi didn’t remember interrupting, only the murmurs around him. “Did you hear? Marie’s pregnant again.”
Who is Marie? Back then, he’d been too new to the circle to place the name.
“I’m happy for her. She always wanted a big family.”
“Be honest, man… don’t you regret it sometimes?”
The conversation circled him without ever pulling him in. Levi observed from the outside, admiring the other Alpha’s unwavering devotion.
‘No regrets.’
That was what they had bonded over.
As time went on, Levi couldn’t tell whether Erwin was losing the plot, or finally revealing his true colours. The way he smiled when they discovered Titans were once human. The way he insisted on the Wall Maria expedition even after losing an arm. The way he broke down at the thought of dying without seeing what was in the basement.
“I can’t,” Hange muttered.
The building felt like a mausoleum after their return. Not just for Erwin and Moblit, but for the Survey Corps itself. They’d never been many, but returning with barely fifteen left made the silence unbearable, gnawing at the walls.
“Come on, Hange. We need to hold a meeting. Those are in the commander’s office.” His voice came out softer than intended. Maybe because he’d realized his only surviving friend needed whatever care he could still offer.
“I can’t go in there. I can’t move my things… that’s Erwin’s space.” The bandages still covered one eye, not yet healed. The new commander’s gaze unfocused. “I don’t even know how to run these stupid meetings. Why did Erwin think this was a good idea? I never wanted this.”
A hand covered their face, but Levi felt it — the held-back resentment in their remaining dark eye, directed at him. Held back because, deep down, the scientist didn’t want to feel it, yet part of them blamed Levi for making another choice.
“Fine,” Levi said, pushing himself off the wall. “I’ll do it. I’ve cleaned your room before. I’ll do it again.”
Filling boxes, dividing things between what was still useful for the military, donations, and items Erwin’s family might want, even after years without contact. As the books were removed from the shelves, something shifted. Hidden among the endless pages.
Levi braced a hand against his thigh as he bent down, his body still aching, and picked up an envelope.
Marie.
Written on the front.
He turned it over a few times. No address. No real intention of sending it — surely. The creases in the paper showed it had been opened and closed many times, probably reread over and over.
‘I shouldn’t,’ he thought…and did anyway.
Do you regret it?
Levi scoffed, raising a hand to his temple and pressing hard. If the man who led all of this had doubts, had missed the untaken path… what was left for the rest of them?
A bitter chuckle escaped him. “This was all a hell of a lot easier when we could just blindly follow you, you idiot.”
She showed up to the funeral (held after Levi brought the body back) with the three little girls in tow. She hugged Hange like an old friend, though the brunette barely reciprocated, and then caressed Levi’s arm with the gentle care only a mother could give. Nile came too, looking more affected than Levi had expected.
“Thank you, Levi.” He never thought he’d hear that from Nile.
Levi never mentioned the letter. But it lingered in his mind as his eyes drifted back to the family, again and again.
“A tea shop?” Her head tilted in cute confusion. “Isn’t that too calm for you?”
The heat of the fire and its light irritated him.
“I wanted that.”
I wanted that.
I wanted that.
The heat was unbearable.
His eyes blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust as the corners stuck together with dried boogers. “Fuck.” He jolted upright, reaching for his uniform. The cat protested and sprang away like it had springs in its paws.
Dawn was breaking. Even this early, the air was thick with humidity. The promise a brutal day. He’d fallen asleep. Deeply. Unusually so.
He pushed the tent flap open and shoved his boots on, feet outside while the rest of his body stayed in. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back, hating how everything clung with sweat.
“Mmmh.” Her groan echoed as she rolled onto her side, away from the light. The cat walked along her like a tightrope before curling up on top of her head.
Levi froze, gray eyes fixed on the back of her neck. The humiliating memory of arriving drunk at his office resurfaced. The same feeling lingering now, though different somehow.
Without thinking, he shook her shoulder.
“Y/N, wake up.”
After several attempts, she groaned loudly. “What? What’s going on?” She propped herself up on her elbows, eyes barely opening.
“I’m leaving.”
Her yawn was deep and visible. “Leaving? Where? Did something happen?” She rubbed her eyes, and his attention caught on the subtle shine of her ring. Her hair was a mess, her mouth sluggish as she swallowed sleep. Her dress had slipped off one shoulder, exposing her collarbone and part of her chest.
His gaze stayed fixed, expression stoic. She blinked a few times before looking back at him — one eye half-lidded, the other still closed.
“No. Nothing happened,” he muttered. “I’m just leaving for work.”
She sat cross-legged, arms resting between her knees, still half asleep. “…Okay?” Her confusion was unfiltered. “You leave for work every day. Why wake me up?”
He looked away, breaking the scrutiny, staring outside. The pause drew her attention.
“Levi?”
“I just didn’t want you to wake up and wonder where I was.”
It made no sense to her. Levi had come and gone for work while she slept for nearly two months of marriage without ever saying goodbye, something she’d even mentioned while talking with the girls in Trost. Even the first morning, she’d woken alone, hours passing before she knew where he’d gone.
To his surprise, her hand caught his shoulder, turning him back. A soft, almost nonexistent kiss brushed his left cheek. Maybe not even a real kiss, cheek against cheek.
“Have a good day at work,” she murmured.
By the time it registered, she was already lying back down, drifting off again.
-
The landscape changed just enough to remind them they were moving, but not enough to make the journey feel like progress. Endless stretches of flattened grass. Mud swallowing boot soles. Wheels from the supply carts carving the same tired tracks deeper and deeper into the earth. The same jokes repeated. The same complaints about rations. The same low morale that no one wanted to acknowledge out loud.
And the heat.
It wasn’t the honest, dry heat of a clear summer day.
It was thick. Wet. Personal.
The kind that sat on skin like a second layer, crawling under clothes, settling in joints, making tempers shorter and movements slower. Even breathing felt heavier, like pulling air through soaked fabric.
By midday, shirts clung to backs. Hair stuck to necks. Leather straps rubbed skin raw where sweat softened it. The horses foamed faster. The whole formation’s thunder started to sound like cattle. More than once, the omega has enclosed herself in the cart as not only the heat was unbearable but so alphas' stink.
As the situation became harder and harder to resist, a cold cloth rested against her forehead and neck.
“It’s the atmospheric pressure. It’s dropping,” Levi said, steady and matter-of-fact, as he tended to her. This time, not out of fear, but out of real physical necessity. Her blood pressure was collapsing, her body protesting violently against conditions it was never meant to endure.
Meanwhile, he remained unperturbed, aside from occasionally swiping sweat from his neck and forehead, his gaze fixed on the sky with quiet, simmering anger.
Her legs were propped up against a tree trunk while she watched him upside down — Levi’s back broad and steady in her vision. The muscles in his shoulders flexed and shifted, his forearms tightening as he rolled his sleeves higher, trying to fight the weather at least a little. It was quite the spectacle.
Her cheeks flushed, and not only because of the summer heat.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her body still feeling like jelly.
“Yeah. Worry about yourself.”
“Tch.” She clicked her tongue. ‘Damn you alphas and your physical endurance. Why do your bodies never have to suffer anything? I’m dying over here.’
“Stew… again?” she asked, each word carrying the faint weight of her last hopes. “I feel like I have stew coming out of my ears.”
“Don’t be spoiled. Eat it.” Levi barely turned his head, just a half inch over his left shoulder to look at her, while his hands kept busy—cutting potatoes without a board, his blade scraping against his palm with practiced ease, and dropping them one by one into the pot of boiling water where the rest of the ingredients were already swimming.
“I can’t keep eating stew… I feel like I don’t want to eat at all. Is there nothing else?”
“I could make rice.”
She frowned, her nose wrinkling slightly. “But that would just be… stew without all the rest.”
“Well, it’s still not stew,” the captain pointed out, as if that small difference carried any real meaning.
She sighed in defeat, rolling her head to the side as the headache was killing her. “You know… this is not very romantic. Not what I imagined our dinners as a freshly married couple would be like.”
Levi didn’t indulge her melancholia. “I think it is. Who the hell do you think hunted the rabbit for yesterday’s stew?”
Her expression froze as the words sank in. “THAT WAS A RABBIT?!” she shrieked, recoiling in her seat as if the memory of her previous meal suddenly turned in her stomach. “I thought it was the meat we brought in our rations!”
“We’ve been travelling for an entire week. No rationed meat would survive this heat.” His tone made it sound almost insulting that she had to ask.
“When I asked you what was in it, you could’ve mentioned the rabbit!”
“For what? So you’d get sentimental and refuse to eat it? Nah.”
Her brows knitted together as her voice lowered into a wounded accusation. “You’re my husband! You’re not supposed to lie to me.”
Levi finally turned fully, a wooden spoon in his right hand and the other resting against his hipbone, the steam from the pot curling around his shoulders. “When we swore in front of the civil court and the church, what did you swear to do?”
The question caught her completely off guard, shifting her tone and expression in a heartbeat. Her eyes wandered to the flying insects circling the dim lantern light, as if they might hold the answer. “Love, to cherish… and to obey,” she murmured under her breath, almost ashamed to say it aloud. Her cheeks warmed to a subtle shade of pink—she hadn’t expected him to turn the night into a cross-examination.
“Well,” Levi said flatly, completely unfazed by the tension he’d stirred up, “I swore to protect and provide. You’re protected, and you’re provided for. Being honest wasn’t in the contract.”
Her deadpan glare came quickly, though her blush faded even faster. “How generous of you,” she muttered, the sarcasm so thick it could’ve left sticky drops on the grass between them. But then she raised her voice again, a sudden frustration bubbling through: “Why did I have to swear to obey, and you didn’t?! That’s not fair!”
Levi gave a dry, amused scoff and turned back to the pot, stirring lazily as the smell of boiled herbs filled the night air. “Not my fault being an omega in this society sucks,” he said. “I don’t know—vote against that law in parliament.”
“I cannot vote! I’m an omega!” she snapped, more offended by the suggestion than the law itself.
“Well, I don’t know—overthrow the government, kill a couple of MPs, change the law,” he listed matter-of-factly, as if it were no more difficult than baking bread. “It worked for us.”
She raised one eyebrow slowly. “Did it, though? You’re in the middle of nowhere, going somewhere you don’t want to go, stuck with me and your pitiful salary.”
The alpha slowly turned his head again, squinting at her through the rising steam. “Shut up and eat,”
One
Two
During dinner, Levi’s gaze drifted upward once again, tracing the sky with a faint hint of disdain, as if he were reading something in its heavy clouds.
Three
Four
“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, tilting her head back, letting her face drink in the sky, savoring each subtle shift.
Nearby, the brook murmured along its bed, clear and still, but tiny, circular ripples began to scatter across its surface. The heat of the day lingered, and where warm air met cooler water, thin wisps of mist began to rise. Birds in the trees shuffled nervously, seeking shelter among the branches.
The drops were big, typical of a summer rain.
The little tears slide down the leaves, the horses squeaked, one playful drop slide down her neck make her chuckle. The night turned darker as the heavy clouds covered the moon. The scent of wet earth and herbs from the stew mingled, grounding the moment in a quiet, intimate relief.
She tilted her face up again, eyes closed, letting the night sky and the soft, uneven rain touch her cheeks. Each droplet provided soft relief, glittering like tiny jewels before sinking into her hair and clothes.
“Don’t you love the rain?”
Levi squinted as the quietness of the first drops brought memories he didn’t care to relive. “No,” he said simply, his voice low.
The rain began almost imperceptibly at first. Soft, scattered taps on the leaves and the roof of the tent. Almost a lullaby.
“!!”
Her eyes snapped open, and she sat up immediately as the cat tried to hide in the sleeping bag. Galloping against her chest, her heart fought to steady itself, her ears still ringing from a thunderclap that had pierced the sky.
“W-what was that?”
The wind outside tore through the night, and the poor tent seemed to struggle with the absurd task of staying upright.
“Great. You’re awake,” Levi said, glancing at her. The tent flaps slapped against each other as he bent over to pull on his boots.
“We’re going to secure the horses,” he said, tightening the laces. He gestured toward the entrance. “If water gets in, take the things out and put them in the cart. Keep them dry.”
“Bu—”
Before she could protest, he was already gone. Her pupils struggled to adjust to the dim night, lips parted as she tried to process what was happening.
A moment later, he appeared again, peeking into the tent, his hair already dripping wet.
“I’m coming back for you,” he said, voice sharp. “Do NOT move. Except to the carts. You hear me? I mean it this time.”
This time, she obeyed. Mostly because she had no intention of getting lost in the forest while the sky was practically falling on them. She was extra careful performing the task he had put her in charge of when the water started sneaking inside. She sat on the edge of one of the carts with their belongings piled beside her, the cat hiding inside her desk.
“Shhh, baby. Behave,” she murmured, rocking the cat, as if the animal could understand why they were in this situation, and why it couldn’t just walk away to a safe place.
‘Well… at least now he’s letting me take care of something.’ The thought wasn’t as mood-lifting as she had expected.
As the camp came alive despite it being the middle of the night, she knew her partner would return soon. She scanned faces in the dark until one finally looked like him. She stayed exactly where she was.
When he reached her side, he seemed rushed. He climbed into the cart and rummaged through their belongings — the ones she had secured.
“Where did you put my—” He cut himself off mid-sentence. “Never mind.”
Her attention never left him. “Levi,” she called as he started putting on his gear with urgency, already looking ready to leave. “Levi, what’s going on?”
“You go in the cart. Don’t worry.”
‘Great. Here we go again.’ She frowned. “You’re leaving now?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t it dangerous under this storm?”
“No.”
“What do I do? How are we going to ride in this weather?”
“Told you. You go in the cart.”
“B—”
“Get ready. We are leaving.”
“What did we talk about? You explaining the situations to me?” she snapped, frustration bleeding into her scent and reaching him, forcing his cascade of actions to stop. He turned around, one hand still gripping the clip of the harness in front of his chest.
“Don’t use that on me,” he warned. The charged atmosphere didn’t sit well with his most primitive instincts. “I don’t even let my alpha comrades assert demands.”
To his surprise, she didn’t back down. The combination of her frown, the bitter scent, and the rocking of the “baby”, the cat, in her arms was bizarre. And somehow oddly natural.
“Then explain it to me,” she said, steady. “So I don’t have to go around demanding it.”
Everything in his expression showed he was grudgingly giving in.
“I’ll go first with most of the horses to see if we can secure a path that isn’t flooded for the carts,” he said. “The carts will move, but probably extremely slow because of the weather. You go in the cart with Armin.”
It sounded like a rushed summary someone gives you right before a test. Trying to condense as much information as possible into something simple.
“Happy now?”
“Very.”
“Glad.”
They stared at each other with almost no sympathy, both words spat with mutual disdain.
But her attitude shifted quickly when she processed what he had actually said.
He kept muttering under his breath like an angry mother cleaning a house, not noticing her expression change as he continued preparing.
“Do you realize my job involves very confidential information, right? I can’t go around explaining every damn thing to you, Y/N.”
And he kept going.
“So when I tell you to do something, just do it. Don’t argue with me, ‘cause—”
“So… that means we part ways?” Fear slipped into her voice as she glanced back at the formation preparing behind them.
“Huh?”
“You won’t be riding next to my cart.” She swallowed. “I’ll be alone.”
“With Armin,” he corrected.
‘Armin is sweet, but not exactly who I’d pick to feel protected…‘
It was her turn to grudgingly accept. “Alright,” she muttered, eyes lowered.
“Don’t be a pain in the ass.” Despite the wording, his tone was almost gentle, for him. “How many times do I have to tell you? If I say it’s safe, it’s safe.”
‘Well, aren’t you a fucking liar?’ his own mind snapped back at him. He shoved the thought away. He didn’t have time or room to hesitate.
“Alright,” she repeated, this time with a spark of conviction.
“I’m off,” he said, already placing one foot in the stirrup.
“Wait.”
“What now?” he said, already out of patience — only for her to lean forward and press another soft peck to his cheek.
“See you later…”
—
“You seem particularly quiet today,” Armin said later. Despite the weather, she had insisted on sitting at the front of the cart with him, arms folded, anger written clearly across her face. “Everything alright?” he added with a small smile.
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
A deadly stare from the corner of her eye, teeth clenched.
The blond tried to smile, but only one side of his lips lifted, forming an awkward, conflicted grimace.
“Well… I’m not an alpha,” he said carefully, “but I can smell something is wrong… metaphorically speaking.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she spit.
The cart creaked and swayed as the wheels struggled through mud that sucked at the wood with every turn. What previously had been an endless canvas of distant forest and beige open meadows, had now turned into grey mess. They could hardly see much ahead and sometimes keeping eyes open was hard not only because of the water but because of the lack of sleep.
Water streamed down the sides, dripping steadily from the edges of the cover. Wind shoved against them in uneven bursts, making the cart shudder and forcing Armin to tighten his grip on the reins.
The horses snorted nervously, ears pinned back as thunder rolled again across the sky, louder this time, closer.
Progress was slow. Painfully slow.
The world beyond a few meters was just sheets of rain and flashes of white light.
Beside him, she sat stiff and silent, staring ahead through the downpour, jaw set, hands clenched in her sleeves as the cart lurched forward through the storm.
“You know, rainy days used to be the worst when Titans were still around,” Armin said, raising his voice slightly over the steady drumming of rain against the canvas cover.
The distance they would travel wouldn’t be much, not only because of the multiple turns they had to make to avoid getting stuck in mud, but also because the horses weren’t performing miracles under these conditions. Every meter they gained, following the signals from the riders ahead, was painfully slow. The cart wheels groaned through wet earth, jolting every few seconds as they hit hidden stones or deeper patches of sludge.
“Really?” she asked. And, as the strategist he was, it worked. Her interest was quick to peak.
Armin nodded, water dripping from the edge of his hood. “We couldn’t see the colour signals. Most sections ended up completely cut off — no communication, no warning. Just… whatever showed up in front of you.”
“That sounds awful,” she muttered, trying to even fathom the idea. Her fingers absentmindedly tightened in the cat that was inside her clothes as a kangaroo, grounding herself in something warm and alive.
“Yeah. It was.” He said it simply, without lingering in the weight of the memory. The cart lurched again, forcing him to adjust the reins. “So even if this seems chaotic… believe me, we’ve been through worse.”
Armin had always been extremely gentle with her, and she couldn’t help the small pull of sympathy in her chest. “Thank you, Armin. But I’m not worried about that…”
Her words lingered at the edge of silence before her anger resurfaced, sharper now, steadier. “He pisses me off. I don’t understand him.”
“Who?” Armin glanced to his right briefly before focusing back on the narrow, flooded path. “Captain Levi?” Before she could even reply, he sighed. “To be fair… I don’t think anyone does.”
The old habit of playing with her ring hadn’t disappeared once it finally fit her properly. If anything, it had rooted itself deeper; a nervous tick she couldn’t shake. Both hands rested on her lap as her thumb rolled the band back and forth.
“I shouldn’t be talking about this,” she murmured, the words more a reprimand to herself than to him. Years of ‘marital problems stay inside the marriage’ echoed in her head in her mother’s voice.
“It’s not like we have anything better to do,” Armin scoffed lightly, though his grip on the reins stayed steady and careful.
“It’s… alpha-omega things.” She shook her head slowly, as if explaining it to a beta felt almost pointless. Or maybe just unfair.
Armin pressed his lips together. He didn’t look convinced to let it drop. The side profile of the distracted omega; soaked, exhausted, still trying to hold herself together. It stirred a strange sense of camaraderie in him. One he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.
“You know… I defended you after the Trost incident,” he said finally. “And I decided to step in and help you at the wall.” He added, quieter, remembering how things had actually unfolded, “Not that it helped much, but…”
“Yeah?” Y/N frowned slightly, confused about where this was going. It was true; out of all the cadets, she had felt closest to him. But she’d never thought there was anything deeper behind it.
“My mom was an omega.”
“Ah.” She exhaled, more confused than sympathetic. “That’s… sweet.” It came out as polite reflex more than anything else.
“My dad was a beta.”
Oh.
“And when I was little, I showed a lot of signs of presenting as an omega.”
“Male omegas are very rare,” she said quietly, stating the obvious more than questioning it.
“Yes.” Armin swallowed, rainwater running down the bridge of his piggy nose. “But I don’t think there’s a better way to explain how I felt after I didn’t present… other than saying that suddenly, I was seen.”
He adjusted the reins again as one of the horses stumbled slightly, the cart rocking hard enough to make the lantern inside swing.
“Before that, the doubt clouded how people saw me. I could never just react — I could only overreact. I could never be angry, only hysterical.” With each statement, he stole a quick glance at her. “When I spoke up, it was because I spoke up. When I stayed quiet, it was because I chose to.”
With the raw, worn-down anger of someone who had swallowed it for years, he said, “And when I lost the chance to present… it all disappeared. Suddenly, what I wanted and what I had to say mattered.”
Silence settled between them, short but heavy. The rain hammered against the cart’s wooden sides, and somewhere ahead, a horse whinnied in protest against the wind.
The blond exhaled, tired and exasperated, while she pressed her lips together, knowing exactly what he meant and knowing, painfully, that only one of them had been allowed to benefit from that shift.
“What I’m trying to say is…” He adjusted his grip on the reins. “I feel you.”
A small, defeated but genuine smile appeared on her rain-soaked face. Her left hand reached for his and gave it a soft squeeze. “Thank you.”
Neither of them knew how to move forward from that moment. Neither wanted to break it. Neither quite knew how to hold something that emotionally heavy without dropping it.
“So…” she said after a second, clearing her throat, “does that explain why you like that alpha girl?”
His nervous laugh was almost swallowed by the rain and the strained snorts of the horses. With flushed cheeks, the cadet looked away.
“Maybe,” he admitted, voice barely louder than the storm. “But… don’t tell Eren about it. They’re not on good terms.”
She shrugged, a small scoff escaping her. “Don’t worry. It’s not like Eren comes to talk to me.”
The shift in her tone made Armin glance at her again. “Eren doesn’t hate you… he’s just…”
Whatever word he was searching for clearly didn’t come easily. “To be honest… I’m not even sure what he likes anymore.”
The shared exasperation that followed needed no words; the eye rolls, the tight lips, the synchronized sighs fogging faintly in the cold air. Even the horses seemed to complain in rhythm with them, hooves sucking wetly out of mud with every step.
‘What is that alpha’s fucking problem,’ practically hung unspoken between them.
“Are you two fighting?” she asked, looking toward him. “Aren’t you childhood friends?”
“No and yes,” he answered immediately, in that order.
The subtle pout pulling at his thick lower lip made him look far more endearing than he probably intended. At least, that’s what she thought.
“He’s… not himself anymore.” Armin swallowed. “He’s drifting away. And every time I try to talk about it, the team tells me to drop it so I don’t upset Mikasa.”
“I see.”
But now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop.
“I understand he’s been through a lot. I mean… a damn lot. We all have. But him the most.” His hands moved as he spoke, careful but restless even while holding the reins. “But lately he says the worst things whenever we try to talk about where the island plan is going.”
The cart jolted violently, and he steadied the horses with a soft command before continuing.
“I… I feel like we don’t have anything in common anymore. Like we’re two strangers held together by history instead of actual friendship.” His jaw tightened. “And don’t get me started on how shitty he’s been to everyone lately.”
Rain streamed down his face, indistinguishable from anything else.
“There are all these new people from the other side of the world that I feel I have more in common with than him.” Armin let out a shaky breath. “Is it insensitive for me to say I miss my friend?”
Eren wasn’t part of her old life, not really. She had little to compare him to. But the situation felt painfully familiar anyway.
“If something happened to Eren… would you be there for him?”
“100%.”
There wasn’t even a flicker of hesitation.
“Then you have your answer,” she said softly, a bittersweet smile tugging at her mouth. “You said you were childhood friends, right? You miss the old Eren… just like Eren probably misses the old you.”
She shifted slightly, pulling the cat closer under her coat as another cold gust hit them.
“Asking someone not to change after ten or twelve years is… kind of pointless.”
He looked down, voice barely audible. “I guess so.”
“You care about him because you shared a path,” she continued gently. “But maybe that path is splitting now.” She shrugged. “Maybe it comes back together someday. Maybe it doesn’t.”
Like a child scared to go into kindergarten, he muttered, “But I don’t want to.”
Her soft chuckle was mostly an attempt to ease the heaviness between them. “That doesn’t mean you two can’t be friends, silly. It just means… maybe you need to loosen the relationship a little so you can build others.”
Shifting slightly toward him, bracing herself as the cart lurched through another patch of mud, she added, more animated this time,
“Think of it like decluttering. You don’t have to throw everything away — but you need space to grow, too.”
“Yeah…” The first one sounded doubtful. But as his head gave a few small, unconscious nods, the second — “Yeah,” — carried a little more conviction.
“If you’re so worried that Eren is going through something,” she continued, pushing wet hair away from her face, “why don’t you talk about it with Levi? He’s your squad leader.”
“Oh, no.” Armin’s answer came instantly, almost horrified. “We do not talk about those things with Captain.”
“Why no—” But halfway through the question, she squinted, then winced in understanding. “Ah… yeah. I think I know why.”
“He tried to comfort us once.” The color seemed to drain from Armin’s face as he stared ahead into the rain. “I have never felt more awkward in my life.”
She slowly tilted her head side to side; not disagreement. Just acceptance.
“But it’s not all bad,” Armin added quickly, almost out of loyalty. “He tried to comfort me once… in his own way.”
“Really? Why? What happened?”
That memory was clearly even less shareable. Armin grimaced, shoulders tensing. There were too many things they had lived through that simply didn’t translate to normal life. Confessing to a civil, who probably saw death as something way less common than they did, that her husband has comforted him after he killed for the first time wasn’t a good approach.
“Anyway,” he said quickly, shifting the reins in his hands, “one time the previous commander told me the Captain is actually very shy—”
“Edward?”
Armin groaned loudly over the rain. “Erwin.”
“Ah, yes… it was something with an E,” she said casually, then shook her head. “Levi doesn’t strike me as shy. He’s very outspoken about what he wants… especially what he doesn’t.” Her eyes rolled dramatically as echoes of his endless orders replayed in her head.
“Well,” Armin chuckled, “he’s not shy in the sense of being afraid to speak. But he’s… very reserved. And he has a hard time communicating.”
That thought seemed to snap something back into place in her mind.
“But that’s the issue!” she burst out. “I am trying.” She paused dramatically, raising both hands toward the stormy sky. “And God knows I am trying to get closer to him. To make it feel more like… a couple.”
“I—”
Her frustration spilled over, raw and unfiltered. “I hear from everyone and their mother that I’m not pregnant because of my own fault. That if my husband doesn’t want me, it’s my fault.” Her jaw tightened. “But I’m the only one asking for kisses. Giving goodbye kisses. And what does he do? Walks away. Does nothing.”
Armin’s eyes widened as far as physically possible. His lips pressed into a thin line. Everything about him screamed: ‘This is too much information.’
“And the tone he used—”
“What did he say?” Armin asked cautiously.
“Well… he said nothing,” she muttered. “But he breathed weird,” she added with renewed intensity. “I’m just saying I wish he would put in effort too.”
Talking about the emotional life of his superior felt like walking straight into a trap that would eventually snap shut on him, but Armin tried diplomacy anyway. “You know… I think Captain Levi and Mikasa are similar in that department. As alphas.”
“Eren used to get so mad whenever Mikasa tried to carry heavy things for him. Or saved food for him.” He added quietly, almost like a footnote, “I mean… they’re both alphas. But we all know who’s the more alpha out of the two.” Then he returned to his point. “What I mean is… maybe the Captain’s effort looks different. Less physical. For example — he used to never cook for the team. And now he cooks for you every day.”
That landed.
The realization visibly hit her, melting some of the defensive tension in her shoulders. “…Now that you mention it…”
“Plus,” Armin continued, gaining confidence, “unlike many higher-ups, Captain is very respectful toward female soldiers and omegas outside work. As a guy, sometimes… it’s nice when the girl takes the first step. So we know we’re not being creeps.”
He hesitated, then added carefully, “Maybe… you could ask him to teach you how to ride. He’s an incredible rider. And it would honestly make our lives easier if you could ride your own horse.”
While the conversation was friendly and easygoing, the trip was quickly becoming unbearable for both. The cart wheels dragged instead of rolled, sucking noises coming from the mud with every forced turn. Water still dripped from the cart canvas in slow, fat drops, each one landing with an annoying, repetitive plop into the puddles below.
Once they reached the final top, both jumped out of the cart with so much pleasure that it could be translated into their expressions. Their knees almost buckled from standing too fast after hours of forced stillness. But the only mood the soldiers in charge of guarding the carts had was exhaustion and tiredness. They had stopped multiple times in the road, as the cart kept getting stuck or the horses got scared.
The storm had ceased but only so little; by each corner of the sky they awaited heavy clouds, and the wind was still blowing heavily. It was clear whatever the weather had under its sleeve was going to carry on for a good while.
‘Ugh… we will never arrive at that damn coast,’ she thought while dragging her feet through the mud and reaching the little secured area they prepared inside a forest, hoping blindly that the gigantic trees would provide a bit of cover from not only the falling water but also the wind — but it felt more like wishful thinking. Her miserable thought wasn’t far off; at this rate they were losing at least two days of distance in a trip where each step mattered.
As usual, her eyes scanned the area with confusion. The cat, now on a leash, walked around shaking its paws with each step. ‘Why is there no camp?’
No fire smell. No cooking smoke. No voices settling down for the night. The cat’s ears twitched violently every time wind pushed through the branches above, tail puffed twice its normal size. Proudly ass displayed.
Levi stepped into her path. “I see you didn’t die.” but, to add to her confusion, he was still with the gear on. The comment was clearly connected to her fear of travelling far from him in the formation.
“Sadly,”
The moodiness wasn’t well received but understood. “Aren’t you the life of the party?”
“Look who is talking,” she said with little to no energy, but to her surprise, Levi handed her a cup of warm tea.
“Drink that and stop complaining.” The metal cup was still hot enough to sting her fingers.
The faint steam that came out of the improvised cup was enough to calm her soul, despite it missing the cream and honey she so liked. “I’m so wet,” she confessed after taking a good sip and moving one soaked hair lock out of her face. “I am literally dripping.”
The alpha, who had not stopped working for a second since her arrival, froze mid-motion and directed her deepest frown at him. “What?” she asked, confused. “It’s true.”
“Don’t say that around other people. Ever. You hear me?” The grave, deep tone he used confused her. Shutting his eyes closed, he muttered while rubbing his forehead like he was trying to erase the last five seconds from existence. “You really choose the worst combination of words,” before clicking his tongue.
‘Everything I do pisses him off.’
The continuous move of the formation forced her mind somewhere else while she resumed her leisure stroll while trying to stretch her legs after hours sitting down. One yawn, then two. “When are we setting the tent?”
“There’s no tent tonight, not with this shitty weather,” he declared.
Somewhere behind them, someone cursed loudly as a cart wheel slipped again.
Her gasp forced him to keep going. “Our horses waited here for a bit as we waited for the carts. Now you and the cart rest here while we try to secure another camp – hopefully, by then the rain will have stopped enough for us to set a tent without it getting pissed on before it’s finished.”
“So… I sleep here?” Her voice sounded far from pleased. “You’re already leaving?”
“You can sleep in the road if you want; we need to keep moving as soon as the horses are rested,” Levi said. Despite the weather, he seemed far drier than her. “This is not a holiday. We’re soldiers. We push. That’s it.”
“So you’re leaving,” the omega insisted.
“Yes, I am off.”
Her pout didn’t go unnoticed, not at all. While she debated with herself about the situation and realised that Armin’s conclusion made sense, Levi was sizing her up and down. ‘If I knew how to ride, this would be easier.’
“Don’t you have another coat?” A drop of water slid off her chin and hit the mud between them.
“Huh?” The question came out of nowhere for her, only to then be answered correctly, “No. I wasn’t planning on taking a shower in the middle of the countryside when I packed.”
The squeaking of the horses in the distance and the sound of the galloping made both force their attention backwards.
“So, you’re leaving,” she repeated and forced him, who was looking over his shoulder at his soldiers, to turn around.
“Yes. I’m off.”
Despite the situation replaying for a second time, neither attempted to move. He stood there, feet so secured in his position that if he wasn’t so short, someone may have taken him for a tree. She mirrored the attitude.
Both made an inhuman effort to not wrinkle their nose and try to catch a sign of anything. The most unusual was that Levi was the first to lose the stoicism to replace it with a frown.
‘Come on… the past few days you were all about those goodbye kisses, and now that I stick around for them, you let me stand here like an idiot.’
‘You make the first move, asshole.’
One last time, he repeated, “I’m off,” with so much disdain.
“Okay,” her nose wrinkled this time, not trying to catch on to anything but out of pure hate.
“Tch”, the clicking of his tongue, a nervous tick mimicking hers with her ring, echoed in the empty forest. To her surprise, he unbuttoned his green cloak and put it around her. “Put this on; you look like shit,” he said and added, “And stop telling people you’re wet.”
Looking down at it, the fresh memory of his formal trench coat around her during their wedding day struck a sensible nerve in her. That, or the smell of it penetrated her nose and flooded her senses like rain flooding soil. Fighting each cell to not bring it to her nose and take a good inhale of it, especially because she feared purring like a fool like the last time.
“Wait,”
This time he was ready, embarrassingly so if he could admit it. Already tilting his head to a side as her hand touched his shoulder, he was ready for her to press her cheek against his and mimic a fake subtle kiss sound now that the rest were too far away for him to fear the scrutiny.
He was not ready for what she actually did. She didn’t even give him time to close his eyes when she softly pressed her lips against his in a very subtle peck. Like the one they had shared, it is a way less romantic setting inside the tent. Her eyes were closed, and he thanked any existent god for it because his surprised face would only carry on more problems.
When she opened them up, the bottom of her eyes was already raised in composure with her cheeks. Those were also blushed. “Take care,” she said.
What was she expecting? Not even her own mind could make itself up about it. But his hand reached for the back of her head, and she blushed deeper, thinking that as if in a romantic book, he was going to push the back of her head to go deeper. But instead, he placed the hood over her head.
“Don’t catch a cold,” he said, already stepping back. While he didn’t give her enough time to speak, her face immediately grimaced in tiredness. “I don’t give kisses to sick people. I’m very germophobic.”
It made her chuckle. “Really?”
“Don’t come crying later on.”
The rain eventually eased a little bit, and the idea of missing a tent never crossed her mind until now. But when it was passing midnight and they had just arrived to build the camp up, she certainly did.
Levi shoved the itchy gray blanket higher over his shoulder with a decisive tug, like he was drawing a line, marking the end of whatever pushy conversation she thought she could keep going. His bare legs stuck out the bottom, he’d long given up on staying fully dressed in this godforsaken heat, modesty has lost the battle. But ditching the blanket altogether felt like surrendering to the cold. That was too much. Some things just made sense, even if they didn’t.
One arm folded beneath his head, his face turned away from her, eyes squeezed shut with deliberate force, his brows deeply furrowed. He wasn’t asleep, anyone could tell but he was clearly committed to faking it. Or at least, forcing the night to end by sheer will. Mostly, he was hoping she’d get the message.
“Levi…” she called out again.
“Go to sleep,” he muttered, each word bitten off and heavy with exhaustion. Her persistence was wearing him down, strand by strand, like a fraying rope.
“But I need to ask you something…” She shifted upright slightly. Her voice had that unmistakable pouty tone—he could practically hear the lip quivering.
“Ask me in the morning.”
“But—” she protested, voice smaller now, embarrassed.
He groaned into the blanket. “For the love of—what could possibly be so important that it can’t wait till sunrise?”
Her voice dipped into a sheepish murmur. “It’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”
His brow twitched. Levi let out a longer breath, then scoffed. “And it just had to be asked at three in the damn morning? In a tent?”
“…Kinda.”
The awkward silence that followed was laced with too much emotion to ignore. He cracked one eye open and glanced over his shoulder. She was sitting up now, fiddling with her fingers and looking away.
‘…She’s kinda cute like that,’ he thought grimly, and instantly regretted it.
“I wanted to ask you in private,” she murmured.
Levi propped himself up on an elbow, gaze sharpening. Whatever this was, she clearly wasn’t going to drop it.
“What?” he asked, already annoyed, but clearly listening.
“Well, since you're my husband now and all… I guess it should be you who teaches me.” She was dancing around the words like they were hot coals, and that irritated him even more. He clicked his tongue. “I want to ride.”
His brain shut off.
“…What?”
“It was Armin idea!”
It’s just that his brain had already gone places. Dangerous, sweaty, deeply inappropriate places.
“I want you, as my husband, to teach me how to ride. I don’t really know how to do it, and I’m kinda ashamed, but I thought if I felt a little bit in control, I might be willing to try new things—”
Her awkward stammering was cut off by his sharp interruption, voice rough and suddenly tight.
‘A couple of kisses and you’re already asking me this?’
“Riding what?” he cut in, voice suddenly dry and a little panicked, because his brain was already passing down all the decisions and thinking to his other head.
‘She’s that ready? I mean… I do prefer to be on top, but—shit, for a virgin, she’s eager but I guess it's easier for a virgin to see how much deep they want to go? And here? In a tent? I mean, I won’t be the first to do it like this, but… damn, I thought she'd want a bed at least.’
‘Not that I’m complaining, though.’
“A horse,” she said flatly, frowning at him like he was the idiot. “What else is there to ride?”
All the tingling heat rushing down his spine screeched to a stop. His body had been seconds away from betraying him—his scent, his posture, everything had been more than ready to jump the gun. He was even ashamed of how quickly his own body betrayed him giving away a “I’m more than ready,” scent.
“Well,” he muttered under his breath, “I could think of a few things…”
She sniffed. “Wait. Why do you smell like that?”
“Go to bed, for fuck’s sake,” he growled, flipping back over and yanking the blanket high enough to bury half his face.
“Are you going to teach me or not?” A muffled thud followed, along with her yelp: “Don’t hit me with a pillow!”
“Shut up!” Levi hissed. “You’re gonna wake the whole damn camp!”
-
Despite the rush and them being behind schedule, everyone in the formation needed a day to recover. Especially the horses who had been doing all the heavy pushing through the mud.
“Captain? The meeting to decide the new route is about to start, sir.”
Armin approached his superior with confusion, as it was unusual for him to be late. But he stopped midway, choosing to admire the scene from a safe distance.
Levi was holding the lead of his black mare while Y/N sat on top, hardly showing the posture or attitude of a girl who could be considered to be riding.
“Straighten your back. You’re slouching,” Levi instructed, but the girl kept her fearful grip on the reins.
“I’m going to fall,” she squeaked as Levi made the horse move in slow circles around the open area.
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes!”
Two pairs of blue eyes followed the scene in silence, not daring to disturb it and lose the moment’s momentum.
“Even if you fall, I’ll catch you.”
She blushed, and her tense shoulders relaxed slightly. The beta wondered if, under different conditions, he would have caught a shift in scent.
“Really?” she muttered, though there was no real doubt — only playfulness.
“You think I wouldn’t be able to catch you?” Levi raised a single eyebrow, as if the question itself were absurd.
“I believe you,” she said between giggles.
The blond’s desire to stay out of it was strong, but he had a task to perform.
“Sir… the meeting?”
Levi barely looked behind himself as he continued guiding the horse. “You can go in my place. I’m busy.”
Armin’s mind froze mid-motion, like an animal pretending to stay still to avoid being caught.
“Me?” His voice was barely a whisper as he pointed at himself. “In a higher-up meeting?”
How many times had they, as cadets, admired the higher-ups walking into offices and closing the doors behind them, papers in hand? Their last view always being straight backs and pressed uniforms. Wondering what was discussed inside.
“It’s about time you and the others start taking responsibilities. I can’t keep babysitting you all forever.”
While it felt like those reasons were clouded by a recently discovered personal interest, Armin still felt like a duck thrown into the air to learn how to fly — ready to spread its wings, but scared of the fall.
“Thank you, sir!” He saluted, the meaning finally sinking in, confusion turning into bright eyes. He stomped loudly before rushing back. “I’ll report everything in great detail.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The captain seemed unworried about the possibility of the blond messing up and quickly returned to his task. “I’ll let you go. Gallop around alone.”
“NO!” she squeaked in fear, barely managing the posture needed just to make the horse walk. “Don’t let me go!”
But when she turned to beg him, Levi had both hands in his pockets, and the horse was already moving in steady circles.
“I already did.”
“Levi!” She kept looking over her shoulder in panic.
“Eyes forward,” he called out, calm but firm.
The instructions were faintly heard in the distance as the cadet rushed back toward the main tent. Seeing him return without the short captain, Hange frowned.
“And Levi?”
With the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store, Armin said, “He said I could go in his place!”
Tilting their head slightly, Hange used the higher ground of the hill they stood on to observe the scene.
“He said he’s busy,” Armin added, his voice distant despite standing right next to them.
They frowned, not out of confusion. The picture was crystal clear. Levi stood with hands on hips, giving instructions while the girl slowly, steadily grew more confident atop the black horse. Levi’s horse.
It wasn’t uncommon for superiors to send advanced cadets to meetings in their place. Hange themselves used to send Moblit sometimes. But the lingering feeling of betrayal didn’t fade with logic.
Why does it bother me so much? I’m always the one telling him to get closer to her.
Feelings didn’t have to be logical to be real.
The horse slowed to a stop, and Levi moved to pat its nose.
“You did good,” he said, surprisingly gentle. “Good girl.”
The omega flushed through the entire spectrum of red as her voice jumped an octave.
“Levi! That’s not appropriate!”
Gray eyes lifted, and the man’s stoicism only made it worse.
“I was talking to the horse.”
Playful complaints, embarrassment mixed with entertainment, companionship — it all blended into distant chuckles and teasing remarks.
Hange understood that standing on the hill, watching them enjoy their little bubble, wasn’t going to change anything. They slowly turned away. The couple’s conversation faded into the background as Armin’s rambling about meeting preparations grew more prominent.
“I am so excited about maybe taking part in meetings. I’ve been researching the origins of the soldiers we’ll receive, and their countries are mind-blowing.”
Somehow, that snapped something inside the usually lively commander, who had gone unusually quiet.
“Really? Every time I try to talk to Levi about cultures outside the walls, he seems so uninterested. I would love to discuss it with someone.” The comment sounded casual, but carried a thin layer of bitterness.
The blond, too deep in his excitement, didn’t notice.
“Well… Captain Levi doesn’t strike me as someone who’s into that.”
“How could he not? It’s fascinating!” the brunette exclaimed, trying to return to their usual eccentric energy.
But that easygoing attitude was hard to find when the cadet summarized the issue so simply, shrugging.
“Some people just have different interests—”
One.
Two.
Raindrops began falling from the sky again.
“—different dreams.”
Their head moved slowly, lips slightly parted, brown hair clinging to their face. They watched from behind as the gray sky finally opened again. Levi stopped the horse and extended his arms to help her down.
“It’s raining,” she complained.
“Come on. Barely a June shower,” he said as her feet touched the dew-covered grass. “Isn’t that kind of your thing?”
“My thing—?” Before she could process it, he added:
“Froggy.”
Her gasp was loud. “Do NOT call me that!”
She pouted in mock anger as they enjoyed their little corner of happiness in that wretched place. Her hand lifted to pinch his arm playfully, and the simple ring on her ring finger shone brightly. It was stupid how eye-catching it was, even in the dim light.
“Commander?” Armin called, realizing Hange had stopped walking.
The truth was that the ring was simple, probably cheap, made of no particularly valuable metal. It wasn’t extravagant at all.
‘It’s alright. We have different dreams,’
Extra scene:
While the omegas debated the invisible weight they had felt since birth; like a combat boot pressing against their necks during their long, painfully slow march. The alphas waited ahead for their return.
Cigarettes hung loosely from their lips. Vacant expressions. Endless hours of staring into the abyss, each man lost in his own thoughts. Or perhaps no thoughts at all.
Eventually, the Commander glanced to his left. “You good?”
The Captain — who had been enduring physical exhaustion, mental overload, and enough doubts about his life choices to trigger a full existential crisis at the early age of thirty-four, all while leading a country into war — answered: “Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.”
One slow drag from the cigarette. A throat cough to clear it. A few guttural groans of complaint. Then silence settled again.
“You think…” Hange started in a wondering tone, the kind that immediately told the Captain nothing good was about to follow. He remained unfazed. “If Titans had genitals… when they do the hardening, would it just get harder on the outside, or would they get a boner too?”
Levi’s hand came up, palm covering his eyes.
“Think about it and let me know,”
Author Note:
I want to extend a personal thanks to all of you. I've mentioned in a post and in private that the past year hasn't been particularly easy for me. But the love and support this story gets is unthinkable for me and when I was having extremely bad days I would sit down to read the comments or talk to friends about random scenes about this fic.
Thank you deeply <3 As always, thank you for reading and supporting this story. I fear this is not my best work but I have something special reserved for next chapter so I will try to bring it as soon as possible and give it extra care.
Lots of love,
Lucy
P.S: it will never not be funny to me how half of the characters talk about Erwin's death as this major trauma they all had and Mc being like "Who?"
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“So what good are your missions if everyone ends up dying without discovering shit?” You have been in a discussion with your Commander for what feels like an hour. While you feel the rage and aggression building up inside of you, Smith only stays calm and calculated, making the position he is in clear. He must have heard the argument you brought over a hundred times by now. The soldier accompanying you only seems to shrink further into the leather seat.
“What makes you think we haven't discovered anything? Have you ever considered this to be valuable intel the king likes to keep from peasants?”
You gape at him, not knowing if you should truly believe his words. Sure, it seems logical, but you would never admit being wrong to someone like him. That's what men in power only keeps going.
“You still lead your soldiers to death. There is no way you can justify that.” You want to beat him dead in this one, crossing your arms in an attempt to block him out.
“Some of us, Nyx, feel the urge to be part of something bigger. Some of us want to give back to humanity and others want to save it. The justification to death is life itself. Life is perishable.” The way his eyes fix you into place has you unwillingly shuddering.
“Tell me, what have you accomplished in your, what? 18 years of living?” You glare at him offended, you are not that young.
“22 actually. And I am well aware that I didn't accomplish shit in that pit.” You bark, finally able to break eye contact as you look out of the window, feeling shame creep up your gut.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if you died with the feeling of having lived for something far greater than you? Freedom? Peace? If I were to be in your place, I wouldn't judge the legacy my soldiers left behind.”
Erwin Smith was right, of course he was. Feeling defeated, you decide to not answer him, knowing it would only cause more damage. You hate the feeling of having no control, over yourself or others doesn't matter. In the underground you had some sort of power; people came to you and not the other way around. You were the one making demands and money without having to care over leading a gang or something similar. But now? You left your dignity in a brothel and your control in the hands of a man who claims to be able to save humanity. You are as good as dead.
The ride has taken up a full day and you arrive at the quarters of your new home late at night. It must be the first time the darkness of something above you makes you feel calm. In the underground city it was always dark, dark and suffocating with the stone and earth lingering over your head. This darkness is different. It is void and endless, stars shimmering in an immeasurable distance and the moon smoothly shines above you, offering soft lights.
“Where are we exactly?” You dare to ask Commander Smith the first question after hours of silence, stepping out of the carriage as you observe your surroundings closely. It seems to be a flat region, just a few trees up ahead and forest close by. A wooden fence surrounds multiple tall brickstone buildings, all of them looking the same. They appear to be three stories high. From what you can make out there are also barns on the fields, perhaps for their houses.
“Trost district. This region is called the Stroh fields. Trost, as in the city, is not too far away, look you can even see the walls-” It's not Erwin that answers you, but the young soldier who traveled with you. You squeeze your eyes, looking into the direction he points at. Indeed, wall Rose is closer than you originally thought.
“And these are your headquarters I assume?” Having to pull out every little information from that young man is slowly getting on your nerves, to direct questions you want direct answers. No need to know about those “Stroh” fields or whatever.
“Yes!” He appears excited, perhaps happy to be back here. Unlike Otto, that soldier is so full of life. He must have not been on a single trip outside the walls yet.
Erwin steps past you, boots crunching softly against gravel. “Come.” He demands simply, already moving toward the largest of the brick buildings. You hesitate only a second before following, hands tucked into your sleeves as if that could keep the unfamiliar chill from sinking into your bones.
The moment he crosses the threshold of the fence, the atmosphere shifts. Soldiers stationed near the entrance straighten instantly, fists striking their chests in sharp, synchronized salutes. Their voices cut through the night air in unison, loud and disciplined.
“Commander!”
You flinch despite yourself. The respect is palpable, heavy enough to taste. Erwin answers with a brief nod, not slowing his pace, as if this reverence is nothing more than background noise to him. It unsettles you more than if he had acknowledged it.
Inside the main building, warm lantern light spills over stone floors scrubbed so clean they almost shine. A young woman steps forward from a nearby desk, posture straight, expression alert. Her hair shimmers red in the warm lights and eyes pierce yours. You have never seen such grass green eyes in your life and somehow her appearance catches you off guard. In the underground they said only the ugly girls join the military. Another lie drunk men seem to tell each other. She can’t be much older than you, you note, though her eyes carry something sharp and knowing.
“Nifa.” Erwin greets her, a warmness in his tone that almost sounds genuine.
“This is Nyx. She’ll be staying with us for the foreseeable future.”
Nifa’s gaze flicks to you, quick and assessing, before she smiles; small and professional.
“A new asset to the corps or just a guest, Commander?” She asks, politely, though there is a surprise to her lyrical voice. There was no time for Erwin Smith to inform the Corps about you, of course she would be surprised.
“A new comrade. She will be formally introduced to the corps tomorrow. Show her to your room.” He orders turning to leave without another word, but stops in his trail to look back at the two of you.
“And Nifa?”
The redhead turns, smiling at her Commander cheerfully.
“Yes, sir?” You hate how all of them seem to treat him with the uttermost respect.
“I would sleep with an eye open tonight if I were you.”
Erwin leaves you with her then, already turning away to speak with another officer. Just like that, you’re handed off, another piece on his board. But now at least you have direct proof of his distrust towards you.
Her smile instantly fates, the friendliness gone in seconds.
“You are no cadet right?” She asks, a frown has formed on her features about the cryptic words coming from her Commander.
“Nope.” Is the only answer you grant her, taking your time to take in your surroundings.
“Uhm. Alright. Let's go then.” She's nervous, clearly, laughing off the way you cross your arms and glare at her.
“Sure, but make it quick. I'm tired."
Nifa leads you down a corridor that smells faintly of soap and metal.
“The quarters are shared here by four to six soldiers.” She explains quickly and rushes through the hallways, taking your request to heart.
“You’ll get used to it. Training schedules are strict, it starts at six and usually ends at four-thirty.” She glances back to make sure you’re listening.
“There’s only one bathing area. After training, women shower from five to five-thirty. Men from five-thirty to six. No exceptions.” Her tone makes it clear this is non-negotiable and you can only imagine the chaos during shower times.
You hum in acknowledgment, not feeling the need to voice your opinion on the matter. Shared bathrooms, of course. Privacy is a privilege, you remind yourself, one you forfeited the moment you accepted Erwin’s deal. Honestly, it doesn't come as a surprise, but you did have more privacy in your mundane little apartment close to the graveyard district. At this point you question if it was worth leaving the dead behind for this.
Nifa pushes open a narrow wooden door, revealing a modest room lined with bunk beds and closets. The space is plain but orderly, moonlight from narrow windows illuminating neatly folded blankets. Two women look up as you enter. They seem to be in their evening routine, dressed in plain nightgowns, as they stop their conversation mid sentence.
“This will be your barracks for now.” Nifa explains, leaving you room to fully enter. “You’ll be sharing with us.” She gestures to herself first, then to another red-haired woman lounging against her bunk, arms crossed and eyes curious.
“That’s Petra Ral-” Nifa continues. Petra offers a brief nod, sharp-eyed but not unkind, clear confusion written all over her pale face.
“- and over there is Ilse Langnar.” Ilse, dark-haired and thin, watches you like she’s trying to solve a puzzle, sitting cross legged in front of a tiny table.
“You can have the bed over mine! It's free since Valerie was uhm-” the eerily silence tells you all you need to know about Valerie. She's dead, most likely ripped apart in a titan stomach.
“Thanks. My name's Nyx. I guess you guys are my comrades now.” Keep it short and simple. This is what Jakob told you. People in the underground never liked chatty street rats.
“Hey Nyx! It's nice to meet you. You can have the closet in the right corner for your personal belongings.” Petra tries to start a conversation, positioning at one of the furniture right beside the door.
“I don’t have any personal belongings.” Your cheeks redden a little, shame creeping up your neck, as their looks get unbearable.
“Oh-” She finally brings out, scratching the back of her head as she looks at Nifa for help.
“Ha- look at the clock. It’s almost midnight. Let's get ready for bed, you must be tired-”
Awkwardly, you move through the room and climb up the bunk bed with ease. Unfortunately your shirt rides up your back, revealing the bluefish bruises left from your mission to climb the bars in prison. You ignore Ilse's short breathed gasp and roll into bed, throwing the blanket over yourself as you close your eyes, too tired to stay awake further. Tomorrow would only bring exhaustion.
You were rudely woken up by the chattering of high pitched voices.
“Should we wake her?”
“I don't know, she isn’t in a squad yet, right?”
“We definitely should. I'll give her one of my uniforms for now.” The last one is definitely, what was her name? Nifa? A strange name, but you are no one to judge that.
You slowly turn to your side and push yourself up on your elbow, allowing them to see that you are awake.
“Morning.” You greet, voice grumpy and raw. The air in this little room has been nothing but suffocating and it makes you feel just like home.
“Good morning. I bet you overheard our conversation. We need to hurry, it's almost six!” Nifa cheers, already picking a fresh uniform from her closet. You brush a strand of hair out of your face and rub your eyes in an attempt to make them feel less greasy and tired. While moving down the bunkbed, you glance out of the window, confused by the darkness outside.
“Are you kidding me? It's in the middle of the night, look how dark it is outside.” Petra quietly laughs at that.
“It's 5:50 a.m. The sun comes up around six-thirty this time of the year, don't tell me you don't know that.”
No. No you don't know that, how could you possibly know something like that if you have never seen the sunrise before? You can't even read the time, nor do you know the current season. It must be either autumn or winter. Alec told you that the leaves fall from the tree and die. And don't even start with the date.
You take the uniform from Nifa, observing the white dress shirt and pants. You have never seen such clean material before. You imagine fresh snow to be this white. The jacket is a stark contrast, a deep brown and the material is a rough leather texture. Much like the boots she offered you.
“I hope they fit! I only have these spare ones, but I'm sure you'll get your own pair later today.” Communication early in the mornings has never really been your thing, so you keep to yourself.
Cool air hits your skin as you undress yourself, except for your panties. Nudity is something you feel no shame for, you have been raced this way; showing skin was nothing unusual in a pit known for its prostitution.
“Are these from training? Have you changed divisions, is that why you're here?” Nifa asks curiously, though the concern is written over her face.
“No. I am not a soldier.” You pull the dress shirt over your chest and quickly pull the same colored pants over your lean legs.
This time it's Ilse speaking the question everyone seems to have.
“Then why are you here?” You don't answer her at first, taking your time to fully dress yourself. The fabric is astoundingly soft, a luxury you can't remember to have encountered before. It almost feels like there is nothing covering you, yet it's still warm and offers protection.
“See. I don't really know you guys yet. But you've been nice to me, so I'll be honest with you.” You face them, feeling the need to defend yourself against potential judgement. They would have found out sooner or later today, it's not like Erwin makes a secret out of you; his new asset.
“I’m from the underground city. I was tricked into killing this corrupt gang leader and was rightfully imprisoned for doing so by your friends the MP's. Erwin thought I could redeem myself if I joined you.”
The silence in the small barracks room is sudden and thick, like the air itself has been punched out of it. Petra’s eyes widen so far they look ready to fall out of her head. Her hand freezes mid-reach for her cloak hook, fingers trembling. Nifa’s mouth opens, then closes again without a sound, cheeks flushing red. She looks like someone just told her the walls are made of sugar.
Ilse is the only one who doesn’t flinch. She leans forward on her bunk, elbows on her knees, studying you with that calm, almost clinical curiosity she always carries.
“Underground?” Petra finally manages, voice barely above a whisper. “You mean- actually from down there? The real Underground City? It's real, like it exists?” You shrug one shoulder, tugging at the stiff collar of the borrowed uniform jacket.
“Obviously. It's not common knowledge up here?”
Nifa makes a small, strangled noise, half gasp and half laugh that dies before it starts. She presses a hand to her mouth, eyes darting between you and the others like she’s waiting for someone to say it’s a joke. Ilse breaks the stunned quietness, voice steady and matter-of-fact.
“Two years ago, before any of you joined the Corps, Captain Levi was recruited very similarly to Nyx. Commander Smith saved him from the death penalty and made him a soldier. He was a well-known thug down there. Criminal record longer than most of our expeditions.” Petra’s head snaps toward her so fast her braid whips over her shoulder. “Wait, what?” Nifa’s hand drops slowly from her mouth.
“I- I thought that was just a rumour. People say all kinds of things about the captain.”
Ilse gives a small, almost gentle shrug. “It’s true. Erwin found him, just like he found Nyx. And now? Levi’s humanity’s strongest. Everyone admires him. I for one would trust him with my life. He’s earned every bit of it.” She looks straight at you then, dark eyes serious. “You deserve the same chance. Treat her like anyone else. She’s here now, that’s what matters.” Petra exhales shakily, running a hand through her hair.
“I had no idea about the Captain’s past. None at all.” She glances at you again, softer this time. “I’m sorry that we judged too fast." Nifa nods quickly, still a little pale.
“Don’t cry about it. Seriously, you'd be stupid not to judge. I just told you guys that I killed someone.” You give them the smallest, tightest smile you can manage.
The awkwardness lingers for a heartbeat longer, then Nifa claps her hands together, forcing brightness back into her voice.
“Right! Let’s get moving. Training starts soon, and you’ll need to be ready.” You nod, straightening the leather straps of the jacket. “Speaking of getting ready. Could one of you show me to Smith's office on the way to training? I’d like a word with him before the day starts.”
Petra recovers first, offering a quick smile.
“Of course. We’re heading that way anyway. Morning briefing’s in the main hall, but his office is right next to it.”
The four of you file out into the corridor. The barracks are already waking and you can hear boots stomping, low voices murmuring and the distant clank of ODM gear being checked. You keep your head high, ignoring the curious glances that follow you down the hall.
When you reach the heavy oak door marked with a simple brass plate, Commander Erwin Smith, you don’t hesitate. You knock once, sharp and loud, then push the door open without waiting for an answer.
“No, wait-” Nifa yaps behind you, but you decide to ignore her and enter anyway. It's six in the morning, what could he possibly be doing?
Inside the faint smell of tea and candles reaches your nostrils. Maps cover one wall, pinned with red and black markers. A long table dominates the center and around it sit three other uniformed soldiers, currently drinking tea and chatting loudly with each other.
All eyes snap to you as you step inside and let the door swing shut behind you with a soft thud. Erwin is seated at the head of the table, hands folded, expression calm as ever. The other officers look startled, one even half-rises from his chair, but Erwin raises a single hand, stilling them. He's a tall man, blonde hair hanging into his face as he only wrinkles his nose at you.
“Nyx.” Erwin greets you evenly, as though you bursting into a private meeting is perfectly ordinary. “Good morning.” You don’t smile. You don’t salute. You simply cross your arms and meet his gaze head-on.
“I have questions.” You inform him, eyeing the officers at his side precisely.
Besides the tall blonde sits a smaller woman with hair that has been cut short that matches his blonde tone. Hers is just a tad bit lighter. Besides them sits another pair; a young man with brown hair and a surprised expression. The high ranking officer at his side has their hair longer and equally as brown, a giddy expression on their face as they eye you through your glasses. All of them are so very different from their reactions towards you alone, you feel like having to lead a military board with them would be, well, interesting.
Then you finally turn your attention to the man sitting across from Erwin at the end of the table. You haven't noticed him at first, it's almost like he is blending in with his surroundings. His ash colored hair is the first thing you notice, then it's the arrogant way he holds himself in, casually sipping from his tea as he eyes you in a bored way. His eyes. Liquid metal meeting ice, a piercing stare that has you frozen in place. You would recognize those eyes anywhere, that expression and his forsaken face. The devil reincarnated.
“Take a seat. We have expected you anyways. Just make sure to knock the next time.” Commander Erwin offers and you take the only free seat available; right between the tall man, who already is suspicious of you and your death sentence. It's almost like your head is working on itself and you move across the room, heart painfully hammering against your ribcage as you sit down, not daring to even look at the black haired devil at your side. But what has you more on edge than the fact that you are in the same room is the slowly realization that Levi doesn't recognize you.
He shows no sign of surprise nor anger, just a plain face that masks his true emotions. He just continues to sip his tea, holding you in place with his eyes. You gulp, eyeing him from the side as adrenaline starts to kick in. What if he does recognize you? What if he keeps hiding that fact so he could kill you when no one was looking? He's apathetic expression deeply disturbs you.
“May I introduce to you our spy: Nyx.” Your head immediately turns from one end of the table to another, surprised at what Erwin just said.
“Excuse me, what did you just call me?” You ask snappily, glaring at the man that thinks all too might of himself. Being a spy was not what you agreed on.
“Spy. Like an informant, you know, your former occupation.” Erwin Smith suggests a straight line on his lips, though you do catch the sarcasm.
“You said nothing about me spying for you. That was not the deal.”
The silence following your statement feels suffocating and the feeling of literal death sitting next to you doesn't make things easier in the slightest. Erwin races his prominent brow at you, tapping his finger onto the wooden table impatiently. You merely sight.
“Alright whatever. How's this going to work then? Am I still to be on expeditions? Do I get proper ODM training or will you just send me straight to death, asshole?”
This time it’s not Erwin answering your question.
“Oi. Show a little more respect. Filthy rat.” Your head turns to Levi rapidly, a peg of anger rising up your throat as you feel the sudden urge to jump him.
“Nyx has all the right to be angry at me. I did keep this specific information from her, afterall.” The Commander reminds his lapdog and gulls down the rest of his tea, sitting the cup back onto the table with a soft thud.
“I will let it slide today. But note that the next time you decide to call me names, running laps will be the easiest thing on your punishment list.”
Punishments were something you didn't consider before coming here, but it does make sense for the military to resort back to such measures.
“We are still working out the plan on how to integrate you in both roles: the criminal turned soldier and the spy. Obviously the latter is not to be discussed with anyone. If you decide to speak on those plans with anyone outside of this room we have no choice but to send you Lieutenant Sirius Zachary your head, are we clear, dear?”
You gulp at Erwin Smith, the man who fed you bread with a smile is now threatening your life. You knew he was not trust worthy, but you thought that within the corps Levi would be the only threat to your life. Now you can add your Commander to the list as well.
“Yes we are, sir.”
“Good. Further plans for your personal mission will be discussed with your squad leader. We have decided to put you under Captain Levi's command for safety-” you block out Smith completely and barely stop yourself to snap your head back at Levi. If you know look at him, he will know that you are aware of who he is and that, now that is fucking suspicious.
“Levi, will you please show her around the training fields?” The Captain stands up from his seat, barely gaining on height as you suddenly notice how small he is compared to his comrades or the Commander. You must have never noticed his lack of height, since it is not an unusual one in the underground city.
“Follow me.” He demands, crossing his arms as he gives you an expecting glare. You can't help yourself but to stand up and follow his command, your stomach turning on fear of being led to death. This is going to be a horrible start into your new career, you just now.
If he truly doesn't remember you, what will you do? A. stick to the plan and kill him or B. create a new plan.
Inhale. Exhale. You lean back against the brickstone wall, heavy breaths escaping your lips as you look up to the barred window. Nothing. You have tried your best to climb up there and remove the thick, rusty iron rods, yet you weren't able to move them a single inch.
“Give it up, young lady, there is no way you are getting out of here.” A man from a cell on the other end of the dungeon throws in, a dragged laugh following him, as you stand up to try it another time.
“Come on, you are going to hurt yourself if you keep that up.” You ignore him, like you did the hours before and start moving up the wall again. Having had worse and being an experienced climber you dont give his concerns much thought, afterall the underground has taught you several lessons those past few years. Touch they couldn't have helped you with your current situation.
The fees and citizenships for above ground have sunken in value tragically after Wall Maria was stormed by titans. You were sure that the offer of the high ranking MP officer was valid, after all the chaos happening up above. As it should turn out, citizenship was a fraud, a cheap knockoff and the MP was merely after you for your crimes, tricking you into taking one last life to have a solid reason to put you behind bars. The thought alone haunts you. He made you kill vermin and clean the streets just to put you into a cell and throw away the key. He must be a sadist, surely there would have been other, less disgusting crimes you could have committed for him.
Now, two months later, you still wait in the same cell and rot. Even the underground showed you more desense. Down there you had some food, good jobs, actual money and were respected by people. Right now you are nothing but dirt, not even able to take a bath or eat proper food, how ironic. If you would have known that living above ground would treat you worse, you would have never taken the chance to leave. Especially after you lost your dignity in that dirty brothel.
“Fuck.” You curse, as you fall back to the ground, landing on your already bruised hip. It's not the first time you have fallen from the height that week, you must have gotten weak.
You let out a shaken breath, considering to punch the wall when you finally hear it, consistent steps following down the staircase of the dungeon that is located underneath the MPs headquarters. Perhaps another group of officers is coming down to degrade you and the other prisoner further. You have learned that the man in the other cell is a deserter of the scouts regiment, who was too scared of losing his life in Maria and decided to leave his squad and flee. The MPs have caught him in time before he could run for the tunnels leading to your old home and naturally have instantly imprisoned him. You are only in the prisons of the military police department because of your captor: Lieutenant Sirius Zachary, the son of the premier of the three regiments.
The door opens and reveals two officers you already know. You call them “dumb” and “dumber” since they have not shown any sign of intelligence since your stay here. You scoff at them and are about to throw an insult at their ugly heads when another figure appears underneath the wooden door frame. That one you haven't seen before; he is much taller than the officers and dressed in the same green uniform. Though instead of that ridiculous unicorn a pair of wings is embroidered on his shoulder and chest. He is not from the military police pregate, he is from the survey corps.
“C-Commander.” You hear the man stutter in a corner, his confident voice vanishing in thin air. “Otto. It is a real shame to see you here.” The tall blonde speaks firmly, a serious expression on his stern face as he walks up to the man in the other cell.
“You have served the corpse so well. Eight years, wasn't it?” You gulp at the Commanders words, eight years is a very long time for someone being part of the scouts.
“Yes Commander.” Otto answers in honesty, shame burdening his face as he can't seem to look into his Commander's eyes.
“So why did it have to end like this, dear friend?”
Patiently you sit on the cold ground, listening in on their conversation with interest, you try to sneak another glance at the fairly handsome commander, since the situation has caught your interest. There is nothing particularly fascinating going on down there.
“I have a daughter, Erwin.” Otto reminds his Commander, voice shaking with emotions you wouldn't have expected of a soldier.
“She shouldn't grow up fatherless. Like we did.” That stirs something in the cold face of the tall blonde, a deep frown trained in anger.
“Rosie will do so nonetheless, Otto. You should have known better.” A threat, colored with the many cryptic possibilities for Otto's daughter, Rosie you presume, to age without her dear daddy on her side.
With that the Commander turns to leave, not daring to look back at his former comrade, a sour expression on his face, as he ignores the eagle eyed stares of the MP's who seem to thrive in the poor man's suffering. You watch the Commander closely, following his elegant steps as he is about to walk past your little cell. You expected him to pass by you carelessly, yet, to your surprise, he stills in his tracks and slightly turns his head downwards towards you. His steering blue eyes meet yours in a haze of surprise, his expression softening as he looks down at you with clearly mixed emotions.
He clearly has noticed your stare a while ago, yet he seems stunned as his eyes roam over your crouched and beaten form.
“Now why would the military police keep young ladies in their dungeons? Don't tell me she's a prostitute.” The way he speaks over you like you weren't in the room feels humiliating, making the sick feeling in your stomach grow as his gaze doesn't seem to avert from you.
“It actually is one of her many crimes. I'm sure you could take her as such if you like.” A wave of disbelief and panic washes over your body, forcing you to move back from the bars as you glare at the MP with a hateful fire in your eyes.
“I believe the young lady would not appreciate that much. What's your name, dear?” Startled by the scouts Commander's politeness, you simply gawk at him, not finding it in you to reply to his question.
“They call her Nyx. Doubt it's her real name though.” Dumber replies for you, smiling down at you in a creepy way, as he brushes through his hair with his fatty fingers.
“Nyx?” The Commander yaps out in surprise, crouching down to your level, much to your surprise. There is some sort of recognition is his eerie glance and you have yet to decide if that is a good or a bad thing.
“Nyx. Pray tell, are you that shadow thugs whisper about?” So he has heard of you. Truly, it comes as a surprise, the Survey Corps usually has no say in the business of the inner walls and what's underneath it.
“Guess I am.” You answer, feeling strangely naked underneath his stare. Those cold blue eyes are something else and it doesn't help that they remind you of Levi. The urge to kill that little bastard still lingers inside of you. He beat, cut, stepped and then threatened you. You are sure if he found you, he would kill you and before he gets the chance to do so, you would need to be quicker. It's easy underground logic, really, kill before you get killed yourself.
“How would you like it to get out of here? See the sky and breathe in fresh air.” You notice Dumb and Dumber tense behind the scouts Commander, their eyes locking on each other. Erwin, you only know his first name thanks to Otto mentioning it, pulls a clothed object from a pocket inside his uniform and pulls the perfectly white sheet off, only to reveal a bread roll.
Your mouth waters from the side, as your eyes widen. You only tasted the luxury of a bread roll only once, on your tenth birthday. Jakob stole it for you when he had been given the chance to travel above grounds for a day.
“Would you like it? I'm not hungry and wouldn't want to waste it.” He stretches out his hand through the bars and offers you the soft roll of bread, a sincere smile on his face.
“What's the catch?” You ask, fingers twitching to grab the food from his hand.
“No catch at all dear. Just keep in mind that there is more from where this comes from.” You frown at him, cursing the manipulative bastard in your head. You've heard rumors about the scouts. Rumors that indicate that Levi has been given the offer to leave the underground in exchange for his freedom. Some say he has died outside the walls, others even believe him to be the new Captain of some fancy special force squad. Until now you have believed none of those rumors, but that Commander? Damn suspicious.
You grab the wheat bread from his hands and instantly shove it into your mouth, hungrily ravishing on the richness of the taste.
“With respect Commander Smith, you should discuss such recruitment offers with Commander Dok beforehand.” The guard speaks, all the fake friendliness gone. Erwin Smith, so that's his name. You knew his words were chosen wisely, of course he wouldn't offer you food from the kindness of his heart. There was more to his words than empty promises.
“Of course Officer Holgerson. Why don't you show me the way to his office?” Commander Smith stands up from his crouching position and neatly folds the cloth back into his uniform, observing the way you eat in your crouched position, like a spectator at the zoo.
“Think about it, Nyx. This cell will be the reason you lose your head. If you allowed me to introduce you as a new soldier to the scouts, death is only one option.” With that being said he leaves, guards following the large man with rushed steps.
You tear into the bread like an animal, crumbs falling onto your filthy shift, cheeks bulging as you chew. It’s soft, still warm, with a faint sweetness you’ve almost forgotten exists. You hate how good it tastes. You hate that he knows exactly what he’s doing. You lick the last crumbs from your fingers, then wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. The hunger is quieter now, but suspicion roars louder.
“Hey.” You softly call out to the other cell. “Otto.” He doesn’t answer at first. You hear him shift, chains rattling. It’s clear he heard you, but still decided to ignore you, which is unusual for the otherwise chatty man. Before the incident with his Commander he must have played down his emotions well.
“Otto. You’ve been with the Scouts eight years. Tell me about Erwin Smith. Tell me about the Corps. What’s the real deal?” A long pause is followed by a bitter chuckle.
“Don’t take his offer, girl, if you know what's good for you.” You crawl closer to the bars separating your cells, voice low.
“Why?” Aware of his inner torment, you still decide to ignore his vulnerability and step further. He is at fault for his own actions,much like you, it's not on you if he can't come with that.
“Because he doesn’t save people. He uses them.” Otto’s words come out rough, like they hurt.
“Erwin Smith sees pieces on a board. You’re either useful, or you’re not. And if you’re useful, you die for whatever dream he’s chasing that week.” You think of the bread, the calm smile, the way his eyes measured you.
“Knew something was off with him. He acted too much like he cared. Military gives a shit about the underground.” You spat, gravely taking the last bite of the treat.
“He’s good at that-” Otto mutters. “Makes you feel seen. Then he sends you outside the walls to get eaten so three more might live.”
The deserter is quite after that,but before you are able to ask another question, he turns your way, eyes reddened from holding back his sorrow.
“Eight years, Nyx, or whatever your name is. Eight years I watched friends being mauled to death. Watched that man write their names in reports like numbers. You too will end up a number in a report.” You sit back on your heels, understanding the threat of potential death too well.
“And if I stay here? I will die either way, wouldn't it make sense to die in freedom?”
Otto let's out a huff that sounds like a suppressed laugh.
“You make your own decisions. But if you truly believe to die in freedom with food in your stomach you are either dumb or naive.” You hum, not taking offense to his answer. Naive? No, dumb? Maybe.
“Entertain me, Otto. In the underground people say a man called Levi was given the same offer and he took it. That true?” You question, changing the topic into a seemingly different direction. Little does he know whether his answer will help you decide.
“Levi? What's your deal with the grumpy bastard?” You grin, shifting to relax yourself back against the wall.
“So you know him?”
Otto seems unfazed. “Please. Everyone knows him. He is humanity's strongest soldier afterall.” That answer comes as a surprise, throwing you off guard for a second. Cool wind blows through the bars, not helping the cause of your goosebumps.
“He's what now?”
“Probably or only damn hope. That midget is insane. Erwin made him his Captain the moment he was promoted to Commander. Do you know Levi? Were you two friends down there or something?” You grimace at the ridiculous confession.
“Not exactly.” Your answer is short lived and your tone cool, indicating your disdain for the man. Otto must have caught up on it, a deep frown replacing his tired glare.
“Trust me, girl. You don't want to be a part of the corps when he is your enemy.” You stay quiet, empty glance trying to catch a look out of the high and narrow window. There is nothing but the blinding light of the sun.
“May I ask what happened between you?” It's might be the only real personal question the deserter has asked you. Seeing how your situation couldn't get any worse you decide to answer him.
“I stole from him and destroyed something dear to him by accident. He swore to kill me and if I want to survive I just need to be faster than him.” A grim silence cuts between you, one that lingers as Otto seems to be out of words, until: “Be careful. Levi is not joking around.”
Erwin has taken over two hours. Two hours of waiting what felt like forever. You have already made your choice before he left in the first place. You are aware of his manipulation and of his lapdog only waiting for you to come so he could kill you. Sure, there is a chance Levi won't recognize you; you were littered in filth and covered with a hood and scarf. But the chance is low, he appears like a guy who knows his prey.
The Commander, accompanied by dumb and dumber, walks down the staircase and past Otto, only to stop directly in front of your cell. You stand up from the sad excuse of a bed, a hay mattress, and step forward. You are still smaller than him and having to look up to meet his blue eyes only makes you feel more degraded.
“You, Miss Nyx, are full of luck. Both Commander Dok and Lieutenant Zachary have granted your release.” He explains with a satisfied expression on his sharply formed face.
“Sirius Zachary grants me release? What an honor.” You roll your eyes in a sarc way, stretching your legs and arms as you gesture at the door.
“Now could we get this over with? I'd like some more of that bread you promised.”
“Of course. Officer Schmidt, would you kindly?” Your new Commander steps out of the way, allowing the defeated looking idiot of an MP to release you from your cage.
The moment the metal bars bark open feels like chains that fall loosely from around your ribcage. You step forward, shoulders squared despite the ache in your bones, and as you pass between them you lift your right hand. One finger rises, slow and deliberate, the universal salute of the Underground. Schmidt flinches. Holgerson’s face turns beet-red.
“Fuck you both,” you say sweetly, voice rough from disuse but sharp enough to cut. “Hope the next rat in here gives you hell.”
They don’t reply. They don’t dare.
You turn your head toward the other cell. Otto is standing now, palms pressed to the bars, watching with tired eyes that have seen too much already.
“Bye, Otto.” You murmur, softer than you meant to. He gives a small, crooked smile, the first real one you’ve seen on him.
“Good luck, Nyx.” He murmurs. “You’re gonna need it.” You don’t answer, feeling there is nothing left to say.
You follow Commander Erwin Smith up the narrow stone stairs. Each step feels heavier than the last, like your body still expects the ceiling to drop. The air changes before you even reach the top: cooler, cleaner and carrying the faint scent of grass and dust and something alive and then the final door opens. Sunlight hits you like a physical blow. You stop dead in the doorway.
Fresh air rushes into your lungs; real air, not the thick, sour damp of the dungeon or the rotting sweetness of the Underground. It smells of earth, of distant rain, of things growing somewhere far away. The sun pours over your skin, warm and golden, stinging your eyes after so long in the dark. You close them for a second, just breathing. Inhale. Exhale. The heat soaks into your filthy shift, into your bruised arms, into the scar that still aches when the weather turns.
You’ve forgotten what the sun felt like.
For one heartbeat you stand there, motionless, letting it burn away the cold that’s lived inside you for months. Then you open your eyes.
Erwin waits a few paces ahead, beside a plain black carriage. He doesn’t rush you and simply watches; patient, calculating, like he’s already measuring the woman who will step out of the shadows and into his war.
You walk forward. One foot in front of the other. The gravel crunches under your bare soles. The sun follows you like a promise.
You climb into the carriage without a word. Erwin settles across from you, cloak folded neatly over one arm. The door closes with a soft click.
The wheels start to turn. You stare out the small window as the MP headquarters shrinks behind you. The sky is impossibly blue. Clouds drift slow and fat. Somewhere out there, beyond the walls, Titans wait. Somewhere closer, Levi waits. You lean back against the worn seat, fingers curling into the fabric of your shift.
Only one thought echoes in your head, steady as a heartbeat:
The underground city is no place for the weak. It thrives on desperation, on the teeth-baring struggle for survival. Down here, morality is nothing more than a discarded luxury, and you’ve long since abandoned yours.
Two years have passed since that night, since you made the mistake of slipping into Levi’s home and leaving with more than just stolen porcelain. You left with a lesson carved into your bones, a scar stretching over your collarbone and down your sternum, a permanent reminder of his rage. It healed, but it never faded. Neither did the memory of his blade sinking into your flesh, nor the unrelenting pain that followed.
You no longer bury the dead. That life ended with the last shovel of dirt you threw over a nameless body. Now, you take jobs where the pay is good, and where death isn’t something to mourn but a service to be offered. Stealing, killing, torturing, smuggling drugs; you’ve done it all. And in this world, you’ve become something of a ghost story. A shadow whispered about in hushed voices, a nameless presence that lingers in the minds of the desperate and the wicked alike.
Sometime after you started to be a full time criminal Levi disappeared. Within weeks his little gang dissolved into thin air and the only thing left behind is his memory and numerous rumors. Some say he was imprisoned by MPS, others say he was killed. You highly doubt both speculations. A few prostitutes whisper that he is a soldier now, serving the infamous Survey Corps outside the walls. At first you found the thought absurd; a notorious criminal turned soldier sounds like fiction. But in a world like this, where prostitutes have sources and intel to the world, you would believe their word over the ones of beggars any day.
Being forced to work for the pleasure of man brings certain benefits with it. Rich men from above like to visit brothels down here sometimes and happy, drunk men like to spill secrets. Either the prostitutes use the information to gossip or sell them for a nice sum, depending who it is about. You have bought information before and they turn out to be very reliable most of the time.
Tonight, you sit in your usual bar, the one tucked away in the belly of the underground, where the air is thick with smoke and the scent of cheap liquor. The dim candlelight flickers against the cracked stone walls, casting jagged shadows over the faces of criminals, thieves and liars. You lean against the wooden counter, fingers absently tracing the rim of your half-empty glass. You’re waiting, as you always do. Down here, people know who you are, and if they need something done, something ugly, they know where to find you.
It’s the bar where desperate men come with their last coins, where deals are struck in murmurs over drinks too watered down to be worth the price. It’s the kind of place where no one asks questions, because no one wants questions asked of them.
The door creaks open, letting in a brief gust of the stale, damp air of the streets outside. You don’t bother looking up. Not yet. Instead, you swirl what’s left of your drink, waiting for the inevitable. It doesn’t take long. A figure slides into the seat beside you, the scrape of the chair against stone drowned out by the low hum of conversation around you. You glance sideways, taking in the heavy cloak, the hood pulled low over his face. The way his fingers drum against the counter, the faintest tremor betraying nerves.
“I have a job for you.” He says, voice barely above a whisper. You turn fully now, resting your elbow against the counter, tilting your head as you study him. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but you can feel the tension in him, the way he fights the urge to glance over his shoulder. Desperation. You recognize it immediately. You have taken some jobs of this man before, he is reliable with payment and intel. You never asked his name, but it's clear that he is not from down here. His cape covers most of his clothes, but the glimpses you get are enough to prove that he has money stored away. Perhaps a rich politician from above.
“Speak.” You allow, voice stern as you try to get a glimpse of his face. You remember him to be young and handsome, a well payer even. A pause, then he turns in an attempt to look for prying eyes and open ears.
“Martin Grauwasser.” The name makes you still, but only for a heartbeat. You know that man well. Everyone does. He’s one of the most powerful gang leaders in the underground, a man with more money than morals, with blood-stained hands and enough influence to make people disappear. He has connections to the black market and frequently human traffics women and children. You lift your glass to your lips, taking a slow sip. Certainly this man wants Grauwasser dead. It's no secret that he causes problems in Sina as well, the rich folks don't like influential rats from down here, even when they are the ones offering power to said rats on a silver tray.
“That’s a big name.” The man exhales sharply, like he expected you to say that. “I know. I can pay, very good at that.” He urges, gripping into his pocket, seemingly looking for a promising sack of coins to pursue you. “I know you can, otherwise you'd be stupid to even ask. But there’s a difference between coins and incentives.” He hesitates, then leans in. You see his face now clearly; a man in his early thirties with striking hazel eyes and mischievous smile. His hair, blonde and curly, appears to be neatly cut and freckles adore his pale cheeks. It indicates that he has gotten plenty of sun, lucky him. You take a glimpse from underneath his cape; a green uniform. So he's military, the corrupt type obviously. He must be from the military police.
Your nose wrinkles in disgust and you curse yourself for never having noticed that about him. Working with those pigs has never been your intention.
“I can get you something better. A way out.” That catches your attention though and somehow you forget your concerns from before, your eyes widening at the idea of finally leaving this hell. “A citizenship.” He continues, the grin never leaving his face. He knows he has you hooked with this. You say nothing, but your fingers tighten slightly around the glass. It’s not the first time someone’s dangled that promise before you. It’s the dream of every soul trapped down here, to leave the filth and the darkness behind, to breathe air that isn’t laced with damp and decay, but it’s rarely real. This time though, you know he speaks the truth. While you don't trust him, you know that a high ranking soldier would certainly have the power to get you out of here.
“Details.” The man swallows, then lowers his voice. He leans closer to you, bursting into your bubble like it means nothing to him. Still you don't back off, accepting every information he whispers into your ear. Outsider could think he is flirting with you and perhaps that is his intention, but words he slurs are anything else than sweet nothings or filthy promises.
“Grauwasser is careful. Paranoid. He moves in the shadows, keeps his men close. You won’t get to him easily.” He pauses. “Except when he visits the brothel.” Of course. It makes sense. Even the most ruthless men have weaknesses, and lust is one of the easiest to exploit.
“You want me to kill him there?” He nods. “It’s the only time he lets his guard down.” Frowning you swirl the liquid in your glass, giving the cocky soldier an uneasy gaze.
“How do you even know all of that?” It's the first personal question you ask since meeting him. You never asked him for his name or where he lived, it didn't matter. But this job is different, it's dangerous.
“Paid a whore to tell me.” You weigh the words carefully. It’s a risk, since you can't be sure if the prostitute he talked to is reliable with intel. After a long moment, you set your glass down.
“I’ll need a month.” His smile drops, an angry expression in his eyes almost catches you off guard. “That's too long, I give you a week.” He's bold and you don't like that. Bold and stupid is a combination that can end deadly.
“Look. I need to get a job there. Make it look real. I won't get a chance otherwise.” The idea alone has you feeling sick to your stomach, since prostitution is something you avoided for obvious reasons, but if this gathers you citizenship- “Well then.” To your surprise he stands up, arrogantly pointing his finger to the door.
“I'm gonna find someone else to do it.” You gape at him, infuriated by the audacity of this man. You clench your jaw, a bitter taste rising in your throat. He’s bluffing, he has to be.
“You won’t find anyone.” You speak, voice flat and cold, a facade to show no emotions. You turn around, meeting his cocky expression with a passive glare. “No one else can do this.” The man stops, turning back just slightly, the candlelight casting long shadows over his sharp features. He smirks, but there’s something in his eyes, calculation, the kind only men in power wear.
“You think you’re irreplaceable?” He muses, tilting his head. He's mocking you, perhaps even testing you. Usually you are the one in power, the one calling the shots, but this time the lines of power seem to shift out of your control.
“I know I am.” And that is the truth. There are killers in the underground, plenty of them, but few with your level of precision. No one is as quiet, as patient, as thorough. No one who can slip in and out of places without leaving a single trace. This man knows it, you have proven him so in the past, he would be stupid to not hire you. A long silence stretches between you, the noise of the bar growing distant. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he lifts his hands in surrender. “Fine. Two weeks.” You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “Three.”
“Two.” His voice sharpens, while his smirk drops yet again.. “Take it or leave it.” He has you cornered. You know it. He knows it. You close your eyes briefly, feeling the weight of desperation pressing against your ribs. If there were another way, any other way, you would take it, but there isn’t.
“Two then.” You echo, voice like steel and your pride triggered by his foolish demands. His smirk returns, slow and knowing. You hate it, you hate him. Looking back he has always given you that ick, not even his pretty face could make you like him. But if he is your ticket out, so be it.
“You’re a smart one, Nyx.” The man cheers, while he steps back. “I’ll be in touch.” Just like that, he’s gone, his cloak disappearing into the sea of bodies, leaving behind nothing but the promise of something you never thought you’d have; a way out.
The next few days blur into a tense ritual of waiting and preparation. The brothel, known only as The Velvet Lantern, is tucked deep in one of the wider caverns where the ceiling arches high enough to feel almost like sky. Crystal lanterns hang from chains, casting warm amber light over plush rugs and velvet drapes that hide the damp stone walls. It caters to the Underground’s wealthiest: gang bosses, black-market merchants, even the occasional corrupt MP who slips down for pleasures they can’t buy topside. Here, coin buys silence as much as flesh.
You’ve spent years learning how to walk into places you don’t belong, but this feels different. The air is thick with rose oil and smoke, every surface polished, every girl watching you with the weary calculation of survivors. Getting past the guarded front door took two days of dropped names and careful bribes. Now, finally, you stand in Madame Lenore’s private parlor.
She sits behind a low lacquered table, legs crossed, crimson dress clinging to curves that have broken stronger wills than yours. Her beauty is sharp as broken glass: high cheekbones, blood-red lips, black hair pinned with jeweled combs. Dark eyes study you the way a butcher studies meat. You stand still under the scrutiny, hood pushed back, scar peeking above the collar of your worn shirt.
“You don’t look the type.” She says at last, voice smooth as spilled wine. Her manicured fingers trace the rim of her crystal glass, nail tapping softly. “Most girls who come here don't have that look in their eyes. Theirs is empty, cracked or so full of nativity it disgusts me. Yours is, well, unsettling. That doesn't sell well." You shrug, keeping your expression flat. “I do look different with my mouth wide open. You wouldn't need to worry about my expression then, Madame.”
A faint smile curves her mouth, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting lightly on interlaced fingers. The movement makes the silk of her sleeve slide, revealing pale skin and a thin gold bracelet that could feed you for months.“You’ve worked before?” She asks, tone deceptively idle. “Yes.” The lie comes easy; you’ve practiced it in cracked mirrors.
“Slept with officers for good coin. MP’s mostly. I’m sure I can handle whatever you throw at me. Her gaze lingers on your face, then drifts lower and gives your malnourished figure a good examination. Something flickers in her expression, too quick to name. Curiosity perhaps or finding some sort of wracked beauty on your body only a bawd would know.
She hums, low and thoughtful, then flicks two fingers toward the corner where a small girl waits. The girl is delicate as porcelain. A tiny frame wrapped in pale silk, lips painted rose, huge wary eyes lined with kohl. She looks barely sixteen, though down here ages lie and her red hair doesn't help with that at all.
“Rose-” Madame Lenore says without looking away from you. “Take her to the baths. Scrub her clean. Every inch. If she’s presentable afterward, I’ll decide whether she stays.” You nod once, offering no protest, no plea. Rose steps forward and curls cool fingers around your wrist, gentle, but the grip says she knows how to hold tighter if needed. As she leads you from the parlor, the scent of Madame Lenore’s perfume, lily and something richer, clings to your skin like a warning.
The halls stretch long and dim, lined with heavy silk drapes in deep crimson and gold. Muffled laughter and low voices seep through closed doors. Rose walks quickly, bare feet silent on thick rugs, pulling you deeper into the perfumed heart of the place. You follow without a word, heart steady, mind already mapping exits and weaknesses.
A week slips by in a haze of silk, smoke, and forced smiles. Madame Lenore puts you on the main floor first, not as a whore, but as a dancer. The Velvet Lantern’s stage is small, raised just enough for every eye in the dim cavern to find you. Low music from a battered violin and drum pulses through the air, thick with incense and spilled wine. You move in the costumes they give you: layers of sheer crimson and black that cling and part with every step, revealing skin painted gold at the collarbones and hips.
The scar is impossible to hide completely. It starts just below your left collarbone, jagged and raised, trailing down toward the sternum where the porcelain shard once lodged. At first you try to angle your body away from the lanterns, but the men notice anyway. Their gazes linger, hungry and curious. Some lean forward, murmuring. Others lick their lips. A few ask the Madame later if the “scarred one” takes private bookings yet.
She watches from her velvet chaise every night, wine glass in hand, eyes unreadable. On the third evening she crooks a finger. You approach, heart thudding beneath the thin fabric.
“They like the mark.” She expresses it simply. “Makes you look dangerous. Exotic. Starting tomorrow, you’ll take clients of your own.” You nod. No argument, no plea. Inside, disgust coils tight in your gut like a living thing. Anxiety prickles under your skin every time a door closes behind you. Dread sits heavy on your chest when hands, strangers’ hands, touch places you never wanted sold. But you smile, you moan when expected, you let them bruise, grip and spill their seeds down your throat. You do it because the mysterious client who hired you promised citizenship papers if the job is done cleanly. Real papers. A life above ground. Sunlight. Air that doesn’t stink of rot. You do it because you have no other way out.
The days blur. You learn the rhythms: bathe in rose water, paint your lips blood-red, swallow the nausea, count the coins they press into your palm afterward. You hide a thin blade beneath your pillow on the very first night, wrapped in silk so the edge doesn’t glint. You practice reaching for it in the dark until the motion is muscle memory.
Day seven arrives like a blade sliding from its sheath. Five days left until the buyer’s deadline, five days until Grauwasser, the target, must be dead. At this point you have collected all the rage inside of you and directed it towards him. In your twisted mind he was the reason for your suffering, the reason you sell your body to men. Him and your mysterious MP client, who has been keeping an eye on you.
You’re on stage again, hips rolling slow to the drumbeat, sweat making the sheer fabric cling. The room is fuller than usual, voices louder, coins and even banknotes flowing freely. You scan faces out of habit, searching for the one you’ve memorised from whispered descriptions: tall, heavy-set, greying beard, small cruel eyes. Leader of the Blackroot gang. Trafficker of flesh and opium. The man whose death buys your freedom.
Then the front doors bang open and cold air rushes in, carrying the stink of wet stone and boost. It must be him; Grauwasser strides through like he owns the place, which, in a way, he does. Broad shoulders strain his coat, and his beard streaked with iron-grey. His usual prostitute, Lira, is absent. Word is she’s down with fever. His gaze sweeps the room, restless, predatory. He must be looking for a new body and this is your chance, probably the only one.
While everyone stands frozen, gaping at the gang leader in fear, you sway your hips and spread your legs, dangling from the pole in the middle of the stage. And then his eyes land on you, following the movement of your shape. You keep dancing, slower now, letting the fabric slide off one shoulder to bare the scar fully. His eyes fix there and darken. A wide smile splits his beard.
He crosses the floor in four heavy steps, ignoring the greetings tossed his way. One meaty hand fists in your hair before you can step back. Pain erupts across your scalp as he yanks your head to the side.
“This one.” He tells Madame Lenore without looking at her, she has crossed the room the moment he placed his unruly hand onto you. “The fresh meat with the pretty mark. She’s mine tonight.” Madame Lenore lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t protest. Coin is coin.
“Of course Mr Grauwasser. Her room is upstairs, the third on the left.” Grauwasser grunts. He drags you off the stage by the hair, your bare feet stumbling over rugs. Clients part like water and no one intervenes. He marches you up the narrow stairs, grip never loosening. The hall smells of perfume and sex. Your door looms. He shoves you ahead of him into the room and slams it shut, turning the key with a click that echoes like a sentence.
The chamber is small but lavish: low bed draped in crimson, lanterns turned down to a sullen glow, heavy curtains over the single window at the back. The escape you mapped the first night. Grauwasser releases your hair only to grab your upper arm, fingers digging deep enough to bruise. He smells of sour wine and sweat.
“My man talked about some fresh whore. A Scar between her tits and she spreads her legs like a bitch in heat. That you?” he growls, shoving you toward the bed. To answer his question, you simply nod, ignoring the lump that has formed in your throat. You let yourself glide onto the bed, knees hitting the mattress. Heart hammering, but breath steady. You’ve waited for this.
He looms over you, already fumbling with his belt, coat tossed aside. Heavy breathing fills the room. His weight comes down fast and his knees force your thighs apart, one hand ripping at the flimsy ties of your costume. Fabric tears. Rough beard scrapes your throat as he mouths at the scar, teeth nipping hard enough to draw blood. You make the sounds he expects small gasps and desperate moans. Your right hand slides slow and careful beneath the pillow while his attention is on freeing himself from his trousers.
Fingers close around the knife hilt. He rears up for a moment, leering, while his pants are shoved down to his hips.
“Gonna enjoy breaking you in-” Then you move, giving him no room to react. The blade comes free in one smooth arc. You drive it upward under his jaw, straight into the soft flesh of his throat. Once, twice or even three times in rapid succession. Hot blood sprays across your face, your chest and the sheets. He chokes, a wet and shocked gurgle, eyes bulging in disbelief.
You twist the knife and rip sideways, forcing arteries to part. Blood fountains, soaking everything crimson. His weight slumps forward and you shove hard, rolling him off to the side. Grauwassee hits the floor with a heavy thud, hands clawing weakly at his ruined neck, heels drumming against the boards. But soon after he stills and so do his choked cries.
You check his body, making sure he really did just choke in his own blood. His chest is still and his glossy eyes don't move, nor shut. They simply stare at the ceiling, empty of life. You’re already moving, wiping the blade on the ruined sheets and grab the small bundle of your belongings you keep hidden under the mattress, not daring to leave any trace of you. Dress half-torn, skin sticky with blood, you wrench open the back window. Cool damp air rushes in and makes a goosebump appear on your heated skin. The drop is two stories onto a sloping roof that leads to an alley. You’ve practiced this route too.
You swing out, fingers finding purchase on the ledge and let yourself fall. The landing jars your knees, but nothing breaks. You roll, come up running. Blood cools on your skin as you sprint over rooftops, leaping gaps, sliding down drainpipes. Half-dressed, barefoot, knife still clutched in one fist, hair wild and matted.
The Underground blurs past; lanterns, shouts, shadows. No one stops you. Down here, a blood-soaked girl running through the night is just another ghost. You reach your tiny apartment in the cemetery district as false dawn begins to seep through the high cracks far above. The door slams behind you. You slide the bolt, lean your back against the wood, and finally let your legs give out.
You sit there on the filthy floor, chest heaving, blood drying flaky on your skin. The knife clatters from your fingers. Grauwasser is dead, you finished the job and the citizenship is basically yours. You close your eyes, taste copper on your tongue and wait for the shaking to stop. Then you take a hot bath, scorching all the filth and blood from your skin.
This is it. Sweet freedom awaits. Or so you thought.
When you were born your mother left you in an alley to rot, at least that's what you've been told happened. A bunch of orphans, much like yourself, have found you crying and hungry for your mothers milk in a trash bin. This is the underground city for you; a place littered with dirt, death and bastards. This city, like the name suggests, has been built underneath the wall Sina in the old cave system that has been used for sewage reasons for decades. The original plan was that the elite of Sina had a safety bunker against the creatures, titans, roaming outside the three walls, yet they have never found appeal living in the underground. Instead it became a place for criminals, organized crime and human trafficking.
Charming, really, but it is everything you have ever known. The older orphans have provided you with food and care the best they could, raising you until your twelve birthday. They were family to you, teaching you all the things you needed to survive down here; stealing, fighting and manipulating your surroundings. The oldest was Jakob Mauer, a boy born by a prostitute who was beaten to death by a client. He was the one to name you, Nyx, after the goddess of the night from your favorite fairytale.
He had a little sister, Maia, who would always help you with altering stolen clothes to fit you. There were also the twins Alec and Peter, who had been around Maias age.
All of them have died or have gotten lost in the same year you turned twelve. Jakob was shot by a military police officer, you were present during his death, an imagine you won't be able to forget for the rest of your life. Maia was kidnapped by traffickers when she was sixteen, you haven't seen her since and believe she was sold as a slave to a rich family in Mitras. Peter died of an illness he has carried with him for months now and after his death his brother Alec seemingly vanished overnight.
You had to survive on your own from that day on, something that hasn't turned out to be far more dangerous than being in the protection of a group. How you survived to the age of twenty you don't really know, it has been harsh years in which you endured plenty of injuries, broken bones and nearly starved on more occasions than one. But you did make it to a point in your life where you got a job at the cemetery and were able to afford a small apartment of your own.
The job at the cemetery requires you to bury the dead, open up graves and dispose of the remains. They surprisingly pay you well, since the job is deeply unhygienic and dangerous. Body's transfer diseases, plus you never know what killed them in the end. When working with the remains of lost souls and sinners alike, you always dress from lead to toe, covering your face and hands with clothes. You bathe yourself in alcohol afterwards.
Burying the dead is not your only occupation though. During the night you go on little sprees through the city and steal whatever you need to survive. Food, clothes, hygiene products and occasionally money or objects you could pawn off to someone. The rest of the money you keep well hidden from the greedy hands of strangers, hoping it would some day be enough to buy yourself a citizenship for above ground some day.
Today was like any other day; you stood up at six and left for the cemetery at seven. You ate some blend tasting porridge and noted how you needed some more food or money to have something to eat tomorrow. At the cemetery you had two burials and opened up five graves with your colleague Felix, a middle aged man who constantly smelled of poor tobacco. After that you left for home, washed your clothes and drenched yourself in the ill smelling mixture of cheap vodka, water and soap.
After hiding and counting your money for the day you decided you had to go on a little stealing-spree again. You have taken notice of a rather large house in the northern side of the city. It's inhabitants appear to be a group of three; two men older than yourself and a girl. Words have it they are leading a criminal organization dealing with highly dubious missions. No human trafficking, but drugs and bounty hunting appears to be involved; whatever gives them a heavy sack of money at the end of the day.
While yes it's risky to steal from them, you know for certain that people like them could always get more gold fairly easily, so taking a little bit from them won't hurt much. You have dressed in your darkest clothes, suited yourself with a variety of weapons and made your way to the north at seven p.m. knowing well that they operate in the night and won't be at their headquarters for quite a while.
Like a sleek cat, you choose to run over the roofs, finding it saver than to travel through the busy streets below. Climbing, jumping and balancing are some of your skills you have been perfecting since childhood, something your late friends required from you. They have ordered you to steal for them on multiple occasions, teaching you the way through the shadows perfectly.
You know how to adapt to your surroundings and you damn well know how to enter or exit homes without anyone noticing. Usually you choose to steal from the people you buried, knowing they won't be in need of it anymore anyways. But tonight you decided to be a little more bold and needed something better than rotting bread, molding clothes and silver coins. You want vegetables and gold, and you sure as hell know that the group in the north district has what you need.
After an hour you finally make it to the center of said district. It's busy around their house and you have to choose a spot to hide a little too far away than you would like, but your safety is more necessary than to spy on them for a while. You recognize the people down there to be members of the group, led by the people you are targeting right now. From what you have found out their leader is called “Levi”. A man in his late twenties who has been famous for being raised by the mass murder Kenny the reaper. No one really knows what happened to him, one day he goes rampage and organizes a bloodbath in the streets and the other he's gone, leaving no trace behind.
“Man, tonight's gonna be great! I can tell.” A young man cheers, kicking a rock while leaning against the wall of the house whose roof you are currently occupying.
“For sure. I'm just hoping Isabell won't ruin it again. Fucking jinx.” Another one replies, cursing the only girl on their team.
“Yeah. It's really noble of Levi to take in strays, but come on, no need to give her ODM.” At that you stirr, eyes widening at the newfound information.
You have heard of criminals that stole a punch of ODM gears a while ago, but you haven't linked that incident to Levi's little gang at all.
“Shit.” You curse, knowing how dangerous a skilled user of an omni-directional mobility gear could be. The military police are already deadly with it, but someone like Levi could probably raise hell if he wanted to.
“You guys done with shit talking my desicions?” Another one intervenes the thugs conversation, a voice so deep it sends a shiver down your back.
“Sorry Levi, I never meant to-”
“I don't care shithead. You think I'm gonna put your sorry ass into ODM gear when you can't even balance on a fucking wall?” For a while it's quite, the man's voice filled with authority shushes down all his men instantly. There is no mistake this must be Levi. You can't see him from your position, but you damn well know it's him from the way he struck fear in the whole street.
“Tch. Thought so. Now come on, we are leaving.” Their leader decides, forcing them to gather away from your hiding spot and leave the house altogether, a blonde man locking the door of your target before he too follows after the group. And then you see it; silver metal hanging on his hips, peeking out from underneath his long cloak. This is it; this must be their stolen ODM gear. You need to consider this if you had to spontaneously run from them, it would certainly get a little more tricky to do so when they could fly through the freaking air and follow you. That way you wouldn't be safe neither on the streets nor the rooftops.
You wait another twenty minutes before you dare to break into their house. Picking on the lock of the front door would be too obvious, so you have chosen the backdoor on the ground floor. Breaking open that damn lock has taken you another fifteen minutes, which slowly starts to get on your nervous. You need to be quick in there, as you can't tell when Levi and the others would return.
Finally, with a satisfying click, the backdoor opens. You slip inside silently, shutting the door behind you and taking a deep breath to calm your racing heart. The house is quiet, the air carrying a faint scent of tea and something metallic. The interior is surprisingly clean for an underground gang, organized even. Not a single speck of dust lingers on the polished surfaces. It’s unsettling in a way, the kind of tidiness that screams control and discipline.
You shake off the unease and get to work, gliding from room to room with practiced efficiency. The first floor is devoid of anything useful, just a sparse kitchen and an immaculate sitting area. The drawers and cabinets are filled with the basics: utensils, some dishes, and a few supplies, but no money or valuables. Whoever lives here isn’t stupid enough to leave anything important lying around.
Moving cautiously, you ascend to the second floor. It’s darker here, the windows shuttered tight, and the faint creak of the wooden stairs makes you grit your teeth. There are three doors, and you start with the first one on the left.
Inside, you find what looks like a shared bedroom. Three cots line the walls, each with neatly folded blankets and a small trunk at the foot. Opening the trunks, you find only clothing, nothing of value. A couple of silver coins in one, but not enough to risk taking. You need something bigger, something worth the trouble. The last door opens easily, revealing a small, sparsely decorated room. This one feels more personal, with a single bed and a desk against the wall. You approach the desk, pulling open the drawers to find: nothing. Not even hidden storage compartments. Frustration bubbles up in your chest as you search the rest of the room, coming up empty-handed once again.
You’re about to give up when something catches your eye: a gleam of porcelain in the corner of the room. Tucked away on a low shelf is a delicate tea set, clearly out of place in this otherwise spartan environment. The design is intricate, with faded gold detailing and floral patterns that have been carefully preserved. It’s beautiful and old, most certainly of great value.
You crouch down to inspect it, running a finger over the smooth surface. This could be worth a decent amount of money, maybe even enough to last you a couple of weeks if you find the right buyer. It seems important, too: placed with care, as though it holds sentiment to someone. For a moment you hesitate. This is different from stealing a sack of bread or a pouch of coins. Someone clearly cherishes this. But desperation wins out, as it always does. You carefully wrap the pieces in a cloth you brought with you, securing them in your bag.
Just as you’re standing up, ready to leave, a sound outside makes your heart drop. Footsteps. Not distant ones, but close and its approaching the back door. Your chest tightens as you hear the unmistakable click of a key in the lock. They’re back.
Your breath catches in your throat as you hear the back door creak open. Panic surges through you, but you force yourself to stay calm. Years of living on the edge have taught you to think quickly in situations like this. Running out the front door is out of the question and they’ll see you in an instant. Instead, you glance around the room, scanning for a hiding spot. Your eyes land on the wardrobe in the corner. Without wasting another second, you dart across the room, your steps as silent as a shadow. You ease the door open, slip inside, and pull it shut just as the sound of boots echoes up the stairs.
The wardrobe is cramped, the smell of wood polish and faint lavender assaulting your senses. Your heart pounds against your ribs, so loud it feels like it could give you away. The tea set feels heavy in your bag, the fragile porcelain suddenly seeming more like a curse than a treasure. Through the narrow slats in the wardrobe door, you catch glimpses of movement as the intruders enter the room. Their voices are muffled, but you recognize one of them immediately.
“Tch. Whoever was messing with the back door didn’t cover their tracks well.” Levi mutters, his voice low and cold. “It’s probably some street rat looking for scraps.” Another voice chimes in. It has to be the blonde man who had locked the door earlier.
“Yeah, but they got inside-” Levi snaps. His tone is sharp enough to cut glass. “Even left filth all over the counter. Disgusting.”
You hold your breath, shrinking back into the wardrobe as their footsteps grow louder. The sound of drawers being yanked open and the rustle of fabric fills the room. They’re searching for you or for whatever you might have taken.
“Anything missing?” The blonde asks after a moment. “Not yet.” Levi replies shortly. His voice is quieter now, but no less dangerous. The tension in the room is suffocating, and you can feel sweat beginning to bead on your forehead. You clutch the tea set through the fabric of your bag, praying they won’t think to check the wardrobe. But your luck doesn’t hold.
“Check everywhere.” Levi orders. “Whoever broke in might still be here.” Your stomach twists into a knot as the sound of footsteps grows louder. You hear the scrape of furniture being moved, the rustle of bedding being checked. Then, the unmistakable creak of the wardrobe door being opened next to you.
You freeze, your heart stopping for a moment, as if your body believes it can make you invisible through sheer willpower. Levi’s sharp gray eyes meet yours through the narrow gap in the door. His expression is unreadable for a split second: shock maybe or disbelief, but it hardens almost instantly into a glare that makes your blood run cold.
“Found you.” In your panic you throw open the door and hit the dark haired man's face, making him jump back in surprise. You take the chance and duck underneath his outstretched arm, using the moment of surprise to your advantage as you make your way to the window. You are on the ground floor and have broken through glas before, you can do this.
“Shit- you little-” He curses, quickly grabbing you by the cloak that has been covering your head. Acting quickly you slip through the neck peace and make a run for it, leaving Levi with your now loose cloak fisted in his hand. He's fast, too fast to be considered human and before you know it, he is right after you and catching you by the arm. Without a second thought you pull your hidden knife from underneath your sleeve and quickly move it to meet his arm. He easily doges it, but at the same time has to let go on his hold, making it able for you to attempt your run a second time.
With the knife outstretched in your hand and a firm grip around it's handle, you break the window, shuddering it into hundreds of pieces. At the same time you use the moment of shock to jump out of it, not caring that you sliced your arm open on one remaining and sharp piece. Adrenaline keeps you from feeling the pain for now, making it also able for you to rush down the alley, back clutched against your front, fleeing the scene in panic.
But Levi has a certain advantage, something you might have forgotten in the panic and rush. It's not only that inhumane speed of his or that painful strength he inflicted onto your wrist. No, his advantage is that ODM gear, something not only his mates appear to have but also him too. It's not surprising, really, but the moment you see a pair of hooks hitting the walls to your right and left around three meters before you, you know that you are fucked.
His body collides with yours as he rams into you from behind in mid-air, his gear makes it possible for him to close the distance to you in just mere seconds. While you crash to the ground you try to secure your face with your arms, accidently letting go of your bag that holds the valuable porcelain in it. You hit the road with a devastating cry, the pain following soon after, as you feel your skin being ripped open on your cheeks, arms and knees. Barely registering what's happening you try to gasp for air, but the additional weight of the man on your back doesn't help, especially since the fall has pressed out all the air from your lungs.
“Got you, filthy rat.” The man cheers, slight aggression in his raspy voice, as he kicks your knife further away from your body and tackles you down into the dirt underneath you. “Breaking into my home is one thing and spreading your filth all around it is another.” He declares, leaning closer to you, as he grips your hair to move your head sideways in an attempt to reveal your face.
“But stealing from me? Breaking my damn window and making a run for it? Fuck, you must be pretty stupid if you thought you could get away with this.” The hint of a threat makes you whimper and instead of meeting his deadly furious eyes, you lock gaze with your back, noticing instantly that the shape of it has changed rapidly. “Fuck.” You breathe, having an idea what might have happened with the beautiful tea set in it.
“Looking pretty and cursing like vermin. Aren't you a charming one?” Levi compliments and insults you at the same time, holding you down while he grabs for the bag you lost in the rush.
“Let's see what you tried to-” The black haired man stops as he looks into the bag, frowning in confusion as he pulls a porcelain shard to the surface. You gulp as the expression on his face slowly shifts a couple of different emotions washing his face an ugly expression. His weight on your abdomen and lower chest seems to press you into the road even more and a silver gleam in his pupils is the last thing you see before his fists meet your cheekbone. To get an even better aim at your front he swiftly turns your body in his grasp, making you face him fully.
“You will pay for this.” He spats in a rush of aggression, his hand clutching the shard so hard his skin rips open, while his other one is in a fist; knuckles showing as he punches it into you numerous times. “You little bitch think you can get away with not only stealing but destroying my shit-” you barely listen to him anymore, the only thing you hear is the ring in your ears as his fists connect with the side of your head. You see stars, blood bursting from your nose down your lips, which colors your pale skin red. You taste the iron of blood.
“Levi!” A girl's voice screams, but the panic in her voice is not enough to stop him from beating you up.
“The MPs are coming, stop this!” His blonde companion is able to stir something inside Levi and for a moment he stops, looking from your nearly unrecognizable face to the sharp piece of porcelain that is still cutting through the flesh of his palm.
He softly, almost caringly places its edge underneath your collarbone, tracing its shape with the shard. A thin line of blood follows after, it's almost like he’s painting on your skin; thick red lines you barely register at this point.
“Hope this teaches you a lesson.” He speaks, stopping the shard right above your sternum, the screams of the military police in the distance not stopping him from leaning down to you and whisper: “You can keep this piece.” With that he rams the shard into your sternum bone, fracturing the top part with a cracking sound that leaves you breathless for a second. And before you know it he's gone, zipping through the air above you, closely followed by officers with their own gears. They ignore you, most people do.
You need another hour to stand up from the pavement and another one until you finally make it home. The shard still looks out from your flesh and you force yourself to operate it out yourself, screaming in agony as you splash the cheap potato vodka over it, cleaning it from any potential infections. Curses are the only thing leaving your mouth for a while but there is one thing that repeats in your head like a prayer:
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