Rating: E for explicit sex and violence. You know, all the good stuff. Don’t read if you’re a minor, etc. (I know that never stopped me when I was reading smutty fanfiction underage, but still.)
Summary: Levi and Mikasa kill for a living. Bickering like an old married couple isn’t part of the job, but they do that just as effectively as they take out their targets. She likes to taunt him about his long-standing vendetta against Zeke Yeager, telling him he’ll never dispatch his nemesis. She’s so confident, so supremely certain of this fact, that she bets him something very precious indeed.
Levi has claimed the head of Zeke Yeager, and now he intends to claim his prize from Mikasa.
Notes: My first entry into @rivamikaevents @smutchallenge! Life has been very busy so who knows what I’ll do next (or when), but I wanted to get this story out because I saw the trailer for Gunpowder Milkshake a few weeks ago and it got me all riled up about assassins who bone. (The assassins in the movie do not bone as far as I can tell, but I personally would like to bone at least two of the actors playing the bad guys. It’s hard out here for the terminally horny. Pun not intended.) Enjoy!
An irregular footfall echoes throughout the hallway of the assassin syndicate’s headquarters: the click of expensive leather shoes on tile, one foot dragging slightly behind the other. Mikasa looks up from the desk in her little office; no different than a high-end law firm or tech company with glass walls, a glass-topped desk with modern chairs, and a long, low sofa propped up against one wall. That is, save for the drawers and shelves of weapons built into the walls, firearms and blades hidden within the sleek, modern space, and a single disassembled pistol on her desk in the process of being cleaned and oiled. She looks up from her work as the unfamiliar cadence of taps and shuffles grows louder, closer. Her body, a highly specialized weapon in itself, tenses and readies for the possibility of a fight. Adrenaline flows through her body, jolting her nerves to life. Judging by the echoes of the intruder’s steps, she figures she has thirty seconds tops before they’ll be able to spot her through the plate glass window of her office, but pulling up the closed circuit feed on her computer and getting a look at them on camera only takes ten.
“Ugh, Levi,” she groans when he limps into view on her monitor. She curls her lip and closes the feed, then turns back to cleaning the pieces of her sidearm. She can’t seem to shake this strange little man, the human equivalent of a nagging cough or a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoe. The other assassins in their organization are friendly but tend to keep a professional distance; her interactions with them don’t feel as deeply personal as they do with Levi. He has a talent for getting under her skin and staying there, persistent and obnoxious, an itch she wants to scratch to shreds beneath her fingernails.
If only their verbal sparring sessions weren’t so damned fun.
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