velouria17

[velouria17]

ᴛʜᴇ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴜꜱ

Levi Ackerman x Fem!reader wc: 3k warnings: Explicit Content (18+), Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Divorce, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Mentions of Past Trauma, Graphic Smut, Brief Violence (verbal confrontation), Intense Emotional Conflict. an: Thanks to @alebrasil0101 for requesting this fic!!

The problem with silence was that it didn’t scream. It whispered. It rotted slowly in the corners of rooms you used to love in. It crept into the bed you once shared, curled up beside him like it belonged there.

And Levi Ackerman?

He still slept on his side of the bed. Years after the divorce. Years after he stood in the hallway, watching you leave with the kind of quiet that should’ve broken a man. It didn’t — not then. Not immediately. Levi didn’t break clean. He cracked like glass left in freezing rain.

He thought you’d come back.

Maybe it would just take a few days. A week. A month, if you were really angry.

But you didn’t.

And now it’s been four years and six months, and the ring he never had the courage to throw away still sits in the second drawer of his desk. It’s beside a photo of you from your wedding — hair windblown, eyes radiant, mouth open in mid-laugh.

He hasn’t looked at it in months.

But tonight?

Tonight, he does.

Because tonight, fate drags him to a rooftop charity gala he had no business attending — and drops you into his lap like the punchline to a cruel, long-running joke.

The first thing he sees is your dress.

Black. Satin. Effortless. The way it clings to your body makes his throat tighten — not just with lust, but with the unbearable weight of nostalgia. You used to wear dresses like that for him.

The second thing he sees is the man.

Tall. Well-groomed. Laughing too easily.

You’re standing next to him — eyes sparkling, a hand on his forearm, your head tipped toward his shoulder — and Levi can’t fucking breathe. For a moment, the noise around him dims. The rooftop lights, the low strings of the quartet, the clink of glasses — it’s all distant. Insignificant.

Because you’re here.

And you look… happy.

But your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

He knows that smile. He married that smile. He ruined that smile.

And when your gaze flickers across the room and lands on him — just a heartbeat’s glance — the air thickens like storm clouds rolling in.

You freeze. He swallows hard.

And suddenly, the space between you feels like the battlefield it’s always been.

“Levi.” Your voice is soft — careful — like touching an old bruise.

He stares. His eyes don’t leave your face. He doesn’t say your name yet. Doesn’t trust himself to. It might sound like begging.

You’re older. Beautiful in a quieter way now. The kind of beautiful that comes from surviving grief, from learning how to live with scar tissue.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you add.

He grunts. “Didn’t expect to stay this long.”

You give a breathy laugh. Nervous. Your eyes flick to the man beside you, now deep in conversation across the bar. “That’s Ren. We work together. He’s…” You pause. “He’s good company.”

Not your partner. Not your boyfriend. Just good company.

Levi clenches his jaw. It doesn’t help.

You nod toward the balcony. “Can we talk?”

He doesn’t answer. Just walks.

You follow.

The air is cool outside. Not cold enough to bite, just sharp enough to feel like truth.

You stand beside him, arms folded over your chest. The city glows below, golden and aching. For a long moment, neither of you speak. The silence between you is older now. Less angry. But not kinder.

“I used to wonder,” you begin, voice barely louder than the wind, “how long it would take for you to forget me.”

Levi turns his head, slowly. “I never did.”

You smile — bitter, brittle. “You did a damn good impression.”

His voice is low. Tired. “I didn’t know how to hold you without breaking you.”

“You didn’t even try.”

That one lands. Hard.

He looks away.

You continue, not out of cruelty, but because it’s the only thing you’ve kept in your chest all this time that still burns. “I didn’t need perfection. I needed presence. I needed you to say something when I was drowning in the silence you left me in.”

“I thought…” he murmurs, “if I stayed quiet, it would keep me from ruining it more.”

“You ruined it by saying nothing.”

Another silence. This one thicker. But behind it — a pulse. A heartbeat.

“You still wear your ring,” you whisper.

Levi stiffens. Looks down.

He hadn’t realized he still wore it tonight. He never does in public. But he did tonight. Maybe some part of him knew. Maybe he never stopped waiting.

“I couldn’t get rid of it,” he admits. “Because if I did, it would mean you were really gone.”

You look at him then. Like really look at him.

And he’s not the same man you left.

He looks older. More tired. But softer somehow, too — like losing you peeled away all the layers he’d hidden behind. His armor doesn’t shine anymore. It rusts. It bleeds.

But his eyes still hold yours like a promise he never knew how to keep.

“Do you still love me?” you ask, not expecting an answer.

But he gives you one anyway.

“I never stopped.”

It happens slowly.

You brush his hand. He grips it like it’s air. Like he’s been suffocating for years and your skin is the only thing that might save him.

The first kiss is hesitant. Gentle. It tastes like grief.

But the second?

The second is years of unresolved want, shame, guilt, desire — all tangled together. It’s teeth. Tongue. The way his hands frame your face like you’re sacred. Like he’s begging the universe to let this moment last.

The moment the door shut behind you, Levi’s hands were on you—rough, desperate, shaking with years of pent-up longing. His mouth crashed into yours, all tongue and teeth and breathless groans, like he was trying to drink you in, to taste every second he'd wasted apart from you. You barely had time to gasp before he backed you into the nearest wall, lifting you effortlessly by your thighs. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heat pressed against heat, and he groaned low in his throat when he felt how soaked you already were through your panties.

“Fuck—been thinking about this since the second you walked away,” he muttered against your lips, dragging his hips into you slowly, teasing the ache between your legs. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you again.”

His mouth moved lower, biting down along your neck, sucking bruises you’d feel for days. Your fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, desperate to feel more. When he dropped you on the bed, you barely bounced before he was pulling your dress off, dragging it over your head, tossing it aside without looking.

His eyes darkened at the sight of you—chest rising and falling, nipples hard, thighs already trembling. He cursed softly, reverently, as his fingers hooked under your panties and pulled them down agonizingly slow, watching as the fabric clung to your slick folds.

“Look at this mess,” he growled. “You’re already dripping. All this for me?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He dropped to his knees and dragged you to the edge of the bed, spreading your legs apart before he buried his face in your cunt.

Your moan shattered in your throat.

He licked a slow, deliberate stripe through your folds, groaning when he tasted you. Then he sucked your clit into his mouth, tonguing it in fast, messy circles that had your hands flying to his hair, gripping tight.

“L–Levi—fuck—” you gasped, hips bucking up against his mouth.

He slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, stroking that spot that made your vision blur. His tongue didn’t let up, his fingers pumping faster, wetter, deeper—until your thighs clenched around his head and your orgasm crashed into you like a tidal wave. You screamed his name, back arching off the bed, every nerve ending on fire as you pulsed around him.

He didn’t stop.

He licked you through it, soft and teasing now, making you twitch from oversensitivity before pulling back with his lips wet and his pupils blown wide.

“Still with me?” he rasped, voice like gravel, already undoing his belt. “Because I’m not fucking done with you.”

You barely had time to nod before he was stripping off his pants, cock springing free—hard, thick, already leaking. He pumped himself slowly, watching you squirm.

“You want it?” he asked darkly. “Say it.”

“I want you,” you breathed, voice wrecked. “I want you to fuck me.”

He growled—pure, animal sound—and climbed over you, lining himself up at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you around his cock until you were full to the hilt, gasping, nails digging into his back.

“Shit,” he hissed. “Still so fucking tight.”

He started to move—deep, punishing strokes that made you cry out, that filled you so perfectly it felt like your body had been made for his. Each thrust was harder, deeper, and you took it all, moaning his name like a chant, your hips rising to meet him.

His hand slid down between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing fast, tight circles until your body tensed and you came undone for the second time—loud and messy, clenching so hard around him he nearly lost it.

“Gonna come inside you,” he panted, fucking you through your orgasm. “Gonna fill you up. You want that?”

“Yes—yes, Levi, please—”

With a guttural groan, he thrust one final time and came deep inside you, hips jerking, cock twitching as he spilled everything into you. He stayed there, buried in you, panting against your neck, both of you shaking and soaked and wrecked.

And still, neither of you let go.

Afterward, he doesn’t leave.

You lie tangled in sheets, your head on his chest. His fingers stroke your back, like maybe if he touches you enough, it’ll rewrite the past.

“Do we try again?” you whisper.

“I never stopped,” he answers. “But this time… I won’t disappear.”

You pause. “Not even when it’s hard?”

He lifts your chin. Kisses you softly. Reverently. “Especially then.”

And for the first time in years — the silence doesn’t ache.

It rests.

It finally lets go.

___

You were late.

Not by much—fifteen minutes at most—but it was long enough to make Levi’s nerves coil tighter with each tick of the clock. He sat at the café table, one hand wrapped too tightly around his espresso, the other curled into a fist in his lap. You were supposed to meet him after your meeting downtown. A simple lunch. Something normal. Something new.

He wasn’t the same man you left. But that didn’t mean the man you left had disappeared entirely.

The door chimed.

Levi looked up—hopeful, already softening—and then his stomach twisted.

You walked in, laughing.

And beside you—him.

Ren.

The man from the gala. The one who stood a little too close. Who knew your favorite wine and which shoulder to lean in on when the room got loud. The one who had once touched your lower back like he’d earned it.

He hadn’t.

Not then. Not now. Not ever.

But today?

Today, Elias had his hand on your lower back again.

And Levi saw red.

You hadn’t noticed him yet. You were smiling—eyes bright, head tipped back as Ren said something charming in that effortlessly smug way that made Levi want to drive his fist into his perfect fucking jaw.

The espresso cup shattered.

He hadn’t even realized he’d crushed it.

You finally turned—and froze.

Your expression shifted in slow-motion: warmth, recognition, and then guilt. You stepped away from Ren, lips parting, but Levi was already rising to his feet. His chair scraped violently against the floor.

“Levi—” you began.

He didn’t answer you. His eyes never left Ren.

“You followed her here?” he asked, low and lethal.

Ren blinked, taken aback. “I—what?”

“You dropped her off at the gala. I remember your face,” Levi said, taking a step forward. His voice was calm. Too calm. “Didn’t think I’d need to remember your hands.”

Ren looked at you. “You didn’t mention—”

“She doesn’t have to mention shit,” Levi growled, now a breath away. “What she doesn’t need is some half-interest prick hovering around her like a stray dog hoping for scraps.”

You stepped between them, palm pressed to Levi’s chest—but he was shaking. Fury laced through every muscle. “Levi—stop.”

He looked at you now, and the betrayal in his eyes made your stomach twist.

“You let him touch you again?” he asked, voice low and raw.

“Levi—he’s a coworker. He just walked me here.”

“Did he walk you into your apartment too? Did he hold your fucking hand the whole way?” His voice cracked at the edges now, wild with something deeper than rage. “You were mine last night. Mine.”

Ren bristled. “She’s not an object.”

Levi turned his head slowly.

“You’re right,” he said. “She’s not. But you don’t get to pretend you know her. You don’t know the sound she makes when she’s too wrecked to speak. You don’t know what she looks like when she’s trying not to cry, or how she tugs her sleeve when she’s nervous, or that she never sets her phone down screen-up because she’s always afraid of bad news.”

He stepped closer—shoulder-to-shoulder now—and his voice dropped to something intimate and vicious.

“You don’t know that she loves basil on everything. That she says ‘I’m fine’ when she’s not. That she has a tiny scar on her hip from when she fell at age ten. I do. I know it all. I lived in it. I burned for it. I broke it.”

He looked over Ren’s shoulder. “And I came back for it.”

Ren took a cautious step back, clearly reading the message: walk away or be walked over.

He turned to you, offering a weak smile. “I’ll see you at the office.”

Levi didn’t speak again until Ren was gone.

Then he turned to you—like a man unraveling, like something inside him had cracked too loud to ignore.

“I can’t—” he began, jaw tight. “I can’t pretend I’m okay watching other men touch you. I know I don’t have the right. But it still feels like I’m bleeding from the inside out every time it happens.”

You stared at him, breath caught, you never expected that Levi could say something like this, for you.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Terrified you’ll wake up and realize I’m still that man who didn’t fight hard enough. That you’ll look at someone else the way you used to look at me.”

Your heart broke a little.

“Levi,” you whispered. “You fought just now.”

His eyes flicked up.

“And that—this—is exactly what I needed four years ago,” you said, stepping closer, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Not silence. Not distance. Just you."

He exhaled sharply. Pulled you in with a force that said mine without saying a word.

And when he kissed you again, it wasn’t just claiming.

It was chaos. Fire. A man starved for the one thing he thought he lost forever.

And this time—he wasn’t letting go.

©ackermanrage - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

[velouria17]

yes (╯◕_◕)╯

[velouria17]

I suppose Im not the only one who want to see this badly.

But nobody drew it.

You are welcome.

[velouria17]

❤️❤️❤️

[velouria17]

…𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧…?

“I know,” you whispered. “I know you would never hurt me.”

description: it was a simple job, until Levi turned a simple mission into a mix of truths, frustration, and something neither of you could ignore any longer—or the first step in your relationship.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: angst? smut

warning: explicit smut (+18), p in v, fingering (f! receiving), it's soft—the smut at least.

notes: my first time writing smut, years of reading it have brought us to this moment (though can I really say it's my first smut if I rewrote this four times?). I'm sorry this took so long lmaoooo between chronic pain flaire ups and writer's block, this took way longer than intended.

word count: 10.2 k (damn)

extra: moodboard | playlist | ☆:**:. 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐞 .:**:.☆ 

Feel free to #𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 (◕‿◕✿) *:･ﾟ✧ if you have any scenarios in mind! I might not write everything but I’ll respond to everyone.

series masterlist: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭

The plan wasn’t ideal, but it was the best option they had. A rival gang had information they desperately needed, and you were the best shot at getting it.

"Blend in, get close, and get what we need," Levi had said earlier that night, his tone clipped as he handed you the specifics. "Don’t screw this up."

You’d nodded, keeping your usual quips to yourself. There was no point in arguing when the plan made sense—on paper, at least. Furlan wasn’t involved, off handling another lead, and Levi wasn’t exactly the kind of person who could charm his way into anything but a fistfight. That left you.

Again.

Still, as you smoothed the edges of your outfit in the cracked mirror of the safehouse, you couldn’t help but notice Levi’s glare burning into your back. “You’re going out like that?” he’d muttered under his breath.

You turned slightly, catching Levi’s reflection in the cracked mirror as his eyes flicked over your outfit. The dress clung to you, the black fabric sleek and tight, stopping just above your  upper thighs. Thin straps crossed your shoulders, leaving your arms bare, and the neckline dipped low enough to invite attention. It wasn’t subtle, and that was the point.

His gaze hardened, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t need to say anything else for you to know exactly what he thought.

“It’s what works,” you said, smoothing the hem of the dress, avoiding his glare. You weren’t about to defend a choice you barely wanted to make in the first place. The dress wasn’t for you—it was for them. The men you needed to draw in, the ones who thought themselves smarter than anyone else in the room.

Levi’s jaw clenched hard enough that you could see the muscle twitch from across the room. His eyes didn’t meet yours this time—instead, they dropped, skimming the length of your body again like he was trying not to look but couldn’t help himself. When he finally tore his gaze away, he turned his head sharply to the side and crossed his arms over his chest, fingers digging into his sleeves.

“It’s called blending in, Levi,” you said lightly, grabbing your coat off the chair. Your voice was breezy, but there was a tightness in your chest you didn’t quite know what to name. “It’s not like we’re not going to church.”

He hadn’t responded, didn’t even move—but the sharp set of his shoulders said enough. So did the way his eyes lingered on the floor for a beat too long, like if he looked up again, he wouldn’t have been able to keep his mouth shut. Like he hated this plan. Hated them.

Hated the idea of you walking into that place looking like this—alone.

And maybe he hated himself most of all, because he couldn’t stop it.

Couldn’t say what he really wanted to.

So instead, he turned on his heel and stalked toward the door.

You followed in silence, your heels clicking softly against the old floorboards. Neither of you said another word, but the tension between the two of you spoke volumes as you left for the bar.

The bar was the same as last time, and so was the man who spotted the moment you entered.

Klaus was already at the counter, that same self-satisfied smirk pulling at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. His gaze swept over you, slow and assessing, taking in every detail like you were his to study, his to take.

“Well, well, well” Klaus drawled, his voice cutting through the thick, smoke-filled air. “Back so soon, sweetheart? Don’t tell me you’ve been missin’ me.”

You forced a smirk, stepping toward him, though every instinct told you to keep your distance. “You left quite an impression,” you replied smoothly, fingers grazing the rim of an empty glass on the bar. You needed something—anything—to keep your hands occupied. “But I’m not here for nostalgia.”

Klaus tilted his head, grin widening. “No? Then what’s the occasion? Don’t tell me you wanted t’have another talk already?”

You stopped just short of his table, shifting slightly under the dim glow of the lamplight. His eyes flicked down, lingering on the fabric of your dress, and you had to fight the urge to step back.

“Something like that,” you said, keeping your voice light. “I need details about Müller's gang supply routes—who’s running them, where they lead, how heavily they’re guarded.”

His amusement darkened. “You’re diving into dangerous waters, darlin’. Those routes aren’t just valuable—they’re a lifeline. People kill over them.”

You met his gaze head-on, feigning confidence you didn’t quite feel. “And here I thought you liked living on the edge.”

Klaus chuckled, low and rough, his fingers tapping lazily against the wood. “Oh, I do,” he admitted. “But favors like this don’t come cheap.”

Your stomach knotted. You already knew what was coming. “What do you want?”

His smirk sharpened. “You owe me, remember?” He leaned forward, voice dropping just enough to make the words feel more intimate than they should have. “I’m callin’ it in.”

You lifted an eyebrow, feigning boredom. “What?”

“A kiss,” Klaus murmured, his smirk deepening as his eyes traced your lips. “Right here, right now.”

Your stomach twisted.

You’d expected this. It was nothing new. A price you’d seen other people pay before—one you were sure you knew how to handle. But somehow, this time, it felt different. It felt heavier.

Maybe because it was Klaus. Maybe because Levi was here. Maybe because you could feel his stare from across the room, and that alone made your skin prickle.

Or maybe because you hated the way your skin crawled at the thought of it. Even for such a low price—you were lucky, really.

You swallowed the unease, forcing a playful laugh, tilting your head like this was all part of some grand performance. “That’s it? A kiss?”

Klaus shrugged, smug. “What can I say? I’m a man of simple pleasures.”

Movement near the bar’s entrance caught your attention—Levi.

His posture was rigid, his arms crossed so tightly over his chest that it looked painful. He wasn’t just glaring—he was burning. His entire body was wound tight, but his expression was unreadable, too carefully blank. And yet, somehow, that made it worse.

Klaus followed your gaze, his smirk widening, dripping with amusement. “Unless, of course, your watchdog over there has a problem with it.”

You clenched your jaw. “Levi doesn’t control me.”

The words came out even, practiced—but the second they left your mouth, something in your chest ached.

Klaus hummed, tilting his head. “Good girl.”

A chill crawled down your spine, but you didn’t react. 

You couldn’t. 

Instead, you took a slow step forward, keeping your body language effortless, knowing Klaus was watching for any sign of hesitation.

You swallowed down the revulsion curling in your throat and stepped forward.

Your hand rested lightly on his shoulder, your body angling just right. This wasn’t real. 

It didn’t mean anything.

Warm breath ghosted over your lips, thick with whiskey and smoke.

Your fingers tensed.

Just get it over with.

You pressed your lips to his.                            

The second they met, your body stiffened. Klaus was warm, solid, tilting his head slightly to deepen it, fingers skimming over your hip as if he had every right. You didn’t let him pull you in, didn’t let yourself fall into the act more than necessary.

Still, the moment stretched unbearably long.

Too long.

Long enough to make your skin prickle. Long enough for your stomach to turn. Long enough for the air to feel wrong—like something was breaking.

You knew Levi was watching.

And for the first time tonight, you wished he wasn’t here at all.

Levi had been watching you from the moment you walked in.

Not because he wanted to—fuck no. He had better things to do than track your every move. He should’ve been focusing on the mission, on the people around them, on anything but the way you walked straight up to Klaus like you belonged at his side.

And yet, here he was.

His grip on the glass in his hand had tightened the second Klaus spoke. That smug, slow drawl slithered through the bar like it had weight, like it wrapped around people and held them there. 

You didn’t flinch at it, didn’t hesitate—but Levi knew you well enough to see the flicker of tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers played with an empty glass on the bar.

A tell.

Klaus leaned back, watching you, taking his time with it, and Levi felt something sour burn at the back of his throat.

He’s fucking enjoying this.

Levi had seen enough men like him to know exactly what Klaus was doing—dangling his attention like a prize, watching you react, seeing just how much control he could take without her even realizing it.

Levi wanted to put a knife through his fucking hand.

The scene reminded him of his mother. Some blurry memory he tried so fucking hard to forget—men going in and out of her room, hands grabbing at her, pulling, taking, as if she were nothing but something to be used, something that belonged to them. He could still hear their voices, too loud, too cruel, too fucking entitled, the way they’d laugh, slamming a few extra coins onto the table, acting like it made a difference.

It didn’t.

It never did.

His mother had always smiled through it, gentle, tired, pretending it didn’t hurt. But Levi had seen the truth—in the way she winced when she thought he wasn’t looking, in the way her hands trembled when she counted what little money she had left. He’d seen the exhaustion, the quiet resignation in her eyes, like she knew she had no choice but to endure.

And now—now—he was watching you. His chest fucking ached. Because it was the same. It was the exact fucking same. The way Klaus touched you like he had every right. The way you smiled like it didn’t bother you, like it didn’t make your skin crawl. Like you were forcing yourself to pretend it was fine.

It wasn’t.

It never was.

And Levi couldn’t fucking stand it.

Instead, he forced himself to stay put, body locked up tighter than a coiled spring. Because this wasn’t his fight. This was her mission. She didn’t need him hovering, stepping in, ripping Klaus apart just because Levi couldn’t stomach the way his gaze lingered.

Then Klaus leaned forward.

Levi’s fingers twitched. His jaw clenched.

But it wasn’t until he heard it that something in him really cracked.

"A kiss," Klaus murmured, voice dipped low, casual, as if it was nothing.

Levi’s breath stilled. He almost thought he’d misheard.

Then she spoke. Didn’t refuse. Didn’t step back.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

The only thing that registered was her voice, light and teasing like this was all part of some fucking game.

"That’s it? A kiss?"

Levi’s chest tightened, something sharp twisting inside his ribs.

It was wrong.

The whole thing. The way Klaus was looking at her. The way she was playing along. The way she stepped forward—fuck, don’t do that—his nails dug into his palm, his grip around the glass so tight it felt like his fingers might snap.

And then it happened.

She kissed him.

Kissed him. 

Levi didn’t breathe. He couldn’t. Everything inside him went silent.

Klaus was touching her. Holding her waist like he had every right. His fingers skimmed lower, pressing into her.

Pressing her onto him. 

Levi’s stomach turned. Klaus' hands weren’t just resting against her waist anymore—they were moving.

Sliding down.

Gripping her hip.

Pulling her closer.

Levi saw the exact moment she tensed.

Saw the way her shoulders stiffened. Saw the way her fingers curled, not into Klaus, but into herself, like she was willing her body not to react.

But Klaus didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

His grip tightened, palm spanning her lower back, pressing her against his thigh. The world shrank down to that moment—to them.

Something cold and ugly surged up from the pit of Levi’s stomach. A rush of heat. An ache that clawed at his throat, at his lungs. His pulse hammered against his skull, pounding, pounding, pounding—

No.

The glass in his hand shattered. The sound cut through the bar like a gunshot.

Levi barely noticed the sting of broken shards digging into his palm, barely registered the sharp pain as blood welled against his skin.

His chair scraped against the floor as he stood. He didn’t look back. Didn’t stop to see if she’d noticed.

He turned and walked out, each step carrying him further from the scene he never should have watched in the first place.

You exhaled slowly, feeling the moment stretch too long, suffocating in the heavy silence that followed. Klaus had yet to move, his grip still loose around your waist, fingertips pressing idly into the fabric of your dress like he was memorizing the shape of you.

Your skin crawled.

The taste of whiskey still clung to your lips, acrid and bitter, mixing with the weight of something worse. You had done what was necessary—had kept it light, teasing, playful—but it had gone too far. You knew it. Levi knew it.

And Klaus?

Klaus was fucking basking in it.

A slow, satisfied chuckle rumbled from his chest as he leaned back at last, finally letting go. His fingers dragged down your waist before falling away entirely, leaving a phantom sensation behind that made you resist the urge to wipe it off.

“You’re tense, sweetheart,” he murmured, his smirk widening as he studied you. “Didn’t expect you to be shy.”

You forced your lips into something resembling a smirk, ignoring the way your breath still felt unsteady.

Klaus just laughed, tipping his chair back slightly, relaxed—like he had already won.

“Can’t say I blame him,” he said, shaking his head as his gaze flicked toward the door Levi had stormed out of. The words were lazy, almost amused. “Your guard dog, I mean.”

Your fingers tightened around the slip of paper still in your palm.

Don’t take the bait.

Klaus turned back to you, clearly enjoying himself, voice dropping to a mocking hum.

“He didn’t like that one bit.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your drink just for something to do. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Klaus echoed, his smirk deepening. “Darlin’, the man looked like he was about to rip my throat out.” He exhaled a low laugh, shaking his head. 

You took a sip, ignoring the way your stomach twisted. The alcohol burned down your throat, sharp and hot, but not nearly enough to drown out the weight of his words.

Klaus leaned forward again, voice dropping just enough to feel intimate. Deliberate.

“Tell me something,” he murmured. “Did you do that for me?” His fingers ghosted over the rim of his glass, slow and easy. Like he already knew the answer.

Your jaw clenched.

Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just guessing. Maybe this was just another game to him.

And maybe—just maybe—you hated that it felt like a game to you, too. If only a little bit.

You took a steady breath before placing your glass down and meeting his gaze, your expression unreadable. “I did what I had to.”

Klaus hummed, watching you carefully, like he was waiting for something.

But you didn’t give him anything.

Eventually, he grinned again, stretching back in his chair. “Shame. I was starting to think we had a moment.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh—flat, tired.

“We didn’t.”

Klaus grinned. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

You didn’t answer. You just stood.

The chair scraped slightly against the floor as you stepped back, tucking the slip of paper into your coat. You could still feel Klaus’ gaze trailing after you, but you didn’t turn around. 

Didn’t give him the satisfaction.

You walked out of the bar and into the night, where the cold air finally let you breathe.

Where you had a much bigger problem waiting for you.

The cold hit you first. Sharp, biting.

The moment you stepped out of the bar, the weight of the night settled over you. The street was emptier now, the voices and laughter from inside muffled by the thick wooden door swinging shut behind you. The taste of whiskey and smoke still clung to your lips, but worse than that—you could still feel Klaus' hands on you.

You exhaled hard, trying to shake it off. 

Just keep walking.

But then—you saw him.

Levi.

You weren’t surprised to find him waiting.

He was standing just outside the bar, barely visible in the shadows of the alleyway.

His posture was stiff, arms crossed over his chest, his head tilted slightly downward. His expression unreadable, but the way his fingers curled into his sleeves—tight, controlled, barely contained—sent a ripple of unease through your chest.

Only then did you notice it—his right hand, wrapped hastily in a strip of white cloth, darkened with a faint smudge of red. A bandage. Rough and makeshift. Like he hadn’t even stopped to clean it properly.

Like he’d broken something.

And your stomach twisted, because you didn’t need to ask what. Or why.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then you swallowed, forcing yourself to walk toward him. “Levi—”

"Had fun in there?"

The words cut through the air like a blade. 

His voice was low, edged with something sharp, and just like that, the night cracked open.

You stopped mid-step, heart skipping, and immediately, you knew.

This wasn’t just anger. This was something worse.

Levi was furious. Seething. His voice was low, steady—but not in the way that meant he was calm. It was the kind of steady that barely held everything in.

You exhaled slowly, steadying yourself. “I got the information, didn’t I?”

Levi scoffed, shaking his head. He wasn’t looking at you—not really. His gaze flicked over you, sharp and deliberate, and you could feel it—the way his eyes dragged from your lips to your dress, to the spot on your waist where Klaus’ hands had been.

And that—that’s when it clicked.

Your chest tightened. “Levi.”

Nothing.

He wouldn’t even look at you now, but he just clenched and unclenched his jaw, like he was barely holding something back.

Then, voice quiet, but cutting deep—"That what you call it?" Levi tilted his head, tone deceptively light. “Because from where I was sitting, it looked more like you were selling yourself out.”

The words hit. Hard. Your breath stilled in your throat.

For a second—one awful, painful second—you just stared. Because he couldn’t have meant that. He couldn’t.

Except—he did.

Your fingers curled into fists. Heat surged up your spine.

"The fuck did you just say to me?"

Levi’s eyes snapped to yours. Sharp. Unyielding. “You heard me.”

And that—that was it.

A muscle in your jaw twitched. Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palm. You took a step forward, close enough to see the tension in his shoulders, the way his breath was just slightly uneven.

Close enough to see that he was furious.

But not just at you.

“Fuck you, Levi.” The words tore out, hot and livid. “You think I wanted that?”

Levi didn’t flinch. Didn’t back down. “Didn’t look like you hated it.”

Your stomach dropped. 

That was unfair.

Your breath came faster now, body hot despite the freezing air. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I wanted his hands on me.”

“Then you shouldn’t have let him.”

That was it. That was the moment you snapped.

“What the hell was I supposed to do, Levi?” You shoved at his shoulder—hard—pushing him back a step. “Start a fight? Jump one of the only informants we have a good rapport with? Get both of us fucking killed?"

Levi caught himself, stepping forward too fast, too close. His hands clenched like he wanted to grab you, shake you, make you understand something even he couldn’t fucking say.

"You didn’t have to kiss him," he bit out, voice raw.

And there it was. The real reason. Your heart pounded.

He wasn’t just mad about the mission. He wasn’t just mad about Klaus. He was mad because you kissed him.

Because you let it happen. Because you made it look easy.

You inhaled sharply, chest tight, your anger twisting into something else, something you didn’t want to name.

You tilted your chin, voice too steady. "Why do you care?"

Levi stilled.

You pushed forward. "Are you jealous?"

His jaw clenched.

"Levi," you pushed, stepping closer, your pulse thundering. “Is that what this is about?"

He still didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe. Just stared.

Like he was seeing something he didn’t know what to do with.

And then you took one more step. Just one.

Your own breath hitched, your hands trembling now for an entirely different reason. "If you’ve got something to say," you whispered, voice shaking, "then fucking say it."

Levi's fingers twitched.

Then—he snapped.

One second, there was space between you. 

The next—there wasn’t.

Levi grabbed you, dragging you into him.

His mouth crashed into yours—rough, desperate, teeth clashing, all frustration and heat and years of whatever this was finally breaking free.

Your back hit the cold brick wall as his hands dug into you, gripping, pulling, like he needed to hold onto something or he’d lose himself. 

You gasped against him, and he swallowed it whole.

It wasn’t soft.

Wasn’t careful.

It was anger. It was tension. It was jealousy and relief and resentment and every single fucking thing he’d refused to say. And you gave it back. Fingers twisting into his shirt, yanking him closer. 

Meeting him head-on.

Nails digging into the nape of his neck, pulling, pushing, devouring. All of it pouring out in the form of something raw and messy and unforgiving.

No space.

No hesitation.

No control.

His teeth scraped against your lip, and you gasped again, tilting your head, letting him take, take, take—and then—just as suddenly—Levi broke away.

Barely.

His breath was ragged, forehead resting against yours. Your own pulse hammered. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved. 

Just stood there, caught in the aftermath of whatever the hell that had just been.

Finally—Levi exhaled. 

Shaky. Uneven. Like he still hadn’t recovered.

Then—voice wrecked, hoarse, like he hated every second of this but still wasn’t letting go—“Fuck.”

Levi’s hands were still on you. Still gripping. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t stepped back—not really. His forehead was pressed against yours, breath coming fast and uneven, but his grip on your waist wasn’t loosening.

And neither was yours.

Your fingers were still tangled in his shirt, fisting the fabric tight like letting go would mean losing the last thread of whatever this was.

Your breathing synced—fast, shallow, like you were both still waiting for something to happen. Like this wasn’t over. Because it wasn’t. 

Not even close.

Levi was still so fucking close. Close enough that every time you inhaled, you breathed him in—sweat, smoke, something sharper underneath. His hands had shifted, sliding lower, fingertips pressing into your hips like he couldn’t stop himself, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

And maybe he didn’t.

Maybe neither of you realized what you were doing anymore. Because when you tilted your chin, he followed. When your lips parted—barely, just barely—his breath caught. And when you reached up, trailing your fingertips over his jaw, just to see if he’d stop you—he didn’t.

He surged forward.

Your back hit the wall again with a dull thud, but you barely felt it. Levi kissed you harder this time, messier, rough, and unrelenting—nothing slow, nothing measured.

It wasn’t enough.

Your arms looped around his neck, pulling, dragging him closer. More.

More, more, more, and more.

Levi groaned against your mouth, low and gravelly, his hands gripping your thighs tight, hoisting you up—fuck—until your legs wrapped around him.

And suddenly, you could feel all of him. The weight of him, the warmth, the heat, pressing, pressing—

He was making you see stars, without nothing actually happening. 

His hands were everywhere—splaying over your back, dragging down your waist, gripping your thigh, squeezing just enough to make your stomach flip. Your dress had ridden up, his calloused fingers brushing against bare skin, trailing higher, higher, his lips never leaving yours, never letting up, never—

“Levi,” you gasped against him, and his entire body shuddered.

His grip tightened—fuck, he wanted this.

Wanted you.

For so fucking long.

His lips skated down your jaw, your neck, nipping, sucking—and fuck, fuck, fuck—you felt lightheaded, like you were sinking into him, into all of it.

This was dangerous. It felt unstoppable.

And then—he stopped.

Just barely.

His breath was ragged, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as his hands tightened, fingers flexing like he was fighting himself. Like he wanted nothing more than to keep going.

But then, voice wrecked, hoarse, low enough that you barely caught it—

“We can’t—not here, not like this. This isn’t how I wanted it to happen.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine. 

Not because he was rejecting you. Not because he was pulling away.

But because he meant it.

Because Levi wanted you, just not in some dark alley, fueled by anger and jealousy and the weight of an almost-fight.

He wanted you. 

Not a mistake. Not a regret.

Your chest ached, throat tight, because—fuck, fuck—you hadn’t expected that. You hadn’t expected him to stop. To be the one with enough control to pull back even when you didn’t want him to.

Slowly—painfully slowly—he let you go.

Your legs unhooked from around him, feet touching the ground again, but his hands didn’t leave your waist.

Not yet.

His thumb brushed your skin, your lips—one last time.

Then, finally, he stepped back.

Levi’s jaw was tight, his breathing still uneven, his hands curling into fists at his sides like he had to physically restrain himself from reaching for you again.

Your pulse pounded. The weight of the moment stretched too long.

And then—he exhaled, shaking his head with a quiet, almost bitter chuckle.

And you just stood there. Breathless. Shaking.

And for the first time tonight—completely fucking speechless.

Levi still wasn’t moving.

Neither were you.

The air between you was too heavy, thick with something that had been simmering for far too long—something neither of you could ignore anymore.

His breath was still uneven, his jaw tight, his fists still clenched at his sides. But his eyes—those beautiful grey eyes that were so cold to everyone except the people he cared about. They were dark, burning, hungry.

Like stopping had taken everything out of him.

Like he wasn’t sure he could do it again.

The thought sent a sharp thrill through your spine.

Your heartbeat was still thundering, your skin still tingling with the ghost of his touch. Your body still ached for him, still wanted—Fuck.

You swallowed, licking your lips—and Levi’s gaze dropped to your mouth instantly. 

Something snapped.

Again.

Levi exhaled harshly, a frustrated sound deep in his chest, before grabbing your wrist. 

Firm. Decisive. Like he’d just made up his mind.

“Let’s go home.”

His voice was low, almost a growl, thick with everything he wasn’t saying. 

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a request. And you—you didn’t hesitate.

You let him pull you forward, your feet moving before your brain caught up.

The alley blurred around you as Levi led you down the quiet streets, fast, urgent—but never reckless.

His grip was tight, fingers curling around your wrist like he wasn’t letting go this time.

And you? 

You didn’t want him to.

The walk to the apartment was silent, but he never let go of your hand.

Neither of you spoke. There was nothing to say.

Everything was already there, thick in the air between you. Every step, every heartbeat, every slow drag of breath was too much—too loud, too heavy, too charged.

Your pulse still hadn’t settled.

Your skin still burned where he had touched you, where he had kissed you, where his fingers had gripped like he was trying to claim, punish, own, worship—all at once.

It wasn’t just anger anymore. It was something else.

The cold night air did nothing to cool the heat still simmering under your skin. If anything, it made it worse—the contrast of it, the way your body still felt him everywhere, still craved more.

And Levi? Levi was the same.

Tension still coiled tight in his shoulders, his jaw clenched, his breath just slightly off-rhythm. His steps were quick, impatient, like he was barely keeping himself in check—like something inside him was still cracking, still breaking, still fighting to be let out.

And yet—his hand was still in yours.

His thumb ghosted over your knuckles—once. Absentminded. Like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Like part of him needed to touch you. Your chest tightened.

The moment the apartment door shut behind you, everything changed.

Levi was on you in an instant. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

One second, there was space between you. The next—you were trapped against the door.

His hands—fuck, those hands—were on you, gripping, pulling, desperate. Like he’d been holding back for too long, like something inside him had finally snapped. His mouth found yours, and the kiss was nothing short of hungry. All teeth and heat and pent-up, unspoken everything.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, yanking him closer, drinking in the weight of him, the way he fit against you like this was where he was always meant to be.

Levi let out a low, frustrated sound against your lips—like it wasn’t enough, like it could never be enough.

One of his hands found your waist, the other threading into your hair, tilting your head just right, deepening the kiss until you were dizzy. His lips were still swollen from earlier, and you could feel the heat of them, the way he was so warm, so solid, so real.

“You have no idea,” Levi murmured, voice rough against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours for just a second, just enough for you to catch your breath, to see the way his eyes were blown wide, dark, needing.

Then, softer—almost like he was breathless with it, like he couldn’t believe he was finally saying it out loud—“…how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Because hearing it—actually hearing it—sent something sharp and overwhelming crashing through your chest.

Because you knew, you’d always known. But now, it was real.

Your fingers curled tighter into his shirt, your forehead still resting against his, and you could feel him—every shaky breath, every slight tremor in his grip, the heat radiating off him like he was burning up from the inside out.

A laugh—soft, breathless, barely there—escaped your lips.

“Levi.”

His name felt different now, like something sacred, like something you had no business holding in your mouth the way you did. You swallowed hard, voice lower now, unsteady, like the weight of the moment had finally caught up with you.

“You think you’re the only one?”

Levi inhaled sharply—just a quick, hitched breath, like your words had knocked the wind out of him. And then—then—you kissed him again. Slower this time. Softer. Like you were trying to say everything you hadn’t been able to before.

At first, it was still desperate. Levi was gripping at your waist like he was afraid to let go, and you were tugging him closer by the collar of his shirt, swallowing each other’s breaths.

But then—you both realized where this was going. And suddenly, it wasn’t just kissing anymore. 

Levi’s hands accidentally brushed lower, fingertips grazing along your thigh, and you shivered. You shifted against him, reaching for the buttons of his shirt—just testing, just seeing if you could—and the moment he felt it, he froze.

Like actually froze.

You both did.

His forehead bumped into yours slightly as you both stopped moving, and you pulled back, breathless, wide-eyed.

Oh.

Oh.

This was happening.

Levi swallowed. His hands were still on you, but now he looked unsure. Like the realization of where this was heading had just hit him like a brick wall.

Your mouth opened, but the words felt stuck in your throat. Then—awkwardly—"Do you—do you wanna—?"

Levi exhaled sharply. His ears were red. Really red.

"Yeah," he muttered. His voice was rough but quieter now. "Do you?"

You nodded, a little too fast. "Obviously, dumbass."

You were both very red. 

The confidence? shattered.

Levi swallowed again, and you could feel the hesitation in the way he kissed you next—still wanting, still needy, but now unsure. His hands hovered, like he wasn’t sure where to touch you. Like he was suddenly overthinking everything.

And truthfully? So were you.

Your hands had paused at the last button of his shirt, and for some reason, you couldn’t seem to unbutton it. Levi let out a frustrated breath. "If you’re gonna take my shirt off, you could at least do it properly."

His voice wasn’t as steady as usual.

You narrowed your eyes, still flustered, still burning, but not about to let that slide. "Maybe if you stopped moving, I would."

Levi glared. Or, well, tried to. But it wasn’t convincing because his face was burning. 

Then—fumbling. So much fumbling.

Neither of you really knew where to put your hands. Levi was trying so hard to pretend he wasn’t nervous, but it wasn’t working. And at some point, he bumped his forehead against yours while trying to lean back in, and it just—ruined the moment for a second.

"Ow—fuck."

You bit back a laugh. "You okay?"

Levi clenched his jaw. "Fine."

"... Should we start over?"

"... Yeah."

The confidence was gone. If there ever was any.

The kissing had been easy—desperate, hungry, all-consuming. You were both good at that part. But now—now—it was real.

Levi had stilled, his hands barely touching you now, like he’d suddenly become aware of where they were. His breathing was uneven, hot against your lips, and you could feel how tense he’d gone.

Your pulse hammered.

You weren’t exactly calm either.

Levi shifted slightly, clearing his throat. He was flustered, very flustered.

“Uh.”

Oh, God.

You could feel the way your stomach flipped, nerves curling up tight, and for the first time since this whole thing started, a thought actually managed to break through the heat of it all.

You swallowed hard. “Levi.”

He wouldn’t look at you. Just kept his eyes trained somewhere near your shoulder, his grip twitching slightly at your waist. His jaw was tight, clenched like he was trying really fucking hard to play it cool.

But he wasn’t fooling you.

Not with the way his fingers flexed like he wasn’t sure if he should let go or hold on tighter. 

Not with the way he hesitated before finally muttering—

“…I’ve never done this before.”

Oh.

The words sat between you, small and hushed.

Levi—Levi, who was always in control, who could take down anyone without breaking a sweat, who never let anything shake him—Levi, who was now visibly struggling to breathe.

Your heart stuttered.

You weren’t exactly surprised—you knew him, you knew his past, knew he’d never let himself be vulnerable with just anyone. But somehow, hearing him say it—hearing him admit it—sent something sharp and overwhelming through your chest.

You opened your mouth, trying to find the right words, but before you could—Levi’s eyes flicked up. Finally.

And then—something clicked.

His pupils were blown wide, lips still swollen, and he looked—fuck, he looked just like you felt. 

Nervous. Wanting.

It hit you all at once. 

He wasn’t the only one.

Your stomach flipped, and Levi, as always with anything that came to you, noticed. His brows pulled together slightly, lips parting just barely. “Wait.”

You swallowed.

Levi tilted his head, studying you now, and you could feel the exact second he pieced it together. “…You, too?” His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges, but not mocking.

You nodded—small, barely there.

The moment stretched long.

And then—Levi let out a breath.

Not frustrated this time. Not impatient. Just—relieved. Like it meant something that he wasn’t alone in this. Like he was glad.

The heat in your stomach curled tighter.

Levi exhaled again, slower this time, and then—you felt it.

His fingers. Moving. Brushing—careful, tentative, testing.

You barely had time to register the shift before his forehead dropped against yours again, breath shaky, and he laughed.

A real laugh. Soft, unsteady. The kind that slipped out before he could stop it, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Like something in him had unclenched. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t even confident—but it was honest. 

A little breathless, a little stunned. Like maybe, for the first time tonight, he didn’t feel like he was the only one fumbling through this in the dark.

“No wonder we’re fucking terrible at this.”

You let out a sharp breath—something between a laugh and a whimper, because fuck, he was right.

Years of teasing. Of tension. Of building up to this moment. And now?

You were both completely fucking clueless.

Your laugh mixed with his as you felt the weight of it all cracked open, releasing some of the tension, shifting it into something lighter. Something better.

You lifted your head, brushing your nose against his, heart pounding.

"Guess that means we’ll just have to figure it out together."

Levi inhaled sharply, like your words had knocked the wind out of him.

And then—he kissed you. Again. 

Slower this time. Softer.  

Like he was memorizing you. Like he had all the time in the world.

His hands travelled down your body, unsure, until they settled on your hips. You could still feel them tremble a little, even as one of them traced soothing circles on your skin. 

His hands stayed there for a moment—resting, grounding. The weight of them felt like a promise. 

Without a word, Levi leaned in, his nose brushing your temple before his arms slipped around you—sturdy, certain. You barely had time to catch your breath before he lifted you off the floor with a quiet ease, like it was second nature. Like carrying you came naturally to him. 

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your arms around his neck. And as he carried you through the apartment, past half-drawn curtains and flickering lamplights, you weren’t sure whose room you ended up in. His or yours didn’t matter anymore. Not when it was him. Not when it was this.

He laid you down with a care that made your chest ache, easing you onto the bed like you were something breakable. He followed soon after, bracing a forearm beside your head, the other hand finding your waist again—keeping most of his weight off you, but still close. Still hovering. The mattress dipped beneath him, warmth settling between you like gravity, like inevitability.

You could feel his breath, warm against your cheek. Could hear the faint hitch in it every time you touched him back, every time your fingers skimmed bare skin beneath fabric. He was trying not to rush, trying to be careful—but you could feel how badly he wanted. Just as badly as you did.

When you shifted, guiding his hand just slightly, Levi’s fingers tightened instinctively, and he let out a sound—low, caught somewhere between a curse and a groan—that made your knees go weak.

"Okay?" he asked, voice rough, barely there.

You nodded, breathless. "Yeah. You?"

His forehead dropped against your shoulder, a shaky exhale ghosting across your collarbone. “Fuck, yeah.”

There was a beat of silence. Not heavy—just charged.

Then his lips found your neck, soft and unsure, and your fingers gripped tighter at his shirt. It was messy, clumsy, full of false starts and nervous tension—but fuck, it was amazing, and everything you dreamt it would be. 

Every kiss, every touch, every breath was soaked in the weight of everything you hadn’t said, everything you’d wanted for so long.

He kissed down your shoulder slowly, reverently, like every inch of you was something he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch. Like he was waiting for you to stop him. Like this might still disappear.

But you didn’t.

You pulled him closer.

And it was that—you—that made him move. Made him press against you with more certainty, his hands finally steadying as they slid beneath the hem of your shirt.

He was so close that you could feel all of him. Warm and pulsing against your core in a way that made everything else grow hazy, even through the numerous layers of clothing. 

“Tell me if I do anything wrong,” he murmured, voice barely audible. “I’ll stop. I mean it.”

You cupped his jaw, tilted his face toward yours, and kissed him again—slow, unhurried, full of silent reassurance.

“You’re not doing anything wrong.”

He didn’t answer with words. Just touched you like you were something fragile, something holy, even as his pulse raced against yours. There was nothing practiced in it. Nothing smooth. Just the two of you, finding your way, one trembling step at a time.

And for the first time—you didn’t feel nervous anymore.

Even as his hands carefully dropped the straps of your dress lower and lower, revealing your breasts to the cold air. His lips followed along, wrapping themselves around your peaks as a soft sigh of his name escaped you. 

“Look at you,” he whispered in between pants “fuck—just look at you.” 

It made your head spin. 

Even more so when his fingers travelled down your body. Soft hands caressed your thighs even after they locked behind his back, bringing you two impossibly closer. 

There was nothing left to do but gasp when his hand met your clothed core. His eyes studied your face as he traced your folds over the thin fabric, smirking when you let out an involuntary whimper.

Slowly, his fingers dragged your panties down your legs to finally reveal your heat. 

Your skin felt like it was on fire, and the room spun. 

Every breath, every touch, every kiss was too much. 

He was too much. 

A strangled gasp lodged itself in your throat. You couldn’t do anything as one of his hands found a home between your thighs—and god, the way he was touching made you see stars. 

He groaned when he realised just how wet you were, how easily his fingers could explore this part of you. And it was all for him. Him, him, him. 

He kissed you once again as one of his fingers entered you, swallowing every moan and gasp that fell from your lips. 

And once his fingers curled, trying to find that undiscovered spot, he smiled. Even as you whined time and time again. 

Everything was about him. 

How he touched you, how he looked at you, the way he made you feel. 

There was no going back after he added another finger.

It’s as if his touch opened up a damn allowing you to reach levels of pleasure previously unknown. And those feelings grew as his movements sped up, threatening to swallow you whole with one big wave of ecstasy. 

The only coherent word getting past your lips was his name, over and over again. 

"Levi…" Again. "Levi."

A quiet chant—barely more than a breath—as your fingers dug into his back, like his name was a prayer you’d been waiting your whole life to speak out loud.

“I’m here.” His voice barely carries the words, but the feel of his lips against your throat, trembling as he whispered, speaks louder—“I’ve got you, please let go for me.”

And you do. Your body squirming as your mind goes blank. 

It’s very overwhelming—you’re panting and shaking, and there's some slick falling from your opening as Levi takes out his fingers from your heat. But my god, is it exhilarating watching him put those same fingers in his mouth—moaning once he finally gets a taste of you. 

His gaze is hypnotizing as it’s trained on you, waiting for your reaction. For you to finally come back to him. 

You slowly blinked as you came to. You could feel one of his hands holding your face, grounding you, steady. His thumb brushed gently over your flushed cheek—back and forth, back and forth—like he couldn’t stop touching you, like he needed to know you were okay.

When your eyes finally met, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You alright?”

Low. Rough around the edges. But there was no mistaking the care threaded through it.

You swallowed thickly, your throat still dry, your body still humming from everything he’d just given you.

“I’m fine,” you breathed, your voice barely steady. Your hand found his wrist where it cradled your cheek, holding it there, grounding yourself in him.

You blinked up at him, heart pounding. “I’m good, Levi. I’m—” you exhaled, a laugh almost slipping free, breathless and raw.

“Please don’t stop.”

And when you said it—when you asked, not because you needed more, but because you needed him—Levi’s whole body tensed. His hand stayed where it was, cradling you like something precious, but his eyes darkened with something heavier. Something deeper.

And then, with a voice even softer than before, he murmured, “I’m not going anywhere,” before kissing you with newfound force.  

You were kissing him like you couldn’t get close enough—and maybe you couldn’t. Your fingers moved on instinct—slipping beneath the hem of his shirt, greedy for skin, for warmth. Your touch was light, yet Levi still shivered at the contact, his breath catching against your mouth like the feel of you there unraveled something in him.

You didn’t stop, you couldn’t. 

Your palms skimmed upward, tracing the hard lines of his stomach, over the rise and fall of his ribs, feeling every inhale, every tremble.

Levi groaned softly—low in his throat, like he was trying to hold it back and failing. His body stilled just enough for you to keep going, to gather the fabric in your hands and begin to lift.

That’s when his eyes opened. Dark. Fixed on yours. Like he needed to memorize every second of this.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to.

He raised his arms for you, slow and wordless, letting you peel the shirt up and over his head. The fabric caught for a second at his shoulders before you tugged it free completely, letting it fall to the floor behind him.

And then you just stared at him.

At bare skin and hard-earned muscle and every scar that proved he was still here. His chest was rising fast, flushed and warm, and he looked at you like he wasn’t sure how you were real. Like he’d never been seen like this before—and never wanted anyone else to see him this way again.

He didn’t give you time to say anything. Didn’t need to—because the moment the shirt was gone, he was on you again.

Mouth crashing into yours, teeth clashing, and tongues fighting. Skin against skin. His hands framing your face like you were something to be handled delicately, even now.

You gasped at the feel of him—warm and solid—against your core, and he swallowed it like he needed it to breathe. 

His body pressed into yours again—skin to skin now, and fuck, it was dizzying. He was warm everywhere, like he was made of heat and tension and barely-leashed need. But still, still, he was careful.

One hand slid down your side, fingers tentative as they traced over the fabric of your dress where it had ridden up. He paused there—right at the hem along your thigh—his mouth hovering over yours.

His breath was ragged. “Can I—?”

You nodded before he could even finish, and Levi exhaled, like he’d been holding that in for hours. Then, his hands began to move. Slow. Steady.

Up.

He smoothed them up your sides, taking the fabric with him, dragging the dress along your stomach, over your ribs—like he couldn’t bear the thought of rushing. The fabric shifted easily under his touch, and you felt it gather, folding upward in a slow climb that left your skin prickling in its absence.

Your breath hitched when his hands reached your chest. He stilled for a moment, until you shifted, almost without thinking, arching slightly toward him.

That was all it took. 

His thumbs brushed tenderly beneath the fabric where it clung the most, dragging it upward with care—slow, steady. Every motion was deliberate, almost worshipful, as he eased the dress higher, guiding it over you with the same focus he brought to everything he did—especially when it came to you.

The straps slipped from your shoulders next, and then he was sliding the dress up—past your arms, your hands, until finally, he pulled it over your head.

And then—nothing but skin.

You felt it before you could name it: the way the air thickened, the heat blooming everywhere at once, the tension winding so tightly between your ribs it almost hurt.

You were bare beneath him, breathless and still, and the way you looked up at him—god.

It was everything.

Like you were something he’d been chasing his whole life and had only just now caught up to. His gaze moved slowly, tracing every inch of skin with something like awe, like disbelief.

And then—you watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.

He dropped the dress behind him, forgotten on the floor, and leaned in again. His mouth met yours, gentle.

Levi shifted, lowering you slowly back against the mattress. He didn’t press down—just braced his weight over you, forearms on either side of your head, chest hovering close enough to make you feel every inch of him.

His lips never left yours—swallowing every gasp and every whimper—and you arched into him, needing more, needing him.

Your fingers hovered over his belt, barely tracing the hoop—waiting for a sign, an opening, or perhaps just permission. Something told you to look up.

He was already watching you.

Levi gave the smallest nod. Barely.

You unfastened the belt with unsteady fingers, but stopped yourself from doing more.

He swallowed hard, like only now he fully understood what would happen.

You both stared at each other for a breath, flush-faced and wide-eyed—because this was happening. Because there was almost nothing between you now but breath and skin and the sound of his name still echoing in your head like a prayer.

Then, quietly, he leaned in to press one last kiss to your forehead before slipping away from the bed.

Your skin instantly missed his.

He stood beside you, his back to the soft light spilling in from the windows, and for the first time, you got to really look at him.

Not just his scars or his build, though those made your breath catch again—but the way he moved. The quiet grace, the tension in his shoulders, the care he still carried even in the simplest of motions. His hands moved to his belt, slow, almost hesitant, and you saw the hitch in his breath as the metal buckle fell to the floor with a soft clink.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t try to make it a performance.

He just stepped out of them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But still—he let you look. Let you take it all in. 

And even as the air shifted around him—Levi, standing there bare and unguarded, didn’t hide. Not from you.

Not anymore.

For a second, he just stood there.

Watching you.

The way your eyes traced over him like a secret you’d been keeping for years—like he was something precious, not something broken. And maybe that was what gave him the courage to move again.

But not before taking you all in. 

He paused at the edge of the bed, the soft glow from the hallway brushing over your skin like moonlight through half-shut blinds. And Levi just stood there for a second—bare, breathless, burning—like his heart had forgotten how to beat.

His gaze swept over you leisurely, from your damp skin to the soft curve of your hips, to the way your legs shifted slightly beneath the covers, instinctively opening to welcome him back.

And fuck, if that didn’t ruin him.

Because you weren’t just beautiful. You were you. Llooking at him like you wanted him, like this moment—this entire mess of firsts and nerves and quiet—was right.

And Levi? He couldn’t look away.

Not when your hair was spread across the pillow like a halo, not when your lips were parted and swollen from his kisses, not when your fingers curled slightly into the sheets like you didn’t know what to do with all the feeling building between you, and definitely not when your peaks hardened with a gust of cold air. 

He swallowed, hard.

Then moved.

He crossed the room in quiet steps, the soft sound of bare feet on wood. The air was thick with everything unspoken, everything yet to come. And when he reached the edge of the bed, he didn’t rush. He leaned down first—one hand bracing the mattress beside you, the other sliding up your thigh, steady, certain—as if reacquainting himself with the path of your skin.

Then he settled between your legs again, just like before.

Close enough to feel the heat radiating between you, but still giving you room to breathe. His body aligned with yours like it had always belonged there. The weight of him was comforting, not crushing—every movement deliberate, careful.

He was propped on his elbows now, hovering just above you, but still close enough for his skin to brush yours in soft, electric places.

His fingers brushed your cheek again, maybe to ground you. Maybe to ground himself.

“Still okay?” he murmured, voice hoarse, like he already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.

And you smiled, breath catching as you whispered, “I’ve never been more okay.”

He took a deep breath as he lined himself with your entrance, eyes never leaving yours. His hand found yours, fingers lacing together, in preparation to what was about to happen.

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this,” he murmured, voice barely there. “Never like this.”

A pause—then, firmer. “I’ve got you. I won’t rush it.”

Another breath. His thumb brushed over your cheek again.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know you would never hurt me.”

And Levi—he just looked at you. Like those words undid him. Like he'd never been trusted like that before.

And then he nodded—once—and pressed his forehead to yours. 

And god, the next second, you could feel him easing in with the utmost concern for you. But you were dizzy and overwhelmed. 

Tears pricked at your eyes, though you weren’t sure if it was from the pleasure, the slight discomfort, or the way he was being so achingly gentle with you. Making sure that you were okay, that you wanted this, that you felt good—he read every twitch of your fingers, every change in your breath like a language only he could understand.

And that he did. 

He noticed it all. Adjusted to you. Waited until his intrusions brought you the same type of pleasure they did him before moving. 

And when he finally felt your hips moving, fighting to get closer as they locked around his waist, he pulled back and bottomed out once again, and again, and again. 

Loud whines fell from your lips each time he hit that sweet spot deep inside—walls constricting in tandem, making him growl. 

The feel of you clenching around him makes him curse and slam back in. He even breathes into your neck as his forehead rests against your shoulder, watching hypnotized as sweat pools down your breasts.

The room is then filled with a mixture of squeals, groans, and whimpers.

Your nails dug into his back as you felt your second climax approach, moaning when he started leaving love bites below your ear. 

“Please don’t stop, Levi. Please—oh"

Pure euphoria. 

Your eyes rolled back as your walls clamped down around him, leaving you all fuzzy. Levi kept going for a little while. One, two, three times until he followed behind. Painting you white from the inside out. 

You felt full in every sense of the word. 

Unable to move—a bit out of it—until you felt him pull, and something else came down. The bed dipped once he came back, cleaning the slick with a warm cloth. Discarding it before finally settling back in bed. 

His voice was barely above a whisper, rough around the edges, but careful. Measured. Like he didn’t want to push.

His brows were knit, the space between them tense, but his eyes—god, his eyes—were searching you like he needed to memorize every flicker of expression. Like he couldn’t breathe until he knew you were alright.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked again, quieter this time. His thumb lingered just under your eye, catching a tear you hadn’t realized had slipped.

You shook your head, a soft smile blooming as you leaned into his touch. And his shoulders—tight with tension—finally dropped, just a little.

Because of course he’d ask. Because he’d always make sure it was you first.

“I’m okay,” you whispered. Then, gentler “more than okay.”

And it was true. You were still catching your breath, still reeling from the intensity, the closeness, the ache of how deeply you felt everything—but it was good. It was more than good.

Levi didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you—like he couldn’t believe this had happened, like you were still some impossible thing he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold. His thumb traced along your cheekbone, then lower, brushing the corner of your mouth like he was still trying to piece together that this was real.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, voice even rougher now, like it hurt to ask. Like the idea of hurting you even accidentally, was too much to bear.

And this time, you didn’t just nod.

You reached for his hand, the one still pressed to your cheek, and laced your fingers with his. Your touch was warm, trembling a little, but steady. Anchoring.

“I’ve never felt anything like that,” you said quietly, honestly. “With anyone. Only you.”

That did something to him—you felt it in the way his hand tightened in yours, in the way his lips parted like he was about to say something and forgot how. His eyes softened, the lines in his face easing just enough to let something tender through.

“Okay,” he whispered at last.

Then—almost like it broke through his restraint again—he leaned in and kissed you. Not because he was asking for more. But because he needed to feel you again, needed to thank you in the only way he knew how.

And you let him—because you needed it too.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you still breathing unevenly. The room was quiet except for the sound of your hearts calming, the rise and fall of your chests starting to sync again. You felt his hand slide down your side, fingers brushing lazily over your bare skin like he was grounding himself in the warmth of you.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

Eventually, Levi shifted, carefully rolling onto his side and tugging you gently with him until you were curled into his chest, one of his arms looping around your waist like it was second nature. You went willingly, tucking your face beneath his chin, your fingers tracing absentminded shapes into the skin of his chest.

“Is this okay?” he murmured against your hair, voice lower now, softer.

You nodded, nuzzling in closer. “Perfect.”

Levi let out a breath you didn’t realize he’d been holding. Then, you felt it—the press of his lips at your temple. Just once. Lingering.

And that was it.

There, tangled in each other beneath rumpled sheets, skin still warm and hearts still open, neither of you needed to say anything else. You didn’t have to rush or explain or fill the silence.

He held you like he meant it. You held him like you’d never let go.

And when you finally drifted off—tangled limbs, quiet exhales, your name still echoing faintly in his chest—it was with the feeling of home.

next chapter ↠

© AUGUSTWINESWORLD : no translation, plagiarism, or cross posting.

[velouria17]

@solarfry did it again! A request for bikini barista Levi for my birthday. Thank you, thank you Solar! ❤️❤️

[velouria17]

My drawing of Levi Ackerman

[velouria17]

Sweet Dreams

Post war Levi x gn! reader. Years after the titans have been wiped out, Levi still finds himself struggling with insomnia. But perhaps a strange type of tea is the key to tiring him out...

Content Guidance: NSFW. preestablished relationship. Reader has a pussy but no gendered terms used. Aphrodisiac. Masturbation. P in V. Lots of cursing. This is post war so Levi uses a wheelchair and is still dealing with the way his body has altered over the years, including scars, old injuries, allusions toward weight gain, and general aging. Approx 2.2k words.

Titans were no longer a threat, but for Levi, the sleepless nights persisted. 

It wasn’t just the nightmares or the pain of old injuries, but the nagging thought that he needed to be up, to do something, which lingered and kept him from stealing anything more than a couple of hours of rest.

That was simply the type of person he was. It didn’t matter if he was exhausted from the day before, more often than not he was up way before the sun, compelled to find things to keep him occupied. 

His restlessness affected you too. No matter how quiet he tried to be, your sleep was inevitably disturbed by the creaking of the bed as he pulled himself into his chair, the low rumble of his wheels rolling across the floorboards, or the cold, empty space beside you where he should have been.

And he hated it. Guilt weighed heavy on him whenever he tried to sneak out of bed, only to hear you shift beneath the blankets, your eyes bleary and voice muffled as you wearily asked, “again?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, awake and alert, yet simultaneously exhausted down to the marrow. “I’m sorry.”

Levi loved you too damn much to put you through any more sleepless nights. In his darkest moments, in those lonely minutes after waking, consumed by his own lack of purpose, he often wondered if the war had taken too much from him. Half-blinded, scarred, mangled, sluggish and aching; whatever strength his heritage had given him faded the moment Mikasa's blade struck true. And no matter how many years passed after the fighting was done, he wasn't sure who he was without the duty of Humanity's Strongest Soldier to live up to. 

But then came the sound of your footsteps across the kitchen floor, the warmth of your arms around him and your words of reassurance whispered between doting kisses. You hadn't been the only thing driving Levi through that final charge through hell, but you'd certainly been there with him; the promise of a better world that you could grow old in– with or without him– numbing the agony just enough to get him through.

And now he was putting you through another kind of hell. Too tired and more cantankerous than usual, he barely had the energy to function.

Enough was enough. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to protect you from that too, the only way he knew how.

“The old guy at the shop said this might help,” Levi said as he poured boiling water over the crimson blossoms inside the teapot. “Then again, he said it does a bunch of other shit too. Probably just trying to make a sale.”

You chuckled, watching the steam coil from the spout of the pot as the room filled with a pleasantly spicy aroma. “Such as?”

His slender brows arched into a noncommittal grimace. “Some bullshit about invigoration and relaxation. Hard to see how it can do both. Oh, and libido.”

“Libido?” 

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head dismissively. “They all say that. About half the teas in his shop promise to give you a horsecock you can fuck forever with. As long as it puts me to sleep, I don’t give a fat rat’s ass.”

It did not put Levi to sleep. 

He lay staring at the ceiling, drenched in sweat, his cock so hard he had to bite the back a moan when you rolled over in your sleep, dragging the fabric of the bedsheets over his engorged and sensitive head. It had been a while since he’d been able to get harder than half-mast, but this wasn’t much better.

That sonofabitch, Levi thought, gritting his teeth and trying to think of literally anything to keep his mind off the ache, I ought to go back to that damn tea shop and kick his ass.

You were sleeping so peacefully beside him, completely unaware of his predicament, and fuck, the mere sight of you made his dick throb. It wasn’t fair to wake you just to satisfy his needs, especially not after so many sleepless nights. But after spending most of his life sleeping in barracks or around the campfire with his comrades, Levi was no stranger to the art of getting himself off in complete silence. 

Slowly, his left hand rasped through dark curls to grip his cock, the sensation still somewhat unfamiliar and unsatisfying. He’d always favored the right, but the old injuries had taken that one out of action; his remaining two fingers just dexterous enough to handle his ODM gear, but apparently not enough to jerk off. Go figure. Somewhere, he was certain, the ghost of Zeke Yeager was pissing himself laughing. That bastard. 

Still, he’d take whatever relief he could, slowly and silently stroking his thumb across his weeping slit, pushing back his foreskin as he spread his slick around his tip. 

Right away he knew the clumsy stroke of his non-dominant fist wasn’t going to be enough. Even if by some miracle his missing fingers grew back it wouldn't be enough. No. Whatever shit he'd drank, he was more desperate than he'd been in a long time. He needed to fuck; needed to sink into the slick heat of your cunt, to feel your mouth and your hands all over him. He needed your nails raking across his back, your teeth grazing his throat. He needed… he needed…

The sudden sensation of your hand joining his dragged a gasp from his throat and forced his eyes wide open. 

“S-sorry,” he mumbled, almost instinctively. “Didn’t mean to wake– oh fu–huck.”

“It’s alright,” you whispered, your lips ghosting over his shoulder as you stroked his length. He was harder than he’d been in a long time, and so damn sensitive even the limited mobility in his lower body couldn’t stop the staggered thrust of his hips as he raised them to meet your touch. Fuck, how long had it been since he’d felt your touch? He’d been so tired for so long.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” you said, leaving him to stroke his cock alone for a moment as you cupped his balls and massaged them in your palm, forcing a quiet, desperate cry from him that was dangerously close to a whimper. “Levi, do you want me to help you cum like this? Or should I fuck y–?”

“Fuck me,” he gasped before the words had fully left your lips. “Fuck me. Please. Please…”

He'd never needed it more. 

You climbed on top, caging his hips with your thighs as you slipped off your night clothes and leaned down to kiss him. The softness of your bare chest pressed to his, nipples swelling as you sucked his lower lip, tongue tracing the groove of his scar,  and coaxing out another desperate moan. 

And as you kissed him, he slipped his hand between your thighs, his two remaining fingers more than enough to get you wet  

If he knew nothing else he knew how to finger you. The rhythm you liked, the pressure, the pace; he knew it from the way your moans joined his, and from the subtle shiver of your breaths as your slick gathered at your entrance, hot and ready for him.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered against your lips, though you’d always been right there with him. 

“Me too,” you replied, brushing your fingers back through the silver-threaded strands of his hair, scraping his bangs back against his scalp and gazing down at him like you’d never seen anything so beautiful in your life. “Levi…”

Ordinarily he'd try to get you to cum first, but he couldn't stand the ache a moment longer. The insistent press of his cock against your pussy got the point across well enough, and you shifted your hips to take him. And fuck, he couldn’t hold back his almost startled cry at the intensity of his pleasure. It tingled throughout his body; from his curling toes to the puckering buds of his nipples.

“Ohh fuck me. Fuck me.”

“That good, huh?” you laughed softly, caressing the angle of his jaw as he melted into the pillows. “Guess the guy in the tea shop wasn't lying after all.”

Levi could only bite back a groan, teeth sinking into the plump cushion of his lower lip as he lay breathless beneath you. He wanted to chastise you, to tell you to quit teasing him and get on with it before he died from needing you so badly, but he was already too far gone for words. Thankfully you took the hint, riding his cock slow and deep, rolling your hips as you watched him come undone beneath you. Your body pressed close to his, practically glued to him so you could kiss and suck and bite each other’s lips raw.

“Is this what you want?” you asked, your breath hot against the sharp angle of his jaw.

“Mmh… more…”

“Yeah?” You sat up, bracing your hands on his belly so you could ride him harder and faster. 

And there was something about that, the way your touch turned from functional, helping you balance, to a doting caress, his flesh a little softer and less sculpted than it had been when he was a soldier. Hardened in some ways, but softer than others, despite the pain and the scars, he was more comfortable than he’d ever been. Loved and so safe he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

But, oh the sight of you as you rode him, breasts bouncing with every thrust, your clit engorged and slippery beneath his fingertips, head thrown back as you drew closer and closer to your release. And all he could do was take it, and remember to just… keep… breathing. 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he gasped, voice cracking as your pussy clenched around his cock, your orgasm pulsing through you and tearing his name from your lips. “Don’t stop, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t. Not until you cum for me.”

His hands gripped your hips, feeling every bounce as you rode his cock, your pussy hot, throbbing from your orgasm, and so wet he heard that perfectly lewd schlick schlick schlick with each thrust. 

When you grew tired and had to lean forward, he couldn't keep his mouth off you. Hot, open mouthed kisses to your throat, your chest, your jaw and lips. Teeth grazing your skin, heavy breaths punctuated by half-swallowed curses and gasped pleas, fingers digging into the fat and muscle of your ass, pulling you deeper, deeper.

“Wait…” he said suddenly, raising his head from the pillow to watch your cunt swallow his cock. “Let me see how wet you are.”

You knew how much he loved that. In days gone by, when he’d been able to get on top, he loved to drag his cock out from you, watching the glistening trail of your wetness and his precum connect the two of you, seeing how soaked you’d gotten his dick while he fucked you like the world was ending. Because there was always a voice in the back of his mind telling him it was. 

But now the monsters were all gone, and Levi was no longer a soldier; just a man who couldn’t hold back his wanton moans when he saw that glistening strand and cried in bliss when the slick pink head of his cock slid between your pussy lips. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Don’t stop. Keep… keep riding me.”

And the second you took him again, the second you enveloped him in that slick, silken heat, he felt his orgasm hit him; pleasure so sudden and intense he fought against it, his back arching off the bed, hands grasping at your thighs as though to lift you clean off him. Incapable of words, incapable of breath, his body flushing scarlet as he pressed his head back against the pillow and rode the unbearable ecstasy. 

“That’s it, baby,” he heard you whisper, your breath tickling against his ear. “Levi, you look so pretty when you cum.”

Too exhausted to verbalize the protest on the tip of his tongue, he simply grunted, rolling over to press his face against your chest and wind his arms around your waist while he waited for his breaths to slow down.

You were warm, comforting, softer than anything he'd ever known. And he couldn't get enough of you. Just a quick nap, he thought to himself, and then maybe we'll fuck again.

He might have been exhausted, but he still craved you like nothing else.

Something between a monosyllabic chuckle and a grunt emerged from him, grogginess setting in as he lay in your arms. "You should... go piss..."

A warm puff of air wafted across his brow as you laughed quietly, more than accustomed to his rough edges. "In a minute. Just relax."

Moments later, for the first time since he could remember, his mind was completely still. He didn't need to find purpose; it was all around him. It was you, it was love. Tea and sunrises, warm blankets, and your lips against the top ofhis head. It was life.

From the way you chuckled and smoothed your thumb between his eyebrows, he guessed he was frowning. But you knew by then not to take any notice of his scowl. He didn’t exactly wear it for all to see, but he was happier than he ever imagined he could be. Safe, and finally able to rest.

.

.

Thank you for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are so appreciated! If you liked this story, maybe you'll find something else to read on my Masterlist

[velouria17]

THAT scene……🫣💚💜 (a version of Hange as commander)

[velouria17]

Lovelovelove

– you... you're insane-

– maybe i am.

[velouria17]

Art by hanji.baby

[velouria17]

kamona

i really do like sharing WIPs recently (and mind you i suffer from adhd so i have a lot of them at the same time :D), mainly because since i've got my new drawing stuff my sketches are 1293293x cleaner than before lol

[velouria17]

Damn. Erwin looking fine.

New SnK pop up shop in Tower Records announced by Amnibus.

[velouria17]

You’re never too old to collect figures.

You’re never too old to be in a fandom.

You’re never too old to play video games.

You’re never too old to listen to music.

You’re never too old to enjoy things.

[velouria17]

how bitter it must be, to love someone who belongs to the world first.

Levi exhales sharply, his grip on you tightening like he’s trying to hold you together with nothing but the force of his hands. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—they betray him. Dark, stormy, filled with something raw and aching.

“You think I don’t want to come back?” His voice is low, hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You think I don’t wish I could promise you that?”

You look away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze. “But you can’t,” you murmur, voice cracking. “No one can.”

He clenches his jaw. “Then why does it have to be you?” His voice is rough now, almost desperate. “Why do you have to be another name carved into a stone, another ghost that never got the chance to live?”

You laugh softly, a bitter sound. “Because there’s nothing for me here, Levi.” You lift your gaze, searching his, your own filled with tears. “Because no one stays. Because even you—” your breath shudders “—even you belong to humanity first.”

Levi flinches like you’ve struck him. His lips part, but nothing comes out. He looks lost for a moment, like he’s fighting something inside himself, something he can’t name.

And then, something breaks.

His hands come up to your face, calloused fingers trembling as they cradle you, thumbs brushing away the tears you didn’t realize were still falling. His touch is hesitant, reverent, desperate.

“I don’t have the right words,” he admits, voice barely above a breath. “I don’t know how to promise you forever. I don’t know how to give you what you want.” His forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven. “But I need you to live.”

You swallow, throat tight. “Why?”

His eyes bore into yours, something shattered and yearning flickering in their depths.

“Because you’re the one thing I want to come back to.”

Your heart seizes.

Levi exhales shakily, and for the first time, you see it—fear. Not of titans, not of war, not of death. But of this. Of you. Of losing something he never let himself want.

“Stay,” he murmurs, and it is not an order. Not a demand. Not a plea wrapped in steel.

It is just him. Levi.

Raw. Open.

And utterly, devastatingly human.

Levi doesn’t move. Neither do you. The world around you—the cold air, the distant flicker of candlelight in the barracks, the muffled sounds of life beyond this room—feels impossibly far away. Like it belongs to another time, another reality. Not this one. Not here, where the space between you is no longer measured in inches but in the slow, unsteady rhythm of your breaths.

His hands are still on your face, his thumbs tracing absentminded patterns against your skin, like he’s memorizing the way you feel under his touch. Like he’s afraid you’ll slip away the moment he lets go. His forehead is still resting against yours, and you can feel the uneven warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips—too close, too much, not enough.

“Say it again,” you whisper, not even sure why you ask.

Levi exhales shakily. “Stay.”

Your hands tremble as they rise, hesitant, unsure, until your fingers brush against the edges of his cravat. Your touch is barely there, but the way he stiffens, the way his breath catches—it’s like you’ve set something ablaze inside him.

“I don’t know how,” you admit. Your voice is barely more than a breath, the words fragile, like they might break apart the moment they leave your lips. “I don’t know how to stay.”

His fingers slide from your face, trailing down until they reach your wrists, circling them with a touch that is careful and deliberate, as if anchoring you to him.

“You don’t have to know,” he murmurs. His lips brush against your forehead, the touch so fleeting you almost convince yourself it never happened. “You just have to try.”

Try.

You close your eyes, breathing in the scent of him—faint tea leaves, worn leather, the sharp, clean scent of soap. A scent that has become familiar, steady, safe.

“You’re all I have left,” you whisper, the admission slipping past your lips before you can stop it.

Levi flinches, just slightly, but his grip on your wrists tightens. “You’re not losing me,” he says, and there is something fierce, unwavering in the way he says it.

Your heart clenches, something inside you cracking at the weight of his words, at the depth of his resolve. He’s not making empty promises. He’s not saying the things you want to hear just to keep you from running.

He means it.

And that terrifies you more than anything.

Because what if he’s wrong?

What if you lose him anyway?

Your throat tightens. You can feel the sting of fresh tears threatening to spill, but Levi sees them before they fall. His expression softens, just enough to let the cracks in his own walls show. And then, slowly, carefully, he lifts one of your hands, pressing it against his chest, right over his heart.

The steady thump-thump beneath your palm is grounding. Real.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs, his voice rough with something he doesn’t have the words for.

Something between a promise and a plea.

You inhale shakily, pressing your palm against him just a little harder, like you’re afraid his heart might stop beating if you let go.

And then, Levi moves.

Slowly, deliberately, he leans in—closer, closer—until the space between you vanishes entirely. His lips brush against yours, just barely, not quite a kiss, not quite anything at all. Just there, lingering, uncertain, waiting.

A silent question.

Your answer comes in the way your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, in the way you tilt your chin up ever so slightly, in the way your breath hitches but you don’t pull away.

And then, finally, his lips press fully against yours.

It’s not urgent. Not desperate. Not the kind of kiss stolen in the heat of battle, with fear clinging to every breath.

It is something far more fragile.

Far more dangerous.

It is slow, hesitant, filled with all the things neither of you have ever been allowed to say out loud.

You feel the way he lingers, the way he takes his time, as if memorizing the shape of your lips against his. As if he’s trying to make this moment last forever. As if he’s afraid that the second he pulls away, you’ll slip through his fingers like sand.

And you—

You kiss him like he’s the only thing tethering you to this world. Like you’re still terrified, but for the first time, there is something in this life worth fearing for.

By the time you break apart, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting together once more, your hands still clinging to each other like a lifeline.

Levi is the first to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not allowed to die before me.”

It is not an order.

It is not a plea.

It is a vow.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

You want to believe it.

[velouria17]

Possessive Levi 🥵

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐞.

𝑳𝒆𝒗𝒊 𝑨𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 // .6k words

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Possessive!Levi. Sexually explicit content - minors do not interact.

𝐀/𝐍: Written for this anon ask. Based on the song, R U Mine? by Arctic Monkeys

Captain Levi pisses you off.

How can he be sitting across the table from you, listening to Erwin go on and on about Survey Corps funding.

As if he hadn’t been fucking your brains out last night in this very room.

His eyes haven’t even glanced your way since you sat down. Had it all been just an elaborate dream?

No, you know for a fact it wasn’t. You have the kiss marks on your breasts to prove it.

Your mind wanders to the moments Levi had you spread out on this table, his tongue - walls, his magnificent tongue - drawing slow, lethargic circles around your throbbing clit. When you came the first time, he’d looked at you smugly.

“Such a dirty girl, letting me have my way with you here. Aren’t you afraid somebody will catch us?” He asked, undoing the belt of his pants.

“Aren’t you?”

“Not really.” He settled himself between your thighs. “And you’re not going anywhere until I’m completely satisfied.”

Now, sitting amongst your fellow Survey Corps members, that satisfaction feels like a distant memory.

“…Captain Levi, your report.” Erwin’s voice bellows through the meeting hall.

Levi’s chair scrapes across the floor and he stands. You allow your line of sight to flit towards him. His body weight shifts from one leg to the other and your eyes can’t help but move down the contours of his shirt to the waistband of his pants. Your mouth starts to water as you think about how it felt to have his cock in your mouth, his hand in your hair as he thrust a little deeper, seeing how much of him you could take.

“The thrust formation seemed to be effective—“

Wait…

What is Levi talking about?

“—during our last expedition. It allowed my squad and I to move in easily.”

You blink and take a breath. Now everything Levi says in that beautiful baritone voice of his is turning you on.

Get yourself together.

You spend the rest of the meeting looking everywhere but in Levi’s direction. The time drags on as each Squad Leader gives their report, and you begin to wish you could be anywhere else but this room with this man. When the meeting ends and the room is empty, you breathe a sigh of relief.

Until you hear the door close behind you.

“Are you trying to avoid me all day?” a familiar baritone voice asks.

You stand, determined to give him your most nonchalant face. “I should ask you that question. You didn’t look at me once during that meeting.”

Levi quickly closes the distance between you until you bump against the edge of the table. “What? Did you want me to take you again on this table in front of everyone? Such an exhibitionist.”

Just being this close to him again has your core throbbing. His hands land on either side of you, caging you between him and the table as he moves even closer, his lips brushing your earlobe.

“No…” you weakly answer, quickly turning to putty in his hands, “it’s just…”

All coherent thoughts leave you as he begins to pepper kisses along your neck, leaving you speechless.

“Do you want me to tell you that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since last night? That the meeting was torture because all I could see was you?” His hands move up the curves of your waist and he lets out a sigh. “I want to see the marks I made on you.”

Buttons and straps come undone as he releases your breasts. His eyes flash when he sees the purple bruises.

“Tell me, y/n,” his voice is a low growl that sends electricity straight to your core, “tell me you’re mine.”

Do you dare tell him that you’ve been his since the moment you first laid eyes on him? Do you confess that you’d given your body to him before his hands and lips had even claimed you?

Instead, you look deep into those silvery blue eyes and whisper -

“Yes…yes, Levi. I’m yours.”

Join my taglist.

[velouria17]

Beautiful and very blurry 😭

Waiting

Nothing changed Levi, he’s always been like this—broody—not so much the forgetful part. But you loved him anyway, and that was enough for him.

It started with the little things, until Levi forgot to shut off the sink one night, ruining the kitchen floorboards.

CW: Post-war Levi x fem!reader, angst, memory and cognitive decline, major character death

A/N: I cried while I wrote this. Happy late Valentine's Day XOXO ~2.2k words

It started with the little things. A forgetfulness masked by old age, and yet it always felt like something more. 

Levi Ackerman was anything if not prideful, and yet the confusion that dazed him at times forced him to tell you, his beautiful wife, that he was struggling with something deep, so much so that you urged him to visit the doctor.

He hated doctors. He had enough of them after the Battle of Heaven and Earth. Prodding, pestering, painfully pricking at him to ensure he remained alive until adequate care could arrive. Who would’ve known it’d take weeks?

And so, Levi hated doctors—but he loved you, his wife, so much that he’d bear through another annoying visit. If anything to soothe your mind that this is just him in his old age, that this is nothing more than another bumpy hill before he’d get better.

He saw it all his mind, you’d wheel him to the doctor’s office, just so that they’d tell him the war changed him, and that many war veterans face mental struggles. Then they’d charge an arm and a leg for the “prognosis”. You’d happily give payment if it meant Levi’s just fine—as fine as Levi Ackerman could be, but fine was good.

Nothing changed Levi, he’s always been like this—broody—not so much the forgetful part. But you loved him anyway, and that was enough for him.

It started with the little things, until Levi forgot to shut off the sink one night, ruining the kitchen floorboards.

You’d seen Levi swing through trees to face the ugliest of titans, seen him fight through despite the pains in his body, and yet that first harrowing face of forgetfulness stuck with you.

The doctor’s appointment was moved up from next month to next week. 

You wheeled him to the office, hands on the push handles subtly shifting every now and then to pull the graying bangs from his forehead to behind his ear. His hair is getting long, you think. It’s time for a haircut and he hasn’t even mentioned it.

The doctor says that war changed Levi. That many war veterans face many mental illnesses—and yet Levi’s is a strange and unique one, one that the doctor’s heard of but very, very rarely. As if done with the novelty of being “unique”, Levi scoffs at the doctor, limping from the examination table back to his wheelchair.

“Well then, your job is to cure this right?” The doctor’s face is blank and expressionless.

“There’s no cure.”

The walk back to your home is silent, more silent than you think you can bear. Your hands on Levi’s push handles stay put, no longer casting them towards his hair for loving caresses. You don’t want to impose on his boundaries after a conversation like this—Levi wishes you would.

Dinner is eaten silently, deep contemplation overtakes the both of you.

“Screw what the doctor said,” he utters.

“What?”

“I said screw what the doctor said, I just won’t forget. I can’t imagine it can be so difficult.” For some reason, it felt like the easiest solution in the world. You beam at him and the hopeful look in your eyes make him feel warm.

Of course, you think, Levi won’t let you down. Levi who's survived it all would fight this too, and things will be as normal as they can be.

“What’s with the shit eating grin,” Levi asks you one afternoon. You had just come back from the local market.

“I brought you this journal,” and you shove the bound papers into his lap.

“You can write everything you remember, the ladies at the market told me it helps with memory loss.”

“You didn’t—”

“No, I haven’t.”

Levi’s reluctance to let anybody know his illness was debilitating, your friends would definitely care if something were going on. But Levi’s image has already been impacted once—he didn’t want to add another smear to the already imperfect painting.

And so, Levi writes, albeit only in the evenings and when you are fast asleep. He writes of his mother, his friends, his squad, Hange and Erwin.

He writes about you.

Your name, the day he met you, a cheeky soldier with a death wish, as he likes to say. He writes about the day he told he you he loved you and first kissed you, the day he married you. He wrote about it while it was still fresh in his mind, where he willed for it to remain, where he begged for it to remain, for the rest of his life.

Levi forgets your birthday. 

It’s a good thing others didn’t, because neighbors and friends arrived to give you well wishes. He kisses you at the end of the night and you smile at him, and you forget about him forgetting.

Levi forgets about the chicken in the oven.

Fortunately, you arrive on time to salvage dinner, some of the skin burned, but digestible. He apologizes, face red in embarrassment. You tell him it’s nothing.

Every morning you inspect the journal while Levi rests, warm with the memories that still persist. Levi’s fighting, you think to yourself, everything will be alright.

Things remain in limbo for a while, with you picking up the pieces of Levi’s forgetting mind and putting them in their place. It remains like that for a while, you reminding Levi of the things he’s supposed to be doing. 

Suddenly, so suddenly, you come home one morning to find Levi struggling to stand, finding support in the nearby table.

“Levi,” you exclaim, “what the hell are you doing?”

He seems almost startled by you, but he clenches his jaw in defiance.

“Where the hell is everybody? We need to stop Eren, and I’m just sitting here doing nothing.”

Suddenly, so suddenly, it’s like you’ve woken up and are facing reality for the first time. 

The tears slip from your eyes, the hands by your side clenching and unclenching into fists. Levi looks at you with a stern expression, calling your name, but you ignore him as you walk away. You hide in your bedroom.

Levi talks of titans for two days straight, washes the same dishes several times, asks you where Hange and Erwin were, before finally snapping back into reality.

You’re crumpled on your bed and he sinks there with you, head falling into your shoulder. He’s silent in quiet horror, you’re silent in quiet loneliness. He apologizes over and over. You tell him it’s okay.

The frayed edges of Levi’s mind begin to tear at the seams, the gaps in his mind no longer something he can conceal. He wills himself to write. Where there was once lengthy journal entries, now repetitive sentences covered the pages.

We are living in year 86x. The war has ended.

Erwin Smith is dead. Hange Zoe is dead.

The war has ended.

The war has ended.

The war has ended.

Levi forgets your anniversary, Levi forgets to bathe, Levi forgets the route home when he steps out to buy…something—he can’t remember what he was supposed to buy.

To avoid your pained gaze, Levi’s wheelchair permanently lives near the window in the corner of the living room. Away from disturbing you, away from being near you.

Things remain like this for a while. You wait—for what, you don’t really know. You watch Levi scramble day in and day out, until he finally stills, hands in his lap, staring outside the window.

After months, you inspect his journal, wanting to feel hope, wanting to remind yourself that Levi’s fighting, that he’s trying.

The last journal entry was weeks ago. All that remain are scribbles. Levi remembers the routine, but does’t remember what he’s supposed to do. 

The doctor says there’s nothing left to do, and so you watch your husband implode. And oh you wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy. To watch the man that loves you forget you. To watch as the man you love forgets everything.

Levi’s exhaustion is apparent from where he sits. He holds his teacup, fingers feeling weird where they were. Why does he hold teacups like this?

But only when he forgets your name does your own world implode, the bits and pieces of your self floating, with nobody to piece you together.

He doesn’t sleep in your bedroom anymore, only married people do that. In Levi’s mind, he’s respecting you, an unmarried woman, and so his permanent spot by the window also becomes the spot where he sleeps.

The doctor gives him a couple of more weeks, but it’s months of confusion, months of gazing into nothing, grasping at far away memories. 

Where’s Erwin?

Where’s Furlan and Isabel?

Where’s my mother?

You remind Levi that they’re gone, but that they’re waiting for him. Wherever they are.

You wait. For what, you don’t know.

It’s months of self hatred, before for a moment, Levi finds relief; clarity.

You catch him staring at you one evening, when you’re cleaning the dishes of tonight’s dinner.

“You remind me of someone I used to love,” Levi tells you.

Your heart catches, blood freezing, before you smile, a shaky breath escaping you.

“Yeah,” you respond, “used to?” 

Levi stays silent. You’ve long gotten used to the silence and the quiet contemplation, but for some reason you are compelled to look at him.

You are used to his lost gaze, used to the permanent furrowed brows that are always deep in thought. Is it your lover trying to remember you? The fighter in him, still combatting the destruction of his mind?

You look at him like a teacher looks at their student, the answer at the tip of their tongue, the knowledge in the deepest part of their mind, waiting to be brought out.

You are used to the defeated glance of despair, the quiet confusion that tells you help me.

You are not used to, however, the look that now graced Levi’s face.

Recognition. It startles you. It startles him.

He calls your name and your breath hitches. You can’t help the tears that slip. He says your name, over and over again and you walk over from the kitchen counter to his spot by the window, toppling over his wheelchair in an embrace. Your face falls into the crook of his neck as he wraps his arms around you.

“You married me,” he says quietly, “why?”

You’re quiet, not trusting your voice to not fall and break down, but force yourself to speak anyway.

“I love you,” you say, voice hoarse, “that’s why.”

Neither of you say anything else. His face falls into your shoulder and he breathes you in—you smell familiar, look familiar too. Perhaps Erwin and Hange can tell him later who you are and why you’re embracing him. You’re just too warm to let go right now. All he knows is that you’re his wife—his beautiful wife.

For the first time in a long time, Levi wheels himself into your shared bedroom and sleeps next to you. For the first time in a long time, things feel normal.

That chilly evening, Levi left your world.

It wasn’t his world anymore, no—hadn’t been his world in a long time. His permanently furrowed brows have relaxed, and finally his face appeared peaceful. You were glad. Even if you sobbed quietly for him to come back, you were glad.

All that was left was to wait.

You waited.

You waited for death.

Your gray hair swayed with the breeze one fateful morning. Something clicked within you, something about the peace that morning made you smile an all knowing smile. What’s with the shit-eating grin, you could almost hear Levi ask you. 

That night, neighbors and former comrades surrounded you, their children in another room to spare them the pain and grief that came with death. You were glad that they didn’t have to see you. At a young age you had been a witness to countless deaths at the hands of titans and the world, let them salvage their innocence for a bit longer.

You were in delirium. You were drifting, memories and glimpses of your life flashing before you, it all felt so real. Your parents, the scouts, the war. The most prominent moments though were the ones with Levi. It was then you realized that you had almost forgotten what he looked like before his injuries. You had almost forgotten what he sounded like before illness overtook him.

Captain Levi Ackerman. A symbol of hope.

Levi. Just Levi. The man you had fallen in love with.

You smiled fondly as you felt the tendrils of your mortality begin to blur; the feeling of peace filled you, it felt like falling into a deep sleep. And the peace continued to lull you, leading you to nothing and infinity all at the same time. 

You wandered, away from the cries of the world, and suddenly, a silence.

Then, you saw him. Your face broke out into a beaming smile.

“Levi,” you called out to your lover, your feet moving automatically to reach him.

There he was, his vision clear, his limbs intact, not a single layer of exhaustion on him. His face broke out in a small smile and he called out to you; you felt whole again.

There he was. Waiting for you.