augustwinesworld

[augustwinesworld]

Don’t worry guys, next part is coming! I’m on holiday w my family so it might take a bit longer :)

I’m just missing the smutty scene at the end, but it’s my first time writing smut and I’m scared :):):)

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭

you didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

description: the trio gets their hands on ODM gear, a decision that will affect their rest of their lives without them knowing.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: pathetic yearning/ fluff

warning: tooth rotting

notes: the virgin induced christian yearning in this one makes the wait completely worth it.

word count: 4.3 k

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

If the Underground had one redeeming quality, it was this: its endless maze of abandoned

Silent, shadowed, and forgotten by most—ideal for watching without being seen.

From your vantage point across the street, Ksaver's tavern was alive with noise and chaos.

The glow of lanterns spilled onto the streets, illuminating clusters of drunk Garrison soldiers who lingered outside, laughing too loudly and leaning too heavily on each other.

“You’d think they were on leave,” you muttered, shifting slightly behind the dusty crate that hid you from view.

“They definitely think they are” Furlan replied with a grin, adjusting the straps of his satchel. His gaze flicked toward the warehouse looming just beyond the bar. “A couple more drinks, and they won’t even notice if we waltz in and take what we want.”

“Don’t get cocky. Drunk doesn’t mean blind. If we get caught, there are no second chances.”

The warehouse stood high next to the tavern, though still inconspicuous. A fortress of stone and steel—thick walls with narrow windows barred by iron.

A single lantern above the main entrance cast an eerie glow over the heavy steel door.

If you stop to think about it, so many defenses make the hideout look out of place compared to the surrounding buildings—but to be fair, it's not that weird either.

And section D-4.

The warehouse’s location was no accident. It was close to one of the main access points to the surface, a perfect hub for transporting supplies or weapons.

Its proximity to the tavern provided a convenient excuse for soldiers to loiter nearby, their presence both a deterrent and a cover.

Strategically, the spot was flawless. The surrounding alleys narrowed into natural chokepoints, ideal for defending against an attack or ambush.

But the same features that made it easy to guard also made it predictable.

Once again, you scanned the perimeter, noting the lazy paths of the patrolling guards. Their footsteps irregular, as though they were half-heartedly going through the motions.

Furlan shrugged off Levi’s warning, his grin widening as he gestured toward the soldiers at the bar. “You know, they don’t look all that bright. One distraction, and we’re golden.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone he always used before losing his patience. “One mistake, and we’re dead. This isn’t a game, Furlan.”

You stifled a sigh, crouching lower as you scanned the warehouse’s perimeter. A pair of guards moved methodically near the entrance, their lanterns casting faint pools of light. “Relax, Levi,” you said, your voice low but steady. “We’ve got this.”

His piercing gaze snapped to you, cutting through the dim light. “If I had a coin for every time you said that right before things went to hell, we wouldn’t need this job.”

Furlan snickered, nudging Levi’s arm with his elbow. “Lighten up, Captain. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Keep talking,” Levi muttered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade, “and I’ll give you something worse.”

Despite the harsh words, there was a rhythm to this—it was a routine that had carried you through countless close calls.

Still, the stakes felt higher tonight.

The plan was deceptively simple: avoid the guards, slip into the warehouse unnoticed, grab the gear, and get out. No unnecessary risks—but if they spotted you, there would be no retreat. You’d have to fight your way out.

Securing the ODM gear was the top priority, no matter the cost.

Levi crouched beside you, his eyes fixed on the guards patrolling the perimeter. “We move on my signal. Stay close, stay quiet, and don’t lose focus. If they see us, we end it fast—no hesitation.”

“Got it,” Furlan whispered, adjusting the straps on his satchel. “Though I doubt they’re sharp enough to notice anything.”

“They’re drunk, not blind,” Levi muttered, his voice low but edged with warning. “And even if they were, don’t get sloppy. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You stayed silent, your focus locked on the warehouse.

The guards’ paths were sloppy but predictable with patience.

They lingered near the main door longer than necessary, sharing drinks and trading jokes before pacing the perimeter with uneven steps. Their torches cast moving shadows, perfect for slipping through undetected.

Levi moved first, slipping into the dim alley like a shadow. His footsteps were silent as he hugged the wall of a neighboring building, gesturing for you and Furlan to follow.

One at a time, the three of you crossed the narrow street, sticking to the darker corners as you approached the back of the warehouse. The steel door loomed ahead, reinforced and locked tight.

The faint scuff marks near the hinges and chipped paint around the lock told a familiar story: this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to break in.

When you reached the side door, Furlan knelt to pick the lock, his fingers moving deftly over the worn mechanism.

“You sure you’ve got this?” you asked, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

He grinned without looking up. “Relax. It’s not my first dance.”

The lock clicked, and Furlan pushed the door open with a shit-eating grin. “After you,” he said with a mock bow.

Such a moron.

The air inside was thick with the smell of oil and rust, suffocating with very little light.

“There,” Levi said, his voice low as he nodded toward the far end of the room. Different sets of ODM gear hung on racks, their metallic components gleaming faintly.

You moved cautiously, your footsteps muffled by the dust-covered floor. Furlan reached the gear first, his grin widening as he inspected one of the sets. “A little outdated,” he murmured, running his fingers over the mechanisms. “But definitely worth the trip.”

“Take it and go,” Levi ordered, his gaze darting toward the door. “We’re not sticking around.”

You slung one set over your shoulder, the weight pressing heavily against your back as you adjusted the straps. On the other hand, Levi and Furlan grabbed two each just in case.

Just as you turned toward the exit, the sound of muffled voices reached you. 

Your stomach dropped. 

The guards were at the back door.

Levi’s hand shot up, signaling for silence. The three of you froze, your breaths shallow as the voices grew louder.

“They’ll notice the open lock,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Levi’s jaw tightened, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “If they come in, we take them out. Quick and quiet.”

The door creaked open, and two guards stepped inside, their lanterns sweeping across the room. Their boots scuffed against the floor as they muttered to each other.

The creak of the warehouse door sent a chill down your spine. Lantern light swept through the space as two guards stepped inside, their boots crunching faintly on the dusty floor.

“Check the racks,” one of them ordered, his tone clipped. “Captain’ll have our heads if we lose track of anything in here.”

Your heart pounded as the light moved closer to your hiding spot. The narrow gap between the crates was barely enough to conceal the three of you, and the weight of the ODM gear on your back made every shift of your body feel agonizingly loud.

“Wait,” one guard said suddenly, his footsteps halting. “Something’s missing.”

Shit.

Levi’s pointed gaze flicked toward you and Furlan, his fingers already tightening around the hilt of his blade. 

The second guard stepped up to the racks, running his hand over the empty hooks where the gear had been. “What the hell…? It was here yesterday.”

Furlan’s grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “They’re gonna figure it out,” he whispered, barely audible.

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “On my mark,” he murmured, his voice a thread of steel.

The first guard turned, his lantern swinging dangerously close to the crates. “Check the other side of the room. Maybe someone moved it.”

Levi moved before the guard could take another step. Silent as a shadow, he emerged from the gap and closed the distance in an instant. The flash of his blade was quick, precise—a clean strike that dropped the first guard before he could make a sound.

The second guard spun, his eyes wide with shock. “Hey! What—”

His shout was cut short as you lunged forward, your hands already on the haft of the short blade tucked into your harness. The guard’s lantern fell, clattering to the ground as he stumbled back, your blade slicing through his defenses.

Furlan stepped out next, grabbing the fallen lantern and snuffing its flame before the light could draw attention from outside. “Subtle,” he muttered, his grin strained but intact.

“Clear,” Levi said, his voice low as he scanned the room. He crouched to check the fallen guards, his movements quick and efficient. “We need to move. Now.”

You nodded, adjusting the weight of the gear on your back. The warehouse felt heavier with silence now, the echoes of your scuffle fading into the distance.

“Think anyone heard that?” Furlan asked, his tone almost casual as he slung his gear over one shoulder.

Levi didn’t answer, his focus already on the exit. He motioned for you to follow, his movements still sharp and deliberate.

The three of you slipped out the side door, sticking to the shadows as you retraced your path through the narrow alleys. Every sound seemed amplified—the scrape of your boots against the stone, the distant hum of voices from Ksaver’s tavern.

As you reached the edge of the alley, Levi raised a hand, signaling for a halt. He peeked around the corner, his grey eyes scanning the street ahead.

“All clear,” he said finally, stepping forward.

Relief flooded through you, though it was short-lived. The weight of the gear pressed heavily against your back, a constant reminder of what you’d risked—and what you’d gained.

By the time you reached the safety of your hideout, the adrenaline had begun to wear off, leaving your limbs heavy and your mind buzzing with exhaustion.

“Well,” Furlan said, dropping his gear onto the table with a thud. “That was fun.”

Levi shot him a glare, his voice cold. “You call that fun? If you hadn’t been so loud earlier—”

“Relax,” Furlan interrupted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We got what we came for, didn’t we?”

You sat down heavily, the stolen gear still strapped to your back. Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at your lips. “We’re alive. That counts for something.”

"Barely."

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the gear. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly. “This was just the start. Next time, there won’t be room for mistakes.”

The abandoned factory near the hideout became your training ground.

It was vast and empty, the towering beams and rusted catwalks providing the perfect place to test the ODM gear without drawing attention.

Levi, annoyingly so, took to it immediately—balanced, studious, and calculated.

The same as always.

Watching him soar through the air, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Furlan stood below, arms crossed, grinning up at you as you adjusted the straps of your harness. “Sure you don’t want to let the expert go first?”

You snorted, securing the final strap across your chest. “Pretty sure we’re both equally clueless about this.”

“Speak for yourself,” he replied, stepping back as you approached the edge of the platform. “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. Born to fly, you know.”

Levi, perched on a beam several feet above, didn’t bother looking down. “Born to crash, maybe.”

Furlan gasped dramatically. “Was that a joke? From Levi? Someone mark this moment in history.”

“Keep running your mouth, and I’ll make sure you’re the first to ‘fly,’” Levi muttered, tightening his grip on his gear. His gaze flicked to you briefly, as if checking to ensure you hadn’t strapped something wrong.

The mechanisms in your gear hissed softly as you tested the triggers, the faint resistance sending a thrill of anticipation through your body. You took a deep breath, your fingers steady despite the rush of nerves in your chest.

“Alright,” you said, stepping closer to the edge. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”

The grapples shot out with a loud metallic hiss, embedding themselves into a beam high above. Gas hissed from the canisters on your back, and suddenly, you were airborne.

The initial jolt nearly threw you off balance, the weightless sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.

Air rushed past your face as the world blurred around you, beams and scaffolding flashing by in streaks of rusted metal.

You adjusted the tension, the pull of the cables propelling you forward in a shaky arc.

Then you realized your trajectory was off—badly off. You were heading straight for a beam.

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to adjust the line, but your inexperience betrayed you. The controls felt clunky, unresponsive. You braced for impact, your heart hammering.

The collision never came. Instead, a harsh tug yanked you sideways, and suddenly, Levi was there, his arm locked around your waist as he propelled you both toward a safer landing.

You hit the platform with a stumble, Levi steadying you as you regained your footing. His grip was firm, his breath steady despite the chaos of the moment.

“Careful,” he said, his tone clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, your chest still heaving from the adrenaline. His face was close—too close—and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. “Thanks,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I had it under control.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief and mild irritation. “Right. That’s why you were about to introduce your face to a steel beam.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made the words falter. There was something unreadable in his expression, an intensity that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the gear strapped to your back.

“Uh… you can let go now,” you said, your voice higher than you’d intended.

Levi blinked, as if realizing for the first time that he was still holding you. He stepped back quickly, his arms dropping to his sides with a stiffness that bordered on awkward. “You’re lucky I was watching,” he muttered, looking away.

“Always am,” you shot back without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The silence that followed was loud.

Too loud,

Fuck.

Furlan’s laughter cut through it, his voice echoing from below. “Oh, that was smooth. I’ll give you that one.”

You turned, glaring down at him. “Shut up, Furlan.”

Levi cleared his throat, adjusting the straps of his gear. His expression was unreadable again, though a faint pink tint dusted the tips of his ears. “Get back up there,” he said flatly, nodding toward the scaffolding. “You’re not done until you stop flying like a drunk bird.”

The next few days blurred into a grueling routine. Each of you took turns practicing with the gear, alternating between bursts of progress and painful missteps. Furlan’s attempts often ended in chaos—his grapples tangling in beams, or his launches sending him spinning uncontrollably.

“Maybe this thing just doesn’t like me,” he muttered after his third crash into a stack of crates.

Levi, of course, took to the gear with ease. His movements were perfect: deliberate and efficient, each arc and turn executed with precision. Watching him was equal parts inspiring and frustrating—how did he make it look so easy?

One afternoon, after another exhausting round of practice, you sat on a ledge adjusting your gear. The straps were digging into your shoulders, the weight feeling heavier after hours of trial and error.

“You’re overthinking it,” Levi said, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glanced up at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stepped closer, crouching beside you as he gestured toward the triggers in your hands. “You’re forcing the movement. The gear’s designed to work with your body, not against it. You’re trying too hard to control it.”

His voice was calm, measured, but the proximity made it impossible to focus. His fingers brushed against yours as he adjusted your grip, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you.

“Relax your wrist,” he said, his tone softer now. “Let the momentum carry you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you tried to ignore the way your heart had started pounding. “Got it.”

Levi stepped back, his arms crossing as he watched you with that same intense focus. “Try again.”

You inhaled deeply, gripping the triggers as you launched upward. This time, the motion felt smoother, more natural. The air whipped past your face, and when you landed on the next platform, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“Better,” Levi called, his voice carrying easily across the factory.

You turned back to him, your chest tightening at the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was subtle, barely there, but enough to leave you feeling unsteady all over again.

Furlan’s voice echoed from below. “Alright, lovebirds, break it up! Some of us are trying to survive down here!”

You rolled your eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks as you shouted back, “Shut up, Furlan!”

Levi didn’t respond, but the small smirk that flickered across his face was enough to make you forget your embarrassment—if only for a moment.

That evening, Furlan announced he was done for the day, dramatically clutching his lower back as he slumped onto a crate. “I think the gear hates me,” he said, shaking his head. “And honestly, I’m starting to hate it back. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Levi barely glanced at him. “Good. You crashing into things is getting annoying.”

Furlan chuckled as he headed for the exit, leaving you and Levi alone in the cavernous space of the factory. The air was cooler now, the sounds quieter as the faint hum of distant life settled into an almost eerie calm.

It was just you and Levi now, the dim light from the fractured windows casting long shadows over the beams and scaffolding.

You tightened the straps on your harness, pretending the silence wasn’t getting to you. “I’m going again,” you said, breaking the quiet.

“Not like that,” Levi’s voice cut in, sharp but softer than usual.

You turned to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on you like he was sizing you up—not in the critical way he usually did, but as if deciding whether to elaborate. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and gestured to your harness. “Your straps. They’re too loose.”

You hesitated, glancing down at them. “They feel fine to me.”

“They’re not.” 

Levi was already in front of you, his hands reaching for the straps before you could protest. The adjustment was quick, precise, and practical—his gloved fingers deftly tightening the leather across your collarbone with a firm but careful touch.

It should’ve been nothing, and yet you felt it everywhere. The warmth of his hand through the glove, the way he was so close you could feel his presence like a weight pressing against you. Your breath hitched despite yourself, and you fought the urge to look at him.

But you couldn’t help it. Your gaze flicked upward, catching him in a moment of complete focus. His expression was neutral, eyes locked on the harness, his attention so sharp it felt unfairly indifferent—like you weren’t standing right there, hyper-aware of every small motion he made.

“There,” he said, stepping back slightly. His voice was calm and clipped, efficient as always, but there was a flicker of something—hesitation?—in the way his gaze lingered on your face before dropping back to the straps.

You nodded, your voice quieter than intended. “Thanks.”

But instead of stepping away fully, Levi’s eyes shifted downward, landing on the straps at your waist and thighs.

His jaw tightened for half a second, his hand hovering as though he might reach for them. The urge was fleeting but sharp, a thought that passed too quickly to stop but lingered just long enough to make him tense.

He dropped his hand, straightening and stepping back with a slight shake of his head, which was now beet red. “The lower straps are loose too,” he muttered, his tone soft but edged with something he couldn’t quite hide. “Fix them before you go again.”

Your pulse quickened as you followed his line of sight, fumbling with the straps around your waist, your fingers clumsy against the worn leather. His words were practical, but the air between you felt anything but.

“Right,” you murmured, tightening the buckles and avoiding his gaze.

Levi crossed his arms, his eyes flicking back up to your face once you were finished, like he was assessing your work. “Next time, check everything,” he said, his voice steadier now, though the faint tension in his jaw remained.

You nodded again, swallowing hard. “Got it,” the silence stretched, thick and heavy with things you didn’t know how to name. Your face grew hot as you tried to come up with something to say—”um, thanks.”

You adjusted your stance, focusing on the triggers in your hands, trying to shake the weight of his attention. But it was impossible to ignore the way his presence settled over you, like an anchor you couldn’t pull free of.

It was nothing, and yet it wasn’t. You hated how aware you were of him, how he—

“Try it now,” he said, his voice softer this time.

You nodded again, turning toward the edge of the platform with shaky hands.

The grapples hissed as they shot out, embedding themselves into the beams high above. Gas propelled you forward, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the nerves, the tension, the weight of his eyes on you.

But when you landed, breathless and steady, it was all there again.

“Better,” he said, stepping forward. His approval was quiet, almost reluctant, like he didn’t want to give too much away.

You forced a small smile, trying not to let the words hit harder than they should. “Guess the straps really were the problem.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, unreadable. “It wasn’t just the straps,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now. “You’re starting to trust the gear. That’s why it worked.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, not awkward but heavy, like there were too many things left unsaid.

“I’ll go again,” you said finally, taking a step back.

But Levi didn’t move.

“Wait,” he said, the word soft but firm enough to make you pause.

You turned to look at him, your pulse jumping when you saw the way his expression had shifted—something about the edges of his usual stoicism softened, just slightly. It made him look almost unsure, which was wrong in so many ways. Levi wasn’t supposed to look unsure.

“You’re still forcing it,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

You frowned. “Forcing what?”

He sighed, stepping closer again. His hands reached for yours, adjusting your grip on the triggers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But it wasn’t—not for you, anyway. His gloves were worn and rough, the touch fleeting and practical, yet it sent a warmth curling through you that made your chest ache.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. “The gear works with you. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m not—” you started to argue, but his gaze stopped you short.

He was close now, closer than he needed to be, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much.

You could feel his breath, steady and even despite the distance you’d just flown, and it made you horribly aware of how uneven yours was in comparison.

“Try again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and turned back to the edge of the platform. Your fingers tightened around the triggers, your grip firmer now but more deliberate, and you launched upward.

This time, the motion felt different. Easier. Smoother. The rush of air filled your lungs, and for a moment, you felt weightless in a way that didn’t terrify you. When you landed, it was with a steadiness that surprised even you.

You looked back at him, your chest still heaving. He was standing exactly where you’d left him, his arms crossed, his gaze sharpened but softer than usual.

“Better,” he said again, his tone quiet but unmistakably sure.

You smiled, though it felt too vulnerable, too honest. “Thanks.”

He nodded, but the way his eyes lingered made your stomach twist again. You thought about saying something—anything to cut through the heaviness between you—but before you could, he turned away.

“Don’t overthink it next time,” he said, his voice back to its usual clipped tone. But as he adjusted the straps on his gear, you caught the faintest trace of pink at the tips of his ears.

You swallowed back a laugh—soft and pathetic and a little bitter—and turned to reset your stance.

Levi didn’t look at you again, but his presence felt impossibly heavy. It was maddening, this quiet pull between you, like a thread you didn’t know how to cut.

You didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭

you didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

description: the trio gets their hands on ODM gear, a decision that will affect their rest of their lives without them knowing.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: pathetic yearning/ fluff

warning: tooth rotting

notes: the virgin induced christian yearning in this one makes the wait completely worth it.

word count: 4.3 k

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

If the Underground had one redeeming quality, it was this: its endless maze of abandoned

Silent, shadowed, and forgotten by most—ideal for watching without being seen.

From your vantage point across the street, Ksaver's tavern was alive with noise and chaos.

The glow of lanterns spilled onto the streets, illuminating clusters of drunk Garrison soldiers who lingered outside, laughing too loudly and leaning too heavily on each other.

“You’d think they were on leave,” you muttered, shifting slightly behind the dusty crate that hid you from view.

“They definitely think they are” Furlan replied with a grin, adjusting the straps of his satchel. His gaze flicked toward the warehouse looming just beyond the bar. “A couple more drinks, and they won’t even notice if we waltz in and take what we want.”

“Don’t get cocky. Drunk doesn’t mean blind. If we get caught, there are no second chances.”

The warehouse stood high next to the tavern, though still inconspicuous. A fortress of stone and steel—thick walls with narrow windows barred by iron.

A single lantern above the main entrance cast an eerie glow over the heavy steel door.

If you stop to think about it, so many defenses make the hideout look out of place compared to the surrounding buildings—but to be fair, it's not that weird either.

And section D-4.

The warehouse’s location was no accident. It was close to one of the main access points to the surface, a perfect hub for transporting supplies or weapons.

Its proximity to the tavern provided a convenient excuse for soldiers to loiter nearby, their presence both a deterrent and a cover.

Strategically, the spot was flawless. The surrounding alleys narrowed into natural chokepoints, ideal for defending against an attack or ambush.

But the same features that made it easy to guard also made it predictable.

Once again, you scanned the perimeter, noting the lazy paths of the patrolling guards. Their footsteps irregular, as though they were half-heartedly going through the motions.

Furlan shrugged off Levi’s warning, his grin widening as he gestured toward the soldiers at the bar. “You know, they don’t look all that bright. One distraction, and we’re golden.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone he always used before losing his patience. “One mistake, and we’re dead. This isn’t a game, Furlan.”

You stifled a sigh, crouching lower as you scanned the warehouse’s perimeter. A pair of guards moved methodically near the entrance, their lanterns casting faint pools of light. “Relax, Levi,” you said, your voice low but steady. “We’ve got this.”

His piercing gaze snapped to you, cutting through the dim light. “If I had a coin for every time you said that right before things went to hell, we wouldn’t need this job.”

Furlan snickered, nudging Levi’s arm with his elbow. “Lighten up, Captain. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Keep talking,” Levi muttered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade, “and I’ll give you something worse.”

Despite the harsh words, there was a rhythm to this—it was a routine that had carried you through countless close calls.

Still, the stakes felt higher tonight.

The plan was deceptively simple: avoid the guards, slip into the warehouse unnoticed, grab the gear, and get out. No unnecessary risks—but if they spotted you, there would be no retreat. You’d have to fight your way out.

Securing the ODM gear was the top priority, no matter the cost.

Levi crouched beside you, his eyes fixed on the guards patrolling the perimeter. “We move on my signal. Stay close, stay quiet, and don’t lose focus. If they see us, we end it fast—no hesitation.”

“Got it,” Furlan whispered, adjusting the straps on his satchel. “Though I doubt they’re sharp enough to notice anything.”

“They’re drunk, not blind,” Levi muttered, his voice low but edged with warning. “And even if they were, don’t get sloppy. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You stayed silent, your focus locked on the warehouse.

The guards’ paths were sloppy but predictable with patience.

They lingered near the main door longer than necessary, sharing drinks and trading jokes before pacing the perimeter with uneven steps. Their torches cast moving shadows, perfect for slipping through undetected.

Levi moved first, slipping into the dim alley like a shadow. His footsteps were silent as he hugged the wall of a neighboring building, gesturing for you and Furlan to follow.

One at a time, the three of you crossed the narrow street, sticking to the darker corners as you approached the back of the warehouse. The steel door loomed ahead, reinforced and locked tight.

The faint scuff marks near the hinges and chipped paint around the lock told a familiar story: this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to break in.

When you reached the side door, Furlan knelt to pick the lock, his fingers moving deftly over the worn mechanism.

“You sure you’ve got this?” you asked, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

He grinned without looking up. “Relax. It’s not my first dance.”

The lock clicked, and Furlan pushed the door open with a shit-eating grin. “After you,” he said with a mock bow.

Such a moron.

The air inside was thick with the smell of oil and rust, suffocating with very little light.

“There,” Levi said, his voice low as he nodded toward the far end of the room. Different sets of ODM gear hung on racks, their metallic components gleaming faintly.

You moved cautiously, your footsteps muffled by the dust-covered floor. Furlan reached the gear first, his grin widening as he inspected one of the sets. “A little outdated,” he murmured, running his fingers over the mechanisms. “But definitely worth the trip.”

“Take it and go,” Levi ordered, his gaze darting toward the door. “We’re not sticking around.”

You slung one set over your shoulder, the weight pressing heavily against your back as you adjusted the straps. On the other hand, Levi and Furlan grabbed two each just in case.

Just as you turned toward the exit, the sound of muffled voices reached you. 

Your stomach dropped. 

The guards were at the back door.

Levi’s hand shot up, signaling for silence. The three of you froze, your breaths shallow as the voices grew louder.

“They’ll notice the open lock,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Levi’s jaw tightened, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “If they come in, we take them out. Quick and quiet.”

The door creaked open, and two guards stepped inside, their lanterns sweeping across the room. Their boots scuffed against the floor as they muttered to each other.

The creak of the warehouse door sent a chill down your spine. Lantern light swept through the space as two guards stepped inside, their boots crunching faintly on the dusty floor.

“Check the racks,” one of them ordered, his tone clipped. “Captain’ll have our heads if we lose track of anything in here.”

Your heart pounded as the light moved closer to your hiding spot. The narrow gap between the crates was barely enough to conceal the three of you, and the weight of the ODM gear on your back made every shift of your body feel agonizingly loud.

“Wait,” one guard said suddenly, his footsteps halting. “Something’s missing.”

Shit.

Levi’s pointed gaze flicked toward you and Furlan, his fingers already tightening around the hilt of his blade. 

The second guard stepped up to the racks, running his hand over the empty hooks where the gear had been. “What the hell…? It was here yesterday.”

Furlan’s grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “They’re gonna figure it out,” he whispered, barely audible.

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “On my mark,” he murmured, his voice a thread of steel.

The first guard turned, his lantern swinging dangerously close to the crates. “Check the other side of the room. Maybe someone moved it.”

Levi moved before the guard could take another step. Silent as a shadow, he emerged from the gap and closed the distance in an instant. The flash of his blade was quick, precise—a clean strike that dropped the first guard before he could make a sound.

The second guard spun, his eyes wide with shock. “Hey! What—”

His shout was cut short as you lunged forward, your hands already on the haft of the short blade tucked into your harness. The guard’s lantern fell, clattering to the ground as he stumbled back, your blade slicing through his defenses.

Furlan stepped out next, grabbing the fallen lantern and snuffing its flame before the light could draw attention from outside. “Subtle,” he muttered, his grin strained but intact.

“Clear,” Levi said, his voice low as he scanned the room. He crouched to check the fallen guards, his movements quick and efficient. “We need to move. Now.”

You nodded, adjusting the weight of the gear on your back. The warehouse felt heavier with silence now, the echoes of your scuffle fading into the distance.

“Think anyone heard that?” Furlan asked, his tone almost casual as he slung his gear over one shoulder.

Levi didn’t answer, his focus already on the exit. He motioned for you to follow, his movements still sharp and deliberate.

The three of you slipped out the side door, sticking to the shadows as you retraced your path through the narrow alleys. Every sound seemed amplified—the scrape of your boots against the stone, the distant hum of voices from Ksaver’s tavern.

As you reached the edge of the alley, Levi raised a hand, signaling for a halt. He peeked around the corner, his grey eyes scanning the street ahead.

“All clear,” he said finally, stepping forward.

Relief flooded through you, though it was short-lived. The weight of the gear pressed heavily against your back, a constant reminder of what you’d risked—and what you’d gained.

By the time you reached the safety of your hideout, the adrenaline had begun to wear off, leaving your limbs heavy and your mind buzzing with exhaustion.

“Well,” Furlan said, dropping his gear onto the table with a thud. “That was fun.”

Levi shot him a glare, his voice cold. “You call that fun? If you hadn’t been so loud earlier—”

“Relax,” Furlan interrupted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We got what we came for, didn’t we?”

You sat down heavily, the stolen gear still strapped to your back. Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at your lips. “We’re alive. That counts for something.”

"Barely."

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the gear. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly. “This was just the start. Next time, there won’t be room for mistakes.”

The abandoned factory near the hideout became your training ground.

It was vast and empty, the towering beams and rusted catwalks providing the perfect place to test the ODM gear without drawing attention.

Levi, annoyingly so, took to it immediately—balanced, studious, and calculated.

The same as always.

Watching him soar through the air, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Furlan stood below, arms crossed, grinning up at you as you adjusted the straps of your harness. ��Sure you don’t want to let the expert go first?”

You snorted, securing the final strap across your chest. “Pretty sure we’re both equally clueless about this.”

“Speak for yourself,” he replied, stepping back as you approached the edge of the platform. “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. Born to fly, you know.”

Levi, perched on a beam several feet above, didn’t bother looking down. “Born to crash, maybe.”

Furlan gasped dramatically. “Was that a joke? From Levi? Someone mark this moment in history.”

“Keep running your mouth, and I’ll make sure you’re the first to ‘fly,’” Levi muttered, tightening his grip on his gear. His gaze flicked to you briefly, as if checking to ensure you hadn’t strapped something wrong.

The mechanisms in your gear hissed softly as you tested the triggers, the faint resistance sending a thrill of anticipation through your body. You took a deep breath, your fingers steady despite the rush of nerves in your chest.

“Alright,” you said, stepping closer to the edge. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”

The grapples shot out with a loud metallic hiss, embedding themselves into a beam high above. Gas hissed from the canisters on your back, and suddenly, you were airborne.

The initial jolt nearly threw you off balance, the weightless sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.

Air rushed past your face as the world blurred around you, beams and scaffolding flashing by in streaks of rusted metal.

You adjusted the tension, the pull of the cables propelling you forward in a shaky arc.

Then you realized your trajectory was off—badly off. You were heading straight for a beam.

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to adjust the line, but your inexperience betrayed you. The controls felt clunky, unresponsive. You braced for impact, your heart hammering.

The collision never came. Instead, a harsh tug yanked you sideways, and suddenly, Levi was there, his arm locked around your waist as he propelled you both toward a safer landing.

You hit the platform with a stumble, Levi steadying you as you regained your footing. His grip was firm, his breath steady despite the chaos of the moment.

“Careful,” he said, his tone clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, your chest still heaving from the adrenaline. His face was close—too close—and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. “Thanks,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I had it under control.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief and mild irritation. “Right. That’s why you were about to introduce your face to a steel beam.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made the words falter. There was something unreadable in his expression, an intensity that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the gear strapped to your back.

“Uh… you can let go now,” you said, your voice higher than you’d intended.

Levi blinked, as if realizing for the first time that he was still holding you. He stepped back quickly, his arms dropping to his sides with a stiffness that bordered on awkward. “You’re lucky I was watching,” he muttered, looking away.

“Always am,” you shot back without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The silence that followed was loud.

Too loud,

Fuck.

Furlan’s laughter cut through it, his voice echoing from below. “Oh, that was smooth. I’ll give you that one.”

You turned, glaring down at him. “Shut up, Furlan.”

Levi cleared his throat, adjusting the straps of his gear. His expression was unreadable again, though a faint pink tint dusted the tips of his ears. “Get back up there,” he said flatly, nodding toward the scaffolding. “You’re not done until you stop flying like a drunk bird.”

The next few days blurred into a grueling routine. Each of you took turns practicing with the gear, alternating between bursts of progress and painful missteps. Furlan’s attempts often ended in chaos—his grapples tangling in beams, or his launches sending him spinning uncontrollably.

“Maybe this thing just doesn’t like me,” he muttered after his third crash into a stack of crates.

Levi, of course, took to the gear with ease. His movements were perfect: deliberate and efficient, each arc and turn executed with precision. Watching him was equal parts inspiring and frustrating—how did he make it look so easy?

One afternoon, after another exhausting round of practice, you sat on a ledge adjusting your gear. The straps were digging into your shoulders, the weight feeling heavier after hours of trial and error.

“You’re overthinking it,” Levi said, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glanced up at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stepped closer, crouching beside you as he gestured toward the triggers in your hands. “You’re forcing the movement. The gear’s designed to work with your body, not against it. You’re trying too hard to control it.”

His voice was calm, measured, but the proximity made it impossible to focus. His fingers brushed against yours as he adjusted your grip, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you.

“Relax your wrist,” he said, his tone softer now. “Let the momentum carry you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you tried to ignore the way your heart had started pounding. “Got it.”

Levi stepped back, his arms crossing as he watched you with that same intense focus. “Try again.”

You inhaled deeply, gripping the triggers as you launched upward. This time, the motion felt smoother, more natural. The air whipped past your face, and when you landed on the next platform, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“Better,” Levi called, his voice carrying easily across the factory.

You turned back to him, your chest tightening at the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was subtle, barely there, but enough to leave you feeling unsteady all over again.

Furlan’s voice echoed from below. “Alright, lovebirds, break it up! Some of us are trying to survive down here!”

You rolled your eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks as you shouted back, “Shut up, Furlan!”

Levi didn’t respond, but the small smirk that flickered across his face was enough to make you forget your embarrassment—if only for a moment.

That evening, Furlan announced he was done for the day, dramatically clutching his lower back as he slumped onto a crate. “I think the gear hates me,” he said, shaking his head. “And honestly, I’m starting to hate it back. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Levi barely glanced at him. “Good. You crashing into things is getting annoying.”

Furlan chuckled as he headed for the exit, leaving you and Levi alone in the cavernous space of the factory. The air was cooler now, the sounds quieter as the faint hum of distant life settled into an almost eerie calm.

It was just you and Levi now, the dim light from the fractured windows casting long shadows over the beams and scaffolding.

You tightened the straps on your harness, pretending the silence wasn’t getting to you. “I’m going again,” you said, breaking the quiet.

“Not like that,” Levi’s voice cut in, sharp but softer than usual.

You turned to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on you like he was sizing you up—not in the critical way he usually did, but as if deciding whether to elaborate. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and gestured to your harness. “Your straps. They’re too loose.”

You hesitated, glancing down at them. “They feel fine to me.”

“They’re not.” 

Levi was already in front of you, his hands reaching for the straps before you could protest. The adjustment was quick, precise, and practical—his gloved fingers deftly tightening the leather across your collarbone with a firm but careful touch.

It should’ve been nothing, and yet you felt it everywhere. The warmth of his hand through the glove, the way he was so close you could feel his presence like a weight pressing against you. Your breath hitched despite yourself, and you fought the urge to look at him.

But you couldn’t help it. Your gaze flicked upward, catching him in a moment of complete focus. His expression was neutral, eyes locked on the harness, his attention so sharp it felt unfairly indifferent—like you weren’t standing right there, hyper-aware of every small motion he made.

“There,” he said, stepping back slightly. His voice was calm and clipped, efficient as always, but there was a flicker of something—hesitation?—in the way his gaze lingered on your face before dropping back to the straps.

You nodded, your voice quieter than intended. “Thanks.”

But instead of stepping away fully, Levi’s eyes shifted downward, landing on the straps at your waist and thighs.

His jaw tightened for half a second, his hand hovering as though he might reach for them. The urge was fleeting but sharp, a thought that passed too quickly to stop but lingered just long enough to make him tense.

He dropped his hand, straightening and stepping back with a slight shake of his head, which was now beet red. “The lower straps are loose too,” he muttered, his tone soft but edged with something he couldn’t quite hide. “Fix them before you go again.”

Your pulse quickened as you followed his line of sight, fumbling with the straps around your waist, your fingers clumsy against the worn leather. His words were practical, but the air between you felt anything but.

“Right,” you murmured, tightening the buckles and avoiding his gaze.

Levi crossed his arms, his eyes flicking back up to your face once you were finished, like he was assessing your work. “Next time, check everything,” he said, his voice steadier now, though the faint tension in his jaw remained.

You nodded again, swallowing hard. “Got it,” the silence stretched, thick and heavy with things you didn’t know how to name. Your face grew hot as you tried to come up with something to say—”um, thanks.”

You adjusted your stance, focusing on the triggers in your hands, trying to shake the weight of his attention. But it was impossible to ignore the way his presence settled over you, like an anchor you couldn’t pull free of.

It was nothing, and yet it wasn’t. You hated how aware you were of him, how he—

“Try it now,” he said, his voice softer this time.

You nodded again, turning toward the edge of the platform with shaky hands.

The grapples hissed as they shot out, embedding themselves into the beams high above. Gas propelled you forward, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the nerves, the tension, the weight of his eyes on you.

But when you landed, breathless and steady, it was all there again.

“Better,” he said, stepping forward. His approval was quiet, almost reluctant, like he didn’t want to give too much away.

You forced a small smile, trying not to let the words hit harder than they should. “Guess the straps really were the problem.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, unreadable. “It wasn’t just the straps,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now. “You’re starting to trust the gear. That’s why it worked.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, not awkward but heavy, like there were too many things left unsaid.

“I’ll go again,” you said finally, taking a step back.

But Levi didn’t move.

“Wait,” he said, the word soft but firm enough to make you pause.

You turned to look at him, your pulse jumping when you saw the way his expression had shifted—something about the edges of his usual stoicism softened, just slightly. It made him look almost unsure, which was wrong in so many ways. Levi wasn’t supposed to look unsure.

“You’re still forcing it,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

You frowned. “Forcing what?”

He sighed, stepping closer again. His hands reached for yours, adjusting your grip on the triggers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But it wasn’t—not for you, anyway. His gloves were worn and rough, the touch fleeting and practical, yet it sent a warmth curling through you that made your chest ache.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. “The gear works with you. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m not—” you started to argue, but his gaze stopped you short.

He was close now, closer than he needed to be, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much.

You could feel his breath, steady and even despite the distance you’d just flown, and it made you horribly aware of how uneven yours was in comparison.

“Try again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and turned back to the edge of the platform. Your fingers tightened around the triggers, your grip firmer now but more deliberate, and you launched upward.

This time, the motion felt different. Easier. Smoother. The rush of air filled your lungs, and for a moment, you felt weightless in a way that didn’t terrify you. When you landed, it was with a steadiness that surprised even you.

You looked back at him, your chest still heaving. He was standing exactly where you’d left him, his arms crossed, his gaze sharpened but softer than usual.

“Better,” he said again, his tone quiet but unmistakably sure.

You smiled, though it felt too vulnerable, too honest. “Thanks.”

He nodded, but the way his eyes lingered made your stomach twist again. You thought about saying something—anything to cut through the heaviness between you—but before you could, he turned away.

“Don’t overthink it next time,” he said, his voice back to its usual clipped tone. But as he adjusted the straps on his gear, you caught the faintest trace of pink at the tips of his ears.

You swallowed back a laugh—soft and pathetic and a little bitter—and turned to reset your stance.

Levi didn’t look at you again, but his presence felt impossibly heavy. It was maddening, this quiet pull between you, like a thread you didn’t know how to cut.

You didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭

you didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

description: the trio gets their hands on ODM gear, a decision that will affect their rest of their lives without them knowing.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: pathetic yearning/ fluff

warning: tooth rotting

notes: the virgin induced christian yearning in this one makes the wait completely worth it.

word count: 4.3 k

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

If the Underground had one redeeming quality, it was this: its endless maze of abandoned

Silent, shadowed, and forgotten by most—ideal for watching without being seen.

From your vantage point across the street, Ksaver's tavern was alive with noise and chaos.

The glow of lanterns spilled onto the streets, illuminating clusters of drunk Garrison soldiers who lingered outside, laughing too loudly and leaning too heavily on each other.

“You’d think they were on leave,” you muttered, shifting slightly behind the dusty crate that hid you from view.

“They definitely think they are” Furlan replied with a grin, adjusting the straps of his satchel. His gaze flicked toward the warehouse looming just beyond the bar. “A couple more drinks, and they won’t even notice if we waltz in and take what we want.”

“Don’t get cocky. Drunk doesn’t mean blind. If we get caught, there are no second chances.”

The warehouse stood high next to the tavern, though still inconspicuous. A fortress of stone and steel—thick walls with narrow windows barred by iron.

A single lantern above the main entrance cast an eerie glow over the heavy steel door.

If you stop to think about it, so many defenses make the hideout look out of place compared to the surrounding buildings—but to be fair, it's not that weird either.

And section D-4.

The warehouse’s location was no accident. It was close to one of the main access points to the surface, a perfect hub for transporting supplies or weapons.

Its proximity to the tavern provided a convenient excuse for soldiers to loiter nearby, their presence both a deterrent and a cover.

Strategically, the spot was flawless. The surrounding alleys narrowed into natural chokepoints, ideal for defending against an attack or ambush.

But the same features that made it easy to guard also made it predictable.

Once again, you scanned the perimeter, noting the lazy paths of the patrolling guards. Their footsteps irregular, as though they were half-heartedly going through the motions.

Furlan shrugged off Levi’s warning, his grin widening as he gestured toward the soldiers at the bar. “You know, they don’t look all that bright. One distraction, and we’re golden.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone he always used before losing his patience. “One mistake, and we’re dead. This isn’t a game, Furlan.”

You stifled a sigh, crouching lower as you scanned the warehouse’s perimeter. A pair of guards moved methodically near the entrance, their lanterns casting faint pools of light. “Relax, Levi,” you said, your voice low but steady. “We’ve got this.”

His piercing gaze snapped to you, cutting through the dim light. “If I had a coin for every time you said that right before things went to hell, we wouldn’t need this job.”

Furlan snickered, nudging Levi’s arm with his elbow. “Lighten up, Captain. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Keep talking,” Levi muttered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade, “and I’ll give you something worse.”

Despite the harsh words, there was a rhythm to this—it was a routine that had carried you through countless close calls.

Still, the stakes felt higher tonight.

The plan was deceptively simple: avoid the guards, slip into the warehouse unnoticed, grab the gear, and get out. No unnecessary risks—but if they spotted you, there would be no retreat. You’d have to fight your way out.

Securing the ODM gear was the top priority, no matter the cost.

Levi crouched beside you, his eyes fixed on the guards patrolling the perimeter. “We move on my signal. Stay close, stay quiet, and don’t lose focus. If they see us, we end it fast—no hesitation.”

“Got it,” Furlan whispered, adjusting the straps on his satchel. “Though I doubt they’re sharp enough to notice anything.”

“They’re drunk, not blind,” Levi muttered, his voice low but edged with warning. “And even if they were, don’t get sloppy. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You stayed silent, your focus locked on the warehouse.

The guards’ paths were sloppy but predictable with patience.

They lingered near the main door longer than necessary, sharing drinks and trading jokes before pacing the perimeter with uneven steps. Their torches cast moving shadows, perfect for slipping through undetected.

Levi moved first, slipping into the dim alley like a shadow. His footsteps were silent as he hugged the wall of a neighboring building, gesturing for you and Furlan to follow.

One at a time, the three of you crossed the narrow street, sticking to the darker corners as you approached the back of the warehouse. The steel door loomed ahead, reinforced and locked tight.

The faint scuff marks near the hinges and chipped paint around the lock told a familiar story: this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to break in.

When you reached the side door, Furlan knelt to pick the lock, his fingers moving deftly over the worn mechanism.

“You sure you’ve got this?” you asked, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

He grinned without looking up. “Relax. It’s not my first dance.”

The lock clicked, and Furlan pushed the door open with a shit-eating grin. “After you,” he said with a mock bow.

Such a moron.

The air inside was thick with the smell of oil and rust, suffocating with very little light.

“There,” Levi said, his voice low as he nodded toward the far end of the room. Different sets of ODM gear hung on racks, their metallic components gleaming faintly.

You moved cautiously, your footsteps muffled by the dust-covered floor. Furlan reached the gear first, his grin widening as he inspected one of the sets. “A little outdated,” he murmured, running his fingers over the mechanisms. “But definitely worth the trip.”

“Take it and go,” Levi ordered, his gaze darting toward the door. “We’re not sticking around.”

You slung one set over your shoulder, the weight pressing heavily against your back as you adjusted the straps. On the other hand, Levi and Furlan grabbed two each just in case.

Just as you turned toward the exit, the sound of muffled voices reached you. 

Your stomach dropped. 

The guards were at the back door.

Levi’s hand shot up, signaling for silence. The three of you froze, your breaths shallow as the voices grew louder.

“They’ll notice the open lock,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Levi’s jaw tightened, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “If they come in, we take them out. Quick and quiet.”

The door creaked open, and two guards stepped inside, their lanterns sweeping across the room. Their boots scuffed against the floor as they muttered to each other.

The creak of the warehouse door sent a chill down your spine. Lantern light swept through the space as two guards stepped inside, their boots crunching faintly on the dusty floor.

“Check the racks,” one of them ordered, his tone clipped. “Captain’ll have our heads if we lose track of anything in here.”

Your heart pounded as the light moved closer to your hiding spot. The narrow gap between the crates was barely enough to conceal the three of you, and the weight of the ODM gear on your back made every shift of your body feel agonizingly loud.

“Wait,” one guard said suddenly, his footsteps halting. “Something’s missing.”

Shit.

Levi’s pointed gaze flicked toward you and Furlan, his fingers already tightening around the hilt of his blade. 

The second guard stepped up to the racks, running his hand over the empty hooks where the gear had been. “What the hell…? It was here yesterday.”

Furlan’s grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “They’re gonna figure it out,” he whispered, barely audible.

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “On my mark,” he murmured, his voice a thread of steel.

The first guard turned, his lantern swinging dangerously close to the crates. “Check the other side of the room. Maybe someone moved it.”

Levi moved before the guard could take another step. Silent as a shadow, he emerged from the gap and closed the distance in an instant. The flash of his blade was quick, precise—a clean strike that dropped the first guard before he could make a sound.

The second guard spun, his eyes wide with shock. “Hey! What—”

His shout was cut short as you lunged forward, your hands already on the haft of the short blade tucked into your harness. The guard’s lantern fell, clattering to the ground as he stumbled back, your blade slicing through his defenses.

Furlan stepped out next, grabbing the fallen lantern and snuffing its flame before the light could draw attention from outside. “Subtle,” he muttered, his grin strained but intact.

“Clear,” Levi said, his voice low as he scanned the room. He crouched to check the fallen guards, his movements quick and efficient. “We need to move. Now.”

You nodded, adjusting the weight of the gear on your back. The warehouse felt heavier with silence now, the echoes of your scuffle fading into the distance.

“Think anyone heard that?” Furlan asked, his tone almost casual as he slung his gear over one shoulder.

Levi didn’t answer, his focus already on the exit. He motioned for you to follow, his movements still sharp and deliberate.

The three of you slipped out the side door, sticking to the shadows as you retraced your path through the narrow alleys. Every sound seemed amplified—the scrape of your boots against the stone, the distant hum of voices from Ksaver’s tavern.

As you reached the edge of the alley, Levi raised a hand, signaling for a halt. He peeked around the corner, his grey eyes scanning the street ahead.

“All clear,” he said finally, stepping forward.

Relief flooded through you, though it was short-lived. The weight of the gear pressed heavily against your back, a constant reminder of what you’d risked—and what you’d gained.

By the time you reached the safety of your hideout, the adrenaline had begun to wear off, leaving your limbs heavy and your mind buzzing with exhaustion.

“Well,” Furlan said, dropping his gear onto the table with a thud. “That was fun.”

Levi shot him a glare, his voice cold. “You call that fun? If you hadn’t been so loud earlier—”

“Relax,” Furlan interrupted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We got what we came for, didn’t we?”

You sat down heavily, the stolen gear still strapped to your back. Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at your lips. “We’re alive. That counts for something.”

"Barely."

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the gear. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly. “This was just the start. Next time, there won’t be room for mistakes.”

The abandoned factory near the hideout became your training ground.

It was vast and empty, the towering beams and rusted catwalks providing the perfect place to test the ODM gear without drawing attention.

Levi, annoyingly so, took to it immediately—balanced, studious, and calculated.

The same as always.

Watching him soar through the air, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Furlan stood below, arms crossed, grinning up at you as you adjusted the straps of your harness. “Sure you don’t want to let the expert go first?”

You snorted, securing the final strap across your chest. “Pretty sure we’re both equally clueless about this.”

“Speak for yourself,” he replied, stepping back as you approached the edge of the platform. “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. Born to fly, you know.”

Levi, perched on a beam several feet above, didn’t bother looking down. “Born to crash, maybe.”

Furlan gasped dramatically. “Was that a joke? From Levi? Someone mark this moment in history.”

“Keep running your mouth, and I’ll make sure you’re the first to ‘fly,’” Levi muttered, tightening his grip on his gear. His gaze flicked to you briefly, as if checking to ensure you hadn’t strapped something wrong.

The mechanisms in your gear hissed softly as you tested the triggers, the faint resistance sending a thrill of anticipation through your body. You took a deep breath, your fingers steady despite the rush of nerves in your chest.

“Alright,” you said, stepping closer to the edge. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”

The grapples shot out with a loud metallic hiss, embedding themselves into a beam high above. Gas hissed from the canisters on your back, and suddenly, you were airborne.

The initial jolt nearly threw you off balance, the weightless sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.

Air rushed past your face as the world blurred around you, beams and scaffolding flashing by in streaks of rusted metal.

You adjusted the tension, the pull of the cables propelling you forward in a shaky arc.

Then you realized your trajectory was off—badly off. You were heading straight for a beam.

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to adjust the line, but your inexperience betrayed you. The controls felt clunky, unresponsive. You braced for impact, your heart hammering.

The collision never came. Instead, a harsh tug yanked you sideways, and suddenly, Levi was there, his arm locked around your waist as he propelled you both toward a safer landing.

You hit the platform with a stumble, Levi steadying you as you regained your footing. His grip was firm, his breath steady despite the chaos of the moment.

“Careful,” he said, his tone clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, your chest still heaving from the adrenaline. His face was close—too close—and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. “Thanks,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I had it under control.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief and mild irritation. “Right. That’s why you were about to introduce your face to a steel beam.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made the words falter. There was something unreadable in his expression, an intensity that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the gear strapped to your back.

“Uh… you can let go now,” you said, your voice higher than you’d intended.

Levi blinked, as if realizing for the first time that he was still holding you. He stepped back quickly, his arms dropping to his sides with a stiffness that bordered on awkward. “You’re lucky I was watching,” he muttered, looking away.

“Always am,” you shot back without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The silence that followed was loud.

Too loud,

Fuck.

Furlan’s laughter cut through it, his voice echoing from below. “Oh, that was smooth. I’ll give you that one.”

You turned, glaring down at him. “Shut up, Furlan.”

Levi cleared his throat, adjusting the straps of his gear. His expression was unreadable again, though a faint pink tint dusted the tips of his ears. “Get back up there,” he said flatly, nodding toward the scaffolding. “You’re not done until you stop flying like a drunk bird.”

The next few days blurred into a grueling routine. Each of you took turns practicing with the gear, alternating between bursts of progress and painful missteps. Furlan’s attempts often ended in chaos—his grapples tangling in beams, or his launches sending him spinning uncontrollably.

“Maybe this thing just doesn’t like me,” he muttered after his third crash into a stack of crates.

Levi, of course, took to the gear with ease. His movements were perfect: deliberate and efficient, each arc and turn executed with precision. Watching him was equal parts inspiring and frustrating—how did he make it look so easy?

One afternoon, after another exhausting round of practice, you sat on a ledge adjusting your gear. The straps were digging into your shoulders, the weight feeling heavier after hours of trial and error.

“You’re overthinking it,” Levi said, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glanced up at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stepped closer, crouching beside you as he gestured toward the triggers in your hands. “You’re forcing the movement. The gear’s designed to work with your body, not against it. You’re trying too hard to control it.”

His voice was calm, measured, but the proximity made it impossible to focus. His fingers brushed against yours as he adjusted your grip, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you.

“Relax your wrist,” he said, his tone softer now. “Let the momentum carry you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you tried to ignore the way your heart had started pounding. “Got it.”

Levi stepped back, his arms crossing as he watched you with that same intense focus. “Try again.”

You inhaled deeply, gripping the triggers as you launched upward. This time, the motion felt smoother, more natural. The air whipped past your face, and when you landed on the next platform, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“Better,” Levi called, his voice carrying easily across the factory.

You turned back to him, your chest tightening at the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was subtle, barely there, but enough to leave you feeling unsteady all over again.

Furlan’s voice echoed from below. “Alright, lovebirds, break it up! Some of us are trying to survive down here!”

You rolled your eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks as you shouted back, “Shut up, Furlan!”

Levi didn’t respond, but the small smirk that flickered across his face was enough to make you forget your embarrassment—if only for a moment.

That evening, Furlan announced he was done for the day, dramatically clutching his lower back as he slumped onto a crate. “I think the gear hates me,” he said, shaking his head. “And honestly, I’m starting to hate it back. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Levi barely glanced at him. “Good. You crashing into things is getting annoying.”

Furlan chuckled as he headed for the exit, leaving you and Levi alone in the cavernous space of the factory. The air was cooler now, the sounds quieter as the faint hum of distant life settled into an almost eerie calm.

It was just you and Levi now, the dim light from the fractured windows casting long shadows over the beams and scaffolding.

You tightened the straps on your harness, pretending the silence wasn’t getting to you. “I’m going again,” you said, breaking the quiet.

“Not like that,” Levi’s voice cut in, sharp but softer than usual.

You turned to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on you like he was sizing you up—not in the critical way he usually did, but as if deciding whether to elaborate. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and gestured to your harness. “Your straps. They’re too loose.”

You hesitated, glancing down at them. “They feel fine to me.”

“They’re not.” 

Levi was already in front of you, his hands reaching for the straps before you could protest. The adjustment was quick, precise, and practical—his gloved fingers deftly tightening the leather across your collarbone with a firm but careful touch.

It should’ve been nothing, and yet you felt it everywhere. The warmth of his hand through the glove, the way he was so close you could feel his presence like a weight pressing against you. Your breath hitched despite yourself, and you fought the urge to look at him.

But you couldn’t help it. Your gaze flicked upward, catching him in a moment of complete focus. His expression was neutral, eyes locked on the harness, his attention so sharp it felt unfairly indifferent—like you weren’t standing right there, hyper-aware of every small motion he made.

“There,” he said, stepping back slightly. His voice was calm and clipped, efficient as always, but there was a flicker of something—hesitation?—in the way his gaze lingered on your face before dropping back to the straps.

You nodded, your voice quieter than intended. “Thanks.”

But instead of stepping away fully, Levi’s eyes shifted downward, landing on the straps at your waist and thighs.

His jaw tightened for half a second, his hand hovering as though he might reach for them. The urge was fleeting but sharp, a thought that passed too quickly to stop but lingered just long enough to make him tense.

He dropped his hand, straightening and stepping back with a slight shake of his head, which was now beet red. “The lower straps are loose too,” he muttered, his tone soft but edged with something he couldn’t quite hide. “Fix them before you go again.”

Your pulse quickened as you followed his line of sight, fumbling with the straps around your waist, your fingers clumsy against the worn leather. His words were practical, but the air between you felt anything but.

“Right,” you murmured, tightening the buckles and avoiding his gaze.

Levi crossed his arms, his eyes flicking back up to your face once you were finished, like he was assessing your work. “Next time, check everything,” he said, his voice steadier now, though the faint tension in his jaw remained.

You nodded again, swallowing hard. “Got it,” the silence stretched, thick and heavy with things you didn’t know how to name. Your face grew hot as you tried to come up with something to say—”um, thanks.”

You adjusted your stance, focusing on the triggers in your hands, trying to shake the weight of his attention. But it was impossible to ignore the way his presence settled over you, like an anchor you couldn’t pull free of.

It was nothing, and yet it wasn’t. You hated how aware you were of him, how he—

“Try it now,” he said, his voice softer this time.

You nodded again, turning toward the edge of the platform with shaky hands.

The grapples hissed as they shot out, embedding themselves into the beams high above. Gas propelled you forward, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the nerves, the tension, the weight of his eyes on you.

But when you landed, breathless and steady, it was all there again.

“Better,” he said, stepping forward. His approval was quiet, almost reluctant, like he didn’t want to give too much away.

You forced a small smile, trying not to let the words hit harder than they should. “Guess the straps really were the problem.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, unreadable. “It wasn’t just the straps,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now. “You’re starting to trust the gear. That’s why it worked.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, not awkward but heavy, like there were too many things left unsaid.

“I’ll go again,” you said finally, taking a step back.

But Levi didn’t move.

“Wait,” he said, the word soft but firm enough to make you pause.

You turned to look at him, your pulse jumping when you saw the way his expression had shifted—something about the edges of his usual stoicism softened, just slightly. It made him look almost unsure, which was wrong in so many ways. Levi wasn’t supposed to look unsure.

“You’re still forcing it,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

You frowned. “Forcing what?”

He sighed, stepping closer again. His hands reached for yours, adjusting your grip on the triggers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But it wasn’t—not for you, anyway. His gloves were worn and rough, the touch fleeting and practical, yet it sent a warmth curling through you that made your chest ache.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. “The gear works with you. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m not—” you started to argue, but his gaze stopped you short.

He was close now, closer than he needed to be, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much.

You could feel his breath, steady and even despite the distance you’d just flown, and it made you horribly aware of how uneven yours was in comparison.

“Try again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and turned back to the edge of the platform. Your fingers tightened around the triggers, your grip firmer now but more deliberate, and you launched upward.

This time, the motion felt different. Easier. Smoother. The rush of air filled your lungs, and for a moment, you felt weightless in a way that didn’t terrify you. When you landed, it was with a steadiness that surprised even you.

You looked back at him, your chest still heaving. He was standing exactly where you’d left him, his arms crossed, his gaze sharpened but softer than usual.

“Better,” he said again, his tone quiet but unmistakably sure.

You smiled, though it felt too vulnerable, too honest. “Thanks.”

He nodded, but the way his eyes lingered made your stomach twist again. You thought about saying something—anything to cut through the heaviness between you—but before you could, he turned away.

“Don’t overthink it next time,” he said, his voice back to its usual clipped tone. But as he adjusted the straps on his gear, you caught the faintest trace of pink at the tips of his ears.

You swallowed back a laugh—soft and pathetic and a little bitter—and turned to reset your stance.

Levi didn’t look at you again, but his presence felt impossibly heavy. It was maddening, this quiet pull between you, like a thread you didn’t know how to cut.

You didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭

you didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

description: the trio gets their hands on ODM gear, a decision that will affect their rest of their lives without them knowing.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: pathetic yearning/ fluff

warning: tooth rotting

notes: the virgin induced christian yearning in this one makes the wait completely worth it.

word count: 4.3 k

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

If the Underground had one redeeming quality, it was this: its endless maze of abandoned

Silent, shadowed, and forgotten by most—ideal for watching without being seen.

From your vantage point across the street, Ksaver's tavern was alive with noise and chaos.

The glow of lanterns spilled onto the streets, illuminating clusters of drunk Garrison soldiers who lingered outside, laughing too loudly and leaning too heavily on each other.

“You’d think they were on leave,” you muttered, shifting slightly behind the dusty crate that hid you from view.

“They definitely think they are” Furlan replied with a grin, adjusting the straps of his satchel. His gaze flicked toward the warehouse looming just beyond the bar. “A couple more drinks, and they won’t even notice if we waltz in and take what we want.”

“Don’t get cocky. Drunk doesn’t mean blind. If we get caught, there are no second chances.”

The warehouse stood high next to the tavern, though still inconspicuous. A fortress of stone and steel—thick walls with narrow windows barred by iron.

A single lantern above the main entrance cast an eerie glow over the heavy steel door.

If you stop to think about it, so many defenses make the hideout look out of place compared to the surrounding buildings—but to be fair, it's not that weird either.

And section D-4.

The warehouse’s location was no accident. It was close to one of the main access points to the surface, a perfect hub for transporting supplies or weapons.

Its proximity to the tavern provided a convenient excuse for soldiers to loiter nearby, their presence both a deterrent and a cover.

Strategically, the spot was flawless. The surrounding alleys narrowed into natural chokepoints, ideal for defending against an attack or ambush.

But the same features that made it easy to guard also made it predictable.

Once again, you scanned the perimeter, noting the lazy paths of the patrolling guards. Their footsteps irregular, as though they were half-heartedly going through the motions.

Furlan shrugged off Levi’s warning, his grin widening as he gestured toward the soldiers at the bar. “You know, they don’t look all that bright. One distraction, and we’re golden.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone he always used before losing his patience. “One mistake, and we’re dead. This isn’t a game, Furlan.”

You stifled a sigh, crouching lower as you scanned the warehouse’s perimeter. A pair of guards moved methodically near the entrance, their lanterns casting faint pools of light. “Relax, Levi,” you said, your voice low but steady. “We’ve got this.”

His piercing gaze snapped to you, cutting through the dim light. “If I had a coin for every time you said that right before things went to hell, we wouldn’t need this job.”

Furlan snickered, nudging Levi’s arm with his elbow. “Lighten up, Captain. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Keep talking,” Levi muttered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade, “and I’ll give you something worse.”

Despite the harsh words, there was a rhythm to this—it was a routine that had carried you through countless close calls.

Still, the stakes felt higher tonight.

The plan was deceptively simple: avoid the guards, slip into the warehouse unnoticed, grab the gear, and get out. No unnecessary risks—but if they spotted you, there would be no retreat. You’d have to fight your way out.

Securing the ODM gear was the top priority, no matter the cost.

Levi crouched beside you, his eyes fixed on the guards patrolling the perimeter. “We move on my signal. Stay close, stay quiet, and don’t lose focus. If they see us, we end it fast—no hesitation.”

“Got it,” Furlan whispered, adjusting the straps on his satchel. “Though I doubt they’re sharp enough to notice anything.”

“They’re drunk, not blind,” Levi muttered, his voice low but edged with warning. “And even if they were, don’t get sloppy. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You stayed silent, your focus locked on the warehouse.

The guards’ paths were sloppy but predictable with patience.

They lingered near the main door longer than necessary, sharing drinks and trading jokes before pacing the perimeter with uneven steps. Their torches cast moving shadows, perfect for slipping through undetected.

Levi moved first, slipping into the dim alley like a shadow. His footsteps were silent as he hugged the wall of a neighboring building, gesturing for you and Furlan to follow.

One at a time, the three of you crossed the narrow street, sticking to the darker corners as you approached the back of the warehouse. The steel door loomed ahead, reinforced and locked tight.

The faint scuff marks near the hinges and chipped paint around the lock told a familiar story: this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to break in.

When you reached the side door, Furlan knelt to pick the lock, his fingers moving deftly over the worn mechanism.

“You sure you’ve got this?” you asked, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

He grinned without looking up. “Relax. It’s not my first dance.”

The lock clicked, and Furlan pushed the door open with a shit-eating grin. “After you,” he said with a mock bow.

Such a moron.

The air inside was thick with the smell of oil and rust, suffocating with very little light.

“There,” Levi said, his voice low as he nodded toward the far end of the room. Different sets of ODM gear hung on racks, their metallic components gleaming faintly.

You moved cautiously, your footsteps muffled by the dust-covered floor. Furlan reached the gear first, his grin widening as he inspected one of the sets. “A little outdated,” he murmured, running his fingers over the mechanisms. “But definitely worth the trip.”

“Take it and go,” Levi ordered, his gaze darting toward the door. “We’re not sticking around.”

You slung one set over your shoulder, the weight pressing heavily against your back as you adjusted the straps. On the other hand, Levi and Furlan grabbed two each just in case.

Just as you turned toward the exit, the sound of muffled voices reached you. 

Your stomach dropped. 

The guards were at the back door.

Levi’s hand shot up, signaling for silence. The three of you froze, your breaths shallow as the voices grew louder.

“They’ll notice the open lock,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Levi’s jaw tightened, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “If they come in, we take them out. Quick and quiet.”

The door creaked open, and two guards stepped inside, their lanterns sweeping across the room. Their boots scuffed against the floor as they muttered to each other.

The creak of the warehouse door sent a chill down your spine. Lantern light swept through the space as two guards stepped inside, their boots crunching faintly on the dusty floor.

“Check the racks,” one of them ordered, his tone clipped. “Captain’ll have our heads if we lose track of anything in here.”

Your heart pounded as the light moved closer to your hiding spot. The narrow gap between the crates was barely enough to conceal the three of you, and the weight of the ODM gear on your back made every shift of your body feel agonizingly loud.

“Wait,” one guard said suddenly, his footsteps halting. “Something’s missing.”

Shit.

Levi’s pointed gaze flicked toward you and Furlan, his fingers already tightening around the hilt of his blade. 

The second guard stepped up to the racks, running his hand over the empty hooks where the gear had been. “What the hell…? It was here yesterday.”

Furlan’s grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “They’re gonna figure it out,” he whispered, barely audible.

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “On my mark,” he murmured, his voice a thread of steel.

The first guard turned, his lantern swinging dangerously close to the crates. “Check the other side of the room. Maybe someone moved it.”

Levi moved before the guard could take another step. Silent as a shadow, he emerged from the gap and closed the distance in an instant. The flash of his blade was quick, precise—a clean strike that dropped the first guard before he could make a sound.

The second guard spun, his eyes wide with shock. “Hey! What—”

His shout was cut short as you lunged forward, your hands already on the haft of the short blade tucked into your harness. The guard’s lantern fell, clattering to the ground as he stumbled back, your blade slicing through his defenses.

Furlan stepped out next, grabbing the fallen lantern and snuffing its flame before the light could draw attention from outside. “Subtle,” he muttered, his grin strained but intact.

“Clear,” Levi said, his voice low as he scanned the room. He crouched to check the fallen guards, his movements quick and efficient. “We need to move. Now.”

You nodded, adjusting the weight of the gear on your back. The warehouse felt heavier with silence now, the echoes of your scuffle fading into the distance.

“Think anyone heard that?” Furlan asked, his tone almost casual as he slung his gear over one shoulder.

Levi didn’t answer, his focus already on the exit. He motioned for you to follow, his movements still sharp and deliberate.

The three of you slipped out the side door, sticking to the shadows as you retraced your path through the narrow alleys. Every sound seemed amplified—the scrape of your boots against the stone, the distant hum of voices from Ksaver’s tavern.

As you reached the edge of the alley, Levi raised a hand, signaling for a halt. He peeked around the corner, his grey eyes scanning the street ahead.

“All clear,” he said finally, stepping forward.

Relief flooded through you, though it was short-lived. The weight of the gear pressed heavily against your back, a constant reminder of what you’d risked—and what you’d gained.

By the time you reached the safety of your hideout, the adrenaline had begun to wear off, leaving your limbs heavy and your mind buzzing with exhaustion.

“Well,” Furlan said, dropping his gear onto the table with a thud. “That was fun.”

Levi shot him a glare, his voice cold. “You call that fun? If you hadn’t been so loud earlier—”

“Relax,” Furlan interrupted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We got what we came for, didn’t we?”

You sat down heavily, the stolen gear still strapped to your back. Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at your lips. “We’re alive. That counts for something.”

"Barely."

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the gear. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly. “This was just the start. Next time, there won’t be room for mistakes.”

The abandoned factory near the hideout became your training ground.

It was vast and empty, the towering beams and rusted catwalks providing the perfect place to test the ODM gear without drawing attention.

Levi, annoyingly so, took to it immediately—balanced, studious, and calculated.

The same as always.

Watching him soar through the air, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Furlan stood below, arms crossed, grinning up at you as you adjusted the straps of your harness. “Sure you don’t want to let the expert go first?”

You snorted, securing the final strap across your chest. “Pretty sure we’re both equally clueless about this.”

“Speak for yourself,” he replied, stepping back as you approached the edge of the platform. “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. Born to fly, you know.”

Levi, perched on a beam several feet above, didn’t bother looking down. “Born to crash, maybe.”

Furlan gasped dramatically. “Was that a joke? From Levi? Someone mark this moment in history.”

“Keep running your mouth, and I’ll make sure you’re the first to ‘fly,’” Levi muttered, tightening his grip on his gear. His gaze flicked to you briefly, as if checking to ensure you hadn’t strapped something wrong.

The mechanisms in your gear hissed softly as you tested the triggers, the faint resistance sending a thrill of anticipation through your body. You took a deep breath, your fingers steady despite the rush of nerves in your chest.

“Alright,” you said, stepping closer to the edge. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”

The grapples shot out with a loud metallic hiss, embedding themselves into a beam high above. Gas hissed from the canisters on your back, and suddenly, you were airborne.

The initial jolt nearly threw you off balance, the weightless sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.

Air rushed past your face as the world blurred around you, beams and scaffolding flashing by in streaks of rusted metal.

You adjusted the tension, the pull of the cables propelling you forward in a shaky arc.

Then you realized your trajectory was off—badly off. You were heading straight for a beam.

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to adjust the line, but your inexperience betrayed you. The controls felt clunky, unresponsive. You braced for impact, your heart hammering.

The collision never came. Instead, a harsh tug yanked you sideways, and suddenly, Levi was there, his arm locked around your waist as he propelled you both toward a safer landing.

You hit the platform with a stumble, Levi steadying you as you regained your footing. His grip was firm, his breath steady despite the chaos of the moment.

“Careful,” he said, his tone clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, your chest still heaving from the adrenaline. His face was close—too close—and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. “Thanks,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I had it under control.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief and mild irritation. “Right. That’s why you were about to introduce your face to a steel beam.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made the words falter. There was something unreadable in his expression, an intensity that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the gear strapped to your back.

“Uh… you can let go now,” you said, your voice higher than you’d intended.

Levi blinked, as if realizing for the first time that he was still holding you. He stepped back quickly, his arms dropping to his sides with a stiffness that bordered on awkward. “You’re lucky I was watching,” he muttered, looking away.

“Always am,” you shot back without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The silence that followed was loud.

Too loud,

Fuck.

Furlan’s laughter cut through it, his voice echoing from below. “Oh, that was smooth. I’ll give you that one.”

You turned, glaring down at him. “Shut up, Furlan.”

Levi cleared his throat, adjusting the straps of his gear. His expression was unreadable again, though a faint pink tint dusted the tips of his ears. “Get back up there,” he said flatly, nodding toward the scaffolding. “You’re not done until you stop flying like a drunk bird.”

The next few days blurred into a grueling routine. Each of you took turns practicing with the gear, alternating between bursts of progress and painful missteps. Furlan’s attempts often ended in chaos—his grapples tangling in beams, or his launches sending him spinning uncontrollably.

“Maybe this thing just doesn’t like me,” he muttered after his third crash into a stack of crates.

Levi, of course, took to the gear with ease. His movements were perfect: deliberate and efficient, each arc and turn executed with precision. Watching him was equal parts inspiring and frustrating—how did he make it look so easy?

One afternoon, after another exhausting round of practice, you sat on a ledge adjusting your gear. The straps were digging into your shoulders, the weight feeling heavier after hours of trial and error.

“You’re overthinking it,” Levi said, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glanced up at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stepped closer, crouching beside you as he gestured toward the triggers in your hands. “You’re forcing the movement. The gear’s designed to work with your body, not against it. You’re trying too hard to control it.”

His voice was calm, measured, but the proximity made it impossible to focus. His fingers brushed against yours as he adjusted your grip, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you.

“Relax your wrist,” he said, his tone softer now. “Let the momentum carry you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you tried to ignore the way your heart had started pounding. “Got it.”

Levi stepped back, his arms crossing as he watched you with that same intense focus. “Try again.”

You inhaled deeply, gripping the triggers as you launched upward. This time, the motion felt smoother, more natural. The air whipped past your face, and when you landed on the next platform, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“Better,” Levi called, his voice carrying easily across the factory.

You turned back to him, your chest tightening at the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was subtle, barely there, but enough to leave you feeling unsteady all over again.

Furlan’s voice echoed from below. “Alright, lovebirds, break it up! Some of us are trying to survive down here!”

You rolled your eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks as you shouted back, “Shut up, Furlan!”

Levi didn’t respond, but the small smirk that flickered across his face was enough to make you forget your embarrassment—if only for a moment.

That evening, Furlan announced he was done for the day, dramatically clutching his lower back as he slumped onto a crate. “I think the gear hates me,” he said, shaking his head. “And honestly, I’m starting to hate it back. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Levi barely glanced at him. “Good. You crashing into things is getting annoying.”

Furlan chuckled as he headed for the exit, leaving you and Levi alone in the cavernous space of the factory. The air was cooler now, the sounds quieter as the faint hum of distant life settled into an almost eerie calm.

It was just you and Levi now, the dim light from the fractured windows casting long shadows over the beams and scaffolding.

You tightened the straps on your harness, pretending the silence wasn’t getting to you. “I’m going again,” you said, breaking the quiet.

“Not like that,” Levi’s voice cut in, sharp but softer than usual.

You turned to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on you like he was sizing you up—not in the critical way he usually did, but as if deciding whether to elaborate. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and gestured to your harness. “Your straps. They’re too loose.”

You hesitated, glancing down at them. “They feel fine to me.”

“They’re not.” 

Levi was already in front of you, his hands reaching for the straps before you could protest. The adjustment was quick, precise, and practical—his gloved fingers deftly tightening the leather across your collarbone with a firm but careful touch.

It should’ve been nothing, and yet you felt it everywhere. The warmth of his hand through the glove, the way he was so close you could feel his presence like a weight pressing against you. Your breath hitched despite yourself, and you fought the urge to look at him.

But you couldn’t help it. Your gaze flicked upward, catching him in a moment of complete focus. His expression was neutral, eyes locked on the harness, his attention so sharp it felt unfairly indifferent—like you weren’t standing right there, hyper-aware of every small motion he made.

“There,” he said, stepping back slightly. His voice was calm and clipped, efficient as always, but there was a flicker of something—hesitation?—in the way his gaze lingered on your face before dropping back to the straps.

You nodded, your voice quieter than intended. “Thanks.”

But instead of stepping away fully, Levi’s eyes shifted downward, landing on the straps at your waist and thighs.

His jaw tightened for half a second, his hand hovering as though he might reach for them. The urge was fleeting but sharp, a thought that passed too quickly to stop but lingered just long enough to make him tense.

He dropped his hand, straightening and stepping back with a slight shake of his head, which was now beet red. “The lower straps are loose too,” he muttered, his tone soft but edged with something he couldn’t quite hide. “Fix them before you go again.”

Your pulse quickened as you followed his line of sight, fumbling with the straps around your waist, your fingers clumsy against the worn leather. His words were practical, but the air between you felt anything but.

“Right,” you murmured, tightening the buckles and avoiding his gaze.

Levi crossed his arms, his eyes flicking back up to your face once you were finished, like he was assessing your work. “Next time, check everything,” he said, his voice steadier now, though the faint tension in his jaw remained.

You nodded again, swallowing hard. “Got it,” the silence stretched, thick and heavy with things you didn’t know how to name. Your face grew hot as you tried to come up with something to say—”um, thanks.”

You adjusted your stance, focusing on the triggers in your hands, trying to shake the weight of his attention. But it was impossible to ignore the way his presence settled over you, like an anchor you couldn’t pull free of.

It was nothing, and yet it wasn’t. You hated how aware you were of him, how he—

“Try it now,” he said, his voice softer this time.

You nodded again, turning toward the edge of the platform with shaky hands.

The grapples hissed as they shot out, embedding themselves into the beams high above. Gas propelled you forward, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the nerves, the tension, the weight of his eyes on you.

But when you landed, breathless and steady, it was all there again.

“Better,” he said, stepping forward. His approval was quiet, almost reluctant, like he didn’t want to give too much away.

You forced a small smile, trying not to let the words hit harder than they should. “Guess the straps really were the problem.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, unreadable. “It wasn’t just the straps,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now. “You’re starting to trust the gear. That’s why it worked.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, not awkward but heavy, like there were too many things left unsaid.

“I’ll go again,” you said finally, taking a step back.

But Levi didn’t move.

“Wait,” he said, the word soft but firm enough to make you pause.

You turned to look at him, your pulse jumping when you saw the way his expression had shifted—something about the edges of his usual stoicism softened, just slightly. It made him look almost unsure, which was wrong in so many ways. Levi wasn’t supposed to look unsure.

“You’re still forcing it,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

You frowned. “Forcing what?”

He sighed, stepping closer again. His hands reached for yours, adjusting your grip on the triggers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But it wasn’t—not for you, anyway. His gloves were worn and rough, the touch fleeting and practical, yet it sent a warmth curling through you that made your chest ache.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. “The gear works with you. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m not—” you started to argue, but his gaze stopped you short.

He was close now, closer than he needed to be, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much.

You could feel his breath, steady and even despite the distance you’d just flown, and it made you horribly aware of how uneven yours was in comparison.

“Try again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and turned back to the edge of the platform. Your fingers tightened around the triggers, your grip firmer now but more deliberate, and you launched upward.

This time, the motion felt different. Easier. Smoother. The rush of air filled your lungs, and for a moment, you felt weightless in a way that didn’t terrify you. When you landed, it was with a steadiness that surprised even you.

You looked back at him, your chest still heaving. He was standing exactly where you’d left him, his arms crossed, his gaze sharpened but softer than usual.

“Better,” he said again, his tone quiet but unmistakably sure.

You smiled, though it felt too vulnerable, too honest. “Thanks.”

He nodded, but the way his eyes lingered made your stomach twist again. You thought about saying something—anything to cut through the heaviness between you—but before you could, he turned away.

“Don’t overthink it next time,” he said, his voice back to its usual clipped tone. But as he adjusted the straps on his gear, you caught the faintest trace of pink at the tips of his ears.

You swallowed back a laugh—soft and pathetic and a little bitter—and turned to reset your stance.

Levi didn’t look at you again, but his presence felt impossibly heavy. It was maddening, this quiet pull between you, like a thread you didn’t know how to cut.

You didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭

you didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

description: the trio gets their hands on ODM gear, a decision that will affect their rest of their lives without them knowing.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: pathetic yearning/ fluff

warning: tooth rotting

notes: the virgin induced christian yearning in this one makes the wait completely worth it.

word count: 4.3 k

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

If the Underground had one redeeming quality, it was this: its endless maze of abandoned

Silent, shadowed, and forgotten by most—ideal for watching without being seen.

From your vantage point across the street, Ksaver's tavern was alive with noise and chaos.

The glow of lanterns spilled onto the streets, illuminating clusters of drunk Garrison soldiers who lingered outside, laughing too loudly and leaning too heavily on each other.

“You’d think they were on leave,” you muttered, shifting slightly behind the dusty crate that hid you from view.

“They definitely think they are” Furlan replied with a grin, adjusting the straps of his satchel. His gaze flicked toward the warehouse looming just beyond the bar. “A couple more drinks, and they won’t even notice if we waltz in and take what we want.”

“Don’t get cocky. Drunk doesn’t mean blind. If we get caught, there are no second chances.”

The warehouse stood high next to the tavern, though still inconspicuous. A fortress of stone and steel—thick walls with narrow windows barred by iron.

A single lantern above the main entrance cast an eerie glow over the heavy steel door.

If you stop to think about it, so many defenses make the hideout look out of place compared to the surrounding buildings—but to be fair, it's not that weird either.

And section D-4.

The warehouse’s location was no accident. It was close to one of the main access points to the surface, a perfect hub for transporting supplies or weapons.

Its proximity to the tavern provided a convenient excuse for soldiers to loiter nearby, their presence both a deterrent and a cover.

Strategically, the spot was flawless. The surrounding alleys narrowed into natural chokepoints, ideal for defending against an attack or ambush.

But the same features that made it easy to guard also made it predictable.

Once again, you scanned the perimeter, noting the lazy paths of the patrolling guards. Their footsteps irregular, as though they were half-heartedly going through the motions.

Furlan shrugged off Levi’s warning, his grin widening as he gestured toward the soldiers at the bar. “You know, they don’t look all that bright. One distraction, and we’re golden.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone he always used before losing his patience. “One mistake, and we’re dead. This isn’t a game, Furlan.”

You stifled a sigh, crouching lower as you scanned the warehouse’s perimeter. A pair of guards moved methodically near the entrance, their lanterns casting faint pools of light. “Relax, Levi,” you said, your voice low but steady. “We’ve got this.”

His piercing gaze snapped to you, cutting through the dim light. “If I had a coin for every time you said that right before things went to hell, we wouldn’t need this job.���

Furlan snickered, nudging Levi’s arm with his elbow. “Lighten up, Captain. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Keep talking,” Levi muttered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade, “and I’ll give you something worse.”

Despite the harsh words, there was a rhythm to this—it was a routine that had carried you through countless close calls.

Still, the stakes felt higher tonight.

The plan was deceptively simple: avoid the guards, slip into the warehouse unnoticed, grab the gear, and get out. No unnecessary risks—but if they spotted you, there would be no retreat. You’d have to fight your way out.

Securing the ODM gear was the top priority, no matter the cost.

Levi crouched beside you, his eyes fixed on the guards patrolling the perimeter. “We move on my signal. Stay close, stay quiet, and don’t lose focus. If they see us, we end it fast—no hesitation.”

“Got it,” Furlan whispered, adjusting the straps on his satchel. “Though I doubt they’re sharp enough to notice anything.”

“They’re drunk, not blind,” Levi muttered, his voice low but edged with warning. “And even if they were, don’t get sloppy. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You stayed silent, your focus locked on the warehouse.

The guards’ paths were sloppy but predictable with patience.

They lingered near the main door longer than necessary, sharing drinks and trading jokes before pacing the perimeter with uneven steps. Their torches cast moving shadows, perfect for slipping through undetected.

Levi moved first, slipping into the dim alley like a shadow. His footsteps were silent as he hugged the wall of a neighboring building, gesturing for you and Furlan to follow.

One at a time, the three of you crossed the narrow street, sticking to the darker corners as you approached the back of the warehouse. The steel door loomed ahead, reinforced and locked tight.

The faint scuff marks near the hinges and chipped paint around the lock told a familiar story: this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to break in.

When you reached the side door, Furlan knelt to pick the lock, his fingers moving deftly over the worn mechanism.

“You sure you’ve got this?” you asked, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

He grinned without looking up. “Relax. It’s not my first dance.”

The lock clicked, and Furlan pushed the door open with a shit-eating grin. “After you,” he said with a mock bow.

Such a moron.

The air inside was thick with the smell of oil and rust, suffocating with very little light.

“There,” Levi said, his voice low as he nodded toward the far end of the room. Different sets of ODM gear hung on racks, their metallic components gleaming faintly.

You moved cautiously, your footsteps muffled by the dust-covered floor. Furlan reached the gear first, his grin widening as he inspected one of the sets. “A little outdated,” he murmured, running his fingers over the mechanisms. “But definitely worth the trip.”

“Take it and go,” Levi ordered, his gaze darting toward the door. “We’re not sticking around.”

You slung one set over your shoulder, the weight pressing heavily against your back as you adjusted the straps. On the other hand, Levi and Furlan grabbed two each just in case.

Just as you turned toward the exit, the sound of muffled voices reached you. 

Your stomach dropped. 

The guards were at the back door.

Levi’s hand shot up, signaling for silence. The three of you froze, your breaths shallow as the voices grew louder.

“They’ll notice the open lock,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Levi’s jaw tightened, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “If they come in, we take them out. Quick and quiet.”

The door creaked open, and two guards stepped inside, their lanterns sweeping across the room. Their boots scuffed against the floor as they muttered to each other.

The creak of the warehouse door sent a chill down your spine. Lantern light swept through the space as two guards stepped inside, their boots crunching faintly on the dusty floor.

“Check the racks,” one of them ordered, his tone clipped. “Captain’ll have our heads if we lose track of anything in here.”

Your heart pounded as the light moved closer to your hiding spot. The narrow gap between the crates was barely enough to conceal the three of you, and the weight of the ODM gear on your back made every shift of your body feel agonizingly loud.

“Wait,” one guard said suddenly, his footsteps halting. “Something’s missing.”

Shit.

Levi’s pointed gaze flicked toward you and Furlan, his fingers already tightening around the hilt of his blade. 

The second guard stepped up to the racks, running his hand over the empty hooks where the gear had been. “What the hell…? It was here yesterday.”

Furlan’s grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “They’re gonna figure it out,” he whispered, barely audible.

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “On my mark,” he murmured, his voice a thread of steel.

The first guard turned, his lantern swinging dangerously close to the crates. “Check the other side of the room. Maybe someone moved it.”

Levi moved before the guard could take another step. Silent as a shadow, he emerged from the gap and closed the distance in an instant. The flash of his blade was quick, precise—a clean strike that dropped the first guard before he could make a sound.

The second guard spun, his eyes wide with shock. “Hey! What—”

His shout was cut short as you lunged forward, your hands already on the haft of the short blade tucked into your harness. The guard’s lantern fell, clattering to the ground as he stumbled back, your blade slicing through his defenses.

Furlan stepped out next, grabbing the fallen lantern and snuffing its flame before the light could draw attention from outside. “Subtle,” he muttered, his grin strained but intact.

“Clear,” Levi said, his voice low as he scanned the room. He crouched to check the fallen guards, his movements quick and efficient. “We need to move. Now.”

You nodded, adjusting the weight of the gear on your back. The warehouse felt heavier with silence now, the echoes of your scuffle fading into the distance.

“Think anyone heard that?” Furlan asked, his tone almost casual as he slung his gear over one shoulder.

Levi didn’t answer, his focus already on the exit. He motioned for you to follow, his movements still sharp and deliberate.

The three of you slipped out the side door, sticking to the shadows as you retraced your path through the narrow alleys. Every sound seemed amplified—the scrape of your boots against the stone, the distant hum of voices from Ksaver’s tavern.

As you reached the edge of the alley, Levi raised a hand, signaling for a halt. He peeked around the corner, his grey eyes scanning the street ahead.

“All clear,” he said finally, stepping forward.

Relief flooded through you, though it was short-lived. The weight of the gear pressed heavily against your back, a constant reminder of what you’d risked—and what you’d gained.

By the time you reached the safety of your hideout, the adrenaline had begun to wear off, leaving your limbs heavy and your mind buzzing with exhaustion.

“Well,” Furlan said, dropping his gear onto the table with a thud. “That was fun.”

Levi shot him a glare, his voice cold. “You call that fun? If you hadn’t been so loud earlier—”

“Relax,” Furlan interrupted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We got what we came for, didn’t we?”

You sat down heavily, the stolen gear still strapped to your back. Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at your lips. “We’re alive. That counts for something.”

"Barely."

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the gear. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly. “This was just the start. Next time, there won’t be room for mistakes.”

The abandoned factory near the hideout became your training ground.

It was vast and empty, the towering beams and rusted catwalks providing the perfect place to test the ODM gear without drawing attention.

Levi, annoyingly so, took to it immediately—balanced, studious, and calculated.

The same as always.

Watching him soar through the air, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Furlan stood below, arms crossed, grinning up at you as you adjusted the straps of your harness. “Sure you don’t want to let the expert go first?”

You snorted, securing the final strap across your chest. “Pretty sure we’re both equally clueless about this.”

“Speak for yourself,” he replied, stepping back as you approached the edge of the platform. “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. Born to fly, you know.”

Levi, perched on a beam several feet above, didn’t bother looking down. “Born to crash, maybe.”

Furlan gasped dramatically. “Was that a joke? From Levi? Someone mark this moment in history.”

“Keep running your mouth, and I’ll make sure you’re the first to ‘fly,’” Levi muttered, tightening his grip on his gear. His gaze flicked to you briefly, as if checking to ensure you hadn’t strapped something wrong.

The mechanisms in your gear hissed softly as you tested the triggers, the faint resistance sending a thrill of anticipation through your body. You took a deep breath, your fingers steady despite the rush of nerves in your chest.

“Alright,” you said, stepping closer to the edge. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”

The grapples shot out with a loud metallic hiss, embedding themselves into a beam high above. Gas hissed from the canisters on your back, and suddenly, you were airborne.

The initial jolt nearly threw you off balance, the weightless sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.

Air rushed past your face as the world blurred around you, beams and scaffolding flashing by in streaks of rusted metal.

You adjusted the tension, the pull of the cables propelling you forward in a shaky arc.

Then you realized your trajectory was off—badly off. You were heading straight for a beam.

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to adjust the line, but your inexperience betrayed you. The controls felt clunky, unresponsive. You braced for impact, your heart hammering.

The collision never came. Instead, a harsh tug yanked you sideways, and suddenly, Levi was there, his arm locked around your waist as he propelled you both toward a safer landing.

You hit the platform with a stumble, Levi steadying you as you regained your footing. His grip was firm, his breath steady despite the chaos of the moment.

“Careful,” he said, his tone clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, your chest still heaving from the adrenaline. His face was close—too close—and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. “Thanks,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I had it under control.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief and mild irritation. “Right. That’s why you were about to introduce your face to a steel beam.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made the words falter. There was something unreadable in his expression, an intensity that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the gear strapped to your back.

“Uh… you can let go now,” you said, your voice higher than you’d intended.

Levi blinked, as if realizing for the first time that he was still holding you. He stepped back quickly, his arms dropping to his sides with a stiffness that bordered on awkward. “You’re lucky I was watching,” he muttered, looking away.

“Always am,” you shot back without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The silence that followed was loud.

Too loud,

Fuck.

Furlan’s laughter cut through it, his voice echoing from below. “Oh, that was smooth. I’ll give you that one.”

You turned, glaring down at him. “Shut up, Furlan.”

Levi cleared his throat, adjusting the straps of his gear. His expression was unreadable again, though a faint pink tint dusted the tips of his ears. “Get back up there,” he said flatly, nodding toward the scaffolding. “You’re not done until you stop flying like a drunk bird.”

The next few days blurred into a grueling routine. Each of you took turns practicing with the gear, alternating between bursts of progress and painful missteps. Furlan’s attempts often ended in chaos—his grapples tangling in beams, or his launches sending him spinning uncontrollably.

“Maybe this thing just doesn’t like me,” he muttered after his third crash into a stack of crates.

Levi, of course, took to the gear with ease. His movements were perfect: deliberate and efficient, each arc and turn executed with precision. Watching him was equal parts inspiring and frustrating—how did he make it look so easy?

One afternoon, after another exhausting round of practice, you sat on a ledge adjusting your gear. The straps were digging into your shoulders, the weight feeling heavier after hours of trial and error.

“You’re overthinking it,” Levi said, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glanced up at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stepped closer, crouching beside you as he gestured toward the triggers in your hands. “You’re forcing the movement. The gear’s designed to work with your body, not against it. You’re trying too hard to control it.”

His voice was calm, measured, but the proximity made it impossible to focus. His fingers brushed against yours as he adjusted your grip, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you.

“Relax your wrist,” he said, his tone softer now. “Let the momentum carry you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you tried to ignore the way your heart had started pounding. “Got it.”

Levi stepped back, his arms crossing as he watched you with that same intense focus. “Try again.”

You inhaled deeply, gripping the triggers as you launched upward. This time, the motion felt smoother, more natural. The air whipped past your face, and when you landed on the next platform, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“Better,” Levi called, his voice carrying easily across the factory.

You turned back to him, your chest tightening at the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was subtle, barely there, but enough to leave you feeling unsteady all over again.

Furlan’s voice echoed from below. “Alright, lovebirds, break it up! Some of us are trying to survive down here!”

You rolled your eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks as you shouted back, “Shut up, Furlan!”

Levi didn’t respond, but the small smirk that flickered across his face was enough to make you forget your embarrassment—if only for a moment.

That evening, Furlan announced he was done for the day, dramatically clutching his lower back as he slumped onto a crate. “I think the gear hates me,” he said, shaking his head. “And honestly, I’m starting to hate it back. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Levi barely glanced at him. “Good. You crashing into things is getting annoying.”

Furlan chuckled as he headed for the exit, leaving you and Levi alone in the cavernous space of the factory. The air was cooler now, the sounds quieter as the faint hum of distant life settled into an almost eerie calm.

It was just you and Levi now, the dim light from the fractured windows casting long shadows over the beams and scaffolding.

You tightened the straps on your harness, pretending the silence wasn’t getting to you. “I’m going again,” you said, breaking the quiet.

“Not like that,” Levi’s voice cut in, sharp but softer than usual.

You turned to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on you like he was sizing you up—not in the critical way he usually did, but as if deciding whether to elaborate. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and gestured to your harness. “Your straps. They’re too loose.”

You hesitated, glancing down at them. “They feel fine to me.”

“They’re not.” 

Levi was already in front of you, his hands reaching for the straps before you could protest. The adjustment was quick, precise, and practical—his gloved fingers deftly tightening the leather across your collarbone with a firm but careful touch.

It should’ve been nothing, and yet you felt it everywhere. The warmth of his hand through the glove, the way he was so close you could feel his presence like a weight pressing against you. Your breath hitched despite yourself, and you fought the urge to look at him.

But you couldn’t help it. Your gaze flicked upward, catching him in a moment of complete focus. His expression was neutral, eyes locked on the harness, his attention so sharp it felt unfairly indifferent—like you weren’t standing right there, hyper-aware of every small motion he made.

“There,” he said, stepping back slightly. His voice was calm and clipped, efficient as always, but there was a flicker of something—hesitation?—in the way his gaze lingered on your face before dropping back to the straps.

You nodded, your voice quieter than intended. “Thanks.”

But instead of stepping away fully, Levi’s eyes shifted downward, landing on the straps at your waist and thighs.

His jaw tightened for half a second, his hand hovering as though he might reach for them. The urge was fleeting but sharp, a thought that passed too quickly to stop but lingered just long enough to make him tense.

He dropped his hand, straightening and stepping back with a slight shake of his head, which was now beet red. “The lower straps are loose too,” he muttered, his tone soft but edged with something he couldn’t quite hide. “Fix them before you go again.”

Your pulse quickened as you followed his line of sight, fumbling with the straps around your waist, your fingers clumsy against the worn leather. His words were practical, but the air between you felt anything but.

“Right,” you murmured, tightening the buckles and avoiding his gaze.

Levi crossed his arms, his eyes flicking back up to your face once you were finished, like he was assessing your work. “Next time, check everything,” he said, his voice steadier now, though the faint tension in his jaw remained.

You nodded again, swallowing hard. “Got it,” the silence stretched, thick and heavy with things you didn’t know how to name. Your face grew hot as you tried to come up with something to say—”um, thanks.”

You adjusted your stance, focusing on the triggers in your hands, trying to shake the weight of his attention. But it was impossible to ignore the way his presence settled over you, like an anchor you couldn’t pull free of.

It was nothing, and yet it wasn’t. You hated how aware you were of him, how he—

“Try it now,” he said, his voice softer this time.

You nodded again, turning toward the edge of the platform with shaky hands.

The grapples hissed as they shot out, embedding themselves into the beams high above. Gas propelled you forward, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the nerves, the tension, the weight of his eyes on you.

But when you landed, breathless and steady, it was all there again.

“Better,” he said, stepping forward. His approval was quiet, almost reluctant, like he didn’t want to give too much away.

You forced a small smile, trying not to let the words hit harder than they should. “Guess the straps really were the problem.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, unreadable. “It wasn’t just the straps,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now. “You’re starting to trust the gear. That’s why it worked.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, not awkward but heavy, like there were too many things left unsaid.

“I’ll go again,” you said finally, taking a step back.

But Levi didn’t move.

“Wait,” he said, the word soft but firm enough to make you pause.

You turned to look at him, your pulse jumping when you saw the way his expression had shifted—something about the edges of his usual stoicism softened, just slightly. It made him look almost unsure, which was wrong in so many ways. Levi wasn’t supposed to look unsure.

“You’re still forcing it,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

You frowned. “Forcing what?”

He sighed, stepping closer again. His hands reached for yours, adjusting your grip on the triggers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But it wasn’t—not for you, anyway. His gloves were worn and rough, the touch fleeting and practical, yet it sent a warmth curling through you that made your chest ache.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. “The gear works with you. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m not—” you started to argue, but his gaze stopped you short.

He was close now, closer than he needed to be, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much.

You could feel his breath, steady and even despite the distance you’d just flown, and it made you horribly aware of how uneven yours was in comparison.

“Try again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and turned back to the edge of the platform. Your fingers tightened around the triggers, your grip firmer now but more deliberate, and you launched upward.

This time, the motion felt different. Easier. Smoother. The rush of air filled your lungs, and for a moment, you felt weightless in a way that didn’t terrify you. When you landed, it was with a steadiness that surprised even you.

You looked back at him, your chest still heaving. He was standing exactly where you’d left him, his arms crossed, his gaze sharpened but softer than usual.

“Better,” he said again, his tone quiet but unmistakably sure.

You smiled, though it felt too vulnerable, too honest. “Thanks.”

He nodded, but the way his eyes lingered made your stomach twist again. You thought about saying something—anything to cut through the heaviness between you—but before you could, he turned away.

“Don’t overthink it next time,” he said, his voice back to its usual clipped tone. But as he adjusted the straps on his gear, you caught the faintest trace of pink at the tips of his ears.

You swallowed back a laugh—soft and pathetic and a little bitter—and turned to reset your stance.

Levi didn’t look at you again, but his presence felt impossibly heavy. It was maddening, this quiet pull between you, like a thread you didn’t know how to cut.

You didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭

you didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

description: the trio gets their hands on ODM gear, a decision that will affect their rest of their lives without them knowing.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: pathetic yearning/ fluff

warning: tooth rotting

notes: the virgin induced christian yearning in this one makes the wait completely worth it.

word count: 4.3 k

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

If the Underground had one redeeming quality, it was this: its endless maze of abandoned

Silent, shadowed, and forgotten by most—ideal for watching without being seen.

From your vantage point across the street, Ksaver's tavern was alive with noise and chaos.

The glow of lanterns spilled onto the streets, illuminating clusters of drunk Garrison soldiers who lingered outside, laughing too loudly and leaning too heavily on each other.

“You’d think they were on leave,” you muttered, shifting slightly behind the dusty crate that hid you from view.

“They definitely think they are” Furlan replied with a grin, adjusting the straps of his satchel. His gaze flicked toward the warehouse looming just beyond the bar. “A couple more drinks, and they won’t even notice if we waltz in and take what we want.”

“Don’t get cocky. Drunk doesn’t mean blind. If we get caught, there are no second chances.”

The warehouse stood high next to the tavern, though still inconspicuous. A fortress of stone and steel—thick walls with narrow windows barred by iron.

A single lantern above the main entrance cast an eerie glow over the heavy steel door.

If you stop to think about it, so many defenses make the hideout look out of place compared to the surrounding buildings—but to be fair, it's not that weird either.

And section D-4.

The warehouse’s location was no accident. It was close to one of the main access points to the surface, a perfect hub for transporting supplies or weapons.

Its proximity to the tavern provided a convenient excuse for soldiers to loiter nearby, their presence both a deterrent and a cover.

Strategically, the spot was flawless. The surrounding alleys narrowed into natural chokepoints, ideal for defending against an attack or ambush.

But the same features that made it easy to guard also made it predictable.

Once again, you scanned the perimeter, noting the lazy paths of the patrolling guards. Their footsteps irregular, as though they were half-heartedly going through the motions.

Furlan shrugged off Levi’s warning, his grin widening as he gestured toward the soldiers at the bar. “You know, they don’t look all that bright. One distraction, and we’re golden.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone he always used before losing his patience. “One mistake, and we’re dead. This isn’t a game, Furlan.”

You stifled a sigh, crouching lower as you scanned the warehouse’s perimeter. A pair of guards moved methodically near the entrance, their lanterns casting faint pools of light. “Relax, Levi,” you said, your voice low but steady. “We’ve got this.”

His piercing gaze snapped to you, cutting through the dim light. “If I had a coin for every time you said that right before things went to hell, we wouldn’t need this job.”

Furlan snickered, nudging Levi’s arm with his elbow. “Lighten up, Captain. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“Keep talking,” Levi muttered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his blade, “and I’ll give you something worse.”

Despite the harsh words, there was a rhythm to this—it was a routine that had carried you through countless close calls.

Still, the stakes felt higher tonight.

The plan was deceptively simple: avoid the guards, slip into the warehouse unnoticed, grab the gear, and get out. No unnecessary risks—but if they spotted you, there would be no retreat. You’d have to fight your way out.

Securing the ODM gear was the top priority, no matter the cost.

Levi crouched beside you, his eyes fixed on the guards patrolling the perimeter. “We move on my signal. Stay close, stay quiet, and don’t lose focus. If they see us, we end it fast—no hesitation.”

“Got it,” Furlan whispered, adjusting the straps on his satchel. “Though I doubt they’re sharp enough to notice anything.”

“They’re drunk, not blind,” Levi muttered, his voice low but edged with warning. “And even if they were, don’t get sloppy. We can’t afford mistakes.”

You stayed silent, your focus locked on the warehouse.

The guards’ paths were sloppy but predictable with patience.

They lingered near the main door longer than necessary, sharing drinks and trading jokes before pacing the perimeter with uneven steps. Their torches cast moving shadows, perfect for slipping through undetected.

Levi moved first, slipping into the dim alley like a shadow. His footsteps were silent as he hugged the wall of a neighboring building, gesturing for you and Furlan to follow.

One at a time, the three of you crossed the narrow street, sticking to the darker corners as you approached the back of the warehouse. The steel door loomed ahead, reinforced and locked tight.

The faint scuff marks near the hinges and chipped paint around the lock told a familiar story: this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to break in.

When you reached the side door, Furlan knelt to pick the lock, his fingers moving deftly over the worn mechanism.

“You sure you’ve got this?” you asked, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

He grinned without looking up. “Relax. It’s not my first dance.”

The lock clicked, and Furlan pushed the door open with a shit-eating grin. “After you,” he said with a mock bow.

Such a moron.

The air inside was thick with the smell of oil and rust, suffocating with very little light.

“There,” Levi said, his voice low as he nodded toward the far end of the room. Different sets of ODM gear hung on racks, their metallic components gleaming faintly.

You moved cautiously, your footsteps muffled by the dust-covered floor. Furlan reached the gear first, his grin widening as he inspected one of the sets. “A little outdated,” he murmured, running his fingers over the mechanisms. “But definitely worth the trip.”

“Take it and go,” Levi ordered, his gaze darting toward the door. “We’re not sticking around.”

You slung one set over your shoulder, the weight pressing heavily against your back as you adjusted the straps. On the other hand, Levi and Furlan grabbed two each just in case.

Just as you turned toward the exit, the sound of muffled voices reached you. 

Your stomach dropped. 

The guards were at the back door.

Levi’s hand shot up, signaling for silence. The three of you froze, your breaths shallow as the voices grew louder.

“They’ll notice the open lock,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Levi’s jaw tightened, his sharp eyes scanning the room. “If they come in, we take them out. Quick and quiet.”

The door creaked open, and two guards stepped inside, their lanterns sweeping across the room. Their boots scuffed against the floor as they muttered to each other.

The creak of the warehouse door sent a chill down your spine. Lantern light swept through the space as two guards stepped inside, their boots crunching faintly on the dusty floor.

“Check the racks,” one of them ordered, his tone clipped. “Captain’ll have our heads if we lose track of anything in here.”

Your heart pounded as the light moved closer to your hiding spot. The narrow gap between the crates was barely enough to conceal the three of you, and the weight of the ODM gear on your back made every shift of your body feel agonizingly loud.

“Wait,” one guard said suddenly, his footsteps halting. “Something’s missing.”

Shit.

Levi’s pointed gaze flicked toward you and Furlan, his fingers already tightening around the hilt of his blade. 

The second guard stepped up to the racks, running his hand over the empty hooks where the gear had been. “What the hell…? It was here yesterday.”

Furlan’s grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “They’re gonna figure it out,” he whispered, barely audible.

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “On my mark,” he murmured, his voice a thread of steel.

The first guard turned, his lantern swinging dangerously close to the crates. “Check the other side of the room. Maybe someone moved it.”

Levi moved before the guard could take another step. Silent as a shadow, he emerged from the gap and closed the distance in an instant. The flash of his blade was quick, precise—a clean strike that dropped the first guard before he could make a sound.

The second guard spun, his eyes wide with shock. “Hey! What—”

His shout was cut short as you lunged forward, your hands already on the haft of the short blade tucked into your harness. The guard’s lantern fell, clattering to the ground as he stumbled back, your blade slicing through his defenses.

Furlan stepped out next, grabbing the fallen lantern and snuffing its flame before the light could draw attention from outside. “Subtle,” he muttered, his grin strained but intact.

“Clear,” Levi said, his voice low as he scanned the room. He crouched to check the fallen guards, his movements quick and efficient. “We need to move. Now.”

You nodded, adjusting the weight of the gear on your back. The warehouse felt heavier with silence now, the echoes of your scuffle fading into the distance.

“Think anyone heard that?” Furlan asked, his tone almost casual as he slung his gear over one shoulder.

Levi didn’t answer, his focus already on the exit. He motioned for you to follow, his movements still sharp and deliberate.

The three of you slipped out the side door, sticking to the shadows as you retraced your path through the narrow alleys. Every sound seemed amplified—the scrape of your boots against the stone, the distant hum of voices from Ksaver’s tavern.

As you reached the edge of the alley, Levi raised a hand, signaling for a halt. He peeked around the corner, his grey eyes scanning the street ahead.

“All clear,” he said finally, stepping forward.

Relief flooded through you, though it was short-lived. The weight of the gear pressed heavily against your back, a constant reminder of what you’d risked—and what you’d gained.

By the time you reached the safety of your hideout, the adrenaline had begun to wear off, leaving your limbs heavy and your mind buzzing with exhaustion.

“Well,” Furlan said, dropping his gear onto the table with a thud. “That was fun.”

Levi shot him a glare, his voice cold. “You call that fun? If you hadn’t been so loud earlier—”

“Relax,” Furlan interrupted, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We got what we came for, didn’t we?”

You sat down heavily, the stolen gear still strapped to your back. Despite the tension, a small smile tugged at your lips. “We’re alive. That counts for something.”

"Barely."

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the gear. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly. “This was just the start. Next time, there won’t be room for mistakes.”

The abandoned factory near the hideout became your training ground.

It was vast and empty, the towering beams and rusted catwalks providing the perfect place to test the ODM gear without drawing attention.

Levi, annoyingly so, took to it immediately—balanced, studious, and calculated.

The same as always.

Watching him soar through the air, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

Furlan stood below, arms crossed, grinning up at you as you adjusted the straps of your harness. “Sure you don’t want to let the expert go first?”

You snorted, securing the final strap across your chest. “Pretty sure we’re both equally clueless about this.”

“Speak for yourself,” he replied, stepping back as you approached the edge of the platform. “I’ve been preparing for this my whole life. Born to fly, you know.”

Levi, perched on a beam several feet above, didn’t bother looking down. “Born to crash, maybe.”

Furlan gasped dramatically. “Was that a joke? From Levi? Someone mark this moment in history.”

“Keep running your mouth, and I’ll make sure you’re the first to ‘fly,’” Levi muttered, tightening his grip on his gear. His gaze flicked to you briefly, as if checking to ensure you hadn’t strapped something wrong.

The mechanisms in your gear hissed softly as you tested the triggers, the faint resistance sending a thrill of anticipation through your body. You took a deep breath, your fingers steady despite the rush of nerves in your chest.

“Alright,” you said, stepping closer to the edge. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”

The grapples shot out with a loud metallic hiss, embedding themselves into a beam high above. Gas hissed from the canisters on your back, and suddenly, you were airborne.

The initial jolt nearly threw you off balance, the weightless sensation both exhilarating and terrifying.

Air rushed past your face as the world blurred around you, beams and scaffolding flashing by in streaks of rusted metal.

You adjusted the tension, the pull of the cables propelling you forward in a shaky arc.

Then you realized your trajectory was off—badly off. You were heading straight for a beam.

“Shit,” you muttered, trying to adjust the line, but your inexperience betrayed you. The controls felt clunky, unresponsive. You braced for impact, your heart hammering.

The collision never came. Instead, a harsh tug yanked you sideways, and suddenly, Levi was there, his arm locked around your waist as he propelled you both toward a safer landing.

You hit the platform with a stumble, Levi steadying you as you regained your footing. His grip was firm, his breath steady despite the chaos of the moment.

“Careful,” he said, his tone clipped but quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, your chest still heaving from the adrenaline. His face was close—too close—and for a moment, all you could do was blink at him. “Thanks,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I had it under control.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of disbelief and mild irritation. “Right. That’s why you were about to introduce your face to a steel beam.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made the words falter. There was something unreadable in his expression, an intensity that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with the gear strapped to your back.

“Uh… you can let go now,” you said, your voice higher than you’d intended.

Levi blinked, as if realizing for the first time that he was still holding you. He stepped back quickly, his arms dropping to his sides with a stiffness that bordered on awkward. “You’re lucky I was watching,” he muttered, looking away.

“Always am,” you shot back without thinking, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

The silence that followed was loud.

Too loud,

Fuck.

Furlan’s laughter cut through it, his voice echoing from below. “Oh, that was smooth. I’ll give you that one.”

You turned, glaring down at him. “Shut up, Furlan.”

Levi cleared his throat, adjusting the straps of his gear. His expression was unreadable again, though a faint pink tint dusted the tips of his ears. “Get back up there,” he said flatly, nodding toward the scaffolding. “You’re not done until you stop flying like a drunk bird.”

The next few days blurred into a grueling routine. Each of you took turns practicing with the gear, alternating between bursts of progress and painful missteps. Furlan’s attempts often ended in chaos—his grapples tangling in beams, or his launches sending him spinning uncontrollably.

“Maybe this thing just doesn’t like me,” he muttered after his third crash into a stack of crates.

Levi, of course, took to the gear with ease. His movements were perfect: deliberate and efficient, each arc and turn executed with precision. Watching him was equal parts inspiring and frustrating—how did he make it look so easy?

One afternoon, after another exhausting round of practice, you sat on a ledge adjusting your gear. The straps were digging into your shoulders, the weight feeling heavier after hours of trial and error.

“You’re overthinking it,” Levi said, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glanced up at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stepped closer, crouching beside you as he gestured toward the triggers in your hands. “You’re forcing the movement. The gear’s designed to work with your body, not against it. You’re trying too hard to control it.”

His voice was calm, measured, but the proximity made it impossible to focus. His fingers brushed against yours as he adjusted your grip, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you.

“Relax your wrist,” he said, his tone softer now. “Let the momentum carry you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you tried to ignore the way your heart had started pounding. “Got it.”

Levi stepped back, his arms crossing as he watched you with that same intense focus. “Try again.”

You inhaled deeply, gripping the triggers as you launched upward. This time, the motion felt smoother, more natural. The air whipped past your face, and when you landed on the next platform, you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face.

“Better,” Levi called, his voice carrying easily across the factory.

You turned back to him, your chest tightening at the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It was subtle, barely there, but enough to leave you feeling unsteady all over again.

Furlan’s voice echoed from below. “Alright, lovebirds, break it up! Some of us are trying to survive down here!”

You rolled your eyes, heat rushing to your cheeks as you shouted back, “Shut up, Furlan!”

Levi didn’t respond, but the small smirk that flickered across his face was enough to make you forget your embarrassment—if only for a moment.

That evening, Furlan announced he was done for the day, dramatically clutching his lower back as he slumped onto a crate. “I think the gear hates me,” he said, shaking his head. “And honestly, I’m starting to hate it back. I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Levi barely glanced at him. “Good. You crashing into things is getting annoying.”

Furlan chuckled as he headed for the exit, leaving you and Levi alone in the cavernous space of the factory. The air was cooler now, the sounds quieter as the faint hum of distant life settled into an almost eerie calm.

It was just you and Levi now, the dim light from the fractured windows casting long shadows over the beams and scaffolding.

You tightened the straps on your harness, pretending the silence wasn’t getting to you. “I’m going again,” you said, breaking the quiet.

“Not like that,” Levi’s voice cut in, sharp but softer than usual.

You turned to him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on you like he was sizing you up—not in the critical way he usually did, but as if deciding whether to elaborate. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and gestured to your harness. “Your straps. They’re too loose.”

You hesitated, glancing down at them. “They feel fine to me.”

“They’re not.” 

Levi was already in front of you, his hands reaching for the straps before you could protest. The adjustment was quick, precise, and practical—his gloved fingers deftly tightening the leather across your collarbone with a firm but careful touch.

It should’ve been nothing, and yet you felt it everywhere. The warmth of his hand through the glove, the way he was so close you could feel his presence like a weight pressing against you. Your breath hitched despite yourself, and you fought the urge to look at him.

But you couldn’t help it. Your gaze flicked upward, catching him in a moment of complete focus. His expression was neutral, eyes locked on the harness, his attention so sharp it felt unfairly indifferent—like you weren’t standing right there, hyper-aware of every small motion he made.

“There,” he said, stepping back slightly. His voice was calm and clipped, efficient as always, but there was a flicker of something—hesitation?—in the way his gaze lingered on your face before dropping back to the straps.

You nodded, your voice quieter than intended. “Thanks.”

But instead of stepping away fully, Levi’s eyes shifted downward, landing on the straps at your waist and thighs.

His jaw tightened for half a second, his hand hovering as though he might reach for them. The urge was fleeting but sharp, a thought that passed too quickly to stop but lingered just long enough to make him tense.

He dropped his hand, straightening and stepping back with a slight shake of his head, which was now beet red. “The lower straps are loose too,” he muttered, his tone soft but edged with something he couldn’t quite hide. “Fix them before you go again.”

Your pulse quickened as you followed his line of sight, fumbling with the straps around your waist, your fingers clumsy against the worn leather. His words were practical, but the air between you felt anything but.

“Right,” you murmured, tightening the buckles and avoiding his gaze.

Levi crossed his arms, his eyes flicking back up to your face once you were finished, like he was assessing your work. “Next time, check everything,” he said, his voice steadier now, though the faint tension in his jaw remained.

You nodded again, swallowing hard. “Got it,” the silence stretched, thick and heavy with things you didn’t know how to name. Your face grew hot as you tried to come up with something to say—”um, thanks.”

You adjusted your stance, focusing on the triggers in your hands, trying to shake the weight of his attention. But it was impossible to ignore the way his presence settled over you, like an anchor you couldn’t pull free of.

It was nothing, and yet it wasn’t. You hated how aware you were of him, how he—

“Try it now,” he said, his voice softer this time.

You nodded again, turning toward the edge of the platform with shaky hands.

The grapples hissed as they shot out, embedding themselves into the beams high above. Gas propelled you forward, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the nerves, the tension, the weight of his eyes on you.

But when you landed, breathless and steady, it was all there again.

“Better,” he said, stepping forward. His approval was quiet, almost reluctant, like he didn’t want to give too much away.

You forced a small smile, trying not to let the words hit harder than they should. “Guess the straps really were the problem.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, unreadable. “It wasn’t just the straps,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now. “You’re starting to trust the gear. That’s why it worked.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, not awkward but heavy, like there were too many things left unsaid.

“I’ll go again,” you said finally, taking a step back.

But Levi didn’t move.

“Wait,” he said, the word soft but firm enough to make you pause.

You turned to look at him, your pulse jumping when you saw the way his expression had shifted—something about the edges of his usual stoicism softened, just slightly. It made him look almost unsure, which was wrong in so many ways. Levi wasn’t supposed to look unsure.

“You’re still forcing it,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, almost hesitant.

You frowned. “Forcing what?”

He sighed, stepping closer again. His hands reached for yours, adjusting your grip on the triggers like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But it wasn’t—not for you, anyway. His gloves were worn and rough, the touch fleeting and practical, yet it sent a warmth curling through you that made your chest ache.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured, his voice so quiet you almost missed it. “The gear works with you. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m not—” you started to argue, but his gaze stopped you short.

He was close now, closer than he needed to be, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much.

You could feel his breath, steady and even despite the distance you’d just flown, and it made you horribly aware of how uneven yours was in comparison.

“Try again,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and turned back to the edge of the platform. Your fingers tightened around the triggers, your grip firmer now but more deliberate, and you launched upward.

This time, the motion felt different. Easier. Smoother. The rush of air filled your lungs, and for a moment, you felt weightless in a way that didn’t terrify you. When you landed, it was with a steadiness that surprised even you.

You looked back at him, your chest still heaving. He was standing exactly where you’d left him, his arms crossed, his gaze sharpened but softer than usual.

“Better,” he said again, his tone quiet but unmistakably sure.

You smiled, though it felt too vulnerable, too honest. “Thanks.”

He nodded, but the way his eyes lingered made your stomach twist again. You thought about saying something—anything to cut through the heaviness between you—but before you could, he turned away.

“Don’t overthink it next time,” he said, his voice back to its usual clipped tone. But as he adjusted the straps on his gear, you caught the faintest trace of pink at the tips of his ears.

You swallowed back a laugh—soft and pathetic and a little bitter—and turned to reset your stance.

Levi didn’t look at you again, but his presence felt impossibly heavy. It was maddening, this quiet pull between you, like a thread you didn’t know how to cut.

You didn’t know if you wanted to cut it.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐨𝐡, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞—𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭

and that was enough

description: what's growth? how does it happen? months after that first meeting, you and levi navigate the changing tides of battle, leadership, and the unspoken bond that has shifted everything between you.

pairing: (eventual) underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: so fluffy and soft

warning: this is tooth-rotting, seriously

notes: i had so little inspiration for this it took forever—upon re-read I hated the first draft and decided to rewrite everything :)

word count: 1.5 k

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

Months had passed since that first meeting, and weeks after that night at the bar—the night when everything between you and Levi subtly, almost imperceptibly, changed.

It wasn’t some grand, dramatic event, but it left its mark all the same. You didn’t know if Levi had noticed it, or if he even cared, but something about the way you worked together had evolved.

You thought of who you'd been back then. Reckless, maybe. Desperate to prove yourself in any which way.

Now, that reckless energy that used to define you had tempered into something more focused, more deliberate. You hadn't lost that spark, but it was sharper now, honed by hard-earned experience and accompanied by a different kind of confidence—quieter.

There was no need to fight for validation anymore. No need for that constant urge to call for Furlan and Levi’s attention, to prove you weren’t just a liability they’d been saddled with.

You’d learned to trust your instincts, to let your actions speak louder than your words. And somewhere along the way, you’d realized you didn’t need anyone else’s approval to know your worth.

The person you were now didn’t crave the spotlight or their acknowledgment. You moved with purpose, no longer second-guessing yourself at every turn. You weren’t reckless; you were resolute.

What mattered was that you’d changed—for yourself, not for anyone. That was enough.

But it wasn't just you, was it? The boys had changed as well.

Levi wasn’t the same man you’d met in that alley, with sharp edges and biting words. He still had those edges—they were a part of him, like his blade—but they didn’t bite the way they used to. At least, not toward you or Furlan.

He still moved the same in a fight: precise, economical, deadly. But you’d stopped focusing on just the violence of it.

Now, you noticed the way his eyes tracked the room before anyone made a move, how he could predict where someone would strike before they even committed to it.

You’d realized that Levi didn’t fight because he wanted to; he fought because he had to. It was survival, distilled and perfected, and it was written into every movement he made.

Levi’s trust wasn’t given lightly. It wasn’t even given in words. It came in the way he shifted his stance to protect your blind spot before you even knew you needed it.

In the way he never asked if you understood his instructions—he just assumed you did, because he knew you would. And when he glanced back mid-mission, it wasn’t to check on you; it was to make sure you’d all made it through in one piece.

Even his silences had stopped feeling like judgment. You used to hate the way he’d let your mistakes hang heavy in the air, unspoken but obvious. Now, you understood that his silence wasn’t about disappointment—it was about letting you figure out the answers yourself.

Levi didn’t explain himself. He didn’t ask for explanations, either. But sometimes, when he paused just a moment too long after a fight, his blade still dripping blood, you could almost see the weight he carried. Not that he’d ever let it show.

You didn’t need him to say anything anymore.

You understood Levi in the way you understood the Underground: harsh, unyielding, but with a rhythm you’d learned to move to.

He didn’t need to speak for you to know he’d seen the worst the world had to offer and decided he wouldn’t let it swallow him whole.

And somewhere along the line, you’d stopped needing his approval. Not because it didn’t matter, but because you’d learned to read the way his shoulders eased just slightly when you took the lead, or the way his pace slowed when you were hurt, though he’d never admit it.

Levi wasn’t the same man you’d met in that alley. And maybe you weren’t the same person, either.

But it worked. You worked.

And that was enough.

And Furlan, oh furlan.

The boy who had been with you through it all.

The one who turned survival into an art form, who could smile through the darkest nights and somehow make the world seem less cruel, even if just for a moment.

He wasn’t just your partner in crime; he was your brother in everything but blood.

The boy who shared scraps of food and whispered plans for a better life while you shivered under threadbare blankets in the corners of the Underground. The one who laughed in the face of danger and dragged you along with him, whether you wanted to go or not.

Furlan had always been a dreamer.

Back then, his dreams had felt so impossible they bordered on absurd—a home, safety, a future where you didn’t have to fight for every breath. But he’d believed in them, and somehow, that belief had carried you both forward.

You watched him now, as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. That reckless boy was still there, but he’d been tempered by the years, the hardships.

He moved with a quiet confidence now, just like you, a steady assurance that hadn’t always been there.

When he caught you staring, he grinned—an easy, lopsided thing that hadn’t changed a bit. “What? Admiring my good looks?”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched upward despite yourself. “Just wondering how you manage to stay so insufferable.”

“Talent,” he replied, tapping a finger to his temple.

It was the kind of banter that felt like home, the kind you didn’t have to think about. You could see it in the way he looked at you, the way his grin softened at the edges.

He knew you better than anyone, knew the scars you carried and the walls you’d built, because he carried them too.

Furlan didn’t just trust you; he had trust in you. It was there in the way he let you take the lead when it mattered, in the way he never questioned your judgment even when you questioned it yourself.

And you trusted him. With everything.

There were no secrets between the two of you. No need for explanations or justifications.

Furlan could read you like an open book, could tell when you were holding back or when you were about to make a reckless decision. And somehow, he always knew when to push and when to let you be.

He was still a dreamer, but his dreams had changed. They weren’t just about escape anymore; they were about building something better. Something worth staying for. And the fact that he still dreamed at all, after everything, was something you admired more than you could ever say.

“You’re quiet,” he said, breaking the silence as he tilted his head to look at you. “That’s never a good sign.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Just thinking about how you used to trip over your own feet every time we ran from a fight.”

His laughter was instant and warm, the kind that settled in your chest and made the world feel just a little less heavy. “And look at me now,” he said, spreading his arms wide in mock grandeur. “A picture of grace.”

“Sure, Furlan,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. But the smile on your face lingered, even as you turned your attention back to the task at hand.

This time, it was Furlan's turn to break the silence.

Furlan broke the quiet first, of course. “You know, if you’d told me six months ago we’d actually be functioning as a team, I’d have called you crazy.”

You smirked. “Still think it’s crazy sometimes.”

He grinned, bumping his shoulder against yours as Levi walked a few steps ahead, silent as always. “Nah. We’ve got something good here. Don’t tell him I said it, though.” He nodded toward Levi. “Can’t let him think I’m getting sentimental.”

Furlan broke the quiet first, of course. “You know, if you’d told me six months ago we’d actually be functioning as a team, I’d have called you crazy.”

You smirked. “Still think it’s crazy sometimes.”

He grinned, bumping his shoulder against yours as Levi walked a few steps ahead, silent as always. “Nah. We’ve got something good here. Don’t tell him I said it, though.” He nodded toward Levi. “Can’t let him think I’m getting sentimental.”

You laughed softly, but the weight of his words lingered.

Furlan glanced at you, his grin softening into something more serious. “You’ve changed, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“So have you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

He shrugged. “Guess we all have. Not a bad thing, though. Means we’re still here, right?”

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes drifting to Levi’s silhouette ahead. The flicker of a lantern caught the edge of his cloak, and for a moment, you thought about how much had shifted—not just between you and him, but in all of you.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’re still here.”

And that was enough.

Because Furlan was still Furlan, that was something you would never take for granted.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐨𝐡, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞—𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭

and that was enough

description: what's growth? how does it happen? months after that first meeting, you and levi navigate the changing tides of battle, leadership, and the unspoken bond that has shifted everything between you.

pairing: (eventual) underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: so fluffy and soft

warning: this is tooth-rotting, seriously

notes: i had so little inspiration for this it took forever—upon re-read I hated the first draft and decided to rewrite everything :)

word count: 1.5 k

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

Months had passed since that first meeting, and weeks after that night at the bar—the night when everything between you and Levi subtly, almost imperceptibly, changed.

It wasn’t some grand, dramatic event, but it left its mark all the same. You didn’t know if Levi had noticed it, or if he even cared, but something about the way you worked together had evolved.

You thought of who you'd been back then. Reckless, maybe. Desperate to prove yourself in any which way.

Now, that reckless energy that used to define you had tempered into something more focused, more deliberate. You hadn't lost that spark, but it was sharper now, honed by hard-earned experience and accompanied by a different kind of confidence—quieter.

There was no need to fight for validation anymore. No need for that constant urge to call for Furlan and Levi’s attention, to prove you weren’t just a liability they’d been saddled with.

You’d learned to trust your instincts, to let your actions speak louder than your words. And somewhere along the way, you’d realized you didn’t need anyone else’s approval to know your worth.

The person you were now didn’t crave the spotlight or their acknowledgment. You moved with purpose, no longer second-guessing yourself at every turn. You weren’t reckless; you were resolute.

What mattered was that you’d changed—for yourself, not for anyone. That was enough.

But it wasn't just you, was it? The boys had changed as well.

Levi wasn’t the same man you’d met in that alley, with sharp edges and biting words. He still had those edges—they were a part of him, like his blade—but they didn’t bite the way they used to. At least, not toward you or Furlan.

He still moved the same in a fight: precise, economical, deadly. But you’d stopped focusing on just the violence of it.

Now, you noticed the way his eyes tracked the room before anyone made a move, how he could predict where someone would strike before they even committed to it.

You’d realized that Levi didn’t fight because he wanted to; he fought because he had to. It was survival, distilled and perfected, and it was written into every movement he made.

Levi’s trust wasn’t given lightly. It wasn’t even given in words. It came in the way he shifted his stance to protect your blind spot before you even knew you needed it.

In the way he never asked if you understood his instructions—he just assumed you did, because he knew you would. And when he glanced back mid-mission, it wasn’t to check on you; it was to make sure you’d all made it through in one piece.

Even his silences had stopped feeling like judgment. You used to hate the way he’d let your mistakes hang heavy in the air, unspoken but obvious. Now, you understood that his silence wasn’t about disappointment—it was about letting you figure out the answers yourself.

Levi didn’t explain himself. He didn’t ask for explanations, either. But sometimes, when he paused just a moment too long after a fight, his blade still dripping blood, you could almost see the weight he carried. Not that he’d ever let it show.

You didn’t need him to say anything anymore.

You understood Levi in the way you understood the Underground: harsh, unyielding, but with a rhythm you’d learned to move to.

He didn’t need to speak for you to know he’d seen the worst the world had to offer and decided he wouldn’t let it swallow him whole.

And somewhere along the line, you’d stopped needing his approval. Not because it didn’t matter, but because you’d learned to read the way his shoulders eased just slightly when you took the lead, or the way his pace slowed when you were hurt, though he’d never admit it.

Levi wasn’t the same man you’d met in that alley. And maybe you weren’t the same person, either.

But it worked. You worked.

And that was enough.

And Furlan, oh furlan.

The boy who had been with you through it all.

The one who turned survival into an art form, who could smile through the darkest nights and somehow make the world seem less cruel, even if just for a moment.

He wasn’t just your partner in crime; he was your brother in everything but blood.

The boy who shared scraps of food and whispered plans for a better life while you shivered under threadbare blankets in the corners of the Underground. The one who laughed in the face of danger and dragged you along with him, whether you wanted to go or not.

Furlan had always been a dreamer.

Back then, his dreams had felt so impossible they bordered on absurd—a home, safety, a future where you didn’t have to fight for every breath. But he’d believed in them, and somehow, that belief had carried you both forward.

You watched him now, as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. That reckless boy was still there, but he’d been tempered by the years, the hardships.

He moved with a quiet confidence now, just like you, a steady assurance that hadn’t always been there.

When he caught you staring, he grinned—an easy, lopsided thing that hadn’t changed a bit. “What? Admiring my good looks?”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched upward despite yourself. “Just wondering how you manage to stay so insufferable.”

“Talent,” he replied, tapping a finger to his temple.

It was the kind of banter that felt like home, the kind you didn’t have to think about. You could see it in the way he looked at you, the way his grin softened at the edges.

He knew you better than anyone, knew the scars you carried and the walls you’d built, because he carried them too.

Furlan didn’t just trust you; he had trust in you. It was there in the way he let you take the lead when it mattered, in the way he never questioned your judgment even when you questioned it yourself.

And you trusted him. With everything.

There were no secrets between the two of you. No need for explanations or justifications.

Furlan could read you like an open book, could tell when you were holding back or when you were about to make a reckless decision. And somehow, he always knew when to push and when to let you be.

He was still a dreamer, but his dreams had changed. They weren’t just about escape anymore; they were about building something better. Something worth staying for. And the fact that he still dreamed at all, after everything, was something you admired more than you could ever say.

“You’re quiet,” he said, breaking the silence as he tilted his head to look at you. “That’s never a good sign.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Just thinking about how you used to trip over your own feet every time we ran from a fight.”

His laughter was instant and warm, the kind that settled in your chest and made the world feel just a little less heavy. “And look at me now,” he said, spreading his arms wide in mock grandeur. “A picture of grace.”

“Sure, Furlan,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. But the smile on your face lingered, even as you turned your attention back to the task at hand.

This time, it was Furlan's turn to break the silence.

Furlan broke the quiet first, of course. “You know, if you’d told me six months ago we’d actually be functioning as a team, I’d have called you crazy.”

You smirked. “Still think it’s crazy sometimes.”

He grinned, bumping his shoulder against yours as Levi walked a few steps ahead, silent as always. “Nah. We’ve got something good here. Don’t tell him I said it, though.” He nodded toward Levi. “Can’t let him think I’m getting sentimental.”

Furlan broke the quiet first, of course. “You know, if you’d told me six months ago we’d actually be functioning as a team, I’d have called you crazy.”

You smirked. “Still think it’s crazy sometimes.”

He grinned, bumping his shoulder against yours as Levi walked a few steps ahead, silent as always. “Nah. We’ve got something good here. Don’t tell him I said it, though.” He nodded toward Levi. “Can’t let him think I’m getting sentimental.”

You laughed softly, but the weight of his words lingered.

Furlan glanced at you, his grin softening into something more serious. “You’ve changed, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“So have you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

He shrugged. “Guess we all have. Not a bad thing, though. Means we’re still here, right?”

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes drifting to Levi’s silhouette ahead. The flicker of a lantern caught the edge of his cloak, and for a moment, you thought about how much had shifted—not just between you and him, but in all of you.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’re still here.”

And that was enough.

Because Furlan was still Furlan, that was something you would never take for granted.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐨𝐡, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞—𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭

and that was enough

description: what's growth? how does it happen? months after that first meeting, you and levi navigate the changing tides of battle, leadership, and the unspoken bond that has shifted everything between you.

pairing: (eventual) underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: so fluffy and soft

warning: this is tooth-rotting, seriously

notes: i had so little inspiration for this it took forever—upon re-read I hated the first draft and decided to rewrite everything :)

word count: 1.5 k

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

Months had passed since that first meeting, and weeks after that night at the bar—the night when everything between you and Levi subtly, almost imperceptibly, changed.

It wasn’t some grand, dramatic event, but it left its mark all the same. You didn’t know if Levi had noticed it, or if he even cared, but something about the way you worked together had evolved.

You thought of who you'd been back then. Reckless, maybe. Desperate to prove yourself in any which way.

Now, that reckless energy that used to define you had tempered into something more focused, more deliberate. You hadn't lost that spark, but it was sharper now, honed by hard-earned experience and accompanied by a different kind of confidence—quieter.

There was no need to fight for validation anymore. No need for that constant urge to call for Furlan and Levi’s attention, to prove you weren’t just a liability they’d been saddled with.

You’d learned to trust your instincts, to let your actions speak louder than your words. And somewhere along the way, you’d realized you didn’t need anyone else’s approval to know your worth.

The person you were now didn’t crave the spotlight or their acknowledgment. You moved with purpose, no longer second-guessing yourself at every turn. You weren’t reckless; you were resolute.

What mattered was that you’d changed—for yourself, not for anyone. That was enough.

But it wasn't just you, was it? The boys had changed as well.

Levi wasn’t the same man you’d met in that alley, with sharp edges and biting words. He still had those edges—they were a part of him, like his blade—but they didn’t bite the way they used to. At least, not toward you or Furlan.

He still moved the same in a fight: precise, economical, deadly. But you’d stopped focusing on just the violence of it.

Now, you noticed the way his eyes tracked the room before anyone made a move, how he could predict where someone would strike before they even committed to it.

You’d realized that Levi didn’t fight because he wanted to; he fought because he had to. It was survival, distilled and perfected, and it was written into every movement he made.

Levi’s trust wasn’t given lightly. It wasn’t even given in words. It came in the way he shifted his stance to protect your blind spot before you even knew you needed it.

In the way he never asked if you understood his instructions—he just assumed you did, because he knew you would. And when he glanced back mid-mission, it wasn’t to check on you; it was to make sure you’d all made it through in one piece.

Even his silences had stopped feeling like judgment. You used to hate the way he’d let your mistakes hang heavy in the air, unspoken but obvious. Now, you understood that his silence wasn’t about disappointment—it was about letting you figure out the answers yourself.

Levi didn’t explain himself. He didn’t ask for explanations, either. But sometimes, when he paused just a moment too long after a fight, his blade still dripping blood, you could almost see the weight he carried. Not that he’d ever let it show.

You didn’t need him to say anything anymore.

You understood Levi in the way you understood the Underground: harsh, unyielding, but with a rhythm you’d learned to move to.

He didn’t need to speak for you to know he’d seen the worst the world had to offer and decided he wouldn’t let it swallow him whole.

And somewhere along the line, you’d stopped needing his approval. Not because it didn’t matter, but because you’d learned to read the way his shoulders eased just slightly when you took the lead, or the way his pace slowed when you were hurt, though he’d never admit it.

Levi wasn’t the same man you’d met in that alley. And maybe you weren’t the same person, either.

But it worked. You worked.

And that was enough.

And Furlan, oh furlan.

The boy who had been with you through it all.

The one who turned survival into an art form, who could smile through the darkest nights and somehow make the world seem less cruel, even if just for a moment.

He wasn’t just your partner in crime; he was your brother in everything but blood.

The boy who shared scraps of food and whispered plans for a better life while you shivered under threadbare blankets in the corners of the Underground. The one who laughed in the face of danger and dragged you along with him, whether you wanted to go or not.

Furlan had always been a dreamer.

Back then, his dreams had felt so impossible they bordered on absurd—a home, safety, a future where you didn’t have to fight for every breath. But he’d believed in them, and somehow, that belief had carried you both forward.

You watched him now, as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. That reckless boy was still there, but he’d been tempered by the years, the hardships.

He moved with a quiet confidence now, just like you, a steady assurance that hadn’t always been there.

When he caught you staring, he grinned—an easy, lopsided thing that hadn’t changed a bit. “What? Admiring my good looks?”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched upward despite yourself. “Just wondering how you manage to stay so insufferable.”

“Talent,” he replied, tapping a finger to his temple.

It was the kind of banter that felt like home, the kind you didn’t have to think about. You could see it in the way he looked at you, the way his grin softened at the edges.

He knew you better than anyone, knew the scars you carried and the walls you’d built, because he carried them too.

Furlan didn’t just trust you; he had trust in you. It was there in the way he let you take the lead when it mattered, in the way he never questioned your judgment even when you questioned it yourself.

And you trusted him. With everything.

There were no secrets between the two of you. No need for explanations or justifications.

Furlan could read you like an open book, could tell when you were holding back or when you were about to make a reckless decision. And somehow, he always knew when to push and when to let you be.

He was still a dreamer, but his dreams had changed. They weren’t just about escape anymore; they were about building something better. Something worth staying for. And the fact that he still dreamed at all, after everything, was something you admired more than you could ever say.

“You’re quiet,” he said, breaking the silence as he tilted his head to look at you. “That’s never a good sign.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Just thinking about how you used to trip over your own feet every time we ran from a fight.”

His laughter was instant and warm, the kind that settled in your chest and made the world feel just a little less heavy. “And look at me now,” he said, spreading his arms wide in mock grandeur. “A picture of grace.”

“Sure, Furlan,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. But the smile on your face lingered, even as you turned your attention back to the task at hand.

This time, it was Furlan's turn to break the silence.

Furlan broke the quiet first, of course. “You know, if you’d told me six months ago we’d actually be functioning as a team, I’d have called you crazy.”

You smirked. “Still think it’s crazy sometimes.”

He grinned, bumping his shoulder against yours as Levi walked a few steps ahead, silent as always. “Nah. We’ve got something good here. Don’t tell him I said it, though.” He nodded toward Levi. “Can’t let him think I’m getting sentimental.”

Furlan broke the quiet first, of course. “You know, if you’d told me six months ago we’d actually be functioning as a team, I’d have called you crazy.”

You smirked. “Still think it’s crazy sometimes.”

He grinned, bumping his shoulder against yours as Levi walked a few steps ahead, silent as always. “Nah. We’ve got something good here. Don’t tell him I said it, though.” He nodded toward Levi. “Can’t let him think I’m getting sentimental.”

You laughed softly, but the weight of his words lingered.

Furlan glanced at you, his grin softening into something more serious. “You’ve changed, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“So have you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

He shrugged. “Guess we all have. Not a bad thing, though. Means we’re still here, right?”

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes drifting to Levi’s silhouette ahead. The flicker of a lantern caught the edge of his cloak, and for a moment, you thought about how much had shifted—not just between you and him, but in all of you.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’re still here.”

And that was enough.

Because Furlan was still Furlan, that was something you would never take for granted.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐨𝐡, 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞—𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭

and that was enough

description: what's growth? how does it happen? months after that first meeting, you and levi navigate the changing tides of battle, leadership, and the unspoken bond that has shifted everything between you.

pairing: (eventual) underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: so fluffy and soft

warning: this is tooth-rotting, seriously

notes: i had so little inspiration for this it took forever—upon re-read I hated the first draft and decided to rewrite everything :)

word count: 1.5 k

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

Months had passed since that first meeting, and weeks after that night at the bar—the night when everything between you and Levi subtly, almost imperceptibly, changed.

It wasn’t some grand, dramatic event, but it left its mark all the same. You didn’t know if Levi had noticed it, or if he even cared, but something about the way you worked together had evolved.

You thought of who you'd been back then. Reckless, maybe. Desperate to prove yourself in any which way.

Now, that reckless energy that used to define you had tempered into something more focused, more deliberate. You hadn't lost that spark, but it was sharper now, honed by hard-earned experience and accompanied by a different kind of confidence—quieter.

There was no need to fight for validation anymore. No need for that constant urge to call for Furlan and Levi’s attention, to prove you weren’t just a liability they’d been saddled with.

You’d learned to trust your instincts, to let your actions speak louder than your words. And somewhere along the way, you’d realized you didn’t need anyone else’s approval to know your worth.

The person you were now didn’t crave the spotlight or their acknowledgment. You moved with purpose, no longer second-guessing yourself at every turn. You weren’t reckless; you were resolute.

What mattered was that you’d changed—for yourself, not for anyone. That was enough.

But it wasn't just you, was it? The boys had changed as well.

Levi wasn’t the same man you’d met in that alley, with sharp edges and biting words. He still had those edges—they were a part of him, like his blade—but they didn’t bite the way they used to. At least, not toward you or Furlan.

He still moved the same in a fight: precise, economical, deadly. But you’d stopped focusing on just the violence of it.

Now, you noticed the way his eyes tracked the room before anyone made a move, how he could predict where someone would strike before they even committed to it.

You’d realized that Levi didn’t fight because he wanted to; he fought because he had to. It was survival, distilled and perfected, and it was written into every movement he made.

Levi’s trust wasn’t given lightly. It wasn’t even given in words. It came in the way he shifted his stance to protect your blind spot before you even knew you needed it.

In the way he never asked if you understood his instructions—he just assumed you did, because he knew you would. And when he glanced back mid-mission, it wasn’t to check on you; it was to make sure you’d all made it through in one piece.

Even his silences had stopped feeling like judgment. You used to hate the way he’d let your mistakes hang heavy in the air, unspoken but obvious. Now, you understood that his silence wasn’t about disappointment—it was about letting you figure out the answers yourself.

Levi didn’t explain himself. He didn’t ask for explanations, either. But sometimes, when he paused just a moment too long after a fight, his blade still dripping blood, you could almost see the weight he carried. Not that he’d ever let it show.

You didn’t need him to say anything anymore.

You understood Levi in the way you understood the Underground: harsh, unyielding, but with a rhythm you’d learned to move to.

He didn’t need to speak for you to know he’d seen the worst the world had to offer and decided he wouldn’t let it swallow him whole.

And somewhere along the line, you’d stopped needing his approval. Not because it didn’t matter, but because you’d learned to read the way his shoulders eased just slightly when you took the lead, or the way his pace slowed when you were hurt, though he’d never admit it.

Levi wasn’t the same man you’d met in that alley. And maybe you weren’t the same person, either.

But it worked. You worked.

And that was enough.

And Furlan, oh furlan.

The boy who had been with you through it all.

The one who turned survival into an art form, who could smile through the darkest nights and somehow make the world seem less cruel, even if just for a moment.

He wasn’t just your partner in crime; he was your brother in everything but blood.

The boy who shared scraps of food and whispered plans for a better life while you shivered under threadbare blankets in the corners of the Underground. The one who laughed in the face of danger and dragged you along with him, whether you wanted to go or not.

Furlan had always been a dreamer.

Back then, his dreams had felt so impossible they bordered on absurd—a home, safety, a future where you didn’t have to fight for every breath. But he’d believed in them, and somehow, that belief had carried you both forward.

You watched him now, as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. That reckless boy was still there, but he’d been tempered by the years, the hardships.

He moved with a quiet confidence now, just like you, a steady assurance that hadn’t always been there.

When he caught you staring, he grinned—an easy, lopsided thing that hadn’t changed a bit. “What? Admiring my good looks?”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched upward despite yourself. “Just wondering how you manage to stay so insufferable.”

“Talent,” he replied, tapping a finger to his temple.

It was the kind of banter that felt like home, the kind you didn’t have to think about. You could see it in the way he looked at you, the way his grin softened at the edges.

He knew you better than anyone, knew the scars you carried and the walls you’d built, because he carried them too.

Furlan didn’t just trust you; he had trust in you. It was there in the way he let you take the lead when it mattered, in the way he never questioned your judgment even when you questioned it yourself.

And you trusted him. With everything.

There were no secrets between the two of you. No need for explanations or justifications.

Furlan could read you like an open book, could tell when you were holding back or when you were about to make a reckless decision. And somehow, he always knew when to push and when to let you be.

He was still a dreamer, but his dreams had changed. They weren’t just about escape anymore; they were about building something better. Something worth staying for. And the fact that he still dreamed at all, after everything, was something you admired more than you could ever say.

“You’re quiet,” he said, breaking the silence as he tilted his head to look at you. “That’s never a good sign.”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Just thinking about how you used to trip over your own feet every time we ran from a fight.”

His laughter was instant and warm, the kind that settled in your chest and made the world feel just a little less heavy. “And look at me now,” he said, spreading his arms wide in mock grandeur. “A picture of grace.”

“Sure, Furlan,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm. But the smile on your face lingered, even as you turned your attention back to the task at hand.

This time, it was Furlan's turn to break the silence.

Furlan broke the quiet first, of course. “You know, if you’d told me six months ago we’d actually be functioning as a team, I’d have called you crazy.”

You smirked. “Still think it’s crazy sometimes.”

He grinned, bumping his shoulder against yours as Levi walked a few steps ahead, silent as always. “Nah. We’ve got something good here. Don’t tell him I said it, though.” He nodded toward Levi. “Can’t let him think I’m getting sentimental.”

Furlan broke the quiet first, of course. “You know, if you’d told me six months ago we’d actually be functioning as a team, I’d have called you crazy.”

You smirked. “Still think it’s crazy sometimes.”

He grinned, bumping his shoulder against yours as Levi walked a few steps ahead, silent as always. “Nah. We’ve got something good here. Don’t tell him I said it, though.” He nodded toward Levi. “Can’t let him think I’m getting sentimental.”

You laughed softly, but the weight of his words lingered.

Furlan glanced at you, his grin softening into something more serious. “You’ve changed, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“So have you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

He shrugged. “Guess we all have. Not a bad thing, though. Means we’re still here, right?”

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes drifting to Levi’s silhouette ahead. The flicker of a lantern caught the edge of his cloak, and for a moment, you thought about how much had shifted—not just between you and him, but in all of you.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’re still here.”

And that was enough.

Because Furlan was still Furlan, that was something you would never take for granted.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩…

what's a whore with no money to her name?

description: getting intel requires a different set of skills, especially if you’re a woman with a sharp tongue.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: angst?

warning: suggestive, extremely suggestive. also, the reader is described to have hair long enough to "fall onto her face" (wtv that means)

notes: really wanted to post this yesterday, but I had so much fun developing this idea that I didn't want to half-ass it. I'll def write levi's pov sometime :)

word count: 3.5 k

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

Go to a dingy bar, infiltrate a small but influential group of merchants and shady brokers, extract information on a potential lead, and return to base with what was needed.

Easy enough, right? Right.

Somehow, it didn't feel like that.

As you stood in front of the cracked mirror, you adjusted your outfit one last time: a fitted cloak that barely reached the top of her boots and an off-the-shoulder dress fitted with a corset paired up with some tights.

Clearly, it wasn't something you were completely comfortable in, but blending into the bar crowd with battle-ready attire was impossible.

The mission required you to be a beacon, approachable—something hot, sweet, and appealing at the same time.

An easy target for conversation, not suspicion.

Someone that could be something more, for the night at least.

What's a whore with no money to her name?

"You ready?" Furlan’s voice came from behind, his face smirking as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Just about,” you replied, hands finding a small box filled with a deep red-coloured paste. "I just have to put this on."

Using your fingers, you applied it across your face—over your cheekbones and on your lips—the rich colour bringing true liveliness to your features.

As a finishing touch, you decided to take a small brush and add a mole underneath your left eye, have something they can remember you by.

Furlan kept his gaze on you as you worked, though he didn't say anything until you were finally done.

He looked as though he wanted to ask something, probably if you were sure you could handle it, but decided against it.

You weren't sure how to feel about it.

“Don’t screw it up for me, alright?”

Furlan raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one doing the talking. We'll just keep an eye out.”

You gave him a half smile, walking toward your bedroom door. Before you made it to the exit however, you caught Levi's glare from across the room.

His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable as always, but the way his eyes lingered on you made you pause.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer help like he usually did when you prepared for these kinds of things. Instead, his focus was sharp and cold on your figure. Or well, your clothes more like it.

“Something wrong Levi?” you asked—voice a little too sweet, a little too sarcastic.

His lips twisted slightly, a sign of agitation. “Just don’t get yourself killed,” he muttered, looking away, clearly uncomfortable.

“Are you offering to walk me to the door, or are you just going to keep sulking?” you shot back, enjoying the rare opportunity to needle him. But Levi’s only response was a grunt.

The streets were almost bare, except for the few drunkards and thugs hanging around.

The only source of steady light came from the bar around the corner., the men at the entrance followed with their gaze as you passed through the door.

The building in itself was dimly lit, and the faint smell of wine and tobacco hung in the air. She could see a few familiar faces—some shady brokers, some off-duty members of the garrison, all gathered in a small, private room at the back.

There we go.

You took a moment to assess the situation. You needed a way in as soon as possible.

Turning left, your gaze landed on a man sitting near the bar, his laughter a little too loud for casual conversation.

Making your way toward them with light steps, you tried your best to keep yourself open and inviting. A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as she leaned on the bar, positioning yourself just right. Body arching as you asked the bartender for a drink.

“Ah, a beautiful lady graces our humble establishment,” the man said, giving her a sly grin. “What’s your name, lovely?”

He was older than you by a couple of years, stress lines littered across his face, and his smirk suggested he was used to getting what he wanted.

“You can call me whatever you like,” you replied with a sultry smile, leaning in slightly.

The man chuckled, the sound deep and low, his gaze drifting over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Dangerous offer, sweetheart. You sure you can handle that?”

“Only one way to find out,” you shot back, letting the corner of your lips curve into a teasing smile. You took the drink the bartender slid toward you and swirled it lazily, giving the impression that you had all the time in the world. you replied smoothly, tilting your head just enough to let a lock of hair fall over your shoulder.

The burn of the drink wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but you barely noticed it, too focused on the man’s reaction.

His grin widened, clearly entertained by your confidence. He leaned closer, resting his elbow on the bar, and you could smell the faint trace of tobacco on his jacket.

“You here alone?” he asked, leaning closer, his elbow resting on the bar as his eyes glinted with interest. “Or is someone gonna come storming in if I keep you company?”

The corners of your lips curved upward, a practiced expression that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Does it matter?”

He grinned at that, pleased with your answer, but you caught the flicker of caution in his gaze. Men like this always tested boundaries—seeing how far they could push before deciding whether you were worth their time or trouble.

“So, what brings someone like you to a place like this?” he asked, his tone casual but with an undertone of curiosity.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your hair fall over one shoulder as you took another sip from your glass. “Oh, I could ask you the same thing. You don’t exactly look like you blend in here either.”

That earned you a low laugh, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Fair enough. But I’ve got my reasons—business, mostly.”

“Business?” you echoed, your tone light but deliberately interested. “The kind that makes you someone worth knowing?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of caution crossing his face before he smoothed it away with a practiced grin. “Depends on who’s asking.”

You leaned forward, brushing your hand lightly against his arm, a touch so fleeting it could be dismissed but disarming enough to hold his attention. “Someone who knows how to appreciate a man with connections,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to pull him in.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, studying you like he was trying to decide if you were worth the trouble. Then, he leaned back, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “Let me guess—you’re looking for answers, aren’t you? Something only a man like me can provide.”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your expression steady. “Depends on what you’re offering.”

Klaus chuckled, the sound laced with amusement and just a hint of condescension. “Smart girl. But let me save you the trouble—you don’t have to butter me up. I’m Klaus. And if you’re looking for answers, you’ve already found them.”

Bingo.

You feigned surprise, raising your eyebrows. “Klaus, huh? They didn’t tell me you’d be this easy to find.”

“Easy?” he repeated with a scoff. “Sweetheart, if you’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have gotten this far. Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood.”

“Lucky me,” you replied, keeping your tone playful even as your mind raced. You needed more—something useful, something actionable.

Leaning in slightly, you lowered your voice to just above a whisper. “Word is, you’ve got connections to the Garrison. The kind that deal with things they shouldn’t.”

Klaus’s smirk faltered for a split second, his eyes narrowing. “That’s dangerous talk,” he said, his voice dropping.

“Only if it’s true,” you countered, holding his gaze. “And if it is, I’d bet a man like you knows exactly where the good stuff is being kept.”

Klaus’s smirk deepened as he leaned in closer, the scent of cheap whiskey clinging to his breath. His fingers brushed against your forearm, a deliberate move meant to unsettle. “That so? And here I thought you were just another pretty face looking for a good time.”

You held your ground, refusing to flinch. “I’m looking for information, not entertainment.”

“Who says you can’t have both?” he replied smoothly, his hand trailing down to rest lightly on your upper thigh. “But information… that comes at a price, sweetheart. What do you think you’ve got that’s worth my time?”

Your smile didn’t waver, though the weight of his touch made your skin crawl. “Maybe it’s not about what I have,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Maybe it’s about what you stand to gain.”

He chuckled, low and slow, his fingers giving you a brief squeeze before pulling away, leaning back slightly. “I like the way you think. But flattery only gets you so far.”

“I’m not here to flatter,” you shot back, brushing a lock of hair over your shoulder. “I’m here because I’ve heard you’re the one who knows things—the kind of things that could make or break someone’s luck down here.”

His gaze swept over you again, slower this time, his smirk turning almost predatory. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But guts don’t mean much if you don’t know how to use them.”

You leaned forward slightly, letting the space between you narrow just enough to keep his attention locked on you. “Then why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

His grin widened at that, his hand brushing against your arm. “Bold. I like that.” He paused, his fingers tapping against the bar as he let the tension simmer. “Alright, I’ll bite. What exactly are you after?”

“A Garrison warehouse,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to make him lean in further. “The one in section D-4. I’ve heard it’s got some impressive stock—gear, parts, maybe even a few surprises. And I know someone like you would have the inside track.”

Klaus tilted his head, his grin faltering slightly as his gaze turned calculating. “Dangerous territory you’re poking around in, darling. That kind of information doesn’t come cheap.”

You allowed your lips to curve into a slow smile. “Lucky for me, I’m not asking for free. I’ll owe you one, Klaus. And we both know that’s worth more than a quick payout.”

He hesitated, his hand lingering on the bar as his eyes locked with yours. You could see the internal debate—the part of him that wanted to show off battling with his instinct to stay cautious.

“You’re playing a risky game,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with something darker. “But I like risk.”

Leaning closer, his fingers brushed your cheek, his grin sharp. “There’s a Garrison warehouse at the edge of the Underground. Section D-4, like you said, right next to Ksaver's tavern. They’ve got top-tier ODM gear there, along with spare parts and some other goodies. Security’s tight, though. You’re gonna have to be real clever to get in without getting caught.”

Your pulse quickened, though you forced your expression to remain neutral. “Good thing I’m clever,” you said, brushing his hand away with a light touch that was more steel than silk.

Klaus laughed, the sound rough but genuine, as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ll give you this—you’re fun to talk to. Just don’t screw this up, sweetheart. If anyone asks where you got the info, I don’t know you.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, sliding off the barstool. “I don’t make a habit of kissing and telling.”

His grin turned downright wicked. “Kissing, huh? Maybe next time, darling.”

You gave him a cool smile before turning and walking away, ignoring the weight of his gaze as it lingered on your back. The confidence was starting to chip at the edges, but you couldn’t let that show—not now. You had what you needed.

Now, it was finally time to leave.

Turning towards the door, you managed to catch a small glimpse of a raven-haired man with an undercut stomping his way through the exit, a tall blonde following quick behind.

You sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Fastening the coat around your waist, you quickly followed the pair outside. 

The cold air hit you like a slap as you stepped out of the bar, the muffled din left behind fading into the background.

You spotted Levi a few paces ahead, his silhouette cutting through the dim glow of the flickering streetlights. Furlan trailed behind him, his longer strides barely keeping pace with Levi’s clear irritation.

“Levi,” you called, quickening your step.

He didn’t stop, didn’t turn, but his stiff shoulders and clenched fists told you everything you needed to know.

Furlan glanced back at you with an expression that screamed good luck before muttering something under his breath and veering off down an adjacent alley.

Great—so much for backup.

“Levi,” you tried again, louder this time. “What's wrong? I got the information, didn’t I?”

That did it. He abruptly stopped, spinning on his heel so fast you almost collided with him.

His gray eyes, sharp as knives, pinned you in place. “You call that getting information?” he said, his voice low and biting. “You were practically begging him to—” He broke off, jaw tightening as he looked away, visibly trying to rein in his temper.

“Begging him to what?” you challenged, folding your arms. “To spill? Because that’s exactly what I did. And guess what? It worked.”

Levi’s gaze snapped back to you, a storm brewing in his expression. “He had his hands on you.” His voice was quieter now but no less dangerous. “He wasn’t just talking.”

Your chest tightened, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You think I didn’t notice? I had it under control.”

“Control?” Levi scoffed, stepping closer. “That’s what you call it? Letting him paw at you while you—”

“While I got us a lead,” you interrupted, voice rising. “While I got us one step closer to what we need. Or would you have preferred I started a brawl right there in the middle of the bar?”

Levi’s eyes darkened, his silence heavy. The tension between you hung thick in the cold air, unspoken words swirling like smoke. Finally, he took a deliberate step back, his hands flexing at his sides before he crossed his arms.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with scum like that,” he said, the sharp edge in his voice replaced by something quieter, something raw. “Not like that.”

The unexpected softness in his tone caught you off guard, your retort faltering on your lips. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t liked it—any of it—but you’d done what needed to be done.

“Levi,” you said finally, your voice softer now, “We don’t get to pick the clean way out. We do what we have to.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted—less rigid, more resigned. “Just don’t expect me to stand by and watch next time,” he muttered. “If he’d pushed any further—”

“But he didn’t,” you cut in, offering a small, tired smile. “Because I handled it. And now we know about the Garrison warehouse.”

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the ground before flicking back to you. “You better hope it was worth it.”

“It will be,” you said, the confidence in your voice hiding the lingering unease in your chest. “I made sure of it.”

Levi gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning and heading down the street. You followed, the tension between you easing slightly but not entirely gone.

You didn’t need his approval—not really—but something about the look he’d given you before walking away stuck with you.

Suddenly, Furlan appeared at your side, his hands tucked casually into his pockets as he matched your pace. Your eyes kept following Levi as he walked a few steps ahead, his back stiff and unyielding.

“And here I thought you were getting along,” Furlan murmured, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

You shot him a sharp look, but he only smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “He’s lucky I didn’t wring his neck,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Furlan chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Yeah, well, I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond, your gaze drifting back to Levi’s silhouette cutting through the dim light ahead.

As the hideout came into view, you couldn’t help but glance at Levi’s back, his quiet, steady presence a constant reminder of why you’d fought so hard to prove yourself.

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, you’d take the win.

extra scene:

It wasn’t supposed to bother him. Not like this.

Levi leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on you as you fussed with your appearance in front of the cracked mirror. You looked uncomfortable, the tight lines of your mouth betraying the confident facade you were trying to project. But that didn’t stop you. Of course, it didn’t.

You’d been through worse, after all. They all had. This was just another job, another mask to wear to survive. Levi knew that.

So why the hell did it feel like his chest was wrapped in barbed wire?

He watched as you adjusted the neckline of your dress, pulling it lower over your shoulders. The faint scrape of his teeth against the inside of his cheek was the only outward sign of his tension. The outfit was impractical, borderline ridiculous given where you were going, but necessary for the mission. That didn’t make it easier to stomach.

“Blend in,” Furlan had said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

And you’d agreed without hesitation, as if dressing like bait and walking into a den of wolves was just another day’s work.

“Idiot,” Levi thought, his grip on his biceps tightening. You were too reckless, too willing to throw yourself into situations that could spiral out of control in an instant. He hated it.

No. That wasn’t right.

What he hated was how much he hated it.

It wasn’t his place to care. You weren’t his to protect—not really. You were a member of the team, an equal. You didn’t need him hovering over your shoulder, acting like some kind of self-appointed shield. And yet, the thought of you walking into that bar alone, surrounded by men like the ones they dealt with every day, made something cold and sharp twist in his gut.

The sharp click of the little brush you used to dot a mole under your eye snapped him out of his thoughts. He shifted his weight, the movement subtle but enough to catch your attention. You turned toward him, your expression equal parts exasperation and curiosity.

“Something wrong, Levi?”

The way you said his name, laced with sarcasm and a touch of defiance, made his jaw tighten. You were trying to bait him, testing the boundaries of his patience like you always did.

He should’ve let it go. Should’ve said nothing, just like he always did when your sharp wit cut too close to the bone. But the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“Just don’t get yourself killed.”

It sounded harsher than he intended, clipped and cold. He saw the flicker of surprise in your eyes before you covered it with that damn smirk, the one you used when you were trying to hide how much his words got to you.

“Are you offering to walk me to the door, or are you just going to keep sulking?”

Your tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it that made Levi’s chest tighten. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the retort that rose in his throat. He couldn’t win this argument, not now, not when you were already halfway out the door.

So he grunted, the sound low and dismissive, and looked away.

He told himself he wasn’t angry—because anger wasn’t useful here. What he felt was frustration. Frustration at the situation, at the risks, at your inability to see how dangerous this was.

And maybe, just maybe, at himself.

Because the truth was, Levi wasn’t sure what scared him more: the thought of you walking into that bar dressed like a lamb to the slaughter, or the thought that you wouldn’t come back out.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, and Levi exhaled slowly, his hands flexing at his sides. He hated waiting. Hated the helplessness that came with standing still while someone else walked into danger.

“Furlan,” he muttered, his voice low and sharp.

“Yeah, yeah,” Furlan replied, leaning against the frame of the door you’d just exited. His smirk was infuriatingly casual. “She’s got this, you know.”

Levi didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t sure he believed that.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓—𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧

now and then I reread the manuscript…one last souvenir from my trip to your shores…

description: small glimpses into your life with humanity’s strongest. 

medium: a series of canon-compliant one-shots (mostly)

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, suggestive content

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.

main masterlist

the underground—(no regrets)

# who are you again?

☆。let’s just say, the first time you two met, no one involved was impressed. 

# who do you think you are?

☆。Levi's sharp tongue causes clashes between you two, leading to a heated argument over how to handle a negotiation.

# trust issues

☆。for the first time, everything that can go wrong does go wrong…but from this, something else happens for the first time too. 

# the mediator

☆。tired of the constant bickering, Furlan devises a scheme to make you and Levi cooperate, which ends up with both of you trapped together…

# ace up her sleeve

☆。a routine job turns into a deadly standoff when you, Levi, and Furlan are cornered by members of a gang—lucky for them, you’re here to save the day!

# suiting up… 

☆。getting intel requires a different set of skills, especially if you’re a woman with a sharp tongue. 

# oh, how things change—or, the shift

☆。growth is forged in blood and trust. Months later, you and Levi navigate the changing tides of battle, leadership, and the unspoken bond that has shifted everything between you.

# the turning point

☆。the trio gets their hands on ODM gear, a decision that will affect their rest of their lives without them knowing. 

# …suiting down…?

☆。it was a simple job, until Levi turned a simple mission into a collision of truths, frustration, and something neither of you could ignore any longer—or the first step in their relationship.

# love me, love me not

☆。vulnerability isn’t just rare—it’s dangerous. But between silences and stolen moments, Levi and you take the first, tentative step toward defining what you mean to each other.

# illicit affairs

☆。sneaking around has never been more fun.

# three’s company

☆。isabelle joins your little family as the annoying little sister nobody asked for, and brings a breath of fresh air.

# silence speaks volumes

☆。Levi doesn’t talk much, but actions speak louder than words—or three times Levi shows you he cares through actions.

# equal, opposite reaction

☆。when isabel comes home with her hair half cut and bleeding, you and levi have different ways to react. 

# one perfect day

☆。you and levi find yourselves sharing a rare quiet moment.

# the proposal

☆。a job brought from a new client makes them rethink their whole life choices—retrieve a document and kill erwin smith, but is it worth it for a life outside?

# nothing in the world belongs to me…

☆。talks about life on the surface make levi think about the future for the first time.

# the heist begins

☆。the beginning to the rest of your lives.

p.s. side stories!

me before you—life in the underground was never easy, but it can drastically improve with someone by your side (or your friendship with furlan). 

invisible string—five times you and levi crossed paths before meeting for the first time. 

no second chances—when Levi's strict approach to leadership puts you in harm's way, Furlan intervenes to keep the peace.

 …maybe?— there’s no way levi has feelings for you, but seeing you like that? well, there has to be another reason why his throat goes dry and his hands can’t seem to stop shaking. 

all the little things—levi finds you teaching isabel how to use ODM gear.

four men in uniform—Erwin finds hope for the scouts in the body of four kids from the underground. 

joining the survey corps—(life on the outside)

# fish out of water

☆。the transition to life outside the underground is difficult, especially when you feel like Levi is pulling away—lucky for you, your friends are there to make sure you’re having fun!

# foreign skies

☆。Shiganshina is…overwhelming to say the least, but for the first time, the sky feels endless.

# home, is home, is home

☆。falling asleep has never proven more difficult.

# i remember it all too well

☆。in which you and levi see snow for the first time on the outside.

# liquid gold

☆。this is the first time you have enough money to gift levi something of value, let’s hope he likes it sweet!

# no regrets

☆。the mission that will change their lives for the better, but is it hubris or a self-fulfilling prophecy when everything that can go wrong, does go wrong?

# the day after

☆。life seems bleak now that the group of four, has turned into a group of two. 

# sacrifice

☆。putting your life on the line for someone you love is a no-brainer, Levi disagrees. 

# midnight rain

☆。as ambition and unspoken feelings clash, their relationship hits a rough patch—can they find their way back to each other?

# parallel lines

☆。you and levi keep moving up the ranks.

# …but my love, is mine all mine

☆。in the quiet of a dimly lit workshop, Levi offers you something more than survival—a promise he’s too stubborn to say out loud: I’ll fight for you. Always.

p.s. side stories!

no training required?!—four cadets join the survey corps without training…who might they be and…are two of them married?

through the storm—erwin notices the strain in your relationship with levi, but sees it as a strength rather than a weakness.

chain reaction—hange becomes fascinated by your strange dynamic, trying (and failing) to get either one of you to openly admit their feelings.

when you’re not looking—levi gets jealous as some other recruit has his eyes on you.

original timeline—(aot canon)

# the job we never did

☆。having not done anything during the fall of wall maria, seeing all the refugees proves to be more difficult than you had anticipated—especially when wall maria reclamation operation is set to begin. 

# subject of ymir

☆。a reckless chase leads to a chilling discovery—one that could change humanity’s understanding of Titans forever.

# a small win for all

☆。the Scouts’ first Titan capture is a success—but the true battle begins when the Titan is brought back to base. 

# trial by fire

☆。when the Armored Titan shatters Trost, the Scouts are forced to turn back—in the midst of it all, the reader’s squad is tested, thrust into the fire where leadership means not just giving orders, but standing at the frontlines when hope feels lost.

# new developments

☆。the struggle for trost, albeit from being far from over, has alread proven to be one of the most memorable battle’s humanity has ever encountered—and not for the reasons one might think. 

# rest

☆。victory comes at a cost. As she shoulders the burden of leadership through blood, smoke, and loss, Levi finds her in the dark of the night—not to offer grand words, but a silent promise that she’s not alone.

# trials and trepidations

☆。amid fear and suspicion, Eren’s trial becomes a battlefield of words and loyalties. As tensions rise, your voice stands firm, defending the boy who could save humanity.

# new allies, new questions

☆。there’s nothing better to do than cleaning duty, especially after a gruelling battle.

# the moment of truth

☆。finally something exciting happens when eren’s experiments begin and sawney and bean are found dead.  

# your worst nightmare…

☆。even with everything set in place, many things can go wrong outside the walls—the appearance of a new abnormal might be one of them.   

# …has come true

☆。the 57th exterior scouting mission goes by and it’s a close repeat of what happened in that first mission all those years ago, what’s the point if the outcome is always the same?

# overworked, underplanned

☆。the appearance of a new “conscious titan” poses new questions and the necessity of new strategies. 

# female titan: part two

☆。a grand operation is set within the walls to try and capture annie leonheart, but since when is victory this bittersweet?

# little playthings

☆。as the looming threat of a breach in Wall Rose grows ever closer, the appearance of intelligent Titans sends shockwaves through the ranks. With each passing moment, the line between humanity and its predators blurs, revealing a sinister truth: if the walls are the pen and humanity the cattle, then these transforming Titans are the shepherds, herding their prey with cruel intent.

# the rescue

☆。once again the Survey Corps have to ride into the heart of despair. Saving eren comes at a devastating cost, but with losses mounting and enemies closing in, humanity’s fragile hope rests on the brink of a grim revelation.

# meetings and more meetings

☆。in the aftermath of the battle for Wall Rose and the mission to save Eren, you find yourself drowning in responsibilities. As the Scouts grapple without their leader, refugees, and rising tensions, every meeting feels like a battle of its own.

# civil war: part I

☆。pastor nick’s death proves to be the begining of a bigger conspiracy—and for the first time ever, the enemies aren’t the titans but the rulers. 

# civil war: part II

☆。as the Survey Corps battles the First Interior Squad in the streets of Stohess, the fight for humanity's future moves from the shadows to the open. 

# requiem

☆。in the ruins of the Reiss chapel, two opposing forces fight for control of humanity’s fate.

# give a little bit

☆。the night before the battle with the Beast Titan, you and Levi find solace in one another—because you both know not everyone will come back.

and more to come...

p.s. side stories!

between the lines—levi writes you a letter during a long campaign, something he’s never done before. 

whispers in the barracks—sasha and the younger recruits gossip to try to piece together the truth based on small moments they see. 

unspoken—petra’s quiet admiration for Levi grows into something more, but as she observes him, she begins to realize that love often hides in the smallest gestures. Unspoken feelings, loyalty, unrequited love, and what it means to truly care for someone.

so long, goodbye—i’ll see you when i see you, i’ll meet you on the other side.

epilogue—(life post rumbling)

# second firsts

☆。living a civilian life isn’t easy, especially when Levi struggles with his injuries—but together, you begin to rediscover the joy in life’s simple pleasures.

# life after

☆。as the world rebuilds, you and Levi take a rare trip to see the ocean. A moment that feels like the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another.

# a taste of the past

☆。Levi surprises you by preparing tea the way he used to in the Underground, a small gesture that reminds you of how far you’ve come together.

# wings and leaves

☆。you and levi finally open a small tea shop in Marley, and you watch as he finds joy in a simple life he never thought he’d have.

# finally

☆。the time has come to make one of the most difficult decisions in your relationship, knowing it might mean the end of it—even after everything. 

# sweet nothings

☆。small, mundane moments between you and Levi as you try to build a life together.  

# would it be enough?

☆。in a quiet, post-rumbling world, Levi grapples with his injuries while you find ways to support him without making him feel like a burden—based on peace. 

p.s. side stories!

timeless—after everything is said and done, you and levi decide to stay in marley, gabi and falco become staples in your home, what do they see? 

to you, sixty years later—a young girl brings a family book to show-and-tell day at school. 

[augustwinesworld]

𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩…

what's a whore with no money to her name?

description: getting intel requires a different set of skills, especially if you’re a woman with a sharp tongue.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: angst?

warning: suggestive, extremely suggestive. also, the reader is described to have hair long enough to "fall onto her face" (wtv that means)

notes: really wanted to post this yesterday, but I had so much fun developing this idea that I didn't want to half-ass it. I'll def write levi's pov sometime :)

word count: 3.5 k

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

Go to a dingy bar, infiltrate a small but influential group of merchants and shady brokers, extract information on a potential lead, and return to base with what was needed.

Easy enough, right? Right.

Somehow, it didn't feel like that.

As you stood in front of the cracked mirror, you adjusted your outfit one last time: a fitted cloak that barely reached the top of her boots and an off-the-shoulder dress fitted with a corset paired up with some tights.

Clearly, it wasn't something you were completely comfortable in, but blending into the bar crowd with battle-ready attire was impossible.

The mission required you to be a beacon, approachable—something hot, sweet, and appealing at the same time.

An easy target for conversation, not suspicion.

Someone that could be something more, for the night at least.

What's a whore with no money to her name?

"You ready?" Furlan’s voice came from behind, his face smirking as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Just about,” you replied, hands finding a small box filled with a deep red-coloured paste. "I just have to put this on."

Using your fingers, you applied it across your face—over your cheekbones and on your lips—the rich colour bringing true liveliness to your features.

As a finishing touch, you decided to take a small brush and add a mole underneath your left eye, have something they can remember you by.

Furlan kept his gaze on you as you worked, though he didn't say anything until you were finally done.

He looked as though he wanted to ask something, probably if you were sure you could handle it, but decided against it.

You weren't sure how to feel about it.

“Don’t screw it up for me, alright?”

Furlan raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one doing the talking. We'll just keep an eye out.”

You gave him a half smile, walking toward your bedroom door. Before you made it to the exit however, you caught Levi's glare from across the room.

His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable as always, but the way his eyes lingered on you made you pause.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer help like he usually did when you prepared for these kinds of things. Instead, his focus was sharp and cold on your figure. Or well, your clothes more like it.

“Something wrong Levi?” you asked—voice a little too sweet, a little too sarcastic.

His lips twisted slightly, a sign of agitation. “Just don’t get yourself killed,” he muttered, looking away, clearly uncomfortable.

“Are you offering to walk me to the door, or are you just going to keep sulking?” you shot back, enjoying the rare opportunity to needle him. But Levi’s only response was a grunt.

The streets were almost bare, except for the few drunkards and thugs hanging around.

The only source of steady light came from the bar around the corner., the men at the entrance followed with their gaze as you passed through the door.

The building in itself was dimly lit, and the faint smell of wine and tobacco hung in the air. She could see a few familiar faces—some shady brokers, some off-duty members of the garrison, all gathered in a small, private room at the back.

There we go.

You took a moment to assess the situation. You needed a way in as soon as possible.

Turning left, your gaze landed on a man sitting near the bar, his laughter a little too loud for casual conversation.

Making your way toward them with light steps, you tried your best to keep yourself open and inviting. A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as she leaned on the bar, positioning yourself just right. Body arching as you asked the bartender for a drink.

“Ah, a beautiful lady graces our humble establishment,” the man said, giving her a sly grin. “What’s your name, lovely?”

He was older than you by a couple of years, stress lines littered across his face, and his smirk suggested he was used to getting what he wanted.

“You can call me whatever you like,” you replied with a sultry smile, leaning in slightly.

The man chuckled, the sound deep and low, his gaze drifting over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Dangerous offer, sweetheart. You sure you can handle that?”

“Only one way to find out,” you shot back, letting the corner of your lips curve into a teasing smile. You took the drink the bartender slid toward you and swirled it lazily, giving the impression that you had all the time in the world. you replied smoothly, tilting your head just enough to let a lock of hair fall over your shoulder.

The burn of the drink wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but you barely noticed it, too focused on the man’s reaction.

His grin widened, clearly entertained by your confidence. He leaned closer, resting his elbow on the bar, and you could smell the faint trace of tobacco on his jacket.

“You here alone?” he asked, leaning closer, his elbow resting on the bar as his eyes glinted with interest. “Or is someone gonna come storming in if I keep you company?”

The corners of your lips curved upward, a practiced expression that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Does it matter?”

He grinned at that, pleased with your answer, but you caught the flicker of caution in his gaze. Men like this always tested boundaries—seeing how far they could push before deciding whether you were worth their time or trouble.

“So, what brings someone like you to a place like this?” he asked, his tone casual but with an undertone of curiosity.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your hair fall over one shoulder as you took another sip from your glass. “Oh, I could ask you the same thing. You don’t exactly look like you blend in here either.”

That earned you a low laugh, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Fair enough. But I’ve got my reasons—business, mostly.”

“Business?” you echoed, your tone light but deliberately interested. “The kind that makes you someone worth knowing?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of caution crossing his face before he smoothed it away with a practiced grin. “Depends on who’s asking.”

You leaned forward, brushing your hand lightly against his arm, a touch so fleeting it could be dismissed but disarming enough to hold his attention. “Someone who knows how to appreciate a man with connections,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to pull him in.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, studying you like he was trying to decide if you were worth the trouble. Then, he leaned back, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “Let me guess—you’re looking for answers, aren’t you? Something only a man like me can provide.”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your expression steady. “Depends on what you’re offering.”

Klaus chuckled, the sound laced with amusement and just a hint of condescension. “Smart girl. But let me save you the trouble—you don’t have to butter me up. I’m Klaus. And if you’re looking for answers, you’ve already found them.”

Bingo.

You feigned surprise, raising your eyebrows. “Klaus, huh? They didn’t tell me you’d be this easy to find.”

“Easy?” he repeated with a scoff. “Sweetheart, if you’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have gotten this far. Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood.”

“Lucky me,” you replied, keeping your tone playful even as your mind raced. You needed more—something useful, something actionable.

Leaning in slightly, you lowered your voice to just above a whisper. “Word is, you’ve got connections to the Garrison. The kind that deal with things they shouldn’t.”

Klaus’s smirk faltered for a split second, his eyes narrowing. “That’s dangerous talk,” he said, his voice dropping.

“Only if it’s true,” you countered, holding his gaze. “And if it is, I’d bet a man like you knows exactly where the good stuff is being kept.”

Klaus’s smirk deepened as he leaned in closer, the scent of cheap whiskey clinging to his breath. His fingers brushed against your forearm, a deliberate move meant to unsettle. “That so? And here I thought you were just another pretty face looking for a good time.”

You held your ground, refusing to flinch. “I’m looking for information, not entertainment.”

“Who says you can’t have both?” he replied smoothly, his hand trailing down to rest lightly on your upper thigh. “But information… that comes at a price, sweetheart. What do you think you’ve got that’s worth my time?”

Your smile didn’t waver, though the weight of his touch made your skin crawl. “Maybe it’s not about what I have,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Maybe it’s about what you stand to gain.”

He chuckled, low and slow, his fingers giving you a brief squeeze before pulling away, leaning back slightly. “I like the way you think. But flattery only gets you so far.”

“I’m not here to flatter,” you shot back, brushing a lock of hair over your shoulder. “I’m here because I’ve heard you’re the one who knows things—the kind of things that could make or break someone’s luck down here.”

His gaze swept over you again, slower this time, his smirk turning almost predatory. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But guts don’t mean much if you don’t know how to use them.”

You leaned forward slightly, letting the space between you narrow just enough to keep his attention locked on you. “Then why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

His grin widened at that, his hand brushing against your arm. “Bold. I like that.” He paused, his fingers tapping against the bar as he let the tension simmer. “Alright, I’ll bite. What exactly are you after?”

“A Garrison warehouse,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to make him lean in further. “The one in section D-4. I’ve heard it’s got some impressive stock—gear, parts, maybe even a few surprises. And I know someone like you would have the inside track.”

Klaus tilted his head, his grin faltering slightly as his gaze turned calculating. “Dangerous territory you’re poking around in, darling. That kind of information doesn’t come cheap.”

You allowed your lips to curve into a slow smile. “Lucky for me, I’m not asking for free. I’ll owe you one, Klaus. And we both know that’s worth more than a quick payout.”

He hesitated, his hand lingering on the bar as his eyes locked with yours. You could see the internal debate—the part of him that wanted to show off battling with his instinct to stay cautious.

“You’re playing a risky game,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with something darker. “But I like risk.”

Leaning closer, his fingers brushed your cheek, his grin sharp. “There’s a Garrison warehouse at the edge of the Underground. Section D-4, like you said, right next to Ksaver's tavern. They’ve got top-tier ODM gear there, along with spare parts and some other goodies. Security’s tight, though. You’re gonna have to be real clever to get in without getting caught.”

Your pulse quickened, though you forced your expression to remain neutral. “Good thing I’m clever,” you said, brushing his hand away with a light touch that was more steel than silk.

Klaus laughed, the sound rough but genuine, as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ll give you this—you’re fun to talk to. Just don’t screw this up, sweetheart. If anyone asks where you got the info, I don’t know you.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, sliding off the barstool. “I don’t make a habit of kissing and telling.”

His grin turned downright wicked. “Kissing, huh? Maybe next time, darling.”

You gave him a cool smile before turning and walking away, ignoring the weight of his gaze as it lingered on your back. The confidence was starting to chip at the edges, but you couldn’t let that show—not now. You had what you needed.

Now, it was finally time to leave.

Turning towards the door, you managed to catch a small glimpse of a raven-haired man with an undercut stomping his way through the exit, a tall blonde following quick behind.

You sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Fastening the coat around your waist, you quickly followed the pair outside. 

The cold air hit you like a slap as you stepped out of the bar, the muffled din left behind fading into the background.

You spotted Levi a few paces ahead, his silhouette cutting through the dim glow of the flickering streetlights. Furlan trailed behind him, his longer strides barely keeping pace with Levi’s clear irritation.

“Levi,” you called, quickening your step.

He didn’t stop, didn’t turn, but his stiff shoulders and clenched fists told you everything you needed to know.

Furlan glanced back at you with an expression that screamed good luck before muttering something under his breath and veering off down an adjacent alley.

Great—so much for backup.

“Levi,” you tried again, louder this time. “What's wrong? I got the information, didn’t I?”

That did it. He abruptly stopped, spinning on his heel so fast you almost collided with him.

His gray eyes, sharp as knives, pinned you in place. “You call that getting information?” he said, his voice low and biting. “You were practically begging him to—” He broke off, jaw tightening as he looked away, visibly trying to rein in his temper.

“Begging him to what?” you challenged, folding your arms. “To spill? Because that’s exactly what I did. And guess what? It worked.”

Levi’s gaze snapped back to you, a storm brewing in his expression. “He had his hands on you.” His voice was quieter now but no less dangerous. “He wasn’t just talking.”

Your chest tightened, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You think I didn’t notice? I had it under control.”

“Control?” Levi scoffed, stepping closer. “That’s what you call it? Letting him paw at you while you—”

“While I got us a lead,” you interrupted, voice rising. “While I got us one step closer to what we need. Or would you have preferred I started a brawl right there in the middle of the bar?”

Levi’s eyes darkened, his silence heavy. The tension between you hung thick in the cold air, unspoken words swirling like smoke. Finally, he took a deliberate step back, his hands flexing at his sides before he crossed his arms.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with scum like that,” he said, the sharp edge in his voice replaced by something quieter, something raw. “Not like that.”

The unexpected softness in his tone caught you off guard, your retort faltering on your lips. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t liked it—any of it—but you’d done what needed to be done.

“Levi,” you said finally, your voice softer now, “We don’t get to pick the clean way out. We do what we have to.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted—less rigid, more resigned. “Just don’t expect me to stand by and watch next time,” he muttered. “If he’d pushed any further—”

“But he didn’t,” you cut in, offering a small, tired smile. “Because I handled it. And now we know about the Garrison warehouse.”

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the ground before flicking back to you. “You better hope it was worth it.”

“It will be,” you said, the confidence in your voice hiding the lingering unease in your chest. “I made sure of it.”

Levi gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning and heading down the street. You followed, the tension between you easing slightly but not entirely gone.

You didn’t need his approval—not really—but something about the look he’d given you before walking away stuck with you.

Suddenly, Furlan appeared at your side, his hands tucked casually into his pockets as he matched your pace. Your eyes kept following Levi as he walked a few steps ahead, his back stiff and unyielding.

“And here I thought you were getting along,” Furlan murmured, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

You shot him a sharp look, but he only smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “He’s lucky I didn’t wring his neck,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Furlan chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Yeah, well, I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond, your gaze drifting back to Levi’s silhouette cutting through the dim light ahead.

As the hideout came into view, you couldn’t help but glance at Levi’s back, his quiet, steady presence a constant reminder of why you’d fought so hard to prove yourself.

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, you’d take the win.

extra scene:

It wasn’t supposed to bother him. Not like this.

Levi leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on you as you fussed with your appearance in front of the cracked mirror. You looked uncomfortable, the tight lines of your mouth betraying the confident facade you were trying to project. But that didn’t stop you. Of course, it didn’t.

You’d been through worse, after all. They all had. This was just another job, another mask to wear to survive. Levi knew that.

So why the hell did it feel like his chest was wrapped in barbed wire?

He watched as you adjusted the neckline of your dress, pulling it lower over your shoulders. The faint scrape of his teeth against the inside of his cheek was the only outward sign of his tension. The outfit was impractical, borderline ridiculous given where you were going, but necessary for the mission. That didn’t make it easier to stomach.

“Blend in,” Furlan had said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

And you’d agreed without hesitation, as if dressing like bait and walking into a den of wolves was just another day’s work.

“Idiot,” Levi thought, his grip on his biceps tightening. You were too reckless, too willing to throw yourself into situations that could spiral out of control in an instant. He hated it.

No. That wasn’t right.

What he hated was how much he hated it.

It wasn’t his place to care. You weren’t his to protect—not really. You were a member of the team, an equal. You didn’t need him hovering over your shoulder, acting like some kind of self-appointed shield. And yet, the thought of you walking into that bar alone, surrounded by men like the ones they dealt with every day, made something cold and sharp twist in his gut.

The sharp click of the little brush you used to dot a mole under your eye snapped him out of his thoughts. He shifted his weight, the movement subtle but enough to catch your attention. You turned toward him, your expression equal parts exasperation and curiosity.

“Something wrong, Levi?”

The way you said his name, laced with sarcasm and a touch of defiance, made his jaw tighten. You were trying to bait him, testing the boundaries of his patience like you always did.

He should’ve let it go. Should’ve said nothing, just like he always did when your sharp wit cut too close to the bone. But the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“Just don’t get yourself killed.”

It sounded harsher than he intended, clipped and cold. He saw the flicker of surprise in your eyes before you covered it with that damn smirk, the one you used when you were trying to hide how much his words got to you.

“Are you offering to walk me to the door, or are you just going to keep sulking?”

Your tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it that made Levi’s chest tighten. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the retort that rose in his throat. He couldn’t win this argument, not now, not when you were already halfway out the door.

So he grunted, the sound low and dismissive, and looked away.

He told himself he wasn’t angry—because anger wasn’t useful here. What he felt was frustration. Frustration at the situation, at the risks, at your inability to see how dangerous this was.

And maybe, just maybe, at himself.

Because the truth was, Levi wasn’t sure what scared him more: the thought of you walking into that bar dressed like a lamb to the slaughter, or the thought that you wouldn’t come back out.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, and Levi exhaled slowly, his hands flexing at his sides. He hated waiting. Hated the helplessness that came with standing still while someone else walked into danger.

“Furlan,” he muttered, his voice low and sharp.

“Yeah, yeah,” Furlan replied, leaning against the frame of the door you’d just exited. His smirk was infuriatingly casual. “She’s got this, you know.”

Levi didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t sure he believed that.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩…

what's a whore with no money to her name?

description: getting intel requires a different set of skills, especially if you’re a woman with a sharp tongue.

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: angst?

warning: suggestive, extremely suggestive. also, the reader is described to have hair long enough to "fall onto her face" (wtv that means)

notes: really wanted to post this yesterday, but I had so much fun developing this idea that I didn't want to half-ass it. I'll def write levi's pov sometime :)

word count: 3.5 k

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

Go to a dingy bar, infiltrate a small but influential group of merchants and shady brokers, extract information on a potential lead, and return to base with what was needed.

Easy enough, right? Right.

Somehow, it didn't feel like that.

As you stood in front of the cracked mirror, you adjusted your outfit one last time: a fitted cloak that barely reached the top of her boots and an off-the-shoulder dress fitted with a corset paired up with some tights.

Clearly, it wasn't something you were completely comfortable in, but blending into the bar crowd with battle-ready attire was impossible.

The mission required you to be a beacon, approachable—something hot, sweet, and appealing at the same time.

An easy target for conversation, not suspicion.

Someone that could be something more, for the night at least.

What's a whore with no money to her name?

"You ready?" Furlan’s voice came from behind, his face smirking as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Just about,” you replied, hands finding a small box filled with a deep red-coloured paste. "I just have to put this on."

Using your fingers, you applied it across your face—over your cheekbones and on your lips—the rich colour bringing true liveliness to your features.

As a finishing touch, you decided to take a small brush and add a mole underneath your left eye, have something they can remember you by.

Furlan kept his gaze on you as you worked, though he didn't say anything until you were finally done.

He looked as though he wanted to ask something, probably if you were sure you could handle it, but decided against it.

You weren't sure how to feel about it.

“Don’t screw it up for me, alright?”

Furlan raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one doing the talking. We'll just keep an eye out.”

You gave him a half smile, walking toward your bedroom door. Before you made it to the exit however, you caught Levi's glare from across the room.

His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable as always, but the way his eyes lingered on you made you pause.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t offer help like he usually did when you prepared for these kinds of things. Instead, his focus was sharp and cold on your figure. Or well, your clothes more like it.

“Something wrong Levi?” you asked—voice a little too sweet, a little too sarcastic.

His lips twisted slightly, a sign of agitation. “Just don’t get yourself killed,” he muttered, looking away, clearly uncomfortable.

“Are you offering to walk me to the door, or are you just going to keep sulking?” you shot back, enjoying the rare opportunity to needle him. But Levi’s only response was a grunt.

The streets were almost bare, except for the few drunkards and thugs hanging around.

The only source of steady light came from the bar around the corner., the men at the entrance followed with their gaze as you passed through the door.

The building in itself was dimly lit, and the faint smell of wine and tobacco hung in the air. She could see a few familiar faces—some shady brokers, some off-duty members of the garrison, all gathered in a small, private room at the back.

There we go.

You took a moment to assess the situation. You needed a way in as soon as possible.

Turning left, your gaze landed on a man sitting near the bar, his laughter a little too loud for casual conversation.

Making your way toward them with light steps, you tried your best to keep yourself open and inviting. A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips as she leaned on the bar, positioning yourself just right. Body arching as you asked the bartender for a drink.

“Ah, a beautiful lady graces our humble establishment,” the man said, giving her a sly grin. “What’s your name, lovely?”

He was older than you by a couple of years, stress lines littered across his face, and his smirk suggested he was used to getting what he wanted.

“You can call me whatever you like,” you replied with a sultry smile, leaning in slightly.

The man chuckled, the sound deep and low, his gaze drifting over you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Dangerous offer, sweetheart. You sure you can handle that?”

“Only one way to find out,” you shot back, letting the corner of your lips curve into a teasing smile. You took the drink the bartender slid toward you and swirled it lazily, giving the impression that you had all the time in the world. you replied smoothly, tilting your head just enough to let a lock of hair fall over your shoulder.

The burn of the drink wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but you barely noticed it, too focused on the man’s reaction.

His grin widened, clearly entertained by your confidence. He leaned closer, resting his elbow on the bar, and you could smell the faint trace of tobacco on his jacket.

“You here alone?” he asked, leaning closer, his elbow resting on the bar as his eyes glinted with interest. “Or is someone gonna come storming in if I keep you company?”

The corners of your lips curved upward, a practiced expression that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Does it matter?”

He grinned at that, pleased with your answer, but you caught the flicker of caution in his gaze. Men like this always tested boundaries—seeing how far they could push before deciding whether you were worth their time or trouble.

“So, what brings someone like you to a place like this?” he asked, his tone casual but with an undertone of curiosity.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your hair fall over one shoulder as you took another sip from your glass. “Oh, I could ask you the same thing. You don’t exactly look like you blend in here either.”

That earned you a low laugh, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Fair enough. But I’ve got my reasons—business, mostly.”

“Business?” you echoed, your tone light but deliberately interested. “The kind that makes you someone worth knowing?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of caution crossing his face before he smoothed it away with a practiced grin. “Depends on who’s asking.”

You leaned forward, brushing your hand lightly against his arm, a touch so fleeting it could be dismissed but disarming enough to hold his attention. “Someone who knows how to appreciate a man with connections,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to pull him in.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, studying you like he was trying to decide if you were worth the trouble. Then, he leaned back, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “Let me guess—you’re looking for answers, aren’t you? Something only a man like me can provide.”

Your heart skipped, but you kept your expression steady. “Depends on what you’re offering.”

Klaus chuckled, the sound laced with amusement and just a hint of condescension. “Smart girl. But let me save you the trouble—you don’t have to butter me up. I’m Klaus. And if you’re looking for answers, you’ve already found them.”

Bingo.

You feigned surprise, raising your eyebrows. “Klaus, huh? They didn’t tell me you’d be this easy to find.”

“Easy?” he repeated with a scoff. “Sweetheart, if you’d been anyone else, you wouldn’t have gotten this far. Lucky for you, I’m in a good mood.”

“Lucky me,” you replied, keeping your tone playful even as your mind raced. You needed more—something useful, something actionable.

Leaning in slightly, you lowered your voice to just above a whisper. “Word is, you’ve got connections to the Garrison. The kind that deal with things they shouldn’t.”

Klaus’s smirk faltered for a split second, his eyes narrowing. “That’s dangerous talk,” he said, his voice dropping.

“Only if it’s true,” you countered, holding his gaze. “And if it is, I’d bet a man like you knows exactly where the good stuff is being kept.”

Klaus’s smirk deepened as he leaned in closer, the scent of cheap whiskey clinging to his breath. His fingers brushed against your forearm, a deliberate move meant to unsettle. “That so? And here I thought you were just another pretty face looking for a good time.”

You held your ground, refusing to flinch. “I’m looking for information, not entertainment.”

“Who says you can’t have both?” he replied smoothly, his hand trailing down to rest lightly on your upper thigh. “But information… that comes at a price, sweetheart. What do you think you’ve got that’s worth my time?”

Your smile didn’t waver, though the weight of his touch made your skin crawl. “Maybe it’s not about what I have,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Maybe it’s about what you stand to gain.”

He chuckled, low and slow, his fingers giving you a brief squeeze before pulling away, leaning back slightly. “I like the way you think. But flattery only gets you so far.”

“I’m not here to flatter,” you shot back, brushing a lock of hair over your shoulder. “I’m here because I’ve heard you’re the one who knows things—the kind of things that could make or break someone’s luck down here.”

His gaze swept over you again, slower this time, his smirk turning almost predatory. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But guts don’t mean much if you don’t know how to use them.”

You leaned forward slightly, letting the space between you narrow just enough to keep his attention locked on you. “Then why don’t you show me how it’s done?”

His grin widened at that, his hand brushing against your arm. “Bold. I like that.” He paused, his fingers tapping against the bar as he let the tension simmer. “Alright, I’ll bite. What exactly are you after?”

“A Garrison warehouse,” you said, your voice dropping just enough to make him lean in further. “The one in section D-4. I’ve heard it’s got some impressive stock—gear, parts, maybe even a few surprises. And I know someone like you would have the inside track.”

Klaus tilted his head, his grin faltering slightly as his gaze turned calculating. “Dangerous territory you’re poking around in, darling. That kind of information doesn’t come cheap.”

You allowed your lips to curve into a slow smile. “Lucky for me, I’m not asking for free. I’ll owe you one, Klaus. And we both know that’s worth more than a quick payout.”

He hesitated, his hand lingering on the bar as his eyes locked with yours. You could see the internal debate—the part of him that wanted to show off battling with his instinct to stay cautious.

“You’re playing a risky game,” he said finally, his voice low and edged with something darker. “But I like risk.”

Leaning closer, his fingers brushed your cheek, his grin sharp. “There’s a Garrison warehouse at the edge of the Underground. Section D-4, like you said, right next to Ksaver's tavern. They’ve got top-tier ODM gear there, along with spare parts and some other goodies. Security’s tight, though. You’re gonna have to be real clever to get in without getting caught.”

Your pulse quickened, though you forced your expression to remain neutral. “Good thing I’m clever,” you said, brushing his hand away with a light touch that was more steel than silk.

Klaus laughed, the sound rough but genuine, as he leaned back in his seat. “I’ll give you this—you’re fun to talk to. Just don’t screw this up, sweetheart. If anyone asks where you got the info, I don’t know you.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, sliding off the barstool. “I don’t make a habit of kissing and telling.”

His grin turned downright wicked. “Kissing, huh? Maybe next time, darling.”

You gave him a cool smile before turning and walking away, ignoring the weight of his gaze as it lingered on your back. The confidence was starting to chip at the edges, but you couldn’t let that show—not now. You had what you needed.

Now, it was finally time to leave.

Turning towards the door, you managed to catch a small glimpse of a raven-haired man with an undercut stomping his way through the exit, a tall blonde following quick behind.

You sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Fastening the coat around your waist, you quickly followed the pair outside. 

The cold air hit you like a slap as you stepped out of the bar, the muffled din left behind fading into the background.

You spotted Levi a few paces ahead, his silhouette cutting through the dim glow of the flickering streetlights. Furlan trailed behind him, his longer strides barely keeping pace with Levi’s clear irritation.

“Levi,” you called, quickening your step.

He didn’t stop, didn’t turn, but his stiff shoulders and clenched fists told you everything you needed to know.

Furlan glanced back at you with an expression that screamed good luck before muttering something under his breath and veering off down an adjacent alley.

Great—so much for backup.

“Levi,” you tried again, louder this time. “What's wrong? I got the information, didn’t I?”

That did it. He abruptly stopped, spinning on his heel so fast you almost collided with him.

His gray eyes, sharp as knives, pinned you in place. “You call that getting information?” he said, his voice low and biting. “You were practically begging him to—” He broke off, jaw tightening as he looked away, visibly trying to rein in his temper.

“Begging him to what?” you challenged, folding your arms. “To spill? Because that’s exactly what I did. And guess what? It worked.”

Levi’s gaze snapped back to you, a storm brewing in his expression. “He had his hands on you.” His voice was quieter now but no less dangerous. “He wasn’t just talking.”

Your chest tightened, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “You think I didn’t notice? I had it under control.”

“Control?” Levi scoffed, stepping closer. “That’s what you call it? Letting him paw at you while you—”

“While I got us a lead,” you interrupted, voice rising. “While I got us one step closer to what we need. Or would you have preferred I started a brawl right there in the middle of the bar?”

Levi’s eyes darkened, his silence heavy. The tension between you hung thick in the cold air, unspoken words swirling like smoke. Finally, he took a deliberate step back, his hands flexing at his sides before he crossed his arms.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with scum like that,” he said, the sharp edge in his voice replaced by something quieter, something raw. “Not like that.”

The unexpected softness in his tone caught you off guard, your retort faltering on your lips. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t liked it—any of it—but you’d done what needed to be done.

“Levi,” you said finally, your voice softer now, “We don’t get to pick the clean way out. We do what we have to.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his posture shifted—less rigid, more resigned. “Just don’t expect me to stand by and watch next time,” he muttered. “If he’d pushed any further—”

“But he didn’t,” you cut in, offering a small, tired smile. “Because I handled it. And now we know about the Garrison warehouse.”

Levi didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the ground before flicking back to you. “You better hope it was worth it.”

“It will be,” you said, the confidence in your voice hiding the lingering unease in your chest. “I made sure of it.”

Levi gave a small, almost imperceptible nod before turning and heading down the street. You followed, the tension between you easing slightly but not entirely gone.

You didn’t need his approval—not really—but something about the look he’d given you before walking away stuck with you.

Suddenly, Furlan appeared at your side, his hands tucked casually into his pockets as he matched your pace. Your eyes kept following Levi as he walked a few steps ahead, his back stiff and unyielding.

“And here I thought you were getting along,” Furlan murmured, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

You shot him a sharp look, but he only smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “He’s lucky I didn’t wring his neck,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

Furlan chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Yeah, well, I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond, your gaze drifting back to Levi’s silhouette cutting through the dim light ahead.

As the hideout came into view, you couldn’t help but glance at Levi’s back, his quiet, steady presence a constant reminder of why you’d fought so hard to prove yourself.

This wasn’t over—not by a long shot—but for now, you’d take the win.

extra scene:

It wasn’t supposed to bother him. Not like this.

Levi leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on you as you fussed with your appearance in front of the cracked mirror. You looked uncomfortable, the tight lines of your mouth betraying the confident facade you were trying to project. But that didn’t stop you. Of course, it didn’t.

You’d been through worse, after all. They all had. This was just another job, another mask to wear to survive. Levi knew that.

So why the hell did it feel like his chest was wrapped in barbed wire?

He watched as you adjusted the neckline of your dress, pulling it lower over your shoulders. The faint scrape of his teeth against the inside of his cheek was the only outward sign of his tension. The outfit was impractical, borderline ridiculous given where you were going, but necessary for the mission. That didn’t make it easier to stomach.

“Blend in,” Furlan had said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

And you’d agreed without hesitation, as if dressing like bait and walking into a den of wolves was just another day’s work.

“Idiot,” Levi thought, his grip on his biceps tightening. You were too reckless, too willing to throw yourself into situations that could spiral out of control in an instant. He hated it.

No. That wasn’t right.

What he hated was how much he hated it.

It wasn’t his place to care. You weren’t his to protect—not really. You were a member of the team, an equal. You didn’t need him hovering over your shoulder, acting like some kind of self-appointed shield. And yet, the thought of you walking into that bar alone, surrounded by men like the ones they dealt with every day, made something cold and sharp twist in his gut.

The sharp click of the little brush you used to dot a mole under your eye snapped him out of his thoughts. He shifted his weight, the movement subtle but enough to catch your attention. You turned toward him, your expression equal parts exasperation and curiosity.

“Something wrong, Levi?”

The way you said his name, laced with sarcasm and a touch of defiance, made his jaw tighten. You were trying to bait him, testing the boundaries of his patience like you always did.

He should’ve let it go. Should’ve said nothing, just like he always did when your sharp wit cut too close to the bone. But the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“Just don’t get yourself killed.”

It sounded harsher than he intended, clipped and cold. He saw the flicker of surprise in your eyes before you covered it with that damn smirk, the one you used when you were trying to hide how much his words got to you.

“Are you offering to walk me to the door, or are you just going to keep sulking?”

Your tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it that made Levi’s chest tighten. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the retort that rose in his throat. He couldn’t win this argument, not now, not when you were already halfway out the door.

So he grunted, the sound low and dismissive, and looked away.

He told himself he wasn’t angry—because anger wasn’t useful here. What he felt was frustration. Frustration at the situation, at the risks, at your inability to see how dangerous this was.

And maybe, just maybe, at himself.

Because the truth was, Levi wasn’t sure what scared him more: the thought of you walking into that bar dressed like a lamb to the slaughter, or the thought that you wouldn’t come back out.

The door closed behind you with a soft click, and Levi exhaled slowly, his hands flexing at his sides. He hated waiting. Hated the helplessness that came with standing still while someone else walked into danger.

“Furlan,” he muttered, his voice low and sharp.

“Yeah, yeah,” Furlan replied, leaning against the frame of the door you’d just exited. His smirk was infuriatingly casual. “She’s got this, you know.”

Levi didn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t sure he believed that.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞

why? why? why did it bother you so much?

description: a routine job turns into a deadly standoff when you, Levi, and Furlan are cornered by members of a gang—lucky for them, you’re here to save the day!

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: so much unspoken affection, they love each other so much and don't even know it lmao | the reader being a smart cookie

notes: im probably gonna post two more chapters this weekend :) holy shit I hated the first draft of this soooo much, but I hit some inspiration tonight and loved the end result.

word count: 2.8k

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 job should have been straightforward: sneak into the storage warehouse controlled by one of the mid-level gangs, find the ledger and some valuable items, and get out before anyone noticed.

Everyone had done their part, scouting, exit strategy, and lockpicking. But, as always, everything went to shit right before you were done.

Six gang members, armed and on edge, blocked the only way out of the cramped storage room.

“Well, well,” one of the men said, twirling a knife in his hand. “Looks like we’ve got some rats in the pantry. You got a death wish, or are you just stupid?”

Behind you, Levi’s fingers flexed around his blade. His eyes darted from one thug to the next, probably calculating angles, movements, odds.

Furlan on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably. His own weapon gripped tight.

“Any bright ideas?” Furlan muttered, his voice barely audible.

Levi didn’t answer. His posture was tense, even more so than usual. You knew he was weighing his options, but the numbers weren’t in your favor.

Knowing him, he would probably try to take them all himself—and he probably could—but...you couldn't let it happen.

Why?

Why?

Why did it bother you so much? Levi was more than capable, and if anyone could handle six armed thugs without hesitation, it was him.

So why couldn’t you just let him handle it? Why was your instinct screaming at you to step in, to do something, even if it meant putting yourself in the line of fire?

Your breathing picked up as the men started rounding you up, guns coming closer and closer to your temples.

Your fingers tightened around the hilt of your blade as the thought gnawed at you. Maybe it was his damn arrogance—the way he always acted like he didn’t need anyone, like he could shoulder the weight of the world without breaking.

Or maybe it was the realization, buried deep, that for all his skill and precision, Levi wasn’t invincible. No one was.

You hated the idea of standing back and watching him get hurt, even if he didn’t share the same concern for himself. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t get to make that call alone.

Maybe it was selfish—an unwillingness to feel the sting of guilt if something went wrong.

Or maybe it was something simpler, something you weren’t ready to fully confront: you trusted him, but that trust went both ways. And if you couldn’t step in when he needed it, what was the point?

It didn’t seem right to you, for some reason.

So you took a step forward, lowering your knife slowly.

“Hold on,” you said, your voice calm but loud enough to cut through the comments. All eyes snapped to you. “Let’s not do anything hasty.”

That one man—the self-appointed leader—tilted his head, amusement flickering across his face. “Oh? And what exactly are you offering to stop me?”

“I’m offering you something better than a fight,” you said evenly, letting the weight of your words settle.

Levi stiffened behind you. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed under his breath.

The leader’s amusement shifted into something sharper, his eyes narrowing as they swept over you. “Better, huh?” His tone carried a crude undercurrent, one that wasn’t lost on anyone in the room.

Levi stiffened further. You could feel his glare burning into the back of your head.

“Trust me,” you murmured under your breath, keeping your focus on the leader.

The leader’s smile turned predatory. “You think I trust you? You think I won’t just take what I want anyway?”

You could see the gears turning in his head, the hunger in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating.

He wasn’t considering your words—at least, not the way you’d intended.

No, he thought you were offering yourself. And it made your stomach churn. His smirk widened, crude and confident, as if he’d already figured out what you were playing at.

Of course, he’d assume that. Men like him always did. Always looking for ways to take more, to push boundaries they shouldn’t even be near.

Behind you, Levi’s tension sharpened, his low growl barely audible. “If you think—”

“Relax,” you interrupted, forcing your tone to remain calm, though your pulse pounded in your ears. You couldn’t let this spiral. Not now. “What I’m offering is leverage—not whatever’s going through that head of yours.”

The leader tilted his head, his amusement faltering though not entirely disappearing. “Leverage?” he echoed, suspicion creeping into his voice. “You’ve got my attention, but you’d better make it good.”

You straightened, pushing past the weight of his gaze. “Your boss has been screwing you over,” you said, keeping your voice steady and cold.

The shift was immediate. The gang members exchanged glances, the murmurs starting to spread as doubt took root. The leader’s smirk thinned, his confidence cracking ever so slightly. He was listening now, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Levi stayed silent behind you, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head, the weight of his unspoken judgment hanging heavy.

The leader’s smirk faltered. His knife lowered just slightly, though his suspicion didn’t waver. “What are you talking about?”

“Why else would he keep a ledger like the one we’re after?” you continued, your voice steady, holding his gaze. “It’s not just to track his deals—it’s to track what he’s skimming off the top. Pocketing what should be yours. Why else would he hide it?”

The room shifted. Uneasy murmurs rippled through the gang members, and the leader’s eyes narrowed further. But then that cocky smirk returned, probably trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“And what do you want?” he asked, his voice low and full of mirth—and something else you didn’t care to name.

"We take this merchandise, disappear, and leave you the proof you need in the ledger. You win. We win. Nobody gets hurt.”

The gang leader studied you, his expression unreadable, though his fingers tapped rhythmically against the hilt of his knife. The tension was thick enough to choke on, and you could feel Levi’s irritation radiating from behind you.

“You expect me to believe you’ll just walk away?” the leader finally said, his tone skeptical.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you replied, your voice firm, your eyes steady on his. “Think about it. If I was lying, why would I even bring it up? Your boss has been playing you. But you’re smarter than this.”

The gang members exchanged uneasy glances, the murmurs growing louder. The leader’s grip on his knife loosened slightly, though his glare didn’t waver.

You could still feel Levi's gaze on you, heavy.

More murmurs from the gang. The leader’s gaze flicked between you, Levi, and Furlan. Finally, he waved a hand. “Fine. Take the damn stash. But if I see you again—”

“You won’t,” you said, cutting him off with a tight smile.

He motioned for his men to step back. They moved reluctantly, but the path cleared. You nodded, moving toward the stash with Levi and Furlan close behind.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Levi’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you to a stop. His eyes were cold steel, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, his tone low but furious. “You could’ve gotten us all killed.”

You wrenched your arm free, meeting his glare with your own. “But I didn’t, did I? We got the valuables, and we’re alive. You’re welcome.”

“That’s not the point!” Levi snapped, his voice rising just enough to echo faintly in the narrow alley. “You gambled with all our lives, and for what? A shot in the dark?”

“It wasn’t a gamble,” you countered, your tone firm. “It was a calculated risk. And it worked. Or are you incapable of admitting someone else had a good idea?”

Levi’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “You call that a good idea? He thought you were—” He cut himself off, his glare intensifying as he searched for the right words.

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “What? Offering myself up? Yeah, I noticed. And I handled it, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the damn point,” Levi hissed. “You shouldn’t have had to handle it at all. That’s why we plan, why we don’t improvise like—like—”

“Like me?” you finished for him, your voice sharp. “Newsflash, Levi: your plans aren’t infallible. Sometimes improvising is the only option.”

Furlan stepped between you both, holding up his hands like a referee stepping into the ring. “Alright, alright, enough. She’s got a point, Levi—it worked. And let’s be honest, it was kind of brilliant.”

Levi shot Furlan a glare that could’ve frozen hell, then turned it back on you. His shoulders were tense, his breathing controlled but heavy. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stalked off, his cloak billowing behind him.

Furlan let out a low whistle, glancing at you with a lopsided grin. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Remind me not to play cards with you.”

You smirked, though your heart still raced from the confrontation. “Smart man.”

As you watched Levi disappear into the shadows ahead, a strange pang of guilt settled in your chest. For all his sharp edges and impossible expectations, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, in his own way, he’d been trying to protect you. Not that you’d ever admit it—not yet, anyway.

The air was thick back at the hideout. Tense.

You sat at the rickety table, the supplies spread before you as you carefully flipped through everything in an effort to keep count.

Levi stood nearby, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. He wasn’t hovering, exactly, but his presence was impossible to ignore—heavy, sharp, like a blade waiting to strike.

Furlan had disappeared to another room, muttering something about not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

The silence stretched, taut as a wire, until Levi finally spoke. “Next time you’re going to pull a stunt like that, give me a heads-up.”

You paused, your fingers resting on the edge of the ledger, before glancing up at him. “A heads-up? Is that your way of saying I did okay?”

Levi’s gaze narrowed, but the sharp retort you expected didn’t come. Instead, he shifted slightly, his arms loosening from their defensive posture. “I’m saying I don’t want to be blindsided by whatever scheme you’re cooking up in the moment.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “So, what? You want me to run all my brilliant ideas past you first? Didn’t realize I needed a babysitter.”

“I’m not your babysitter,” Levi snapped, his voice clipped. “But if you’d told me what you were planning, I could’ve backed you up instead of standing there wondering if I’d have to pull your ass out of the fire.”

The frustration in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t respond. Was that...concern? You studied him, his eyes hard but not unkind, his stance tense but not hostile. It wasn’t like Levi to explain himself, let alone admit to any level of worry.

“I didn’t think I’d need backup,” you said finally, softer than you intended. “And I didn’t mean to...put you in that position.”

Levi didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flicked to the ledger, then back to you, as if weighing his next words carefully. “You handled it,” he said at last, grudgingly. “But don’t push your luck.”

You blinked, surprised by the rare flicker of acknowledgment in his voice. Was that as close to a compliment as Levi could manage?

“Well, don’t worry,” you said, smirking despite the lingering tension. “Next time, I’ll send you a memo.”

Levi rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he turned toward the door. But before he left, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Just...don’t get yourself killed being clever. It’d be a waste.”

Then he was gone, leaving you alone with the ledger and a strange mix of emotions. A waste? You weren’t sure whether to feel insulted or oddly touched.

You shook your head, letting out a low chuckle as you returned to the ledger. Levi might be impossible, but at least now you knew: beneath all the sharp edges and scowls, there was something else—something that, just maybe, made the whole mess worthwhile.

extra scene:

Levi’s grip on his blade tightened as the gang leader’s smirk widened. He hated the way the bastard was looking at you, the way his eyes swept over you like you were some prize he’d already won. Levi wanted to step in, to end this with a single, calculated strike, but the cold press of a gun barrel against his temple kept him still.

The leader’s voice was low and smug, his amusement curling in every word. “Better than a fight, huh? You’d better make it convincing, sweetheart.”

Levi’s jaw clenched, his entire body coiled with tension. He could feel the weight of the gun against his head, the unspoken threat that if he made one wrong move, it was over. For a split second, he considered the angles—the distance, the timing, the likelihood of disarming the thug behind him before the leader could react.

It wasn’t good.

Damn it.

His eyes flicked to you. You stood there, calm and composed, your hands raised in what looked like surrender but wasn’t. He recognized the sharpness in your gaze, the way you were reading the room, calculating. It should’ve reassured him, but it didn’t.

What the hell were you planning?

“Trust me,” you murmured, your voice steady but low.

Levi’s stomach twisted. Trust. Did you even realize what you were asking of him right now? The word grated against every instinct he had, every lesson he’d learned in the Underground. Trust got people killed.

And yet, he stayed still.

The leader tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “You think I trust you? You think I won’t just take what I want anyway?”

Levi’s stomach churned. He knew that look, that tone. He’d seen it too many times in the Underground, on the faces of men who thought power gave them the right to take whatever they wanted. His sharp gaze flicked to you, and for a brief moment, he saw the faintest tension in your stance, the way your shoulders straightened ever so slightly.

Then the leader’s smirk widened, crude and confident, and Levi felt something inside him snap. The bastard thought you were offering yourself.

Of course, he did. Men like him always assumed the worst, always twisted every situation to their advantage. The thought made Levi’s blood boil, a sharp, cold anger surging through his veins.

His jaw clenched, his breathing steady despite the growing rage. He couldn’t act—not yet. Not with the odds stacked like this. But the urge to lunge forward and shut the bastard up permanently burned in his chest.

Behind him, the thug holding the gun shifted slightly, the barrel pressing harder against Levi’s temple. It was a reminder of the helpless position he was in, and it made his skin crawl.

The leader’s gaze stayed on you, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. He wasn’t listening to your words—not the way you intended. Levi saw it in the way the man tilted his head, like he was already imagining how far he could push you.

“If you think—” Levi growled, the warning barely audible. His voice was low, dangerous, a promise of violence he couldn’t yet deliver.

“Relax,” you interrupted, your tone calm but firm. Levi’s eyes snapped to you, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Relax? Did you not see what he saw? Did you not understand the kind of man you were dealing with? Or worse—did you see it and still think you could control this situation?

“What I’m offering is leverage,” you continued, your voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “Not whatever’s going through that head of yours.”

The leader’s smirk faltered, just for a moment, and Levi felt a flicker of satisfaction. But it wasn’t enough to dispel the knot of anger and unease coiling tighter in his chest.

Levi’s gaze stayed locked on the leader, every muscle in his body taut and ready to strike the second the balance shifted. His thoughts raced, calculating the odds, the risks, the variables. If this went south, if the leader pushed too far, Levi would make damn sure he wouldn’t get the chance to regret it.

But for now, he waited, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. The only thing worse than being helpless was being forced to trust someone else to handle it.

Someone who, for all their boldness, didn’t seem to grasp just how dangerous the game they were playing could be.

next chapter↠

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

[augustwinesworld]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓—𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧

now and then I reread the manuscript…one last souvenir from my trip to your shores…

description: small glimpses into your life with humanity’s strongest. 

medium: a series of canon-compliant one-shots (mostly)

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, suggestive content

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.

main masterlist

the underground—(no regrets)

# who are you again?

☆。let’s just say, the first time you two met, no one involved was impressed. 

# who do you think you are?

☆。Levi's sharp tongue causes clashes between you two, leading to a heated argument over how to handle a negotiation.

# trust issues

☆。for the first time, everything that can go wrong does go wrong…but from this, something else happens for the first time too. 

# the mediator

☆。tired of the constant bickering, Furlan devises a scheme to make you and Levi cooperate, which ends up with both of you trapped together…

# ace up her sleeve

☆。a routine job turns into a deadly standoff when you, Levi, and Furlan are cornered by members of a gang—lucky for them, you’re here to save the day!

# suiting up… 

☆。getting intel requires a different set of skills, especially if you’re a woman with a sharp tongue. 

# oh, how things change—or, the shift

☆。growth is forged in blood and trust. Months later, you and Levi navigate the changing tides of battle, leadership, and the unspoken bond that has shifted everything between you.

# the turning point

☆。the trio gets their hands on ODM gear, a decision that will affect their rest of their lives without them knowing. 

# …suiting down…?

☆。it was a simple job, until Levi turned a simple mission into a collision of truths, frustration, and something neither of you could ignore any longer—or the first step in their relationship.

# love me, love me not

☆。vulnerability isn’t just rare—it’s dangerous. But between silences and stolen moments, Levi and you take the first, tentative step toward defining what you mean to each other.

# illicit affairs

☆。sneaking around has never been more fun.

# three’s company

☆。isabelle joins your little family as the annoying little sister nobody asked for, and brings a breath of fresh air.

# silence speaks volumes

☆。Levi doesn’t talk much, but actions speak louder than words—or three times Levi shows you he cares through actions.

# equal, opposite reaction

☆。when isabel comes home with her hair half cut and bleeding, you and levi have different ways to react. 

# one perfect day

☆。you and levi find yourselves sharing a rare quiet moment.

# the proposal

☆。a job brought from a new client makes them rethink their whole life choices—retrieve a document and kill erwin smith, but is it worth it for a life outside?

# nothing in the world belongs to me…

☆。talks about life on the surface make levi think about the future for the first time.

# the heist begins

☆。the beginning to the rest of your lives.

p.s. side stories!

me before you—life in the underground was never easy, but it can drastically improve with someone by your side (or your friendship with furlan). 

invisible string—five times you and levi crossed paths before meeting for the first time. 

no second chances—when Levi's strict approach to leadership puts you in harm's way, Furlan intervenes to keep the peace.

 …maybe?— there’s no way levi has feelings for you, but seeing you like that? well, there has to be another reason why his throat goes dry and his hands can’t seem to stop shaking. 

all the little things—levi finds you teaching isabel how to use ODM gear.

four men in uniform—Erwin finds hope for the scouts in the body of four kids from the underground. 

joining the survey corps—(life on the outside)

# fish out of water

☆。the transition to life outside the underground is difficult, especially when you feel like Levi is pulling away—lucky for you, your friends are there to make sure you’re having fun!

# foreign skies

☆。Shiganshina is…overwhelming to say the least, but for the first time, the sky feels endless.

# home, is home, is home

☆。falling asleep has never proven more difficult.

# i remember it all too well

☆。in which you and levi see snow for the first time on the outside.

# liquid gold

☆。this is the first time you have enough money to gift levi something of value, let’s hope he likes it sweet!

# no regrets

☆。the mission that will change their lives for the better, but is it hubris or a self-fulfilling prophecy when everything that can go wrong, does go wrong?

# the day after

☆。life seems bleak now that the group of four, has turned into a group of two. 

# sacrifice

☆。putting your life on the line for someone you love is a no-brainer, Levi disagrees. 

# midnight rain

☆。as ambition and unspoken feelings clash, their relationship hits a rough patch—can they find their way back to each other?

# parallel lines

☆。you and levi keep moving up the ranks.

# …but my love, is mine all mine

☆。in the quiet of a dimly lit workshop, Levi offers you something more than survival—a promise he’s too stubborn to say out loud: I’ll fight for you. Always.

p.s. side stories!

no training required?!—four cadets join the survey corps without training…who might they be and…are two of them married?

through the storm—erwin notices the strain in your relationship with levi, but sees it as a strength rather than a weakness.

chain reaction—hange becomes fascinated by your strange dynamic, trying (and failing) to get either one of you to openly admit their feelings.

when you’re not looking—levi gets jealous as some other recruit has his eyes on you.

original timeline—(aot canon)

# the job we never did

☆。having not done anything during the fall of wall maria, seeing all the refugees proves to be more difficult than you had anticipated—especially when wall maria reclamation operation is set to begin. 

# subject of ymir

☆。a reckless chase leads to a chilling discovery—one that could change humanity’s understanding of Titans forever.

# a small win for all

☆。the Scouts’ first Titan capture is a success—but the true battle begins when the Titan is brought back to base. 

# trial by fire

☆。when the Armored Titan shatters Trost, the Scouts are forced to turn back—in the midst of it all, the reader’s squad is tested, thrust into the fire where leadership means not just giving orders, but standing at the frontlines when hope feels lost.

# new developments

☆。the struggle for trost, albeit from being far from over, has alread proven to be one of the most memorable battle’s humanity has ever encountered—and not for the reasons one might think. 

# rest

☆。victory comes at a cost. As she shoulders the burden of leadership through blood, smoke, and loss, Levi finds her in the dark of the night—not to offer grand words, but a silent promise that she’s not alone.

# trials and trepidations

☆。amid fear and suspicion, Eren’s trial becomes a battlefield of words and loyalties. As tensions rise, your voice stands firm, defending the boy who could save humanity.

# new allies, new questions

☆。there’s nothing better to do than cleaning duty, especially after a gruelling battle.

# the moment of truth

☆。finally something exciting happens when eren’s experiments begin and sawney and bean are found dead.  

# your worst nightmare…

☆。even with everything set in place, many things can go wrong outside the walls—the appearance of a new abnormal might be one of them.   

# …has come true

☆。the 57th exterior scouting mission goes by and it’s a close repeat of what happened in that first mission all those years ago, what’s the point if the outcome is always the same?

# overworked, underplanned

☆。the appearance of a new “conscious titan” poses new questions and the necessity of new strategies. 

# female titan: part two

☆。a grand operation is set within the walls to try and capture annie leonheart, but since when is victory this bittersweet?

# little playthings

☆。as the looming threat of a breach in Wall Rose grows ever closer, the appearance of intelligent Titans sends shockwaves through the ranks. With each passing moment, the line between humanity and its predators blurs, revealing a sinister truth: if the walls are the pen and humanity the cattle, then these transforming Titans are the shepherds, herding their prey with cruel intent.

# the rescue

☆。once again the Survey Corps have to ride into the heart of despair. Saving eren comes at a devastating cost, but with losses mounting and enemies closing in, humanity’s fragile hope rests on the brink of a grim revelation.

# meetings and more meetings

☆。in the aftermath of the battle for Wall Rose and the mission to save Eren, you find yourself drowning in responsibilities. As the Scouts grapple without their leader, refugees, and rising tensions, every meeting feels like a battle of its own.

# civil war: part I

☆。pastor nick’s death proves to be the begining of a bigger conspiracy—and for the first time ever, the enemies aren’t the titans but the rulers. 

# civil war: part II

☆。as the Survey Corps battles the First Interior Squad in the streets of Stohess, the fight for humanity's future moves from the shadows to the open. 

# requiem

☆。in the ruins of the Reiss chapel, two opposing forces fight for control of humanity’s fate.

# give a little bit

☆。the night before the battle with the Beast Titan, you and Levi find solace in one another—because you both know not everyone will come back.

and more to come...

p.s. side stories!

between the lines—levi writes you a letter during a long campaign, something he’s never done before. 

whispers in the barracks—sasha and the younger recruits gossip to try to piece together the truth based on small moments they see. 

unspoken—petra’s quiet admiration for Levi grows into something more, but as she observes him, she begins to realize that love often hides in the smallest gestures. Unspoken feelings, loyalty, unrequited love, and what it means to truly care for someone.

so long, goodbye—i’ll see you when i see you, i’ll meet you on the other side.

epilogue—(life post rumbling)

# second firsts

☆。living a civilian life isn’t easy, especially when Levi struggles with his injuries—but together, you begin to rediscover the joy in life’s simple pleasures.

# life after

☆。as the world rebuilds, you and Levi take a rare trip to see the ocean. A moment that feels like the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another.

# a taste of the past

☆。Levi surprises you by preparing tea the way he used to in the Underground, a small gesture that reminds you of how far you’ve come together.

# wings and leaves

☆。you and levi finally open a small tea shop in Marley, and you watch as he finds joy in a simple life he never thought he’d have.

# finally

☆。the time has come to make one of the most difficult decisions in your relationship, knowing it might mean the end of it—even after everything. 

# sweet nothings

☆。small, mundane moments between you and Levi as you try to build a life together.  

# would it be enough?

☆。in a quiet, post-rumbling world, Levi grapples with his injuries while you find ways to support him without making him feel like a burden—based on peace. 

p.s. side stories!

timeless—after everything is said and done, you and levi decide to stay in marley, gabi and falco become staples in your home, what do they see? 

to you, sixty years later—a young girl brings a family book to show-and-tell day at school. 

[augustwinesworld]

𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐯𝐞

why? why? why did it bother you so much?

description: a routine job turns into a deadly standoff when you, Levi, and Furlan are cornered by members of a gang—lucky for them, you’re here to save the day!

pairing: underground! levi x underground! reader

genre: so much unspoken affection, they love each other so much and don't even know it lmao | the reader being a smart cookie

notes: im probably gonna post two more chapters this weekend :) holy shit I hated the first draft of this soooo much, but I hit some inspiration tonight and loved the end result.

word count: 2.8k

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 job should have been straightforward: sneak into the storage warehouse controlled by one of the mid-level gangs, find the ledger and some valuable items, and get out before anyone noticed.

Everyone had done their part, scouting, exit strategy, and lockpicking. But, as always, everything went to shit right before you were done.

Six gang members, armed and on edge, blocked the only way out of the cramped storage room.

“Well, well,” one of the men said, twirling a knife in his hand. “Looks like we’ve got some rats in the pantry. You got a death wish, or are you just stupid?”

Behind you, Levi’s fingers flexed around his blade. His eyes darted from one thug to the next, probably calculating angles, movements, odds.

Furlan on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably. His own weapon gripped tight.

“Any bright ideas?” Furlan muttered, his voice barely audible.

Levi didn’t answer. His posture was tense, even more so than usual. You knew he was weighing his options, but the numbers weren’t in your favor.

Knowing him, he would probably try to take them all himself—and he probably could—but...you couldn't let it happen.

Why?

Why?

Why did it bother you so much? Levi was more than capable, and if anyone could handle six armed thugs without hesitation, it was him.

So why couldn’t you just let him handle it? Why was your instinct screaming at you to step in, to do something, even if it meant putting yourself in the line of fire?

Your breathing picked up as the men started rounding you up, guns coming closer and closer to your temples.

Your fingers tightened around the hilt of your blade as the thought gnawed at you. Maybe it was his damn arrogance—the way he always acted like he didn’t need anyone, like he could shoulder the weight of the world without breaking.

Or maybe it was the realization, buried deep, that for all his skill and precision, Levi wasn’t invincible. No one was.

You hated the idea of standing back and watching him get hurt, even if he didn’t share the same concern for himself. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t get to make that call alone.

Maybe it was selfish—an unwillingness to feel the sting of guilt if something went wrong.

Or maybe it was something simpler, something you weren’t ready to fully confront: you trusted him, but that trust went both ways. And if you couldn’t step in when he needed it, what was the point?

It didn’t seem right to you, for some reason.

So you took a step forward, lowering your knife slowly.

“Hold on,” you said, your voice calm but loud enough to cut through the comments. All eyes snapped to you. “Let’s not do anything hasty.”

That one man—the self-appointed leader—tilted his head, amusement flickering across his face. “Oh? And what exactly are you offering to stop me?”

“I’m offering you something better than a fight,” you said evenly, letting the weight of your words settle.

Levi stiffened behind you. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed under his breath.

The leader’s amusement shifted into something sharper, his eyes narrowing as they swept over you. “Better, huh?” His tone carried a crude undercurrent, one that wasn’t lost on anyone in the room.

Levi stiffened further. You could feel his glare burning into the back of your head.

“Trust me,” you murmured under your breath, keeping your focus on the leader.

The leader’s smile turned predatory. “You think I trust you? You think I won’t just take what I want anyway?”

You could see the gears turning in his head, the hunger in his eyes shifting into something darker, more calculating.

He wasn’t considering your words—at least, not the way you’d intended.

No, he thought you were offering yourself. And it made your stomach churn. His smirk widened, crude and confident, as if he’d already figured out what you were playing at.

Of course, he’d assume that. Men like him always did. Always looking for ways to take more, to push boundaries they shouldn’t even be near.

Behind you, Levi’s tension sharpened, his low growl barely audible. “If you think—”

“Relax,” you interrupted, forcing your tone to remain calm, though your pulse pounded in your ears. You couldn’t let this spiral. Not now. “What I’m offering is leverage—not whatever’s going through that head of yours.”

The leader tilted his head, his amusement faltering though not entirely disappearing. “Leverage?” he echoed, suspicion creeping into his voice. “You’ve got my attention, but you’d better make it good.”

You straightened, pushing past the weight of his gaze. “Your boss has been screwing you over,” you said, keeping your voice steady and cold.

The shift was immediate. The gang members exchanged glances, the murmurs starting to spread as doubt took root. The leader’s smirk thinned, his confidence cracking ever so slightly. He was listening now, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Levi stayed silent behind you, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your head, the weight of his unspoken judgment hanging heavy.

The leader’s smirk faltered. His knife lowered just slightly, though his suspicion didn’t waver. “What are you talking about?”

“Why else would he keep a ledger like the one we’re after?” you continued, your voice steady, holding his gaze. “It’s not just to track his deals—it’s to track what he’s skimming off the top. Pocketing what should be yours. Why else would he hide it?”

The room shifted. Uneasy murmurs rippled through the gang members, and the leader’s eyes narrowed further. But then that cocky smirk returned, probably trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“And what do you want?” he asked, his voice low and full of mirth—and something else you didn’t care to name.

"We take this merchandise, disappear, and leave you the proof you need in the ledger. You win. We win. Nobody gets hurt.”

The gang leader studied you, his expression unreadable, though his fingers tapped rhythmically against the hilt of his knife. The tension was thick enough to choke on, and you could feel Levi’s irritation radiating from behind you.

“You expect me to believe you’ll just walk away?” the leader finally said, his tone skeptical.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you replied, your voice firm, your eyes steady on his. “Think about it. If I was lying, why would I even bring it up? Your boss has been playing you. But you’re smarter than this.”

The gang members exchanged uneasy glances, the murmurs growing louder. The leader’s grip on his knife loosened slightly, though his glare didn’t waver.

You could still feel Levi's gaze on you, heavy.

More murmurs from the gang. The leader’s gaze flicked between you, Levi, and Furlan. Finally, he waved a hand. “Fine. Take the damn stash. But if I see you again—”

“You won’t,” you said, cutting him off with a tight smile.

He motioned for his men to step back. They moved reluctantly, but the path cleared. You nodded, moving toward the stash with Levi and Furlan close behind.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Levi’s hand shot out, grabbing your arm and pulling you to a stop. His eyes were cold steel, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, his tone low but furious. “You could’ve gotten us all killed.”

You wrenched your arm free, meeting his glare with your own. “But I didn’t, did I? We got the valuables, and we’re alive. You’re welcome.”

“That’s not the point!” Levi snapped, his voice rising just enough to echo faintly in the narrow alley. “You gambled with all our lives, and for what? A shot in the dark?”

“It wasn’t a gamble,” you countered, your tone firm. “It was a calculated risk. And it worked. Or are you incapable of admitting someone else had a good idea?”

Levi’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “You call that a good idea? He thought you were—” He cut himself off, his glare intensifying as he searched for the right words.

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “What? Offering myself up? Yeah, I noticed. And I handled it, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the damn point,” Levi hissed. “You shouldn’t have had to handle it at all. That’s why we plan, why we don’t improvise like—like—”

“Like me?” you finished for him, your voice sharp. “Newsflash, Levi: your plans aren’t infallible. Sometimes improvising is the only option.”

Furlan stepped between you both, holding up his hands like a referee stepping into the ring. “Alright, alright, enough. She’s got a point, Levi—it worked. And let’s be honest, it was kind of brilliant.”

Levi shot Furlan a glare that could’ve frozen hell, then turned it back on you. His shoulders were tense, his breathing controlled but heavy. Without another word, he spun on his heel and stalked off, his cloak billowing behind him.

Furlan let out a low whistle, glancing at you with a lopsided grin. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Remind me not to play cards with you.”

You smirked, though your heart still raced from the confrontation. “Smart man.”

As you watched Levi disappear into the shadows ahead, a strange pang of guilt settled in your chest. For all his sharp edges and impossible expectations, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, in his own way, he’d been trying to protect you. Not that you’d ever admit it—not yet, anyway.

The air was thick back at the hideout. Tense.

You sat at the rickety table, the supplies spread before you as you carefully flipped through everything in an effort to keep count.

Levi stood nearby, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. He wasn’t hovering, exactly, but his presence was impossible to ignore—heavy, sharp, like a blade waiting to strike.

Furlan had disappeared to another room, muttering something about not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

The silence stretched, taut as a wire, until Levi finally spoke. “Next time you’re going to pull a stunt like that, give me a heads-up.”

You paused, your fingers resting on the edge of the ledger, before glancing up at him. “A heads-up? Is that your way of saying I did okay?”

Levi’s gaze narrowed, but the sharp retort you expected didn’t come. Instead, he shifted slightly, his arms loosening from their defensive posture. “I’m saying I don’t want to be blindsided by whatever scheme you’re cooking up in the moment.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “So, what? You want me to run all my brilliant ideas past you first? Didn’t realize I needed a babysitter.”

“I’m not your babysitter,” Levi snapped, his voice clipped. “But if you’d told me what you were planning, I could’ve backed you up instead of standing there wondering if I’d have to pull your ass out of the fire.”

The frustration in his tone caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t respond. Was that...concern? You studied him, his eyes hard but not unkind, his stance tense but not hostile. It wasn’t like Levi to explain himself, let alone admit to any level of worry.

“I didn’t think I’d need backup,” you said finally, softer than you intended. “And I didn’t mean to...put you in that position.”

Levi didn’t respond immediately. His gaze flicked to the ledger, then back to you, as if weighing his next words carefully. “You handled it,” he said at last, grudgingly. “But don’t push your luck.”

You blinked, surprised by the rare flicker of acknowledgment in his voice. Was that as close to a compliment as Levi could manage?

“Well, don’t worry,” you said, smirking despite the lingering tension. “Next time, I’ll send you a memo.”

Levi rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath as he turned toward the door. But before he left, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Just...don’t get yourself killed being clever. It’d be a waste.”

Then he was gone, leaving you alone with the ledger and a strange mix of emotions. A waste? You weren’t sure whether to feel insulted or oddly touched.

You shook your head, letting out a low chuckle as you returned to the ledger. Levi might be impossible, but at least now you knew: beneath all the sharp edges and scowls, there was something else—something that, just maybe, made the whole mess worthwhile.

extra scene:

Levi’s grip on his blade tightened as the gang leader’s smirk widened. He hated the way the bastard was looking at you, the way his eyes swept over you like you were some prize he’d already won. Levi wanted to step in, to end this with a single, calculated strike, but the cold press of a gun barrel against his temple kept him still.

The leader’s voice was low and smug, his amusement curling in every word. “Better than a fight, huh? You’d better make it convincing, sweetheart.”

Levi’s jaw clenched, his entire body coiled with tension. He could feel the weight of the gun against his head, the unspoken threat that if he made one wrong move, it was over. For a split second, he considered the angles—the distance, the timing, the likelihood of disarming the thug behind him before the leader could react.

It wasn’t good.

Damn it.

His eyes flicked to you. You stood there, calm and composed, your hands raised in what looked like surrender but wasn’t. He recognized the sharpness in your gaze, the way you were reading the room, calculating. It should’ve reassured him, but it didn’t.

What the hell were you planning?

“Trust me,” you murmured, your voice steady but low.

Levi’s stomach twisted. Trust. Did you even realize what you were asking of him right now? The word grated against every instinct he had, every lesson he’d learned in the Underground. Trust got people killed.

And yet, he stayed still.

The leader tilted his head, his smirk deepening. “You think I trust you? You think I won’t just take what I want anyway?”

Levi’s stomach churned. He knew that look, that tone. He’d seen it too many times in the Underground, on the faces of men who thought power gave them the right to take whatever they wanted. His sharp gaze flicked to you, and for a brief moment, he saw the faintest tension in your stance, the way your shoulders straightened ever so slightly.

Then the leader’s smirk widened, crude and confident, and Levi felt something inside him snap. The bastard thought you were offering yourself.

Of course, he did. Men like him always assumed the worst, always twisted every situation to their advantage. The thought made Levi’s blood boil, a sharp, cold anger surging through his veins.

His jaw clenched, his breathing steady despite the growing rage. He couldn’t act—not yet. Not with the odds stacked like this. But the urge to lunge forward and shut the bastard up permanently burned in his chest.

Behind him, the thug holding the gun shifted slightly, the barrel pressing harder against Levi’s temple. It was a reminder of the helpless position he was in, and it made his skin crawl.

The leader’s gaze stayed on you, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. He wasn’t listening to your words—not the way you intended. Levi saw it in the way the man tilted his head, like he was already imagining how far he could push you.

“If you think—” Levi growled, the warning barely audible. His voice was low, dangerous, a promise of violence he couldn’t yet deliver.

“Relax,” you interrupted, your tone calm but firm. Levi’s eyes snapped to you, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Relax? Did you not see what he saw? Did you not understand the kind of man you were dealing with? Or worse—did you see it and still think you could control this situation?

“What I’m offering is leverage,” you continued, your voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “Not whatever’s going through that head of yours.”

The leader’s smirk faltered, just for a moment, and Levi felt a flicker of satisfaction. But it wasn’t enough to dispel the knot of anger and unease coiling tighter in his chest.

Levi’s gaze stayed locked on the leader, every muscle in his body taut and ready to strike the second the balance shifted. His thoughts raced, calculating the odds, the risks, the variables. If this went south, if the leader pushed too far, Levi would make damn sure he wouldn’t get the chance to regret it.

But for now, he waited, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. The only thing worse than being helpless was being forced to trust someone else to handle it.

Someone who, for all their boldness, didn’t seem to grasp just how dangerous the game they were playing could be.

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