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vargaslovinghours · 1 year ago

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Fandom: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (But really Vargas lol) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

What, exactly, did Scriabin take from Edgar when they separated?

My first multichapter fic for Vargas! :D Yay!

(Pls read Ch. 1 first - Ch. 2 is also recommended, but as long as you're caught up on the first, you're good to go!)

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Side B

What the fuck.

"It's, it's possible that if, maybe whatever happened earlier, whatever caused all that blood and for us to be knocked unconscious-"

What the fuck.

"-and if I suffered a head injury, then maybe-"

No. That's enough.

Scriabin pushed away from the closet door he'd defensively pressed himself up against and put his hands on Edgar's shoulders, which quieted him. He looked at him expectantly, with eyes that Scriabin somehow only just now realized were casually guarded, curious, uncertain in a way that denoted inexperience. That was so messed up, that was completely wrong. Edgar should've been on guard, absolutely, but only because he knew exactly what Scriabin was capable of. He really didn't want to look at him right now if this was what he was going to be seeing instead.

He spun him quickly and pushed him out the door before he could protest. He got one last look at those wide, confused eyes before he slammed the door behind him, bracing it shut with both hands for good measure.

What. The fuck. His head came forward, making a dull thud as his forehead connected with the door. He doesn't remember me? His fingers curled on the door. What does he mean he doesn't remember me?! How could he not know me?! One hand pushed through his hair; his scalp tingled and that was so weird, he felt it and it was so weird- We literally just- He literally just-! As if pulling him screaming into life wasn't bad enough, now he had decided to play some sick prank!

This can't be true. It's just like him to try and make jokes at the worst possible time, he has no tact.

There was a timid knock on the other side of the door. Scriabin jumped as it resonated through his skull, his elbow, pressed to the door with his hand buried in his hair, set his jaw. Then silence.

If he was really trying to get back in, clear things up, say he was only kidding, he'd actually try.

Nothing.

Scriabin's blood was ice as he went over it again. The way he'd said his name. The vacant look in his eyes as he said it, like his mouth knew its shape but none of the meaning. No fear, no realization, nothing that really felt like Edgar, just sound, just noise.

Maybe he really had-

Oh god. His knees gave out, and his arms had no practice at holding him upright, not yet. His hand slid down the door, his other hand guarding his head as his hair fluffed against the grain.

How could he do this

This is all his fault

Stupid, idiotic

He can't do this to me

I can't believe him

I can't believe this

How dare he leave me alone like this

Thoughts spiralling, and all he could do was hold himself down, press his fingers into the back of his neck, force his chest to his knees and maybe he wouldn't immolate under it all. He was shaking, from tension or fear he couldn't tell, his mind too hazardous and loud to cut through it all. He was shaking, dizzy, and if he moved, letting go would surely kill him.

He can't do this to me.

He breathed. And breathed. And swallowed. Eyes closed, heart pounding, sure. Confusion and dismay, whatever. Pain. Fine. So be it.

This isn't like me. A hand untethered from his vice grip in his hair, and he stayed attached to the floor. It connected with the carpet below him and became a new lifeline. He pushed up and away into a limp sit, arms already burning slightly from holding himself up after all that. He shook his head mildly. This isn't who I'm going to be in life. His body, this fear response be damned, he was in control now.

Regroup. Let's- a mental pause, barely a quarter of a second long as he turned the word in his head. Let's pretend it's all true- what does that mean?

He flopped over, leaned upright with his back against the door, heels of his fists pushed down into the carpet to scootch closer. Moving was so awkward still, very unfitting.

He was acting normal. Well, Edgar's baseline for "normal" had changed considerably, so maybe put an asterisk on that. Not that he was ever normal to begin with, but normal-for-Edgar, -ish. That means he has to have some memory.

Scriabin held out a hand, arm slung over his knee, one finger held out. He had recognized his glasses. One. The apartment. Two. Which key to use. Three. He had said Todd's name. Four.

His stuff can be discounted, he's had all that for a while. Back down to one. The kid is a new fixture. Which means he remembers the last couple months at least. He shook his head and brought his hand up to comb through his hair. Well...it's fuzzy for me, so it probably is for him, too. Scriabin remembered everything in as much clarity as the last couple months allowed, there was no way Edgar would know more even if he had all his memories.

Speaking of which, Scriabin could remember everything. He flipped through; the last two months and bringing Todd in, Edgar's parting words to Johnny, his and Devi's conversation - he grit his teeth - and further back, everything along the way, all the way back. False dreams, shared childhoods, everything that was once Edgar's alone, he still remembered it. Nothing was out of place which made it all the more strange!

This is so fucking weird, if I remember everything, then why would he-

He stopped short. His purported purpose had been to replace Edgar. Take him over completely. If he bought into the conceit for a moment, just to play in the space... He was alive now. That was not as intended; it shouldn't even have been possible.

Did he...give me his memories? Like, all the way? Not just to borrow, to shape him, give him legitimacy - he was alive now. His own person. Separate, embodied, and whole. Was this the price of life?

That's stupid. But possible, he couldn't discount. If this - he brought his hands up and looked down at them, watched himself touch his own chest and felt it beneath his coat, shirt, the nerves firing as his slid his fingers up himself - if this was possible, then...

He continued for a moment, curious and reverant, all of him new and privately exciting, to exist and to touch, to feel, smell, see, all of it clear and fresh and penetrated deeply into his mind, as if a layer of film had been lifted from his senses. The moment passed as the memories, unbidden but important, cluttered in around him again.

There were still a lot of questions, and most of them couldn't be answered without Edgar, ugh. If getting anything out of him before had been like pulling teeth, he was very sobered to think about how it might be now. Depending on how much Edgar remembered, maybe he could start piecing things together.

Did he do it on purpose? Did he know this would happen? There's no way he would have been willing to if he had- But he couldn't ask him things like that. Even if he did remember, admitting something like that...

He was just spinning his wheels at this point. Better to gather what he could from the man himself. He looked up, preparing to stand.

Ah-

The room was still in something of a state.

Edgar would be annoying, or at least distracted by trying to pick up the clothes and uncarefully unpacked items strewn about the floor from Scriabin's very successful excavation of his old glasses. The clutter would have to go if he wanted his full attention.

He grumbled as he pushed off the door to pick up the first few things. First day of life and I'm already his maid. Figures. He's always needed me to clean up after him.

Silence.

Somehow it only just hit him. Thinking alone in the late hours, planning things behind Edgar's back, it was nothing new. But a barb unsunk into his mental flesh was left out in the wide emptiness, poised to stab whoever happened upon it next, and he was the only one here.

He felt very small all of a sudden, and he didn't like it at all.

His eyes blankly scanned the room, looking for nothing, until they settled on the toy at Edgar's bedside. His toy.

He dropped the items he'd bundled into his arms and made his way over. He picked up the small simulacrum, turned it over in his hands once, and stared at it.

He wouldn't know this. Not really. He brushed a thumb up and over the little mouth, the contours of its small face. Retroactively, I've never been this at all.

I'm no one to him.

Does this mean we can start over? The thought struck him like lightning, freezing his heart in his chest. He was fixed solid, staring down at the small figure in his hands.

Before he could even think, he'd already thrown it through the open closet door, landing noisily in the box he'd dug through with a clatter. He grabbed up the fallen clothes and items and stuffed them back in the box, burying the toy in mundane detritus, then closed the cardboard flaps and slammed the door of the closet for good measure.

His breath was laboured and he glared, like wishing it gone would make the closet itself disappear.

Answers. He needed answers, more than anything.

He ripped the door open, and there was Edgar who looked up, staring dumbly back at him and carrying the clothes he'd shed earlier over his arm. Something in his mind clicked over, and he didn't think about it.

"Alright," he caught his breath for half a second, "what do you remember?"

Edgar just kept on staring, mouth open, eyes unconfident behind weak glasses. Scriabin huffed irritably, I don't have time for this, and moved towards him, arm outstretched.

"Come on." Edgar gave a small startled sound behind him as he grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. He threw him across the room, not bothering to watch his arc as he closed the door behind him. The bed was that way, he'd be fine.

When he turned back, Edgar had managed to catch himself, though already halfway on the bed. Scriabin stood with his back to the door, feet planted and he crossed his arms. No more speculating around impossibilities, tangible and present as they might be, it was time for a proper interrogation. It was at least preferable to-

Edgar made a face at him and scooted back, offering a seat next to him on the bed. Equal footing briefly flashed through his mind and while he wouldn't consider it ideal, nothing today was really going his way. He sighed, then made his way over and sat across from Edgar, who was eyeing him with a certain degree of caution. At least the feeling was mutual.

"Spill." He re-crossed his arms and leaned towards Edgar. "What do you know?"

Edgar hesitated, apparently thinking, his hands laced and fingers agitatedly if quietly rubbing the backs of his hands.

"I want to verify some things first."

Scriabin snorted dismissively. Where had Edgar's overly-trusting nature gone? A serial killer, well he's an honoured guest, but Scriabin? He didn't even distrust him for the right reasons.

He gestured with an open hand, Go ahead, then tucked his arm back in.

"Todd's last name?"

Pfsh. At least it was proof enough that anything Edgar knew, Scriabin did as well. As expected.

"Casil. His stupid bear's called Shmee in case you forgot that too." Edgar shook his head. No he hadn't? If only he could just check!

"Do you know our phone number?" Obviously he did, so he rattled it off quickly, Edgar nodding in turn. He flipped his hair in time with the last digit, careful to keep his eyes covered. It was a bit of a timid attempt, being the first in this body, which was a minor blessing he supposed.

Edgar mulled over what he'd given him for a moment, then a moment longer, then a moment even longer. His eyes searched absently, gazing down into his own hand, his other on his chin, lightly thumbing his goatee. He was focused on names and numbers, but those were child's play compared to everything, everything Scriabin still wanted to know. It was frustrating on a visceral level, watching him struggle with such simple innocuous nothings while the most important person in his life was sitting right in front of him.

He was supposed to be the most important.

It was frustrating.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He didn't hide the sneer as it shaped his voice - odd the way his body just did that now, did things without him actively thinking them into being. Even things like the little waver that made its way in that he pushed back down and under. He was frustrated, angry, tired - any emotionality could be attributed to those, nothing else.

Edgar didn't answer, just kept his gaze locked to his face. That was almost worse. Watching him fumble through things, it wasn't fun, but at least he wasn't trying to pry. He could see him try to look past his bangs, and the fact that he didn't know better...

Scriabin looked away for a moment, then thought better of it. Best defense is a good offense.

He reached for Edgar's face, for those damn scars, ever-present reminders. Edgar shied away, not wanting to be touched suddenly by someone he didn't know. As if Scriabin had ever cared about that.

Well, things were different now. Maybe he didn't really want to touch him anyway. Not yet.

"Do you remember these...?" Instead he framed his face with his hands less than an inch from his skin, and even there he could feel the heat coming off him. Edgar reached for his face, looking away from Scriabin as he touched the angry red marks. He winced minutely, then glanced back at Scriabin, searching him, his expression guarded again. Scriabin could hear his own pulse in his ears.

"...Johnny?"

"Fuck." Fuck! "Of course you'd remember him but not me." God damn it! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, just because Johnny came first by a hair's breadth, just because he wasn't in Edgar's head, with Edgar's fucked up little obsession with the murderous stick figure- It limited what he could get away with too, if he remembered that far back. Absolutely nothing was going in his favour.

"I'm sorry..." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and it stuck in his throat. Disgusting. "So you know Johnny, too."

"Unfortunately." Scriabin tucked his chin to his chest, arms crossed again in close proximity. This sucks. Edgar just kept rambling, unaware as ever. His excuses held this time at least, one point in his favour, no points for bringing his annoying habits with him despite everything.

"I don't think I've seen him for a couple months now? Everything's awfully..." He gave a vague gesture and Scriabin uncurled slightly. He was giving him room to contribute. He shook his head.

"You haven't."

"Have you?"

He returned to his tight coil of sulking. Not like he was keen to meet up and chat, but he couldn't explain why he hadn't had the opportunity to either.

"I remember he called, too."

"Ugh," barely above breath. Enough about Johnny! Again, Edgar continued obliviously.

"Although I don't really recall what we talked about, not for a while..."

Of course not. I took over for half of those.

He perked a bit, and Edgar focused more on him, patiently setting his hands in his lap.

"You know."

He could play this to his advantage. Give Johnny some well-deserved karmic justice for fucking him over so many times. It was almost better that Edgar didn't know - Scriabin had been trying to get him away from Johnny all this time, and if he really had forgotten everything, not just the moments when Scriabin took over but every moment they had shared, then that meant it coincided almost perfectly with his first meeting with Johnny. Blank spot after blank spot after blank spot, all lined up immediately after getting his face slashed.

He could work with that.

"It's probably trauma." Edgar startled and his hand shot to his temple, lightly touching his hair.

"Like, head trauma?" Scriabing almost laughed. Yeah, probably that too. But that wouldn't help his case.

"No." He leaned in, taking a more intimate, secretive tone. "Think about it. When did things start getting fuzzy?" If he was right on this - which of course he was, but not being able to verify, not being able to see that he was right, it was disconcerting - but if he was, Edgar's memories of Scriabin should start with that first fateful encounter, give or take. A bit of reframing here, a touch of implication there... It probably wasn't even an outright lie; if Edgar's memory were perfect after experiencing everything Johnny had put them through, that would be some kind of twisted miracle.

His only real concern was their "childhood" - how much had Scriabin pulled with him? Would that throw off his story? But that was so far back, there was no way Scriabin or Johnny could be implicated in that. As long as Edgar didn't bring it up before he thought his way around it...

Edgar stayed quiet for a long while. His eyes raced behind closed eyelids, searching, scanning, retracing - Scriabin could almost see the moments where he hesitated, stopped and went back, then starting recollecting again. He wished he could see it for real, watch him unfold himself, touch those memories again, hold up his own in contrast. Even just hear Edgar's thoughts as they went by, feel the emotions he felt. But he couldn't, so he just stared as unblinkingly as this new body would allow, just watched as Edgar went over everything on his own.

He finally opened his eyes, staring back into Scriabin's though he was sure they were still hidden. He felt naked and awkward and Edgar still hadn't said anything. If he could just see like he was supposed to, or if Edgar would just tell him, he wouldn't have to ask. I have to do everything around here.

"It was after you met him, wasn't it?"

"You think it's...mental trauma?" An unspoken 'yes.' Relief flooded him, and he pushed ahead.

"Edgar. He stabbed you." Edgar gripped his shoulder, his eyes closing again and he looked to be in pain. That was a very effective reminder at least. "Do you even know why?" He shook his head and spoke throught half-grit teeth.

"I must have made him mad, but I don't remember-" Of course not, I did that.

"Your mind is trying to protect you." Not. But one of us has to with your inexhaustable deathwish. Scriabin reached out to touch him properly, but Edgar pulled away. He didn't follow, still not yet. Play up the pity. "He messed you up so bad," with a curl in his tone, an I told you so that barely made it to words even privately; how long had he been holding that in? "Surely you must've felt like you wanted, you needed to get away from him, that he wasn't good for you, that you-" He'd told him so many times, some it must have stuck, some of it had to have-

"Then-!" Edgar's eyes shot open, wide and desperate with an edge of disbelief. A strangled gasp escaped him, half-choking him as he tried to speak. "Then why can't I remember you?!"

He almost began rolling off the cuff, but really, he still didn't know for sure. And it definitely wasn't like he could tell the truth even if he wanted to; who, who hadn't lived it, would believe him? Edgar certainly wouldn't, not with his lack of imagination. He had to dress this up, weave a narrative that was plausible, had the perfect mix of truth and falsehood to stand up to scrutiny.

Huh. Ironic.

"I..." No. Some of this was Edgar's fault too. "We...argued."

"Argued?"

"I... Mng." He wanted to aim for some kind of levity, but his throat had tightened on him. He just wanted to tell this stupid inside joke and not have it affect him, not have it mean anything, and here he was getting emotional? He'd say it and fucking mean it. "It's not like I'm in your head, so-" spat out in a rush, there, he'd said it. Haha, isn't that so funny. He swallowed harshly, pushing down everything he felt into his stomach acid. He was in control. He was fine. This didn't shake him. "I can't know for sure," another humourless laugh inside, "but I was against your relationship with Johnny. Maybe you shut me out so you could keep seeing him with no pushback."

It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibilities of what Edgar would do to avoid taking Scriabin's extremely basic advice about fraternizing with serial killers. How many times had he been ignored up to this point, only to culminate in the ultimate 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pfeh. I bet he wishes he'd thought of this sooner. It did nothing for his painfully stuttered pulse.

"You know, I've been trying to convince you to stop going back to him for a while, but, well..." He waved his hand at Edgar's hand still death gripped into his shoulder, and Edgar averted his eyes guiltily. At least he showed some remorse. Better than his nigh constant apologia.

He stayed quiet a moment longer, and just before Scriabin made to fill the silence again, Edgar struck him with an intense look.

"What are you to me?" Ugh. Of course. There was not a single good answer for that. Even if he told him everything- no, especially if he told him everything, there was no way Edgar would believe him. But coming up with a convincing lie on the spot, when they were so clearly something to each other - even he needed time to come up with something workable. How could he have ever prepared for a situation like this? It was never meant to happen, so many things were never meant to happen!

He continued at Scriabin's silence. "You know Nny," Ugh! Even his awful nickname. "And Todd. And...me." He couldn't refute it, so he nodded tightly. "Do you live here?"

Technically he had, and technically he hadn't. Still, going forward, it would be easier to let Edgar assume that he did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at the moment anyway.

"Yes."

"Are we..." He searched him, looked him over as much as he could and he wasn't subtle about it. If only Scriabin had his proper glasses, he'd let him look as much he wanted, behold his spectacle! As it was, he just felt self-conscious and it was very unbefitting. "...family?"

The baggage on that. He did not feel like opening that particular can of worms in either of their current states. He turned his head and flipped through any number of halfway decent ways to phrase it until he hit on something Edgar would remember. Better not to contradict for now.

"You told Johnny you have no family when you met."

"That's true..." Edgar blinked, processing. "Wait, did I tell you that?" Scriabin startled. Even after he'd accounted for his memory! Of course he had to pick his story apart now, he never knew when to leave well enough alone.

"When you-" No, he had to be involved. "When we bandaged your face."

Edgar mulled on that for a few seconds, taking on a thoughtful pose. "I only remember being alone."

"You don't remember me at all. What do you want from me?" He huffed.

"No, sorry, you're right."

"Thank you." He was right!

Where had Edgar expected him to be? There was something weird about how he'd said it. He filed the thought away for later.

"So, if you've been living here, where..." Edgar looked around the room, then back to Scriabin. "Where have you been sleeping? Todd's already on the couch..."

Scriabin couldn't help as a smile sprung to his face. If he was going to present him with such a perfect opportunity, well, he'd better take it. He even had the decency to look nervous in response! This was too good.

"Would you believe me if I said right here, in bed?" He again tucked his chin, playfully this time, his hair falling further in his eyes. Even through the dark tangles he could make out Edgar's face immediately bristling with heat.

Ooh. That's such a fetching shade on you, my dear.

"But-! I, I haven't been sleeping on the floor!" He was visibly sweating!

"Correct." His smile grew. This was too easy, and he needed an easy win right about now.

"W-" He leaned forward on his legs, though refused to get any closer. When he spoke it was a harsh whisper. "Why...?"

Scriabin shrugged easily, not bothering to reign in his smile in the least. "I mean, where else, right?" He leaned in since Edgar refused to, and oh. He was blushing all the way up to his scalp. Hilarious. "You certainly didn't seem to mind." He couldn't hold back the slightly musical tone or his eyebrows inclination to move on their own. His body knew what he was getting at, and he could see it only increased Edgar's fluster. All the better.

"Well I do now!" Edgar darted up and away, stumbling in his hasty retreat. "If you'll excuse me!" though he was already practically in the hallway by the time he said it. What a display, and Scriabin's laugh was loud and natural.

Finally, something positive. He'd managed to fumble his way through, not his best work in lying or manipulation, but he'd set some important groundwork. He'd gotten some answers, and he could start to shape some more believable stories around them.

The biggest hurdles were Johnny and Devi. As long as Edgar didn't meet with them too soon - or well, at all would be preferable, but he doubted he could just keep him locked up, as much as the idea appealed to him. There were so many things that were possible now, things that he had the ability to do, given the right circumstances... All of that in due time. For now he had a yarn to spin.

He listened as Edgar fumbled in the hall, the sheer sound of cloth being pulled and folded over an arm barely perceptable. Was he really going to try to sleep on what little was left over? Maybe he'd give up once he realized the pickings were thin and beg Scriabin to let him sleep with him. Hah.

While he was out, Scriabin made his way over to the pajamas drawer. They were all old and soft, even just to his hand. They'd do for now, until he could get his own. It wasn't like he hadn't worn all this before anyway.

By the time he'd finished dressing, his clothes discarded on the opposite side of the bed to where Edgar had set up his little nest, Edgar had finally gotten himself a set of pajamas. He wondered for a moment if he'd dress with Scriabin in the room again, though maybe his intense stare drove him off. Who could say. He patted the bed with a wide grin when he returned and was dutifully ignored. He settled down to the side, and Scriabin laid on his arms to look down at him.

"Ugh, lame."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, whatever." He'd heard it all before. At least he could literally look down on him like this. He folded his hands and leaned just a bit further, looking him over. A desire he hadn't realized he had surfaced in the dark and quiet. "Give me your hand."

"Sorry?" Scriabin held out his hand expectantly.

"I used to hear your heart beat every day." Edgar looked at him incredulously, but Scriabin was unperturbed. "Let me hear it again."

He hesitated but eventually slowly offered his arm. "...Okay."

He pulled his arm up and placed his thumb against his wrist. He felt a strange mismatch - where he'd been expecting one heartbeat, there were two. He covered his surprise, near shock at the realization that of course he had his own body now, by pulling harder on Edgar's arm, directing him up to his ear.

"Wh-"

"Shh." Quietly. He had wanted this, wanted this body, this separation, this freedom for so long, and now... He spoke quietly, his voice betraying nothing. "I'm listening."

Edgar's pulse was erratic, but he hardly paid attention to it. His own fingers on Edgar's skin, warm and pliant, and Edgar's fingers twitching in his hair, he could feel it, he was trying not to touch him- This hesitation was killing him, every jerky movement away not from fear of what Scriabin could do to him, just uncertainty, like he was still a stranger- He pressed him harder to his head, and he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. He wanted to just hold him there until all the memories they'd shared poured back through him, into his blood, into his breath.

Where are you?

But he replied in that same uncertain, guarded tone that indicated he didn't know, not really.

"C...can I have my arm back now?"

He pushed him away. "Fine." Edgar curled his hand protectively against his chest, and he noticed he rubbed it slightly, he probably hadn't even realized.

He mumbled out a harried "Good night," and it was almost enough to make Scriabin smile. Almost. He could still affect him but this wasn't enough, it wasn't right.

He laid his head on the pillow, not bothering to pull his arm up over the side of the bed. If he twitched in the night and touched Edgar, well, that could mean anything. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he did it on purpose. Plausible deniability was one of his greatest assets.

As it was, he was just tired. Maybe he didn't pull it back because he hated the thought of sleeping alone, pushed out and forgotten, and hated it more that he was even thinking something like that. How pathetic. He didn't need anyone, especially not Edgar.

But he was tired. Not in his right mind.

Does this mean we can start over...?

The thought echoed and died, and he slept.

#💟#Fanfiction #Blank Slate AU #Edgar #Scriabin #Todd #Shmee #He's technically in there but once again no speaking lines :P Yet anyway lol #It's fanfic time again! I fell into yet another writing fugue and finished Chapters 1 and 2 in like four days lol #If you'll notice tho ♪ Neither of those chapters are featured under the cut :3c Pls do read Ch. 1 at least to get caught up before diving in #This one took a bit longer but that'd be because it's Almost as big as both previous chapters combined lol #I'll update it to the chapter list in a few days! Y'all get a preview here :D It'll be the same there with slightly different formatting #Decided to try something new since tumblr doesn't normally allow underlines but it's very important to Scriabin's syntax #I promise they're all just links to the first chapter lol - you're welcome to check but I promise I didn't put a sneaky link anywhere lol #My one gripe is that it doesn't look as good on-blog :/ Fine on the dash! But I'm not willing to sacrifice the dark colouration on the links #Italics were chosen as the only light feature for a reason ♪#I mean at least it's not Bolded lol I'll take it #These were a lot of fun to write so far ahhh <3 I've been wanting to dig a little deeper for a long while now!#I mentioned this idea offhandedly in the tags of Incoming Outgoing but ahhh it's very rewarding to put to words :D #Fun Fun Fun

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stilemawillow · 10 months ago

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MTIJ | Ch.30 City of Dumbassery, Here I Come

|mtij masterlist|

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

word count: 13k

summary: a girl with a variety of hidden complexes has to live with a french asshole for nine months. easy? on the surface. problematic? definitely. romantic? not too much, or at least they’d make it a point to say so everytime when asked. the end? please, their dynamic isn’t as simple as that.

warnings: nsfw content; mentions of nudity; virginity loss; oral sex (f! receiving); protected sex; explicit sexual content; reader discretion advised

A hundred-dollar question: where do people go to blow off steam when their interns weren’t back back from their vacation yet? First and foremost, never City of Dumbassery as it’s not a place for relaxation. I might’ve been its main population these days, but I fancied myself a rational person capable of making the right choices when needed. Pretend you’re not looking at my romantic history. The right choice, however, wasn’t always right in the heat of the moment, only in perspective, so we begin this scene with me, seated on Erwin Smith’s couch with Hanji Zoe and a cup of coffee.

For more information on the right-est choice I made as of late, keep watching. Or as asshole-me insists on promoting: Come see the prequel to the biggest fuck-up of this girl’s life. I, though oblivious to its imminent eventuation at the point where we start, had a vague notion of what I wanted the next few days to look like. Let’s just say, humourlessly enough, that my wildest dreams came nowhere close to the reality that would take place.

“I’m sorry about last time, (Y/N). I didn’t know about you and Eren.” Hanji’s contrite apology made my smile widen as I lifted the cup of coffee to my lips. Dismissing the fact she brought the topic right back with the intention to make amends, Hanji was a good person and clearly sincere in her ways of regarding me. Kindness was one thing, but this woman’s pure cordiality was admirable.

“It’s not a problem. I could tell it wasn’t your intention to hurt me.” The corner of my mouth twitched in self-reproach at the manipulative bullshit I let slip. Instantly, I corrected: “Not that I was hurt.” If it’d been Annie, she wouldn’t straight-up laughed. Had it been Levi, he would’ve stared at me like I was dumb for thinking him dumb enough to buy it. But this was Hanji and she just smiled reassuringly.

“You can share if you want to. That’s what I’m here for with all my friends,” she offered. It sounded tempting but I couldn’t allow myself that kind of openness yet. Annie was, as always, the only person who knew the full story in all its repulsive glory but if I wanted to preserve (Levi’s privacy) my reputation, I couldn’t tell the whole thing here. The whole thing – look at me dodging the serious parts in an attempt to make myself feel better. I couldn’t tell Hanji about my intoxicated attempt to sleep with her friend, who gave dubious if any consent. Sounded appropriately disgusting like this.

“Mike and Erwin seem like they lead pretty decent lives, though.” Redirecting the topic, ignoring everything weird, dismissing all as a dirty scheme meant to humiliate me – a methodical step-by-step guide on how to be a paranoid bitch. It would’ve been my equivalent of the Bible if I weren’t an atheist. Even if I regularly used OMG, if I had to pick a fictional character to believe was real, at least I’d pick one from a book with a legit author – something by King, Thackeray, Hemingway, Tolkien, Orwell or Hawthorne. Following that train of thought, I might as well start worshipping Mickey Mouse – it’d do me more good than the big guy with the beard who loves me but would make me suffer for all eternity for stepping out of line once. I did it a lot.

“It wasn’t always like that. Not to mention Levi was stuck in the gutter a month back.” Hanji’s words snapped me out of my daze. “I know I told you to wait for him, but I don’t trust him, so make sure you keep this conversation a secret,” she warned while leaning forward as if afraid the walls would hear. The suspense, though exaggerated and a bit comical, made me put down my coffee. “So, you know how Petra is mentioned here and there?” I nodded. “She was Levi’s fiancé. She died in a car crash last October.” I knew I should’ve reacted appropriately but I couldn’t force it quickly enough. Hanji noticed. “You don’t look shocked.”

“No, but I am surprised. A lot of things make sense now. I’m sorry for your loss.” I hastened to make a recovery to lessen the doubt along the planes of her face. A pang tugged on my heart. When I considered the alternate reality where Petra hadn’t died, the notion of Levi not arriving for his internship was incomprehensible. He’d be studying hard at home and married. No rings, no chaos, no cheating for me – yes, good, but no company around the house either, no distraction and no comfort.

“You haven’t done anything to apologise for it,” Hanji said. “Anyways. Shorty was in a really bad place the months after. Working himself to the bone, no sleep, no food, no nothing. He just had to be doing something. The one good thing that came out of it was his weekly visits to his mother.” A small pause, a moment of consideration for her and an odd feeling of fascination for me. I was soaking it up like a sponge because I was seeing, at last, his angle. “Maybe it hit him that if death came for Petra, it could come for Kuchel, too. I can’t know for sure. All I know is he exhausted himself to the point he collapsed. Unconscious for three whole days. Isabel told him he’d gotten the internship when he woke up.”

“So he used it as an escape,” I finished. It was a logical conclusion. Hanji nodded. Avoiding pain wasn’t the way but he’d been desperate to get away and the internship had been the perfect opportunity. He’d grabbed his bags, boarded the plane and then… well, had to deal with me. Not a warm welcome by any means. He hadn’t even had the energy to get angry or look like he felt anything. I hadn’t known, hadn’t cared enough to see. It made me uncomfortable to realise it.

“Flew over a whole ocean and kept working,” Hanji proceeded. “He wanted something to distract himself with. When he ran out of work because he did overtime, he started calling home more often. Vague details were all he gave, but I got the feeling he had something else to work on.” Hanji’s words made a lopsided smile kiss my lips. He’d wanted to busy himself with my well-being, but I’d taken it the wrong way, as I often did. Nowadays the matter was often used against him but never by him – wasn’t that funny?

“Becoming the spoiled brat’s babysitter,” I filled in kindly, but Hanji’s disapproving frown meant to reproach along with the eloquent gesture of her crossing her arms. I didn’t regret the way I worded it. Eren, Annie, Mikasa and my mother had often tried to make me rethink my ways, but results were yet to manifest. This story, with me as the shitty protagonist most likely to be insufferable contrary to sympathy-inducing, portrayed reality as I saw it – and reality often neglected character development.

“He never called you either, but he did mention taking care of you had the same effect as working, if not better. I felt he might find himself a friend, so I supported him. I think I made the right choice. You have a lot in common,” Hanji declared. It struck a cord – did we really? Our arguments were fire lashing out at ice – not something that happened with people got along. Levi was hard to anger whereas I had a short fuse – everything was a personal insult. No easier target than a conceited paranoid.

“On the topic of that,” I piped. “How do you forget somebody?” The question was light-hearted. I decided to dismiss the whole story so I could ponder it later. Hanji’s brows furrowed as she smiled sympathetically. She couldn’t imagine the situation well enough. The question was I over Eren? had kept at a safe distance from my mind during my birthday vacation and the beginning of August only to assault it now with pitiless ire.

Things kept coming back when I least needed them. Thoughts of the twinkle in his teal eyes or the crooked smile he always wore before a kiss, the sound of his voice – the softness he’d told me he loved me with the first time, the haunting quiver in it when we were breaking up. I woke up at night with the howl of planes taking off and landing. On some mornings, I woke up, hoping to hear a knock at the door and see his face. Would he be more tan? Would his eyes be the same? Would his hair be styled differently? Would he have grown taller?

But, (Y/N), a voice would say in my head, people don’t grow taller just like that, it’s physically impossible.

Eren can, I’d argue, because Eren is my boyfriend and he can do anything if he puts his mind to it.

But Eren wasn’t my boyfriend and he wasn’t a miracle-maker. I’d sit in bed and argue with myself that Eren would come back, that I wanted the best for him and that wasn’t me, that we were done, but that he’d still come back. He never did. A small desperate part of me still hoped for the door to open – any door. Erwin Smith’s apartment’s front door right now, even. I could almost hear his footsteps going up the stairs. I swore I could. I turned to Hanji, a naïve question – can’t you? – flickering in my orbs. She didn’t catch it.

“I’m not an expert,” she said instead. “But Levi can be of help. His coping mechanisms aren’t the best example to follow, but he has a good head on his shoulders. He just doesn’t listen to it.” She might’ve thought, with how desperate I looked, that I might cry. She didn’t know pride would rather have me rip out of my tear ducts before that happened. I didn’t cry often or in many people’s presence. That wasn’t to say I didn’t like Hanji. But Annie and, unfortunately, Levi were the exceptions here. The latter was a mystery, probably my attempt to play a damsel in distress to ask for attention. Attention and help and fucking, might as well – a kiss. Couldn’t he just kiss me sometimes without me having to be in the middle of a mood?

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t copy those coping mechanisms even if I wanted to. Work, sex and alcohol are never a good mix.” I let out an awkward string of laughter, weirded out by my abrupt disconnection from the conversation and how it turned my thoughts against me. I didn’t miss him that much. Also, he was coming home tomorrow. I had nothing to play the desperate whore for. There was the blondie. That wasn’t jealousy, though. I’d say it was my wish to prove myself better.

“Sex?” Hanji echoed with a conflicted expression.

“Sex with my father’s secretary. I think it was around May. He stormed out after calling her and came back drunk in the middle of the night,” I explained. The brown-haired woman took a second to process the story, then burst out in incredulous laughter. My brows twitched. “What’s so funny?” Was it something else or was I just weird for not thinking my father’s intern and secretary fucking the joke of the century?

“I remember him telling me about that,” she started, voice hinting at a new bout of cackling. “He went to her place for paperwork and she had her boyfriend over. They kept offering him drinks and he agreed to shut them up. Crossed the line at some point. He even got lost on his way back to the house.” I wanted to face-palm using the table and, hopefully, get myself into a coma. Was there a person on this Earth denser than me or was I a phenomenal idiot?

“Oh, God,” I muttered in a wheeze. “I’m so stupid.” Embarrassment and shame painted the tips of my ears bright crimson as I clenched my fists. Hanji patted my shoulder.

“You’re not stupid. I would’ve thought the same if I had no context. Levi would never just have a one-night stand, though. Not the type of person for it. He claims it’s the wrongest way to get over something.” Her brown eyes, previously fixed on me, were now directed at the coffee table. “Might work for you, but he most certainly hates it.” A snort was drawn from her lips as she withdrew her hand from my shoulder. I tried not to think about it, but it was inevitable. Hitch’s party, him refusing, refusing, refusing, because it would be “just like that” and “just like that” was a solution for neither of us.

“I’ll consider it,” I joked. “I was busy up until recently, but maybe university won’t be enough to distract me.” I smiled as Hanji chuckled, patting my back.

“Another boyfriend should do the trick in that case,” she said.

But I don’t want another boyfriend, I wanted to counter. I want your grumpy short friend. The thought froze me up. Asshole-me joined Hanji’s hearty chuckle. Bold of me to think it. Terrible of me to think it. Wrong of me to think it. It was complicated. If romance was not involved here, it was undeniable at this point. I could almost feel it written in capital letters on my forehead.

ATTRACTED TO LEVI ACKERMAN. VERY.

“I’m not ready for the commitment.” Was the only comment to exit my mouth due to the sudden discomfort nestling in the crevice of my ribcage. “I think,” I added awkwardly, reluctant regarding a relationship but very opinionated on the topic of engaging my father’s intern in something inappropriate that would make our relations twice as complicated as they were.

“A friend with benefits then?” Hanji’s mind-reading abilities amazed. I realised it suddenly – that it was natural, this attraction of mine, no matter how humiliating and inconvenient. It wasn’t weird and maybe it wasn’t all that wrong. It was a guy who was three years older than me who lived with me that I considered unreachable. The forbidden fruit, so to say. He was handsome, mysterious and had abs. Natural to be attracted to that. Natural to be attracted to it when I saw it every day and it saw me every day and most times it treated me with passive kindness. So there’d be no harm, I assumed, in initiating something a smidge bigger. What was stopping me? I didn’t have a boyfriend, I wouldn’t feel guilty and I wasn’t insecure because, hey, he’d kissed me last time. Obviously, I wasn’t nasty.

“Update from a virgin to a slut then?” I smirked, a decision born. Hanji’s mouth clamped shut shamefully and I laughed. “I’m kidding, calm down. It was just a joke.” I patted her back. The ring on my finger was cool to the couch and soothing. My resolve, for once, was there. I had a goal. A simple one at that – nothing dangerous. Two words: kiss Levi. I would do it because there was nothing to stop me. I mean, what was the worst that could happen?

…

Imagine an elegant expensive kitchen armed with all kinds of top-quality appliances. Paradise for all little housewives who greet their husbands with a warm meal. I wasn’t that type and the fact I spent four hours cooking more food than a family of six could eat didn’t make me one either. Judging was futile because I took care of that myself during the whole process. Currently, the fruit of my effort sat in front of me – a full three-course meal with different forks to go with the high-class atmosphere. I was far from a successor of Gordon Ramsay, but I outdid myself this time. Why? Last-minute anxiety maybe. Or fear. I needed a distraction because the thought of Eren wouldn’t stop pestering me. Added to that was the fact my father could walk in without Levi. Asshole-me didn’t help.

Bet on the outcome now! A once-in-a-lifetime offer that provides an endless amount of entertainment for the whole family! Fifty bucks says a discount version of William will use the vanishing potion and fly back to France! The other side of the bet? Sorry, I don’t know her. With such a commentator, it was early to skip the food and go straight to consuming my fingernails. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. Place your bets right now, your bets need to go in the ballot box, quickly fill out the slips and put them in! Will he go or yes? And what’s the sweat for, princess? Don’t we like watching history repeat itself? I love it. So bet, bet, bet, bet! Come on, faster! If I had a penny for each time your father’s intern left you in the summer, I’d have two pennies. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s hilarious it happened twice!

The jingle of keys pulled the plug on asshole-me’s voice. I’d waited a whole hour now and my head snapped up so fast I heard my neck pop. The front door opened and my heart flinched when my father walked in, dressed in one of those hideous Hawaiian shirts they sold in souvenir shops and flaunting on his nose and cheekbones a really bad case of sunburn. He’d say the sun was harsh in Minnesota. I’d pretend not to hear because believing was impossible. He slipped out of his sandals and I clasped my hands together in excitement.

“Dad, finally! I was starting to think I’d have to reheat everything,” I said. He turned to face the fake exasperation masking the genuine joy I felt at his return. A doubtful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and my eyes were frantically bouncing from him to the open door. Panic began to well up in my mind. Asshole-me was diligently digging a hole for it, to fit as much as possible.

“A pretty big feast you have there.” Rolland Raven took off the sunglasses he was wearing to eye the food a bit better. I cracked a smile I hoped wouldn’t seem constipated. My thought process was starting to lag due to overload when I heard a faint curse. Next thing, Levi’s pale figure, wearing a ridiculous straw hat. My heart dropped like a stone, plugged the pit of panic and made asshole-me yelp when it nearly crushed her fingers. I felt like stumbling back into my chair and never getting up.

“I guessed you might be hungry after the flight. You don’t have to eat all of it,” I said. It was then a pair of graphite hues shot up to my face. It felt like each muscle in it strained almost to the point of tearing. My father took a seat at the counter while the intern opted to drop off his luggage upstairs and change clothes. I stared after him a second too long while he was climbing the stairs.

“You’ve never waited for me after a business trip before.” (E/c) clashed with (e/c) as my father began picking his food and digging in with more enthusiasm than I’d expected. Levi had mentioned the almightly Raven had complained about the poor quality on the trip compared to what he had at home, but it was still a compliment to witness it manifested.

“I usually have things to do when you’re on business trips, father. This summer I needed a source of entertainment.” I rolled my eyes, letting them scan the interior during the roundabout lie. Lucky enough, they caught the exact moment Levi was leaving his room, tugging down his shirt. A glimpse of fit abdominals. A vague tan line. The food on the counter became a tad bit less appetising.

“Don’t you have Eren Jaeger to help with that?” My father’s question made my attention snap back in place just in time for Levi not to catch me staring. He took a seat at the far end of the counter but I was too preoccupied with a small freak-out fit to dwell on it.

“About that,” I squeaked out with a constipated expression, prompting both men’s attention to turn from half-hearted to wholly undivided. Amazing. I couldn’t have done a better job at it if I’d begun yodelling out of the blue. “Eren broke up with me two months ago.” The key to not sounding like a squeaky toy was to not meet anybody’s gaze. My father was blinking like something had gotten in his eye and Levi’s jaw clenched at the discomfort he was subjected to.

“And I wasn’t notified of that because?” Rolland Raven, among many a quality, was a proud man who, in spite of his profession, could never act quite as predictably as I wished him to. This was no exception because I didn’t have time to open my mouth before he silenced me with a hand in the air. “No, forget I asked. I need to have a serious talk with him. Maybe make him pay back all the dates you’ve handled with interest. We can make a fortune.” The devious plan was voiced in his typical cold-blooded businessman manner. I waved my hands around in discomfort.

“Hold your horses, father. You’re not the one who got dumped. Eren ended the whole thing because he went to study in Germany,” I explained but it wouldn’t satisfy my father, who only glared while putting a fork-full of potatoes in his mouth. Levi tried to become fully invisible. I thought if things got too heated for him, he might make a dash for his room with the dish.

“Unreasonable as can be. If he loved you as much as he had the balls to claim in front of me, he could’ve thought of an alternative that didn’t include breaking your heart. Because of something as insignificant as distance, too.” My father leaned back in his chair with folded arms. He forgot all about food so he could glare at me.

“4898 miles to be exact,” I murmured pitifully. Both men shot me an incredulous look, to which I switched on defence mode. “I did my research. I wasn’t crying the whole time.” Subconsciously copying my father’s position, I reclined in my chair and crossed my arms, glaring like a child prior to giving a sigh and smiling weakly. “I gave it a lot of thought and he did the right thing. So can you be the one to tell mom later?” The last inquiry seemed to surprise him, maybe because it was expected of me to share more with my mother and thus already have her know the super secret information I was handing him.

“I’ll try not to cry as I do.” A nod and a similar weak smile. “You did well not to tell me immediately.” He returned to normal – calculating and sharp, looking for weaknesses and thinking in numbers. Levi’s lack of shock went unnoticed, which I was secretly thankful for. The raven was looking at me playing with the silver band around my finger to soothe my nerves.

“Because you would’ve gone to the airport to kick him to the curb like a good father?” I smirked, a pointed look aimed at the dark-haired businessman, who only snorted in return prior to redirecting his attention back to the food.

“… maybe.” A small pause betraying care, an awkward glance in his intern’s direction conveying mild panic as a result of his feelings showing and a fake clearing of the throat to show discomfiture. He changed the topic immediately. “Have I told you you’ve become a better cook than your mother?” (E/c) clashed with (e/c) and I knew he could see I was holding back laughter by the way the corner of his mouth twitched downwards in displeasure.

“You have now. Congratulations on successfully dodging the topic,” I announced with a complacent grin as he scoffed, ignoring the embarrassment so he could go back to eating. Levi’s gaze was relentless but, once having resolved the current minor conflict, I felt too ashamed to return it. I couldn’t be speaking of Eren, thinking of Levi and acting like a professional whore. It went against my moral code. I wished it was as stable as my pride. Somewhere in my head, asshole-me was drafting an advertisement for the future demise of both.

The following day was unexpectedly laid back in terms of emotions – the process of waking up and going to work was starting to become mechanical. I disliked that I was turning into a nine-to-five zombie, but Melinda’s cross remarks did nothing to hinder my placidity and Adam’s request for a date was, surprisingly, accepted with a pinch of reluctance. It was time for something new, I defended when asshole-me breached the topic of my change of heart. I couldn’t go a whole life without clashing with a man who wasn’t Eren. To forget him, I actually needed to accept that. Because knowing he wouldn’t come back and I didn’t want to get back together was different from realising I couldn’t stay in the comfort zone of being endlessly attached to him and using it as an excuse to never move on.

I felt a smile light up my face the moment I saw Levi in front of the TV with a cup of tea in his hand. Unfortunately, I couldn’t use him to move on – it was the conclusion I drew from the quiet happiness gripping my heart at the sight of him beckoning me over. Everything I’d done had been quite enough. I wouldn’t turn him into a tool as well. So I settled on the couch and we led a half-assed conversation about the movie playing until my parents barged in, beaming and formal. Going for a date at a restaurant – yeah, no, I knew where they were going after. I smiled as we sent them off, and then the ebony-haired intern began choosing the movie we’d be watching and I worked on the snacks downstairs.

Accepted a date, claimed you won’t use him and now you’re pondering the kiss you’ll initiate. You know you’re fucked in the head, correct? Asshole-me piped mockingly, making me huff. I knew I was fucked in the head because she was there. Also, kissing Levi and using Levi were two different things. Different for him how? It’s kissing. It wasn’t. It would be exploring this time – not thinking about being distracted but feeling it for what it was. Jesus, that’s such a weak excuse. I felt she might be face-palming. Seriously, what’s wrong with you? You spent so much time telling your best friend you don’t like him, then you miss Eren, then you “date” Adam, then you grab your friend-zoned intern and decide you’ll be kissing him again – after you established you’re fucking inferior to the blondie who’s clearly hitting on him or clearly intent on doing it too. Can you not follow the timeline?

“Princess, why does Natalie tell me you’ve filled out all the forms related to the company’s income during our vacation?” Levi lowered the phone from his ear. The call had ended a second ago and he was glaring at me doubtfully. I was busy watching the movie – hopefully, excuse enough for scarce to no eye contact. I opened the pack of Doritos I’d dug up from my secret stash in the garage and warily eyed the pale intern’s expression.

“Because the forms were in the office downstairs and I figured they’d get in the way of our movie marathon, asshole. I haven’t messed them up.” My scoff was promptly returned to sender as Levi shoved his phone back in his pocket and clicked his tongue in exasperation. Another three minutes passed before I spoke up: “By the way, I need advice.” The room was dimly lit and the raven’s sharp gaze was on my temple.

“Will you have it in mind when you get back on your bullshit?” The inquiry was flat and doubtful. I tried to nod but it came out looking like a cringe and a shrug. His lips pursed in exhaustion. “Spill,” he ordered coldly, making me pout.

“How do I forget Eren?” Squeaky was the best I could do after becoming tense again. Nervousness was gnawing at the feeble stem of courage I’d managed to grow and my hopes for this to go as smoothly as a chat about the weather were stuck in an elevator on the top floor of a skyscraper. Even overthinking was useless here.

“Easy,” he said. Again, there was that breach of grammar. “Find somebody new. Judging by how much you’re smiling these days, you might as well be done with that.” The suspicious mockery made me snort.

“Don’t you think I might be happy to have you and dad back home?” I asked pointedly.

“No,” he countered with a defiant click of his tongue. What he said next sounded like an extract from a Jorge Bucay book. Something about self-love maybe. “Before you get with Rivers, however, you have to accept that Jaeger is now your ex. He’s part of the past and the past doesn’t hold power over the future if you don’t let it.” I bit back laughter to not offend him.

“Such a poet you are,” I huffed half-heartedly. “And how do I stop loving him?” Seriousness stood perched on my right shoulder, but the Doritos between us kept decreasing and I felt the soothing coolness of the ring on my finger. Our gazes locked and I stared, just because I could, because he was back, because he acted normally. And why wouldn’t he? Our circumstances surely weren’t enough to alter his demeanour.

“You don’t. You never will and you should get used to it.” His answer cut deep and I realised it might’ve confused me but I was too captivated by his eyes to process it. He forced himself to explain: “We never stop loving somebody once we’ve fallen for them. We just fall harder for another person.” It was as romantic as it was businessman-like. A bit too… systematic somehow.

Line up, line up! Asshole-me encouraged. I imagined a big queue in front of an entrance door with a sign bearing my name above it. Number 12, pass through, but beware – number 10 wasn’t careful with his words and number 11 made no effort to change that! The asshole side of me clearly fancied the idea. For all waiting, the Eren Jaeger mural is on the left and the guy on the right is the one you’ll never be! Keep trying but keep this face in mind – Levi Ackerman is hiding in a lot of the corners you’ll visit! He’s an invaluable guest at this establishment! Oh! Is it time for the next one already? Hurry up, number 13! Don’t hold up the queue, who knows how much capacity we have left. And so on until the last victim had walked in. It made my nose scrunch up.

“Does that mean you still haven’t gotten over Petra?” I piped curiously, bright eyes observing closely the intern’s reaction. The movie was no longer as interesting. Everything I could focus on was the furrow between Levi’s brows and the flat unperturbed look in his eyes. He grabbed a Dorito from the pack. I moved my hand away just in time to avoid a clash.

“It means I haven’t fallen in love with the next in line,” he said, reinforcing the notion of a queue. “I’m used to the fact she’d dead. Filling out every report in the world won’t bring her back,” he paused briefly and gulped, “so I go on with my life.” The explanation was simple but relatively quiet, like he was trying to say the words while not exactly aiming to have me hear them. His gaze was staring at the screen ahead as I looked down, trying to come up with a good one-liner to put him out of his discomfort.

“I feel like we’re becoming pensive,” I started with a lopsided smirk, “so let me pull a Reverse Uno card on this mood by saying I’ve reached a milestone in my life.” Licking the Dorito dust off my fingers, I puffed out my chest proudly, making the intern put a hand to his mouth. Maybe he’d bitten back a smile behind it. “I won’t get fined for driving without supervision now. Not to mention, I can have sex.” Waving an index finger in front of his face, I didn’t react when he grabbed it without warning.

“I don’t see what stopped you before,” he stated nonchalantly. I shrugged, concluding I hadn’t exactly shared with him details about my childish vow.

“There was this really religious teacher at school when I was ten – she scarred all her classes by giving them unsolicited Sex Education lectures mixed with Bible verse. Got fired because children complained to their parents, but she did a good one on me before that,” I explained with a smile, yanking my finger from his hold. “Since sex was for sinners – both began with the letter s, she explained to us – and I didn’t want to be a sinner because it meant… well, a bad person, I told myself I’d have sex only after turning eighteen, regardless of the temptation. So I held out. Proud of myself for that.” My complacent smile made him snort. He might’ve glanced at my lips right after.

“I’m sure there’s been a lot of temptation for you, princess,” he drawled in a deep sarcastic voice, moving the empty bag of Doritos away before wiping his fingers with as I processed the retort. I sat still, pouting for a fraction of a second, when it hit me this was my chance. The signal was there – shining in bright green, if I wasn’t color-blind – and it was time for me to grasp the opportunity.

“More than you can imagine, asshole,” I said with a scoff, not parting my eyes from his profile to observe his reaction. We cast aside the fact he could’ve poked fun at me being the furthest thing from a believer, yet such a big aspect of my life had been altered by a religious teacher. The tip of his nose twitched when he snorted in dismissal, not daring to meet my eye all of a sudden.

“The mood has been brightened. What do we do now?” He turned to face me, curious but hesitant, and I felt a surge of courage at the sight of the indecisiveness dawdling about in his grey eyes. The blue specks were calling me – count us, (Y/N), count us – and I concluded this would be the one time I initiated anything between us. It was stressful and scary, but it was Levi, so want overpowered fear, resulting in something we’d have a hard time sorting out our feelings on.

“Watch the movie you so diligently picked for us maybe?” But actions contradicted words because I was leaning in and he could see it. For two whole seconds, there was no movement on his end. Panic was about to make me pull back, pin it to something else, anything else, when his hand lifted, slender fingers gently tucking my hair behind my ear. This was it. It would happen. I was exploring what it’d be like without the guilt of purposefully seeking distraction.

It was slow – the first kiss – his lips barely landing on top of mine so we could taste the water even when we knew it was lukewarm. The movie was like white noise – I could catch fragments of dialogue and the screen illuminated Levi’s profile the few times my lids fluttered open. His hold on the side of my face was gentle, granting permission for me to pull back at any point. I didn’t know what he was thinking. I knew I was barely thinking and it felt nice, for my head to be so blissfully empty. It was all sensations and when he dragged his tongue over my bottom lip, my mouth opened to allow access for further exploration. The kiss deepened and I tried to push closer into him.

“Get on top,” he muttered into my mouth. His right hand dipped to grab my leg. I might’ve flushed bright red, but I still complied, slowly straddling him and letting his hands guide me to where he found it most comfortable. I was terribly aware of what I sat on. It might’ve been terribly aware of me, too.

It was slow and fast at the same time. We weren’t breaking the kiss but some moments of it – like his hand brushing my side and making me cover in goosebumps – were fleeting like blinks while others – like the weird scorching thing in my whole torso – felt endless. It was indescribable to a point, the heat of the moment but the moment was long and the pace was changing slightly the more it went on. It hadn’t been him either. It was him responding to me, because I couldn’t for the life not hold him tightly and subconsciously look for more. We were glued together and his fingers had tentatively pushed up my shirt at the back so they could trail up and down the curve of my spine.

My head was tilted, fingers tangled in his hair and heavy huffs escaping my nostrils. He smelled like lavender and rain and cologne, and my fucking conditioner I’d told him a thousand times to stop using because it was expensive. I didn’t bother scolding him about it now. My desperate want turned the kisses hungrier and there was this point – I might’ve wiggled slightly to find an even closer spot – but he stiffened and grabbed the back of my head, growing twice as persistent and passionate. Weird, using that word about him. It hit me the forbidden part of male anatomy I was seated on top of had risen to attention. It made me wonder if it had happened before and that, in turn, was simultaneously embarrassing and flattering. He was attracted to me, too. Duh. We were literally making out on my bed.

When more began translating as more of everything instead of more of this particular thing, he seemed to sense the shift. His hands guided me off his lap and back on the bed. My head was resting against the pillow and my head was empty, lids fluttering open to drink the sight of him the first time he broke the kiss – pale but handsome, tired but caring, bored but clearly moved by the happening. It was a miracle. I’d been begging for this statue to show me anything in the beginning of his internship. I hadn’t known it could show me this – it looked like a godsend. My heart was going a hundred miles per hour, my breath was unsteady and my body felt hot all over.

It didn’t matter where he kissed – my lips, my neck, my chest, my shoulders – I just wanted him to keep kissing me. Temptation had seldom been this strong and the vow was no longer active, it was fulfilled – an electrifying realisation. I didn’t need to have him stop. What my sinner’s hands did the moment that resolution snapped in place was to grab the hem of his shirt and, with pointed urgent eyes, plead with him to take it off. He hesitated for exactly one second, then complied, like he’d complied with everything else without having me say it. He was kneeling between my legs, arms going over his head so the piece of clothing could be discarded. His chest and abdomen flexed, the biceps, the triceps, all the other names of muscles I’d had to read about but hadn’t memorised. Adonis in the flesh. Fuck me for drooling. Oh.

If I could paint, I’d paint him. If I could sing, I’d write a song. If I had a taser, I’d tase myself out of being so cringe-worthy in admiring the body of a man. But when that body pressed against mine, everything became a bit too hot – literally and metaphorically – so I decided the next step was to cool down by taking off my own clothes. First the shirt, then the pants he helped out with. I almost laughed when they tangled at my ankles and he had to tug them off with an irritated frown. Here it was, having my father’s intern see my bra again. This time I didn’t mind.

“Frills? Seriously?” Well, now I minded.

“Do we have an issue?” I snapped with a pointed look. It didn’t help he was towering over me, sizing up my underwear with eyes that spoke simultaneously of him being amused and him being something else. I wondered if he was still hard. I hadn’t touched there once.

“It’s almost cute,” he mocked flatly. He didn’t reach to take it off – he just leaned down to mollify me with a kiss. It worked. I was carried off into wanting more again. The weight of him on top of me grounded the body and made the soul soar. It was a cringe comparison but whatever, it was true. I realised, right about the time I tugged on the waistband of his sweatpants and his brows flashed in unrestrained surprise, that I was an eighteen-year-old doing exactly what was expected of every single eighteen-year-old on the planet – sneaking a boy into my room while my parents were out.

This here was a boy I trusted and a boy I was halfway convinced was more of a man than a boy, mostly when it came to observing how he casually sat up and removed his sweatpants with precision contrary to clumsiness. My eyes flickered down to his boxers. Still hard alright. There was a rush of excitement and shame all at once when I realised it. A bit too late to stop and pin this a mere heat-of-the-momet make-out session. It was the real deal. Happening. Live. In my room. On a late August evening. Goodness gracious.

It took me a second to process it and he might’ve sensed that I’d grown a bit rigid despite remaining just as active. He didn’t advance the happening, petting my hair and kissing me, and trailing lower, but only as low as he’d gone before, finding the rest a sort of forbidden land. Didn’t even take off the bra with the frills he mocked me for. What a gentleman. He was kissing the curve of my breast and I was wondering how in the fucking hell I’d deserved this.

“We don’t have to,” he warned at some point. “If you don’t want to. Saying no is allowed.” He kissed me and it was intoxicating, but also the last snapped nerve. I arched my back off the bed, elbows bending so my hands could reach for my bra clip. The shoulder straps went loose and Levi paused for a moment to process what the act meant.

“I won’t say it,” I muttered with determination, eyes locked with his. Pride was strong within me even now and, having the wordless consent, he gently took off the bra before paying some attention to newfound territory. It was like being examined in a lab. Again, my boobs weren’t perfect. It was genetics and fate, and whatever else. In being embarrassed about him staring at my chest, I was graced by the thought I hadn’t shaved anywhere. Double embarrassed. Wasn’t it only right that the first time would come with presentability? There go the Raven teachings.

And the word nipple is somewhat lame – I’ve heard it from native and non-native speakers of English both – but there is no other word. So when his tongue rolled around my nipple, I forgot I hadn’t shaved and drew such a sharp breath I almost choked. My chest was heaving and he was thumbing my other nipple. I thought we’d get straight to it and was mistaken. He knew better, it seemed, because a virgin needed the bare minimum of this much and more foreplay to truly relax. It hit me for a fraction that this was actual foreplay while I was staring at the ceiling between trying not to make any sounds. I was like a dead fish, just letting him do things to me. More responsive than a dead fish but awfully inexperienced in any case. It made me feel just a bit guilty. My one saving grace was the fact his erection kept brushing against my leg – and if that was there, then it meant he wasn’t dissatisfied.

It was a black spot for a while because I couldn’t pinpoint between the overwhelming build-up of nice but not nice enough where exactly Levi was kissing or sucking or nipping or touching. Now it would be my thigh, now leaving a hickey on my shoulder, now trailing kisses over my jaw and down my neck, now caressing my side, now trailing a finger down to my navel, now my boob, intermission, the other boob – and the whole time there was that thing in my abdomen, the same one I’d felt with Eren, the hot knot begging for attention.

This was a new person and I hadn’t thought it’d come with a new person, but it was there alongside a brand new dynamic which wasn’t hurried or harsh or overtly passionate like I’d been used to. The pace was decent and steady and passion here didn’t amount to bruises – or at least not explicitly so. The new person made it thrilling, overwhelming. The new person made it a brand new experience. And when the brand new person’s hand gently dipped to touch the part where my legs met, I shivered all over, heart and lady boner flinching at once. Levi, with his obstinacy, refused to ask permission vocally. I still nodded, spreading my legs a bit wider. Slowly, like my panties weren’t in the way, he kissed from my knee to the base of my inner thigh, nipped slightly and made me yelp, and muffled something like a chuckle against the plush of my leg.

I didn’t know what he was thinking. I knew his fingers pressing against the spot where wetness had accumulated made my mouth gape slightly. I craned my neck and closed my eyes. There was embarrassment holding hands with excitement, with pleasure breathing down their necks. Nothing quite mattered. I breathed out like I’d been holding my breath for fourteen minutes when the raven’s fingers gently dragged back and forth against my core and then he might’ve been impatient, because he tugged my underwear out of the way, down my legs, past the knees and the ankles, dropping it with the rest of our clothes and the empty Dorito bag on the floor. It was a whole mess, this thing. I wanted it.

“The house is empty, princess,” he said while leaning down to kiss below my navel.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, almost out of breath in spite of my lungs functioning perfectly. His fingers were ghosting on the side of where I wanted him to touch. His mouth dragged lower. There was the jab of shame about not being shaved again. It hadn’t sent him to his feet and out of the room, so it was probably fine. A man wasn’t afraid to fight the jungle, I’d heard a few times before.

“That you can make noise without being scared,” he responded casually. I snorted and decided inwardly that I wouldn’t be making any noise whatsoever, just to spite him. It did feel good, though, so I doubted I could actually hold back effectively. As though to challenge the unsaid decision, Levi cut the suspense short. When his tongue rested where only one other had before, I came close to whining. My hand shot down to paw at his hair and he hummed against my clit. The vibrations of it made me writhe slightly.

He licked and sucked – nipped twice, which made me yelp both times – and did all sorts of other magic. Added to the title of mind-reader would now be the rank of mage. Then, there was this point when I could feel his fingers prodding at my entrance – a gentle warning of what was to come. First it was one. My mouth gaped and there was a slight flash of something like pain. More like discomfort. Now this was brand new wherever I looked at it from. Remember, my vow had its doors but none had included penetration. Officially the furthest I’d gone with somebody. Goodbye, hymen. You served us well.

He waited. Waited almost a full minute and distracted me with his tongue before I rolled my hips to give him the green light. Slow pumps. It was still uncomfortable, but the friction wasn’t painful. Just uncomfortable and new and I didn’t like change, but when this one found with its finger one particular spot sold off as the Bermuda Triangle for men to find, I might’ve liked this particular change. First, it made me moan. Second, the more he kept reaching that spot – because it was impossible to miss I liked it – the closer I was to coming. There were sloppy sounds and a second finger inserting itself in me, and my voice bouncing off the walls before dropping to the floor in a hush.

I might’ve said his name, actually, I might’ve half-screamed it. The orgasm hit me like a brick dropping straight on my genitals and he kept flicking his tongue slower and slower until I’d ridden it out in full. How considerate. When his fingers came out, there was a spot of blood. My mouth clamped shut in shame. He reached over to clean them with a wet wipe – then he cleaned me, too, because obviously he could see things that were invisible to me. There was slick on his chin and I glared half-heartedly when his eyes twinkled in amusement at me.

“Well, that’s done,” I muttered while he leaned over with the intention to kiss me again. “Wipe your mouth, asshole.” I put a hand to his chest to prevent my own pussy juices from coming in contact with my face. For a clean-freak, he sure didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get them off.

“You don’t want to see how tasty it is?” He was mocking me. I was red and hot all over still, a bit like a deflated balloon being refilled with exasperation contrary to air. No longer a virgin, as far as doctors would care. Still kind of in the middle, considering typical hetero interactions included something more than fingers.

“God, no!” I tried to push at his jaw and he almost chuckled when the pussy juice got on my fingers and I flicked my wrist frantically to get it off.

“It was god, yes a second ago,” he drawled pointedly. I burned bright red under his gaze, naked and not a hymen-bearer and kind of lost as to what came next. I pouted, swatted his shoulder and pretended to be very disgusted when he kissed me, making it open-mouted and sloppy for the sake of spiting me. In truth, it didn’t taste like much. Tasted weird, unlike food and drink. Well, that’s bodily fluids for you.

Remember the right-est choice I made as of late? Here it comes. The kiss guided his fingers down to my clit again and mine – to the band of his boxers. A tug and a snap, and he asked me three whole fucking times if I was sure. Not verbally, of course. It was just the particular way he stopped between each step to make sure, to look at me straight in the eye and have me nod my consent back to him. Like I’d change my mind that fast. God’s sake – if I would’ve said no, I would’ve said it before we’d kissed. But this wasn’t something he would do under normal circumstances – not a matter of alcohol, guilt or duty. It was free will and choice. Mine might’ve been made sometime last month, right around my birthday.

The boxers were gone. I blinked at it. A penis in textbooks, a dick in colloquial speech, a cock in smut books, a member in tame erotica. Length, girth, meat sword, love machine – could go on forever. We sat staring at it like it was an alien and while I was bashful, I was also bad with measurements without the aid of a ruler, hence why I safely concluded that I could stack about four donuts on it and put the zipper on it. There was that thing – precum, was it? – leaking from the tip. In all honesty, no I didn’t want to lick it off. Same went for sperm. In the history of mankind, I’d done the gracious thing and sucked off my boyfriend exactly once – the rest had been handjobs because blowjobs came with terrible pains in the jaw, a cramping of the tongue, a crap salty taste and the awkward detail of looking like an unattractive fish during the act. So, no, I didn’t volunteer to show off how bad I was at it.

“Condoms, shit.” It flew out of my mouth unintentionally. Levi’s face scrunched up. We were both visited by the bitter realisation that going further was not an option anymore, unless he wanted to don on a sock. Then the solution came to me. “Keep it up, I’ll be back in a minute,” I mumbled hurriedly, jumping off the bed and rushing butt-naked out of the room so I could go to my parents’ bedroom. Yeah, no, such was the reality of things. I tried to keep my conscience untainted while rummaging through the wardrobe. The hidden box of condoms in the back by the shoes was the saving grace. I wouldn’t speak of this to a living soul that wasn’t Annie Leonheardt ever.

The moment I returned to the room with the box held proudly over my head, Levi snorted. He laid me on the bed again and the mood returned, which was weird because I’d pinned him the type of experience one moment of interruption and consider it all ruined. Not that I’d thought about him during sex or having sex. I hadn’t. I promise. I was thinking it now, when I was about to have it with him. The kisses eased the natural awkwardness and by the time he was putting it in, I was a desperate mess again. Sweat stuck to skin and my breath got stuck in my throat when he pushed it in. I blanked, gaped like I’d received a headshot and felt him stand still to let me adjust. There was, again, mild discomfort. Fingers couldn’t compare to a dick.

I gave it half a minute and told him to move. The first thrust had me whining into his mouth. It was good. It was good, progressively becoming better and better and better, a surprise arriving with each snap of his hips. My father’s intern having sex with me, my father’s intern, my father’s intern, my intern, my Levi. The first five minutes were full of careful slow strokes to let the awkwardness dissipate and for me to get used to it. I won’t call myself anything but I’ll say I got used to it a bit too fast for comfort. So it went. Losing my virginity to my father’s intern.

“Faster, can you--- a bit faster?” The words were choked out and you’d wonder why I would ask for faster when slow was doing a good job of making my chest heave like I was running a marathon, but it was maddening and addictive.

“I can for you, princess.” It was a rasp against the side of my neck and I was blanking because the voice, paired with the hands, with the scent, with the sensation of being full and empty, then full and empty again was so mind-numbing I could melt on the spot and stay there forever. So slow and careful turned into fast and considerate. There was no harshness in him even when he kneaded my boobs or licked stripes down the length of my throat, no harshness whatsoever when he gripped my thighs or my sides. It was tight, but pleasant, egging me on further.

I bit down on the pillow when he found the spot. I bit his finger, too. I bit his shoulder and I bit my own hand to keep my voice down because how was something on this Earth allowed to be so nice? Fuck. He murmured at me to moan if I felt like it. There was a smug undertone. And when he reached between us to roll circles around my clit, I didn’t moan – I was a banshee impersonator, neck craning, back arching, toes curling, all that jazz. I came with a crash and a bang, and it might’ve been an hour by now, or maybe more, but the neighbourhood was asleep and I was wide awake, trying to wake them up, too.

A five-minute break of kisses served as an intermission to avoid me becoming overstimulated but Levi was still hard and still quite energetic in spite of the fact he’d been fucking me for an overall of thirty minutes without stopping or having his pace hitch. Round two started fast and I had my legs up, knees on the sides of my head. It was hot, seeing him through that kind of frame. Just one bead of sweat on his temple – not sticky all over, unlike me. Why was I the one becoming exhausted anyway? I was being a pillow princess. His eyes were gorgeous and his lips were slightly swollen.

“Please, don’t stop,” I whined at some point. He didn’t seem to have any prospects of stopping anyway, but I couldn’t help it. He huffed, chest heaving with lust and I knew it wasn’t easy to be the one doing all the work, so I mentally gave credit where credit was due. “Oh--- Levi, God!” He seemed like he wanted to laugh and my ring glimmered in the dark against his cheek while I tried to pull him down for a kiss which was simply impossible in our current position. He switched it five minutes later. It was not an understatement to claim I was seeing stars and everything was nice and nothing was awkward and this was the most handsome man with the most stamina on this land.

I lost my voice at some point, or I thought I did because my third orgasm couldn’t make me bite down on the pillow fast enough to muffle the literal holler that left my lungs. His name, by the way. If that hadn’t woken the neighbours, I wasn’t sure anything would. I was recuperating and he was trailing gentle pecks along my neck, still not finished. Was sex always this physically draining? My mind might’ve blanked during the third round and we were in missionary again because I insisted that I be able to kiss him any time I wished to. His hand was holding my wrist captive and the other was massaging my breast and it was all a giant whirlpool of pleasure and heat and fluids – the nasty and the nice in one, but I couldn’t care less about the nasty.

He came with a growl, biting down on my shoulder to muffle something that sounded like my name as his pace hitched and turned sloppy for the first time in what felt like hours. He slumped down on top of me and I was breathing more heavily than him, calmed by the weight. I was blinking at the ceiling and my heart was doing somersaults in my ribcage. He went to shower after a minute of rest, I called him out for being a clean freak and it just so happened that my perception of time wasn’t all too warped because checking my phone made me realise we’d had sex for about three hours, foreplay included. I slipped into the shirt he’d tossed on the floor, wiped myself and very considerately ignored the soreness in my hips while changing the sheets.

To my biggest surprise, he returned to my room in a new pair of boxers with his hair wet. There was no invitation. He joined me on the clean bed and wrapped his arms around me. This might’ve been aftercare. When our gazes locked, I didn’t dare avert my eyes in bashfulness. It was surreal and I wanted to memorise it. Then he asked me again – as voicelessly as the first time and the following ten – and I answered positively by flashing him the biggest smile I could muster. No words were exchanged. Levi rolled his eyes and I tucked myself under his chin, legs tangling with his. I was knocked out cold. I wouldn’t hasten to write this off as a happy ending but I wouldn’t immediately turn it angsty either. I explored. It was nice. I don’t think I regretted it for a second.

Waking up was a surreal experience because it included the added luxury of being bathed in sunlight with a warm arm draped around my midriff and a pale sunlit face inches from mine. A spot of purple in the crook of his neck and a few red crescents on his shoulder. Perhaps one or two leftover scratches on his back. I blinked at the sight incredulously, gradually coming to and realising what this position meant – prompted by last night’s three different ones, too.

It happened! Asshole-me hollered in my head, nearly hysteric, slamming a pan into a bell and making the echo of the toll ring painfully against the confines of my skull. You ruined it all! It was like an automatic switch – suddenly, the neutral was the bad and I had complicated it with my impulsiveness, my stupid hormones. I imagined four months of awkwardness and the wish to have more but being completely incapable of asking for fear it would mean feelings. I pictured a tense atmosphere, uncomfortable interactions, embarrassing thoughts, lame excuses. A friendship built with struggle and just barely reinforced annihilated to smithereens by my dumb ass.

I cringed, removing my hand from Levi’s chest to slap myself across the face for being horrible again – not in using him but in indulging my own selfishness. His eyelids fluttered open before the admonishment transpired and I was staring straight into the melted silver which had the tendency to read my thoughts. The current self-reprimanding cacophony would entertain him.

“… should make you coffee,” he mumbled half-coherently, making me blink wondrously at his hazy composure. This is normal, his eyes whispered, lips pressing nonchalantly to my forehead before he got up, so there’s no need to be so shocked. The trip down the stairs was silent. I had left scratches. More than two.

Currently, we were in the kitchen, sitting around the counter with our mandatory morning drinks. Unsaid words hung from the ceiling like dangling cobwebs. Levi, who’d needed a moment to retrieve his memories in full, was stiff and uncertain, and in spite of that visibly calmer than me. I could feel my face heating up as I thought of what to say. This wasn’t normal, even if both of us upon our respective awakening had pinned it such. It was something we had to discuss but how were we supposed to discuss sex when we sometimes fought over food? Deciding what to do seemed impossible.

“Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?” The raven, of course, was the one who broke the silence while I was slurping on my coffee, gaze averted and heart beating erratically. “Princess, I’m afraid this is something important,” he said in the face of my silence. His piercing glare was on my temple but I wouldn’t turn, keeping my fingers glued to my cup and my mind grounded in panic. “Need I remind you exactly what happened?” Levi pressed additionally, husky voice raising in audible urgency. I felt completely and utterly naked – dressed in only his shirt and my own underwear.

“We had sex, that’s what happened.” I shrugged, mind preoccupied with the strange feeling eating its way into it. Deep into my stomach, up to my lungs, through the chambers of the heart, in the windpipe – but not painfully. “There’s nothing more to it.” The nonchalant statement didn’t get a warm welcome. That much was to be expected. The attractive intern was frowning, rubbing his temples with a frustrated sigh. I tried not to look at his fingers.

And I’m trying to do just that, asshole-me scoffed pointedly. There’s something different about them when they’ve been inside you last night, yeah? A good type of different. Imagine it. My shoulders tensed as I chased her around in my head with a frying pan. Levi ran a hand through his ebony locks. Wow, is that the sex hair? And I pursed my lips in displeasure, knowing the struggles of the current moment and choosing in spite of them to secretly a wish for a second time. No harm, you know, no harm whatsoever in wanting to fuck your father’s goddamn intern, yeah? No? Can you hear it? Does it sound like a good sentence? Does it?

“Where exactly does your lacking virginity fit into your nothing more to it?” His retort made me cringe, well aware of the virginity ace hidden up his imaginary sleeve. It was a bit harder to argue with him when he was half-naked, letting me see the spots I’d bitten and kissed. The situation: we’d had sex. My side: I had nothing against him being my first because I trusted him and he’d been experienced and careful enough to make it nice. The actual problem: he was my father’s intern.

The abstract part: intimacy often came with, well… intimacy. Casual sex had the advantage of not seeing your partner again afterwards and in our case, we’d had casual sex with somebody we saw daily. Future speculation: tension due to this adventure would brew either discord or twice the ferocity in repeating the adventure. A possible solution: talking about feelings. Additional issue: Levi and I talking about feelings? Not in this day and age. Not in this life either. Telling him he made me feel warm and appreciated? Impossible. Honesty in the face of something embarrassing? Sorry, I don’t know her. She must be really lame.

“Everywhere, because I don’t care for it. It might add complexity to your situation, but it doesn’t play a big role in mine.” Dismissing the whole of it and pinning it on him was wrong. My nonchalance was false. Maybe it was what made him take a deep breath prior to speaking up again, his tea untouched.

“You’re supposed to be freaking out, princess.” His eyes were on mine and asshole-me was screaming: Come on, do it! Just kiss him and make things worse! Go right ahead! I averted my gaze with a snort. He’d used my nickname last night. Added a shade of meaning to it. I tried to get a grip as my rational side reasoned with the situation. This had been a one-time thing – or at least for him. Following that train of thought, wanting more was useless.

“You think I’m not?” It was high-pitched and ludicrous. Memories were surfacing and it was somewhat unpleasant to think they wouldn’t repeat. Levi kissing me in the dark, almost saying my name, clearing the hair from my sweaty forehead, biting my neck as he came, smiling against my lips as I tugged on his hair and tried not to moan, holding me close afterwards, not once saying the wrong thing. “I’m freaking out. You just don’t see it.” My downcast gaze was thoughtful and the air was becoming heavier with something I couldn’t identify. I could feel him staring and it bugged me not to know what he was thinking. “What?” I snapped, refraining from playing with my ring.

“What do you want to do now?” He asked flatly, eyes pinning me in place. “Do you want me to pretend this didn’t happen or do you want us to keep going?” It was ridiculous hearing him say it because, usually, he wouldn’t. I blinked, thinking I’d misheard.

“Keep going as in keep having sex?” I echoed to make sure I’d understood. It might’ve gone out a bit more shocked than expected, which made him sigh.

“I was listing options. In the end, it all comes down to what you want.” The flat voice made me realise I knew what I wanted well enough to have chosen during the conversation with Hanji three days ago or maybe even before I’d had the courage to admit it to myself.

“I don’t know what I want,” I lied with a pointed look, vehement embarrassment clawing up my throat and scratching at the back of it. I could say I wanted to keep going – his offer meant he might be willing – but his response was a fifty-fifty on whether he was sexually frustrated or would rather stick to decorum while living in the same house as the girl he was fucking and her father. I couldn’t turn the question on him because it was mean. I couldn’t call it a mistake because that would be another lie. I was tired of lying when it didn’t go to protect my pride.

“You don’t?” He quirked a thin brow mockingly, feigning the surprise he didn’t feel. “Or you just don’t want to admit your favour the more embarrassing option?” I sat motionless, knowing this wasn’t what I should’ve been doing – considering it. Maybe this was a test he had for me – to see if I’d be dumb or act like a reasonable adult. But (there came that stupid word again) if Hanji had been right, this wasn’t a random hook-up, which meant there might be something and---

Are you seriously considering a relationship with somebody who’s leaving in less than four months? Asshole-me interjected, making me sigh in defeat. Doesn’t fuck randomly, okay, fine, but this is an exception. How in the fucking hell would he grow to like you? You know that’s impossible. Methinks he went along with it because you clearly wanted it. Think about it, he does all sorts of bullshit for you. So what sounds more plausible? Him being himself or him liking you? The former, of course, but I couldn’t admit it. Like I couldn’t admit he was right to say I favoured the more embarrassing option.

“Even if it was like that,” I chose to return the favour and be doubtful, “I’m not inclined to think your morals would let you humour me.” My chin was tipped upwards while Levi shook his head and finally took a sip from his tea. The ghost of a smirk in the corner of his mouth disarmed.

“I have little to nothing against it. But,” (that fucking word again) the firmness of his voice was the only thing keeping my chest from swelling, “it doesn’t sound like an ideal course of action when you’ve almost got yourself a new boyfriend,” he reasoned calmly, somber responsibility lacing his tone.

“It’s not cheating if we’re not official,” I protested instantly, furrowed brows and a pout. He snorted.

“That’s not what I meant, princess.” My lips pursed at the jolt the nickname gave me. “I don’t want sex clouding your judgement. I get Rivers isn’t your boyfriend, but you shouldn’t exclude him as a possibility just because you’ve started thinking you have feelings for me.”

“Besides being a poet, you’ve turned into a psychologist, too,” I exclaimed with a genuinely cheerful chuckle that made him quirk a brow. Something in my throat shrivelled up. “Don’t dwell on my feelings too much, asshole,” I reassured. “I like this because it’s something new, not because I’m head over heels in love with you.” I was still chuckling as he sipped on his tea and fixed me with one of those firm looks that had the ability to bend the knees. The effect was doubled in intensity this morning.

“Make your choice then,” he said boredly, not wishing to be too imperious, seeing as the situation wasn’t taking place in a formal setting where he was the boss and I was the indecisive underling. I might as well have been, with how hot my ears got while I held his gaze, brave and stupid in the face of somebody who read me better than I sometimes read myself.

“I’m not saying it out loud,” I muttered, bashful. The ebony-haired intern watched me struggle before tilting his head to the side with a fake air of oblivion.

“Then I won’t know what you want,” he said innocently, attempting to mock my shyness and what was more – succeeding. I burned bright red, feeling heat creep up my neck and my glare was pointed and uncontrolled. It couldn’t pass as mere annoyance because Levi was hitting a nerve.

“I didn’t see you having a hard time knowing everything I wanted last night, but okay.” There was more spite than sass in the sentence, which only further conveyed my inability to stay nonchalant – something that clearly amused him. “I want us to… keep going. Satisfied?” Crossed arms, downcast gaze and a childish pout. I was the live embodiment of the word petulance and Levi wasn’t done having fun with it.

“Not as satisfied as I clearly left you.” He was smirking and I glared at him, furious and not knowing where the blood would go when there was no space left in my head. I hopped off my chair, turning my back to him and hearing how he moved to stand behind me. A well-meaning hand landed on my shoulder. “It was a joke, princess, there’s no need for the cold shoulder.” His tone was flat and disinterested, but there was a pacifying sliver. He might’ve been trying to make peace but I wouldn’t have it after all the embarrassment he put me through – just to have a good private laugh, too!

“Un-fucking-bearable, that’s what you are,” I hissed, brushing his hand off my shoulder and heading to the staircase in order to escape. He gave chase and set on ignoring the usual code that forbade touchy-touchy when unneeded. The pure and unfiltered imagination one must have in order to picture a shirtless Greek God chasing after a poorly dressed eighteen-year-old spoiled brat was too ambitious a requirement for anybody to fulfil. Turn to mythology for that, but it’s inappropriate there and this one meant well.

“I’ll stop embarrassing you if that’s what you want.” His hands were on my shoulders. He turned me around and I didn’t look at him, much less respond. He could sense I was ashamed. His hands slowly trailed down over my arms to hold my wrists in a grip I could, with effort, free myself from. “Does the mere mention of sex with no context whatsoever embarrass you, princess?” He knew it did, leaning forward with twinkling eyes and a complacent half-smile. “Your face is red.”

“And you’re a fucking genius, congratulations,” I spat with sarcastic disgruntlement. He pulled me forward so that I bumped into his chest. My shoulders jumped in surprise. I didn’t want to look him in the eye but the sight of the marks I’d left on him were no less embarrassing to behold. My heart sped up and I was pouting, flush against him with nowhere to go.

“It speaks,” he whispered by my ear. His hands retraced their steps over my arms and shoulders, gently gliding against the sides of my neck until they held my face. “Does it want to go up to my room?” Blue specks in a pool of melted silver. The question was genuine, in spite of being masked with slight mockery. The adult of us two. I tried to stay mad, but it was impossible. I promised the blue specks I’d count them later and then we were kissing. It was a funny picture – the whole of this situation – ridiculous but somehow not fictional. It was him lifting me off the floor and me wrapping my legs around him. It was him making step after step, steady and careful not to drop me while I snickered into his mouth. It was me being a literal koala and then it was us, hearing the jingle of keys.

“Shit,” I cursed, parting from him with a smack. He let go and I could catch only a glimpse of the panic on his face before I was running up the stairs. I’d barely closed the door behind us when I heard my mother greeting the empty kitchen downstairs. While I breathed out in relief, Levi was already heading to the balcony. It occurred to me that there was a pack of condoms on my nightstand and they were stolen. I’d need to make a trip to the pharmacy and replace the box. Talk about inconvenient. “Careful now,” I piped while the intern was preparing to make the jump, “we don’t want you to fall.” He gave me a half-hearted glare but said nothing.

When he was gone, I plopped down on my bed and grinned incredulously at the ceiling. This “secret sex” thing we were about to dive into wasn’t how I’d imagined the weeks prior to my first year in university, but oh, well. Expect the unexpected and if unable to – just accept it. This officially marked the beginning of my longest stay in City of Dumbassery. It was surprising, however, that I wasn’t alone in there. Twice as surprising that I’d be stuck with my father’s intern. Whom I was having sex with. Amazing. Spectacular. Asshole-me would have my ass for that.

tag list: @unloved-cadillac ; @donaldthrts

#mtij #levi x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #x reader #levi ackerman imagine #reader insert #levi ackerman x reader #it finally happened #all i'm going to say: i wrote the actual sex scene while editing the rest of the chapter because i was too bashful in the past lol #sure hope it's not worse than the vague three paragraphs of the past #levi is a literal king who preaches consent and safe sex and nobody will change my opinion #also our drama queen is entering a brand new arc of her life #beware: storm incoming

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