Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It happened so quickly and so simply. You were walking down the street, with that creeping feeling someone was following you. It had happened before — after all, walking alone at night as a girl is never safe. But tonight felt different. None of your friends could walk you home, and it was too late to call others or your family. Living just ten minutes away on foot, you were doing your best to walk fast, music in your ears, keys in your hand — your only defense.

Just a few meters from your place, as the idea of sprinting to your door flashed through your mind, hoping to slam it shut fast enough to keep whoever was behind you out, a hand suddenly grabbed your shoulder roughly and shoved you into a nearby alley, another revolting hand clamping down over your mouth to muffle your screams.

In a desperate attempt to break free from your attacker’s grip, you started clawing at his hand and tried to jab your key somewhere painful. Just enough to escape. Just enough to scream for help.

But it wasn’t enough. The man slammed you against the wall violently, your head crashing back in a burst of pain, a sob escaping your lips. Dizzy and disoriented, your keys slipped from your hand as your body collapsed, too weak to resist. That allowed his disgusting hands to wander across your body, making you sick to your stomach — worse than the pounding in your head.

Until that invasive touch disappeared all at once, shoved away by a force that came out of nowhere. A crash was all you heard, your body slumping harder against the wall, blurry eyes barely catching sight of the man who’d been touching you now on the ground, blood dripping from his nose and lips, a few teeth missing. Your mind, too clouded by pain, didn’t even register the presence of another figure crouching beside you briefly, a black-gloved hand pushing your hair back to check the wound on your forehead, then draping a jacket over your exposed body to cover you.

Dangling on the edge of unconsciousness, all you could do was watch, not understanding a thing. The figure — unseen, unknown — who seemed to be tending to you and making sure you were alive, slowly stood. And then came a wave of hatred — violent and ice-cold — flooding the air. Not aimed at you, but at the man who had put his hands on you. He was staring at your "savior" with a sick look in his eyes, now holding a knife, shouting something, threatening.

Still, the man beside you remained calm and composed, advancing slowly — like a predator with the grace of a panther — toward his prey, who suddenly turned pale, realizing his threats weren’t having the effect he’d hoped. Terror began to bloom on his face as he screamed that he found you first, that the other shouldn’t interfere...you couldn’t understand anything.

But the dark figure said nothing. He merely grabbed the man in front of him, roughly, a loud crack echoing in the alley followed by a scream, before he hurled the bastard against the wall, another bone-shattering noise and an even louder cry following. And still, the figure didn’t stop. He slammed his boot into the man's joints, eliciting screams of agony, bones crushed to dust. Soon, those screams turned to pitiful whimpers, and the figure crouched down to grab the blood-soaked, barely-living body, murmuring something indistinct — except for one phrase, cold and clear:

“You’ll serve as a warning.”

And then he slit his throat. Slowly. Never breaking eye contact as the man choked on his own blood, sputtering until everything went still. The body collapsed like a sack of meat, and the shadow stood again with a sigh, letting out a sharp "tch" at the state of his dagger and the blood staining his clothes.

Still out of it, you felt a sudden, desperate terror grip you. You couldn’t move, and the figure turned slowly toward you. For a moment, you thought this was the end, your breath shallow, your body paralyzed, letting out only a weak whimper of fear and pain.

But the shadow didn’t stop approaching, didn’t stop looking at you, sighing as he cleaned his blade and slid it back into place. You couldn’t read his intentions, but you could tell it was a man — not very tall, but solidly built, with piercing silver eyes and black hair, pale skin a stark contrast that both terrified and captivated your dazed, fading mind. Frozen in place, you could only watch as he crouched close to you, a sad expression on his face, jaw clenched, brows furrowed. And before he could say a single word, your mind gave in to the pull of unconsciousness, dragging you into its uncertain fog. Somewhere, you heard a faint, "Shit, no," before your head hit something softer than the wall as you fell into darkness.

---

Waking up was strange.

You felt hazy, lost, as you opened your eyes in a room you didn’t recognize, dimly lit by a soft light. You were lying on a comfortable bed. Your body still felt weak, and there was a bandage wrapped around your forehead. Someone had taken care of your wounds.

You also had the impression you’d been cleaned and changed. And that thought worried you.

But before your mind could wander too far, trying to piece together what happened...last night?...someone entered the room.

Weakly, you turned your head to meet that same silver gaze — cold and distant, yet somehow worried.

Without a word, the man approached and began changing your bandage. You didn’t dare speak, your throat dry, anxiety gripping you.

Once your wound was redressed, the man let out a quiet sigh and sat on the edge of the bed beside you — like a silent, protective shadow. But you should be in a hospital. Not here.

"I’m not going to hurt you. Don’t worry."

The lack of trust in your eyes must have been obvious because he quickly added,

"I only go after criminals. Not victims of those bastards."

Still, you sensed he wasn’t telling the whole truth, and in your hazy state, you found yourself asking why you were here. That question seemed to rattle and surprise him, but strangely, he gave you an answer.

"You weren’t supposed to see what you saw...that was my mistake." A frustrated sigh escaped him, followed by a low murmur meant more for himself than for you. "I should’ve dealt with that scum sooner..."

Looking into your eyes again, his gaze remained filled with sadness, and something else...something close to affection.

"You’re safe here. But it’s better if you forget..."

Still in your daze, your voice barely whispered a question — how, and who he was. That made his sadness deepen, as he gently placed an ungloved hand on your hair. Real, quiet sorrow filled his eyes as he answered your question about his name.

"Levi...and it’s probably for the best if you don’t remember."

Then, in response to your unspoken worry, he murmured,

"I’ll find a way. You’ll get your life back soon."

He truly seemed to want you to forget everything and return to your normal life, which should have been a comfort...but something about it felt...off. That strange affection, that sadness...and the fact that he still wanted to let you go. How were you supposed to forget?

As you opened your mouth to ask something else, a phone rang on the bedside table.

Levi frowned at the name displayed, and for some reason you didn’t understand, he answered with the speaker on. He didn’t even let the caller speak first.

"What do you want?"

But the voice on the other end laughed.

"Come on, Levi...is that any way to talk to your dear uncle?"

"Cut the bullshit. Why the fuck are you calling me?"

A pause, then another laugh.

"Did you enjoy my little gift?"

It was like a chill wind swept through the room. Levi’s face turned pale, then icy cold, his eyes filled with barely contained fury.

"What are you implying?"

"Oh, my poor little nephew, did you really think no one would notice? They’re onto you, you know! A guy like you...so strong, so elusive — of course they want to recruit you. Hell, a lot of us do, hah! If you weren’t so damn stubborn, it’d be done already. What a foolish thing, getting attached to someone, hah! Pathetic!"

Levi gritted his teeth, but the voice kept going.

"So I gave you a little present! You wanted her, didn’t you? And now, you can’t pretend anymore. The people trying to recruit you...Zeke...they know about her now. So what are you going to do? You really think you can just let her go once she forgets, and no one will use her against you? ...Nahhh, you’re not stupid. You’ve already thought of that, haven’t you? So why complicate things with this fragile little thing, huh? What a shame you got attached to an innocent...and now, you have no choice but to become like the ones you hunt. Ahahahha! It’s hilarious! What are you going to do, kid? You still think you can change anything? I can’t wait to see how it ends..."

Suddenly, Levi, still far too silent, brought the phone close to his mouth, his voice venomous.

"You better pray I never get my hands on you, you sick bastard, because I will fucking kill you with my own hands. Uncle or not, family or not — you’ll pay for what you did."

A laugh exploded from the other end of the call.

"And what fate will you choose for yourself?"

And then the line went dead, swallowed by more malicious laughter.

A creak, and then the phone shattered in Levi’s hand. You could feel his rage. You didn’t know why, but his emotions felt like your own — his anger was more than palpable. Anger at the situation and everyone involved — including himself.

So when his eyes landed on you, you saw the hatred he held toward himself before he even spoke. Words you cut off with a trembling whisper, faint but determined, piecing together some of the horror that now bound you to something far bigger than you could understand...

"I...if what you said is true...if you’re not going to hurt me...then I’ll stay here. I don’t know why I’m caught in the middle of all this...I don’t know who you are...but you risked yourself for me...and you helped me, didn’t you? So...if...if I have to stay here for now...until I forget, or until whatever this is gets sorted out...I’ll stay..."

He didn’t interrupt. He just listened, your words sinking in, his eyes darkening with each one — not at you, but at himself. He struggled to answer, watching the tears run down your cheeks, your fragile resolve in the face of everything you didn’t understand — agreeing to stay in a place that should terrify you, with a man who saved you...and also stole you away. Your own dilemma somehow lessened his burden, just as he prepared to take away your freedom.

He had only ever wanted to see you smile in the light of day, living freely, joyfully. He only ever wanted to protect you. And yet here he was — your savior, and now...your captor.

You didn’t know who he was, and yet you were trying. And the only thing he could offer you, in return for this choice you never really had, but tried to take as your own — the only thing he could whisper as he wiped your tears, eyes filled with immeasurable torment and deep sorrow...

"I’m sorry..."

And the tears kept falling, as your life

spun out of control, without meaning, without understanding...with this man who now embodied both hope — and threat.

Chapter Text

The tears had dried, and fatigue quickly wrapped around you, sleep dragging you away—if only briefly—from the surreal situation you still couldn't fully grasp. Was it because of a likely concussion that you made such a decision? Or was it fear… fear that if you'd refused, the man—Levi—wouldn't have given you a choice at all? A false choice… and it's already haunting you.

You already miss your life, and the tears keep falling, even in your sleep.

Upon your second awakening in this unknown place, the light remains unchanged—dim, soothing. No sounds in particular reach you. And your senses slowly return, especially the throbbing pain in your head, and a nausea that makes every position feel wrong.

As you attempt to move, barely, despite the weakness that still controls your limbs, the sound of a door opening draws your attention.

Your eyes, tired and heavy, lift instinctively toward the figure entering the room.

Somewhere, in the haze of your mind, you register that the door had been locked.

Levi, still dressed in black, walks toward you and sets down a tray on the nightstand—its contents catching your eye, and your worry. Beside a glass of water and what look like painkillers, a syringe and a small vial whose name you can’t decipher immediately spark alarm.

As Levi sits on the edge of the bed, your body instinctively inches away, as much as it can.

But he doesn’t react. He simply pours the water, silent, focused. Then he leans back against the headboard before turning to you again.

There’s not much you can do to stop him from getting closer. So when his arms gently slide around you to lift you, slowly, carefully, you can only let it happen, even as a cry of pain escapes your lips.

Everything hurts—your body aches, your head pounds with every movement. Sitting up, even supported, makes the nausea worse, and without thinking, you shake your head, as if to say you can’t bear it.

“Sshhh... just a bit...”

Levi’s voice is soft, soothing, as one hand draws slow circles against your side, the other lifting the glass.

Minimizing your movements, he raises your head back against his shoulder—eliciting another whimper from you that darkens his gaze.

Slowly, his hand finds your cheek, gently urging your mouth open. Firm, precise.

And then, carefully, he begins to pour the water in.

A trickle escapes the corner of your lips, sliding down your cheek, your throat. Your eyes can barely stay open.

Though his touch is gentle, and his only intention for now seems to be to hydrate you, the pain in your body is relentless.

The position you’re in—tilted into him, held tightly—feels wrong.

And for a second, something unreadable flickers behind Levi’s otherwise focused, solemn eyes.

When the glass is emptied and a pill administered along the way, he lays you back down with meticulous care, doing everything to minimize movement around your head.

Resting against the pillow again, your head still throbs, but the vertigo has eased—just enough to allow you to see the room more clearly.

But movement at your side draws your attention again.

Levi is busy with the vial and syringe.

Your body tenses on instinct.

What is in that vial? What does he intend to inject?

Fear roots itself inside you—because you know you can’t trust him.

Yes, he saved you from that other man. But he killed him.

And something in Levi’s affection, his attention, in the way his eyes linger—too intense, too unreadable—deeply unsettles you.

Not to mention the voice you overheard… didn’t it say he wanted you?

What did that even mean?

Sensing your movements in the corner of his vision, Levi turns to you after tapping the syringe, expelling a few drops and lifting your arm in a firm grip to place the needle against your skin.

You squirm harder, your arm trembling, trying weakly to pull away, soft whimpers escaping your lips.

You don’t want this injection—no matter what it is.

Your reaction only causes his grip to tighten.

Without a word, Levi sinks the needle into your arm, depressing the plunger to release its contents into your veins.

Watching the syringe empty, unable to escape, unable to make him stop, you feel the cold helplessness settle inside you.

Your protest—weak but real—means nothing. And the tears return.

Once the liquid is fully administered, Levi presses a cotton pad over the injection site, then a bandage, before gently lowering your arm again.

After placing the tools aside, he turns back to you, calm, composed.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be okay.”

But it doesn’t reassure you.

He sighs—and finally answers the question you didn’t dare to ask.

“It’s penicillin. I don’t want to risk your wound getting infected.”

Still, something feels off.

You know he’s lying. You just don’t know why.

He said you weren’t in danger, didn’t he?

Slowly, the sensation starts creeping in—you’re floating.

Your eyes fight to stay open.

Your breathing slows, your limbs grow heavy.

Levi’s face begins to blur.

You try to speak, but his hand brushes your cheek, gently catching your tears, and his fingers press against your lips to quiet you.

His gaze is the last thing you manage to focus on—intense, unreadable, meticulously watching every shift in you.

“Shh. It’ll be okay.”

Again that phrase, as if it’s supposed to calm you…

The sounds grow distant.

You’re losing your grip on consciousness.

Your eyelids close against your will, your head sinking deeper into the pillow.

Your body goes limp, mind barely lingering at the threshold—only partially awake, barely aware.

And you hear him murmur, still—

“You have to forget... it’s going to be okay... everything's going to be okay, Y/N...”

And as his voice cradles you, tender as a truth you never agreed to, numbed and fading, one thought loops in your mind like static:

How does he know your name?

Chapter Text

For several hours, your mind is rocked by waves of consciousness and unconsciousness, scattered with a few foggy bursts of clarity where echoes whisper that everything is fine. You can’t figure out what’s happening. Your body wants to move, needs to move. But you can’t. Your mind tries to cling to a raft to stay awake, but it’s swept away by every wave. You’re underwater, your vision blurry, your environment uncertain.

Even your thoughts are fuzzy. What were you thinking about? Who were you talking to? Where are you? Who are you? You don’t know… or maybe you do? Other waves carry you away into the depths of an abyssal ocean that only gets darker without end. No support, no way to escape. You’re drowning in that darkness that paralyzes your body, the water in your lungs keeping you from breathing. And somewhere you panic, unable to breathe. You try to move, again. You try to speak, to talk, to cry for help, again. In vain. Always. And that voice echoing keeps saying it’s going to be okay, that everything’s fine, as if it’s soothing you, an observer by your side. Everything’s fine? But you’re drowning… how could it possibly be fine? Yet another wave, a freezing and violent current, and you finally sink into the limbo of the ocean.

When your eyes find some clarity again, you’re in that strange and familiar room at once, in that dim and warm glow. Where are you again? What happened?

You try to move, but your body doesn’t cooperate. You feel like an enormous weight is pressing down on your body, nailing you in place. Even your eyelids are heavy, your mind foggy, but you’re conscious. At least, you think? Is this reality? What has your mind made up again? You don’t know… and you don’t know if you’re supposed to worry about it. Everything’s fine? It’s going to be okay? Where are these thoughts coming from? No idea. Something feels wrong, but what?

You? Yes… it’s true… you’re what’s wrong.

Is anything else off? Your instinct screams yes, your mind stays quiet and you… you’re just there, staring at the ceiling like it holds the truth of the world, the meaning of life. What a beautiful ceiling… that beige is warm. You’re warm. You feel good. So everything really is okay? The voice wasn’t lying? But… then… why is your instinct screaming that it’s not?

Oh… there’s movement. You’re not alone?

Your head turns toward the movement you think you noticed. And you see a shadow, a man, coming closer. Dressed in black, elegant and dangerously handsome in your eyes. Is this the angel of death? Are you going to die? You feel like that’s the case. You’re standing at the edge of a cliff between peace and the abyss.

The nameless shadow calmly comes closer before settling beside you. His silver eyes scan your every reaction while you just observe and breathe. This man feels familiar somehow… but how? And why? You stay silent, lost in your thoughts, as if he isn’t even there. The echo of the voice speaks to you and your eyes fall back on the man. So it was his voice?

“You need to eat something.”

Eat? Are you hungry? Slowly, he leans down to gently lift you and help you sit up. And in that movement, a flash of pain grabs you violently.

Hands on your body. Blood. Moans. Pain. A syringe. A voice that lies to you. A person who lies. A threat...

A THREAT.

Your head suddenly screams, the violence of your headache surging with brutal cruelty, and you’re not spared at all. Your instinct screams that you’re in danger, and in nausea and torment, in pain, you push the man away. The..the guy ...le..lee..lev… Lev… Lev… Your eyes snap open, the light suddenly too strong for your pupils, and the image both blurry and sharp.

Levi.

His name.

And he knows yours. You remember he knows your name. But not how. Nor who he is. Nor why you’re here. But the scream in your body and your mind twists in pain and your memory blurs with illusion. The danger is him. So you fight. He touched you. He’s the danger. He’s the one behind this pain… it’s him, isn’t it? He kidnapped you? Why? What’s going on?

“Let go of me!”

But it’s useless, he’s much stronger than you and struggling does nothing, only revives another flash of infernal helplessness as he grabs your wrist to inject something, saying that everything will be fine… Liar… Lies…

“Let go of me! Let go of me!”

But nothing works. You’re screaming now, and you scratch him, finally provoking another reaction from him. He overpowers you in a breath, grabbing your wrists in one hand, pinning you down to the mattress firmly with his strength and presence alone. And you’re paralyzed by his gaze. Cold. Sad. Hurt. And something else, something unknown. Affection? Annoyance? His eyebrows knit as your body keeps struggling pointlessly and you keep chanting your plea, begging him to let go, until his hand, gloved in black, presses against your mouth to shut you up.

“Tch. Shut up.”

But you still scream. And he tightens his grip on you, his voice rising slightly, a cold tone now replacing what once was so gentle toward you. Gentle?

“That’s enough.”

His frustration breaks through.

He clenches his jaw at your thrashing. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep this up… and your concussion is still a problem. But you don’t stop. And his frustration slips, grabbing something off the nightstand. With his teeth, he tears off a seal, a cap. As his teeth tear through a wrapper, you see the glint of the neddle. You don't have time to react, the information not really going into your mind, as he toss it somewhere, his eyes still focused on you.

Despite it all, cold sweat grip you. A fucking neddle, once again. And you can't do anything ! Why ? Why ?

“Shit.”

He growls again before stabilizing you and plunging the needle into your skin in haste, still careful not to hurt you, injecting yet another unknown substance into your veins. And you can only whimper as the liquid slides in again, right before your eyes.

"Not fucking now, fuck." He seems quite angry with your reaction, as if it wasn't what he was expecting.

He's fast and precise, doesn't even miss a beat with his movement, doesn't even spare you with mercy, as all you can do is cry, helpless, as the liquide slide in.

His gloved hands slowly release you of their shackles as your movements grow sluggish then vanish completely, your body too heavy to resist, and your voice dying once again.

Everything blurs, and once again, all you see is his sad gaze. Frustrated. At himself or at you, you don’t know. You hear him grumble a frustrated “not right now" as his gloved hand brushes away the strands of hair from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear.

You try to hold his gaze and find an answer to a question you can’t even form in your mind, but you drown again. And again, everything turns to black.

All over again.

Chapter Text

A few hours... or maybe you don't know when, but you wake up. Still in that dim light. Alone in that beige room, with few pieces of furniture and a window hidden behind a dark brown curtain. You can see properly, you can hear too. You know your thoughts are still blurry. You still don’t know where you are. You’re aware that you don’t know where you are, and you have no idea why you feel so lost. Your head hurts like hell and you’re thirsty. Terribly thirsty.

So, annoyed and driven by your thirst, you finally get up and go to one of the two doors. The first one, which, logically, should lead outside this room in one way or another, remains unyielding despite your desperate attempts to open it. Locked. So, you’re trapped in an unknown room, in an unknown place, by an unknown person with unknown intentions. Way too many unknowns for your liking.

At least the second door doesn’t resist you, opening onto a simple bathroom. Bare, it doesn’t seem very equipped. Sanitary facilities, soap, a few care products, and that’s it. Something knocks inside your head that there are no sharp or dangerous objects around. Why does that bother you? Good question. Probably one that’ll remain unanswered. Your attention is solely on the tap, grabbing the glass at your disposal to drink as much water as possible to soothe your throat.

And once your throat is soothed, you find yourself lost in front of the mirror. You don’t know what’s going on, you don’t know what to do, and your head still hurts just as bad. In your reflection, you see the bandage on your forehead and your hand instinctively rests on it, triggering a sudden sharp pain, flashes vibrating behind your eyelids. Sensations, voices, and a violent nausea that makes you rush to the toilet to vomit. But the sensation doesn’t fade, your body rejects everything. Events you don’t remember, but not only that. Something inside your body, a liquid, and your body wants it out. Your head wants to get rid of it. And that awful sensation of being touched by something repulsive. You already know what it is. You've already been touched, and it disgusts you to your core. Your body disgusts you, the sensation makes you even sicker and you keep rejecting the nonexistent contents of your stomach, in tears. Fucking hell, what the hell happened? You can only collapse against the toilet, gripping it desperately, with no escape from the chaos overwhelming you. Something’s wrong in your head and it pisses you off, it hurts. You forgot, you’re confused and your mind is fighting against it all. You’re sick with rage, and it’s making you physically ill. Everything makes you sick.

Grinding your teeth, choosing the only thing still under your control, you punch the wall until your fist bleeds, then throw the bathroom supplies around. You resist the urge to shatter the mirror, your reflection becoming unbearable, but you don’t stop yourself from smashing the shower glass with a chair. Again and again, until it shatters into pieces.

Why? Why all of this? Why you? But fuck, what’s happening to you?

You don’t even recognize yourself. That hatred, that pain, that disgust. Exhaustion takes hold of you at the same time the pain in your head stabs again, even more brutally, forcing you to your knees. Black spots dance before your eyes, your breath is erratic. You can’t breathe... and you just pass out in the middle of shattered glass.

You snap out of your torpor with a start, still lying in the debris of the bathroom. Lost... your thoughts are empty. Nothing left. No echo, no question. Complete void.

You notice it’s night outside and you approach the window, your body on autopilot. You try to open it, but it’s stuck. You try the one in the bedroom, same thing. No way out, huh?

Your head... your head still hurts and the nausea hasn’t left. You drink some water, forcing yourself to push down the nausea as best you can, heading to the bed. You have nothing else to do but stare at the ceiling, which vaguely brings back a stupid memory where you thought the ceiling was beautiful. Where the hell did that dumb idea come from? It’s just a ceiling!

A click draws your attention to your left, that infamous locked door being unlocked. And in that moment, you don’t want it to open and you panic inside. Your breathing quickens and you don’t move. Anyway, in your state, you can’t move.

A man enters the room slowly, dressed in black, with black leather gloves. His hair is a precisely styled undercut, jet-black, reminding you of something and your brows furrow under the weight of faint flashbacks. Tormented, you know you’ve seen him before, but where? He’s connected to all this… besides obviously being your captor.

Seeing your crumpled form on the bed, but fully awake, and the disastrous state of the bathroom visible through the slightly open door, the man frowns. He locks the door again, places a tray on a dresser near the room’s entrance before taking the chair you used to smash the shower glass and dragging it to the edge of the bed. All in heavy silence. An unpleasant feeling washes over you as you watch him. His lack of reaction worries you. Always beware of still waters.

Once the chair is in place, he sits with the grace of a panther, setting his gaze on you. Silver eyes, emotionless, cold, directly aimed at you. He seems in control, yet you sense other things veiled behind his gaze. Has he ever been affectionate? Where does that memory come from?

“I didn’t expect you to wake up now.”

His voice echoes in your head, low and measured, factual with a hint of frustration at yet another unexpected event, and you know you recognize that voice that told you countless times to calm down, that everything would be fine… but also filled with frustration at your rejection. And somehow, you know that originally, you knew why you were here. Because you remember something strangely clear. “I’m sorry.” That’s what that voice said. The first memory you have of it. So you just furrow your brow at him, searching for answers in the void of his eyes that won’t leave yours. No, he’s scrutinizing you in every detail. Your breathing, your eyelid movements—nothing escapes him.

With a sigh, he finally closes his eyes and reaches toward the nightstand, toward a syringe and a vial.

“Not yet…”

A frustrated murmur escapes him as he fills the syringe again, except this time, as he approaches you, your arm suddenly lashes out, knocking the syringe aside and sending the vial crashing to the ground in a thousand pieces. The man’s eyes barely have time to widen before his body immediately reacts to pin you against the mattress. The syringe slipped from his hands now lies on the floor. Too focused on restraining you—yet another unexpected event—and the fact that you can move, he doesn’t pay attention to your leg, more precisely your foot, crushing the syringe. The pain is real, but your body reacts instinctively. You need to get rid of that thing, that’s all your instincts scream. It’s the only reason your body moves of its own will, against the brute force facing you and terrifying you.

At the sound of the syringe cracking then shattering under your weight, the man straightens up and struggles to suppress a curse, tightening his grip on you.

“Shit.”

His jaw clenches as he focuses on finding a solution to some problem—probably you. And you just stare at him, terrified, yet holding your ground, determined not to be guided by fear. Your instinct shows him as a threat, a stranger, and you have this strange impression that he doesn’t fundamentally want to hurt you. Though right now, his grip does hurt. Were the bruises on your skin from him? You’d vaguely seen them in the mirror…

Fixing his icy gaze on you again, the man can only grow more annoyed by so many unexpected twists.

“It would’ve been better if you could’ve stayed out of it…”

You just stare at him in silence. It’s not like you understand what he’s talking about.

“You really want to make things stupidly difficult, don’t you?”

His grip tightens even more, if that’s possible, and a moan of pain escapes you. However, instead of loosening up, he keeps squeezing.

“You’re putting us in a complicated situation, Y/N.”

His head lowers and his lips brush your ear, causing cold sweat and trembling all over your body.

“Stay still and be a good girl, it’ll be better for both of us.”

When he rises, you don’t even have time to process what’s happening before he chains you to the headboard with leather cuffs you hadn’t even noticed until then. You try in vain to pull on them, but nothing works. Your fear and frustration mix and you can only break out of your withdrawn state just enough to try to understand at least what’s happening to you.

“What do you want from me? Let me fucking go, you bastard ! What the fuck is wrong with you ? Where the hell am I ?”

Beyond a brief raise of his eyebrows, the man simply straightens up and reaches a hand toward you. The leather grazes your skin, cold and burning at the same time as he catches your tears like treasure. Something dark gleams in his eyes.

“This is better.”

What? You open your mouth to protest, but his hand prevents any sound from escaping as he muzzles you with his palm, firmly.

“Don’t be afraid… it’s going to be fine.”

He leans closer, placing his lips on his hand as if kissing you through his grip.

“Everything can finally begin, my Y/N…”

His voice carries promises that make you tremble in terror, as you feel his deep obsession with you. You feel uncomfortable, completely at his mercy, while somewhere in your mind someone laments that this person didn’t seem to want to hurt you. Is that a lie? Tears gather at the corners of your eyes as the man shifts his lips to your forehead, his hand still over your mouth.

“Be still, no one will disturb us anymore.”

And you’re just perplexed, desperate, and helpless, while he remains close to you, his heat burning your skin through your clothes and his breath mixing with yours. His eyes hold a possessive gleam you can’t understand, you don’t know what awaits you, and you don’t want to know. Gently, he simply whispers a few words, a dark, soft smile on his face.

“Sleep, my sweet Y/N.”

A prick.

And then complete darkness.

Chapter Text

A tiring habit. That’s the impression you get when your eyes open once again to that familiar ceiling, in this familiar room. Your head still throbs and your thoughts swim in fog. But you remember the night before, even feeling the bruises on your skin where his grip was too tight. Not to mention the chains restraining you above your head. Leather might be more comfortable than iron handcuffs, but it’s far from pleasant.

How long has it been? An hour, at least, staring at the ceiling? If you counted right? You’re bored and irritated. Your memories of everything are inconsistent, making you uneasy, wrenching every fiber of your body to move—even though it hurts. But you can’t move, which drastically amplifies your frustration. And he isn’t even here—though honestly, you don’t really want to see him… That kiss… if you can even call it a kiss… and those words—they unsettled you, to say the least.

Something in your mind whispers that he didn’t want to hurt you, yet he brutally subdued you and injected you with that unknown liquid—probably a drug which, you hope, won’t be too addictive, because you don’t want to become dependent against your will. Enough is happening to you against your will right now. And besides, your mind keeps looping that you know who he is and why you’re here. The glaring mismatch between what your head tells you and the events causes a fresh pain in your skull. And that sudden affection, sprung from nowhere, clashing with his psychotic behavior and baffling words. Alone? Begin? It’s supposed to be okay? Bullshit it’s okay! Nothing is okay, damn it!

Aggravated again, your foot bangs against the bedpost as you tug harder on your restraints—which don’t budge. The clink of the chain angers you. This mess pisses you off because everything’s slipping away. This isn’t you—it doesn’t resemble you.

And all those images of some guy touching you? Was it him or not? If not him, then who? What happened? All you can do is grit your teeth while staring at that stupid beige ceiling. From softness to fear to anger, you cycle through every emotion, clinging fiercely to your frustration. You’re not usually someone who gets angry… well, except in passing. You’re relatively calm and understanding—but this is infuriating.

You, who finally had your life together—connections, a job, the whole deal—you who fought so hard for all this, everything, absolutely everything has been taken from you, and you don’t even know why! You’re no child, and you shouldn’t be tied up in some god-forsaken room for some arbitrary reason. You have a job to go to. A family to update. Outings to attend… damn it, you have a life! Well… you had.

Stopping your struggle, you fix your gaze on the ceiling again, deeply unsettled by another problem you hadn’t considered.

You want to leave and go home… but… where? Who are your friends? Your family? Where do you even live? In the city… somewhere downtown… but… it’s hazy. You know the faces you see, you assign them to friend, family, coworker roles—but right now you can’t recall their names. You picture your apartment and belongings, but scenes don’t match. You confuse your childhood bedroom with your current one. Your world has no rhyme or reason. You’re stunned by your total lack of self-control and the profound flaw in your memory. This void and fuzziness terrify you.

And of course, at that moment of realization, the door opens to your captor, toward whom you don’t even turn. Another key click, a tray and other noises, light, determined footsteps approaching… you couldn’t care less. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll leave you alone? Unlikely. But since he put you in this incomprehensible situation, you don’t intend to think about him any more. You owe him nothing but trouble.

So when the chair by the bed creaks under his weight, and the movement of fabric signals he’s seated himself comfortably beside you. You glimpse him from the corner of your eye—still dressed in black and calm, at least outwardly. What does he want now?

“Awake?”

Yes, genius, I’m staring up with my eyes open but i'm not awake. Sleeping awake has become your new favorite pastime. You already feel anger rising, deepening the ache in your skull. Just let me go and leave me the hell alone…

Faced with your silence, he straightens and snaps his fingers in front of your eyes, earning a frown from you. What does he think you are? An animal?

“Awake, indeed.”

He says it like you’ve been lying there with your eyes open all along, but sleeping? Or rather outside your normal state, given he’s drugging you… Maybe you have been “asleep” with your eyes open. If hallucinating and being out of touch due to substances can count as sleeping. You’ve likely drifted through bouts of hallucinated wakefulness and unconsciousness. Fuck…

“I’ll untie you. I suggest you avoid any unnecessary stupidity.”

Your jaw tightens. You’re fed up with the way he talks to you. Not that you can do much about it since he has every means to restrain you—so you can’t make him retract his words. So you don’t move, gnawing on your internal rage for an outlet to finally release the pressure.

Your restraints drop, along with your arms, and you don’t even move to ease your wrists. No. He does. You ignore him. His gloved hands gently massage your wrists, and you still see from your peripheral vision that he seems almost saddened by the sight of your wrists, irritated by the leather. It’s his fault they’re like that—he has no right to make a sorrowful show of it. But, once again, you stay silent. His touch is unwelcome, and you restrain yourself from making a sudden move in the hope of shedding his presence.

“Alright… let’s try again.”

And it’s with that sigh that you don’t understand that you feel his arms slip around you, lifting you close as he stands to sit on the edge of the bed. Your head slams violently with the motion and your hands claw at him instinctively—both to free yourself and to stop your head from hurting. You don’t want to move. Moving hurts. Damn it!

“Tch. Still not…”

Yet despite his words, he doesn’t release you and keeps a firm hold, grabbing something from the table. And this time, fearing it’ll be another syringe, you struggle with as much strength as you’ve got and strike him in the shoulder. It’s ineffective, and there’s nothing to do as he simply tightens his arm to pin you to him.

“Sssh, calm down.”

Then, without warning, he raises an arm to grip the back of your neck and tilt your head back, forcing your mouth open while his fingers place a tablet that dissolves on your tongue. In that brief but excruciatingly long moment, your eyes meet his—gray, mysterious, unreachable. Not that you intended to reach them… perhaps? In any case, his gaze stays focused on the pill, his thumb pressing on your tongue as a wild glint darkens his eyes. A sexual predator… just your luck.

You try to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. It’s impossible to do anything in this disturbing situation. If anything, it only encourages him to hold tighter, to hold you more firmly as his breath deepens, his pupils dilating.

He enjoys it. He takes pleasure in your defiance.

Realizing that, you freeze. How do you get rid of someone who feeds off your resistance? It’s a terrible match. You’re uncontrollable, and your lack of control makes you defiant and angry. If it weren’t for this recurring pain in your head and those blurry flashes swirling in your mind, you’d be thrashing like a devil to free yourself and strike him.

Slowly, his thumb releases your tongue and you can finally close your mouth, while his fingers trace your lips before tucking some strands of hair behind your ear. You still don’t move as he seems caught in the moment—passionate, hypnotized by his thoughts.

It’s only when his fingers brush your forehead and you furrow your brow with a groan of pain that he comes out of his trance, frowning himself. His jaw tenses, before he leans in to lay you back on the bed. And as he stands, you think you read anger somewhere—either at what’s on your forehead or self-directed. Is it his obsession manifesting, or whatever’s on your forehead—the origin of your pain—that sparked his inner anger?

You can’t explore that question—simply because he moves again toward the nightstand to grab water this time, lifting your head, not without a painful protest from you as he makes you drink sweetened water. Did he put a drug in it? You can’t even spit it out. Your body is thirsty, and you’d choke more than anything otherwise. God, letting him do whatever he wants with you frustrates you—especially because it makes you realize how helpless you are. Not only are you incapable of resisting him by force, but your physical state simply doesn’t allow it. Whatever the cause, this state renders you unable to react to stimuli around you—no matter how much you suspect the drug in your veins hinders your responses. Your head pain is truly debilitating no matter how you frame the problem.

“Let... let me...”

You protest as he holds your head and inspects your forehead. You feel nauseous. You need him to release you. Flashes return before your eyes, and your head spins. You feel really bad. Thinking and realizing everything happening to you only exacerbates it… he has to let go… please let go.

But he frowns at your reaction, his hand grip painful, adding yet another ache to your skull, eliciting a quiet cry as your hands try in vain to push him back. Too close… he’s too close… his attention makes you uneasy, and the nausea is unbearable. You need to get up… and fast.

“Stop moving, you’re only making things worse.”

He grits his teeth as he speaks, but you shake your head as best you can in his hold. You need to get up… damn, it hurts so much... the room’s spinning… it’s blurry...

Your fists clench and begin pounding his torso.

“Need… get up… fast… let… me…”

His frown lightens suddenly, as if he realizes something, his grip vanishing furtively, to swiftly lift you out of bed in a strangely fluid motion. You can only slump in his arms, arms dangling, head against his shoulder, eyes fixed on the floor during the few steps that lead to the bathroom. It’s tidy…? Why does your head dwell on that?

He keeps you close as he lets you lean over and clutch the toilet to vomit. Your body spasms, contorted by waves convulsing, expelling all the water he gave you, and the medication along with it. Tears fall, your throat burns, and you struggle to breathe under the violence of the moment—your body groaning in pain, your head screaming agonizingly. It’s continuous suffering, and you truly believe you’re going to die. The only thing anchoring you to reality are the arms around you and the hand stroking your back to calm you. As if it’s not the first time your body has reacted this way... and when your body finally stops and you struggle for breath, a voice deep inside finds that touch and motion strangely comforting.

Your last strength fails, and it’s his arms that keep you from falling face-first to the floor, maneuvering you against him, your head moving like a doll on his shoulder. He’s firm as he lifts you again—not directly to the bed, but to the shower. You can’t do anything anyway. So in silence, you can only let him act as he positions you under the running water while holding you. Surprisingly, the water is warm and heats quickly. You’ve escaped an icy shower. Or maybe you’re too out of it to sense the water’s temperature? Ah… it's almost soothing to feel the warm water on your head. Your eyes struggle to stay open and you let them close. You feel so calm… it’s so calm.

Seconds… minutes… that’s all you need. Rest…

“Hey! Stay with me.”

The voice disturbs you, your head tilting toward his worried face.

“Oi. Don’t fall asleep, Y/N. This isn’t the time.”

That worried look… noises like a bar or nightclub… dancing lights… something familiar…? No… not him. Something else?

“Lev…”

You murmur the start of a name. His? The situation reminds you of something… but what? Your thoughts twist, memories merging into one another, confusing voices, sounds and sensations, while his gray eyes hypnotize you. They shine with a bluish glint…?

“Levi...”

His breath halts for a moment, his hand desperately trying to hold your attention, brows permanently furrowed in concern. He’s worried…?

“Stay with me, Y/N. Come on...”

But nothing works. Your vision blurs. You feel like you’re seeing someone else.

“Y/N… resist. Please, resist.”

Is he begging you? Your clothes cling to your skin. The water is warm, his body hot despite the layers separating you, and you… your body is heavy, senses completely scattered, drifting with the water. Worried… you’ve seen that worry… no?… yes?… but where…?

Your lips murmur something indistinct, like a word you’re trying to grasp but can’t.

“Seen… I’ve seen you before…? Somewhere… Lev..i..”

He freezes, then speaks your name.

But your mind sinks into darkness, unseen the surprise on his face forming, his breath halting, lips parting, as if what you just uttered triggered something, an unexpected hope becoming reality. A reality that crumbles before his eyes as your eyelids descend.

Back into complete blackness.

Chapter Text

Dark and painful. These are your first thoughts.

Your eyelids are shut and refuse to open. Your head still hurts just as much and the nausea is lingering. You're exhausted and fully awake at the same time. Other blurry flashes nest under your eyelids and you can't chase them away. No matter how much you whimper, no matter how your body jolts with occasional spasms in your vain attempt to escape the flood, you can't get rid of it. Why..?

In the background, you hear movement around you. The man is there, you can feel it. Does he know you're awake? You doubt it. But he's there beside you. You just know it. And it feels like his gloved fingers are drawing circles on your forearm and that his voice tries to soothe you whenever you moan in pain. He's taking care of you..? Why are you like this? What’s wrong with you? The pain and confusion bring tears to the corners of your eyes, icy drops that slowly roll down your cheeks and are carefully wiped away by the man at your side.

“Ssh, Y/N… it’s going to be okay…”

But even though he says that, your condition doesn’t improve. You can hear the worry in his voice. You have no idea how long you’ve been stuck in this painful in-between state, but he knows. You’re strongly convinced that it’s been far longer than you could ever imagine...and that’s not a good sign. Your head took a hit…? A violent one, apparently. Is he responsible for that hit? Still the same unanswered question.

You feel something pressing against your skin along your forearm, and you register that it’s a needle. Is he going to drug you again while you're like this?

“Nh…no..please…”

Your voice barely manages to come out despite the heaviness of your body and the intense pain pinning you down. The movement stops briefly, before resuming, accompanied by words.

“You need it.”

Need it? The drug? No...! You don’t want to be drugged…not again…everything's already so blurry. Isn’t it enough for him? You’re already powerless, for fuck’s sake! Your anger and fear intensify your tears as you hear him press the plunger more than you feel it. You brace yourself to fall back into the deep blackness in terror—but it doesn’t come. Vaguely, you sense that something changes, without quite knowing what. You’re still conscious, at least. Should you be glad for that?

“This should take effect for a few hours…”

Take effect for a few hours? Not in a few hours? Is he trying to buy time? For what?

While your senses start fading but your mind remains clear, everything falls into place and you finally understand something. A painkiller. He gave you a painkiller.

That’s… strangely “generous” of him? In a way, you know deep down he’s been doing this for a while. He hasn’t just been drugging you. He’s been trying to treat whatever causes your pain, as best as he can given your situation—whatever it is. And he stays by your side for hours when he could very well just walk away. But he could also take you to a hospital or call a doctor… which he doesn’t. His actions contradict themselves. His hands caress you tenderly and his voice lulls you gently, while at the same time he’s perfectly capable of imprisoning you in his arms and relishing every attempt you make to resist. You don’t know what he’s after and it’s completely throwing you off. Yet, you’re aware of one fixed point, one and only fixed point: him. He’s the only stable variable in your shifts between consciousness and unconsciousness. He’s at least partially responsible due to the drug, but he’s there. Every time. The only anchor point, outside of this room you’re in. Even if the reason you’re here is blurry, even if his reasons and even his identity are unclear to you, he’s the only thing right now that reminds you that you’re alive and not dreaming. That you’re not going crazy. Whether it’s through his unwanted touch or his voice, you feel this is reality. When he’s gone… you’re kind of gone too. Why do you think like that? Another question added to your undefined board…

“Cold..”

You spoke without realizing it. Does that happen to you often? Still, you notice that your body reacted instinctively again, saying just enough for him to react and intervene. Which he does immediately, with a swish of fabric, a weight settling on the bed beside you, and arms wrapping around you. You don’t want his embrace, but you’re forced into it… and more importantly, it works. Your body warms at his contact. So simple and yet so complicated… he’s caring toward you… but that doesn’t make it normal. Nothing about this is normal.

“Why..?”

Only silence answers at first, before a simple response presents itself before you like an inevitable truth for the voice that utters it.

“To protect you.”

He seems to be following your train of thought far more closely than you do… it’s… terrifying. But once again, it’s also a comforting anchor. There’s continuity in all this, and he’s the thread that holds it for you. And God knows how tightly you’re clinging to that thread, even if it terrifies and disgusts you in some way, it’s your only lifeline.

Yet more tears stream down your cheeks as you shift slightly in his arms, causing him to react, almost compelled, tightening his grip to immobilize you, lying down with your head resting on the pillow next to his.

“Don’t move.”

But you need to move… something inside you wants to move. No… not again, a wave of nausea? Not now…

“Ng..nausea…”

You feel him clench his jaw when you say those words. You don’t know why, but you feel it.

“It’ll pass.”

It’s like he wants to make those words real, to turn them into truth. And you wish your body would listen and calm down, for it to pass like he says. But no. And your body stirs even more, disturbed by the growing nausea. Are you reacting badly to the painkiller? Or is it just a consequence of your head injury? Injury?

He tightens his arms a bit too much, his head nuzzling against your neck, his breath trembling.

“It’ll pass… it’ll pass.”

He murmurs that litany like a desperate prayer. How many times has he begged for it to pass? It’s as if your condition physically hurts him. It makes no sense.

The nausea rises and you whimper, shaking your head against the pillow trying to escape the unpleasant sensation. But all you do is trigger violent dizziness that helps the nausea find its way.

“Not… gonna…'s... not… pass…”

You struggle to get the words out, but he reacts instantly, despite his shaky breathing. He lifts you against him without a word, heading toward the bathroom again. He even helps you move, since your eyes can barely crack open. You’re so weak…

Again, your body rejects the little it had, and you can’t stop it—nor can he… and you cry. You cry because you’re at your limit…

“Make it stop… please…”

You end up begging him to end it, resulting in his grip tightening more, desperately trying to soothe, to comfort, to calm you… but you can’t take it anymore. You’re trembling, exhausted, depleted. You need him. You need him to act… for you…

“I beg you...please… Levi…”

His name slips from your trembling lips without thinking, freezing him in place. His head drops against your shoulder, his jaw clenched… you can even feel his eyebrows furrowing in pain. Is he hurting for you…? Your state pains him… and so do your words.

“No… no. I can’t.”

If his words were fragile and barely audible at first, they grow firmer, more resolved.

“It’ll pass.”

Final. As if it’s the only possible ending. And all you can do is cry in his arms, held tightly, shaken by pain and a body trembling from sheer weakness. Too weak.

“Please…”

But he doesn’t budge, tightening his arms around you even more, unable to even rock you for fear of triggering another wave of nausea.

“No.”

His voice is cold when he says that word, like he’s seeing something horrifying and refuses to let it happen, compelled to act. His reaction is to get up with you, gently wash your face, then bring you back to the bedroom and rummage through a drawer beside you. He’s looking for another solution. You just keep crying, and then you feel another needle in your arm, his voice whispering a plea into the silence you probably weren’t meant to hear.

“Please work...please make it work…it has to work.”

He’s just as desperate as you. And you cry even harder, desperate for both of you. He’s trying everything to heal you, there’s nothing you can do, and he’s relentless… the only word you can offer him as a solution is the one thing he should’ve done from the start.

“Hospital...”

His movement freezes, the needle still in your arm, before his fingers clench on you like a vice.

“No way.”

What? Why? You shake your head slightly, eyes half-open to look at him, even blurry, trying to show your confusion. Why is he refusing the obvious? You need a hospital. He can’t fix this. And in his eyes, you can see that he knows it just as well as you do. And yet, you also see the unshakable resolve in his will to keep you here, as if the hospital were a danger to be avoided. Probably because he kidnapped you, right?

He doesn’t respond to your motion, thinking, not even loosening his painful grip or removing the needle. Then a dangerous glint dances in his eyes.

“It’ll be fine. I know what I have to do.”

What he has to do?

He injects this new unknown substance… probably not recommended in your condition. Isn’t it dangerous to mix drugs? Unless it’s the same one? Something tells you it is—but with a different dosage. But if your body’s rejecting it, why continue?

He leans over you, after bandaging the injection site, kissing your hair gently, with infinite care not to touch your wound.

“A few hours. Just give me a few hours.”

It’s not like you have a choice…

You feel him get up and leave the room, leaving a coldness behind, while you stay in that pitiful state, exhausted and weak, yet unable to sleep because of the pain. Maybe you’ll pass out from it eventually? But how long will it take?

Your mind drifts in the haze, waiting for his warmth to return to the room… or for you to lose consciousness. Either way, you pray it happens quickly.

A few hours—that’s exactly what it turns out to be. You haven’t counted, but it really feels like it’s been hours. The pain that had stalled is rising again. So is the nausea. Let him come back quickly… whatever solution he brings, even death, you’d welcome it with open arms.

You hear the click of the lock, odd since you’re not even in a state to stand or properly open your eyes, and the door swings open hard, slamming against the wall. This time, no closing the door—just quick steps toward you.

Cold is placed on your forehead, something is poured into your mouth, and strangely, your pain eases. You feel a tourniquet on your arm, then a touch searching for your veins before a blood draw is done. He has medical skills? You can’t even open your eyes to see if it’s him or to watch him work. You just let out a weak moan, biting your lips a little. The needle leaves your arm and a gloved hand—his, you’re sure now—rests gently on your shoulder.

“Soon. I promise.”

What’s going to happen soon? Will the blood test actually help anything? You have a concussion… and the drug didn’t help at all. He can’t actually assess the damage of the impact you suffered. Somewhere deep down, you know a medical opinion is necessary and that you need to be lucid, but the drug has dulled your reactions.

Before you can even try to whisper anything, he’s already left the room again, locking the door behind him. How much longer will you have to wait?

When he comes back, he administers something again, silent. You know it's him once more because of his gloved hands… but also because you can hear his erratic breathing, as if he had been running. What did he do?

In any case, it seems that whatever he did is working. You have absolutely no idea what he’s done—outside, or even in terms of what he’s been giving you over and over again—but strangely, the nausea finally settles. Are you dying?

You feel his burning breath against your face as his hands rest on your cheeks. You know he’s watching you, closely monitoring your state and its evolution, whatever it may be. And for a few minutes, he does nothing else, until his breathing finally begins to calm.

“It’s okay… it’s over.”

Words he seals by pressing his lips to your forehead. And for once, his affection is almost welcome. You've been alone for hours, in pain, while he’s been struggling, trying things… and finally, the pain eases. Whether he’s killing you or has actually found a way to relieve your suffering, you accept what he’s offering with calm. It’s a strange kind of comfort, but it works. So much so that, a few minutes later, when the nausea is well and truly gone, you're able to open your eyes while he’s still leaning over you, his hands still placed on your cheeks, his lips still resting on your forehead in a silent, relieved prayer. And just the movement of your eyelids is enough for him to realize that you can finally respond, even if just a little.

He straightens up just enough for his eyes to drown in yours. Bluish grey. That strange and captivating color…

He exhales, relieved, before gently helping you sit up. You’re not sure it’s the right move, but when you see the glass of water on the bedside table and some biscuits to ease your hunger, you can’t deny that the idea of nourishing your exhausted body seems like a good step toward healing. So you don’t resist his gestures to help you eat slowly, even when his hand wipes away a drop of water running down your cheek, even when you cough a little, your throat irritated, and he massages the back of your neck to soothe you.

Unfortunately, sitting up wasn’t the best idea, and you both knew it. Your body needed food, but it’s still not strong enough to stay upright. So when the dizziness returns, when the pain comes back, you’re not surprised, and you don’t even resist as it pulls you back into his arms, instinctively wrapped around you, holding you tight.

“It’s going to be okay now.”

He doesn’t even ask you to resist this time… what’s changed? You let your head fall back against his shoulder, even though it’s not a good idea, just to dive into his gaze. Your breathing is slow, painful.

“Why… why do you even care about me…? No one ever cared… about me…”

“Because it’s you.”

He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world… an absolute truth you see in his serious eyes… so serious… a silver ocean with sapphire glints…

You collapse fully against him, exhausted and overwhelmed by the pain clouding your senses. So much attention in his eyes. A possessive obsession… why all this?... why you…? If only you understood… have you ever seen…?

A flash of sadness and understanding in a silver sea with bluish glimmers. That’s the only thing you remember before you pass out again. Darkness has become such a dangerously cold, comforting friend.

Chapter Text

An improvement in your condition followed in the days after that torture. Levi didn’t drug you again, fully aware that it only worsened your state and prevented the real symptoms of your concussion from expressing themselves. You have no idea what he did, or how he even knew what to do to help you. You just know that he’s there, and that the medication soothes you.

It’s not perfect. You still get dizzy and nauseous, that discomfort at certain moments, no matter what you do or how you position yourself in that bed turned into your sanctuary. You’re struggling to eat. And your head hurts when you get up. Not to mention the fatigue and overall weakness you feel, no matter how hard you try to regain strength. The blow you took to the head… no matter by whom… has hurt you deeply. And the frustration of being so weak and having to rely on this stranger, who’s become your anchor in this senseless world, is in no way a barrier to all the feelings bouncing around inside of you.

It had to explode eventually.

After yet another day in this weak state, maybe a week in, still exhausted and sick, you snap. A kick to the bed frame doesn’t do it. Gritting your teeth neither. Especially with the chain around your ankle and that stupid locked door, along with the equally shut windows. You stew in your head and you’re bored. You sleep and weaken even more, surrounded by someone you don’t understand, who seems to appreciate who you are without you knowing why, who seems to know you from somewhere you can’t remember, and who takes some strange pleasure in watching you rebel against him… that’s how you’ve figured him out. Even in your blurry state, that’s how you see him. To the point that you almost disgust yourself for that absurd urge you sometimes get to wait for his presence beside you, to want to feel his gloved hands calming and helping you. Even though he’s the one responsible for all this, directly or indirectly. If you’re here, it’s because of him. Not thanks to him. Whether he’s the one who attacked you or not, you’re not even trying to understand anymore. You’re just angry. Truly.

And another factor is messing with your state of mind. Your medication. You’re on treatment for psychological disorders, and it’s been a long time since you last took anything. The withdrawal symptoms might’ve been masked by the drugs or the miserable state you were in up until now — not that this one’s much better — but they’re showing up more and more.

Loss of balance, hot flashes, constant irritability, loss of appetite, bursts of rage… you can’t take it anymore.

So you get up abruptly, reawakening the pain in your head, your brain injury only one more reason fueling your anger, and you start pulling at the chain around your ankle. Just to loosen the links.

You fail, and you hit the bed, the frame, then throw your pillow across the room.

Given the noise, if Levi were here — that stranger who feels both alien and familiar — he would’ve already come in to hold you, to trap you in his arms until you calmed down. He did that two days ago, and you ended up in tears, fighting him off in vain until your nerves broke and you screamed in a deep sob.

You take advantage of his absence to shove the dresser near the door, trying to tip it over for several minutes before succeeding. The thing crashes loudly against the floor, the bedside lamp’s bulb shattering into pieces.

Good, now you’ve barricaded yourself in. A real prison! But that’s not enough. You already tried throwing a chair at the window, but it didn’t work. So you smash it repeatedly against a wall. It looks like it’s scratching the paint, maybe even damaging the wall itself… in any case, when its legs break, your hands suffer the direct consequence: splinters. A pained squeak escapes you, and you throw the damn chair toward the bed — or what’s left of it — and you look at your hands in hatred, as if a cold glare could destroy the splinters.

You hate splinters. They’re a curse, annoying to remove, overall unbearable.

So, out of breath, you head to the bathroom, your brief burst of energy and rage already fading to make room for utter, complete exhaustion, borderline unconsciousness as your vision starts to blur. Still, you manage to rummage through the bathroom cabinet and find a pair of tweezers. Somewhere, you hear a thud, like someone trying to open the door and hitting the dresser. But you don’t care, you keep trying to pull the splinters out, without success. It even feels like you’re pushing them deeper, which only frustrates you more. You bleed a bit, too — and hands bleed a lot… black spots start dancing in front of your eyes, a voice shouting and fists banging on the bedroom door in the background… and those tweezers on your skin… you’re starting to sway. Another blackout coming? You’re so done with all this mess.

Gritting your teeth, with the last bit of strength you have, you throw the tweezers against the wall in front of you and scream, collapsing to the ground. You’d like to grab your hair and rip it out, but with the splinters, you can’t. So you curl against the floor, trembling to the rhythm of sobs more violent than ever, crying out again and again. You’re fed up. You’ve had enough. You want it to stop. God, you want it to fucking stop.

You stay frozen in that state so long that you don’t hear the bedroom door breaking after repeated blows from the outside, or the sound of footsteps rushing toward you, arms encircling you in a blink, trying to rock you as you scream even louder. You want him to let go. You want him to be there. You want him to vanish. You want him to stay for good.

You scream again and again, tears pouring endlessly down your cheeks, your breath short. Black dots still dance in front of your blurry vision. But all you can do is cry, again and again. And in a mantra, you shout the worst insults at Levi, calling him every name in the book, from kidnapper to bastard, spewing all kinds of horrors, screaming at him to leave you alone, to let you go. And all you get in response is silence — or a voice whispering that everything’s fine, that it’s going to be okay, that this will pass, that it’s just a rough patch because of your meds — along with arms tightening painfully around you, so tightly you can already feel the bruises forming on your skin… that is, if you were even conscious enough to feel them.

At some point, you stop moving, your body completely drained of any strength as you’re held only by Levi’s crushing embrace. Your throat burns, your eyes too. You stare at the blurry tiles, the nausea growing stronger, yet your awareness strangely holding on.

A flash snaps in your head, sharp and blinding white, like a memory violently resurfacing. Quick and blurry, you don’t even have the time to grasp what it was.

But the sensation repeats, this time with sounds and images just as vague.

Music blasting too loud, voices all around you, tiled floor beneath your eyes, an awful wave of nausea and a lack of awareness, like you were drugged, not entirely yourself. Are you drunk?

The scene feels more than it reveals. It remains impossibly blurry, and you struggle to focus on it, yet somehow you are more present in that flash than in reality.

A hand… no, two, are holding your shoulders, steadying you. A voice seems to reach you—concerned. You hear yelling around you, rage pouring from the person in front of you, yelling at someone else in the room, a dark mass with red patches holding his nose against the tiled wall, more precisely. Yet, strangely, the person in front of you still stays, right there with you, even if they seem to be the cause of… the other guy’s condition? What happened exactly? No idea. But you can hear that voice trying to soothe you, asking if you can move, if you can stand, offering to walk you out to wait for an ambulance. An ambulance? Why? What happened to you? Oh… you were drugged? When? By who? Where? And who is this person talking to you?

You try to cling to the one who's there for you. You're in the bar bathroom… or at least, you think. Is this a memory? That wall, that room—you know it… it has to be that bar near your place… though you can’t recall where it is, or even where your home or apartment might be. You’re cold, and you try to speak to that blurry shadow leaning toward you. You don’t understand their care, but you hold on to them—him—like the world would collapse if you let go. You vaguely understand him saying the ambulance is on its way and that everything’s going to be okay. Going to be okay? That phrase again?

You can’t tell who it is—the face is too hazy. A dark mass with pale, almost white skin… and you get the weirdest sense… that you find him beautiful, strangely alluring, like something forbidden. Why would you think that? Who is he? A friend? A coworker? Doesn’t ring a bell. His voice… sounds familiar… but impossible to connect the dots.

As the memory starts to dissolve before your eyes, unconsciousness finally finding its way in after your meltdown, you pick up on a few words, more precisely the voice itself, in all its unnerving gentleness.

“Stay awake, Y/N… that’s your name, right? Stay with me. The ambulance is coming. You’re going to be alright. Hold on just a little longer…”

A litany from a voice dangerously familiar. It’s… him? You've..said your name to...him ? When ?

You had… already seen him…? You…

A whisper escapes your lips—out of this dream, or memory?—strange, and yet so real.

“I…know…you…?”

The arms around you tense up, but you barely notice. You sink deeper into the blackness of unconsciousness, disoriented and adrift.

“It was you…wasn’t it…that night…Levi…?...it was…you…there...wasn...t..yo..”

You don’t have time to finish your sentence, collapsing fully into his arms like dead weight, held firm in his embrace as he remains frozen. You don’t see the shock and the internal conflict tightening Levi’s face, nor the subtle trembling in his strained muscles.

The dark welcomes you again, for what feels like the hundredth time since you’ve been here. Head traumas are a bitch, huh? The withdrawal too… the drugs as well… You are lost in the void, lulled by its pull, just long enough to escape a reality that makes no sense.

Chapter Text

The next awakening isn’t straightforward. You’re no longer in the bathroom, but back in bed, your hands bandaged and—most notably—in Levi’s arms. He’s kept his gloves on, yet stayed by your side. Did you cry in your sleep, and that made him stay? Was he too worried you’d wake up alone and spiral into fury? Or worse? You don’t know, and you're not sure you want to. Your thoughts are hazy, your body uncomfortable… yet the biggest issue for you right now is the painful flashes in your head. Everything's blurry, yet you feel like you understand what happened. And that it’s time to claim what’s yours—now that you're capable enough, at least somewhat.

But you don’t want to move yet. Out of fear or anticipation, you spend a few minutes staring at the ceiling in Levi’s invasive embrace. Still dressed all in black… still touching you with gloves… is he afraid of dirtying his hands? Disgusted by human contact? Just thinking it makes you grit your teeth. Yet he seems to want contact, given how he presses against you whenever he can… you can’t figure him out. Like your entire situation, in fact.

As frustration wells up inside of you, you shift your right leg, trying to ease the discomfort in your body and your unease with movement. A surprise jolts you when you don’t hear the chain’s clink—you realize you’re not chained to the bed. Probably because he doesn’t need to restrain you when he’s here… not that it would matter since the door is locked anyway. He must’ve started from another assumption—like some stupid thought that you’d want to hurt yourself. That thought alone makes you sigh in exasperation.

Your movements haven’t gone unnoticed. Levi, seemingly already awake, tightens his hold on you, trying to coax you into calm.

“Sleep a bit more…”

It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice so soothing—touched by sleep, yet alert to everything around him. A feeling of safety seeps into your fibers as if they were your own. What joy to be hypersensitive. Except that, right now, that cocoon-like feeling mostly calmed your anxiety and frustration, leaving room for the burning questions in you demanding answers. So you resign yourself to break the silence, hoping not to awaken a dark monster inside this mysterious, visibly obsessive young man.

“I…I have questions to ask you first.”

Weak and slightly trembling—more from disuse and not fatigue than fear—your voice echoes in the room's stillness, met by Levi’s inhalation and a second’s pause before a sigh follows. Without turning around, you feel Levi shift, adjusting to sit up slightly, leaning on his hand behind your back.

“And after… will you agree to sleep?”

Surprised that he offers you a chance to get answers, you take it without thinking. Too much needs clearing up.

“Yes.”

Another sigh, and his arm around your hips moves to gently pull a strand of hair away from your face. He studies you for a long moment before speaking. From the corner of your eye, you sense a conflict playing out in his gaze.

“Very well, I grant you five questions.”

Five? You can manage that for now. And he doesn’t seem to threaten if you ask more—but you won’t risk it.

“We’ve met before… before all this.”

That’s not really a question—is that allowed? You need to know anyway.

Levi clenches his teeth, tense, as if bracing for the questions and answers he’ll have to give… or for what you truly remember. After all, with the drugs, recent events are all mixed together, which doesn’t help him. Not to mention he’s responsible for this situation in some way.

“Yes.”

“So you were the one who helped me at the bar, right? Why?”

Silence, then an answer.

“Two questions in one…” so he keeps count...nonetheless he answers both.

“It was indeed me. I intervened to prevent that asshole from laying his filthy hands on you and taking advantage of you in the deplorable state he’d put you in. Not that he could do anything like that today anyway….”

His tone so dark in the last bit makes you shiver slightly, but you ignore the implied meaning you think you’ve caught.

“What happened afterward…?”

“I took you to the hospital and stayed until the doctors confirmed you were out of danger. I informed them to contact your family, then left just before they arrived.”

A ghost who avoids your loved ones’ thanks… was he afraid someone would blame him? Why didn’t he wait for them so they could thank him? Or… wait. How could he have given them your family’s contact information? A cold shiver runs down your spine at that realization. How long has he been in your life? How much does he really know about you? …are you in the presence of a stalker… a pervert…? That’s not reassuring… but you’re too afraid to ask that last question, so you choose another that might partially satisfy your turbulent need for clarity.

“Why did you leave?”

His arm snakes around your hips again, pulling you in close, his face resting against your shoulder, his hair brushing your skin.

“I just needed to make sure you weren’t alone and were safe, so I could deal with that fucking bastard who dared to put his disgusting hands on you. I had to take care of this fucker without delay.”

His grip tightens, painful.

“I needed to kill him before he had the chance to run. So I tracked him down and dealt with him before the night was over. Made sure it hurts like fucking hell...how dare he touch you ...? Couldn't let it pass..”

You’re freezing. And terrified. What did he just admit…? A… murder…? He killed the guy…?

“W-why…?”

Breaking out of his rage-fueled daze from your triggered memory, Levi loosens his grip slightly.

“Another time. You’ve used up your quota for the day.”

“But..!”

In an instant, his hand clamps over your mouth, forcing his gaze into yours. Your breath catches and your heart pounds. So serious…

“But?”

Suddenly, you have no reply, only the chance to gaze into his silver-blue ocean eyes, frozen in place, mesmerized…and terrified. You try, despite yourself…

“I…I just wanted to…”

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head firmly but softly.

“Tch, no, Y/N. Don’t abuse the privileges I’m giving you.”

A veiled threat, and you can do nothing but obey. You’re probably in the presence of a killer… you can’t do anything… and you’d be better off listening and doing as he says… but your stubborn mind resists. You try to move, seeking a way to learn more by hook or by crook, but Levi flips you onto your back and pins your hands, intertwining your fingers and pressing them tightly against the mattress.

“But I am generous… if you care so much…”

His face moves dangerously close to yours, his lips brushing yours for a few seconds that seem like an eternity, before drifting to whisper in your ear.

“Would you be willing to do something for me in exchange for that bonus answer you’re after…?”

You clearly hear the implication, and your only reaction isn’t the one a prey would have before a predator. You kick him in the stomach to shove him off quickly. Even weak, you know where it hurts.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

But all you get in reply is a dark laugh, like a release of pressure…

“Ahhhh… I expected nothing less from you. That’s why you’re you… my Y/N…”

Adoration and obsession, along with a sick possessiveness, blaze in his dilated pupils… his breathing quickens, and he lunges toward you, forcing you down again, this time holding your wrists with one hand while the other strokes your cheek. His eyes offer you so much dark adoration and love… an attachment you can’t understand. A pathological attachment. And you are its object. You are his obsession. And your mind can’t decide whether that’s good… or terrifying. A fear of his behavior spiraling to extremes? A fear he’ll hurt you? Or force you into something? Or… that strange sense of safety he gives by promising he’d kill someone to protect you? Maybe even… eliminate any danger around you? And yet he surrounds you with this cocoon of security… at the cost of your freedom… You’re torn by all these unasked questions—you can’t risk them now, fearing you’d provoke a reaction that would confirm your darkest suspicions. So you just watch him.

“How lucky I am that you remembered me… what beauty and purity… my angel… my little Y/N… my sweet little angel…”

Levi seems lost in his thoughts, stroking your cheek and hair as if hypnotized.

“There will always be only you. There has never been anyone but you.”

His obsession spills into every word, like a dark aura that surrounds and clings to you.

As he leans even closer, two of his fingers brush your lips.

“For all this time… if you only knew how it fills me with joy to have gotten close to you that night… I wish circumstances had been different… but that you remember… you are truly… ah… perfect…”

At his words, in that revelation that he’s probably been watching you even before the bar incident—and therefore that his intervention wasn’t by chance; he protected you because he was observing you—you can’t tell whether you should feel relief or terror… he protected you, right? But… does that make it… a “good” thing…?

You begin to feel fatigue wash over you, drained by the answers and the new questions flooding in… or is it because you told him you’d go back to sleep?… Is it really you who wants to sleep?

All you know is that after those dangerous words in their implications, Levi moves so close that your breaths mingle, and he does nothing else… until his lips press on his two fingers in a long kiss… with his fingers still between your lips.

Why does he always do that…? If he’s so obsessed with you… if he loves you… in this strange way… wouldn’t he want to kiss you even without your consent? Use you? Or something…?

Unless those gloved fingers are for another reason...

Is he using them to protect you from himself? Of his want ? Or...from something else about him ...? Could it be...?

“I can’t take the risk of dirtying you… my sweet light.. so pure… sleep, my dear Y/N… rest a little more now…”

His words accompany you as your eyes close, welcomed by a colorless void once more… yet more soothing than any other time you’ve fallen asleep. What is happening to you and who is he really? You are lost… yet so calm… so safe… why?

How much does he know about you already..? Why...do you see him as a safeplace to be...?..just..why ?

Chapter Text

You’ve lost all sense of time. The days all blur together and this room remains unchanged. The person beside you stays too. His obsession and your questions persist… you know him… or rather you’ve seen him before, and you know… he admitted it. But what he’s told you since then… how long has he been here? Why is he like this? Why you? And what did he do to that man at the bar? You have an idea… you don’t necessarily want the details, yet you can’t grasp why he’d need to go to such extremes. You don’t deserve any of this—well, if one can say anyone deserves anything? No one should be killed for you… so is it his attention that slips further from you? He has no reason to care about you, even less in such proportions. More basic you die. Yet he is… extreme. In every way that concerns you, and your current situation—whatever its origin—it’s the perfect example.

You slept after that discussion, that exchange in search of the answers you need to understand this warmth that reassures you as much as it fills you with terror. You don’t know if you rest because he told you to or because you’re exhausted. It’s probably both. In any case, he wasn’t there when you woke up, and so your mind spins in circles. Memories of the previous night are both vivid and vague. You want to ask him more questions. His gloves, his lines about not sullying you, his joy that you remembered him, that night, his actions and everything that followed. You have far too much you want to know. And once again, the only thing you know to balance the violence of your emotional torrents is expressing that violence.

That’s how you found yourself in the bathroom again, objects scattered around you, shards of glass from the shower screen, water running. Bruises reemerging. Erratic breathing at the scene you’ve caused again. But it’s still not enough, because he’s not here, he didn’t come right back to your outburst of anger. He’s not here. He should be here. Isn’t he obsessed with you? Where is he? Is he here?

You can’t hold your breath and you completely lose your grip on reality. He should be here!

So you scream. Before even realizing it, you scream while tossing more objects left and right. You cry and scream, striking the walls. He should be here, he should be…

Your vision falters, everything blurs, and you lose your balance, crashing to the floor. Why is everything blurry? Where is he? What is he doing? What do you need to do for him to be here?

Is your mind confused…? You’re on the floor… since when? You cry and scream, now shaken by violent nausea. You felt better when he was here. You need him! It’s easier when he’s here… and you were better… right?

You keep crying, crying even louder, overtaken by a stronger vertigo. When will he decide to come? You’re struggling to breathe… damn it! He should be here, damn it!!!

Bang.

Is that the door slamming? Somewhere, you beg that that be the case.

And the bathroom door flies open, gloved hands grip you to anchor you in the present, the strength helping you detach from the floor before you hurt yourself, your hands digging into his black shirt as if your life depended on it… he’s here? Finally… he’s finally here…

His voice seems panicked. Cold, but panicked at the same time. It replaces your screams. His fear for you does you good… The nausea is still there, but you see more clearly. You see his silver eyes focused on you, his black hair falling so perfectly across his pale skin…

You don’t know when it happened, but he apparently moved you. You know because you feel the comfort of the bed beneath you, and his arms around you… you feel better. Yet his grip becomes somewhat painful. The movement of his chest against you gradually brings you back to yourself.

“…but what got into you? Calm down, Y/N! Pull yourself together. That’s enough.”

Pull yourself together? Why..? You almost feel okay… though no. The room is no longer blurry, but something tells you that you feel bad. Finally, you realize that you’re tearing up uncontrollably in his embrace, scratching his arms through his shirt and lamenting that you were alone. You felt so alone…

Without thinking, you don’t respond and burrow into his arms, against his chest, continuing to cry hot tears. Somewhere inside, you know he stops lecturing you just long enough to hold you until you calm down enough to speak with him.

For several minutes, quickly stretching into an hour, you manage to regain a small control of yourself, your tears finally fading and your breathing steadying.

You probably should remove yourself from his hold, yet you feel safe there. So, defying every rational instinct you should follow in the presence of a stranger who’s watched you since who knows when, you slightly loosen your grip—the one that has scratched him till he bled—and remain in his arms, rocked by his calm breath. Dangerously calm.

You hear him sigh, clearly relieved that you’ve finally calmed down. One of his hands rests on your head to softly stroke your hair, as if still trying to soothe you. It feels comforting.

“That damn doctor… he really fucked me over… I’m going to make him pay for the state he put you in…”

You hear him murmur in a low voice, as if you’re not supposed to hear what he’s saying.

What doctor? Why would any doctor be responsible for your state? You don’t have access to your meds, you were drugged and you have a concussion… the doc had nothing to do with it?

“Wh… what..?”

Your voice muffled by your embrace, but he still hears it. You don’t even know why you asked. Does that count as one of your three questions granted? What a waste if that’s the case…

“Shhh… Nothing. Don’t worry. It’s not important.”

He’s lying, clearly. You don’t like it at all. But there's nothing you can do… so you just shake your head.

“Tch. Very well.”

What..?

You don’t realize what’s happening, but in an instant, you’re pinned down on the bed, your hands seized by his, held firmly against the mattress while his face hovers just inches from yours. Your breath is stolen away. You’re mesmerized by his intense gaze—cold, mysterious.. dangerous and obsessive. With a tenderness you still can't understand. Would you be able to understand it ?

“Are you really insisting on making that one of your questions after what just happened?”

You’re confused. You just had a breakdown…that's all there is to it. And in any case, he intends to make it a question if you answer yes… and you truly don’t know what to say.

“I… I don’t know…”

Your confusion doesn’t even seem to surprise him; his gaze remains fixed and attentive, his breathing steady—except for another sigh. One of his hands slips away from yours to slide under your chin and gently caress your lips with his thumb.

“You know, Y/N… it’s been complicated to find a doctor in our situation… but I needed to find a way to ease the consequences of the other night…”

The consequences of that other night? Which night? There’ve been many nights since you’ve been here. He only stokes the flames of your confusion. But he continues, his eyes following the movement of his finger on your parted lips, as if hypnotized.

“I just couldn’t stand to see you so sick… because of that other fucking bastard, there were so many problems… it would have been so fucking much easier if I could’ve just watched over you from afar…. it was so complicated for nothing… Tch.”

Beyond his sick obsession, you sense his frustration with the situation. So your presence here wasn’t by his will alone? But… is he responsible for your concussion then? You're on repeat with all your questions and no answers.

A violent flash snaps in your head, like a signal of some incoherence you can’t define. It’s unpleasant, hurting you badly, nonetheless it disappears as quickly as it came.

Levi moves in closer, his finger pressing a bit more to your lips while his other hand tightens into a painful iron grip around yours. Yet you don’t move. You don't want to.

“I can’t change this fucking situation, but I had to intervene… and that bastard was on my list anyway. Another rapist or two less in the world, it’s beneficial, right? At least he served us before I got rid of him.”

A rapist?

“And.. I got the dosage right to calm your pain. That’s all that matters, don’t you think?”

You feel a strange sense that he speaks more to himself than to you. He's lost in his thoughts.

“Even if I dislike it… I wish I could’ve helped you on my own… there should only be me… and me alone.”

You remember your tears and your screams. He is already the only one. You panicked because he wasn’t there and you thought… because you believe he should be. Since when do you think like this?

“I should’ve tortured him longer to get your meds… it was my mistake to end it so quickly… my Y/N… I was reckless… I should’ve been more attentive to your condition… mh ?”

His thumb stops, his lips just above it, like yet another suspended kiss between you two, broken mid-motion by his own gloved hand.

“I should have been there, you're right.”

Did you speak?

Just as he’s about to place lips on his finger, in a trance, he stops, pulling away with a tortured expression. His eyes are mesmerising, at once incredibly sad and confused, but also obnoxiously confident and passionate. 

“I can’t… damn, how I wish… if you only knew…”

He makes no sense. Has he lost his mind too, like you? Is he having a breakdown? You don't dare ask or move. You're both so gone...

His hand moves to stroke your cheek with the tips of his fingers. And his voice resonates dangerously, talking about his demons as if he was begging for them to be released. Begging to be freed from his restrain.

“If you only knew what I want to do to you… fuck, what I wish we could do together… but I’m just like them, aren’t I? I’m a vile being… I’d only taint you… my precious Y/N… I can’t do that to you…”

A few dots connect all at once.

He sees himself as someone harmful to you, he knows it and is trying to hold back, to protect you from himself while still keeping you here. And he’s clearly going after other people… people he compares himself to? Except he mentioned a rapist. And he didn’t rape you. But he talked about torture, and getting rid of that doctor… so he’s a killer, isn’t he? He killed for you… and maybe for other reasons, too. Why did he do it? Why is he breaking down like this? You feel sick, and before you even realize it, your free hand is reaching up to his cheek, dragging him brutally back to reality, his eyes opening wider than you've ever seen them.

And it’s not his voice that breaks through the stunned silence.

“Why are you doing this to yourself? So much pain...”

You’ve probably lost all sense thinking with so much empathy for someone who’s keeping you here and is, after all, responsible for so many things about your condition. Whatever his excuses and the rest may be, he’s bad. But it feels like he’s punishing himself, something you know all too well… and you can’t stand it. You don’t want him to do that.

He stays silent, disturbed by your actions. Still, you can't manage to put into words what you want to tell him. All you can do is cry for him, even if you shouldn’t.

And his fingers catching your tears are far more aware of it than you are.

“You shouldn’t be shedding tears for a monster like me, Y/N.”

You can only shake your head. He is your only anchor. The only thing you have right now. And he’s here. He has to stay here. Stop doing this to himself… whatever this is.

Your hand lets go of his face to settle over his hand, a whimper slipping from you along with more tears. Your other hand still hurts from his too-tight grip, but you don’t pay it any attention.

A sigh escapes his steady breath as he loosens his hand, closing his eyes and beginning to physically move away from you, which only makes you tighten both your hands around his fingers and wrist. You don’t want him to pull away.

“Stay.”

A single word. Cruel. You're cruel and you know it, however you don't fucking care.

His gaze flashes to yours. He watches you carefully, like a fragile doll ready to shatter under his hands.

“If I stay now, Y/N, we’re both going to regret it.”

You understand what his words imply, but you still can’t let go. You don’t want anything sexual, you just want him to be there. You want to feel his presence beside you.

“Stay.”

More tears spill from your eyes. You just want him there… You want to feel his warmth… to know that he’s not somewhere else, not like the people he vaguely described… that he’s something else… that there’s a reason behind everything you feel and everything he feels. That there’s a reason for your strange connection.

Your fingers slide to the edge between his glove, his skin, and the sleeve of his shirt, freezing him in his motion to move away from you. For a second, he looks terrified, as if he wants to rip his hand from your grasp to stop you from following that line of thought. Yet he does nothing. He lets you slide your fingers between the fabric and his skin, slowly tugging to pull it off. You can’t quite manage it, but the action speaks volumes, and he lets out a long sigh and adjusts his position above you, his legs bracketing your hips, his other hand still in yours, while the one you want to free is brought to his mouth so he can catch the leather between his teeth and pull the glove off in one smooth, sensual motion. His eyes are darkened, wholly devoted to you, as the glove falls onto the mattress and his bare hand begins to approach your face.

“You’re incorrigible, Y/N…”

He seems more relieved than angry, his frustration even fading in this suspended moment.

His warm skin brushes your cheek, his thumb resting again on your lips without the barrier of leather, his hand settling softly against your face. A forbidden sin. The fruit that will surely lead you to hell. But if he stays here… you can accept that hell. Your life was already a kind of hell in its own way before, wasn’t it?

The heat emanating from him burns on your skin, and you remain hypnotized by his gaze and his touch as his other hand, still gloved, comes up to his face so he can remove that glove in the same gesture, breaking for good the barrier he had placed between the two of you.

“I wanted to preserve you… to watch over you and protect you… what are you doing to me..?”

His second hand finds its place on your other cheek, leaving your hands prey to the cold and your face to molten lava. You need that contact.

“I don’t know… I… just want you to… stay…”

“No chance I’m leaving.”

His lips draw dangerously close to yours.

“They’d have to shoot me to tear me away from you. Only fucking death could take me from you…”

“I don’t want you to…!”

You don’t get to finish your sentence, your hands flying to his face, tears streaming at the very idea of death taking him away from you, his lips claiming yours in a fraction of a second to push that possibility away. To erase it.

His lips seal against yours like a deadly kiss, a deadly promise. And this time he can’t hold back, as your skin meets and no fabric, no gloves, separates you anymore. His hands clutch at you, glide over your skin, one tangling into your hair, tilting your head, the other seeking a possessive hold on your throat.

Mine. That’s what his actions scream. And yours just as much. Your hands gripping his hair, pulling at his shirt.

This feverish kiss drags on as your hands seem unable to stop wanting to make the other theirs. Only the lack of air pulls him back from your lips.

“Fuck… what I could do to you… ah… how much I fucking love you…”

He grits his teeth, biting his lip in a vain attempt to restrain himself as his weight presses more onto your body, making it impossible for him to hide the state this situation is putting him in. You feel it.

Yet he does nothing, only letting his head fall in front of you, lowered, his hair hiding his burning gaze.

“Not now…”

You hear the frustration in his words, while his breath shorten and covered in layers of lust filled with annoyance. He seems annoyed by his body’s reaction. He doesn’t want to…?

You don’t really need to wonder, his face coming close to yours again.

“Don’t think about it, it’ll pass.”

A strange whisper, as if he just wants you to ignore his desire for you, as you both melt into another kiss. And that’s fine with you. You don’t want to think about that. You just want to stay right here. And for him to stay here too.

Exactly where he’s always meant to be. At your side.

That’s all that matters, your breaths mingling as he shifts to lie beside you, his hands still resting on your skin, his lips still on yours.

When your kiss breaks, you can only stare at him. His hair is a bit tousled from your hands, his gaze blazing with that bluish possessive gleam that shines only for you, his shirt wrinkled.

“Get some rest.”

“Only if you stay.”

A soft laugh escapes him, his gaze turning gentler in an instant.

“Oh, my sweet Y/N… no matter what I say or how I want to protect you from myself, I’m incapable of staying away from you. You’re mine alone. You only need me. And I have no fucking intention of letting you stray away from me.”

You know it’s completely insane, and illogical and ridiculous. You know you should push him away. You know you might push him away during one of your episodes. But his words… you accept them. You want them. You want him.

So you just bury yourself in his arms for the umpteenth time, his arms wrapping around you with possessiveness, his ever-calm breathing lulling you as his bare hands tighten around you, one hand in your hair and his lips offering a kiss to the top of your head before you fall asleep. Like a wish for sweet dreams in hell.

Chapter Text

The world is meaningless and life has no purpose. That’s the thought haunting you as you wake up in his arms.

After the wave of frustration and anger, anxiety creeps back in, slowly twisting into a sense of disgust toward existence itself.

Your thoughts spiral in every direction because you felt empathy for this person. Because you still do. It makes you almost sick. But you crave his presence.

You want to understand him… truth is, you probably just want to know what it feels like to be loved like a soulmate, someone who devotes themselves to you—no matter what.

You've never truly felt romantic love, having only had flings and relationships dull enough to bore you to death, if not make you retch in disgust.

It’s not that you’re running from relationships… You’re just not capable of love.

Men have revolted you more than once, and women haven’t healed your wounds.

Finding nothing, living quite contentedly on your own, with your family and your friends, your little life, you never felt the need to fill that empty space, the one that longs for someone by your side.

Until all this happened.

Now that you’re here, now that Levi is a constant presence by your side—tending to your wounds, seemingly desperate to help you, entirely obsessed with your very being and unbearably possessive…you feel that sting inside you, that urge to understand the depth of his attachment…and that strange desire to form one of your own.

Which, in truth, is probably already happening.

You feel calmer when he's there, and feeling his warmth against your body makes you feel alive.

You’re not free, but you're breathing.

And he shields you—both from your physical pain and the storm inside your mind.

He’s there.

You hadn’t realized how much you needed someone to simply be there for you.

To just be there, no matter what you're doing, no matter what you're thinking.

So used to your solitary life, the idea of someone worming their way into your routine irritates you… but now that your routine is gone, his presence has become… welcome. Have you completely lost your mind? Maybe this is just the birth of madness. So be it. It's not like you ever cared about it.

Even while lying comfortably against Levi, you begin to feel a bit dizzy and slightly nauseous, which makes you shift a little in his arms. Your mind is still foggy on certain points, your memory scattered with lapses and black holes you can’t understand nor fill in. You’ve understood, however, that it’s due to your concussion, and that you owe it to someone who attacked you. Apparently, someone Levi got rid of. And you feel nothing about it—only contempt for the trash that laid hands on you, and residual fear from that encounter you can’t even remember. Ignorance is a virtue…

Your movement didn’t go unnoticed, prompting Levi to tighten his arms around you, like a silent plea not to move. A plea you ignore as another discomfort settles in: you’re hungry. So this time, you try to get up despite the looming headache. It’s only because your stomach growls, craving something to satisfy its hunger, that Levi loosens his hold just enough to let you get up—without actually letting go of you completely. Even lying down, he keeps watching you with his silver gaze from the pillow, calmly observing your actions as if he wants to see what you’re going to do—and you simply meet his gaze in return. He’s peaceful, one arm placed around your hips while the other slips beneath his head to lift it slightly. He doesn’t even try to sit up to your level, just quietly measuring your state in simple, contemplative silence.

“What would you like to eat?”

When his voice breaks the silence, you’re somewhat surprised and have absolutely no idea how to respond. You don’t know what you want to eat, you just need nutrients, really… but he asks as if he’s trying to please you. Maybe he’s giving you a choice too? Whatever his intention, you don’t even think before answering, going with the first thing that comes to mind.

“Spicy ramen?”

Your answer seems to bring the faintest smile to the corner of his lips, like he expected it.

“Very well.”

Without another word, he rises from the bed just enough to sit beside you, placing a kiss on your forehead before heading for the door—remembering, of course, to lock it behind him. Is he afraid you’ll try to escape? You glare at the door as if it personally offended you. He doesn’t trust you… It’s not like you know where you are or are even in any condition to move around. Besides, he’s in this place—even if not in the room—so why lock the door?

You start fuming, feeding the embers of a fire just waiting to ignite. Which doesn’t take long. Because after a few minutes of dumbly staring at the door, you end up grinding your teeth and getting up to hurl the bedside lamp against the door, yelling a good loud “fuck” in the process. No chance Levi didn’t hear that. Still, you’re not really hoping for him to come back, you’re just furious at that damned door—and you cry in pure rage. How dare it be locked? Why does it bother you so much? What a bitch that door is… that’s all that’s running through your head—this fucking locked door, a violent symbol of mistrust and a feeling of being caged, even if it’s more than a feeling—it’s the truth. You’re hurt. So you start pounding on the door with your fists, over and over, until it starts to hurt. Doesn’t matter—you keep going, cursing the door and crying that it’s unfair. What exactly is unfair? You don’t even know anymore. You just hurt. You’re furious that he doesn’t trust you.

Until you yell, “You said you’d stay!”

There’s no more sense to your words. But you can feel that he’s just behind the door—you heard him coming, along with the jingle of keys. And you don’t even move back when you hear the lock turning twice. The door feels like an insult to you, and when it begins to open, you grab the edge and slam it into the wall with all your strength. You stumble a little from your lack of balance, but you hold steady—and strike Levi straight in the face.

If his first reaction is simply to follow your movement with his head and say nothing, it doesn’t last. In seconds, he grabs your wrists and throws you onto the mattress, his weight pressing down over you. You struggle to breathe a little, but you keep crying in frustration, pulling at your wrists, even though he holds them in a grip of steel.

His eyes lock onto yours—cold and piercing. You can see his anger. He didn’t expect you to hit him… and you didn’t expect how he’d react either. Something in you fears what he might do, but you’re too angry to care.

Through clenched teeth, Levi finally calms himself after several deep, controlled breaths before speaking.

“You couldn’t wait five minutes?”

You don’t answer, simply staring back at him with furrowed brows and tear-filled eyes. That only pushes him a little closer to losing control.

“I was right next door. You didn’t have to scream.”

Except that doesn’t calm you. It doesn’t make you afraid either. Quite the opposite.

“I don’t give a damn! You left me alone! You locked me in this fucking room!”

Being locked in this room might be obvious given your situation—kidnapping, if you had the presence of mind to consider it—but it isn’t obvious to you. It feels like an insult to who you are and to everything he’s been trying to prove. Obsessive? Possessive? Always there for you? Bullshit!

“…You’re throwing a tantrum over a door?”

The silence before his words should have warned you, you can feel him boiling inside. But honestly, you couldn’t care less.

“Are you kidding me?”

The slight rise in his voice feels just as disillusioned as yours. But that doesn’t stop you from shouting too.

“You go on this whole fucking speech about being obsessed with me and you can’t even trust me enough to leave the damn door unlocked when you’re right next door? And then you pretend to know me? Are you serious? You’re full of shit! Fucking liar!”

Your insults only tighten his jaw—and his grip on your wrists—but you’re too far gone to care. You’re hurt, you’re in pain too. You’ve got nothing—only him—and even when it’s just the two of you, he locks you in. And what if you wanted to be near him while he cooked? What if you wanted to hold his hand? What if you wanted to spend time with him? What if you wanted him to show you around this place? Why would you necessarily want to run away? Your situation is anything but normal, but he hasn’t given you a reason to want to escape. You can’t believe he has so little trust in you. After all this time he claims to have been watching you, he should be the first to notice. If you really wanted to leave, you’d have hurled yourself at a window. Whether reinforced or not, a window is still a window.

You turn your head away from his furious gaze, swallowing your anger and trying to ignore the hurt it causes. You shouldn’t feel wounded—yet god knows how deeply you do.

“Tch.”

His lack of response feels like a lack of regard for you and rubs more salt into your wounds, confirming even more your feeling of abandonment and isolation. It was all just empty words…

“Ridiculous.”

He lifts himself just enough to look down at you. You feel like he’s looking down on you, and it makes you feel even more rejected. It makes you sick. Your mind rages.

One of his hands leaves your wrists to grip your chin and force you to look up at him, looming above you, light haloing around him, plunging his face into a dark shadow.

“At what point could you possibly believe I did this out of a lack of trust in you, Y/N? How could you even imagine I’d act this way just to keep you here? Do you really think I don’t know you well enough to see you have no intention of running? I don’t need a trick like that to keep you close.”

“Then why?”

“To keep you safe from prying eyes.”

You don’t understand how leaving the room equals exposing yourself to others’ eyes. You can only frown at the nonsense.

“There are no prying eyes. It’s just the two of us here, isn’t it?”

Even though you can read on his face that it’s true—it is just the two of you—he doesn’t waver.

“That doesn’t mean a wandering eye couldn’t find its way in and lay itself upon you. I won’t take that risk.”

Who would even want to watch you? He’s the only one doing that.

“You’re the one watching me, aren’t you? Jealous over things that don’t exist?”

You wonder if he’s just being paranoid, but he’s so damn serious you’re not sure what to believe. The locked door still feels like an insult you refuse to let slide.

Your words do nothing to calm the monster before you, who dangerously leans closer to your face, tightening his grip on your jaw.

“Oh, there’s more than one rotten soul who’d desperately love to get their filthy hands on you… and those poor idiots don’t even deserve the chance to glimpse you—even in a fucking reflection. You’re mine.”

That affirmation fills you with heat, even though your mind stays stubbornly fixated on the damn door.

“I don’t give a shit about those people. You’re the only one who matters. And if I want to stay with you while you cook? Or just be with you, even outside this room?”

A flicker passes through his eyes, like a fleeting dream that dies as quickly as it appeared.

“That will happen. When I’m done with those bastards.”

He leans into your ear, voice darker now, his breath hot.

“Until then, stay put, yeah ? Or I’ll make damn sure you won’t leave this fucking room, even after I’ve turned them into pulp. Don’t make me repeat myself, understood?”

There’s nothing subtle about his threat, and yet you’re not afraid. You’d be wrong to think you’re immune to him, but you still want to make your point. So you bite his ear without much thought. You’re still angry and he’s not listening.

A growl is all you get before he grabs your hair, yanking you back with a sharp pull that stings at your roots, but you stay determined.

“I want to be able to see you. If you’re here, I’m not afraid. If you’re so scared of these supposed looks, then close the blinds or the curtains, I don’t care. But I don’t want to be locked in while you said you’d stay by my side. That fucking locked door doesn’t mean you’re by my side. It means you’re shutting me out.”

Your eyes are brimming with tears again by the end of your words. That door really is an obstacle in your mind… ridiculous, perhaps. He’s not wrong… probably.

After a contemplative pause where his fingers don’t ease the pressure on your scalp, Levi simply sighs.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way if that’s what you want…”

But? You know there’s a but.

You should play bingo, because his breath mixes with yours dangerously close and his gaze is burning with unexpected heat.

“However… I can’t let your mind wander as if you held all the cards here. You’re in no position to impose your will, Y/N.”

“So you'd rather I hate you and stay in my corner?”

That one sentence is all it takes to make him snap.

His act of wanting to be the villain, the cold-hearted psychopath who wants to punish you for trying to set your own rules—melts like snow under the sun. You do hold all the cards when it comes to him. If you want to step out for him, of course he’ll yield. Because it’s for him, and no one else. Because it’s him you want, and no one else.

His lips crash onto yours with brutal urgency, stealing your breath, pressing hard enough to force your lips apart in surprise—just enough for him to slip his tongue between them, intertwining with yours in a sensual dance of dominance he already owns without needing to seize control. He doesn’t loosen his grip—neither on your hair nor your wrists—so you find another way to cling to him, wrapping your legs around his hips, crossing them behind his back to press him against you, trapping him. You feel a rush of satisfaction when it forces a sharp exhale from him. Not that it’s enough—for either of you.

The hand gripping your wrists suddenly changes course, finding your hips to pull you harder against him as he bites into your lips without breaking away for even a second. You’re running out of air and your hands start tugging at his shirt until the first buttons pop loose. It only fuels him further, makes him steal more of your breath, tilting your head at the angle he desires to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring and imposing itself, the heat between your bodies rising dangerously. Unconsciously, his hand begins guiding your hips to move against his, and you feel him—firm, heavy—pressing into you. Just the thought of it, the sensation of knowing how much your actions affect him, gives you a new purpose, and you start grinding your hips against his with more fervor. Could you make him lose control without even tearing the clothes between you? Could he become that depraved, just for you? You want him to.

You feel how badly he wants you when his hips begin to match the rhythm of yours in this carnal dance, desperate for no fabric to separate you, seeking a fusion of flesh, a closeness in intimacy even more absolute.

His hand on your hips, guiding and teasing, starts playing with the edge between your jeans and your shirt, while one of your hands explores his chest and the other gets lost in the hair at the nape of his neck. After one particularly rough thrust of his hips, a moan escapes you and your nails scratch down his skin. More. You need more. Again.

And he gives you more, keeping that powerful rhythm, faster, his breath syncing with yours, his hand gripping your jeans and yanking at the fabric like it personally offended him. Your kiss remains just as intense as your movements grow increasingly desperate. It’s not enough.

You keep clawing at him, then decide to attack his shirt to make your message clear, and he understands it immediately. His hand slips between your jeans and your skin, catching your underwear along the way and pulling sharply, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. In the position you’re in, he can’t exactly pull your pants down or take them off, and you can’t really remove his shirt efficiently either. But still, you both struggle to make it work, never letting your lips part. He helps you get his shirt off, lifting your hips to strip off your pants and underwear in one fluid motion. All the while, your lips never break that precious contact, stealing each other's breath.

But it’s not enough. You want more, always more. You want him all to yourself.

Your hand finds its way to him, feeling him burn beneath the fabric of his pants, dragging a growl from his throat as his hips press into your own hand, desperate for more pressure, any kind of friction you can offer. You return his gesture, pressing into him, moving your hand slowly as his hips follow your rhythm, your other hand pinching one of his nipples before dragging your nails down his back, drawing more delicious groans from him—each one a sound you drink in greedily. His hands tear your shirt off without hesitation, moving to your chest with a possessive hunger, playing with your breasts before one hand trails down to your core to find your wet heat. A slight smirk tugs at his lips at the feeling. Pride.

Neither of you can hold back anymore, fingers exploring inside you, trying to prepare you as best he can, while your hand slips under his waistband to touch his burning skin directly. Your movements grow more urgent, his breath rapid and peppered with groans, his grip rougher, your gasps rising into louder moans, your touch growing more desperate… your carnal embrace finally finds release when you pull down his pants and underwear at once, letting nothing stand in the way of your desire.

When his length brushes against you, both your breaths catch, your bodies freezing in the moment, as if standing at the edge of a forbidden act, overwhelmed by both apprehension and burning need.

Levi rises just enough to let his gaze dive into yours, his hair falling in waves, brushing your face as your hands guide him to you, accompanied by one of his, while the other settles on your throat, tilting your face slightly closer to his.

The first contact is a spark, followed by a burn so delicious it’s almost painful as he slowly fills you. With every motion comes a pause, an adjustment under his watchful eyes, before he pulls back only to return deeper each time. He’s so well-built it takes a moment, so you savor every second, until that magical moment when you become one, stopping your movements just to feel, just to be. Him, lost in your gaze. You, entranced by his silver ocean glinting with sapphire fire.

Without a word, his lips brushing yours, his hips draw back just slightly before plunging deep inside again, his pelvis pressing in just the right way your body needs to offer more natural wetness.

So slowly at first, lost within one another… your movements begin to grow more urgent. Your nails return to clawing his back, fingers tugging at his hair as his grip on your throat and hips tightens, urging you to meet every thrust with one of your own. Obscene sounds echo through the room, but all you hear is his breath and his groans. Sweat beads like victory on your skin as your bodies collide in vivid motion, stronger, faster, yet still sensually tender. His lips hover mere centimeters from yours, so your eyes never break contact, so your parted mouths can share the same breath, feel the heat pouring from each other. Sweat drips from his brow under the effort—and yours too—as your legs tighten around his hips with passion.

His movements grow more focused after he hits a particular angle, coaxing a moan from you that intrigues him. He hones in, lost in this position, focused only on the harvest of your shared passion. His movements become more deliberate, powerful, and fast, precise and overwhelming. You feel him so deep, his name a whisper on your lips as the pressure builds and your hips chase his as if you’re terrified he might slip away, as if his hips might vanish, as if there’s no tomorrow. There is only him. His heat, his presence. You feel him so fully. You tighten around him as if to say how good he feels inside you, ripping a silent groan from him that makes him drop his head to where your bodies become one. But you grip his hair, guiding his lips back to yours with a ravenous hunger, wanting his eyes as you tip over the edge, offering him a deadly embrace that makes him shudder, his thrusts turning desperately erratic and fast, chasing the height of this shared pleasure and trying to extend yours. It only takes a few more thrusts for him to join you, instinct still driving him to rut into you, just to be deeper, just to make sure he’s buried to the hilt… just to let your shared bliss last even one second longer.

And even when the wave of desire passes and your minds return to you, neither of you pulls away, your eyes locked on one another, lost, while the proof of your union trickles down your skin like a sweet forbidden promise, an unspoken truth… a desire on his part, a quiet promise of time. And even as he softens, he stays buried deep within you, even when he shifts to the side and takes you with him to rest. Your breaths remain tangled, your eyes locked, until sleep finally overtakes your desire to keep watching him like this, in all his glory… you dream of a silver ocean laced with warm, burning glacial blue…

Chapter Text

It’s not a night that passes, but the time of a nap during which you rested skin‑to‑skin, hearts beating in the same rhythm. Calm is the best way to describe that moment when you wake. You remain simply in his arms, still feeling his presence inside you… and you breathe in his scent to imprint it on yourself. You’ve forgotten the door somewhere, soothed by your strange way of handling things. He is here, and that’s the only thing that matters to you.

Except your body is still starved and sore. Maybe having this kind of activity in your condition wasn’t wise… but damn, it felt incredible. You’ve never experienced a moment as vibrant as the one you just shared with Levi. It’s as if he gave color back to your life, revealing shades you never knew existed. Does he feel the same? You just bury yourself deeper against him with that thought, whispering “…be one…” dreamily against his skin. His hold becomes more possessive around you, like wings hiding you from the world.

“Always.”

You weren’t expecting any response, but you’re delighted to hear his voice and feel his vocal cords vibrate when he speaks. You feel on the brink of sleep, lulled again by his mere presence. You feel so safe against him…

Until he shifts to sit up, keeping you pressed against him. You sense him moving, drawing away from your cocoon as you softly moan. You want to begin again… but the release of pressure is nice too for your body. The fluid seeps, and you know he carries you to the bathroom because you hear water running, breaking the silence. The shower may be hot, but it’s nothing compared to your skins, your legs wrapped around his hips, your head nestled in his neck as he holds you firmly, hands on your buttocks. You could easily recreate that moment here… yet you don’t even consider it, that’s not what you seek. You just want your skins pressed together. The burn of flesh.

You expect him to return you to bed and go fetch your meal outside, coming back after your shower. Yet, as you finish washing, Levi returns empty-handed, choosing instead to wrap himself around you again and lift you gently into his arms.

To your greatest surprise, he leads you out of the bedroom—the only space you know. Instinctively, you fear this unknown territory and tighten your hands on Levi’s shoulders, almost seeking to merge with his skin to feel protected. In response, his grip intensifies possessively.

The apartment is dark. Well, you think it’s an apartment. You hope it’s soundproof if so, given how much chaos you created… you almost would blame yourself.

You realize it’s dark because the curtains are drawn across all visible windows. Modern and minimalistic in beige and brown tones, the space is clean and well decorated. Nothing extravagant. A vase of red roses on the kitchen-bar, a large TV playing calm music while a fireplace crackles in the corner. A fireplace? Oh… that’s comforting. It’s not cold, but that very idea feels… warm.

Levi stops by the sofa and sets you gently down before walking around the kitchen island to fetch two bowls of ramen. He probably reheated them, because you doubt they stayed hot during your… activities… When he sits beside you, you don’t hesitate to move closer, like a magnet drawn to metal, and take the bowl he offers. Your head spins slightly, but you try to push past it to savor this moment, tasting that little dish. Spicy ramen, exactly what you asked for. And he even used the same seasonings you would—basil and oregano included. Your stomach is no longer accustomed to proper meals, so you can’t finish the bowl, but you still savor each bite under his attentive gaze, visibly satisfied to see you enjoy it. You’re like two idiots. It’s just a bowl of ramen and yet you behave like a couple… you immediately dismiss any reminder that you don’t actually know each other. He knows you and he’s here. You don’t need to know more than that… at least, you’ll ask your questions later. Now, only this moment matters.

Full, you nestle back into his arms, nausea returning because you stayed upright too long… your head hurts so much. You can’t wait to feel better. In your physical misery and angry state toward this concussion that won’t let go, you don’t even notice that Levi carries you back to the bedroom to lie down again with you, stroking your hair in a calming rhythm. He must sense your physical state… maybe it even shows. And you know it worries him. You just know.

“When is this going to pass?”

“Soon.”

Still, although brief, that answer doesn’t sound so assured… you should already be better.

You shake your head weakly. There’s nothing you can do anyway and neither can he… the only cure is rest. You just hope your confusion between reality and your thoughts will calm… and the vertigo, balance loss, and nausea too… as for blackouts… you can’t remember if you had any? If you did, are you supposed to remember them? Maybe they’re brief? Oh, screw it, you don’t care. It’s too complicated for nothing.

Levi’s hand stops, and you don’t like it, because he starts placing you on the mattress to get up. Your reaction is instant: you scratch him, fingertips digging into his forearms.

“Don’t go.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“You said you’d stay.”

“I am staying. I just need to go get something.”

“Then take me with you.”

“I can’t.”

It’s like a ping‑pong rally, the ball going back and forth with no point scored. Neither of you wins. Your eyes duel, and he doesn’t budge. Frustrated, knowing you can’t win this one, you feel your nails to make sure you really scratch down to the flesh, which makes him groan.

“Stop.”

But you don’t want to stop. You want him to stay and that’s it.

“Stay.”

His long sigh says it all… his gaze darkens as you test his patience.

“Y/N… let me go. This is the last time I ask nicely.”

He’s so serious and calm when he says that, you feel the cold rising with the rage simmering inside him. No matter why he’s stepping out, you don’t want him to move away right now… but you won’t have a choice, so you opt for another path—without letting go.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s not important.”

Your frustration slams into his wall and the glass shatters.

“Of course it’s important! You can’t just leave like that, with that somber look, and leave me alone!”

Levi grits his teeth and sharply pulls on your arms to pry away. One of his hands rolls up his shirt sleeve enough to reveal red marks on his forearm, making him frown. If his face could look darker…

“Tch. If you’d asked more kindly, maybe I would have told you.”

He uses that as punishment? He’s serious?

“Are you kidding me? I ask you to stay and you won’t tell me just because I wasn’t 'nice'? You’d rather me tell you to get lost?”

His reaction is immediate. Levi grabs you and flips you onto the mattress in one swift motion, your head hitting the mattress as he lifts your hips and his palm slaps down on your pelvis, drawing a surprised cry from you.

Did he just spank you?

“Y/N… you should stop… playing with the lines with me…”

His voice is low… dangerous and tinged with barely contained desire.

“Fucking temptress… what I’d fucking do to you if you were feeling better…”

More controlled strikes follow in succession, and few caresses between each one soothe your bruised skin. It doesn’t hurt, but you feel the sting of each swat… and it turns you on. And you feel him as hot as you, his breath ragged. Could you make him stay like that? If only.

With that new goal, you take advantage of the break he takes to steady his breath and calm himself to amplify his arousal, shifting your hips to offer friction that makes him groan again. Before he can truly push you away, his hands clasp you and adjust your movement, silently urging you to continue again and again. Until his hips begin to move with you. Although the position isn’t ideal for you, you continue. You try to lean your weight a little more against him to give him more pressure, which elicits harsher thrusts from him.

“Fuck… shit.”

It’s his only indication before he grabs your neck and starts moving as if he’s inside you, hunting his peak, with no thought other than the exaltation of his being. He doesn’t look for your pleasure—too frustrated by the situation to think of that. No, he wants to dominate. Take. Take you entirely. Because you are his. That’s why, right? You want that reason to be true, so you give back thrust for thrust. Until his movements become too strong for you to respond, you only receive his brutal assaults. You moan, begging internally for your clothes to disappear mysteriously and for him to slide home inside you… you dream of it as his breath gets urgent, as do his movements. Desperate, he groans and tightens his hand on your neck, plunging into the hollow of your shoulder to bite through your t‑shirt. Hard. So hard you cry out, feeling your skin tear under the pressure as his hips rut into you again and again, savage with the grace of a predator. Oh, how he uses his prey… as much as you enjoy using yours while you hear him lose his breath, miss a beat, and deliver a few violent, rapid thrusts before lodging himself fully against you, breathless, a muffled growl escaping his throat that slides along your skin like a beastly roar. His teeth hold firm in their grip, marking his territory, and his nails are anchored into your flesh. The pain is secondary because you’re so happy in this moment. He is so depraved for you… just for you… and damn, you smile.

Your breaths slow as none of you moves. It was one of the worst ideas you’ve had given your condition, but damn… you’re like a cat in heat. You always want more. You want to see him reduced to nothing by his desire for you. You want him to go crazy for you.

Slowly, once his control returns, Levi lifts himself up, one hand on the mattress beside your head while the other still holds your neck. He sighs, watching with satisfaction the marks forming on your skin—especially the bite he lightly traces with passion.

“Ah… I could do so much more...”

And you shiver under that promise whose every secret you want to uncover. How far could you push him into madness for you? To make him lose everything? You bite your lip, and he notices.

“That will wait… unfortunately so.”

You whine in protest, even though your body begins to protest the treatment it just endured. You feel him lean toward your ear to whisper a few words.

“I’m going to visit our guest… that pathetic doctor owes us, right? He should be grateful I kept him alive this long… and I want to get my hands on your medications… you need them, my angel.”

His voice is velvet inky dark, venomously sweet and dangerously soft… that poisoned whisper at your ear is unspeakable ecstasy. You’re prey to his charms… you mad fools, predator and prey entwined, playing your toxic romance in poisonous harmony.

You turn your head to meet his icy gaze. Rage toward that intrusive doctor burns in his pupils with the same fervor as his obsession, his passion for you. And you don’t care about that damn doctor—you just want Levi to get what he wants and come back soon. And fucking faster than anything.

So you tilt your head to him and give him a fleeting, gentle kiss on the lips.

“Hurry then.”

You offer him a small smile as he stares back—breath caught, hands frozen on your body before tightening as a wicked smirk spreads lovely over his lips. Dangerous. Darkness. Your monster, yours… depraved for you… deadly for you.

“Of course.”

He then steals a kiss from you… offers it as if handing over his heart.

“Rest while I’m gone. I’ll be back soon… and when I return…”

His free hand slides down to your intimate parts and squeezes firmly, reminding you how wet you are, earning a moan from you, your teeth biting your lips in desire, hips seeking friction. His lips brush your ear, his sultry dark voice full of deadly promise… breath burning with each word.

“I’m going to take care of this…”, slapping it briefly, breath caught in desire.

If it were possible, his hand tightens even more, giving you just enough pressure, teeth nipping your earlobe, his voice like a sweet, oh so sweet, candy...you wanna drink it so bad..merge with it like molten lava..

“…so much that you won’t be able to walk for days…”

You lose your voice, gasping, stunned as he rises quickly to look at you, a flame blazing in his intense eyes, dangerously satisfied with your reactions, then strides out of the room with measured grace, locking the door behind him. And this time, you don’t read the lock as mistrust, but as a promise that your wait will be redeemed…that he’s saving the best for last… the most biting and deadly pleasure...the luxurious and forbidden dessert for the starved beast...you.

Chapter Text

You no longer know whether this is just a nap or actual rest, but this time, upon waking up—for once—you don’t feel nauseous. Or maybe you do, but you’re so far gone that you don’t think about it, and so you don’t feel it.

Levi left so quickly, he didn’t even change, and you’re only realizing that now. Isn’t it uncomfortable to move around in that state? You blush slightly at the thought that maybe you managed to deprave him just enough to leave him like that… even though you suspect he must’ve cleaned himself up. He’s so meticulous in appearance, and the apartment is so… clean. You just have this gut feeling that he’s precise and orderly in everything he does, that he maintains impeccable hygiene—for himself and his space. Every time you’ve completely lost it, there hasn’t been a trace of it when you woke up. Then again, it makes sense… if he really is a killer—and you know he is—then it stands to reason he’d be more than capable of cleaning everything thoroughly. If he hasn’t been caught, it’s because he’s clever and leaves nothing behind. You haven’t asked him anything about it—not because you don’t want to know more about that dark part of his life, but simply because you choose not to. And you have no intention of checking whether your intuition is correct or not.

You have no idea how long he’s been gone, but you already miss him… you know he’s just as eager to return to you as you are to see him again, desperate not to be without him. Still, you’re aware that he’s taking care of that unwelcome guest in his own… particular way. He did mention getting his hands on your meds, after all. And you know he’s right to worry about that. You need your meds to be more stable and to avoid those sudden bursts of rage. And your immeasurable loneliness—that emptiness only he seems to fill, something no one else ever managed. He can’t be with you 24/7, and he can’t exactly let you out either, so even though he fills that hole inside you, the moment he’s gone, you start sinking again. Your meds are also there to soothe that part of you.

Sighing, you sit up to rest against the headboard, waiting. You’re nervous though, because you don’t know how you’ll react once you’re back on your meds. Right now, you’re in withdrawal, with a concussion, you’ve been drugged… you have plenty of reasons to feel disoriented and to cling to him. But in different circumstances, that might not be the case at all. And you’re scared—truly scared—of how your perception of him might shift. Because his won’t. He’s obsessed with you, and right now, you’re basking in that obsession. You feel so important… like you have so much influence over him. Power. And you know it’s not just a feeling. He’s under your spell and wants nothing more than to have you entirely to himself. But are you manipulating him? Are you lying to yourself? You’re not really sure. And that frightens you deeply. Is your heart truly beating for him…?

When you hear the lock turning, your spiraling thoughts vanish. He’s here, just as breathtaking as when he left, with a pharmacy bag in hand. So he really did manage to get your meds… how did he pull that off?

He doesn’t even lock the door behind him as he sets the bag down on the nightstand and leans in to slowly kiss your forehead. You can’t help but close your eyes, soaking in the comfort it brings. In that moment, there’s no more doubt. You instantly feel better when he’s near, and you know that your heart really does beat for him. It doesn’t matter why or how—what matters is that it’s real.

He sits gently beside you.

“Did you get some rest?”

You nod, reaching out to him instinctively, needing to feel his warmth. That need is immediately met as his hand wraps around your wrist and his arm slides behind your lower back, pulling you into him, gently nestled in his arms.

“I took longer than I expected… I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer, just listening to his heartbeat, breathing in his scent as if you hadn’t drawn a single breath in his absence. You stay like that, absorbing him—his presence, his warmth. His hand strokes your hair in a calming rhythm, and you feel him shifting a bit to find a more comfortable position for the both of you. He tilts his head down, pressing another kiss to your forehead, whispering to you, “You need to take your meds.”

You want to shake your head, but you let him guide you as he gives you your antidepressant and anti-anxiety pills with a glass of water. Even if you don’t like taking them, you try not to hesitate too long before swallowing them, handing the glass back to him and curling back into his arms. All you care about is his touch against you. The rest doesn’t matter.

“Y/N… I need to shower.”

You simply tighten your arms around him. You don’t want him to leave, even if it’s just to shower… he said he was going to take care of you. You whimper in protest. You feel him return your embrace, his breath warm against your hair.

“I need to shower… and after that, I’ll take care of you for as long as you want, my sweet. Let me do this.”

For a moment, you just want to stay there. But eventually, you resign yourself to moving, just enough to let him stand and go shower. You pout a little, not wanting to be left alone in the room. You can see the fire in his gaze when your eyes meet. He can’t resist the sadness and frustration that seem to flicker in your expression, and he reaches out to caress your cheek before taking your hand in his as he stands.

“Come.”

You let him help you stand and walk, guiding you with him into the bathroom. You don’t even think anymore, you just follow. You let him think for you. You’re tired of thinking.

Once in the bathroom, it only takes him a few minutes to undress both of you with movements that are simple, yet practiced, then lift you against him and step into the shower. The water is lukewarm, then quickly warms up. You shiver a little, but the heat of Levi’s skin is enough to keep you warm until the water fully heats. Steam surrounds you, his hands on your body, both your hair soaked, water cascading over your skin. You follow the quick flow of water down his back, hypnotized. There’s something calm and serene in this moment. The water washes away your thoughts, your sins. It removes the darkness clinging to you both, to him, giving him new skin—salvation. You imagine him absolved of all his crimes by nothing more than the touch of water. It’s a foolish thought—you know it’s stupid—but you think it anyway, your fingers tracing the lines of water on his shoulder and along the top of his arm. He’s so muscular and so beautiful… sculpted by the gods. You then find yourself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he’s only become a monster because someone has to be—someone has to get their hands dirty to rid the world of other monsters. Someone who sacrifices themselves for the sake of protecting others. And maybe you can offer that soul comfort, be his lifeline, the one to grant him the love and forgiveness he’s deprived himself of—someone who chose horror for the good of others rather than himself. That feels like an unshakable truth to you. It’s the only reason that makes sense for his actions.

“…why would it have to be you, doing all of this…?”

You don’t even realize the tears rolling down your cheeks. It’s only when you speak, and when Levi shifts his grip to hold you against him using the wall—his hand tilting your face toward his to catch your gaze, trying to understand your words—that you become aware of the state you're in. He doesn’t say anything, and you catch the slight confusion in his eyes. What are you talking about? Aren’t you supposed to feel better thanks to your medication, instead of crying like this? You don’t let him dwell on it, lifting your hands to rest them on his cheeks, caressing his skin like porcelain.

“If someone has to rid the world of its bastards... why should it be you? Why you?”

His eyes widen slowly, connecting the dots in your thoughts and realizing what you're referring to. His crimes. His actions. The how and the why. The way you see him. He parts his lips, as if to answer you, but you press your finger to them, gently shaking your head with such sorrow...

“If it really has to be you doing this... then can I be your salvation...? Is that what this is...? Why you? Why me?”

You want to believe that you are his salvation, and the only thing you seek to know is why. Why you are that to him. You’re convinced his actions serve a greater good. If he only targets predators and other killers, if your presence here is nothing but the result of a chain of unfortunate coincidences that were never meant to happen, if he merely wanted to observe you from afar and protect you from himself, from his touch, from his sins... then he isn’t the monster he believes he is. He is not like those monsters. He is your guardian angel, and you want to offer him salvation. But do you even have the right to be that salvation?

“Y/N... you don’t have to torture yourself with this.”

You know he’s right. That you’re digging too deep. But you just can’t help it.

Grasping your hand to move your finger away from his lips, just to press a kiss to your palm before guiding it to his heartbeat, Levi leans in to kiss you gently.

“You don’t know all the reasons that made me become this way... you’d be wrong to make me a savior, a protector who sacrifices himself for others... I'm not  good.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying. You know it as well as I do, no reason should ever justify committing my crimes... even if it’s against the worst scum on this goddamn planet. No one has that right.”

“Because humanity is stupid!”

Your answer surprises him, but he doesn’t stop kissing your face, nestling into your neck, kissing the bite that burns you, a smile on his lips.

“Fair enough... I can’t deny that.”

You let him soothe your wound, burying your hands in his hair.

“Let me believe in it, please... I’m sure there’s more to this than just psychopathy or whatever... you have your reasons. Otherwise, you’d go after anyone. Otherwise, you wouldn’t try to take care of me.”

His lips pause, leaving one last kiss on your wound before he rises to lock his steely eyes with yours.

“Except I’m willing to kill even an innocent for you. If the slightest idiot dares threaten you or even thinks about coming near you, I want to slit his throat and gut him, rip out his entrails and his skin for even thinking of laying his fucking hands on what is mine.”

You know what he says is true and monstrous, and yet you don’t care.

“If it’s someone who threatens me and comes after me, then they’re not innocent…”

Levi clenches his teeth, his fists tightening against the wall, his knuckles turning white, his eyes darkening with a dangerous glint.

“Exactly.”

You lean toward him and place a quick kiss on his lips to calm the murderous urges building inside him toward that imaginary figure, fully aware that his thoughts have turned black from the mere idea of someone touching you. Of someone threatening you and taking you away from him. He’s so possessive of you that even the thought is unbearable to him. And you embrace that possessiveness, welcoming it with open arms.

“You’re not a monster... you’re simply doing what no one else has the courage to do in this world rotten to its core.”

His silence speaks volumes, not fully accepting the idea of not being called a monster, but still accepting your words as a partial truth. His gaze softens a little, his hatred toward those who threaten you and toward himself giving way to his adoration.

“You’re far too pure for me…”

“I’m not pure. I’m selfish, moody, anxious about life. I hate plenty of people, and I love others. I’m human. So are you.”

“You’re far more human than I’ll ever be.”

“But to me — for me — you’re human.”

As if your words were heaven’s gates, Levi seems to fall to his knees before you, his body collapsing to the floor, taking you down with him. His heart is still pounding hard beneath your hand. Then his lips crash against yours with urgency, his hands abandoning the wall to anchor themselves to your hips, pressing you against him with force. Fast. Precise. Starved for your body. Consumed by the purest desires of lust, by his need to become one with you. He barely lets you breathe, his feelings pouring out with such force, unleashed and with no restraints left.

“You’re insane, Y/N... you drive me insane... I’m fucking mad for you. I’m nothing but a fucking worthless piece of shit... and yet you make me feel like I’m so much more than that. Damn..You make me feel alive. So alive.”

You can't even answer him, feeling his hand slip between you, finding its way to your most intimate core with no hesitation. With sensuality and softness, yet not without burning desire, his fingers begin their back-and-forth motion inside you, faster and faster, seeking one single thing: the pinnacle of lust. As if staining you with his crimes, with the blood on his hands, was no longer a concern—but almost a craving. As if your touch could cleanse him of his sins, even while he shared them with you. His movements grow less patient, craving more than anything to watch you fall apart in front of him. Against him. For him. And you give him what he wants in a silent cry as your hips chase his hand, echoing its rhythm, your head thrown back against the wall, your eyes catching nothing but white flashes as the uncontrolled pleasure surges through your body, each spark igniting a fire in every single cell of you.

You don’t even have time to come down from that seventh heaven before you feel Levi pressing his lips to yours, thrusting himself into you in one fluid movement, replacing his fingers without warning to bury himself deep—completely. Your cry is swallowed in your kiss as you feel him nestled so deeply within, your body forced to adjust to him swiftly, urgently. You can’t even adapt before he’s already moving, imposing a relentless rhythm before you can catch your breath. Levi has lost control—of his strength, of his needs—his body crashing into yours again and again, driven by an effervescent hunger. Deeper, if that were even possible. Harder, if that were even possible.

You're losing your grip on reality, clinging to him, digging your nails into his skin until you draw blood, enduring the assault of his hips, biting his lips until they bleed as the heat within you rises dangerously fast—wild and deafening. It's all too quick and you wish it could last longer, but your body buckles under the pressure and you yank Levi’s hair hard, triggering a sharper intensity in his rhythm, as if he needs—more than anything—to touch the stars with you, to lose himself in your embrace at this very instant. And he follows you without hesitation, completely smothered by your body clutching his, barely letting him move, his hands branding bruises into your skin as he tries to anchor himself as deep inside you as possible.

Your breaths are ragged for long minutes, with him still buried inside you, your hands now holding his face against your neck. Your emotions run high. So do the waves between you. And you don’t want it to end here… he promised you wouldn’t be able to walk? You want him to do whatever he wants… even if you collapse from exhaustion, you want him to soak himself into you, to brand his presence upon you, inside you. You want him to make you entirely his.

You clench yourself tighter around him, drawing a raw groan from his throat, provoking an instinctive thrust of his hips deep into you.

“Please…”

And you don’t even need to explain what you mean.

Levi, without pulling out for even a second, lifts you with him, shutting off the water from the shower as he walks quickly toward the bed, tumbling down with you onto the mattress. He doesn't even wait for your back to fully hit the sheets before he starts moving again, as if his life depended on it.

His forearms form a barricade from the world on either side of your head as his hips hammer into yours with precise, relentless rhythm.

He wants you to scream his name.

He wants your mind to drown in him—he wants your senses to be filled with nothing but him.

One of his hands finds its way to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make the pulse in your veins throb wildly beneath his fingers.

You part your lips, moaning louder as his thrusts grow more intense, harder inside you.

He plants his knees deeper into the mattress, bracing himself as he slips a pillow beneath your hips, adjusting the angle to deepen each assault.

He bites at your lips, breath ragged, sweat mingling on your skins, his desires wreaking havoc without mercy.

“Scream for me.”

You moan louder. Not loud enough.

His movements slam harder inside you, your breath catching, and his voice growls wildly.

“Fuck… scream for me… fucking scream for me!”

Levi loses all control to the violent obsession that consumes him, sadistic and possessive, his passion overtaking his reason like venom flooding through his veins.

He is rutting into you, feral and unrestrained, unable to stop, ripping cries from your throat with each merciless thrust that borders on painful.

You don’t know anymore if you’re screaming from pleasure or pain—because the two have long since fused into one—and dots flicker behind your vision.

You claw at his arms and shoulders, desperately seeking something solid in this storm of sensation.

All you can think about is him. All you can feel is him. His body. His heat. His gaze. His breath. His presence. His motion. His voice. His grip on you. Him… only him. And you scream for him.

Again. And again.

As if you were feeding his fire with gasoline, granting his hips renewed force that never falters, driving into you with brutal consistency, plunging in deeper, stroke after stroke.

Your body shatters again, no warning, no build-up—just the sudden crash of another wave of pleasure that devours you whole, stealing your scream for just a second as your body clings to Levi’s in a death-grip that he embraces with everything he is, still moving, prolonging your ecstasy as he chases his own.

Your body struggles to remain conscious, too overstimulated by all the sensations you feel—your emotions, your flesh—while Levi's movements remain dangerously consistent, then progressively more erratic and frenzied as he nears his breaking point.

His groans of exertion are music to your ears, and despite the oversensitivity that floods your limbs, your body throbs and tightens voluntarily around him, ripping an uncontrolled moan from his throat as his hips falter.

Two harsh, final thrusts—and you feel him come deep inside you, clinging to you like you were his only lifeline, the sole light left in his world.

His embered gaze stays locked on yours for that endless moment you wish could last forever, and even as unconsciousness begins to drag you under, exhausted, you remain focused on his eyes.

Those silver and blue glints stay with you until his body parts from yours only to collapse at your side, his lips finding yours in a passionate kiss just before sleep claims you both in its hold.

Chapter Text

It’s as if you were inside a cocoon that offered you a safety you had always longed for, without even knowing you wanted it—without knowing how much you needed it.

In his arms, only vaguely awake after your lovemaking the night before, you remain gently nestled in his warmth, fully enjoying the protection his arms give you, his hands resting possessively on you even in his sleep.

Levi is peaceful, his breathing just as calm, his heart beating the same. You feel soothed, even though your thoughts are still foggy in a strange way. And you know it’s not the medication—it’s just your overall physical state. You’re both very passionate in your embraces, but your body can’t keep up with that devouring passion.

You’re exhausted, and you feel dizzy even lying in bed, the nausea returning subtly. You know it’s because of your head injury… this damn concussion is far from healed, and you probably made a mistake by giving in to desire, completely forgetting about it.

So, even if you want to stay in Levi’s arms so peacefully, you have no choice but to wake him when you feel the nausea rise again and become much stronger.

The simple movement of your hand on his bicep, gently shaking him, is enough to wake him and draw all his attention to you.

You can feel his gaze on you, and he's about to ask what’s wrong—stopping as soon as he sees your face.

You don’t want to know what you look like, but you can clearly imagine how pale you must be and how obvious it is that you're not well.

Gently, Levi shifts his hold around you to lift you from the bed and carry you to the bathroom.

He stays with you as your body suddenly collapses into the pain caused by your concussion, rejecting the contents of your stomach, your head pounding violently as if it were being hammered from the inside.

A heavier wave of dizziness hits you all at once just as the nausea finally eases, and you don’t even have the time to warn Levi before your body loses balance and collapses against his. It’s very likely that you would’ve slammed your head against the floor if he hadn’t been there.

Your breathing is ragged and you’re sweating, your head still spinning in a horribly unpleasant way. You’re not even aware that Levi helps rinse you off and brings you back to bed to give you some medicine. The nausea has settled, but not the dizziness—nor the weakness. And, trying to escape that state and anchor yourself to something solid, you reach your hands out to grab Levi’s wrists with a whimper of pain.

A few tears fall from your eyes as Levi leans in to caress your hair and murmur that the medicine will take effect soon. Which is true.

The world starts becoming more stable, less and less blurry, and you finally manage to see Levi clearly.

His eyes are full of worry, never leaving you for a second as he lies next to you, one hand on your nape and the other against your forehead, checking for a fever. Your hands have scratched the skin of his shoulders once again, and you feel a bit guilty about it. You’d rather it happened in more sensual circumstances…

Your hand traces indistinct patterns on his chest, annoyed by your state, which is becoming worrying.

“How much longer will this last…?”

Levi remains silent, his hand making circles on your shoulder and the top of your back in a soothing motion. You know he’s worried about you. And if you have an idea of what happened before he brought your meds, the doctor may not be in any state to answer you anymore… He’s probably six feet under—or anywhere else Levi disposed of him. You should definitely be feeling better by now… Then again, with what you two have been doing, you may have neglected your condition a bit. But you don’t regret it. He’s here, with you. And you feel whole, even if your body is a bastard that refuses to heal.

You stay in silence, both of you, lost in your thoughts, your hands caressing each other’s skin in absentminded gestures.

Your mind is both restless and numb at the same time, and you start to feel the dark aura surrounding Levi grow thicker and heavier. You’re not surprised when you lift your head and see his dark expression and his cold, glacial eyes filled with quiet rage. He regrets having dealt with the doctor before making sure you were truly okay… But you both thought you were. You both believed your condition was getting better. You didn’t expect your body to be this stupid. Without thinking, you raise your hand to his cheek to redirect his gaze to you.

It works, but his anger doesn’t fade.

You move slightly to kiss him before running your hand through his hair.

“It’s not your fault.”

He disagrees… and he’s stubborn.

“I should have been more careful.”

“I was doing better, you had no way to know.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s still my fault. If I’d been faster that day… we wouldn’t be here. If I’d killed that fucker earlier…”

You don’t entirely understand who he’s talking about, but clearly, it’s no longer the doctor. You assume it’s that indistinct person who attacked you and to whom you owe this concussion… you don’t remember enough—and you don’t want to remember.

“You couldn’t have known.”

You repeat yourself, but you need him to realize that he couldn’t have predicted everything. That it truly isn’t his fault. He’s already done so much for you…

Of course, when it comes to the doctor, you both should’ve paid more attention to your state before he made the decision to eliminate him. But as for the rest, he couldn't have known. Even about the doctor—you could have told him about the nausea. It’s a shared mistake. You want to carry that weight with him, because you’re here together. And he’s already bearing so much… you don’t want to become one of those burdens or regrets.

“Nothing could’ve predicted what happened, or that my condition wouldn’t improve. If you think it’s your fault, then it’s mine too.”

Your reasoning hits like a jolt, snapping his eyes back to you in a flash, his hands gripping you painfully, his jaw clenched.

“Don’t say bullshit. It’s not your fault.”

But you don’t back down. You’re not afraid of him, and you’re just as stubborn as he is.

“If you’re so damn set on blaming yourself, then I’ll take the blame too. So either you accept that you couldn’t have predicted everything, or you accept that I carry the weight with you.”

You’re getting a little annoyed, because you can tell that neither option sits well with him—but you won’t let him find another way out. You press your finger between his furrowed brows.

“Stubborn as a mule.”

Levi doesn’t respond, his jaw still tense, but the pressure in his muscles releases just a little. Still, his whole body remains taut.

“Says you…”

His frustration makes you smile despite yourself.

“That’s why you like me.”

His anger fades all at once, replaced by a rush of intense emotion that fills his gaze and washes away all the fury he felt toward the situation. His hand grabs your wrist to kiss it before pulling you along as he lies down on his back, settling you over him, your head nestled into his neck.

“For far more than that…”

For a fleeting moment, you both forget the critical nature of your situation, and your heart drifts to distant, curious thoughts. What are the things he loves about you so much You’re nothing special after all… And that’s exactly how you express your thoughts, your hand gently weaving through his hair.

“I still can’t believe it… that you could have any interest in someone like me…”

His hand stops tracing circles on your back to tilt your head upward and catch your gaze. The intensity of emotion burning in his eyes overwhelms you. You can’t help parting your lips slightly, your heart swelling with affection—with love—for him. He is your fallen angel in all his splendor.

“Someone like you? Y/N… you have no idea what you are to me… there isn’t a single thing about you that doesn’t make me want to love you, to worship you. You are everything to me.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know if this is the right moment for a conversation like this, but…

“But why me…? I’ve done nothing for you… I’m not special.”

A flicker of sadness crosses his eyes as he adjusts his position on the bed so you can hold each other’s gaze more comfortably, still keeping you tightly pressed against him.

“It’s because you don’t remember. You did it just… because it’s who you are.”

What did you do? Confusion spreads across your face, and a sigh escapes him.

“You saved me, in more ways than you could ever imagine. If you hadn’t been there that night… I wouldn’t be here anymore. I owe you my life..fucking everything… my Y/N…”

You want to ask him more about that night he’s referring to, about what he means, and your heart clenches painfully at the very idea that he might not exist anymore—bringing tears to your eyes in a split second. Tears he wipes away with his fingers before licking the salty drops.

But still, you cry, whimpering with grief at the very notion of him not being there. And you bury yourself even deeper against him, your face hidden in his neck, breathing in his skin, his scent, his hair, sobbing without truly understanding why, whispering again and again,

“Don’t you dare leave me… I don’t want to imagine it. Stay with me… I’m begging you, stay with me.”

None of it makes sense, but his arms wrap tightly around you, possessive, his lips kissing your hair as he murmurs that he’s not going anywhere and that he has no intention of leaving.

“I will never leave you.”

His hands should feel like a prison—you should feel trapped. But instead, they are your anchor, your haven of serenity, protecting you from the world. And you hold on tighter to him, seeking calm, your hand over his heart. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat gradually soothes you. He is everything to you too… and you don’t want him to let you go… just as much as you don’t want him to walk away.

After a long while, you finally bring yourself to ask a question that’s been burning your lips just as much as it saddens you.

“You’re going out, aren’t you…?”

A simple nod followed by a soft “mh” is all he gives you. Of course he’s going to have to go out… He doesn’t intend to wait around hoping your condition improves by chance.

“Isn’t it risky?”

You’ve been thinking about that ever since he told you that people might be watching you, possibly trying to get to you—very likely to get to him. If he goes out, whether it’s to hunt the bastards who plague this world or to find a solution for your condition, wouldn’t those people try to harm him? To track him down? You’ve got a bad feeling.

“It is. But I don’t have a choice, and you know that perfectly well.”

Yes, you do know. But you don’t like it. And you need him to know that you feel it too.

“Be careful…”

“I’m always careful, my angel.”

“I have a bad feeling.”

He doesn’t answer, but he listens. You know he listens, drinks in your words, feels your worry.

You lift yourself just enough to adjust and press your forehead against his, eyes closed.

“Please… be careful… and come back to me quickly.”

You open your eyes, meeting his silver gaze, feeling one of his hands press gently against your cheek.

He leans in to lick away a tear as it falls.

“I promise you.”

And you nod before kissing him deeply, then allowing him to guide you gently back down, lying you carefully on the bed again.

He tucks you in and kisses your forehead, making sure to place a glass of water and a few biscuits on the nightstand in case you get hungry, before getting dressed in a black t-shirt, black jeans, and a black hoodie.

You bite your lip, anxious and enchanted all at once, watching his movements with passion.

He turns to kiss you once more before walking out of the room, locking the door behind him.

You close your eyes, drifting off to sleep, hoping that he will, indeed, return quickly… and without trouble.

Chapter Text

It isn’t exactly Levi’s return that wakes you—at least, not directly. It’s a sensation, a prickle beneath your skin telling you that something is wrong, that makes you move toward the window and glance down. You don’t know what came over you, but perhaps it’s better this way. Because you see Levi below, speaking to a tall man with blond hair. You can’t hear them, yet from the way Levi holds himself, you can tell he is not enjoying the exchange he’s been dragged into. And as a result, neither are you. Your bad premonition takes shape right before your eyes when, with a fleeting glance toward the very window through which you watch them, the man’s gaze meets yours. In your state, you don’t have time to hide, and you stifle a curse when you catch the shadow of a victorious smile on his face before he turns away after having seen you, heading straight toward a car bearing a logo far too familiar. Damn.

He’s a cop. A cop has just seen you at the window. And as you watch him leave, your gaze drops and collides with Levi’s—his brows drawn together in a sharp frown as he catches sight of you. In that moment, you have only two thoughts. You’re screwed, and Levi is furious.

So when he reaches the bedroom door and smashes it open without even bothering to unlock it, you are not surprised. Still, you’re not afraid either, not even when his hands seize you with a brutal grip and slam you against the wall, his entire being radiating fury. It isn’t your fault the cop saw you, and you have no reason to apologize for having gotten up to look out the window.

“What the hell were you doing at the damn window?”

He’s boiling with rage, which makes you knit your brows. Your head is still pounding, and his treatment of you doesn’t help. That said, that’s not what you point out to him.

“I woke up with a bad feeling, so I was watching for your return.”

“Watching, huh? Do you realize the shit you’ve just landed us in?”

Your hand moves on its own, delivering a light slap to his cheek as if it had its own mind.

“It’s not my fault! I can’t help it if some asshole cop followed you! I didn’t even know there was a cop!”

You know full well you’ve just poured gasoline on the fire of his rage—that even a light slap is still a blow, and Levi doesn’t tolerate that kind of gesture toward him. Or rather… he enjoys subduing you when you fight back, but he doesn’t like it when your defense happens to land a strike on him in the process. Yet, by some miracle, he reins in his temper, merely curling his fists until his knuckles turn white against the wall on either side of your head.

“He was digging for information about you… there are fucking wanted notices plastered all over the city.”

Levi doesn’t even look at you as he says it, his gaze fixed on the floor between you. You realize quickly enough that he’s angry at himself, really. He knows perfectly well that none of this is your fault. His eyes search the ground, hunting for answers.

“That bastard got a call to turn me in. If I don’t cooperate…”

He doesn’t need to finish. Cops will come, and they will come for you. Which means… Levi will be arrested. That he won’t be there for you anymore. Your hands reach for his shirt.

“You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

You’re angry and in tears. You hate where all of this is heading. Why did the cops have to find you? Who is the rat who turned Levi in? Is it your fault? Because of your screams and your outbursts? Are you the reason you’re going to lose him?

“I don’t want to lose you. You promised… you can’t let those bastard cops—”

“I have no intention of cooperating.”

Your words die as his gaze lifts to meet yours. He is resolute.

“Which means we’re getting the hell out.”

Levi steps back just enough to look at you fully, then sighs in frustration. He runs a hand through his hair, brows still furrowed.

“I wanted you to get better before we moved… but I can’t afford to wait any longer.”

You say nothing. You hadn’t even thought about leaving—only about not wanting him to go. Something twists inside you at the thought of abandoning this place, filling you with a deep unease he doesn’t fail to notice. One of Levi’s hands finds your cheek, tilting your face toward his.

“You understand, don’t you? We have to leave. You want me to stay by your side, hm?”

He wipes away the tears spilling from your eyes, and all you can manage is a small nod, which draws a dark, possessive smirk to his lips, a dangerous glint burning in his ice-colored irises.

“Then let’s go.”

He kisses you briefly before pulling away to grab a bag from the dresser, filling it with basic necessities as you remain rooted, watching him. Why does the thought of leaving unsettle you so much? You’re not entirely sure. But it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t sit well. And yet he’s right… if you want him to stay, for you to stay together, you have to leave together. So why is your mind drifting elsewhere? Why did you find yourself hoping you’d remain here? Did you wish he would slaughter the cops for you? That he would prove he was truly willing to do anything for you…?

“You can’t just… erase them?”

The words slip out before you even realize, freezing him mid-motion. His gaze, startled, lifts to you, and he doesn’t move. He studies you, as if wondering whether he’d imagined what you just said.

In a few slow, deliberate steps, he closes the distance between you, prowling like a predator. You don’t step back. You watch him in return.

“You want… me to slaughter those cops…?”

You say nothing, only watching that murderous, possessive gleam in his eyes. His hands cradle your face, his own so close to yours again. You’re hypnotized.

“Tell me, Y/N… answer me. Is that what you want from me?”

You don’t even blink.

“You said you would kill anyone who stood in your way to be with me… didn’t you?”

You could have answered him without throwing a question back, but you almost want to hear him say he wants to gun them down even more than you want to admit you want him to do it—to prove his words.

A smirk curves one corner of his lips, but his gaze grows darker still, and he drives you back against the wall, his body radiating heat.

“That’s not what I asked you.”

He wants you to answer first…

“Do you want me to slaughter them for you?”

So you give him that answer he tears from you, even though you are at least partially aware of the horror you are suggesting—the massacre of innocents in the service of the law, who are merely trying to protect you, for you. Just for you.

“Yes.”

Something flashes in his eyes, perhaps sadness, as he rests his forehead against yours.

“What have I made of you…? How could I stain you with darkness to this extent…? How could I have dared…”

Regret. That’s what he feels, and it’s not what you want.

“You’ve done nothing wrong.”

But he sighs.

“Of course I have. You shouldn’t be asking me to do that… you are far too pure for it…”

He pulls away from you, and for an instant, you think he might be considering surrender—just because of your words. You cannot hold back your cry, nor your tears, as he looks away.

“You’re the one who said you would kill anyone, even innocents, who got between you and me!”

“I said I would do it of my own will. I never implied that you would be the one to ask me to.”

When his eyes meet yours again, you see the conflict within him. He is probably right. He is always right about you—but you don’t care. And so, even as he steps back, it is you who advances.

“Please… you promised me… you told me you wouldn’t let them separate us… that nothing would stop you from being with me… you promised me…”

His armor and his regrets crack to let something else through—the possessive monster inside him, the one that secretly feeds on your reaction. That you lean on him, that you call to him, that you wish to see him unleash himself for you and that you accept it. That poisonous part of him rejoices in having tainted you.

“No one will separate us. No one will take you from me, not even fucking death.”

Perhaps you know him far better than you had thought. Perhaps you, too, are right.

He steps away to grab the bag, swinging it over his shoulder before taking a hoodie and helping you into it, then searching for sneakers, which he also helps you put on, before taking your hand and pulling you with him out of the room—without even trying to erase the traces of your presence. You follow without protest.

“That’s why we’re leaving.”

Just on the threshold of the door, he turns to pull up your hood and cover your face with a scarf.

“If, and only if, those bastards get in our way, I will kill them all to the last one.”

The wild danger burns in his eyes, his words final, as he leads you outside, taking the stairs before guiding you to a spotless black sedan. Not a scratch. Not a speck of dirt.

He puts the bag in the trunk, pulling out other things to hand you a small bag and a blanket. Your blanket. Has he been to your place?

As you settle into the passenger seat, he leans over to help you fasten your seatbelt before starting the engine and pulling away.

“They won’t… track your… targets and find incriminating things…?”

You let your sentence hang in the air. It worries you to leave without covering your tracks, and with so little brought along. Is he armed? Does he have more in the trunk?

One of his hands naturally comes up to rest before his lips while the other grips the wheel firmly, the car sliding into traffic with smooth ease.

“That’s not a problem.”

He shifts gears as you merge onto the highway.

“It’s better you don’t know why.”

But somewhere in the city, an explosion rings out, and you know. You watch him in silence, dangerously aware of what he has done to make sure you could not be traced from the building. And the plume of smoke in the distance only confirms it.

They won’t be able to trace you, because there is nothing left to trace. Just ashes.

You clutch your blanket tighter, suddenly seized by fear, with a doubt singing in you. You wonder if you have made a bad decision. Have you truly made the right choice? How far is he truly willing to go for you? You should not have challenged him earlier. He never intended to spare those in your path if it became necessary. And he had already planned for sacrifices along the way—just in your escape. He is far more prepared for all of this than you are, and he has just proved it.

“Was there…”

“No.”

He throws you a quick glance, as if to gauge your reaction.

“Don’t think about it.”

“I…”

“Y/N.”

His tone is enough to silence you. Yet he is calm as he briefly caresses your cheek before placing his hand back on the wheel and resuming a relaxed, almost seductive driving posture.

“The building is uninhabited. I own it. So don’t trouble yourself with those details.”

His eyes stay on the road, still calm.

“You wanted me, didn’t you? Then don’t ask yourself those kinds of questions.”

Your heart tightens a little. It’s not that you don’t believe him—because you know he told you he only went after criminals—but…

“Rest. The road will be long.”

Your thoughts fall silent all at once, as if his words carried the secret power to quiet all your fears, and you stop thinking about it. You trust him, truly hoping the building was empty, and you close your eyes, drifting into sleep, uncertain of where you are going… and of the future that awaits you.

Chapter Text

And long—that is truly what the road is… when you fell asleep, the sun was high in the sky, and when you awoke, the moon had taken its place upon a dark, star-scattered canvas. Levi doesn’t seem to have stopped even once to rest, continuing to drive you both somewhere else. Far from your city.

You watch him in silence, comfortably buried in your blanket. You don’t know when he went to your place, but you’re glad he did, even if the thought of him infiltrating your apartment unsettles you… your blanket is your small shield against the world, and right now, even against Levi. Because your sleep has not helped your thoughts. You’ve had nightmares—of screams, and of people caught in the explosion. Innocents massacred before your eyes. By the very person sitting beside you.

In your confusion, you wanted him to prove what he said, but you are in no way truly capable of accepting him harming innocents. You suspect he knows it, that if you asked him, it was born more of the confusion you feel and your overall state than of any genuine desire. Because now, alarms are ringing louder and louder inside you, and you’re starting to fear him—so your mind clings to the safety he provides, to forget how easily he can bring destruction. His obsession isn’t even the main thought in your head anymore. It’s the danger he could truly represent—for others, for you… and for himself. You don’t want him to harm innocents. To target those who are harmful to this world, in your eyes, is an act of sacrifice—something few have the heart to do, and yet he does, staining his hands for the sake of others. But innocents… even police officers? If these people are upright and good for society and so on… you cannot imagine Levi going after them. In fact, you even think you would put yourself between them and him, wrapping your arms around Levi as if you could erase his murderous impulses at the mere approach of any potential threat that could separate you, no matter what.

Sensing your gaze fixed upon him, Levi’s eyes flick briefly to you before his hand reaches over to brush your hair away from your face. You freeze in place, no longer sure whether you are afraid of him or not. Your heart tightens in that dilemma between your feelings, sensing as much attachment for him as fear… for him? Of him?

“Awake?”

“Mmh.”

You are still tired, and you do not trust your voice enough to speak. You’re afraid your doubt will seep through, that you might tremble or betray yourself somehow.

“Hungry?”

The question hits you suddenly—you hadn’t once thought about your body and its needs. You are hungry indeed, and you nod, which he notices quickly from the corner of his eye. He gestures toward the bag at your feet.

“Front pocket. We’ll have a real meal in about an hour. I’d rather get as far ahead as we can.”

You nod again, slowly reaching for the bag to pull it toward you and open the front pocket, taking out your medication and a drinkable fruit purée. It will do just fine. You almost feel like a child he’s caring for sometimes… which only adds to your confused mind. You no longer know what to think. Only that you want him here. It makes no sense at all.

You want him to keep his promises, and at the same time, you want him not to. You wish him to stay with you, even if part of you fears him. Yet you know that even though he has impulses, he isn’t entirely impulsive. He acts swiftly and thinks with a sharp mind. He reacts with precision, but every gesture is considered. Even when he’s angry with you, even when he occasionally loses his footing. He controls himself, always making sure to keep to a straight path. Well… perhaps you are contradicting yourself—he is impulsive, after all, but… oh, how you lose yourself in the end. You simply know, with certainty, that he is more calculating than he lets on. That is why you know he already had a precise destination in mind before the officer even arrived, why he trapped the building to ensure no trace would be left behind. He is always several moves ahead, even if the police are gradually closing in. And you think the reason he’s losing ground… is because of your presence at his side.

Your mood swings, your anger, your condition, your desires, your outbursts… he has taken many risks because of all of this. For you. When he could have simply ignored it all, locked you away, and satisfied his own urges without considering yours in the slightest. No—he placed your well-being and your life above all else. He exposed himself to protect you. Even though the reason you need protecting… is him. Perhaps it’s also because he feels guilty? No. He is obsessed with you, possessive, jealous. He doesn’t act out of regret, does he? And yet earlier today, he seemed to regret staining you with darkness… even as he secretly reveled in it… does he act this way out of guilt for putting you in this position? You do not want that.

The whole situation is a mess. It’s not just what’s chasing you from the outside, not just the events that have just unfolded… everything is a nameless chaos. Even your relationship and the way you see him are already a mess. And a problem.

Suddenly, your nerves give way and you tremble all over. Your headache becomes secondary as your emotions scatter in every direction… you can’t bear being this confused, not knowing how to see him or how to place yourself in relation to him and your feelings for him. You are tired of being like this. You want it to be simple. It’s too complicated and it angers you, it hurts you.

Tears begin to run down your cheeks as your hand tightens around the empty fruit pouch, until your nails dig into your skin. Your jaw clenches, and you feel the urge to hit something rising before your hand even lifts and swings toward the dashboard. Only to be stopped immediately by an iron grip.

Your eyes widen, your gaze falling upon the hand that has seized your wrist to keep you from unleashing your anger. It feels like an insult to your emotions. You need to express yourself. So your hateful glare travels from his arm up to the man holding you. He doesn’t even look at you as he holds you like this! He drives as though nothing is happening! Except for the tight set of his jaw. He feels your gaze and tightens his grip—a silent, preventive threat. As if your mind would simply stop pouring out its fury just because he warns you not to react…

Your other hand rises to seize his wrist and scratch at it, not even trying to spare his skin as you try to force him to let go.

“Let go of me!”

His hand does not release you—on the contrary, it clamps even more firmly around your wrist.

“Y/N…”

You know he’s losing patience, that he’s trying to prevent the situation from escalating. But you don’t care. You want him to let go. You need him to let go. You need to be alone for a moment, to release the pressure, to scream, to shout, to cry, to claw at whatever itches until it is out of your skin, to rid yourself of all this mess suffocating you and making you feel so wretched, to be free of this confusion, to just find yourself again. You are begging for him to let you find yourself again.

“Let go of me, damn it! You’re hurting me! Let go!”

His jaw tightens a little more, his hand never loosening for an instant as he accelerates and maneuvers to take the exit toward a deserted highway rest area. It is nothing more than a simple patch of greenery, without even a shop or anything else. No other car in sight.

He stops abruptly, bringing the car to a swift yet flawlessly precise halt, steering with only one hand, not even sparing a glance at the fact that you’re thrashing beside him like a wild creature caught in a snare. Your struggle doesn’t so much as ripple his movements, and that only fuels your fury all the more.

You keep hurling insults at him, clawing at his wrist to force him to let you go. His skin has turned raw and reddened from your relentless scratching.

No sooner has he finished parking than he unbuckles himself, seizing both your wrists in one fluid, unyielding motion to pin you in place.

“That’s enough.”

But you fight back, still. Even restrained by the seatbelt, you twist your body in desperation, managing to drive your knees toward him in clumsy strikes. You’re frantic, untethered.

“Let me go!”

“No.”

And he holds you as though it were effortless, even shifting to press some of his weight over your legs so you can’t lash out anymore, ensuring every possible avenue of resistance is sealed off. The sheer helplessness tears through you, breaking you open completely.

“For fuck’s sake, let me go! Just let me go! Let me breathe, damn it! Just let me breathe!”

Now you’re pleading. The anger in your voice is gone, stripped away, leaving only raw despair. That aching, suffocating need to find yourself again. You feel trapped inside your own skin. You need him to let you do this.

He freezes, suddenly still, a fleeting shadow of pain crossing his eyes for the briefest instant. And though his grip remains unrelenting for a few minutes more, the silence between you stretching taut, he eventually releases you and leans back, slow and measured.

You don’t even register it right away, breathless and panicked, still fighting battles inside yourself. But your body has registered it; the moment your hands are freed, they reach instinctively for the door handle and your seatbelt buckle. In seconds, you collapse onto the ground outside, tumbling from the car in one jarring motion, severing every last point of contact with Levi. He only watches you, his gaze dark and contemplative—wounded, and yet unreadably calm. You see him closing in on himself, bit by bit. Before he can move, before he can decide what comes next, you push yourself up in an unsteady rise and trot feebly toward the trees.

You disappear into the thin edge of a forest, pushing on until the car’s headlights are swallowed completely by the dark. Until only the whisper of wind and the heavy solitude surround you. Blackness pools in every direction, and each rustle, each faint sound, sends a dart of fear into you. They steal the focus from your thoughts, dragging your already frayed nerves even tighter. You’re still gasping for air, forcing breath into your lungs as you try to soothe the tremor of terror threading through you.

You know he will catch up. You know you should keep moving, should try to slip away. That’s what survival demands of you. You know this. And yet… you need to think. And as the fog inside your mind thins, as breath begins to flow a little more evenly, the fear of what’s hidden in the dark around you starts to take up more space than the fear of him. And in that space, you find a fragile clarity—calm, pale and constant like the moon above.

You do not want to go far from him. He is all you have, just as you hope you are all he has. You want him to keep his promises to you, but without striking at innocent lives. You want there to be only the two of you. You want the world to still itself around you, for him to just live at your side without all this chaos clawing at your heels. You want to stop running. You want to stop hiding. You want to sink into the time you have with him, to truly learn who he is, to understand why he clings to you with such unyielding force. You want… you want him. That is the heart of it. That is all you wish for.

A sharp crack of a branch behind you tells you he’s found you again, that he is moving toward you like a shadowed predator. He could seize your wrists, drag you back in his wake. He could throw you over his shoulder and have you in the car before you could blink. But he doesn’t. He stands at the edge of the small clearing you’ve stumbled into, watching. Measuring your breathing, your stillness, your next move. And you let him, because you know—this is him honoring your plea. You know it takes an immense act of restraint for him not to pull you into his arms and lock you there. He is letting you breathe. Letting you think. And you have wounded him… you hadn’t meant to wound him. You want to help him find calm, to find peace with you.

Unsteady, swaying slightly despite yourself, exhaustion draped heavy over your limbs, you turn toward him with eyes brighter than they’ve been since you’ve been with him. You feel like yourself again—quiet, grounded. Yes, tears streak your cheeks, for the hurt you didn’t wish to cause and for the relief of having been given this space. Your medication helps, you know, but this moment—this breaking point and the brief, terrifying solitude in a place unknown—has allowed you to settle.

He approaches in deliberate, measured steps, well aware that you could still pull back, stumble, or even make one last attempt to run. Yet you do none of those things. You try to move toward him instead—but your legs give way.

In a heartbeat, he’s there, your steady anchor, holding you upright as your body surrenders to the accumulated exhaustion, the release of pressure leaving only the bone-deep weariness behind. Your hands tremble, but you lift them, placing them on his biceps—to ground yourself against him, to let him know, without question, that you are here.

“Sorry… I’m sorry.”

He says nothing, simply holding you against him, his breathing still a little fast, gradually settling. So you keep going. You have to reassure him, to soothe him.

“I needed to think… I never meant to hurt you. I don’t want to leave you, I just… needed to find myself again. To think..I’m sorry…”

Only silence answers you, accompanied by the sounds of the surrounding nature. Then his voice, very low, responds.

“I know.”

His hand rises to stroke your hair in a gesture meant to reassure, as if to promise he will not lose his temper, even though you can feel the tension in his muscles and see his fist clenched with dangerous force. He is holding himself back. He knows you are not lying to him, and he is doing his utmost to restrain his thoughts, his urges to lock you away, to bind you in some way so you could never drift from him, not even for a heartbeat.

You can feel the taut strain through every part of his body, and you try to ease it by caressing him with your trembling hands, but exhaustion presses harder now and it becomes difficult to keep the motion steady.

“I’m sorry… I’m not going anywhere, Levi. It’s going to be alright.”

It’s the first time those words have come from you, and it freezes him for a second, stealing his breath before he exhales slowly into your hair, one last attempt to calm himself entirely—though not quite succeeding. Gently, he shifts his hold to lift you into his arms, your arms circling his shoulders as his own hold you, supporting you effortlessly.

“Let’s go home.”

You know there is no real home to return to. None that you’re aware of, at least. But you nod before nestling into the curve of his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. Just him. To feel nothing but him and let his scent soak into you completely. You reply even if it's not needed. You want him to know you're here with him.

“Please.”

You want to go home with him. Wherever home is, because home is where he is.

His arms tighten around you with a possessive kind of protectiveness as he begins the slow walk back to the car.

Once there, he sets you down tenderly in the passenger seat before crouching in front of you, one hand resting on your knees and the other cupping your cheek. He sighs, his gaze locked into yours. Your ocean of sapphire and silver.

“Y/N… I will do my best to calm myself. However…”

He draws in a long breath, his fringe shadowing his eyes.

“Do not even think of doing that shit again. Not for now.”

He lifts his head toward you, his hand on your knee tightening slightly, then loosening, repeating the motion as if sending a silent plea for you to reassure him. You place one of your hands over his.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to provoke you or—”

“I know. I know it. Believe me, Y/N, I trust you and I know it all too well.”

He exhales again before leaning just enough to press his forehead to yours.

“I understand why you needed it.”

Both his hands cradle your face, his lips brushing your forehead.

“I just need you not to do it again for now. Even if I know you need it… forgive my selfishness… can you do that for me?”

His voice draws you in, hypnotic, and you nod.

“Yes… it’s going to be alright now.”

He releases his breath before kissing you gently.

“Good.”

He moves away from you to retrieve something from the trunk, returning with a box and utensils, reminding you that he had mentioned stopping for a meal.

He watches you closely as he sits down on the ground with a sigh, after spreading a cloth beneath him, his back leaning against your door.

“Let’s take this break to eat, alright?”

You nod and eat with him, your thoughts at last calm and at rest. You are very tired, but you make the effort to eat. You probably still have quite a long road ahead. You can’t finish your plate—no surprise—but you’re rather proud to have managed to nibble more than before. As Levi packs everything away, you lean to watch him rummage in the trunk, organizing and retrieving something. He comes back with a pillow, holding it out to you. You take it silently, surprised and slightly caught off guard. It’s a generous gesture. You could sleep without… but then, shouldn’t he rest too?

“And you?”

You worry about his sleep and well-being. He glances at you briefly before opening the back door.

“Don’t worry, I fully intend to rest too.”

He bends inside to release the back seat and flatten it down. He repeats the process on the other side. You realize then that the things in the trunk have been carefully arranged to take up little space, leaving room to lie down.

Levi extends his hand toward you, and you take it gently as he helps you to your feet so you can move to the back. He closes the passenger door and you wait for him to join you. He circles the car, removing the keys from the ignition and retrieving something from the glove compartment, also rescuing your poor blanket you had dropped in the front, before finally opening the back door to climb in beside you. He takes the pillow from your hands, placing it, and draws you against him so you can both lie down together.

The car’s light fades, leaving only him. He locks the vehicle, then spreads the blanket over you both.

Half-lying on his chest, you tangle your legs with his as you watch him, your head resting beside his on the pillow. You eventually drift into a calm sleep, lulled by the sound of his breathing and his mesmerizing eyes, crystalline under the starlit night, magnificently lit by the glow of the moon.

And in that moment, you are simply happy—happy to have the chance to be by his side. Happy that he found you in this broken, degenerate world.

Chapter Text

When you wake up, daylight already reigns, and Levi has clearly been driving for quite some time. You vaguely realize that you are no longer lying on the back seat, but once again in the passenger’s seat. A small change nonetheless: the pillow has found its way beneath your head, and you cannot deny that it adds a comfort far from negligible, considering the many hours of travel that still await you.

You watch in silence, still fogged by sleep, the sharp profile of Levi clearly outlined. Forever the same—serious, precise in each gesture, and perpetually alert to everything unfolding around him. He has, without the slightest doubt, sensed that you are awake. Not that he reacts in any discernible way. You simply know it, as you know so many things when it comes to him.

You hesitate for a moment, tempted to let yourself drift back into slumber so that the journey might slip by faster. You have no idea where you are going, nor how long it will take, but since Levi seems intent on pressing forward, the destination cannot possibly be close to your city… your hands play nervously together until finally you draw your blanket up to your chin and dare to ask the question burning on your lips.

“How long will we have to keep traveling?”

A small pang tightens your chest at the thought that Levi has been driving nonstop for over a day now, having only stopped last night to sleep… and given the recent events, you doubt he truly rested at all.

He does not answer, his focus locked upon the road. He seems unwilling to respond, lost perhaps within his thoughts. Until you notice something—something not normal. His eyes flick again and again toward the rear-view mirror, as though checking, with regular insistence, something behind you. Intrigued, you turn your head to see through the back window what could possibly draw his attention, but there are only cars. You are confused, adrift in uncertainty.

“Do not turn around.”

His cold voice cuts through the silence, resonating like a quiet threat. Is he still not calmed from what happened? You thought you both were doing better. You promised him you would not have another episode. Anxious, you bite your lip to restrain the urge to demand why he is speaking to you in such a way. You do not wish to anger him…

His hand reaches toward you. For a brief instant, you think it is to stroke your head, but instead he merely adjusts the hood of your sweatshirt over your hair, then leans without taking his eyes from the road to take something from the glove compartment. You do not even look at what he has taken, content to remain silent, hoping this quiet compliance might ease him.

Minutes of heavy silence pile atop one another until the sky grows thick with clouds and rain begins to fall. The light grows poor, and suddenly your situation feels terrifying enough to make you tremble. Levi’s coldness toward you does not help your nerves, and you know that if this continues you might very well fall into another attack—something neither of you can afford. You try to control yourself, barely noticing how Levi’s gaze remains obsessively watchful of what lies behind you. Barely. But seeing him so intent upon it frightens you further, because there can be only one possible reason for such vigilance, and you do not like it at all.

So when he accelerates despite the rain—when he should, in fact, be slowing—and when you hear, above the rain’s patter, another engine growling in pursuit, your fears are confirmed. You are being followed. And whoever it is, it cannot mean anything good.

Levi presses on the gas, maneuvering his car with ease despite the storm, overtaking vehicles without difficulty while steadily gaining speed. His driving worries you as much as the weather itself and the people tailing you so relentlessly. You curl up upon yourself, not knowing what to do. He is focused, and you must not disturb him—this is absolutely not the moment—but your body is an idiot. The speed makes your head spin, dizziness swelling with each passing second, dragging along its old companion, nausea. You try to contain yourself as much as possible, to remain still, to close your eyes, to concentrate on your breathing, but the discomfort inside your body overwhelms you and you begin to squirm feverishly in your seat. Your head starts to truly ache with the noise around you, the movements, the tension. You bite your lips until they bleed while your hands clench tight, your eyes shutting in painful desperation, brows knitted in the faint hope of somehow calming yourself down, even if you already know it is a battle lost before it begins.

You last only a few minutes before a whimper of pain escapes from your bitten lips. A few tears gather at the corner of your eyes, and you curse yourself for being trapped inside a body in such a miserable state when you are facing a far greater danger. Levi does not need your body adding another burden to the already unbearable weight—he has enough stress to handle, damn it!

Focused entirely on your desperate attempt at self-control, you do not at first notice the hand resting on your knee, gently shaking to claim your attention. It takes you several moments to realize that he is speaking to you.

“…on a scale from 1 to 10, how much?”

Your brain connects the dots instinctively, understanding at once that he is speaking of a scale of pain.

“Seven.”

You murmur through clenched teeth, trembling, fighting against the sensation that engulfs your whole being. You would rather faint than endure it. It feels as if the nausea is everywhere, your entire body screaming with pain, your head pounding as though a hammer were striking from within the confines of your skull.

“Damn it.”

His frustrated, irritated voice anchors you more firmly in the brutal reality of your situation, and despite your agony and the violent nausea, your hand reaches for his where it rests on your knee, squeezing tight. The burning heat of his skin is strangely reassuring.

“Don’t…don’t worry…about me…please.”

“Not a chance.”

“You…have…other…priorities…”

“You are my priority. So shut up. Just try to hold on a few more minutes.”

Amusing, the way he tells you to be silent while declaring you his priority. Your heart tightens somewhat as you struggle to focus on the sensation of his hand, your nails digging into his wrist when a sudden turn of the wheel worsens your nausea and vertigo, when a new sound adds another layer of torment to your skull. It feels as though a jackhammer is working its masterpiece inside your head. And the nausea becomes harder and harder to contain.

With a sharp turn of the wheel, you feel Levi veer, likely toward an exit or a rest area. The car soon halts, and he wastes not a single second before unbuckling himself and then you, lifting you from your seat only to tip it back in one quick movement, laying you down carefully. With one hand he lowers the window. You must be beneath a canopy, for not a single drop falls inside.

Levi brushes away the strands of hair sticking to your face with sweat and gently pulls back your hood, resting your head more comfortably against the seat. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead to gauge whether you are feverish.

“And now?”

“Five…”

Your nausea has eased somewhat with the stop, though not entirely. You are still close to the edge, afraid that at any moment your stomach might betray you. And Levi perceives it faster than you do, slipping out of the car and slamming the door, only to appear less than two minutes later on your side, opening your door. He lifts you carefully into his arms, shutting the car and tucking your head against his throat. You tremble and moan in pain.

“Just a little longer…”

You try to endure, and in your need to distract yourself, you manage to whisper a question.

“But…we are being followed…this…isn’t…the…time…”

Each word leaves you with difficulty, your breath erratic. Levi merely strokes your hair as he walks toward somewhere unknown.

“Don’t worry about that.”

His tone is dark, and something inside you whispers that his eyes must be darker still. He is furious—you feel it in the tension of his muscles. It is not directed at you, but you wonder if it is aimed solely at your pursuers or at himself as well.

“Not…your…fault…”

Levi does not even pause, his jaw tightening visibly.

“Because of them, it is. I should not be driving like this while you’re in such a state.”

He is seething, truly.

“Who…?”

A heartbeat, then the answer.

“Not the cops.”

And that answer chills you, as he lowers himself to the ground at the edge of the canopy, near the forest’s border. Crouching, he holds you firmly, brushing your hair back, tilting your head toward him briefly. The nausea is close to completely defeating you, though you still attempt to resist the inevitable.

“I…I’m making…us lose…time…”

“Tch. No, don’t worry.”

Levi remains serious and calm, though you know that calm exists only for your sake, hiding the murderous rage he holds tightly within.

When the first wave of nausea hits, he bends you forward so that neither of your clothes are soiled, holding your entire weight as though you weigh nothing at all. Your body convulses with violent contractions of your abdomen until a second wave takes over, before you are at last emptied of nausea. Tears stream down your cheeks, an acidic taste burning your mouth as you slowly recover your breath. The headache still gnaws at you, the vertigo remains, but the nausea is gone. And that, at least, is something.

Levi helps you rinse with a bottle of water he had with him, though you had not noticed before. In the background, two cars pull up not far away. In silence, Levi continues tending to you, watching over your state before simply rising with you in his arms and walking back toward the car as if nothing had happened. Doors slam, metallic clinks echo, but he ignores them, reaching the passenger side and opening it to slip you inside, pulling your hood back into place. You want to scream for him to stay as you watch him rise after settling you in. You cry, clinging to his shirt, shaking your head, and he offers you a sad smile before leaning toward you, his hand resting on yours. He kisses your forehead as he squeezes your hand, then gently pries it from his shirt. You are too weak, anyway, to resist and keep him…

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Y/N.”

You barely manage to squeak a trembling “promise?” that makes him smile against your forehead, lifting just enough for your eyes to meet, to drown in one another.

“I promise.”

He kisses you with passion as the approaching footsteps grow nearer. You are afraid, terribly afraid for him. And so, when he pulls away, you cannot hold back a pained whimper. He smiles softly, tenderly, while his hand reaches down to grasp something strapped to his thigh. He strokes your hair one last time, giving you a final look before rising.

“You should close your eyes…try to block out the noise.”

He does not even shut your door as he walks away from the car, a cloud of darkness cloaking him in an icy embrace. His eyes gleam with a murderous light that makes you shudder. And against his warning, you cannot close your eyes. Your gaze stays fixed on him, your breath stolen by the tension so heavy you feel as though his hands are wrapped around your throat.

He lifts what he has pulled from his thigh, and only then do you realize that he carries not one, but two things. A military knife sheath and a pistol holster, empty. Both strapped tightly against his thigh, giving him a look lethally precise, and dangerously seductive. Seductive?

Your mind falters, stumbling over that thought, and you see—before you even hear—the first gunshot he fires. It is followed by the heavy thud of something collapsing to the ground, then by a cacophony of curses and weapons raised against him. To your greatest astonishment, as you rise in spite of yourself to witness the scene, you catch the sight of a macabre, dangerous smile curving his lips. Are you truly the hunted ones in this moment? In that very instant, you realize that perhaps you are not. Especially when you see him fire with absolute precision, without hesitation, striking each target in the head, always in the same place, never missing a shot. And when one of them ventures too close, though other gunfire roars all around without so much as grazing him, he knocks the attacker out with a swift, silent blow of his gun’s handle, before drawing his blade and slitting the throat in one clean, merciless stroke. The sight of the blood gushing, of the hand rising desperately to press against the wound as if to hold life inside, of the light fading from those brutish eyes… the sensation haunts you, sickens you, makes your own hand drift almost involuntarily toward your throat, as if to shield it from such a fate, from that atrocious sensation.

The rest is carnage, a true bloodbath. Your assailants stand no chance as Levi fires into the engine of a car, hitting something tied to its fuel system, for in a blink the car erupts in a violent explosion. You had not thought such a thing possible, and your jaw falls open in disbelief. You are petrified by what you are witnessing.

The few attackers still alive attempt to flee, but you see Levi’s muscles coil before they even move, before his own body has even shifted. And then, in a blur of speed that unsettles the very notion of what is human, his body springs into action, trapping his victims in a hundred ruthless ways—hurling them to the ground, stabbing with ruthless stealth, or crushing their bones to pieces. The sounds are grotesque, the cries of agony unbearable, the mingled stench of burning fuel and blood nauseating.

In mere minutes, nothing remains but silence, the pounding rain, and Levi, alone, standing amidst a landscape strewn with corpses, a car still burning somewhere in the background. A distant thunderclap reverberates through the atmosphere as his eyes lock on you, his breath scarcely uneven, not a single bead of sweat upon him. A feral gleam flickers within those argent irises.

As he scrutinizes you, his eyes narrowing slightly when he sees that you disobeyed him, your mind circles around a single thought. In whose presence have you truly been all this time? How could someone so lethally efficient have ever become entangled with someone as ordinary as you? How did it come to this?

Your heart and your mind have registered something you had long chosen to ignore. Levi is not a simple stalker, nor a mere killer. No. He is a hunter, a predator far more dangerous than you could ever have conceived, so unreal it almost defies comprehension. Wrapped within your bubble, you had constructed a cocoon where he posed no danger, where the horrors outside could not touch the image you had forged of him. But now you are cornered, face-to-face with the grotesque truth. You are a prey caught in his talons, and even if you wished it, there would be absolutely no chance of escape.

And in that instant, you grasp how monstrously fortunate you are that Levi is not a deranged man lashing out at random, that you are not one of his targets. The only comfort in this nightmare is the certainty that this predator, though you are his prey, harbors no intention of hunting you. Keep you? Beyond a shadow of doubt. Possess you? Most certainly. Enclose you? Probably. Harm you in such a way? Never.

So when he advances toward you, ripping your hood away in one swift motion, his eyes blazing, you gaze back at him, torn between terror and reassurance. There are no longer enemies chasing you in this present moment, and Levi is more than capable of protecting you both. And yet, you wonder what else he is capable of. For if he can unleash all of this in the blink of an eye to protect you… you can scarcely fathom how his victims, like the doctor, could have survived him even a second… and the truth is as dark as it is undeniable: you already know the answer. It takes a monster to hunt other monsters. And in doing so, he has annihilated his own soul.

Levi leans toward you, his gun slipped back into its holster, his blade still in his hand, crimson droplets dripping to the ground.

“I told you to close your eyes.”

Trembling, you can barely summon the courage to answer.

“I know.”

His free hand glides gently through your hair.

“You were not meant to see this.”

“I know.”

It pauses, settling upon your head, not forcing, not pressing into your pain, but just enough to tilt your face up toward him. Above you, his eyes still gleam with that dark, predatory light.

“Then why did you disobey me?”

You fear him despite yourself, and you cannot even tell if it is the situation… or him.

“I was afraid… I was afraid for you.”

His silence stretches, and you glimpse emotions rise in his eyes before vanishing into those dilated pupils.

“And what are you afraid of now?”

You should not answer, but the words escape.

“…Of you…”

He crouches down to your height, his gaze still piercingly cold.

“You understand why I did not want you to watch, don’t you?”

You nod, and his brows knit.

“Answer me with words, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

It is hard to withstand such an intense gaze.

“Yes, I know why.”

“Then why did you disobey?”

And despite your fear, another truth slips free.

“Because if you were to die, I wanted to die with you.”

Time seems suspended, another rumble of thunder in the distance faintly reminding you the world still exists. You had considered the chance that your attackers could bring him down—it had been more than probable given the situation. And you had wanted to be there. If he were to go, then at least…

“If something were to happen to you… I wanted at least… to see you… one last time.”

Your answer catches him off guard, dimming slightly that shadow burning in his eyes. A sigh escapes him, his eyes closing before they return to yours.

“Was it worth it, mh?”

You can only be honest with him.

“I don’t know.”

He rises, grasping the car door to begin closing it.

“We are falling behind… we’ll speak of this later.”

“Wait!”

Your hand presses against the edge of the door before he slams it, slipping away just in time, your other hand clutching at his sleeve. You need to make it clear.

“I am afraid of this… of what I saw… I… that's true that i'm...i'm afraid of this side of you..but I don’t want to be afraid of you. Please…”

His eyes remain unreadable, and you crave only the hope that he might soften for you, that he might make you forget this part of him.

“Please… make me forget all of it…”

Tears roll down your cheeks, and a flicker of pain crosses his eyes before he reopens the door, guiding you down onto the seat, positioning himself above you.

His lips find yours with a desperate, urgent need, his hands not wasting a single second before tugging up your sweatshirt just enough to feel the warmth of your skin, only to slide immediately down to your pants, unbuttoning them and pulling them away with ruthless impatience. He barely grants himself the time to look at you before his fingers bury themselves deep inside you.

“You’re going to regret this, Y/N…regret allowing me to touch you..love you like this..”

“I don’t want to regret you.”

He shakes his head, and without hesitation sets a merciless rhythm within you, brutal and unrelenting, as fierce and unforgiving as the events that have just played out, and you surrender to it entirely. You need this. So when you find yourself at the very edge of the precipice, your breath catches in your throat the instant his fingers abandon you. You hadn’t even heard the sound of his own pants being undone, but you feel it—him—sliding inside you, filling the absence left behind by his fingers with a suddenness that steals every fragment of breath from your lungs.

His burning eyes seize yours.

“Do you truly know why you accept me like this? You are so pure…”

You cannot answer him, not when his movements instantly grow brutal and fast, driven by the overwhelming passion of becoming one with you, not giving you even the faintest chance to adjust before you are crying out with each powerful thrust of his hips. You cannot tell if it is pain or if the pleasure is simply too consuming, but your emotions spiral into chaos as he ravages you, against you, within you, as though he seeks to carve something permanent into your very being. You want to forget the world. You want to forget the horrors surrounding you. You want to forget how dangerous he is. You want only for him to be happy, far away from all of this…

Your hands slide into his hair, your gaze blurred with tears.

“Jus’…want…you…to be…happy…”

The words stumble from your lips, scarcely coherent, and you do not even know if he has heard them—until you feel the rhythm of his hips change, subtly, deliberately. From savage, merciless thrusts, it transforms into a sensual dance with a disarming swiftness. His gaze still burns with an unquenchable fire, but it is no longer the monster within him that screams—it is his obsession, his devotion, his adoration for you. And his body conveys it with every strike of his skin against yours, every motion reverberating with meaning.

His hands glide to your cheeks as he captures your lips again, his movements a little more urgent yet still achingly sensual.

“But I am fucking happy, Y/N… happier than I have ever been in this fucked-up life.”

He seals your lips once more as his body drives you both upward into the seventh heaven, and you surrender yourself completely within his tender embrace. You feel him spill into you, closer to you, more intimately bound to you than words could ever hope to describe.

His breath mingles with yours, fusing into one, indistinguishable and inseparable.

“How could I not be happy…? You are at my side. That is all I want.”

You know it is more than that. That it is so much more than that for the both of you. But you believe him. And despite the terror of the events that have just unfolded, all you can think of is him. You pray for forgetfulness, you pray for forgiveness, as though by your embrace you might wash away his sins, while your body slowly calms and you finally drift into sleep like this, nestled in his arms, having utterly forgotten that your body had been screaming in agony, on the verge of breaking only moments before. All you feel is him in this moment. And that is all you need.

Chapter Text

During your sleep, memories intertwine and you can discern faint sounds, blurred shapes, distant whispers. Somewhere within, you are back at that night when you first met him, the night when he came to your aid. And yet, your instinct screams at you that you are mistaken about one crucial detail. This was not the first time you had met him. There must have been something else, there must have been another moment, another event, for him to have been there at the exact right time to help you, and afterwards… to immediately take care of the one who represented a danger to you as soon as your loved ones rushed to your side. The very same thing must have been at the origin of the situation you now find yourself in, following that assault when you were on your way home, according to what you eventually pieced together among your fragmented memories. But then… why you? Why was he there? Why is he still always there? Ready for so many unspeakable deeds, willing to soil his hands by executing those who prey upon others—yet even more so when those very threats seem drawn to you, orbiting you as though you were an unyielding magnet pulling in malicious and dangerous men… why has he reached such extremes, not only in his relentless obsession with you, but also in his drastic choices to become a vengeful hand moving in silence, outside the laws, to make criminals pay for the sins they escaped judgment for. And so, you want simply to ask him, and despite the storm of your confusion and the lingering pain still echoing through you, you forget to dwell on it as if the memory itself could fade away entirely, and you rest your eyes on him, always so composed, posture perfect and controlled, his senses ever alert to you and the world around, all while keeping his gaze carefully fixed upon the road.

How much time has passed since the pursuit and the attack? He seems both weary and irritable.

On the glowing display of the dashboard you notice he is receiving numerous messages from someone saved under the name “The old bastard,” and you realize they even called each other while you were resting. You do not pay it much attention. You simply let your hand drift to his upon the gearshift, perhaps to draw his focus, perhaps only to remind him that you are here, to calm him—though you no longer know for certain. What remains carved into your mind is your will to know more about the two of you. Most of all, to know more about him.

You fear you will face a wall and drag yourselves back into conflict, yet in this rare quiet within your mind, fogged with confusion yet guiding you down a single clear path, you long to seize this fleeting chance to speak with him on this subject. Only God knows when you might be granted such an opportunity again… if it will ever come again at all.

“Tch. If you have something to say, say it. Don’t look at me with those lost eyes. I don’t read your thoughts, Y/N.”

“Sometimes it feels like you do…”

Oh… and just like that, your thoughts slip out and you voice them without hesitation. Perhaps it is for the better, for this conversation—for everything to be laid bare, so that you may accept one another and truly understand each other. It is a first step, one you both had forgotten, is it not?

Levi casts a swift glance your way before fixing his eyes on the road once again. You expect silence, but instead his hand adjusts to intertwine with yours. He is not closed to this discussion.

“What do you wish to talk about?”

You breathe in, then you throw yourself forward, slightly anxious.

“About us. About you. About all of this.”

His eyes remain fixed, unblinking, posture inflexible.

“That is a vast subject. You’ll have to be more precise about what you truly want…”

“Why me?”

You did not think, fearing you would not dare to ask if you waited for him to finish his sentence. This small act earns you a faintly painful squeeze to your hand for a second—a silent reminder that he is not in the state to withstand your crises at the moment. Even when he is at the brink of breaking under his sick, obsessive, possessive urges, still controlling, he takes the trouble to warn you when his patience begins to fray.

“I… I want to know more about you, and about our first meeting. Something must have happened before the night at the bar I remember, when I ended up in the hospital, for you to develop these… feelings.”

“Obsessions.”

You only stare at him through your hair, lips parted, embarrassed and at a loss. He catches your gaze.

“You may call them that, for it is the truth. I am obsessed with you. With what you are, with what you do, with knowing what you like, with whether you are safe, whether you are well… I think about it so much that it has nearly made me uncontrollable.”

His hands tighten around the steering wheel, letting go of yours to avoid crushing your fragile fingers in his grip. His eyes turn dark with hatred.

“Especially when bastards approached you to use you… the mere idea that danger around you might become more than a shadow, that such filth might draw close and touch you—it disgusts me to the core, awakening a hatred I could never hope to describe. A need to erase every threat from existence.”

He falls silent for a moment, awaiting some kind of response from you, yet you wish only to listen. And so, he continues, his tone more bitter.

“What irony, that I am also one of those threats… that is why I had chosen to remain your shadowed observer. I had never intended to end up in this situation with you. I would never have dared to imagine you could know more of me, that you might desire me, that you might allow me inside you, that you would let me touch you and remain close… It is like a dream made real, a gift you grant me… even though the circumstances of its origin are deplorable… and even if I am a monster… now that I have tasted this fruit, our bond, your touch… I am incapable of letting go, incapable of watching you leave. I cannot guarantee I would ever manage it when things begin to heal. You have a future, and I have no right to steal it for my own desires… and yet… I do not think I can bear to see you go.”

It's a lot to took in. And you don't know where to begin, only trying to grip informations here and there while you can. You want to formulate a clear reply to him. You know he can't let you go...and you can let him set you free and disapearing.

“…”

You finally find your word.

“We are not there yet…”

“It will come, eventually. You have an entire life ahead of you. I have no right to take it from you.”

He's right. You know he's right. You have your life, your hobbies and all. Everything you don't have anymore with him. But you have him now. And you don't feel like you need anything more. 

“Then let us follow our mutual desires. I am sure there is a way, some path that will allow us to continue existing together. All I need is you.”

"You say that because we need each other right now, otherwise you wouldn't say that..."

"No ! That's not what i'm-"

“You are so pure..to even imagine a future with something as wretched as me…you're way too pure...light in my dark... How could I commit such a crime? You deserve a life in which I do not exist…”

“That is only what you say to avoid admitting that you believe it could only happen if you forced your desires upon me. Let me make this decision for myself! Do not choose for me whether you should vanish from my life… I beg you, do not take that choice away from me. It is all I ask of you.”

“…”

“No matter the end that awaits us once this entire ordeal runs its course, in the end, let me have that choice. Promise me you will not disappear. Promise me you will be there. At my side.”

“I have no right to make such promises… I can bring you nothing but misery…”

“That is a lie, and you know it. So promise me, please. I need you.”

“…and when you no longer need me? Your thoughts have time to change before then… your feelings too. It is only the situation that makes you believe you need me… when in truth, I am the root of your problems.”

“You’re wrong!"

"Y/N..." the quiet menace is here but you can't stop now.

"You are not the one to blame! If you hadn’t been there that night, that man could have done anything and-”

"You were targetted because of me !"

He cuts you off harshly. Silent rage seething inside him barely repressed poison in his voice.

“That fucking bastard should never have been able to even approach you in the first place. I should have dealt with him before. And the shitty group he belonged to is looking for leverage against me. Just like the cops. And they found it. They found you. Now they will never let you go. It is entirely my fault.”

“I don’t see it that way, Levi… the situation is complicated, and we both carry our own share of mistakes…”

“You carry none.”

“Levi, please, listen to me! I beg you, listen to me !"

He pauses to look at you through dark narrowed eyes. Nonetheless, it doesn't deter you.

"No matter the reason, what matters most to me right now is that you are here, that we are both here, together. So we will face whatever future awaits us—together. As we have from the very start of this mess, together. Always, fucking always together. Let me make this choice for us both. Just… let us stay together, even if the fucking path is dark and the steps ahead shitty, terrifying or whatever… there will always be light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how long that tunnel may stretch. We will find it—together.”

Thoughtful, he finally murmurs, “always light…” though more like recalling a memory than stating a belief.

He chooses to pull over at a small clearing by a river, on the edge of the forest, beneath the setting sun. As he parks the car, he still seems distant, caught in thought.

“It is… it must be some cruel game of fate… that you would use those exact same words…”

You do not understand what he means. But when his eyes meet yours, with the sun framing him in a fiery halo, his gaze is equally burning, blazing bluish grey fire.

“The very same words that saved my life when we met for the first time.”

His fire, tinged with sorrow yet blazing with nostalgia, coils around you like an embrace that sets your body alight. His desire, his obsession, the questions and the long-awaited answers—after all these detours, he seems to falter, burning with the urge to reveal everything to you, as though you were his deliverance, an angel who always brings him yet another reason to remain, to stay by your side…

And his next words make your heart thunder wildly in your chest.

“If I am still alive, it is only because of you. Because that night… you told me those same words: ‘there will always be light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how long that tunnel may stretch. You will find it.’”

He leans toward you, trapping you between him and the door.

“You had that smile on your lips… that assurance in your voice… that kindness in your gaze… the very embodiment of purity… an angel of impossible beauty, immaculate… Y/N… my saving angel… too tender for this world… who should never have dirtied her hands helping someone like me… I should never have stained you with mine…”

His hands tighten until his knuckles whiten. Lost in his own storm of thoughts, his eyes darken, seized again by the grip of his obsession for you, by his darkest desires rising to the surface throughout your conversation. His gaze seems to pierce beyond the you before him, to a memory come alive.

Unsteady with your own emotions, you do not know how to react to his torrent of nostalgic emotion, so you lift your hands to caress his face, wanting only to draw him back to you, back to the present moment. It seems to strike him like an electric shock, his eyes suddenly locking onto yours, his hands leaving the door to frame your cheeks, his breath so close to yours—your only warning before he leans in to kiss you slowly, lost within the moment, pouring his passion into you yet offering it with reverence. His gentleness unsettles you, but you accept it.

Your embrace lasts several minutes, long enough for you to lose yourself with him in that suspended instant.

When Levi finally pulls away, he distances himself just enough, tugging you with him.

“Let’s step out for a while.”

He unfastens your seatbelt, then removes his own before swiftly circling the car to open your door and extend his hand to you. You tremble faintly, your legs still weak, and only Levi’s firm hold on your hips keeps you from collapsing outright. You are so fragile…

After a few hesitant steps, Levi finally slides his arms beneath you, lifting you effortlessly against him. You do not even have the time to protest before he casts you a sidelong look that silences you instantly. He is still on edge, close to breaking beneath his possessive, controlling urges.

In a matter of minutes, you both withdraw deeper until Levi settles by the riverside, keeping you cradled tightly against him. The scenery is calm. Everything is calm. Even the shrieking agony in your head has subsided. The sunset, with its tender rays, surely contributes to this serenity.

“Our first meeting… was on the night of my mother’s death.”

His hand slips through your hair, as though he had just spoken of nothing more than the weather. Your breath falters, you dare not interrupt him, merely placing your hand upon his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

His gaze fixed upon the horizon, he begins to recount his story… your past, the very origin of your strange bond.

“I was furious that night, I ended up completely drunk in some goddamn bar. I don’t even remember the number of drinks I had. Enough, at least, that those bastard bouncers threw me out, fucking pretending I was looking for trouble. They didn’t even let me grab my things. My rage only grew, and I was ready to strike one of them and make them lose some teeth when you intervened.”

Intervened? You must have had a few drinks in you too, for it to have ended that way. You are not the kind to speak to strangers, it irritates you, it fills you with dread. And afterwards you would scold yourself, rage at yourself for being so foolish.

“You offered to fetch my things from inside, before helping me home to keep the cops from getting involved.”

A silence follows, stretching endlessly as the rays of the sun fade away in the distance.

“I don’t know what you saw in me that night, but you were profoundly concerned, and that shocked me. My grief wasn’t exactly painted across my face, yet you seemed so terribly sad for me, as though my sadness was your own.”

His arms tighten around you, his hand sliding higher along your back to draw you closer. Your gazes meet, and within his eyes you see gratitude, a silent murmur of shared empathy. His lips press against your forehead.

“You were hurting… so deeply hurting in your own way… and still, you made sure I returned home safe, that I would not harm myself… despite all the pain devouring your life, you cared for mine when I was set on ending it.”

His embrace suddenly becomes painful, crushing, possessive, his voice lower and darker.

“You became my one and only reason to live. And I will not let anyone, or anything, tear us apart.”

And yet, he had spoken earlier of having to let you go once all of this was over… but the troubles are far from ending, and his mind clings far too tightly to you to truly consider ever letting you slip away, to once again become the guardian angel who watches from the shadows. Your souls have tasted each other, and they can no longer separate. You are certain he knows it.

So you cling to him, returning his painful embrace, your nails scratching his skin through the fabric of his shirt as you both remain seated at the riverbank until darkness wraps you in its mantle, shielding you from the world, from the incoherent chaos of your thoughts. You are bound only to each other. A single minute of respite, unexpected answers, a fleeting breath before the world destroys you. Before your situation forces you both to confront once again a reality that makes no sense anymore.

You no longer even know what you are running from. Perhaps, deep down, beyond the danger, you are running from yourselves, only to find each other in the other’s arms. You have both been broken by your lives, and the chaos that brought you together is the same that rebuilds you.

You are certain it is a sign. If you were there that night, if you spoke to him and felt his grief despite not knowing him… it is a sign that you were meant to meet. He is your savior, as much as he considers you his. And you… you wish only to soothe him, to grant him reprieve from the burden he carries, to free him from his darkness.

Could you truly become his light at the end of the tunnel?

Chapter Text

Somewhere during your embrace, you dozed off in his arms. When you wake, you are lying in the back of the car, the sun piercing the clouds with weak morning rays. Levi is already awake, his hand slowly caressing your hair, lost in thought, although he has surely noticed that you are awake.

As a ray reaches your eyes, you bury your head in the hollow of his neck to hide from the light. For once, you don't necessarily want to sleep, but you also don't want to move. You just want to stay like that in his arms. His reaction is only a breath that sounds like a slight muffled laugh. He plays with your hair a little longer before tensing his body to sit up, pulling you with him while holding you firmly against him. You resist despite yourself, groaning in denial. It's such a mundane moment… like a couple, as if everything were normal…

“Y/N…”

His voice is soft but firm. You open your eyes, resigned, to meet his gaze already intently fixed on you.

“We have to hit the road again. We're almost there.”

Oh? Your surprise must be visible on your face, his hand moving beneath your chin to tilt your head, using the fact that your lips are parted to slip his tongue in and kiss you languorously, for a long time, as if you had all the time in the world. And as you lose yourself in that passionate kiss, your body reacts faster than your thoughts, your legs straddling his, your hips beginning their languid movements instinctively. His body responds instantly, his hand moving behind your head to tilt you slightly, making your kiss even deeper, and his other hand settling on your hips to encourage your in-and-out. You feel him pulse close against you, even through clothing.

As you both catch your breath, Levi tries to regain your attention, his breath hot on your lips, his gaze blazing and bewitching. A wild, immutable beauty.

“Y/N…we really have to get back on the road…”

His voice is constrained, as if he’s arguing with his own desires, his body contradicting his words, his hips continuing to follow yours while his hand grips you tighter to urge you to go faster. You moan and search for his lips, and although he talks about the urgency of getting back on the road, and you are aware of it too, you lose yourselves in the moment.

Agile, he carefully uses his dexterity to pull up your skirt, slipping his fingers into your core, impatient but strangely gentle. You feel his burning desire, but you also feel the control he exerts over his urge to pin you roughly against the folded seats and take you without restraint.

Eventually, it's you who runs out of patience, searching for his belt to undo it, in a manner less graceful than his, but effective nonetheless, and lowering his trousers just enough to free him. Just enough to relieve you both. His breath falters slightly, becoming quicker, as do his movements, which disappear before he positions himself and penetrates you in a single, deep thrust. It should have been brutal, but instead, it's just… intense. You feel him buried tenderly inside you, and his movements become languid, deep, and intense, without veering into brutality… it's instinctive, but like a dance. A true charm that makes you shiver, tightening around him, trying to return his movements and convey your desire through your kisses while his grip on your hips becomes complete, guiding you to meet his thrusts. He rises to meet you, his body striking yours with ardor, his in-and-outs growing more insistent, seeking more than your bond.

Something snaps in him, his restraints going up in smoke as he flips you suddenly to pin you against the bench, still languid, but now wilder. Increasing in intensity and speed, he grows more than impatient, forcing your hips to meet his, sweat pearling on his temple, his grunts more intense, thrusting harder and desperatly.

“Fuck…”

He seems desperate to make you tip over, his hips adding a slight rotation despite his force and speed to push you beyond before he loses himself in the throes of pleasure. You feel him close, you see it shine in his eyes.

“Y/N…”

Without pause, he leans in to bite your lip.

“Fuck…come, Y/N….now…shit..ngh..”

His voice makes you lose yourself in your embrace, your hips trying to follow his vigor, until your body gives way and pleasure wells through your veins brutally, clenching him so hard inside you that it makes him tip over with you. Your lips seal as if to smother your moans in unison, as if it were a secret to keep in the urgency and danger of your situation.

Only a few minutes of respite are granted to you before Levi detaches from you with a sigh.

“Stubborn..”

He doesn't seem angry, but he acts quickly, as if to make up for lost time. He dresses you and brings you to the front, lifting the bench and fastening your seatbelts before starting the car.

You can't help the small satisfied smile that forms on your face, even if you bite your lips to hide it. His more relaxed posture soothes you, and the remaining hours of the drive pass in a haze, your mind far too proud to have been able to make him lose control like that even though you didn't have the time. You don't regret having taken that delicious little detour. Seeing him maintain his resolute, impassive posture after the act is a charming sight to you, inspiring only tenderness. And you know he noticed your gaze, especially when his fingers give you a little poke, a “tch” escaping him to hide a slight smile.

Despite your little frivolous and ill-advised detour, the rest of the trip goes smoothly. You arrive at what you assume is your destination only a few hours later. A building in a secured residence. Levi quickly retrieves your things before taking you furtively into the building.

Unsurprisingly, the apartment is clean and simple. Modern and elegant. Very Levi, which would make you smile if your body were not making you regret your dalliance.

Your head hurts again, which Levi immediately notices, guiding you to the bathroom for a quick shower before laying you on the bed. The apartment has only one-bedroom, and he keeps the door open so that you can see him from the bed as he fusses around. You trust him entirely to handle the situation, so you simply close your eyes to rest. You're not sleepy, but lying down calms you a little. It feels like you have a small respite. Although he is always on the edge of his desires that he controls, although you know you could crack again, and that danger could strike at any moment, you are calm. You breathe. He breathes. And in this moment, you exist together and it soothes you.

Until several hours later, toward the end of the day, Levi receives a call while he sits on the edge of the bed to stroke your hair. The scene seems almost déjà vu when you see him frown at the name that appears, and answer on speaker.

“What do you want?”

“Ah, is that how you answer your nice uncle? Ungrateful little brat.”

“Tch. Change your shitty record, Kenny. Why the fuck are you calling? Told you I will kill you with my own two fucking hands, didn't I ?”

“Oh I'm so scared. Calm down, runt, I'm just doing a little check-up! Is your little protégée okay? Any trouble on the road? The flat is pretty cool, huh?”

Levi's jaw tightens and you can only wear an expression of disgust at Kenny's words. His falsely interested tone playing the doting uncle while mockery rings in his voice puts you in deep unease and a quiet anger.

“Cut the fucking shit out. What’s your point? Eager to die ?”

“Tch, always impatient, fucking brat.”

Strangely, Levi and "kid" don't sound right to you, and you have a strong urge to sock this guy. No matter whether you are able to do it.

Noticing your intention to reply, Levi places his hand over your mouth with fluidity to prevent you from intervening. His eyes are serious and you see residual anger in them. He'd probably snap further if you barged into this discussion, even though you are one of its subjects. Already, you're lucky to be able to hear what's being said… if one can call it luck.

“I suppose she hears if you stay quiet… interesting. You're really in deep for this girl. Pathetic lover boy. Useless shit. Who would have thought you were capable of loving someone other than your mother..soft killer boy screwed it all..”

“Shut up, you fucking bastard.”

Levi's eyes don't leave yours, his hand remaining on your lips, just enough to remind you not to speak, but not in a painful grip.

“In an hour at the square, kiddo. The other shitty chimp and his fucking gang are on your tail. Better to deal with them before the cops get their hands on you, yeah? So choose. Me or them ?”

Levi's posture stiffens. The chimp?

“I think I already know...You wouldn't want him to be able to put his hands on your little princess when you're in the slammer…Cops on your tail, you should act before you end up behind bars.”

“Rather die then let any of you go fucking near her.”

“That's what I thought. See you in an hour, brat. Let's take care of some shit before going at each other throat.”

A laugh is heard and the line cuts. Levi seems barely able to contain his fury, his muscles trembling under the restraint he forces himself to maintain. So when his hand leaves your lips and he straightens up, you don't even ask who this “chimp” is nor speak of the insinuations that the cops will find you and tear you apart anyway. The anxiety gnaws at you at the thought.

Levi remains silent, rising to grab something from his bag before handing it to you. A phone.

“Don't answer any call unless my name appears. Don't call any number. I won't be long.”

Quick and precise explanations, no room for discussion. He is so tense and serious that you lift yourself and simply nod as you take the phone. You don't think much, driven by your fear, moving close enough to kiss him despite the unpleasant tension weighing on you. He returns your kiss passionately, pulling away from his embrace reluctantly before grabbing his bag, his jacket and leaving quickly.

You stay like this for several minutes, barely holding one. You don't understand why everything happened so fast right now. First Levi was there, you felt like you had a little respite, some time to breath, then he was gone to deal with some scums ...before cops get you ? Are they really that near to find you ? 

You don't want to stay alone, and you are convinced he is hiding something from you about the cops. Did he know they were this near ? He won't let them take him, will he ? You aren't at ease with the idea of him leaving without you, with the prospect of the fucking cops putting their hands on him, taking him away from you.

You should stay together… but you aren't able to hold him back. And this… “chimp” and his gang seem to be a serious threat given the fury radiating from him. You trust him, but it's everything around you that worries you. Cops, scums, all theses fuckers that want to tears you appart when you just wanna be together. You're anxious as hell for him.

Walking back and forth in the appartment, you feel there is a twisted link between Levi and his uncle… Some feeling keeps tapping in your mind that somewhere you do know something about this guy... you get the impression he toys with him, as if he considered your presence a “gift” and just wants to observe his nephew's reactions. Like an unhealthy experiment. And it angers you. Levi is not a toy and that old bastard would have done better to mind his own ass. You're not a toy too. 

A sharp pain pierces your head along with a flash. A fleeting memory of a conversation with that uncle… much earlier… the first evening? He had implied he had already given him a present… it seems to you. Could that bastard be behind the assault you suffered? You grit your teeth. If that is the case, strong or not, no matter when, you'll find a way to kick that bastard in the balls. Levi promised to kill him..then why did he go to meet him now ? To take care of other enemis before killing him ? Why would he do that ? He should have stayed here, you're sure of it.

Fogged by anger and fear, you're pulled out of your thoughts by a ringing sound resonating in the apartment. Levi's gone for almost one hour now, and you're scared of this ringing tone.

It does not come from the phone in your hand, nor from the door. It's not Levi.

Uncomfortable, surprised and worried, you follow the noise to find a landline. Levi's name is not on the display and you know you mustn't answer, so you simply watch the line ring, on guard. Who would call here ? His uncle ?

A beep, then the answering machine takes over.

“Hey there little doe. Is your guardian here? He's out, isn't he? Wouldn't you like to know more about him? He's a naughty boy you know… if you want to know more, get a taxi to take you to the bar ‘The Deluge’ whenever you want. There, ask to speak with the owner… and I'll reveal everything you want to know about your dear guardian angel. See you soon, my cute little doe.”

You stand frozen in front of the phone, nauseous.

Who is this fucking degenerate? What is this bullshit? How does he know that Levi's out ? How did he know about this place ? Who gave him this phone number ?

Your disgusted brain reacts instinctively, ripping the phone to hurl it against the wall, before grabbing a fairly heavy book and smashing it against the phone until it lies in pieces. It's not very effective, but you persist, again, again and again. Until the noises stop, until your brain calms, as if you could forget the disgusting words spoken by that poor lunatic. You'd give him some little does. Bastards like that only deserve to be emasculated. You are seething.

Then dreads take over you.

Before you could place it, you hear something that tells you you're fucking right. And you just wanna scream at the top of your fucking lungs.

It's not the realization that pulls you out of your rage, it is a sound you didn't expect to hear so soon. The siren of police cars. It was all a fucking plan to get him...to get you.

Trembling, you move to the window, and your blood runs cold. You're even more nauseous than before, tears already flowing, broken prayer in mind. 

Below, manhandled out of one of the police cars, firmly handcuffed, Levi looks up at you, his gaze fixed exactly on the window where you stand.

You were right.  You know immediatly that his uncle indeed set him up…  that for your safety, he brought the cops here. The uncle, the call and the cops… rathen than let scumbag touch you, he choose to guide the cops here.

Everything was already fucked. Something inside you loosens, tears streaming down faster your cheeks as you watch Levi, resigned, being pushed toward the building entrance. A flash of sadness crosses his gaze and you collapse before the window, shaken with sobs. Your heart aches as your mind keep praying for it to be some fucking joke... just a fucking nightmare.

You would have give anything for this to be just a nightmare...

When the door opens, you can do nothing.

They don't even let you get close, let you touch him, cling to him. And even though he tells you to calm down, he himself nearly strikes the cops holding you, outraged to see them touch you.  You struggle like a she-devil, scratching and screaming desperately for them to leave you alone, trying to reach him as he tries to reach you too.

But nothing helps, they won't bulge, won't let you get together again.

And your last memory is Levi's desperate and furious look fixed on you, threatening darkly every fucking cops right here, his body pressing against the officers to get closer to you amid the turmoil, as you fall into darkness, a sharp and brutal blow landing at the back of your head, your mind and body crying, arching to be with him despite everything.

Fucking fate.

Chapter Text

Waking is chaotic. Your head thuds like your first wake-up call beside Levi. Nausea twists through you and you feel unbearably heavy. You struggle to open your eyes, disturbed by the pain hammering inside your skull without cease, impossible to ignore. It is only the memories of the previous night that force you to open your eyes, seeing blurred shapes around you, blinking repeatedly until your brain locates where you are and what is happening.

Where is Levi? Who is the completely idiotic bastard who knocked you out?

Keeping those questions tucked in a corner of your mind, you finally look around. Contrary to expectation, you are not in a police station. It appears instead to be a hotel room. A disheveled-haired cop wearing glasses stands by the bed, offering you a glass of water with a pill — two things you want to fling at her face. She seems to have kept watch over you. She would almost look kind if you could forget that it was the police who put you in this condition and that Levi was arrested. You stare at her without saying a word, as if she were nothing more than a fool playing the kindly helper as though you were stupid enough to believe her.

She sighs, realising you will not accept her help, and puts the glass and the medication back on the bedside table before turning her attention to you again.

“Inspector Hange Zoe of the investigation unit. Y/N, is that correct?”

You look at her without answering, refusing to respond.

“Miss… you were unconscious for three days. The man who kidnapped you has been arrested and is in custody for kidnapping, detention and murder. Mr. Levi Ackerman… did you know him before these… events?”

In a fraction of a second, during her words, you shift from an attitude of defiance to a deep, coiled anger impatient to burst forth, even though you know you must not answer them if you want to protect Levi. You force your nails into your palm to stop yourself from lunging at her throat. The nausea and your headache also help keep you in place…

“Miss Y/N, please answer. If you want to help him, it would be best if you cooperated with us.”

She really takes you for an idiot.

You offer a long silence, and when you decide to speak, it is not to give her an answer at all.

“Where is he?”

Surprised that you deigned to reply, Hange — if you remembered her name correctly — seizes the bait you’ve given, no doubt hoping that over the course of the conversation she can persuade you to hand over the information she needs.

“He is in detention in another room. He became completely uncontrollable after you lost consciousness, knocking out and sending to hospital about ten members of the intervention team who came to rescue you.”

You frown.

“Rescue me?”

Thinking you confused, she is wildly off-course when she addresses you.

“You must be disoriented… you were kidnapped by this man for over ten days… nearly a month ago, he attacked you when you returned home—”

“Cut the bullshit.”

She stops dead, instantly realising that you are not at all confused about those past events and that you have clearly caught on to her attempt to manipulate you. You rage, venom spilling through your words.

“You dare claim you ‘rescued’ me when you knocked me out? Are you taking the piss? All you did was make my health worse! You did not save or rescue me, he did.”

She seems irritated by your words.

“Miss Y/N, your perception is affected by your confused state. According to our analyses, Mr. Ackerman drugged you while you were suffering from a concussion. It is natural that you perceive him as your saviour after he ‘saved’ you from a state he himself put you in.”

“Will you ever stop twisting reality? He didn’t knock me out! He isn’t even the cause of my concussion! Stop twisting facts when it suits you.”

“Miss Y/N—”

“No. Shut up. And leave us the fuck alone.”

She furrows her brow, but you cannot tell if it is because of your insults or because you demanded to be left alone together.

“We can’t do that. This is a criminal who kidnapped you—”

“He saved me!”

“Not in the eyes of the law.”

“I don’t give a damn about the law! You weren’t there to stop the other bastard from raping me but you meddle in our life when we were quiet? And now you show up? Your so-called help, I don’t want it.”

“I understand you are angry, but—”

“No, you understand nothing. Neither him, nor me, nor the situation. You have not the slightest fucking idea of everything that happened; you only twist reality to suit yourselves so you can lock him up! He did your job for you, damn it! Where were you when I was assaulted? What would have happened if he hadn’t intervened? Bunch of assholes! Stop pretending to be saviours! You are nothing!”

She makes no further attempt to answer, gaping with a sad, surprised look in her eyes. You likely slipped information she did not know, not that it will make her change her stance on the situation. She will stubbornly convince herself you are under somebody’s influence, that you are not reacting rationally, and whether that is true or not, you do not care. You simply want Levi back.

You rise, fighting the nausea and pain solely to make her respond with anything other than her web of lies. But before you can slap the cop, still enraged and desperate, the bedroom door opens and the blond man — that damn cop who was at the bottom of the building a few days ago — stands in the doorway.

“Miss Y/N, you’re awake. I am relieved to see that. Head of the special forces investigation unit, Erwin Smith.”

You glare at him, concentrating so you do not lose focus and allow your health to take over.

“Keep your gymnastics and your flashy etiquette bows for idiots who will believe you, you poor fool.”

Venom seeps through your words, your eyes trying to pierce him as if you could shoot him dead across the room. Even so, he remains unshaken. He closes the door and strides toward the bed as if nothing were wrong.

“I understand you’re upset. Nevertheless, understand that we are here for your own good. We want to help you.”

“Help me? Like you helped me when I was assaulted? No thanks.”

“Miss Y/N, I suggest you listen to what I have to say before you concoct any notions.”

“You knocked me out while I have a concussion and you arrested the man who saved me, so sorry if I don’t jump for joy at the idea of listening to you spout your nonsense.”

He still doesn’t react, fixed on his original plan as if your words have no impact.

“Mr. Ackerman has struck a deal with us. You will be able to remain with him.”

Silence.

Satisfied that he has managed to calm you, or rather to surprise you enough to let him speak, Erwin takes a chair to sit with Hange beside the bed.

“You slept for several days, so you are not aware of everything that occurred recently… we had the opportunity to talk at length with Mr. Ackerman after subduing him. Despite all the measures we imposed to keep him detained, he managed to escape several times; we were forced to sedate him to make him cooperate.”

You are stunned that a policeman would behave in such a way.

“Of course, we also used the asset you represent to make him even more cooperative.”

You do not think, your hand flying across his face, producing a sharp “clack” that echoes through the room.

“You bastard…”

The policeman does not even seem affected by your reaction. He probably expected it. His impassivity stokes your anger further, itching to deliver a second slap in the next minute.

“He accepted my proposal. In exchange for partial liberty at your side, we offered him to operate for our special forces.”

“You’re kidding…”

“Many within law enforcement will consider this choice immoral, but I believe our country needs people capable of acting when the police and justice are limited. People like Mr. Ackerman. It would be a shame to waste such talent in prison.”

“How dare you speak of him as if he—”

“The choice belonged solely to Mr. Ackerman; we did not in any way influence his final decision.”

“Because putting me in your equation didn’t influence him, perhaps? You’re taking the piss—”

“His monitored freedom with you is only a clause of the contract we proposed. We cannot release an individual like him without ensuring his cooperation on missions assigned to him. It is merely a security measure.”

“You’re pressuring him by using me! That’s blackmail!”

“We granted him the right to stay with you in a secure, monitored residence; that should be satisfactory to you.”

You refuse to believe it, utterly disillusioned by the lack of empathy from this cop who clearly uses you as leverage to manipulate Levi at will. He’s only looking to exploit you for his own advantage. It makes you sicker than your physical condition.

“You are a cop and you use me to pressure him and manipulate him like a fucking pawn… and you want to pass that off as something for which we should thank you? How can you—”

“Would you have preferred him to end up behind bars for the rest of his life?”

His habit of cutting you off to assert himself makes you react on instinct, your hand slicing across his face in the opposite direction. He does not try to stop you.

“I forbid you to say such a thing.”

You want to hit him, to pummel his face with a flurry of fists until he lies broken. This cop is using Levi to do his dirty work, using you as a lever against him. Of course Levi would accept. Of course you want to be reunited, you do not want to see him end up in prison where you cannot be at his side and feel the warmth of his skin, the fierce fire of his passion. Yet the current trade enrages you. The overall situation puts you into deep discomfort. You want to help Levi, not become the wall of his prison.

Still, you can do or say nothing more. Levi made his choice, even if everything was skewed. So you keep your anger and your rancour, refusing to give this apathetic cop any more leverage, aware he will use it against you without shame.

The silence that follows is chilling, unpleasant, and full of hatred.

I hate them. It is the only thought you have for them.

They want to use Levi’s abilities as if he were disposable, enabling him to continue his work eliminating refuse but also specific targets, just so they can get rid of him without difficulty. Who will worry about the disappearance of a criminal? Who will care when he puts himself in danger? He obtained partial freedom at your side, which will be nothing like true liberty — and at what cost? That of being used? You tremble with rage.

Several hours later, exhausted yet steadier thanks to the intervention of their physician, you stand at the threshold of a secure apartment, one highly monitored by several heavily armed officers. They are tense, visibly shaken, clearly terrified not of what they guard, but of whom they guard.

When the door opens, he is there, hair tousled, eyes rimmed with fatigue, his skin even paler than usual. It feels as though he has not slept a single second since the moment he lost sight of you. Tears well in your eyes as he does not hesitate for even a heartbeat to step toward you, enveloping you in his arms, inhaling into your hair as though it were the very first breath of air he has taken in days. Even with weapons aimed at you both, he thinks only of you, paying them no heed. His warmth seeps beneath your skin while your tears stream in silent torrents, and you return his embrace with aching intensity.

“Why..?”

His hands are almost painful against you, holding you so tightly it nearly hurts, yet you do not care, clutching him in return as though he were the sole lifeline in the midst of your wreckage. In the background, a voice orders the officers to leave you undisturbed, and the door locks behind you. Levi does not release you for even a second, remaining in the entryway with you, upright, unmoving.

“For you.”

You shake your head against his embrace, despairing over your circumstances. Over the weight he now bears.

“It’s unfair.”

“I deserve far worse, Y/N…”

You do not have time to protest, his arms sweeping you off the ground before you can contradict him, carrying you deeper into the apartment. Minutes later your back sinks into something soft. Levi hovers above, lifting just enough that his blazing eyes find yours without losing their intensity.

“We are together, and that is all that matters.”

You long to retort, but he descends, sealing your lips with a kiss so passionate it robs you of breath, a kiss you return with equal fervor and despair. Your hands slip beneath his shirt, clawing at his skin as though to engrave your presence upon him. Breaking the kiss, his lips scatter fevered trails upon your flesh, his face burying into your throat to leave crimson marks, impatient to brand you with his claim. His searing breath sends shivers rippling down your spine, your legs locking around his hips to draw him impossibly closer. You feel his body tremble with desire against yours, his heat burning through the barrier of his clothes.

A soft whisper slips from his lips against your throat.

“This is only temporary…”

You cannot even ask what he means, his body beginning slow, languorous movements that steal your breath and wring a moan from your lips. But he does not stop.

“I will find a way to rid us of these parasites. Until then… remain docile.”

He's making sure you're the only one hearing him, whispering as if you were being bugged, which is probably the case.

"Got it?"

Your hand slides up to the nape of his neck, threading through his hair and tugging hard. You are not docile. He growls, his hand seizing your wrist and slamming it against the mattress beside your head.

“Tch.”

He bites at your earlobe and down your throat, then tears at your clothes in one swift, ruthless motion. Stripping away his shirt and trousers in haste, he keeps his grip on your wrist, his gaze dominant, pinning you beneath him. The last shreds of fabric fall away until his skin presses fully against yours. A violent shiver races through you, your body arching closer, your eyes locked on his, spellbound by the weight of his passion, his smothering presence. You want him to imprison you against himself, so you can never escape.

With one hand restraining your wrist, the other traces your form with aching tenderness, while his lips capture yours once more in another sensual dance, your hips seeking a silent rhythm together. His grip is iron, anchoring you to the moment, reminding you it is real, that he is here, with you, despite everything. Reminding you that he has the strength to tear through this cage. That you must be patient… even though you glimpsed the metal cuff around his ankle when he shed his jeans, a shackle fashioned not like the devices shown on television, but something pettier, crueler. You push the thought away, surrendering to the solace of his embrace as though it could erase every shadow. His warmth, his motions, his breath, his tenderness… his biting obsession to mark you as his, despite himself. To bind you to him.

A sharper bite against your chest drags a moan from you, tangled between desire, pleasure, and the faintest sting of pain.

“What are you thinking of? Think only of me. Feel only me. See nothing but me, my sweet Y/N…”

His hand tightens painfully around your wrist, wringing another whimper from you as your body clenches around him. His other hand grips your hips to steady you as he positions himself, then with a fluid, relentless motion slides into you. He grants you barely a breath before his thrusts surge in cascading rhythm, pounding into you to sculpt you to his desires, to bind you with his need to see you surrender, ensnared and shackled to him. His agony over failing to shield you from the police and to find you again has hardened into a silent fury at himself, a blade honed sharper each passing day, soothed only by your touch. His hips speak his every emotion. His anger, his rage, his love, his longing. Sensual and brutal at once, you meet him blow for blow at every collision, your teeth sinking into the curve of his shoulder. Though he growls and tightens his grip, it does not stop him from smiling faintly against your throat before lifting enough to drown in your eyes. His thrusts become slightly harder, deeper, stealing even more of your breath, as does his gaze.

His silver-blue fire sears you with its passion, while your free hand cups his cheek tenderly. You would not wish to be anywhere else.

Sweat beads along his temple, hair disheveled and clinging to his brow, his breath shattering at the brush of your palm, his movements shifting from feral to achingly sensual, desperately carnal, languid. His hips weave with yours, passion gleaming in his eyes as his pupils dilate dangerously. He leans into your hand before kissing it, then braces on his knees to glide his hand down your arm to your wrist, kissing it too before entwining your fingers, lowering your joined hands against the mattress as he bends over you, leaving only a sliver of space, your breaths mingling. The hand restraining your other wrist slides along your skin to lace with your fingers in a possessive grip. You cling to each other, and the rhythm of your hips is nearly forgotten, lost in the sacred contact of skin upon skin, until the gap between your lips vanishes when you lift your head to steal a kiss.

He kisses you passionately, brutally, desperately, even as his body tempers itself in a gentleness, a carnal tenderness that drives you wild with every thrust. His hands press yours down more firmly as your movements and your breaths quicken, lips still sealed as your legs tighten around him.

Desire roars in your veins in unison, clinging to each other, stealing each other’s breath, seeking to tattoo the sensation of your skin against his, to fuse into one. And even when the tide of desire recedes, his fire remains, ever smoldering, and you do not part. Even breathless, your hands only release to wander each other body, clawing and gripping the skin they encounter, leaving marks upon marks, as though branding yourselves with fire.

You lose yourselves in the clasp of your emotions, rocked by tenderness, consumed by passion, until sleep finally claims you both, Levi shifting only enough to collapse against you, his body entwined with yours, his head resting upon your chest to hear your heart beating, soothed, even if only for a fleeting instant. And you thread your fingers through his hair in a gesture so natural, as though your place could never be anywhere else, because it truly cannot. You feel whole at his side, calmed by his presence that you wish to etch into your veins, so that you are with each other at every moment, knowing he feels the same. That same tenderness, that same gentleness, that same peace that soothes you, a cocoon of solace you can find only in one another. Even in the violence of his obsession and your shared desires, there is nowhere else you could ever find such comfort.

No matter the world outside, you will survive and remain together. That is all that matters to you in the end. You trust him completely, pressing a kiss to his forehead before drifting into sleep, dreaming of freedom at his side, freedom that will come. Then you'll be able to help him find peace and light.

Silence enfolds you both, danger lurking in the shadows, lying in wait for a chance to devour you. Yet, for this moment, danger is but a ghost, powerless to touch you, erased by each other’s presence, banishing nightmares if only for a single night.