"I told Phoebe you used to peek behind the curtains before," Lucinda had this knowing smile on her face, and it intrigued you. Old Lucinda crept closer to Levi, nudged him even. Did you happen to miss an important holiday? Did crows finally turn white and the snow black? Is Levi Ackerman this lenient with civilian women that he lets them nudge him in the rib, or tease him like this?
Did elephants turn pink, or are old lady Luce and Levi close?
"You're interested in Phoebe, aren't you captain?"
No, haha. Elephants don't change colors overnight, and certainly not hot neon pink, because there is no way Levi will be interested—
"And what if I am?"
***
No way.
"No." You said, nervously giggling at his gray answer. "No, no, you're not. You can't be." Maybe this was one of his shitty jokes. It's that one talent he has— tell a joke with a constipated face. He says them so dryly you can't tell the difference so you... just... lau...gh...
"Oh, you're serious?" You stared at him, your smile slowly fading, your stomach taken over by dread with every second that he didn't say anything to confirm nor deny his response. Why is no one laughing with you?
"You're— you, you like me?" Your finger indecisively pointed back and forth from him to you, before his stoic silence made you gulp.
You took a bite of your bread, shying away to process where this conversation had gone from. No, no, no — you can't let them know you're mentally running laps from Earth then back to Paradis. And hell's ass bent down to fucking earth— he can't be serious!
Optimistic Phoebe: But Levi Ackerman is always serious!
Rational Phoebe: Of course he is! He seemed like a not funny guy but we all know that Captain Levi is serious AND awkward! He could have meant something else entirely because he's nervous! Let's think about this rationally guys—
Sexually repressed Phoebe: How do you rationalize a hard dick that twitches everytime he sees you? He could probably smell your raw pussy dripping of stress and caffeine from a mile away, and he wants to help— it's that simple! You can't rationalize something this simple! If it's there, it's there! He already said he likes you. Just bring out your inner hoe, get to know him and the fella downstairs—
Demure Phoebe: Where is your decency?!
Trivia Phoebe: Guys did you know that caffeine makes orgasms really good?
Sexually repressed Phoebe: Consider your decency washed away with how slippery you'll get. Soon, you'll just be all about spreading thy legs and being taken from your shit hole. Wet season came late if I'd be fucking honest! And drink that fucking coffee before visiting pound town!
Demure Phoebe: Oh my goodness, language!
Pessimistic Phoebe: He only wants you for your body, although you don't even have much so at least that's flattering. But make sure to count the days before he's tired of you. And I know you'll require commitment, but neither of you can give that.
Optimistic Phoebe: Don't listen to her. You should think on the brighter side! Maybe you're really destined to be together! How many instances does someone go after a person from another world? This could be the first! He seems sincere in liking you so you could either live here with him or you take him out of this shit hole. You survived a lot, girl, you could do it again. That's one solution—
Rational Phoebe: Two, actually.
Trivia Phoebe: Well, t he simple "maximum likelihood" method for predicting the future from the past is to estimate the probability of an event-type that has occurred r times in N trials as r /N...
Demure Phoebe: Live with a man— are you out of your mind?! There's no ring in her finger and you want her to give the wife privileges?!
Pessimistic Phoebe: Oh by Erwin's underwear, someone calm the Karen down.
Trivia Phoebe: ... this generally works well if r is fairly large (and if the world doesn't change too much). But as r gets smaller, the maximum likelihood estimate gets worse...
Rational Phoebe: That's not very nice. Apologize to people whose name is Karen.
Sexually repressed Phoebe: Fuck him while he's still have the hots for you girl. If you died out there, at least you get to fuck THE Levi Ackerman.
Opportunistic Phoebe: Sounds like an opportunity to me.
Trivia Phoebe: ... but as for us, no human record has yet been recorded making you the first, making the statistical estimation for large numbers of rare events inapplicable. Everybody got that?
"Shut up... all of you, just— shut up..." You hissed to chastise your thoughts. You closed your eyes, hoping this trick will disperse them. They get so... loud sometimes. Not that you don't want to listen, or that they're wrong, you just can't keep up when they speak like this.
"Oop, did I say too much?" Lucinda's high pitched voice made you jump out of your skin. "I thought you're together today because you're finally dating—"
Oh no.
"No, I wasn't— that's not what—" That's not what you meant! You weren't talking about him!
"We're not dating." Levi said curtly. You had a second to observe his hard expression that seeped out of his consistently stoical features. He stooped to take the boxes of lunch in a bag, and before it even registered, he was already walking away.
Is he angry? Disappointed? Sad?
Does he care that you're fretting about his response to this another layer of misunderstanding?
Wait.
No, you don't want this— you don't want the gap to get wider and wider until you can't approach him anymore. You don't want another misunderstanding with him. It's cheesy, it wastes so much time and it's awkward—
"Sir Levi—" Wait I said!
You will just clear this misunderstanding, that's all! Nothing more— you can't afford to be greedy. You don't have enough lives to pay for more wishes. And you can't be with anyone in this world— you'll leave, eventually. You don't belong here. You're not one of them.
You're not one of them.
Your chest tightens every time that thought crosses your mind.
"Ah, isn't that Phoebe?" You turned around to catch a glimpse of Jean and some others, but when you quickly turned back, Levi was getting further. It won't be long until the crowd will eat him away, and you won't be able to muster another round of courage to approach him.
You can't prolong this agony. You'll just clear it up: say sorry for putting him on hot seat with that assuming question back in the kitchen— you'll apologize for being elusive and awkward whenever he's in your line of vision; apologize for making him uncomfortable until now and...
And...
And apologize because you can't reciprocate his feelings.
That's all.
You can't have more.
"Sir Levi!" You called him again, this time, he stopped, and looked back.
"What? Can't walk on your own?" He seems so nonchalant, like he didn't just say something that made you this flabbergasted. It's disappointing, and you should be relieved that he might be joking but... you're not .
You want him to be... upset.
You want him to be as surprised and elated and dejected as you are.
"Hey, we got the support for the gears!" Jean's voice slowly got louder the closer he got, but you didn't tear your eyes off the captain, like he's doing with you. You have one shot at this, and it's worth ignoring the sand-haired, young man.
"Sir, I have something to tell you, but can you wait later?" Your voice, though loud, trembled with uncertainty with every moment you waited so expectantly of his response.
You were impatient, yet earnest in waiting. A twitch in his eyebrow, a nod, a smirk— anything! Anything is better than him just standing there, probably having this monologue with himself of how stupid and desperate you looked.
Jean's babbles dissipated in the air of this noisy marketplace, but Levi's response was clear:
He nodded.
Then his features didn't softened uncharacteristically when his eyes were fixed at you for a long, meaningless moment, but the magic he casted with that simple gesture, drifted in the air like dust on a gusty, summer day. The marketplace went silent when it slowly swallowed his form, until it was back to this noisy, crowded dirt road.
Too quick to catch that it happened, and too quick to realize that he's gone.
Oh my day.
Levi actually likes you. He fucking likes you. It's taking its time to sink in; a few more echoes in the brain on the memory that just happened. He said something about liking you, then— then he picked up the food, then he walked away, but before he did, you told him to wait, then he nodded, stared at you like he's a six feet sex diety and then... and then...
That was like an indirect, private confession right? No?
Optimistic Phoebe: Damn right, it is!
"Hey Phoebe, you... listening?" Jean sounded unsure now, when you can't even be sure if you're okay, yourself. Your knees buckled with the replays in your head, and you had to hold on to his arm to steady yourself.
"You okay? You skipped meals again, didn't you?" You felt Jean's hands secured you by the shoulder.
"I don't know." Your giggles were slow and progressive, your body suddenly felt full and re-energized.
"She finally snapped, huh?" Some soldier in the background said, and your giggles only intensified.
It didn't take a wall breach, missing finger nails, countless of torture bruises, jaw misalignment, a titan-bitten arm or a month of incessant modification on the gears. It might have taken a shove to push you over the edge, but it took a Levi Ackerman to push you out of the canyon and fall hard on the rocks.
So, are you okay? No, you're not very sure anymore.
Perhaps, Jean actually have a point.
***
Your cold, hard hay bed felt comforting for the first time. Even with its strain on your back, you find your thoughts acting like a numbing, happy pill, and you, on overdose as they run over like bullet trains in and out of your mind, for countless of times. The silence seemed unbearably good for the meantime, that you couldn't help but want to soak on it for a while.
Because everything seems too good to be true!
You should be thinking about the expedition, or the gears, or the last test run for the bomb you made for the expedition. You should be out there in the kitchen, offering help, or stealing food but you couldn't.
You couldn't keep your thoughts off of Levi.
You giggled at this unseeming progress. First, you couldn't take your eyes off of him, and now he also has the audacity to completely take over your thoughts. He's a warrior who won in the battle royale in the colosseum and you are the priced bride; a war hero who protected your land from the bandits and now he wants a wife to take care of him and his hard-earned land.
And with his heavy armor and sweat stained face, you'll kiss him, and take those nuisance garments off to feel his warm skin.
Then on your wedding night, he'll make you his, and his alone.
You squealed and rolled back and forth like an idiot, strangling your pillows to release that delicious tightness in your chest.
In reality, he walks like a grumpy giant of six feet with his casual, long, bluish shirt that's usually rolled up to his forearm; he's usually grumpier in the morning, but not rude, and his mood usually gets better when he drinks his cup of morning tea.
He likes rice, now that you're thinking about it. Too bad, they don't serve much of it this time of the year, and because of the wall breach, food production got scarcer. You wondered if you could do something about that...
He skips the morning showers, and probably takes his time in the evening. You could imagine him shrouded in steam, and you had to stop yourself before your imagination lingered to the details of his naked physique.
He leads the morning footwork at least three times a week. When he does, he doesn't lead with chants or songs like Miche and Ness do. Instead, he cusses the shit out of the privates, and before you knew it, his cussing habits slowly crept as yours, having a new favorite every week.
His tea tastes surprisingly good, when that one time you got curious and you drank from his cup. You could tell he was barely holding his shit when he saw you sipping from his tea cup, and Petra soon told you that he hated sharing his china.
He held his annoyance with you though. You couldn't help but smile and appreciate the smallest of details. It's because he likes you enough that he's willing to tolerate his disgust of other people's saliva, huh?
The rice coffee you gave him is slowly getting thinner in its container every time you get a glimpse in the kitchen, and you caught him drinking a cup one afternoon.
But you know he doesn't drink coffee. Again, the details...
His hands were calloused and rough. Hands forged by battles. Hands that made it possible for him to survive this long. They felt solid in your skin that one time he patched you up, and even with the fabric of your clothes, you could tell the strength in them, and that effort he puts in to be gentle in treating you.
And he thought you couldn't tell that he restocks the med kit in the kitchen...
There are fireworks and glittery visions every time he's around. The sound of his name makes your blood rush, and there is this undying eagerness to catch a glimpse of him. You will search for him in a crowd of soldiers; you will wonder about him when your mind isn't so preoccupied with all the fuckery this world have to offer and now— now that your mind should be filled with all the ways you'll die out in the open field, you're thinking about him, instead.
You're completely filled with the thoughts of him.
It feels so natural, you don't even try.
And it shouldn't be this way.
"Hey, I didn't know you're back." Nanaba was the first to come in, followed by Petra. She clutched some sort of fabric, and from what you could tell was a dress.
"Do we need to dress up for dinner?" You asked, eyeing the dress that alerted you in a state of mild panic. No one told you that you need to be decent for dinner. And besides, it's just a bunch of people you see everyday. How special are they that you need to dress up only to eat sloppily in front of them?
"No, it's alright to go with your usual clothes." Nanaba said as she herself opened her stash of flowy pastel neutrals. Yeah right, go with your usual clothes as they pick up their Sunday's best. You feel like you need to do it too, but you don't own a dress that says 'party' and 'formal dinner' at the same time.
It's usually separate, you see...
But all the more reason you need to look good because you have an appointment later this evening, right?
"You know, that's not very convincing at all." You responded, only to earn a laugh from the two. Petra started to undress herself, taking her time to put on the whole ensemble of light fabrics and leather corsets. You watched her in fascination, noticing the smoothness of her pale, freckled skin alongside the occasional bruises and well-earned scars all over her body. There weren't a lot— maybe two or three, but you could tell that most of them were deep and had been there for a while.
"Where'd you get your scars?" You asked her, as she began combing and twisting her hair.
"Mostly during my training days." She smiled at you through the vanity mirror. "Thankfully, I didn't get any more during expeditions and squad missions. Captain Levi is considerate enough to give me the lighter missions, you see."
"But she has a habit of peeing in her pants when she's scared." Nanaba's interjection caught you off guard, it made you chortle.
"That was one time, Nanaba! One time!" Nanaba laughed at Petra's salty response. Nanaba excused herself to change somewhere else, leaving you and Petra alone.
She hummed softly as she bobbed her hair upwards to give it a bouncy look. It's calming to see her giddily prepping up. You wanted to join the fun, but you have nothing fancy to wear.
"You don't like dressing up?" Petra asked through the mirror as she applied the final touches.
"I do, I just don't have the right clothes. But it's okay to go like this, right?" You responded, sitting up to meet her poised, seated form. She looked beautiful with her lavender peasant dress. The color made her hair and eyes stand out due to their natural contrast. The neckline is suggestive— too suggestive in fact, that it seemed like an invitation of sorts. The playful twirl of the dress's hem, however, complimented Petra's youth.
It is the perfect paradox, and it suits her very well.
There's just something about that gray eyeshadow she's putting on her eyelids...
"Hold on," You said, walking up to her. You thought a shimmery lip gloss would suit her better, since her eyes alone are enough to stand out. You don't think she needs something extra in her eyelids then another outrageous color in her lips, so you walked up to your dresser, and took out your personal makeup stash.
"What's... that?" Petra's eyebrow arched with curiosity.
"A thank you." You responded. "I mean, you've been looking out for me and it's rude not to notice."
"No— I mean, what's that?"
"Oh!" Oh she meant the lipgloss— right, because Sephora doesn't sell in Paradis— "We call it a lip gloss. We put it on the lips to make it extra glossy and plumpy. You know, ready for kissing?" You giggled, but she smiled uneasily to keep up with the conversation.
Lip glosses are unfamiliar in Paradis, you'd expect that now. After all, the closest resemblance of makeup they have were dried beets grinded to a consistent powder-like texture; ashes for the grey eyeshadow, charcoal for lining the eyes or rose pigment for the blush that's usually bound together with beeswax or lard.
It's unconventional and... shocking, but they work with what they have.
"I put it... on my lips? Are you sure it's edible? It's not poisonous? It doesn't look natural to me..." You let Petra examine the bottle, the unfamiliar scribbles of the label made her eyebrows furrow in wild hesitation. It took ages to convince her to twist the applicator, and smell the content, and a lot longer for her to be convinced that using it on the skin is safe.
"Think of it like those rose tint the girls put on their lips during graduation? It's like that, but more sparkle."
"This..." Petra looked at it from every angle, smelled it countless of times and yet, she's still mystified by this strange liquid. You can't help but smile at her priceless expressions. She probably made fifteen of them in a minute.
"How does it smells so good? You can probably put it as sauce in the dessert later!" You snickered at her remark as you gently took it back from her hands, and told her to lean over.
"Why?" Petra asked.
"Because I'm gonna put some on you." You readied the applicator, but she leaned back away.
"You first." She said apprehensively. You put some like you usually do then, then you looked in the mirror to see how pretty the color was, especially when it reflected in the licks of the fire.
And her bewitched stare agreed with you.
"Where did you get that? Do they sell them in your world?" She snatched it from you, like she wasn't dead set in saying no just a couple of seconds ago. Petra observed it one more time, and eagerly applied some to her lips.
Yup, that's better than that gnarly eye shadow.
You put some in her eyelids, and cheekbones, and lastly, to her clavicles to make her shine. She trusted you enough to put more of your Earth-bought products as she keenly observed them one by one, and what caught her attention was the nearly empty bottle of perfume, one that you only wear on special occasions, if you ever attended one.
Petra giggled at you, and you had to ask why.
"Because you're one weird thing... but in a good way." She looked pretty, that's a no brainer, but she looked exceptionally breathtaking this evening. The dance of flames in the mess hall would no doubt, highlight her enchanting, glittery skin.
"I mean— you spend your time in the workshop, getting dirty, musty and greasy and here you are, hoarding these pretty stuff—"
"Duality?"
"Exactly!" She exclaimed in total agreement, the wooden room now filled with laughter. You like your kneeling shadow in front of her seated one. The flame reflected how fun it is to be able to talk to someone about mundane things like lip glosses and blushes and perfumes...
You never knew you craved this normalcy, when all this time you've been put to extremes.
"I have other dresses, do you want to try some?" She offered, and as if by cue, you nodded eagerly. She pulled some for you to try out, finally setting on this dress that was a few inches too big for you.
"You should show some of the goods." She said, crinkling her nose at your 'bad' choice of clothing. The white says bridal, the pink looks too attention-seeky, and the blue looks like you're going to attend a baptism ceremony for baby Georgie.
"Orange?" You asked her.
"Stand beside a torch and no one can tell the difference." Alright, that's an obvious no.
"Floral?"
"Is it spring?" Oh...kay.
"Champagne?" She eyed you head to toe, nodding knowingly as she did.
"But I want the yellow—" You whined.
"You'll look like a walking turd. In that color, you look stunning." She winked at you. You had to check in the mirror, do you really? You twirled from all angles, checking your tits and ass every now and then. No— no this is too much. In case it's not obvious, Survey corps is crawling with men. Men who haven't had sex with their wives and girlfriends in a while. Sure, you won't be responsible for their leering eyes, but you sure as hell don't want to be stared at all throughout the night!
And besides, you'll be eating a trayed budget meal cooked by old Lucinda for crying out loud!
"No, hm-hm," You adamantly shook your head "No, I'm good with my everyday clothes—"
But you'll meet Levi tonight. You at least want to appeal to his senses, right?
You clicked your tongue as you rechecked yourself in the mirror again. Maybe Levi will like this? That made you feel giddy.
"Do you think... sir Levi will like it?"
You had to turn around, thinking you might have said your thoughts out loud, but the tension of your smile melted once you realize it didn't come from you at all.
"Dad's coming tonight, you see. He said he wanted to talk with captain Levi to straighten things out before the expedition." She went on, and you caught the keywords to make it make sense. Your stomach sank the happier she looked, and her shy, yet uncontainable smile took all the delight you felt a few moments ago. You remembered this rumor that Petra is betrothed to someone, and you had this inkling that it is the captain...
You just didn't take it as... true.
You mean— you haven't seen them kiss or hug or date—
But you always see them together.
Then is the captain really marrying her?
Then what was that thing he just said this morning?
"Y-Your dad's coming?" It was as if ice water was poured from your head, crept in your veins and reined your breathing in its typical rhythm. Even Petra's beauty didn't register anymore besides the things she's happily saying.
So happily in fact, that you couldn't help but feel ashamed.
Every syllable felt like a dagger, and the more you stayed in the dress— this spotlight that seared and burnt your skin, the more embarrassed you feel. Of course not. He can't like you, how dare you assume. You're you. There's nothing to like about you. In fact, even your very presence in this world is an anomaly to their timeline and they're just using your skills to get ahead, and you, to stay alive.
You don't belong here, you don't belong here, you don't. belong here.
Never is, never will be.
And besides, why are you dolling up for someone you'll reject? You wanted to take off the clothes and get back to your own before you go out and embarrass yourself even more.
"I'll see you outside?" Your vision wobbly registered Petra. You tried to smile— you really did, but...
"You okay?" She asked you. Your eyes stung the longer you stayed on this dress. You nodded, you nodded a little too much.
Gosh— what were you thinking?
"Yes— I-I'll see you outside." Petra's form got muddled when the waterworks came, just in time when you heard her close the door, and you quickly changed to your usual work clothes.
You will reject him tonight, and you will save his squad.
But there is this undeniable faint thought that tells you to let them be, and let them die.
***
Not me causing some drama. :)But will Levi look like an asshole? No. I won't intend that he'll look like one. I just want OC to suffer a little more before I make her suffer even more.
As always, thank you for reading, and I stay awesome.
Your occasional asmr enjoyer,
sultryzucchini.