Archive of Our Own

There’s always been some sort of… tension between you and the guitarist of your band. He’ll watch you practice when he thinks you’re not paying attention, his eyes will linger on the microphone after you’ve just yelled into it– little things like that. You’re not sure if it’s sexual tension (at least, on his end) or if he’s trying to burn you to ashes with his gaze. 

Either way, the tension is there. 

For context, you’re in a band. One that you’ve started with your dearest friend, Hange. 

They’d managed to nag, and nag, and nag, until you finally caved and said that you’d give it some thought. And when you did give it some thought, it actually sounded pretty fun.

So when you’d mentioned (in passing) that you’re still missing two key components of the band, Hange was more than happy to rope their two friends into this ragtag band that you have now. 

Their two friends included Erwin on bass, and Levi on guitar. Imagining how Hange roped Erwin into the band was easy; he was easy going, a bit of a people pleaser, and seemingly loved to play the bass. Levi, on the other hand, is still a mystery to you.

Levi is… an enigma. That’s the only way you think you can describe him and do him justice. He’s stoic, sardonic, quiet, the perfect embodiment of a black cat. Slow to warm up, and jumps at the slightest chance. 

But you don’t mind, his abilities are good enough, as are Erwin’s, so this band of yours works pretty well. 

Mostly, it’s just small gigs at the local bar, drunken bastards trying to stagger their way onto the stage to wish their girlfriends a happy birthday, or shout an obscene message to the rest of the crowd. 

You kept bringing it up to Hange to extend the band to a body guard so that doesn’t keep happening, but they wave you off, insisting that the stories are worth the danger. 

Initially, where you are now was just an idea, something that you’d thought of when you had the time. When Hange had introduced you to Erwin and Levi, you found it near impossible to form a band with someone like them. They were polar opposites, you all were polar opposites, and in order for a band to function well, they had to work together– a team. 

A team, however, is not what you would’ve used to describe how your few first meetings with them went. Most of the time, it was Hange rambling emphatically about the possibilities and the fame, and then some of the time, it was Erwin nodding along, interjecting his opinion and the more realistic outcomes. 

And not once did Levi, the short, raven-haired man speak on the matter. Never did he suggest what kind of songs he wanted to play, never did he mention what songs he couldn’t play, none of it. 

It had gotten to the point where you’d spoken up about it, during a particular discussion about what the name of said band would be. You, Hange, and Erwin were talking over each other, arguing why each name you’d all chosen was the right one.

But there Levi was, silent as ever, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. 

“No one’s holding you at gunpoint here, Levi. If you don’t wanna do this you can leave.”

You hadn’t meant it to sound so rude, but you were fed up. This was a team effort, and it felt like a group of kids arguing over something while the parent watched in disdain. 

“You guys are blabbering like idiots. You’ll go nowhere if all you’re doing is talking over each other.” He’d said. 

With that, you silently agreed and gestured for someone to speak first. 

And after his ‘soft’ suggestion, the name was born: Attack . 

At first, the name was a hard pill to swallow. It was Hange’s idea, of course. 

You’d brought it up to them on multiple occasions, asking if they were sure they’d want something so bold as the band name, but they also reminded you time and time again, that it takes two to tango (four in this case), and that the majority rules and you’d get used to it.

Turns out they were right, as always, and the name was easier to digest. And then soon, it was all you could talk about– your band Attack , and how it was the coolest thing to ever exist, biased of course.

Your parents were appalled to find that your college degree went towards a band, but that’s become easier to digest, too. They’ve never been to any one of your shows, and you’ve made peace with it. 

You don’t think they’d like you shouting into the microphone about fucking older men and doing coke in the bathroom at parties, anyway.

Not that your music is limited to only that, Hange and Erwin made sure that all of your music wouldn’t be as obscene. Sometimes soft and mellow, others old rock classics. 

It really depends on what kind of bar you’re playing at– gotta know your audience and all that. 

It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far, honestly. You have no manager– nothing. Just Hange on the drums, Erwin on bass, Levi on guitar, and you as the lead singer. 

You wish you’d started from humble beginnings, having a passion for music but just never getting recognized, but that wouldn’t be true. 

The truth is , however, you’d gotten drunk at a few karaoke bars, Hange pestered you for a bit, and then their enthusiasm and drive took you all the rest of the way. 

That’s not to say it isn’t rewarding, though. Seeing some guests at the place you’re performing bobbing their heads, or jumping around full of booze has its perks too. Even hearing Hange’s shouts, Erwin’s smile, or Levi’s blush after a performance would be enough for you. 

Even now, almost two years later, it’s still just as fulfilling. The shouts have never quieted, the smile has never dulled, and the blush has never faded. 

It took awhile of Hange’s pleading for any bar to let you perform, though. Like, an extraordinarily long while, because their persistence probably freaked them out rather than interested them, but you’ve made it here all the same. 

And that brings you to right now– in your studio (Erwin’s basement) sifting through some new lyrics for an original song. Levi is strumming his guitar absentmindedly, and Hange is twirling their drumsticks. 

You have a bigger gig coming up, just a larger bar downtown. College classes are starting up the day you’re performing, so you’re sure it’s going to be packed with underaged students trying to fulfill their college experience. 

Hange had assured you you shouldn’t be so nervous, since they’re all going to be so excited they got in the bar in the first place, but regardless, you are nervous. 

It has been so long (three years) since you graduated from college, that you feel disconnected from their interests. What do college kids listen to now? You suppose older stuff since they’re nothing like how you were when you were a first year, but you don’t want to jump the gun and assume. 

“What if,” you start tentatively, “we play a little of each? Some older classics, some of our regular stuff, and the original song I’m trying to cook up?” 

“Not sure why it matters.” The black cat speaks up. “They’re gonna be drunk enough their eyes’ll cross.”

“This is the first time we’re playing here. Wanna keep them? We have to make a good first impression.” That earns a scoff from him, which earns a scoff from you. 

“Well I, for one, think that is a marvelous idea, my dear.” It’s Hange, and their arm is snaking its way up and onto your shoulders to rest there. 

“Me as well.” Erwin looks deep in thought for a moment. “I’m afraid I’m not well versed in what music is most popular with them now, so it would be wise to play a little of everything so we have an idea for the next gig there.” 

“Christ Erwin, do you always talk like you’re forty?” Even with Levi’s cutthroat tone, Erwin still finds some amusement and laughs. 

“Afraid so.” He answers even if it was rhetorical. 

“Any ideas as to what those songs would be?” Hange butts in to– surprisingly– get back on track to the task at hand.  

After their question, the four of you put your heads together to try to create a set list, and once it’s been decided, you all head your separate ways.

Not for long though, because you know Erwin is gonna send a text to the groupchat to get to practicing. 

Always on the ball, that one. 

— 

It’s a few days later, and as you expected, a text was sent from Erwin in order to practice the songs together and make sure it sounds alright. 

You’ve been here for a few hours, and things are not sounding alright . It sounds discombobulated, and the notes aren’t hitting as they should. 

Between each song, you’ve been trying to pinpoint where the issue is coming from, and it’s just not coming to you like it normally is. 

Sure, you’ve all had your off days– Hange would go too fast, you’d sing off key, Erwin would hit the wrong chords, and even Levi would set his guitar to the wrong tune. 

But today, though, is the worst day you’ve had in the history of the band, which is very, very bad news because you’re performing in four days. 

You watch Hange play– nothing, fine. You watch Erwin and his finger picking– nothing, fine. You’d even triple checked that you’re in the right key so that you don’t sound like a fucking dick when you ask Levi what the hell is wrong with his guitar. 

“Hey! Guys–” you hold up your hand to cease their movement. “Levi, what’s up?” 

He only gives you a confused look. “I know you play better than this, what’s going on?” It sounded a bit harsher than you’d meant it to, but the message gets across all the same. 

He voices some noncommittal hum that sounds vaguely annoyed, and looks back down to his guitar. You decide not to push, and hope to god that he fixes whatever the hell he was doing wrong. 

–

He doesn’t. 

You’d stayed for a few more hours, giving Levi the benefit of the doubt, but no change ever comes. He’s not hitting the right chords, his timing is off, and just overall is severely disinterested. No point in practicing if his heart isn’t in it. 

“Let’s call it a day,” Erwin says as you open your mouth to suggest the same. “We can try again tomorrow.” 

“Erwin, do you mind if I stay here for a bit? I know I’m not going to finish this,” you hold up your notebook, “at home. I won’t be motivated.” 

“You know you don’t have to ask.” A warm smile your way and then he’s out the door. 

Levi, apparently, is staying behind as well, because he’s made no effort to get up from where he’s sitting. 

Hange was out the minute Erwin said to call it a day, so that just leaves you and Levi.

Oh shit, that just leaves you and Levi. 

“I didn’t mean to sound so rude-” 

“You’re being distracting.” You both speak at the same time, and when Levi’s words register, you still. 

“What?” You abandon your earlier thought, now more invested in what Levi has to say. 

“Just what I said. You’re distracting.” 

Even with you looking as confused as you feel, Levi doesn’t clarify. You even give him a few extra moments to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

Go figure.

Back to writing, you suppose. 

It’s silent for a bit as you run some words through your head, but this one line doesn’t flow like you’d like it to. 

“What’s another word for love? But not as corny?” 

“Infatuated?” He leaves his suggestion open to rejection, but you see him relax when you erase the previous word to write in the new. 

You can hear Levi practicing the chords that go into a few of the songs, but you pay it no mind. You’ve been working on these lyrics for days, and you just want to be done. 

No distractions.

Even if you can see the way Levi’s eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, or the way his fingers move delicately along the neck of the guitar. Or the way his fingers pick at the strings with so much precision. You wonder if he’s always so precise with his fingers–

Yeah, so it’s definitely sexual tension on your end. 

You’d completely lost your train of thought once you’d caught sight of his fingers moving so expertly on the guitar, but you’re not sure you’d be able to add much more to the lyrics anyways, it’s just gonna have to be a shorter song. 

“Levi, can you read this for me? I’m pretty sure I’m done, but I think I need another set of fresh eyes. My brain is soup in my boots right now.” 

His face pinches in disgust at your choice of words, but he agrees nonetheless. You’re just about to get up and toss him the book when he’s rising out of his seat to shuffle behind you. 

He doesn’t even make an effort to ask for the book, just strolls up right behind you to read it over your shoulder. 

You hope to god he doesn’t notice the way your shoulders have risen and your breathing has gone shallow. You can feel his breath hitting your neck as he leans over you to get a good look. 

You’ve unintentionally gone still as a statue, knowing the slightest movement will have him jumping back– just like a little black cat . 

“Sounds good, but I would change this,” he points at a word, “to ‘euphoria’. ‘High’ just sounds juvenile.” 

You take his words into consideration, but then scoff out a laugh. “Juvenile? What do you know about juveniles?” 

A blank stare is thrown in your direction. “See! That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I bet you came out of the womb with that face!” You point and giggle, pleased with your own joke. 

It seems Levi is not, however, because his blank stare turns into a glare. “Or that one! I think you were cooking in there until you were twenty.” 

His scoff lets you know he appreciates your joke, even if he won’t admit it. 

With your song finished, you have no real reason to linger in Erwin’s basement, so you bid Levi adieu and head out. 

—

Time is passing very quickly, because your gig is tomorrow. 

You can’t remember the last time you’ve been this nervous before a gig. And then you remind yourself that, yes , you’re nervous for every gig in a new place. 

The reminder only easies your worries a little bit. 

Now that you’ve all practiced the songs together just as you would on stage, you feel slightly better. Marginally. 

Levi seems to have gotten himself out of whatever little slump that was, and you’re grateful. Even if he doesn’t vocalize it, you know he knows how nervous you get before a gig– he must’ve practiced even when he was home, too. 

You, Levi, Erwin, and Hange are just out for drinks, a little tradition you guys started a few months back. 

Hange had declared ‘ we’re a team, we should drink like one! ’ and you had to remind them that teams don’t get as drunk as the four of you do the day before you perform, but they were hearing none of it. 

Even if it’s the worst idea in the world to sport a hangover the day of your performance, with the bright lights, loud music, and overwhelming shouts from the guests at the bar, you consider it your good luck charm– going out for drinks and just being friends. 

You’re reminded of just how friendly you all are when Erwin swings an arm around both you and Levi, spewing his sappy ‘ I love my friends so much, thank you for making this happen, all of you ’ bullshit. You can act like you hate it all you want, but it warms you up more than the alcohol ever could. 

You know Levi feels the same, because even if he pushes himself out of Erwin’s grasp every time, there’s still a small tug at the corner of his lips, every time. 

Hange is at the pool table, trying desperately to get yours, Levi’s, and Erwin’s attention.

It works, because Hange is just too cute to ignore, and you snake your way over to where they’re standing by the table. 

Their smile is beaming as they practically jump up and down once you’re at their side. “You’re on my team–”

“I’m afraid not, Hange. She needs someone to teach her how to actually play a good round of pool.” You gasp, both in shock at Erwin arrival and hurt, but then your grief turns to acceptance, and you nod in understanding.  

It’s true, you suck at pool. On several occasions, Hange had beckoned you over to the table, had talked a hot load of shit on how you both would wipe the floor with Levi and Erwin, just for you to sink the 8-ball in too early after Hange had made most– if not all– the shots. You were embarrassed each and every time, and you think Erwin has kept a total of money the losers (mainly you) have spent on buying drinks for the winners (everyone else). 

But you can’t be too upset, Erwin is a god at pool– Levi too. Maybe they had some undercover secret ring where they scammed people to play them for money. 

You can imagine it now: Levi saying ‘ No, I’ve never played pool a day in my life. I didn’t even know they made balls this big.’

The image makes you laugh, and when you feel Erwin bump into your side in question, you wave him off and turn back to the table. “Sounds good to me, maybe I’ll be making all the shots this time around.” You hear a scoff from behind you– the little black cat. 

You roll your eyes at his disbelief, but silently pray to the pool gods that they let you have this one moment. 

—

It seems they listened this time around, because (almost) every turn you’ve had was a sinker. It’s all even stevens this round, because you and Erwin have the 8-ball and one solid left to go, the same with Hange and Levi. 

You wait with baited breath as Erwin leans down to line up the shot, the cue steady in his hand. His one eye is closed, and you can almost see the mental calculations he’s making to get this shot. 

Turns out there was no need, because with the smirk you can see on his face, you knew he had this in the bag. And he had every right to, because there was a faint clink of the balls knocking into each other and then the last ball was out of sight, in the pocket.  

You practically scream in delight, Erwin just a little bit more composed than you are. 

The screaming stops when you realize it’s all up to you with this last shot. You notice you’ve been subconsciously scowling at the 8-ball ever since your last encounter with it (you’d sunk it too early and cost Hange the whole game). You decide to let bygones be bygones and this is your opportunity to redeem yourself. 

A deep, steady breath is all you need, you decide, and you’re leaning down to line up your own shot. 

This may not bode well for you, considering all the alcohol you’ve consumed tonight, and you’re sure your body is vibrating from the steady buzz that you feel all over. But, alas, you won’t let that shake you, because Erwin is also in the same state you are, as is Hange. Levi, you’re not so sure about. He can hold his liquor like nothing you’ve ever seen. 

You’re muttering small encouragements to yourself under your breath, getting yourself mentally prepared to sink this stupid fucking ball. 

You thought it worked pretty well, because your hands are steady and you’ve pinned down the angle in which you need to hit it. 

Things are ready to be set in motion, the potential energy pulling taut in your fingers. “Corner pocket.” You speak quietly and point softly, but you’re too in the zone to speak any louder. 

You’re just about to pull back and fire when you feel fingertips dance along the skin that’s exposed on your lower back, and you miss the entire fucking shot. 

You had jumped from the feeling, and as a result, you barely knocked the ball a whopping two centimeters. 

You’re searching desperately for the culprit, and you would’ve missed it if you hadn’t spun in a complete circle– but there it was: Levi, with a ghost of a smirk on his lips, looking smug as ever. 

He knows you know he ruined that shot, and there he is, showcasing his delight, his eyes full of mischief.

That fucking bastard.

Wait a minute. 

—

Erwin had thankfully saved your ass by sinking the last ball, and that meant that Hange and Levi were legally obligated to buy both you and Erwin a drink. 

The night was a blur after that, but you’re pretty sure you were unintentionally eyeing Levi more than usual. 

Even if his fingers were cold on your back, it left you feeling hot all over the rest of the night. 

— 

The performance was at eleven that night, which meant you had to show up at least an hour early to get everything set up. You’d spent hours (fifteen minutes) choosing your outfit, something dark and mysterious to fit the ambience of the bar. 

You and Hange had been texting all throughout the day, mainly them trying to ease your nerves about performing in front of the youth (they were only seven years younger than you) and at a new bar. 

Erwin had even sent his regards, just a short text that read ‘ you will dazzle them’ that had you laughing at his phrasing. Levi was right– he does talk like a forty year old man, but it’s endearing. 

It’s around nine right now, so you shoot a quick text to the groupchat, letting them know you’re heading over to the bar now to scope out the place. 

They’d all –save for the black cat– had let you know they’ll also be heading over shortly. 

A short drive later and you’re parked about a block away from the bar, you know how scarce parking is downtown. 

As of right now, it doesn’t look that intimidating– it’s just a brick building with a dark interior, nothing new. 

It’s pretty dead right now, as expected. The only guests in there are over the age of 40, just drinking a beer and watching the college football game on the TVs right behind the bar. 

You greet the owner, thank him extensively for opening the bar to you and your friends to perform, and in your head you’re chanting ‘please don’t drop us’ over and over again. 

The others don’t get there until around 10:30, and you’re getting a little antsy that they only have thirty minutes left to set everything up. 

It must’ve been obvious to Levi, because he shoots you a weird look which you immediately interpret as a ‘calm the fuck down’. 

You take it with a grain of salt and slow your pacing only slightly. 

Before you know it, it’s almost eleven and people are slowly trickling in, grabbing all types of fruity, bitter drinks from the bartenders and settling in their seats. 

You’d glanced at the amps and the microphones probably four times now, checking that they’re in the right place– definitely annoying your bandmates with your inspection.

Most of the lights dim, purple and white LED lights welcome you to the stage. 

Some– if not all, of the time, the lights are so bright that they blind you for the first few minutes. You’ve learned not to squint into the crowd after your second gig after someone had complained to the manager that the lead singer was giving them dirty looks. 

You didn’t even know someone just happened to be standing where you were squinting.

Either way: lesson learned. 

You spaced out during the introduction of your band– it’s never deviated from the first time you’d done it at your first gig. It’s a little cheesy, a lot unorganized, but it’s nostalgic, so you have no inclination to change it. 

Hange, Erwin, and Levi don’t seem upset with it either, so you kept it. 

Levi is playing the opening notes on his guitar, and before you know it– you’re up. 

–

The first few songs were a hit , you all could tell. You would say more so than usual, but you know it’s the drunken college kids just excited to jump up and down like apes. 

However, after those first few songs, you can hear some girls screaming for the guitarist:

‘ Oh my god he’s so hot’

‘Finger me next!’ – that one made you laugh a little.

A few bras were even thrown on stage, which resulted in the perpetrators getting promptly booted from the bar and most likely black listed. 

You mentally kick yourself for letting jealousy rear its little ugly green head, but you just cannot help it. 

You’re not jealous of those girls per say , but you sure as hell are jealous of their ability to just outright say things like that, you could never. 

What you can do however, is silently pine from afar and hope to god he hears your inner monologue. 

He will never hear such things. 

After checking in with everyone, it’s time to perform the rest of your setlist. 

At least, not before Levi grabs your wrist and spins you to face him after Hange and Erwin have left your little backroom (behind the stage). 

You can feel your face scrunching up to give him a look but he beats you to it, a silent question painted in his eyes:

‘ You good?’ You can practically hear it falling from his lips, and the familiarity warms you from head to toe. 

You offer only a small smile and a nod of your head, and he drops your wrist along with the topic, and passes you to make his way to the stage. 

The rest of the songs go by smoothly– no more bras on the stage and no more screaming advances at your guitarist. You can even see a few of the bartenders bobbing their heads to the rhythm of the song, and the sight squeezes your heart a little. 

The band had performed for only about an hour and a half, but you all tend to get a little parched after so long, so you mosey your way down to the bartenders. 

Best way to nurse a hangover is to keep drinking, right? 

In four of the barstools, it’s Hange, Erwin, Levi, and you on the end. 

And just when you thought you’d escape the hell that was girls hitting on Levi, they migrate over to where you’re all seated. 

They were just in hibernation until they saw him offstage, it seems. You can hear their squealing, their fangirling– it’s driving you up the wall. 

You hadn’t even realized you were glaring down at your drink until a presence was looming over your shoulder and they speak. “Did that drink kill your family or something?” 

It was a man, a fairly attractive one at that, who was looming over your shoulder and teasing you about your supposedly murderous drink. 

He’s blond, very tall and muscular with a bit of a beard adorning his upper lip and chin. “Yeah.” You sigh dejectedly. “Set them all on fire.” You swirl your straw in your drink. 

“All of them?” 

“Every last one.” 

He laughs and sticks out his hand, “Reiner.” You take it, awkwardly may you add, and feed him your name in return. “You sounded great up there.” It was a curt compliment, a blunt one– straight to the point, you see. 

“Thank you, did I look too nervous? It was my first time performing in front of a crowd.” You lie to him for no reason other than personal amusement, it’s your favorite pastime, you reckon. 

“You’re a natural,” and he flashes you a dazzling smile, and asks you what you’re drinking to order you another one. 

You appreciate the gesture, you really do, but he's not stoic, he doesn’t have black hair, and more importantly– he’s not a black cat. 

A golden retriever, if anything. 

You keep the conversation short, trying to drop the hint without saying the words themselves, but it seems he’s in the middle of a drunken stupor and either doesn’t care or doesn’t notice. 

Either way, he’s lingering more than you’d like him to. 

You can hear him vaguely mentioning about a bet he had going on with his group of friends– he points to a table seating four other guys– that he wouldn’t go up and talk to you and/or get your number. 

It’s a shame he’s getting neither, because you’re severely disinterested. He’s too outgoing, too friendly, too… something . 

“Follow.” Levi saves the day, thank god, and he’s grabbing your wrist for the second time tonight and dragging you away to the backroom (once again, behind the stage).

You’re surprised to see this area is devoid of any people, you were sure that a few of the kids were going to fuck around back here. 

“What’s up–” 

You can’t even get the words out because Levi’s lips are suddenly perched on your own, halting any form of conversation. 

His advance left you stunned for a minute too long it seems, because when he feels that you aren’t reciprocating, he’s pulling away and stammering all kinds of excuses, “Fuck– did I read you wrong–” 

It’s your turn this time around, because you're grabbing the neckline of his shirt and pressing your lips to his. 

You use the term ‘pressing’ loosely, because it’s more like slamming your lips on his, and the force of it makes your teeth clash, but neither of you mind right now. 

You’ve been wanting to do this for so long , you genuinely didn’t think it would ever happen. You don’t know what to do with your hands, truthfully, so you put them everywhere . 

They never stay in the same place for too long, scared you’re going to miss out on every opportunity to explore whatever is in reach. 

He seems equally as, if not more, frantic than you are, as his hands are sliding up every surface of your body– your waist, your hair, your face.

You notice he’s taking extra special care of avoiding your ass, maybe afraid to push it too far with you, but you don’t care for chivalry right now. 

Taking the initiative, you slide his hands down far enough that he could grab handfuls of your ass if he so pleases, and he deliciously decides to do so. 

You hear (and feel) a small groan once his hands tighten their grip on you, and it causes you to let out one of your own.

“Been wanting to do this for so long,” you spit out when you tilt your head to get a better angle. His grip tightens, if that were even possible. 

This isn’t enough for you– you want more. You’ve been sucking and biting at his bottom lip for what feels like hours, now your arousal is all consuming. 

You’d be a little insulted that Levi seems so composed if it weren’t for the deathgrip he has on your shirt, likely another precaution to make sure he isn’t pushing any boundaries. 

Whining can be heard bouncing around your ears, and it takes a bit of focus to realize that those are coming from you , and with the realization, you calm down a little bit. 

“Levi,” you speak with the sultriest voice you can form right now. “I want to fuck you.” It doesn’t sound very sultry, just broken and whiny. “You have three choices,” you hold up three fingers, “we can fuck in my car,” you put a finger down. “In the bathroom,” another finger goes down. “Or you can say no and I’ll forget this ever happened.” Your final finger goes down. 

You hope he does anything but picks the third option, but it would be the wisest of choices. Truth be told, you and Levi fucking would most likely cause irreparable damage to the band, but you’re buzzing with lust and alcohol, so it doesn’t matter too much right now. 

It really doesn’t matter, not when his chest is heaving, not when his shirt is wrinkled from your grabbing, and especially not when your lipstick is smeared around his lips. 

You’re pleasantly surprised when he takes no time to answer your proposal, immediately huffing out ‘ bathroom. ’

Heat swallows you whole, an extra pang of arousal settling deep in the pit of your stomach. 

Hange and Erwin might be looking for you, but you’re going to remain blissfully ignorant. 

As sneakily as possible, you and Levi make your way to the bathroom and you count your lucky stars that the bar is playing their own loud ass music through their speakers, because you don’t think you’d be able to hold back. 

You’ve been in the bathroom for all of two seconds before Levi slamming you against the bathroom door, his lips starting an assault up and down your neck, somehow pinpointing each and every one of your sensitive spots. 

He sucks and licks at the junction of your neck and shoulder, and you moan. Loud. 

Once it hits his ears, he bites that spot, and you think you’re going to combust on the spot. 

You’d love to say that you’re going to savor all of it, but you’re too goddamn impatient to wait. Your fingers are flying to his white button up, and you actually scoff when the buttons don’t come undone fast enough. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were desperate.” 

His voice sends shivers up and down your body, and it’s the last push you needed for you to start running your mouth. “I wouldn’t be so desperate if you weren’t dressed like such a fucking slut. ” You’re not wrong– when he first came into the bar tonight, a few of his buttons were already undone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You had to physically restrain yourself from jumping him right there and then.

Your words have their desired effect, because you can hear a sharp intake of breath from Levi. 

“Stall.” You mutter out after you drag his lips to hover above your own, missing the feeling of it. 

It’s a drunken, messy stagger to the bathroom stall, because you’re too busy undoing the rest of his buttons and meshing his lips with yours. 

You’re glad you had the foresight to move him, because not even a second later, a gaggle of girls come into the bathroom, shouting their admiration for the guitarist that was just on stage. 

How cute. 

“Hear that?” you smirk against his ear. “If only they knew their precious guitarist was here in the bathroom stall, cock hard for me. ” 

He shivers and you’re delighted . 

From the way he spins you around to press you against the stall door, you’d assume he’s done with your teasing. 

“Struck a chord, did I?” It’s nothing but viscous honey dripping from your voice, obviously trying to egg him on. 

You can tell it works when he pushes his dick against you, his arm holding your waist. You’re not sure if it’s wrapped around you to ground you or himself, but the feeling is welcome one way or another. 

“You think you’re so funny– so cute ,” he’s breathing heavily in your ear now, “giving me those fuck me eyes every time you think I’m not looking.” 

Your breath hitches, knowing you’ve been caught. You can feel him smirking against you once your body tenses, but he only continues. “Staring at my hands every time I play my guitar.” 

To graciously prove his point, his hand reaches higher to grab ahold of your tits under your shirt, and the feeling causes you to throw your head back. 

He obviously sees the reaction you’re giving him– it would be hard not to, you’re not making it very subtle– and forgoes another layer to grab at you under your bra. 

The skin to skin contact is enough to make you cry out, more so when you feel those very same fingers twist and pull at your nipple until it’s hard under his touch. 

His other hand is traveling lower, you can feel it skimming your lower stomach, his fingertips dancing along the band of your underwear. 

“Didn’t take you for such a tease, Levi.” 

“I’m normally not, no.” He bites at your neck. “Just can’t help it when you’re acting so… depraved .” 

And then his fingers plunge to the slick between your legs and you almost scream. 

You really weren’t kidding when you said you’d been waiting so long for this, and now that it’s actually happening– all of your senses are heightened. 

His breath on your neck is scorching, his fingers on your clit feels like lightning– it’s almost overwhelming. 

But you love it. 

He removes his fingers from your underwear and you want to cry, and then he’s waving them in front of your face and forcing out a strict ‘ open up ’.

Obviously, you comply. 

You make it the raunchiest thing he’s ever seen– your tongue swirling against his fingers, your wrist pushing them just a bit further to take them deeper. The taste of yourself lingers and it only adds fuel to the fire. 

As soon as he deems it good enough, he’s ripping them out of your mouth and back down to your pussy, your spit serving as lube as he rubs your clit. 

The feeling is causing you to see stars, and he hasn’t even been at it for more than a minute. 

His fingers are working in fast, tight circles and you think your knees are going to give out at any second. 

The music is (barely) covering your whiny moans when he sinks a finger inside of you, immediately curling them, and then your knees do give out. 

“ Fuck ,” you can barely get the expletive out, his fingers are working you so good. 

There isn’t even any resistance as his middle finger joins his ring, but the added pressure is earth-shattering. 

You gain coherency to only moan out, “Should’ve known you’d be good with your fingers– fuck–” 

He chuckles against your neck and only works his fingers faster. 

“Gonna cum– oh my god– ” 

But, before you could throw yourself off of that cliff into what would be mind-altering pleasure, he’s spinning you around one more time to face him, and he’s patting your legs to get you to wrap them around his waist. 

Once again, you comply, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

You dip your head down to meet his mouth again, and you know he can faintly taste you when he groans into your mouth and digs his fingers into your thighs. 

“Levi, fuck me–”

“Working on it.” 

You scoff out a laugh as he shifts his weight to pin you against the wall to drop his other hand from your thigh to work himself out of his pants. 

You can feel your mouth watering when you see him for the first time, he’s stunning . 

Even in the dim lighting you can see his reddened tip, a little bit of pre-cum seeping out. 

He strokes himself a few times before lining up with your entrance, and you’re practically vibrating in anticipation. 

You can feel the head of his cock plunge in ever so slowly and it’s driving you fucking mental . 

You appreciate the gesture, the fact that he’s taking his time to make sure he doesn’t hurt you and to let you adjust, but you don’t want that . 

And you make that very clear when you start clenching around him and bucking your hips to get him to bottom out.

He listens very well , and he bottoms out almost immediately. 

The feeling of him completely sheathed inside you is heavenly , and now you’re glad he took a second because it knocked the breath right out of you. 

You’re gulping down air, knowing that you’ll never get enough of it. Levi only gives you a stern look once you pick your head up, and it’s only then that you realize that you’ve been clenching impossibly tight. 

You huff out a laugh, because realistically it’s the only thing you’re able to do right now, and give him a small nod to start moving. 

And when he does, it takes everything in you not to scream, his strokes are fucking magnificent . 

At first it’s slow, letting you adjust to his size and the angle, but he’s slowly picking up his pace and you think you’re about to cum.

Turns out it was sneaking up on you, because as soon as he slams his cock fully inside you, you think you do actually scream. 

You didn’t even have any time to properly warn him— one second you were a breathless mess, and now you’re slamming your hand over your mouth to suppress what would’ve been the loudest moan known to man. 

Levi gives you a second to collect yourself, and for that you’re grateful. Had he kept going, you for sure would’ve started sobbing. 

Maybe another time, perhaps. 

And once he’d deemed you good enough to keep going, he starts to pull out again, just to slam back into you. 

Your hands are pulling, clawing, at him just to keep yourself grounded. It’s not doing a very good job, because you think you’ve died and started ascending into the stars. 

But he proves you wrong when he pulls down at your shirt to let your tits fall out, just so he can watch them bounce with his brutal thrusts. 

It would’ve been amusing— the way his eyes move up and down in time with your tits. But it’s not, because his fingers are slowly trailing their way down to pick up their circles on your clit, and you suddenly lose all coherency. 

Before, you were nothing but teasing and vicious, but now you’re just putty in his grasp, only able to just take it. 

Levi seems to be nearing his end too, because his thrusts are sloppy and uncoordinated, and you want him to come with you. 

So, you do what anyone else would do: start clenching around him and tug on his hair— hard. 

“Gonna cum,” he parrots your words back to you, and if you had the ability to, you would laugh. “Where— where should I—“

“Inside. Come inside, Levi— fuck—“ 

One more thrust from Levi and he’s throwing his head back, deliciously accentuating his jawline and you can see his throat bobbing as he gasps for air. 

His grasp on you doesn't loosen, and he’s holding you as close as physically possible. You don’t mind, you really need the stability right now. 

And once the moment is officially over, he’s pulling out of you and grabbing some toilet paper to clean you up— how sweet. 

You’d expected it to be more awkward, you’ve literally just fucked your bandmate, but it’s not, because he’s smithing out your clothes and checking you over for anything else that may need repaired. 

And then he’s putting his hand on your lower back to carefully usher you out of the bar’s bathroom and back into the public eye. 

Luck runs out when Hange and Erwin spot you both, looking very disheveled, and beckon you both over to the bar. 

You and Levi only share a look before you’re making your way over to them, and plopping yourself on the barstool. 

It only takes Hange a second to put two and two together. 

“It’s about goddamn time.”