Californiaaaa! Sorry, I get excited over dumb things. :P
I live in Berkeley! but I’m originally from San Diego
You seem very cool. Are you in canada? I’d love to take you on a date.
I’d love to go on one, haha! but I’m in California :(
|eh, dating is not what its cracked up to be. i tried online dating and lets just say I'm much happier being single.|
anon I appreciate the sentiment of this, haha, but I really want to date (I’ve done it before, I swear)
I want someone to date that’ll let me toss my bad fics at :<
someone date me pls
The fall of his third year, a boy transfers into Erwin’s class. He’s delicate-looking, as far as boys go, with skin so fine and pale as to be nearly translucent. It makes him ethereal in a way, but sickly bursts of purple bruising litter his fists like lover’s marks.
He’s not beautiful. He’s slight and thin-lipped, the curl of his mouth and furl of his eyebrow belligerent. His eyes are as pale as the rest of him; a flat grey that merges with the rest of his features and washes him out.
His knees are knobby and a surprisingly fleshy pink from where they peak out under the shorts of the school’s uniform. The teacher announces his name as Levi.
Erwin is utterly fascinated.
There’s something feral and half-wild about Levi. It’s obvious that he doesn’t belong in the red-bricked prep school, tucked into the pressed, collared shirts of their uniform. The sleeves of his sweater are rolled up, revealing pointy elbows; the slenderness of his limbs suggest a growth spurt has yet to happen—may never happen, actually.
After introductions end, Levi weaves his ways through the aisles of gawky-eyed teenaged boys to take a seat at the back of the class, by a window. It’s the position every slacker in every school has taken. Troublemaker, Erwin thinks with a fondness almost surprises him.
He cranes his neck to watch Levi throughout the period, in between the turnings of the teacher’s back. There’s something on the board about Latin and declinations; Erwin usually likes Latin and declinations.
But: the wind is a reedy whistle through the window by Levi. It musses his hair a little more every time Erwin turns back to glance at him.
Levi never notices him staring.
Levi doesn’t seem to notice anything, gaze intent on the sky.
Erwin’s notes for the lesson are terrible, a jumble of malformed thoughts and images—Latin roots combined with the dipping curve of Levi’s upper lip, long dead grammar running into the shadowy flutter of Levi’s eyelashes.
He usually gave Mike his notes after class.
He decides not to, this time.
Mike takes it as him not feeling well; Erwin fends off the worry forming on his heavy brow with a weak smile. It’s not an inaccurate question, and Mike means it with all the genuine concern of a friend. Erwin isn’t feeling well—or rather, he isn’t feeling like himself.
Levi passes by them as they talk.
Up close, he’s even smaller. Erwin feels huge by comparison. He’s taller than most boys their age, broader, although still not as tall and broad as Mike. The word that comes to mind when Levi walks by is petit. It doesn’t do Levi justice—Levi is swallowed by the uniform, but there’s a wiry, apparent strength in his forearms and calves.
"I’m Erwin," he forces himself to say, when his thoughts catch up to Levi’s presence. Levi’s back is already to him by the time the words come out. "If you need any help here, I’d be hap—"
"I don’t," interrupts Levi. He looks dully over his shoulder. "Erwin," he murmurs, considering. The look he appraises Erwin with isn’t ill-willed. It’s bored, apathetic to Erwin’s presence. "Rich fuck name if I ever heard one."
"Yes," Erwin agrees, smiling in spite of himself. "It is. It’s awful, really."
Levi leaves before he hears that.
The thing is: Erwin isn’t rich. Ivy-covered academies gave that air, but Erwin’s father was a schoolteacher before he died. It’s not hard to mimic the bearings of class though and years have worn down any rough edges he had once possessed.
It’s not insulting that Levi finds him uninspiring.
Erwin simply wants to prove him wrong.
Mike tilts his head as Levi walks away. “Don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” he tells Erwin.
Mike has always been perceptive.
"Of course not," Erwin assures him, the smile on his face itching slightly wider. Levi’s standing in the doorway, accosted by a brightly-grinning Hanji, her uniform askew on her lanky frame. Levi looks overwhelmed. "I wouldn’t dare."
Save for Latin, they have no classes together, he discovers. From the way Hanji clings to Levi’s reluctant side when Erwin passes them in the hall, they must share several.
He’s almost disappointed. Mike catches him watching them walk by, humming. “Don’t,” he says again.
Mike doesn’t actually disapprove.
Eren has a mouth on him, Jean decides, that could always be put to better use. He could tie knots with his tongue and dirty talk until Jean’s cock was straining against his boxers and Jean wanted him to do everything at once, he wanted dark lips wrapped around him and he wanted a wicked tongue…
But consider this: the defenestration of trost
Levi is small enough to fit in Erwin’s lap when they kiss, but seems to prefer other methods of going about that, like tugging at Erwin’s bolo tie to pull him down or catching Erwin unaware at his desk. He never stands on his toes, a stubborn refusal that Erwin’s come to characterize as cute, though he’d never let Levi know his thoughts.
For the same reasons, he’d never let Levi know how much he likes this, when Levi sits in his lap. Levi isn’t delicate or fine—he’s hard and firm under Erwin’s hands, his weight solid and heavy. He’s strong and beautiful and Erwin’s explored every inch of him and found every inch to be built the exact same way.
But there’s something lovely in this, in the way Levi fits perfectly in his lap. Small enough that even here, boosted by Erwin’s thighs, his mouth only hovers over Erwin’s chin. He’s easier to kiss, too, without the craning of Erwin’s neck and spine.
And there’s something satisfying about it, about how much smaller Levi is than him; small, but wonderfully capable, nothing but confidence in the mouth he drags, hot and heavy, over Erwin’s jaw. “Need to shave,” he murmurs in a quiet, half-voice.
"Yes," Erwin breathes, mouth quirking. "Will you do it for me?"
These are moments, tender and modest as they are, that Erwin tucks away into the folds of a heart that hasn’t yet been consumed in full by this world and this life. These moments will never be more than that and will never be larger; he won’t ask it of Levi, nor will he demand it, for the same reasons he let Marie dance with Nile that night instead of him. It feels selfish, when both of them may yet die, and when Levi is so much more than him in every way, though Levi has yet to realize.
Levi snorts, but the hand he rubs across Erwin’s chin is fond. “Why can’t you?”
"I want you to," he explains simply. Levi huffs, but makes to move off Erwin’s lap. Erwin stops him with a hand around his wrist.
"What?" Levi questions, raising an eyebrow at him. "You want me to shave you or not?"
"I want you close," he says, and Levi sighs.
"So demanding," he mutters, but he curls obligingly back into his spot on Erwin’s lap, mouth tilted for a kiss—small and plush, and Erwin takes what is freely given, even if he knows he may not necessarily deserve it.
|Eruri Introducing to each other's families at a meet-and-greet the day before their wedding. AU|
"I thought your family was dead," Erwin mutters to Levi, staring at the man in front of them.
He’s dressed like a cowboy. When he comes up to introduce himself as Kenny to Erwin, his accent is thick, broad, and purely Texan. “I thought you said you were from Paris,” Erwin adds, watching as Kenny twirls a pistol around his forefinger. He isn’t sure why Kenny brought a pistol to the restaurant, but the waiter is giving them a more and more alarmed look.
Levi shrugs, looking vastly unconcerned even as the pistol goes off and lodges a bullet in the wall. “There’s a Paris in Texas.”
|Eruri - Erwin & Levi adopt Eren.. AU?|
"He’s ugly," is the first thing Levi says, peering into the bassinet at Eren. Erwin doesn’t blame him, really—Eren is red-faced and yowling, his lungs working furiously at a horrible screech. Erwin reaches into the bassinet to grab him.
"He’s just fussy," he argues, bouncing Eren in his arms some until the infant calms to messy snuffles and hiccups. Levi gives him an incredulous look as Eren rubs his snotty nose against the shoulder of Erwin’s shirt.
"Eighteen years of this," Levi says bluntly. But he takes Erwin cautiously when Erwin hands him over and only grimaces slightly when Eren mouths at his fingertips with a pink, gummy smile.
"More than that," Erwin laughs, pressing a warm kiss to the crown of Levi’s head. "A lifetime, at least."