Eternal Freedom Part 1

Levi X Reader

(Please note: I am using some Irish in this story, all pronunciations will be put beside the Irish words, so please don't be too freaked out if it looks weird!)

I don't normally like putting the options for (h/c) or eye colour, I think it breaks the story up, so just presume the character looks like you. =)

Please comment and let me know what you think!

The torches flickered slightly in the faint breeze that danced under doors and flowed down the long dark corridor.

It was late. Everyone was getting some well-earned rest. It had been another tough day.

Since the disaster of the last expedition, Erwin had upped the basic training regime. It was a good excuse for everyone to push themselves to breaking point and burst through. It was also an excuse for people to work through their grief for those who had been lost.

Sighing wearily, you tiptoe to your room, your well-worn boots tight against your tired feet.

You gratefully unstrap your gear, placing it on your little table that served both for eating and for paperwork.

You pause outside your bedroom, listening to the gentle breathing within. A little smile wiggles across your face as you open the door and look upon your lover.

He was curled up in a tight ball, one arm thrown across your side, covers neglected and strewn upon the floor. You silently chuckle, remembering his confusion when instead of the Wings of Freedom, you sewed your national flag onto the green sheets. "What the fuck? Why three colours? What does it even mean? Are all the Irish as infuriating as you?"

That was one battle you won. The sheets stayed.

Ebony hair fell across his eyes, eyes that most soldiers described as "steely" or "cold" but had only ever shown you vulnerability, and calm in these troubled times.

Even now, after three years together, you can't help but be impressed by his physique. Life as a criminal and the brutal training and discipline under Erwin's wing had made his body as tight as a rubber band.

You run your eyes down his body, drinking him in. Smooth pectorals, toned and firm abs, arms that would snake their way around your waist in your slumber. He shifted slightly, revealing his back, pale, criss-crossed with faded silvery scars, the result of a life on the streets. You stifle a giggle as you recall one night where you insisted in kissing every single one but fell asleep before you could finish counting.

Skin-tight black boxers clung to his gorgeous hips, worn teasingly low, allowing you a tantalising view of that gentle slope into…paradise.

Biting your lip, you wonder again how on earth this man, this incredibly strong, brave, beautiful man, ever fell for you. He was not a man to express love easily but he had his own way of showing it. A fleeting touch of his knee against yours, an excuse to touch you while he trained your squad. And that tiny almost shy smile that played around the corners of his mouth. That smile, you knew, was for you and you alone.

When it happened, there was no grand gesture, no huge expression of emotion. He had trained your squad for months and had expressed an interest in you and your heritage. There had never been an Irish recruit before. He would linger after meals in the mess hall and quietly ask you about your home, what was the terrain like, what sort of crops did you grow, what was the history of your people.

That progressed to tea meetings where you described your village, your customs and your ancient language. He seemed to like the way it flowed off your tongue.

Things changed the day he invited you to his private rooms to study an old map he had unearthed in a fit of cleaning. Nothing over the top, just an eloquent, quiet (shy?) request to join him for dinner.

So you did.

And he invited you again. And again. Until-

"Listen, I…don't know how to say this but…fuck, facing the Titans is easier than this…" Clearing his throat, he bowed over his paperwork until his fringe hid his eyes from you. A strangle mumble came from his mouth. Looking at him in confusion, you moved to stand right beside him, flinching as he immediately tensed up from the close contact, feeling his internal battle not to push you away. "Sir? I didn't…What did you say?"

Sighing, he sat back in his chair, running his hands through his locks, exposing his face to you once more.

"Ah…ah FUCK IT." Grabbing your hand, he fixed you with his intense gaze. "I…would like us to… you know. Be…us. If you want. If not, well fuck it, I asked so don't you dare come back to me saying you changed your mind, because shit, if this ever got out, I have a reputation to-"

Your lips cut him off, mid-tirade, never taking your eyes off his. His hands pull you in closer, cupping your cheeks. He tasted of tea, and lavender and smelled clean, crisp and new, like a fresh winter's day. Intoxicating.

His mouth opened slightly, inviting you in. The heat and sensation from his tongue sent sparks shooting across your whole body as you melted into each other.

The need to breathe made you both break off, slightly breathless. His milky cheeks now had a faint pink blush spreading across them. His fingers ran delicately across your bottom lip and fluttered across your face.

"Shit. I've wanted to do that for a while. You have beautiful skin."

"Thank you Sir."

"Will you stop calling me Sir for Christ's sake?!"

"Sorry…Levi."

That was when he first smiled.