hey sexy!

welcome to my story! Here's a full summary:

When naive, oblivious first-year Eren Jaeger gets drunk at a frat party, he finds himself thrown unceremoniously into the world of Levi Ackerman-the elusive, mysterious senior with a sexual aura unlike anything Eren has ever experienced. His mind is ravaged with thoughts and desires for him, until he is practically consumed by his image, even as he becomes aware of the fact that Levi is in love with someone else. And even as he becomes aware of the fact that he knows close to nothing about Levi Ackerman. They find themselves drawn to each other, as much as the world seems to tell them that they shouldn't be together.

Then Eren meets Mikasa, Levi's seemingly perfect cousin. She tries to warn him about Levi, telling Eren that he has a dark past and a twisted future. Only when Eren finds himself dragged down into Levi's underworld, riddled with hidden skeletons and blood-stained hands, does he understand-but by then, it is too late.

it's full of drama. romance.

smut.

ERERI.

although I don't know if it counts strictly as smut because there's like a legit story and it's kind of complicated (I'm not good at writing pure smut and I have a habit of making everything really god damn complicated) but hey there's lots of sex so yay

WARNINGS:

explicit sexual scenes

lots and lots of cursing (i.e f***)

violence

more sex

AND NOW

read, enjoy, review

xoxo

Prologue

I Know I Had A Good Reason

"What am I going to do when you graduate?"

How am I going to survive?

With his other hand holding a book up to his eyes, he started running his fingers through my hair as I lay my head in his lap. The way he always did when he was thinking hard about something. If it wasn't my hair, then it was a cigarette or a pen.

"I don't know. You'll have to read a lot of self-help books, I think."

"Probably," I laughed. "Why don't you stay close by? Work in the city?"

"It depends. I don't really know what's going to happen," he replied. But I knew he was lying. I could just tell. I think he knew exactly what was going to happen. He was going to leave after he graduated. Of that much, I was certain—I wasn't certain of anything else. I closed my eyes and felt his fingers in my hair. His fingertips brushing my forehead.

"Hey," I said.

"What?"

"What are you reading?"

"Whitman."

"How come?"

"His poetry calms me down."

"Why do you need to calm down?"

"Because you drive me crazy, that's why."

My face became flushed as I opened my eyes. He wasn't looking at me. His eyes were still looking at the book. He always did that. Said really romantic things, or acted with heart-crushing affection, with such nonchalance. He would utter things that could make the most uptight person blush and squeal, and then turn away like it had never happened. It made my stomach churn. I reached up and touched his lips.

"Can you read me a poem?" I murmured. He glanced down at me. "I like the sound of your voice. And I haven't read a lot of Whitman."

"All right."

He put the book down for a second and moved his hand from my hair so that he could stick a cigarette in between his lips and light it. Once the air smelled of tobacco and he was breathing the toxins into his lungs, he put his hand back on my forehead and grabbed the book. I closed my eyes again.

"Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?" he read.

"That's it?"

"Mhmm."

"What's it called?"

"To you."

"I like it. It reminds me of how we met," I smiled.

"How so?"

"Well, the author is talking about random people talking to each other because they feel like it, right? No other reason?"

"Right."

"That's how we were, remember? We kept making up excuses to see each other, when really we should've just talked to each other. We should've taken Whitman's advice, I guess." I opened my eyes and found him gazing down at me. I couldn't tell what kind of expression he was wearing.

"You have a weird way of thinking," he said with a sigh. I just shrugged. Then I reached up and grabbed the cigarette, took a drag of it myself, and began almost instantly to cough. He scoffed with a smirk and whisked it back.

"You should really quit," I said, my voice muffled through the coughing. His fingers started tracing patterns on my skin, and I curled up more tightly in his lap.

"Yeah?" he said, turning back to his book. "You should really mind your own business."

"I'm serious. What am I supposed to do when you die super young because you smoked so many cigarettes and I'm left all by myself?"

I had meant it to be a joke, but a cloud came over his face as I said the words. The light in his eyes just then made me nervous. It was a kind that I'd never seen before, swirling with a unique pain that I knew I'd never be able to understand. I sat up, very much aware of his change in demeanor, and scanned his face.

"What's wrong? You know I don't mean it—you're sexy when you smoke." I was trying to make useless amends. "Smoke as many cigarettes as you want..."

He held my gaze tightly, intensely, before finally looking away.

"You talk like we're gonna be together for a long time," he mumbled.

"I mean, I guess I can't tell the future, but..." My voice trailed off. I wasn't sure what to say after that. My mouth wasn't able to articulate the thoughts in my head. I couldn't discern them from one another. "I'd like to be together for a long time."

"Eren."

"What?"

He crushed his half-smoked cigarette on the ashtray and put his hand to his temple.

"Let me be honest with you. What we have right now—what we're doing—it's just that. Right now. Understand?"

Of course I didn't understand.

Of course I don't understand.

"You can't tell the future either," I said softly. "How do you know it's just for now? It could be forever, for all we know."

"It's not forever. You know it's not. I told you that. When we started this whole thing. I told you. I warned you. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. And I told myself not to get attached," I said. I put my hands on his thighs and leaned forward, staring straight at him until he was forced to stare back. His eyes moved to my lips, daringly close to his. "But I don't think we can really control those things."

"I think that's bullshit."

"Bullshit or not, I'm attached now." I put my lips just barely on his. They were soft and tasted like tobacco and lavender. I held them there for a few moments, before pulling back. There was no way for me to control what happened next. "I love you, Levi."

I moved to kiss him again, but he put his hand on my chest and pushed me back. His brow was furrowed, his lips tightly shut, his breathing oddly erratic. I was taken off-guard.

"Don't say that," he hissed. "You have no idea what that word means."

"...Yes I do. Of course I do."

"No you don't. You have no fucking clue."

"How can you say that?" I cried. "How can you just invalidate my feelings like that? I know what love means, and I know that I'm in love with you."

"Stop it."

"Why?"

"You're digging your own grave."

"Fine, maybe I am! But I might as well go all the way, right?"

"You know who you should be with? Mikasa. Go be with Mikasa. She's really in love with you, you know."

"But I'm in love with you."

"Yeah? And just what is it you love about me?"

"It doesn't matter. That's a stupid question to ask. You could be the most terrible person on earth, have no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and it wouldn't matter for shit. I'd still love you."

"Stop saying that word."

"What is your problem?" I stood up, my temper flowing through the blood of my steaming limbs. "It's not like I'm asking you to say it—"

"But you are," he interrupted. "Why would you tell someone you love them unless you want them to say it back, huh?"

I opened my mouth and waited for my retort, but it never came. My voice was caught in my throat, as a tsunami ravaged my insides. I stared at him, sitting on the couch with the book turned over in his lap and the smell of tobacco still lingering on him. I looked at him, really looked at him—his dark eyes, his thin lips, his straight eyebrows, his nonchalant expression—and I knew, without a single doubt in my mind, that I loved him. There was nothing anybody could have said, including myself, to convince me otherwise.

"All right. Maybe I do want you to love me," I finally sighed. I couldn't even pinpoint the emotion I was feeling. "But even if you don't, it doesn't change anything. Nothing. Don't tell me that I don't love you, because I do. I know that I do."

There was a terrible silence after I said that.

"Eren. Look at me."

Only when he said that did I realize that my gaze had flitted to my feet. I forced myself to obey, to look into his eyes. He was leaning forward on his knees, staring up at me with a glare that was unflinching, piercing. My fingertips tingled.

"What I told you back then hasn't changed. And it never will," he said. His voice was soft, as if he were telling me a secret—not a deep secret. But a secret, nonetheless. "I can't fall in love with you."

"You don't know th—"

"Yes I do." I could see the droplets of sweat forming on his temples, but he stayed perfectly still in his position. "I can't fall in love with you. I'm in love with someone else. As long as that someone is breathing, I can't love you. No, no, I take that back. It doesn't even matter if that someone is breathing. As long as that someone has a place in my mind, I can't love you. Even if that someone is dead. And I don't think it's fair for me to lie and tell you that I can."

I couldn't look into his eyes anymore. I stared back down at my feet. I didn't want him to see the tears.

I knew this, too...it's not like this is a surprise...

"That's exactly what I said to you when we started this mess," he sighed. "Nothing's changed."

"It's just a vicious cycle, isn't it?" I said. More to myself than to him. "You love someone else. They don't love you. And you can't love me. Even though I love you so much it hurts."

"Eren."

When he said my name and looked at me like that, I knew that he was lying to me.

Lying straight to my fucking face.

He did love me.

I knew he did.

But he was telling me that he didn't, and I couldn't figure out why.

"I..."

I'm so stupid.

Why did I let myself do this?

What was my reasoning?

I know I had a good reason. I must have...

"Eren. Come here."

The tears were streaming down my cheeks in defiant rivulets. There was no holding this back. I felt as if I had known this for a long time; there had been a knowledge, gnawing at the hopeful and naïve parts of my mind, that this wasn't going to last. I mean, there was no reason to assume that it would. He had told me, This isn't going to last. And still I let myself hope. I had pushed that knowledge aside and left it screaming in a dark crevice of my mind that I forgot about in the bliss of being with him.

Without looking up at him, I slumped back down on the couch, hugging my knees to my chest. I suppose, in my right mind, I would have been terribly embarrassed. Letting him see me like that. But not then. Not at that moment. At that moment there was nothing I could do but cry as silently as my anguish would allow. I felt him move beside me, but I still didn't look. I hugged myself more tightly and pressed my lips against the coarse fabric of my jeans, tasting my own salty tears as they flowed.

He loves me.

He loves me.

Why doesn't he want to be with me?

Then, I felt him move closer. His hand began stroking my hair back from my face. In a repetitive, gentle, rhythmic movement. Back and forth...back and forth. His touch, that thing for which I thirsted and craved, made the tears flow harder. He was touching me so tenderly. Had he ever touched me like that? Yes, yes, of course he had. He must have.

He brought his other hand up to my hands, clasped around my legs, and pressed his lips to my temple. They were cold and refreshing against my feverish skin. He kept his lips there and continued stroking my hair. Each time he breathed out, a new wave of sorrow washed over me, again and again and again like the defenseless sand on the shores. Again and again until I was sobbing and he was holding me, letting me grasp at him, bury my face in his neck. Until I was sobbing and he was whispering in my ear, "I'm sorry."

I don't want your apologies.

I don't care about that.

I just want you to love me.

Nobody else.

Just.

Me.