Abandon all reason and logic, welcome the ghostporn with your arms wide open.
I broke my narrative ankle, send fucks, I'm all out.
Who you gonna call, when there's an invisible man fondlin' your bum?
'Ghosts were just figments of imagination. There was nothing after death. People died. The end. Self–sabotage out of guilt over a few coincidences was foolish.'
This had become Levi's mantra every morning. He believed in it less and less.
Four days ago he had gotten out of the shower only to stare at the mirror in shock.
'Sing in the shower'
As if someone had written it with the tip of their finger against the steamy surface. Levi wiped it off. Probably Hanji was playing a prank on him, her own peculiar way of trying to cheer him up.
Even if she hadn't visited in a while. Whatever.
Things were getting worse. Scratch that, things were getting ridiculous.
He saw the writing every time he got out of the shower. And every time Levi simply wiped it off. Then the light bulbs started again. By now he was used to getting out of the bathroom in the dark and avoiding greeting the tiled floor with his face.
After the third light bulb, he contemplated just not changing them and shaving in the kitchen.
After the fourth, he snapped.
"Fine! Have it your way!"
Levi didn't even know what he was yelling at, still refusing to believe that Eren Jaeger, the kid he had killed with his own hands, was haunting him and demanding him to sing in the shower of all things. Sing in the shower.
Yet he did just that, his interpretation of some chorus of a Madonna song echoing off the bathroom tiles as he washed his legs aggressively.
The fact that the light bulb lived to illuminate another night this time was a small consolation ,considering he had to live with the fact he had just tortured his neighbors with his, albeit not awful, but not very great either, singing voice. And Madonna.
Levi stared at the mirror.
'I like your voice'
He took his frustration out on the doorframe, slamming the door shut hard.
Levi's plan to ignore whatever was happening until it just stopped was failing. Something had to be done. But what could he do, really?
Spray some holy water around? Get a priest? Say a prayer every time something went wrong? Levi snorted at the idea alone; if it would be of any use to the entity then Levi himself might melt from it, considering his list of sins.
Call a psychic? Paranormal investigator? Like hell he'd pay those scammers a single cent.
The only other option left was to try and communicate with whatever was in his flat. But that could only make the matter worse and it would mean submitting to whatever was making him sing in the shower.
What kind of an entity did that, anyway? It was better than becoming possessed, but creepy nonetheless.
And one song wasn't enough. If he didn't sing then he could say hello to a dark bathroom and shattered glass on the floor. So he kept doing it.
'Your singing is improving'
Maybe calling an exorcist would do the trick. Levi considered it a little too seriously for a second.
Then the touches started. At first they were like a faint gust of wind against his skin or a barely–there pressure, lingering for barely a few seconds. But then it got worse.
Levi was sitting at the kitchen counter, flipping through a magazine. The habit of keeping up with the news had stuck, especially politics.
It felt like someone was standing behind him. Levi knew that he was alone and the door was locked. Yet he felt small puffs of air, like a cold breath against the nape of his neck.
He was determined to ignore it, but couldn't help jerking his head aside when something brushed against his cheek before running through his hair. Like slim fingers. Almost affectionate. Levi found himself re–reading the same sentence for the fourth time.
He tried to turn the page, but it wouldn't budge. As if someone was holding the paper together, gripping it.
It flew out of his hands, landing on the floor. Levi was feeling slightly uneasy, unable to blame it on wind or something else. Something had ripped the magazine out of his hands and thrown it away, that much was clear.
His shirt bunched up and Levi froze on the spot, growing more and more mortified by each second. Hands were pressing against his skin, sliding up before invisible arms wrapped around his waist.
Levi gained control over his muscles again and got out of the chair in record speed, the touch disappearing as soon as he moved. He stared at the empty kitchen.
Levi was sure that he wasn't imagining this. It felt too real.
He bent over to pick up the fallen magazine only to yelp out in surprise the next moment. Did something just... grab his ass?
Levi almost tripped over his own feet while scurrying away from the spot. He couldn't run far though, next thing he knew he was pushed against the fridge, cool surface against his cheek.
"What are–"
The words died somewhere in his throat. The hands returned, pressing against him and moving, circling his hips in smooth movements before sliding lower, down the insides of his thighs.
Levi shuddered involuntarily, trying to move away from the fridge only to be pressed back against it. He couldn't even pry the hands off, when he looked down there was nothing there. Yet the pressure of a body leaning against his was definitely there, lacking the warmth, but still as close as possible. As if it was pressing directly against his skin, no clothing in–between.
"Levi, you're so warm."
Breath against his neck, words whispered in his ear, voice agonizingly familiar. It failed to distract him from the roaming hands, now pushing up his shirt again, a trail of goose–bumps following them, and what felt like a knee pressing between his legs.
With horror and heat coiling in his stomach, Levi realized he was becoming aroused.
"Stop, stop right now." He pushed out through gritted teeth, resuming his attempts to get away when he felt feather–light fingers trace around his nipples, caressing every rib indent, dipping into his belly–button.
"You missed me, didn't you?"
Frantic, harder, almost clumsy were the strokes against his heated skin. Levi could nearly ignore how cold it felt. His eyes slid shut, not wanting to see that there was nothing to see.
He didn't want to see invisible hands unzipping his fly, pushing past his underwear.
Levi muffled a groan by biting down on his bottom lip. He was pinned in place and receiving a handjob from a ghost. Possibly by the kid he killed. You could fall only so low.
It wasn't supposed to be like this, flushed cheeks and tiny lights dancing behind his eyelids, blood rushing away from his brain, priorities already set. He couldn't help but squirm and bite the inside of his cheek.
"Don't you see how much you've missed me?"
He wanted to press his ears shut but the fear of hearing the voice inside his head kept Levi from doing it.
Levi's knees buckled and he braced his hands against the smooth surface of the fridge. There was no sound of slick skin against skin, yet it echoed in his mind and suddenly he was acutely aware of the memory of how Eren's hands had looked, felt, how soft his skin was.
Turqoise blue and ocean green flashed before his eyes, every thought turned inside out and he was left bare, nerve endings raw in every sense possible.
"Tell me."
There was a firm grip on the base of his cock, holding his release away, escape–plan to get this over with as quickly as possible failing miserably.
"I do. I hate it and I can't get you out of my head and— fuck— I'm so sorry, I—"
"Eren, I..."
He ran out of breath, voice rushing out too fast.
The stroking resumed, speeding up and seconds later he came with a muffled cry.
The presence was gone and Levi was left with a mess to clean up, mind in a flurry and conscience royally fucked up.
