Strange Girl But Effective

by commissioner

AU: Sadistic Levi meets masochistic OC counterpart. Mostly very adult sub/dom dynamic stuff and lots of smut. There's some violence (but in a good way, I think), there's some action, there's some comic relief, there's friendship. Springles and Jearmin as well for people who like fluff.

25. Runic Rhyme

(A/N) My ideas and writing have been kind of deep and morose lately. Idk what is up with that. It's like I'm constantly thinking about how I can make this as sad as possible. It's like I get off on sadness.

I thought that might get a little too heavy for you readers, so luckily I've been holding onto this random cute idea that is not angsty at all. I just hadn't found an appropriate place in the story for it. Now seems as good a time as ever.

Petplay. All of those allusions to Erna looking like a pissed off cat weren't for nothing.

The chapter title is a vague reference to Poe's poem, 'The Bells'. You'll see why.

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Two weeks after her close call with a titan Erna is thrilled that the bruises have faded enough for her to stop sneaking around, which is to say that they have faded completely with no trace of black, blue, yellow, or magenta left behind because if there were even a shadow of a mark that Levi hadn't put there himself she is sure he would notice. It was a fun challenge for those three weeks to find ways to avoid undressing in front of him, pretending to be asleep until she heard him leave in the morning, only showering in the middle of the day while he was working, stripping and getting under the covers in record time praying he wouldn't walk in and see the expanse of color going down her left side and back.

It worked out in her favor that he was so busy ever since Erwin got official approval for more extensive tests on Eren. Getting the approval was, apparently, not the final step. It only kicked off a lot of wading through red tape and negotiating for the resources they would need to move forward at all. There is a lot of writing and talking involved. That's all she knows. She doesn't care enough to find out more.

But she is starting to care.

It had been convenient that work was keeping Levi too stressed out and too tired to pay attention to her, but now she can play and she wants attention. She's dying for it actually. She'd thought it would be easy to get, but that isn't turning out to be the case.

She doesn't approach him straightforwardly. She doesn't want to have to. She wants to be able to provoke him to focus on her and forget everything but his evil, sadistic, primal urges. She wants it to be like before when she barely even had to try to get his attention.

Her attempted provocations start off infinitesimally small. First she takes about five minutes longer than she should when making his tea. When he asks her to get him a pen from his office she comes back with paper instead, like she forgot what he wanted somewhere in the thirty feet between the living room and the office. She doesn't leave the towels folded perfectly. She misses the hamper when she throws her shirt towards it and she leaves it on the floor, something that in the past would have earned some kind of punishment without fail. Nothing happens. He doesn't even berate her. He picks up the shirt and puts it in the hamper himself without a word.

It scares her. It makes her feel very insecure. She thinks it's a sign that he's bored with her, that he doesn't care.

She stares at him a lot lately, thinking about what she would do if he was bored enough to want to break things off. She isn't dramatic enough to think that it would kill her. As she stares at his tense jawline, the only thing betraying the boredom in his expression, she thinks she would be crushed, shocked, depressed. She thinks she would tamp all those feelings down deep and try to not feel anything. Her eyes wander over the shadows and lines of hard-as-steel muscles that she can see through his clothes slowly like she's trying to commit them to memory.

She watches his eyes tick back and forth as he reads the documents he's holding apathetically on his crossed knee. Thinking about being without a person makes you think about all the things you like most about them. She likes this the most. She likes the way he looks and sounds bored even when he isn't. It signals an amount of self-control that she'll never have. He doesn't seem to notice that she's staring. Her throat gets tight.

The next morning she goes for broke. She thinks of all of the rules. No boots on the furniture. She's still afraid to break that one. No interrupting him in his office. But the long meetings mean he hasn't used his office in weeks, opting to stretch out on the couch late at night with paperwork instead. She needs to dig deep to remember rules that have been followed unfailingly without mention for so long that they ceased to be thought of as rules and became deeply ingrained habits instead.

She remembers that she's not supposed to come without permission. That one is easily broken.

Or she thought it would be. It turns out that habits are hard to break. She presses her forehead against the tiled shower wall in frustration as she tries to let go enough to let the orgasm she's been building with gentle, circling fingers for five minutes wash over her. It's maddening being right on the edge, unable to tip over it and fall. She thinks the problem is that she can't turn her brain off and stop thinking so much. It's starting to feel hopeless. Then her teeth find the right side of her lower lip and unconsciously bite down, pointed canine puncturing enough to make the smallest break in the skin. The stinging pain and taste of blood provide the distraction she needs to get her thoughts to stop for just the moment it takes for that orgasm to explode through her. When it finally happens it's intense and startling. She gasps in shock and moans at the relief. She pants, forehead still against the tiles. As the euphoric feeling and the throbbing fade away she twists around, positioning herself completely under the stream of water again.

She skips into the living room wrapped in a white fluffy towel, hair damp and dripping a little, looking very pleased with herself, playing it up for Levi who is splayed out on the couch, dressed in uniform, one hand holding the rim of a tea cup, other hand rubbing his temples, looking like he is dreading starting the day. She sits down on the couch instead of on the floor next to him. She forgets if that was a rule or a habit, but either way it's a thing to break.

She gets no reaction from him. Suddenly she feels fucking pathetic needing to resort to these antics to try to get him to notice her. So she finally asks him straight out, "Do you still want to hurt me?"

Without hesitation he answers, "All the goddamned time."

"I'm being serious," she scolds him, because if he's not interested in her anymore then he should at least have the courtesy to not be sarcastic about it.

He turns to look at her, eyes widened just a little bit, like he's surprised at her. "So am I."

"Oh." Well, good. But still, "You don't pay attention to me."

"I'm busy all the time and stressed as fuck. You know that," he says, his voice free of emotion. If anything he sounds tired.

She pouts. He's been busy before and found time for her. He should know she doesn't need a lot, even fifteen minutes here and there would be enough. She feels herself getting a little shrill. "But you don't notice anything I do."

He narrows his eyes at her and his voice gets dark. "I notice everything you do."

"You haven't," she pouts.

Calmly, he puts his tea cup down on the table and he tells her, "I notice you've been making a mess of the apartment, I notice you've been subtly fucking up anything I ask you to do, and I notice that you just made yourself come in the shower."

Feeling a little indignant about being proven so thoroughly wrong she crosses her arms. "Then why haven't you done anything about it?"

"Fucks sake, Erna. Because I don't have the time to talk to you and see whether or not you'd be okay if I did anything about it. You think I can magically tell the difference between you fucking up because you're trying to get my attention and you fucking up because you're in some dark place in your head?"

And then she understands. He wasn't ignoring her. He was walking on eggshells around her because her sanity from day to day isn't something he feels he can be confident in. She puts her hands down on her knees, ashamed of herself for all of her assumptions. "I guess I did kind of think that."

"I'm observant, but I'm not literally a mind reader. It's not like you're not busy either. Whenever I do have a minute, you're fucking gone."

She wishes she could tell him that she's only been making herself scarce so that she could keep her secrets. "Well I'm not busy anymore."

"You understand that what we're doing is important, right?"

"I do, it's just –"

"Because sometimes you're so focused on what you want in the moment you're incapable of thinking two seconds into the future."

"Yeah, but –"

"I'm dealing with getting ready to push the limits of a shitty brat who turns into a titan, hoping we don't fucking kill him and lose any chance we have of taking back Wall Maria, mentally preparing myself for a shit ton of casualties on this mission, and –"

"I just thought you didn't want me anymore!"

That shuts him up for a beat of silence. Then he sighs, tiredly leans back against the couch, and rakes his fingers through his hair. He looks upwards and, of course, because she doesn't understand what he saw in her in the first place, she thinks he's going to tell her that she's right and he doesn't want her anymore. Instead he says, "Don't you dare ever think that again."

She opens her mouth to answer him back, but he interrupts her. "I'm fucking obsessed with you. You know that." He says it like it's an obvious fact, not like he's trying to comfort her in her moment of insecurity.

"I'm sorry. I assumed the worst."

"Well don't assume shit about me. The insecurity thing goes both ways you know. When I see you breaking all these fucking rules I feel insecure because it looks like you don't give a shit anymore."

She snorts. "You don't get insecure about me."

He picks up his tea again. "I do. You're unpredictable as fuck. Who knows what you're going to be into tomorrow?"

She smirks a little.

"Don't fucking smile at me," he deadpans.

She brings a hand up to cover her mouth so that he won't see her smiling.

He grabs her wrist and pulls her hand down, twisting it only a little. "Alright. We're starting over. I'm not punishing you for any of this shit and you're going back to being good for me."

She nods readily, happy that her fears were unfounded. "I'll be very good."

"Good," he says before tightening his grip on her wrist and lifting her up by it, twisting her around and depositing her on the floor. "No pets on the furniture."

She hums contentedly. She stretches languidly on the floor, knees under her and arms stretching out in front, then she leans forward, back and neck arching. She looks out of the corner of her eye to check his reaction and catches him looking at the clock. She sits up, defeated, and pulls her knees in underneath her. "You have to go, don't you?"

"I have to go ten minutes ago." He stands up. He isn't going to apologize for needing to do his job. She can respect that. But he does promise, "We'll find time later."

She only hums, skeptical. As he pulls his boots on, he adds, "I hope that orgasm was really good. Pull that shit again and I'm going to have to retrain my pet to only come on command."

"How?" she doesn't want to push, but needs to know just to satisfy her curiosity.

He pauses at the door. "Bring you to the edge and back down over and over again until you're a begging mess who can't remember her own name."

She chuffs. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

There's a flash in his eyes that she hasn't seen in what feels like a long time. "If you want to test me, go ahead and try it." He walks out, closing the door behind him.

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When Erna is finally dressed and slinking through the dining hall for breakfast, only half of her friends are still hanging around. It's understandable. She's quite late.

Mikasa is training. Erna would have gone with her, but she learned quickly that three days a week is all she can handle of Mikasa's training. She went yesterday and her shoulders are still stiff and in pain no matter how much she tries to stretch them.

Jean is training his fucking team. Everyone is sick of his boasting about his much deserved promotion to team leader, making a big show of leaving breakfast early so that he can work on 3D maneuvers with his recruits. He's gotten a little better about the bragging, only because Eren told him that if he kept it up he was going to tell his team about the time Jean got lost trying to take a short cut to the end of a ten mile run when they were in the Training Corps, or about the time he got stuck hanging upside down in a tree when they were first learning the 3DMG, or about any of apparently a hundred other embarrassing incidents. Eren is a fucking master historian when it comes to the chronology of Jean fucking up.

Eren is absent from the table, too. Erna hopes he finally is embarrassing Jean in front of his team. Eren's been quiet and tense lately and could use the pick-me-up he would get from watching Jean sweat.

"Coffee," Krista says as she slides a full mug down the table to Erna.

"You didn't have to –"

"Yes I did. If I don't, you steal someone else's."

"Well yeah, but that's their problem, not yours."

Erna's hand darts to take a potato from Sasha's plate. She retracts it, empty, just quickly enough to save it from getting speared by a fork that makes a thunk sound as Sasha drives it straight into the table. Someday Erna is going to be faster or Sasha is going to be slower, but for now she shrugs and reaches across the table to take a piece of toast from Armin's plate instead. He raises no objection.

She sips her coffee. "What are you nerds doing today?"

Connie answers between spoonfuls of oatmeal, "Archery practice."

Erna tilts her head at him and Sasha. "… Why?"

Sasha's answer is short, she's not willing to pause eating. "Rusty."

"If anything, shouldn't you be practicing your 3D maneuvers?"

Connie makes an unconcerned huff. "3D skills are on point."

Erna rolls her eyes. "You can't kill a titan with a bow and arrow."

Sasha smiles to herself. "You'd be surprised."

Connie finishes eating and points at Erna with his spoon. "Besides, shouldn't you be practicing? I heard you got tangled up and had to cut your cable."

That was the lie she'd told the supply officer so that she could get a replacement 3DMG after the incident with that variant that nearly killed her. It was the most difficult lie she ever told just for the pure shame of it, such a rookie move.

"That doesn't sound like you," Armin says.

"Everything okay?" Krista asks with subtle concern.

Erna gulps down the rest of the lukewarm coffee. "I'm awesome. Everyone makes mistakes."

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Erna finds Eren later. Or he finds her. He's waiting for her on the perimeter wall of Headquarters when she comes back from proving to herself that slipping up and nearly getting eaten by a titan was a fluke. She killed three today. Not a scratch on her.

Eren looks at her very disapprovingly, his green eyes flashing with anger. "You feel good about this?"

She sneers at him. He isn't going to ruin her day. "Fuck yes, I do. Why wouldn't I?"

His forehead wrinkles and his brow creases. His nostrils flare a little, but she doesn't care. Until he says, "Levi was looking for you."

"Shit."

"Yeah," Eren says, still sounding pissed. "He had a lot of people looking for you. Of course no one knew where you were."

"Shit." Erna says it louder this time. Inside her head she is screaming in panic. She needs an alibi - a believable one. She needs to calm down and stop sweating. She needs to get rid of her 3DMG. "Eren, do me a favor."

He puts his hands up. "No. I'm not helping you. I told you to stop this a long time ago." He turns his back on her, ready to go back down to the ground below.

Erna wails desperately, "Okay! No favors. Just don't go yet. I feel like I'm going to hyperventilate."

He stops, standing on the edge of the wall in silence, every muscle coiled like he wants to hit something. But finally he turns around and walks back. He offers his hand and she grabs onto it for dear life, thanking him. She murmurs, "I just need to think for a minute."

Eren sits down and she follows, feeling like the wind's been knocked out of her. He says, "Take all the time you need, but promise you won't do this again."

She hums and he must take that as her complying because he doesn't press her. He's wrong, though. She would never make a promise she knows she couldn't keep.

After a short time she tells him she's okay. She tells him to go ahead and return first. She starts back a few minutes after him, only she doesn't go straight back. She takes a detour to where the horses graze. She finds Raven and kneels in the grass, keeping enough distance to not get kicked.

She waits. In the time that she's waiting, she tries not to let her thoughts run away with her. Over and over again she has to fight the urge to get up and go running back to the castle to frantically explain herself. That would make things worse. She has a plan, and it's hard for her because that plan hinges on inaction.

Finally, after what seems like an hour, someone finds her. It's a newer recruit, someone she doesn't recognize who calls her Ms. Raban, but she doesn't kill them for it. She's relieved that it's someone she doesn't know, someone who would have no reason to cover for her. They tell her that Levi sent them to find her and she acts mildly surprised. She smiles. She puts a bounce in her step, because this is what she would do if she found out that Levi was looking for her and she didn't have anything to hide.

She doesn't ask how long they were looking for her. She acts completely unconcerned, like her insides aren't twisting with worry. She makes the recruit keep up with her fast pace, like she doesn't feel like she might be hurrying towards her own execution.

She expects to find him immediately, waiting and angry. She is ready to act innocent and naïve. All her mental preparation turns out to be unnecessary when they reach the castle. Erna opens the apartment door to emptiness. Her escort tells her that Levi most likely had to hurry back into the meeting. They tell her that he'd only had about an hour or so in between. So he'd only sent a few people out to find her quickly before he had to get back to work.

He was probably still displeased that she couldn't be retrieved in that hour, but it wasn't the tense, high stress situation she'd prepared herself for. If he had no hesitation about going right back to his meeting, then he isn't that suspicious.

She tells the recruit, "That's okay. I'll wait here."

When she's alone again, at least thirty minutes are spent just sighing in relief and thanking whatever gods for her incredible luck.

She hears the door open hours later, a little before dusk. The sounds of Levi's boots being taken off, being placed on the floor, his tired sigh, the crack of his neck, all so quiet she could be imagining them, could be automatically putting them into place because she's heard them so many times.

He finds her in the tub, under a cloud of thick bubbles, eyes closed with head and shoulders resting against the porcelain like she's melting. She hums a greeting. He asks, "Where the fuck were you all day?"

"Outside."

"No shit. I had six messengers look for you."

She opens her eyes and looks at him like she doesn't understand what the big deal is. "I went and hung out with my horse. I can't just stay in here all day, I feel all cooped up."

He looks at her skeptically, the shrewd gaze of his cold, grey eyes taking her apart. "When you throw a fit about me not having enough time for you and I tell you that I will make time, I expect you to make yourself available."

She squeaks. "I'm sorry?" She sits up a little more, thick swaths of bubbles sliding down from her collarbone, over her breasts, and rejoining the foam floating on the surface of the water. "I didn't think you meant in the middle of the day. I figured you meant you'd make time later." She pauses, adding hopefully, "Like around now."

He crosses his arms. His voice is tinted with tones of evil. "I do have time now." When she perks up, he warns her, "That's not a good thing for you."

She slides back down under the water a little. "No?"

The corners of his mouth turn up just barely. "You know, I'm almost glad you fucked up. I got you a gift that's perfect for this."

Erna's eyebrows crease. "I don't understand."

"It's a gift and a punishment. Stay there." He walks out and she can hear him in the bedroom. She tries to listen carefully, tries to ascertain a hint of what might be next. He hasn't done anything unexpected in a long time and that combined with the leftover panic from earlier puts her on edge.

She calls after him, "When did you have time to get me a gift?"

She doesn't hear him rummaging through the closet or drawers or anything. That means he knows exactly where it is. Of course he does. He answers, "In the city. I've been holding onto it."

She wonders what kind of gift could also serve as punishment. She hopes it's pain-related, like a flogger or something. She saw a leather flogger in one of Armin's books and she's been meaning to ask Levi if they could get one or if maybe he already has one that he hasn't thought to use on her yet.

Before he comes back in he warns her to close her eyes and she complies, obediently waiting. She is so used to listening for him that it's like she can see him anyway. She hears him take two quick steps over to the tub and kneel. Then she doesn't hear anything. She feels something around her neck and instinct tells her to open her eyes and grab for it before it can choke the life out of her. When she tenses, he deadpans calmly, "Hold still."

She feels the thing around her neck tighten a little. It doesn't choke her. She feels Levi's fingers move deftly, fastening a buckle with the fluid grace and precision of fingers that have fastened a thousand buckles before. Then there's a metallic sound, the click of a lock at the back of her neck.

"You can open your eyes."

She opens them, but it doesn't help. No matter how she looks down she can't see what's fastened around her neck. She touches. It's leather. Her fingers frantically grab at the back of her neck. The buckle is locked in place with a tiny padlock. She tugs at it and she hears a tinny, tinkling sound. It's not coming from the lock. She feels around the front of her neck again and finds the tiny bell attached to the front. It's a collar. It's a collar with a bell.

"No."

"You don't like it?" Levi asks sarcastically, his voice low and husky, thoroughly enjoying her reaction.

"This is humiliating."

"That's part of the whole point. The other part is that you'll be easy to find now."

She taps the bell, testing it. The clapper inside is too willing to rattle around and make a high pitched jingle. She chews at the inside of her cheek. Her face feels hot, her heart feels indignant. She is a soldier, a goddamn good one. She can hack and slash giant monsters to pieces, and here she is with a cute little cat collar ringing a sweet, high bell at her every movement. Levi reaches out and holds her chin, turning her face to look at him. "Are you going to thank me?"

Her heart sinks in her chest at the humiliation of it. "Thank you."

"Good pet." He cards a hand through her wet hair and scratches a little behind her ear like she really is an animal. He stands up and gets a towel for her, opening it and holding it up as she takes the cue and steps out of the tub. She lets him dry her hair a little and wrap it around her.

She keeps self-consciously reaching for the collar, touching it, then putting her hands back down at her sides. She wonders where she would hide the key if she were him. He steps around to the front of her and just stares at her for a minute, a smug look on his face as he enjoys the emotions playing out over hers. She can't hide her dismay or the emotional high that comes from being debased and dehumanized like this. She hates it and it thrills her and she loves it at the same time.

He points towards the bedroom and tells her, "Bed. On all fours. Now." Just as a sound starts to escape her lips he warns, "Don't whine." So she stifles it. He adds, "Don't say a word."

She fills in the implication with a silent admonition in her head, 'pets can't talk.' The bell on her collar tinkles with every step she makes on her way. She tries to walk more softly, on the balls of her feet. The towel gets discarded before she arranges herself on the bed on her knees and elbows, trying to relax as much as possible, not knowing how long she'll have to hold this position. The sound of the water draining from the tub follows Levi. She expects him to ignore her and make her wait, to get undressed slowly and put things away like she's not even there, but he goes straight to her, impatient and unwilling to delay, betraying his eagerness. "You," he says as he palms himself through the white cloth of his pants, "have been a very bad kitten."

Is that what she is? Erna's never been fond of cats. At best, in her eyes, they are useful. Mostly she thinks they're haughty, vain little bitches with deadly teeth and claws, and… oh… yeah, she can kind of identify with that. She leans forward and gently butts her forehead against his hard abs. He hums and pats her hair. "Are you sorry that your master couldn't find you when he wanted you?"

The thing is that she really is sorry. She is so relieved that Levi didn't figure out why he couldn't find her, and she is very sorry. Sorry enough that she's more than willing to abandon all of her pride and make an apologetic mewling sound.

There's a very slight hitch in his breath at that. She can see the outline of his hardening cock through his pants. She makes another sound, a curious, trilling meow. She is inclined to think that this is utterly ridiculous, but she is very intrigued by the way his hips unconsciously snap forward when she purrs at him. "Pretty little thing," he murmurs, "Are you going to be good?"

She trills again. She watches fascinated as he removes his jacket, his cravat, and his shirt and puts them on the bed. She thinks she's being good when she reaches for his belt, eager to get at his cock, but he smacks her hand away and scolds her, "Don't claw at me."

She acts unfazed, because as far as she's seen, cats don't particularly care about upsetting people. She looks away as if his half-naked body isn't the most interesting thing in the room. His fingers run over her scalp and he commands her attention again. She arches upward toward his hand. It runs down the side of her neck and she leans into it, closing her eyes and stretching, trying to get his hand to press against her harder, purring at him. When he stops patting her, her eyes snap open. He's looking at her with that evil, sadistic smile to his eyes, kind of like he's gloating that she plays the part so well. She's going to make him regret how in character she can be. She closes her fingers into paws, presses them against his chest and stretches, reaching her neck towards his hand, trying to get him to pat her. He moves his hands out of reach, probably thinking that she'll pout or whine. She thinks that wouldn't be very cat-like, so with lightning-quick reflexes she snatches at his right hand with her nails, brings it to her mouth, and bites down, playfully but not hard. Just as quick he pulls his hand away and smacks her across the face, hard.

She recovers from the momentary shock and hisses at him, lowering her shoulders to the bed and arcing her back as if she is prepared to pounce. His hand moves fast, grabs her by her hair and pulls her head back, baring all of her vulnerable throat for him. "I think you need some more training," he says darkly.

She stills herself and doesn't move an inch until he lets go of her hair. He considers his options. "I can't have my kitten biting. How should I punish her?"

Erna circles the bed on her hands and knees and lies down on her side, stretching out lazily. She bats at imaginary dust motes with her paws. "I know," Levi says as he puts his hands on her shoulders and pushes her onto her back, "Kittens hate getting wet."

This one doesn't, Erna thinks, but then Levi is on the bed, pushing her knees up, positioning himself between them and lifting her hips. She yowls when he pushes his tongue against her. She tries to reach down and scratch at him or push him away, but he holds her down with one strong forearm pressed against her ribs as the flat of his tongue laves her. He's right, she hates the wet feeling of it. She wriggles and squirms, but he stays right with her, digging fingers into her hip and warning her, "Hold still."

She only gets one more delicate lick at her outer lips before he forces his tongue inside her and a high, sharp whine strangles her throat. She doesn't know why, but she hates tongues. Even Levi's. Especially Levi's. His tongue is evil. He fucks it into her a little and she wails. He stops and she feels him shift, the weight of his arm on her ribs disappears. She lets her eyes open and sees him sitting up, looking down at her.

"If my kitten can't take her punishment she can say so, but I'm going to be disappointed."

Her chest rises and falls with fast, deep breaths. She whimpers. She wants to take the chance he's giving her to tell him to stop, but she doesn't want to put out there everything that it would mean. If she makes it stop then that means she doesn't trust him, that she thinks he would force something she couldn't handle on her. She doesn't want to think those things. She doesn't want him to think that she doesn't trust him implicitly. She wants to prove that she can take anything. "It's okay," she surrenders, a little too eagerly and still sounding unsure.

He slides a hand up her leg, gentle but firm in a way she's not used to. His eyes are full of admiration as he praises her. "You're so good." He kisses her navel and runs his hand down her side comfortingly, caressing her and murmuring assurances as his lips brush her skin and travel down her stomach. "Such a good pet." Normally she would hate this careful treatment, but she's grateful. It's what she needs right now. She wants so badly to know that she's being good and that she's okay. The fingers that were digging into her hip to hold her still relax their bruising grip and move to her wet slit, touching lightly and teasing her open. "So obedient for your master."

She brings a hand to her mouth and worries a finger between her teeth as she waits for the assault of his tongue. One of his fingers presses gently inside her and a moan makes her relax her jaw. She bucks her hips to beg for more. His breath barely ghosts over her clit, but she doesn't care how close his mouth is, she wants his finger deeper inside her. He lets her roll her hips and fuck herself on his hand while he touches just the tip of his tongue to her clit. He doesn't lick her or lap at her, he just holds his tongue there and lets her control the friction. It doesn't feel gross, doesn't make her think of drool and hot Titan breath. It doesn't feel unbearable. It feels really good and she wants to come. She's right on the edge when he removes his hand and stops. Her eyes snap open again, confused, heartbroken, imploring, begging him to finish her off.

He pats her head patronizingly. "You did very well, but I can't let you come when you're being punished. Defeats the point."

She pants a little as she catches her breath. She alternates between whines and mewls, canting her hips hungrily, trying to beg and plead while still being a good cat. He quiets her by tracing his thumb across her lip. She stills and looks up at him entranced. A single finger scratches under her chin and he tells her, "Quiet down." Palming his cock through his pants again, he asks, "Do you think it's time for good kittens to eat?"

Erna eagerly gets onto her hands and knees, her collar jingling again, butting her head against his hip and licking at the cloth covering his straining cock. She tastes a tiny, damp spot of precum on the fabric and she mewls insistently at him.

He smirks. "Okay. Calm down." She watches with intense fascination as his fingers undo his belt, open his pants, and free his cock. It springs out, heavy and proud. He takes himself in hand and strokes up and down slowly twice. His other hand cups the back of her head and gives her a gentle pull, as he reminds her, "Don't bite."

He wraps his hand around the base while she gives the engorged head a couple of tentative, curious licks. She stares wide-eyed for a moment when it twitches, like this is all new to her. When she licks and laps at him more eagerly, giving a pleased purr, he removes his hand and she nuzzles at the base of his shaft, pressing her tongue flat against the weight of it and slowly licking all the way up, lapping at the bead of precum at the tip. She takes her time slowly licking his cock all over, making sure she doesn't neglect an inch, maybe teasing and torturing him a little but certainly not on purpose. She pauses her slow licking to look up at him, eyes running over an expanse of hard, taut muscle jagged with scars before her gaze tests on his face. He meets her eyes as she licks the taste of him from her lips and his lids close halfway as his cock twitches. He looks almost in pain. She dips down, arching her back, sticking her ass high in the air and wiggling it a little like she has a tail. Her wet tongue curls around his balls and she laps at them eagerly. He closes his eyes and a broken moan escapes his lips. She feels very pleased with herself and wants to make him make more broken, desperate sounds, but he reaches and grabs her ass roughly, pulling her forward, his cock smearing saliva against her cheek. His hips stutter and move until it's pressing against her closed lips. "That's a good girl," his voice is hoarse, "Take it all down."

She hums and only parts her lips a little so that he has to force it in and rut into her mouth, because she doesn't like to make it easy. Slowly she becomes more and more incapable of caring about anything but making him come as his hips move forward and back. He's unconsciously whispering expletives in English and in French, that goddamned bell ringing with every thrust. Leaning over her, his hands reach to grip her ass and pull her forward, forcefully, abruptly, like she's an object that he's having trouble getting into place. He starts fucking her throat open at an unforgiving pace, grinding his pelvic bone against her nose as he pushes in all the way. She easily wills herself to stop breathing so that she can take all of him. She swallows a little, on purpose, tightening up, clenching and then relaxing the muscles of her throat around him, and he loses whatever control he had left. He grunts like an animal as he pushes his hips into her, burying his cock in the tightness of her throat. His hands leave her ass and hold her face, one wrapped in her hair and the other cupped under her throat as if he can feel and stroke his cock through her.

He grinds against her face again, angling his cock to more uncomfortable positions that make her throat tighten up and try to reject it. He likes some fight. She tries to relax, but it's not under her control. Her body starts to struggle for air and her hands reach for his hips. Her claws dig into him.

He grunts and pants, his voice is completely raw. "Good fucking kitten. Just a little more. Going to fill you up. Take all of your master's cum."

His thrusts get harder and more erratic. When she feels his cock start to twitch and pulse, and he says, "Fucking take it," she can't help it, a tightness coils in her abdomen and she tries to will it away, but it won't hold back. She comes apart. The thought that she's a needy little slut who can't control herself doesn't help. Spasms rack her body as an orgasm makes her wet little cunt contract and relax over and over in waves. He comes directly in her throat, holding her head still so that she can't pull away until his cock is done pulsing, squeezing out every last drop. When he releases her from his grip, she falls to the mattress coughing and curling in on herself, overstimulated by so many sensations.

He stays up on his knees, looking down, marveling at her, a little shocked at everything that just happened. "Did you just come without touching yourself?"

"I'm sorry," she whines.

He shakes his head and lowers himself to the bed next to her, pulling her close and holding her so tight he isn't making it any easier to breathe. "Definitely need more training. No more coming without permission," he whispers into her damp hair, inhaling the scent of the jasmine flower shampoo he got for her.

She murmurs tiredly, "Didn't mean to. Just happened."

He pats her hair and tells her to be quiet and go to sleep, but she is already half asleep before he finishes his sentence.

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He's gone when she wakes up. Disappointment creeps through her dragging the corners of her mouth downward, but when she pads out to the living room she's relieved to find him on the couch. He knows when she's behind him because of the little silver bell that announces her every step now. He tells her over his shoulder, "Didn't want to wake you up. You seemed pretty fucked out."

"How long did I sleep?"

He hums. "Probably an hour and a half. I would have stayed, but I thought I could get some work done and have more time for you while you were awake." The hint of regret underneath his even, bored expression tells her that it was a nice thought that didn't work out, he still has no time to spare for her.

She tries to cheer him up. "It's okay. I only need five minutes here and there." She kneels on the floor next to the couch and he puts down what he was working on so that she can rest her head in his lap.

"It's going to be like this for a while."

"I know. Don't stress out over me." Unbidden, the memory of that morning pushes itself to the front of her brain and she remembers how he admitted that he gets insecure too, as unimaginable as that is. She presses her forehead against his thigh, her collar ringing. "I'll always be here, even if you're too busy for me."

"Yeah," he says off handedly, "I'll manage my time better, but you need to check in more. No more slinking around like you're trying to hide from me like you were the past couple weeks."

She tries to keep a good poker face and not wince. "I was keeping myself busy. Didn't want to bother you."

"I like when you bother me," he says matter of factly.

"Might not be smart to encourage me," she warns.

"Nah," he hums wearily and melts into the couch, inviting her up next to him. While she curls up on the soft cushions he muses, "It's entertaining to watch you harness that insanity and repurpose it to find new and surprising ways to bother me."

She snorts. "That's a lovely compliment, thank you." She twists over onto her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows, head resting on a hand and feet swinging in the air behind her. Her fingers play with the bell hanging above the points of her collarbone, making music with it. "You're pretty surprising yourself. I never would have thought you were into pet play."

A thin eyebrow arches at her. He isn't sure he likes how many new things she's learning from Armin. "I'm not. You inspire me with the way you hiss and spit every time I make you take a shower."

"Well," she lowers her head, baring the back of her slender neck for him, "Can you take it off so I can go to dinner?"

There's a full, meaningful silence between them as he reaches for the tiny lock holding the collar in place. His fingers rub the cold brass. He contemplates it for a moment. Instead of freeing it from her neck, he says, "No."

She isn't sure she heard him right. She tilts her head back up to look at him. "Sorry, what?" Because surely he can't have just told her no. That would be unreasonable.

"I'm still annoyed about not being able to find you earlier, so you're going to keep it on." He reaches for his tea, left untended on the table and ignores her look of shock.

She's frozen and in a state of disbelief, watching him sip his tea. Then suddenly she fights, fingers scrabbling at the buckle, twisting and trying to break the lock, the bell ringing like mad as she does so.

"If you try to take it off, I'm going to make it worse," he warns.

"There is nothing that could make this worse!" she wails.

He sips his tea casually, a cold contrast to her hysteria, and he tells her, "I got you ears and a tail to go with it."

Defeated, her hands leave the collar alone and she pouts. "I can't leave the apartment like this."

"Good. You'll be that much easier to find."

He's clearly made up his mind, so she gives up on the whining and he gets back to work on the stack of papers on the table. Nothing she can say will make him relent. She puts her energy to other possible solutions. While she thinks, she worries the bell with her fingers, fidgeting with it, not noticing the sound it makes as she's deep in concentration.

"Stop that," he scolds her off-handedly.

She doesn't realize what he's talking about for a second, then she registers what she's doing with her hand. An epiphany hits her. She has wicked ideas. Giving him fair warning as she gets up to go get dressed, she tells him, "You're going to regret this much more than I am."

He doesn't even raise an eyebrow at the threat. He mumbles his answer, "I doubt that."

She likes that he doesn't believe her. It's going to make it more fun when he suddenly realizes that he fucked up and collared her with an instrument of psychological torture. As she steps around the bedroom she practices. How much bounce does she need in her step to make sure that she can get the most reverberation out of her little silver weapon, how well can she slightly curve her neck a little more with every turn of her head to coax small, plaintive rings out of it? She works to keep her movements exceedingly subtle so that she'll be able to feign innocence later. It's simple; a toe-touch rolling to the ball of her foot and coming down a little harder on her heel, just a slight inversion of a normal walking step and her bell chimes and buzzes with constant vibration.

The ringing doesn't bother her because she's the one controlling it.

She comes back out dressed in black leggings and a long-sleeved v-neck. Levi is a little thrown by the change in her attitude when she sweetly asks if he's coming to dinner or wants her to bring him back something. He hides the suspicion from his voice when he tells her, "No thanks, I'm going down in a minute."

She slinks around the couch running her fingers over the back of it and getting a read of his body language as her collar rings incessantly. He might not be fully conscious of it yet, but he is annoyed. His shoulders are tense. "See you then," she says innocently. A soft, tintinnabulation follows her out the door.

He wonders at how she apparently changed her mind about being embarrassed to leave the apartment like that, but he doesn't think too much on it.

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Erna gets some looks, just like she knew she would. She just doesn't let it get to her. Normally a derisive snort directed her way would get someone flayed, but she keeps calm. She finds comfort in the certainty that her plan will work, though it might take some time. It's a long walk to the dining hall, so she has some time to get used to the looks and the raised eyebrows. She's hardened to it by the time she makes it all the way to her friends' table. It's slow, the quiet that sets in, with Armin being the first to put down his fork and drop his jaw upon noticing her and the new accessory and more of her friends noticing, quietly staring in shock as she sits down with her plate nonchalantly.

"What. the fuck. is that?" Jean is the first to ask.

Erna hums at him questioningly as if she doesn't know what he's talking about.

"Is it a cat collar?" Mikasa asks, knowing full well what it is, but not knowing what else can be said.

"Oh," Erna says innocently. She reaches for the black piece of leather and taps the bell, "Yeah. Levi gave it to me."

The obvious question, "Why?" gets asked by Eren.

"It's a gift," she says with finality. Aside from a few more questions, the subject gets dropped relatively quickly because of Erna's apathetic attitude, as if this is such a normal thing that it's completely unremarkable. Only Armin keeps looking at her, a dusting of red starting at his chest and climbing up to his ears.

She waits for Levi, watches him in her peripheral vision as he goes to sit with Hange and Mike. She gives him exactly eight minutes to settle in before she leaves her friends and bounces over to him, very fond of the tinny music that floats over with her.

She ignores Mike and Hange and, unlike her annoying friends, they know better than to ask about the whole collar thing. It's easy to lie through her teeth, to lean down and whisper to Levi that wearing his collar in front of everyone makes her hot, easy to convince him to go back to the room. He's eager to indulge her rather than reprimand her for being presumptuous. And more so than she thought, it's easy to moan quietly enough so as to not drown out the bell. She wants to ride him and he lets her, a bad move on his part that lets her writhe in a way that makes the most noise possible. At some point he reaches for her collar, trying to grab at the bell and hold it in his fist to quiet it, but she closes her eyes and leans back with a breathy sigh, keeping just out of his reach. His hands bruise her waist and hold her still while he thrusts up into her, but even that is enough to cause a soft, silvery noise to accompany every movement. She acts like she doesn't know what's going on, like she doesn't even hear it. He growls in frustration and flips her over, getting her on her back and pushing her into the mattress like he would bury her, trapping the bell in his tight fist. He uses the collar as leverage to hold her still as he snaps his hips into her, his knuckles turn white trying to keep that soft, angelic sound muffled.

Erna gloats to herself, to the darkness, as he finishes with a relieved sigh, still keeping the bell wrapped in his fist so that it won't peal when he falls to the bed beside her. When everything is still, he finally releases it from his death grip.

She asks oh so innocently, with traces of concern, "That was longer than usual. You okay?"

There's a long silence apart from the sound of Levi catching his breath. Finally he says, "I was… distracted. Don't worry about it. Go to sleep."

He doesn't see her smile in the darkness. Gloating to herself that she knows him so well, knowing that he won't ever admit that the punishment he's forced on her is driving him crazy, that he'd be too proud to tell her to stop, or to take the collar off just to save his sanity.

She mimics sleep, breathing slowly and heavily, until she is sure that he's drifted off. She moves slightly and restlessly all night, catching sleep here and there, twisting and turning every few hours and waking him with the song of her collar. Under the cover of pitch blackness she smiles at how clever it was to drink coffee at dinner. At dawn she notices that Levi gets out of bed more carefully and gently than usual, trying not to rock or jolt the mattress.

Without the restriction of the collar she might not have wanted to go back outside the walls killing titans right away, but it's the simple fact that she can't that makes her want to more than ever. There's an undeniable itch to go back to being able to sneak around and have her secrets. It raises the urgency of getting Levi to remove the collar. All of the energy that she had been putting into not getting caught now goes into whittling away at Levi's sanity.

She fabricates plausible reasons for being in his vicinity almost all day, not directly bothering him, but going about her business which happens to be close by enough that he can always hear her. She isn't sure it's enough. Sometimes she can't tell if he's starting to tune her out. She decides to up her game.

"Erna, you can't be in here," Erwin half-shouts when she bursts into the middle of a meeting in his office uninvited.

She cocks a hip and crosses her arms. "Yeah, I figured, what with the guard outside and all. I'm not dumb."

Erwin looks angry, but she doesn't care. Hange and Mike look grateful for the distraction. Levi looks like he'd like to cut her head off just for the sake of stopping all the noise. Said guards, having recovered from getting their heads cracked against a wall and told to shut up by a small, dollish girl with black curls and a cat collar around her neck, burst in behind her apologizing for not being able to stop her from kicking the door in, but Erwin waves them off telling them it's alright. Erna slams the door closed behind them, glaring at the back of their heads before wheeling around to face Erwin again with her fabricated excuse for barging in. "I have demands that were supposed to be met weeks ago and I'm sick of being ignored."

Her outrage is a farce, and a thin justification for being close enough and loud enough to annoy Levi, but there's a sliver of real outrage there which she grasps and uses to affect an offended tone. She taps her foot impatiently while she waits for Erwin to rebound and ask tiredly, "What is it?" adding the caveat, "Quickly."

"I want my chocolate. You promised. Where is it?" she says in a quick, staccato rhythm.

First he raises his eyebrows in surprise, but then his face falls into that very tired and fed-up look he gets sometimes. "That's what you burst in here for?"

Well, also this, she thinks as she starts tapping and playing with the bell, while she talks, as if she's doing it all absentmindedly, making Levi go positively rigid. "You made a deal and it's fucking important to me."

"It's not that easy, Erna."

That is the kind of response she was expecting. That is her cue to go into a full histrionic meltdown tantrum. "You haven't even been trying, have you? I had to smile, Erwin! I fucking flirted and smiled at that fucking general until he gave the approval for this project you're so goddamn busy with and all I asked for was some fucking chocolate!" She doesn't normally gesture when she speaks, but she does now, because every movement makes more ringing and tinkling.

Her tantrums don't really work on Erwin and she knows this already. Not many forms of insanity do get to the man who has seen every form of eccentricity and obsession in the people he works with. So he answers her evenly, "I haven't forgotten about it. Be patient. Shipments don't come every day, maybe next month."

She steps towards his desk, gripping the edge tight with her fingers as she says low and dangerous, "But Levi got a crate of tea yesterday."

Erwin is unwavering, not one to be intimidated into making excuses. He looks back down at the papers on his desk and says dismissively, "Be patient."

That won't do. She wants to make a scene so that she can flounce out of there in a flurry of jingling madness. She thinks for a second, and then she leans forward, arching her back seductively, stretching over Erwin's desk, pouting and whining in almost a whisper, keening, "But Daddy…"

Erwin abruptly stands up from his chair and shouts, "Out!" pointing her in the direction of the door, his face red and contorted with rage.

Erna wears an impish grin as she skips carelessly out the door. She catches Levi scowling at the floor and rubbing his temples, probably trying to alleviate a headache.

Not wanting to overdo it, she makes herself scarce after that episode. She ends up in the library, hunkered down with a book. She skims, but doesn't read or absorb anything, the manic effort she's putting into being a spitfire makes it hard to concentrate. The adrenaline keeps the words from sticking.

Armin finds her there, all perfect blonde hair and blue eyes and pressed uniform. Sometimes she just wants to wreck all of that perfection and perceived innocence. He must see that. He must know that he makes it hard for her not to lash out. She wonders what he's aiming towards whenever he sits near her in the quiet isolation of the library. It's like he's a clever little mouse taunting and trying to befriend a cat.

He's quiet, sitting across from her, acting like he's absorbed in the book he's holding. She ventures a guess and says, "You want to ask me something," which makes him stutter and stammer. She ventures another guess, "Probably about the collar."

"Do you… I mean…"

Armin struggles to get the words out and Erna's feeling like she'll be there all day if she waits patiently. If she's being honest, she doesn't have much patience left. She's used most of it dancing around with a fucking bell on her neck, acting like she doesn't mind the very public humiliation of it, and trying to drive Levi insane enough to finally take it off of her, which is turning out to be a herculean task because she swears he is made of fucking stone. So she gets snippy with Armin. "Look, I'll tell you a bunch of shit, just stop me if any of this is what you wanted elaboration on: apparently I'm a kitten, I have to keep this on as punishment for being difficult to find, and I'm spending most of my time right now trying to psychologically torture Levi with this," she taps the bell setting it off ringing again to demonstrate.

And Armin has the gall to blush and ask her the very leading question, "Isn't it humiliating?"

She'd been trying not to think about that part. It is the most humiliating thing ever. Behind closed doors humiliation is fine, great even, but she hates being humiliated in public. She likes for people to be at least a little fearful of her – just enough to be wary of her displeasure. It's hard to make people wary of you with a cute little bell making music everywhere you go. Not to mention the public reminder that Levi can do whatever he wants with her within reason, which is true and she's proud to be his property to some extent, but she'd rather it be between them privately and not be made so fucking obvious.

She asks him coldly, "Does it get you off if it is?" at which he flinches like she just jabbed him with a needle and he begins to stutter out an apology. She cuts him off. "I draw the line at you living vicariously through me. I like talking with you about this stuff in an honest and technical way, but you don't get to wank over what happens to me."

"I-I never.. I mean.. I wouldn't.."

She's set him off stammering again. She rolls her eyes at him. "I was being figurative. Relax." That's half a lie. She wasn't being that figurative, feeling about ninety percent sure that he goes back to his room and jerks off in a heady rush of guilt and self-loathing after most of their conversations.

They're quiet for what feels like a long while. Then Armin says comfortingly, "In BDSM collaring is sometimes a sign of deep commitment, almost like a marriage proposal."

Erna snorts. "Yeah. I don't think this is that."

"I guess not." He smiles. "Would you? I mean, if it was?"

Erna doesn't think about marriage. She never has, even when she was at the age where planning a dream wedding was a normal thing for girls to do. At that point in her life she was a depressed little thing who didn't even think much of surviving day to day, so weddings weren't really in her imaginative repertoire. And at this point in her life it just doesn't seem sensible. "I think I'll be dead before I ever get the chance."

"I suppose that's realistic," he says quietly.

She hums and relaxes her neck, letting her head roll and looking up toward the ceiling and says to herself, "Morbid." Then she smiles at him. "I don't know why you even talk to me sometimes."

"Well," he muses, "It's always interesting…" He lets her pretend to read her book for a minute, then he says, "I can't picture you as a kitten."

"Right?" she agrees. She doesn't see herself as being cute enough to resemble a kitten. "I don't know what I would be though."

"Definitely not a puppy… And you're too predatory to be a pony…" He muses, giving it some thought.

Erna looks up from her book smiling, happy to be thought of as predatory. "People pretend to be ponies?"

He smiles a little. "Yeah, with the bits and saddles and everything."

Erna lets out a low whistle in amazement. She looks at him curiously for a moment, then asks, "Do you ever think maybe you know too much?"

"I don't think you can ever know too much."

"If you say so." She likes how much Armin knows and she wonders if she'll ever get to hear all of what he knows. She goes back to looking at her book. Then she asks, "What would you be? I know you've thought about it."

"I can never decide," he admits. "Whatever my Dom wanted me to be, I guess."

"I think you're a puppy. You're too eager to please to be any kind of cat. Too smart to be a horse." She says matter of factly into the pages of her book. She doesn't think much of petplay herself and doesn't devote much thought to it. She likes being human well enough. What she does dwell on, without pointing it out, is that Armin used the ambiguous term "Dom" for the hypothetical rather than "Jean."

Her answer makes Armin laugh. Erna likes that. She likes getting reactions from him that aren't just his usual worrying, quiet contemplation. She likes the expressiveness of his face that shows everything like he has no capacity for guile, but she knows it's there. She can feel there are darker things going on underneath that innocent exterior and she wants to see them. He makes her feel sadistic, which isn't a completely new feeling. She's always been a little emotionally sadistic and very fond of making people uncomfortable, Armin being the best target for that with how shy and easily embarrassed he can get. But she gets sadistic ideas in her head regarding Armin that are decidedly not emotional. Images of Armin wearing nothing but a collar and leash come to her mind and she imagines kicking him to hear how he yelps.

"I can picture you whining and barking like a puppy… and panting and begging for release with your paws in the air…" She likes to voice her sadistic thoughts directly to him and pretend that she doesn't know what boundaries are or what is inappropriate. He blushes a deep red and he squirms slightly, but he lets her get away with it, he doesn't tell her to stop. She has more ideas, but she pulls back and pretends to read her book again. She feels like he's leading her to the edge of a cliff, like she's the one in trouble, not him.

She scrutinizes Jean more lately, looks at him differently. When he strolls into the library she tries to see what Armin might have seen. The cocky smirk, the way he tries to walk like he truly could not give a fuck, the feigned pride. She guesses that maybe if someone was too oblivious to see all of the deep insecurity and sensitivity underneath all that they could mistake him as having some potential for being dominant or sadistic. She wonders if Armin was naïve enough to think that he would really be sexually compatible with Jean or if he thought that normal, boring vanilla sex would be enough even with his massive masochistic submissive streak. She thinks that's a stretch with how smart he is and how much he knows about how BDSM works. It must be something else. Something about romance or love or whatever that she'll never really understand. Something had to make this massively insecure, ashen-haired asshole attractive to Armin.

Then he opens his fucking mouth and she decides that she'll definitely never understand.

"Hey babe," he coos at Armin, using that pet name that makes Erna nauseous, "Are you busy?"

Armin hums at him and closes his book. He turns around and looks at his amber-eyed boyfriend adoringly. "Not very. Why?"

"Just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out," Jean tries to act casual and not like the overeager, romantic, blindly-in-love idiot that he is. Erna rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue like she's going to be sick. Jean sees her and glares at her over Armin's shoulder.

She can't stand it, because she knows that they're just going to go back to their room and have barely satisfying sex. She can see it all over their faces. Jean is going to be gentle and adoring and worshipful of his sweet little Armin and Erna can't help balling her fists jealously. It's all wrong. Armin deserves to be punished and humiliated and treated like a worthless little object and made to submit to someone's cruel whims. He needs his hair wrapped in a fist forcing him to his knees, not loving caresses. The whole idea drives her crazy. So she spits at Jean reflexively, "Fuck off, we're having a conversation."

Armin's face pinches in visible discomfort and Jean sneers at her. "Why are you still wearing that thing?" he asks, obviously referring to her collar.

She doesn't point out that she literally can't take it off, because his tone implies that she should be ashamed about it, which contrarily makes her want to embrace it. "Because Levi wants me to," she says proudly.

"So you just do whatever he wants even when it's weird and embarrassing?" he scoffs.

"Especially when it's weird and embarrassing." She looks back to her book on the floor to drive home the point that she doesn't think it's anything worth being ashamed about. Jean remains standing behind Armin and doesn't catch him looking sympathetically at Erna, almost apologetically.

"So fucked up," Jean mutters to himself.

Erna takes in all of Armin's discomfort and sees this as an opportunity. She asks, "What's so fucked up?"

"Your whole…" he hesitates to use the word, "...relationship… with Levi. The bruises, the collar, everything. How can you think that's healthy?"

"I like it," she says. "Just because you don't doesn't make it fucked up." Armin's face is becoming more pinched. Erna thinks he looks like he might sob.

"That's a laugh, Raban," he switches to using her last name when he's pissed, same way he does with Eren. He does so more often lately, getting annoyed with her more easily the more she monopolizes Armin's free time. "Getting off on being beaten isn't fucking normal and wanting to hurt someone isn't love. You're fucking brain damaged." He reaches a hand down, offering it to help Armin up from the floor. Armin takes it hesitantly. If he looks distressed at all, Jean takes it as his usual discomfort with confrontation.

She wants more, wants to make him lose his temper, wants him to say something final and awful about her relationship or BDSM that will inadvertently hurt Armin. Erna keeps talking just to keep him from walking away until she can lead him where she wants him to go. "You're brain damaged. You're the one who suffered a severe concussion from one little headbutt," she says, referring to the time she kicked his ass with her hands literally tied behind her back.

Jean takes a threatening step towards her, but Erna doesn't budge from her seated position. Armin places a hand on Jean's chest to coax him into controlling his temper. It stops Jean from doing anything stupid, but it doesn't stop his mouth. He gestures to her collar. "You look like you should be stalking rats."

"Jean..." Armin murmurs placatingly.

Erna narrows her eyes at Jean and says, "I'm stalking one right now."

"Jean, leave it alone," Armin whimpers, pulling on his arm pleadingly.

"She fucking starts it," he hisses, "She shoves her disturbing sex life in our faces and acts like it's all normal as fuck."

Automatically Erna counters with, "If I shove anything in your face it's going to be my fist."

Armin strokes Jean's arm and tries to give him a gentle push in the direction of the hallway. "Jean, calm down. It's just her preference, there's no reason to be so narrow-minded about it."

"How can you be okay with any of this?" Jean asks Armin in disbelief. "How would you feel if I hit you and made you wear a collar?"

Armin's face turns redder than she's ever seen and Erna grins, smugly satisfied that Jean doesn't even know how deep he's putting his foot in his fucking mouth. She tilts her chin haughtily as she slowly stands up. With a smirk, she tells Jean, "It's called 'petplay' and it's actually pretty fun." She crosses her arms and cocks a hip. "I think Armin would be an adorable puppy."

As Armin stammers and tries to hide his face by looking down at the floor, Jean's features contort with rage. "You're sick."

She ignores the comment and goes on to say, "And you'd be a perfect horse."

Jean finally relents to Armin's persistent shoving and begins to turn away, draping his arm protectively around his boyfriend's shoulder he says, "You shouldn't hang out with her so much. What if her ideas rub off on you?"

Erna calls after them, "Yeah, don't let me corrupt you, Armin!" and after they're gone she cackles to herself.

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When Levi gets out of his meeting and drags himself back to his apartment, stressed and mentally exhausted, his mood is immediately lifted a little upon opening the door to the sight in front of him. He smirks at Erna, his little kitten, on her knees scrubbing the floors in nothing but lacy teal underwear. For a second he thinks about getting the cat ears and tail from the bedroom and having some fun with her to ease his stress and reward her for actually taking the initiative to clean before he had to ask her to. But then she pushes the scrub brush across the floor with both hands, rolling and arching her back gracefully, and making the bell on her collar ring sweet and unceasing. He swears he can feel the tinny sound in his teeth, not to mention the pounding in his head. Any lustful violent urges he felt disappear immediately as he groans and peels off his boots.

She breaks her concentration to pick her head up and smile sweetly at him, but her mouth slackens and forms a little 'o' when she sees how beat he looks. She coos sympathetically, "Rough day?"

He hums at her and sits down. She crawls over to him, that damn bell tinkling the whole way. He really should just take it off of her, but that feels like a defeat and he doesn't take those well. The whole punishment isn't working out the way he'd planned. He thought that she would hate the collar and would be begging him to take it off in only a few hours. After that, he expected, he would catch her looking for the key giving him a good reason to punish her further. He definitely didn't think she would leave the apartment with it on. He didn't think she would turn out to be so fucking fond of the thing, and he never foresaw that the constant sound of that bell would drive him insane.

She rests her head in his lap and mewls at him, swaying her ass playfully like a cat. He wants to fuck the shit out of her lithe little body, but he would have to take the collar off first. His fingers twitch and almost move to take the key from his pocket, but he stops. If he takes the collar off of her there's a chance that she's going to complain and ask why, and if he admits that he can't handle the noise she's going to gloat. And she'll be right. And he can't have that.

He closes his eyes and rubs his temples, ignoring her until the bell jingles again, accompanying her movement to nuzzle at his lap and playfully pull at the button of his pants with her teeth. He looks down to catch the spark in her eyes. Any other day, he thinks ruefully as his hand finds her hair and stops her from going further. When she pouts he says, "Too exhausted."

She strains a little against his grip on her curls and whines. "You don't have to do anything. Just let me suck you off. I want to choke myself on your cock."

And if that silver little device of psychological torture weren't murmuring high, tinny reverberations with her every movement as she struggles against his hand, he would have gotten hard with just those words. Unfortunately he can't get it up when every nerve in his head is pounding. He lets go of her hair and tells her, "You can try, but it's going to be pretty hard to choke on a limp dick."

She doesn't go for his zipper again and he looks down to catch her looking heartbroken. He knows what she's probably thinking. "It's not you. I'm actually fucking tired. Not everything is about you."

She seems content enough with that and she goes back to scrubbing the floor. It's too goddamn loud. Normally he would love watching her clean, but he has to leave the room. He goes to the bedroom and prays that she won't follow him. Somehow, even with the door closed he can still hear it. He only finds silence when he lies on the bed and pulls a pillow over his head. He falls deeply asleep and stays that way for maybe fifteen minutes only to wake up feeling like shit. At least the ringing has stopped. He smooths out his clothes and clicks his tongue in annoyance. He's literally never fallen asleep in his uniform. He stops himself, deciding not to bother, stripping the clothes off instead. He thinks a better idea is to take a hot shower before getting something from the dining hall and then disparaging Erwin into giving him a glass of wine or a shot of scotch. A double shot… no, a triple shot… Fuck it, he's just going to take the bottle and tell Erwin to fuck off.

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Erna is very well ensconced in her own little world at dinner, not noticing any of the conversation going on around her. She was sure Levi was finally going to break and take off her collar. When he'd gotten back earlier he'd looked physically pained by the noise. Maybe she was mistaken and all of what she thought was being caused by her bell was actually the result of him being exhausted from work. He did go to the bedroom and take a nap after rejecting her offer of a blow job, two things that he'd never done before.

She thinks maybe she doesn't have this as well figured out as she'd thought. She sighs and rests her chin on her hands, feeling foolish at how confident she'd been in her ability to manipulate him into ending her punishment early. Still, when she sees him enter the dining hall and stroll over to his table she starts tapping at the bell, just in case. Consistency is key.

She isn't even sure he can hear it from that far off. Their tables are probably about seven or eight meters apart, and the din of everyone talking and eating probably drowns her little bell out. Stubbornness makes her keep at it anyway, never letting the ringing stop.

She keeps him in her peripheral vision, so she sees when he gets up from the table and crosses the crowded hall with a look of purpose and determination. She finds it a little curious and she watches him, muscles taut and jaw clenched as he pushes open the door to the kitchens with a stiff arm and disappears.

"Not hungry?" Sasha's question distracts her from tracking Levi and anyway she can't see him beyond the door. Before she can answer, Sasha is already stealing her plate and pulling it across the table.

Jean teases, "She's waiting for a mouse."

"Oh very funny, Kirschtein, you smug pri –," she starts to respond, but before the final word comes out the side of her head smacks the table and is held there by a tremendous pressure. There's screaming, there's the crash of plates breaking, silverware clattering to the floor, the flash of a knife in the corner of her eye. A big knife. She's been held down by him enough that she knows the feel of Levi's hand pressing against the side of her skull, though from her vantage point she can't really see him.

There's a din of gasps, murmurs, shouts, and she thinks she hears Hanji yell, "Levi, don't kill her!"

It feels like a nightmare because she kicks the bench away and tries to lift her head when fight-or-flight kicks in, but he's too strong and she's never felt so powerless. His fingers grip harder digging into her head and she can feel him straighten and stiffen his arm, leaning on her as he lifts the knife with his other hand. She pleads quickly and loudly in a panic, "Levi, wait, I'm sorry!"

"Tch. Hold still," is the last thing she hears before the crisp slice of air and the thud of the knife.

She opens her eyes. She shouldn't be able to do that since she's dead. That's her first thought, but then she's very conscious of how deeply her chest is heaving and how loudly her heart is pounding. There is a heavy, stunned silence in the room and she doesn't put it all together until her eyes focus on the little silver bell, rolling off the table and singing softly, falling in slow motion. It makes a dull rattle when it hits the stone floor. The pressure against the side of her head disappears. Levi's fingers release the handle of the butcher knife that stays standing, embedded in the thick wood of the table only a fraction of a centimeter from Erna's neck, its sharp edge gleaming in the light. Levi crushes the bell under his boot, grinding it into the stone floor until all it can make is a dull, scratching metallic sound.

Erna stands up, chest heaving, she stares at him wide-eyed as he squints angrily at the bell under his heel. When he's done destroying it he lifts his head and looks at her like he doesn't see what the big deal is or why she's staring at him with such horror. His facial expression remains his calm, casual deadpan in stark contrast to the shocked, confused, frightened faces of everyone else.

Her heartbeat doesn't cease its pounding. Adrenaline that now has no outlet courses through her veins. Between still-panicked breaths she says, "I need to fuck or fight something… right now."

He simply shrugs and takes her by the elbow, saying, "Let's go," as he leads her out of the dining hall.

The electric charge and tension in the air leaves with them and slowly things are picked up, seats are retaken. People go back to eating and Sasha smacks her head on the table in frustration, wailing, "Can't we just have one normal dinner?"

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Erna can barely contain herself, the near death experience being too much of a rush. She wants to fight, not out of anger, but just because her instincts tell her to. As soon as the apartment door closes and Levi releases her arm, she spins around and says excitedly, "I want to slap you. Can I?"

Levi laughs, for the first time that she's ever heard. It's a deep rich sound and she thinks it's lovely and she would probably kill to hear it more often. It almost throws her off. But she crosses her arms, thinking there's nothing to be amused about, and she says, "I thought you were going to kill me!"

"No," he says, "I just couldn't stand that goddamn bell for one more second."

"If that's the case, there were better ways to go about it!" She hooks a finger through the supple leather circling her neck. "Like you could have just fucking unlocked it and taken it off, you fucking psychopath!" She's not really that angry, in fact she's pretty gleeful that her plan worked and she was able to make him snap. She didn't expect such a violent outcome, but now that it's over and she's not dead, she is grateful for the novel rush of adrenaline.

He shrugs. "I could have. Didn't occur to me."

"So can I fucking hit you?" she reiterates. She should get at least that.

"You really thought I was going to kill you?" he smirks at her.

"What the hell was I supposed to think? You held me down and swung a knife at me."

"Tch. I had to hold you down so that you wouldn't move. I didn't want to cut you." He's still smirking, like he thinks her distress is amusingly cute. But he crosses his arms and tilts his chin up slightly. Finally he consents, "You get one. Make it count."

She is shocked. Even though she really wanted him to give her permission, she never would have expected it. She's unable to move until it sinks in that this is real. As she takes the two steps toward him she wrestles with the decision to put her full force into it or not. He said to make it count. She thinks she might regret not seeing how he'd react to a real hit, so she doesn't hold anything back. When her palm hits his cheek it's louder than she expected and the way he reels from it is so satisfying. It's slight, but his head turns and his shoulder drops. His right foot steps back to catch his balance.

The satisfaction is only momentary as he's on her in a flash, turning her away from him, fisting her hair and twisting her arm behind her back and lifting her wrist toward her shoulder blades until she's sure it will break. He bends her neck back so that she can only see the ceiling through watery eyes. "Now," he hisses in her ear, his voice icy, "admit that you knew exactly what you were doing."

Never, she thinks. Her voice comes out thin and strangled at how far he has her neck bowed back, "What do you mean? Doing what?"

"Tch…"

He lets go of her hair and she can move her neck again. She rolls it, relieving the pain. She gets ready to drive her free elbow into him, hoping that it will make him let go of her wrist and stop the burning in her shoulder. Before she can collect herself to do so, he's reaching down her leg and she can't figure why until his fingers reach the edge of her boot. She tries to kick at him, but he twists her arm tighter and the pain interrupts any signals her brain could send to her legs or arms. With a fluid grace and speed completely unique to him, he takes the knife from her boot and brings it to her throat, making her go stock still.

It doesn't hurt yet, but she can feel the pressure of the sharp blade poised and ready to cut her jugular vein. The metal is warm, heated from being against her calf all day. It never occurred to her that the knife she was so used to keeping in her boot could be used against her.

She is pretty sure he wouldn't kill her, but there's just enough of a sliver of doubt for her heart to quicken and for her breathing to get more frantic.

He keeps her arm pinned behind her back and he presses his hips against her, pushing her forward into the knife. Now it hurts. She makes it a habit to keep the edge razor sharp and she can feel the uncomfortable feeling of her skin being sliced just barely.

Levi is careful not to make a mess, only putting enough pressure with the blade of the knife against her skin to make a superficial cut, not enough to draw blood. This would be harder to enjoy with blood. The need to make it clean would distract him, and right now he doesn't want anything in the way of enjoying the way her heart races when she's afraid. He loves seeing that fight-or-flight response in her. Some animalistic part of him gets turned on by it and he wants to fuck her while she's afraid, while her instincts are telling her that her life might be threatened. He pushes his hips against her again, the friction making his already hardening cock twitch, and he tells her exactly when she tipped her hand and he knew that she was using that bell to torture him on purpose. He tells her calmly, "You said you were sorry."

Speaking slowly and being careful not to move, she says, "When did I –"

Before she finishes the question he tells her, "When you thought I was going to kill you. You said you were sorry." He twists her arm a little more, up to the breaking point, threatening to go further. "So," he tries again to coax the confession out of her, "what were you sorry about?"

She winces at the pain and the stupidity of her mistake. She lies through her clenched teeth, "I thought you were about to cut my fucking head off." An involuntary whine leaves her lips as he puts more pressure on her arm, warning her to be careful. When she acclimates to the increased pain, she goes on, her voice breaking, "I was just saying things."

He has to smirk at the pure stubbornness. He wonders how far he'd have to go to get her to admit it and if it's worth actually breaking her arm. He already knows the truth whether she'll say it or not; his pet is a proud, manipulative, and extremely clever little bitch and it was a naïve fucking mistake on his part to believe for a second that she wasn't doing everything to drive him insane on purpose.

He makes his grip around her small wrist even tighter and her hand goes slack as he pinches the nerve. He lowers his voice to make it dark and threatening and he tells her, "You're a bad fucking liar, Erna." He has to resist the urge to rut against her again when he feels a shiver go through her whole body. "Last chance," he warns. "What were you sorry about?"

He doesn't really want to break her arm and he has no intention of doing so, but he wants her to think that he will. So when she pauses and doesn't answer, he moves as if he's going to pull hard enough to snap the bone and he revels in how she begins to hyperventilate. He's so sure that she's just about to break and sob out a confession that he's caught completely off guard when all of a sudden her free hand shoots up and with pinpoint precision her fingers grab and press the bones of his hand hard enough to make him lose feeling in his fingers and drop the knife. He's shocked even as she kicks the weapon away to slide underneath the couch. Then his instincts kick in and he goes to spin her around by the arm he's still holding because he knows what her next move will be and if she's facing him he'll be better able to deflect it. But he's a shade too late. Just as he tries to grapple with her, he's stopped by the pain exploding in his knee from a backwards kick. Fucking predictable, he thinks, and he's that much more pissed that he was too slow, so he doesn't check his force when he sweeps her legs out from under her and steps down on her clavicle the second she's on her back.

He smirks at her disgusted expression at being knocked down. When she grabs at his boot to try to lift it, he simply applies more pressure, making her wince. The pain in her face makes him impossibly hard, pushing all of his sadistic buttons. He thinks he doesn't mind her fighting back this one time as long as she keeps looking feral like she does now, a little wild-eyed and angry and fighting for her life.

He leans over her and gloats. "You weren't kidding when you said you needed to fuck or fight something, huh?"

Erna's mind is a blank. Too much adrenaline to think or respond to the question. She only snarls. The urge to bite and scratch and claw at him is there, but at the same time she wants him to keep pushing at her, hurting her, and she wants him to do something about the throbbing wetness between her legs. She brings her knees up and braces her feet against the floor, throwing her hips and using the force to rock his balance and get his boot off of her chest. She doesn't waste the half second it would take to get to her feet, instead she grabs for his ankle to twist and hopefully cause enough pain to make him fall, but he sees it coming and dodges, stomping down on her hand when she misses.

Her shrill scream seems to echo in the silent room.

He lifts his boot and lets her gasp and nurse her possibly broken hand for a second or two. When he sees that she can still curl her fingers he gets back down to business, hooking his fingers through her collar and lifting her up so that she needs to stumble onto her feet. "That," he says above her cries and whimpers, "was a bad idea."

She waves the pain out of her fingers. He twists her collar a little, tightening it, ready to choke her with it, as he asks, "Do you want to keep going?"

He wouldn't mind, honestly, if she did. He would be surprised if she could actually knock him down. Not as surprised as he is when she rolls her body against him and makes a keening, needy whine. He doesn't have to ask what that means. She rocks her hips against his thigh and butts her head into his shoulder, panting like an animal. He smirks and lets go of the collar, pushing her back a little to look at him. He asks her, "Are you going to be good?"

Erna doesn't even think about it. She answers honestly, "No."

His lips curl into a cocky, smug grin like he's mocking her for needing it so badly and losing control of herself at the threat of pain and death, but she can feel how hard he is and if anything, she thinks the right to gloat is mutual. To prove her point, she palms his cock through his trousers and twists his cravat in her fist, pulling him down into a bruising kiss, burning and full of animalistic desire, sucking and biting his lips red.

Levi raises an eyebrow at the forcefulness of the kiss, unused to his toy being so aggressive. He isn't sure he likes it. When he goes to pull away after she takes a particularly hard nip at his lower lip, she only tightens her grip on his cravat and holds him still and that decides it for him; he definitely doesn't like it. He bristles at her attempt to restrain him and lets out a low warning growl before gripping her waist and steering her to the nearest wall. She doesn't let go of the cravat, but now it's for balance more than dominance as she stumbles backwards. The moan she makes when her back hits the wall with a thud goes straight to his dick and it's not just as simple as wanting to fuck her, it's wanting to possess her and dominate her, wanting to claim her even through her willful fucking arrogance and all of the fight that's still in her.

So when he kicks her feet apart to spread her legs and she has the gall to actually push him away seemingly in an effort to get some space between them so that she can hurriedly claw at the buckles of his 3dm harness? Any of his usual calm calculation goes out the fucking window. He flies at her, biting the junction where her neck meets her shoulder and holding her flesh in his teeth. His hands take each side of the collar of her soft v-neck tee and rend it, tearing it clean down the middle in two pulls. The ripping sound triggers something in her, he can feel it in the way her shoulder muscle tenses under his teeth, and then he feels it in her nails digging into the sides of his neck like she's trying to tear him open. Instinctively he releases her from the bite and pulls back, but that only makes her scratch harder, above the collar, where he won't be able to hide the marks, he realizes vaguely even through the haze of his frenzied lust.

Before he can grab her hands, she retracts her nails from his skin and applies them to his cravat instead, tearing it off and quickly transitioning to clawing at the buttons of his shirt. Lacking the capacity to deal with the buttons patiently she angrily wrests them apart, breaking off the ones that won't pull freely through the buttonholes. Levi doesn't mind, though. He's intoxicated by the way her chest heaves when she's panting heavily and growling. When the last button on his shirt is ripped off he pushes her back again, trying to enforce that her place is against the wall, and tears her bra off to assault those perky, creamy little tits with his mouth. She finally stills when he holds one of her sensitive nipples in his teeth, roughly tonguing at it. Her pause gives him a chance to remove his jacket and ruined shirt.

Erna whimpers at the threat of him biting down. Not many things hurt as much as when he bites her nipples, but for now he seems to just be holding her in his teeth so that she'll give him a chance to slow down. She'd rather not, so once he's shirtless she takes the opportunity to dig her nails into the hard edged muscles of his lower back and scratch all the way up to his shoulders, smiling and leaving puffy red lines in her wake. He hisses in pain at first, but then he growls as his teeth clamp down on her nipple and it stings like fucking crazy. Still, she thinks it was worth it and can't stop smiling even as she's throwing her head back against the wall and howling in pain. It doesn't deter her from pressing her nails to the back of his neck again, ready to scratch, but he's faster and he grabs her wrists, yanking them away before she can do any damage. He leaves her tits alone and stands up to his full height again, scowling at the mischievous grin she shoots him and twisting her around to face the wall, growling, "Little bitch." He pushes her forward and orders her to, "Hug the fucking wall," letting go of her wrists so that she can catch herself before her forehead connects with the stones.

Levi moves faster now, pushing her hard against the wall with one hand and pulling her hips back towards him so that she needs to lean on it for balance and won't be able to escape and counter so easily. He still keeps one hand pressing hard between her shoulder blades to pin her in place as he rushes to pull her pants and underwear off, not an easy feat with her struggling to try and push away from the wall and turn herself around again, but he manages.

She fights less and purrs more when his fingers find her pussy. For a second she seems to melt and he's able to relax the arm he was using to push her into the wall. He hooks it around her waist instead, bending over her and biting softly at the back of her neck as he coats his fingers in the dewy lubrication escaping her lips and he uses it to run his fingertips over her clit in slow, silky circles, pulling wanton moans from her sweet little mouth, making her arch her back. It isn't very long, though, before she's getting demanding again, canting her hips back and hissing, "Just fuck me, you prick."

She yelps and growls like an animal when he slaps her ass hard as a response. He loves the resulting red that blooms over her skin, but he doesn't do it again. He doesn't have time to turn this into a spanking session; his cock is demanding that he get on with it. So he goes back to her cunt with his fingers, and if not for the persistent throbbing of his almost painfully erect dick, he could take all the time in the world playing with her thin, soft folds, penetrating her and stretching the warm layers to accommodate another finger. There are times when he can get lost in a trance with how amazed he is by her sweet, pink lips that throb, wet with juices, begging to be used, beaten, and raw. But right now the throbbing between his own legs is much too distracting. Right now he just needs to stretch her and open her enough so that he won't need to go slow when he finally pushes his cock inside her.

She isn't very grateful for the preparation impatiently pushing her hips back, arching her back, and hissing and spitting like an angry cat, "More… Harder… Give it to meee…" between frustrated groans.

When he thinks she's ready enough he unzips his pants and taunts her. "You want it?"

He's about to take off his boots so that he can fully remove his pants, but then she turns around and glares at him arrogantly, hissing, "Fuck me, old man."

He gets that hard, dangerous look, like he's about to teach her something about the consequences of words and she's delighted at the possibilities there. She watches him pause mid-action and instead of taking off his boots, wasting no time, he opts to forcefully undo his belt and free his cock, leaving the boots on and only pulling his pants and underwear down as much as is needed. He grabs her hip with one hand and lines himself up with the other. For a moment she feels like she's won. Then he pushes forward, fully sheathing himself in her in one brutal thrust, hitting her cervix. A small shriek leaves her lips and she claws at the wall, mindlessly trying to pull herself up or away from the intensely uncomfortable pressure.

Levi smirks to himself and holds himself there, all the way inside her, he lets out something halfway between a laugh and a moan as he watches her writhe on his cock. He gloats at her, "I thought you wanted it."

"Fucker!" she spits angrily. Finally she pushes herself up on her toes and relieves a little of the pressure that way, enough so that she can put together a short sentence. "Too.. nngh.. deep."

"I'll be sure.." he pulls out a little and drives back in with a grunt, "to be gentle with you then," he deadpans.

"Don't you fucking dare." She growls at him and swipes her hand back behind her in what looks like an attempted scratch at his abs, but it's too much of a reach and she misses. She smacks her palm to the wall again quickly, realizing what a bad idea it was to remove it as he picks up the pace and her head almost hits the wall. She lets loose a loud, "Fuck!" making Levi grin.

He doesn't get gentle, he couldn't even if he wanted to fight the urge to utterly ruin her. He can't think about anything but marking her, claiming her, fucking her violently into submission. Over and over again he buries his cock into her tight wetness, his hips slapping her ass in a fast, frenzied rhythm.

But then the little bitch cries, "Fuck me harder."

As if he isn't already assaulting her little pussy as hard as he can. He's growls, feeling somewhat fucking offended. He grunts and slams into her full force again, making her yelp and moan. A feral instinct takes over and he bends over her, clasping her slender neck in his hand, half-choking her for leverage every thrust, and sinking his teeth into the back of her neck, fucking her like an animal.

And in between gasps she demands, "Fucking… harder…"

"Tch… little bitch." He stops fucking her altogether and spins her around, violently shoving her back against the wall and grabbing at her hips, bruising them with his fingers. He lifts her up and automatically her legs wrap around him, her hips already rolling, looking for friction, trying to grind against his cock. He pushes her back into the wall harder, pinning her there, trying to hold her still so that he can line himself up. Just as his head presses against her lips, she digs her nails into his back again, crossing over the still stinging red lines of recent scratches. The urge to fucking kill her shoots through him and he expresses it by stabbing into her with his cock as deep and hard as he can. It's so fucking satisfying to watch the fleeting look of shock on her face. It makes turning her around worth it even though he's sure his back is bleeding.

He's beginning to pant and sweat as pressure builds up in his abdomen. He goes faster, racing towards his building release, his primal instincts telling him to mark her as quickly as possible. Just as he's on the edge his head is jolted to the right, his left ear is ringing and his cheek stinging like hell. He can hardly believe it at first, but he's certain, Erna just slapped him. He stops moving completely, the pressure that had brought him so close waning, and he growls at the interruption of his impending orgasm.

"I said to fuck me harder," she narrows her eyes at him angrily and slowly emphasizes every word.

The thought that she doesn't know who she's fucking with runs through his head as he calmly carries her – never pulling out of her tight little cunt – to the bedroom, the edges of his vision tinted a little red, feeling like he's on the edge of a rage blackout. She hums and moans, probably thinking that he has something good in store for her, that he's finally going to fuck her as hard as she wanted. He heads for the bathroom, planning to fill the tub and fuck her from behind while he holds her head underwater, but just at the doorway he stops, realizing that he doesn't want to wait the few minutes it would take for the tub to fill with water.

He gets a better idea. She licks and sucks at his neck with an insane, feral affection, leaving bruises and teeth marks. He tolerates it while he sets her ass down on the windowsill near the bed, wrapping one arm around her waist and reaching up to open the window with his other arm. One stiff push and it's open, the fresh night air making him feel that much more animalistic. One jolt with his hips and she's nearly falling out of it, frantically clawing at his shoulders to hold herself up, and screaming at him.

"Levi –! Fuck!" She hits him and claws at him angrily.

He reminds her of the precarious position she's in by unhooking his arm from her waist and letting her fall back. The wind almost gets knocked out of him with how tightly her legs suddenly clamp around his waist and he laughs a little, thoroughly enjoying her panic, the adrenaline, how tight she feels around his cock. She strains to keep her torso more or less upright with only her core muscles to help her fight gravity and he decides to help her out by gripping her neck in his hand, cutting off her air, but keeping her from falling as he fucks into her, losing more and more of the capacity to control himself with the way she yelps in fear as every thrust of his hips pushes her a little more out the window.

Erna's heart feels like it's going to explode out of her chest. The cold night air chills her burning skin and her thighs fucking ache with how hard they're fighting to hold on. Her abdominal muscles strain, teetering on the point of exhaustion, and fighting to lift her up enough to reach for something and pull herself back inside. At the same time the way Levi is looking at her like he wants to kill her and claim her sets off a tingling in her spine and a tight, pooling heat in her abdomen. Not even the danger of falling to her death can distract from how good his cock feels fucking her at a frenzied, hard, fast, and uneven pace while he chokes the air out of her.

Her one hand finds his hair and pulls hard, so he lets go of her neck and slams his hips into her, pushing her ass just an inch further out and off the windowsill. Instinctively she lets go of his hair and grabs for something more solid, catching the window frame and trying to dig her fingers into the wood. He's going to have bruises where her thighs are clamping down on him with all the force of someone fighting for their life.

His hips keep moving, fucking into her at a punishingly fast pace, his primal urges telling him to bury his come in her as deep as he can. The expression on her face is a confused mix of ecstasy, anger, and panic. She spits at him, "You fucking.. psycho!"

So he leans forward a little and bites down on her hand, to show her how much more psychotic he can be, not letting up until her fingers are forced to let go of the window frame. Finally she drops, too fucked out to muster the strength to hold herself up anymore, relying completely on him to dig his fingers into her hips hard enough to keep her from falling down three stories to the ground. "I thought you wanted it harder," he crows sarcastically as he keeps fucking her, each thrust pushing her a tiny bit further.

He doesn't pay much attention to her response, completely losing the capacity to think or listen as pressure coils in his abdomen again and finally explodes. He reaches down, hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her up, holding her tight against his chest as his cock twitches and his balls empty inside her, pressing his head to her shoulder, panting and grunting raggedly. He falls to his knees and crumples to the floor completely spent.

She, however, looses herself from his grip, swipes a pillow off of the bed nearby, and begins pummeling him and calling him all kinds of creative things. He simply protects his face with a forearm and waits for her to finish. As his senses slowly come back to him, he thinks he can't blame her if she's pissed off, but she's laughing in between shouting at him, so she can't be that angry.

"You dirty motherfucker!" she laughs as she hits him one last time, her arms finally tiring out and dropping the pillow.

He moves his arm away from his face and gives her a cheeky look. "You fucking loved it."

She doesn't deny it, but she makes a disgusted groan and rolls her eyes at his immaturity. All she can say is "What the fuck?" meaning in a general sense, what the fuck was any of that?

"I don't know. Something happens to me when you fight like that." Levi is still trying to catch his breath. He feels like he could fall asleep on the cold stone floor. "You don't corner the market on crazy."

She did like it. She won't admit it, but even when she was afraid that she'd fall out the window it was fun and she'd needed it. She feels more content now, kind of tired, and well-fucked. She pushes Levi's hair away from his face and gazes at him adoringly for a second. She moves to lie down on the floor next to him and cuddle, but as she goes to do so she feels a warm wetness between her legs and jolts back upright disgusted, shouting at him again, "And you fucking came inside me!" She makes an exasperated sighing sound at him. "Goddamnit!"

"Sorry," he calls after her as she stalks off toward the bathroom to clean up, smirking to himself and not feeling even a little sorry. "I wasn't thinking… about anything… at all…"

He hears her groaning, "Gross…" and then she yells from the bathroom, "If I get pregnant I'll kill you."

He thinks he'd kill himself first. He'd be a shitty father. He yells back to her, "Hanji has something for that. Just go see her in the morning," he yawns. "You'll be fine."

When she's apparently done she comes back out and stands over him, hands on her hips, looking very severe. "Don't do it again."

He props himself up on his elbows. "Don't slap me again and I won't." If she hadn't gotten so aggressive he wouldn't have lost his head. He thinks she can shoulder the blame for the whole thing.

She bends at the waist, bringing her face closer to his and narrowing her eyes, "Don't hold me down and swing very large knives at me if you don't want to get slapped!"

"I'll try not to," he says just as angrily.

She grabs his arm and pulls him up, urging him towards the bed, which he's grateful for. He sinks into the mattress heavily and she follows, wrapping her arms and legs around him, more affectionate and cuddly than usual. He enjoys the clinginess. Before he drifts off, he says quietly, sleepily, "Admit that you were purposely driving me insane with the bell."

She nuzzles at his neck and murmurs, "Never."