The candlelight flickers, casting long shadows across the wooden floor of Levi’s quarters. The scent of worn leather and faint traces of gunpowder lingers in the air, mixing with the aroma of tea. Levi’s sat on the edge of his cot, legs spread, forearms resting against his muscled thighs. The fabric of his white pants strains just enough to reveal their definition—the firm curve of muscle built from years of battle. They’re powerful, sculpted for efficiency. A soldier’s body, designed for function, and yet there’s something undeniably magnetic about it.

You stand in the doorway of your captain's quarters, caught in the sight of him like this. His fingers drum idly against the top of his knee before moving to unbuckle one of his straps, the motion casual, practiced. The way his thighs flex slightly beneath his grip as he adjusts makes your throat dry.

Levi’s sharp eyes flick up, his expression unreadable. “You gonna keep staring, or do you actually need something?” he mutters, voice gravelly.

Caught.

You swallow, forcing your eyes to flick up to his. “Captain Erwin asked me to get the formation drafts for the upcoming expedition,” you mutter, wetting your lips, eyes drifting to his thighs again.

Levi scoffs, shaking his head. “Tch. We just came back and he already wants to start on the next one?” His gaze narrows on you for a moment, taking in the way your eyes keep flicking between his face and legs, how that flush begins to crawl up your throat curiously. Levi turns his attention back to unlacing his boots.

“C’mere and help your captain,” Levi mutters, stretching his legs out in a way that makes his thighs tense under his standard uniform trousers and the order is so blase, so blunt like he’s asked you something mundane, it throws you for a loop. “You can get those blueprints once I’m outta these fucking straps.”

Your lips part but you’re forced into action when Levi’s voice cracks like a whip. “Now rookie, I don't like asking twice,” he says, those leather straps around his thighs waiting for you.