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“It’s okay if I make you mine, right?” The question you never thought you’d hear spills so goddamn easily from behind the chipped hockey mask.
Your legs buckle, threatening to give out beneath you. But not from the knife at your throat. No, you don’t have enough fingers and toes to count how often your life has been threatened down here in the Devildom, and while Leviathan’s shiny new knife is big, it’s tame compared to all the other ways you’ve nearly died. Rather, you’re trembling with excitement. Levi never gets this close, this honest. You’re blushing and breathless like a virgin bride, albeit one with ripped jeans and muddied cheeks in the corner of a hologram haunted house. Your lips quirk upward, hopeful.
What left Leviathan’s chapped lips might have been a death threat, but you heard it like a marriage proposal. He is your most loyal sin, always lingering at the edge of your shadow. Despite the brimstone cross close to your left breast—the pact mark chooses its own placement—he never comes any closer.
You pull him close by the collar of his coat, indifferent to the clumsy nick of the knife below your chin.
He’d asked you to wait for him once. And you agreed, because you are kind, and you are patient, and you love in the way that others want to be loved.
You could wait for him to be yours, because—
you bring your fingertips to his cheek, brushing them tenderly over his mask—
“I’m already yours, Levi.”
You have been for as long as you can remember
(because nothing beforehand is worth remembering).
You tell him this so often. He never believes you.
(Sometimes, you wish you could hate him for it.
You wonder if you do. You convince yourself that you could never. You are kind. You are patient.)
“Sure, you say that, but you don’t actually love me, do you?”
Not even this obsessive curse can convince Levi that you want him. He’s too wrapped up in his inferiority complex to notice.
“Even though I spend way more time thinking about you than any game I’ve ever played.”
You envy his envy, the sin that keeps him convinced that he can only covet you when he already has you. He already won the damn game.
“What can I do to make you love me?”
You. Already. Fucking. Love him.
Again, you try to tell yourself that you are patient. That you are kind. That you love with patience and kindness.
But you are not, and you do not. You’re tired of fucking waiting. Diavolo can wait; what’s one disobedience in an entire kingdom of yes-men? Leviathan’s brothers can wait for you to come save them. You don’t care if they cannibalize each other. Hell, if they did, Leviathan would have at least one less boring, arrogant piece of shit to compare himself to. You, though... you are finished waiting.
Your fingertips leave his cheek, grabbing again at his coat and yanking him forward. Levi gasps, and the knife clatters to the floor. “You think about me more than any game you’ve ever played? I’m flattered, Levi. Really, I am! But thinking isn’t enough. You want to make me love you? Then you can stop being a coward.”
You conveniently leave out the part where you already love him. Clearly, he never cared enough to pay attention.
Even in the dark, even behind the mask, you can see the wide vivids of Levi’s eyes, shocked by your outburst. You wish you were shocked, too.
Instead, you find yourself thrilled, like your brain is spinning ‘round the playground and throwing up these angry words but within the splatter of nausea and self-disgust there is self-righteous delight.
And he’s finally listening. So you have to keep going.
“You fiiiiiiiiiinally tell me you’ll make me yours, but you can’t even keep your knife up for me?” You let go of his jacket, shoving him back just a little. You crouch down to retrieve his weapon, studying its handle, not even bothering to keep an eye on your assailant. “You were right, this really is a good knife. But a nice, big knife ain’t worth much if you can’t use it. “
Leviathan doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, simply watches you with clenched fists and heavy breaths puffy in the cold air as you flick your eyes back up to the holes in his mask. No sign of tail nor horns.
You can keep pushing.
You shouldn’t, but you can.
You will.
You have to.
You carefully turn the weapon ‘round in your hand, offering Levi its handle. “If you’re gonna point this thing at me, at least lick it or something before you do. Give me a pretty picture to fuck myself to later. But if you have no intention of making me yours, then I have masks to collect from your brothers.”
On the last word, Levi seems to finally get the hint. He grabs your wrist, unintentionally forcing your palm shut against the blade. He jerks you toward him, lowering his face to your wrist. “You think you can just turn me on and run off to my brothers again? You already reek like fucking Mammon.”
You’d barely touched Mammon when you freed him from his mask. You didn’t even pause to comfort him or explain the situation, just sprinted off to find the brother you actually cared about.
“Wow! I didn’t even let him touch me when I ripped off his mask... Do I always smell like other demons? Do you haaaaate it when Asmo paints my nails? Want to rip Belphie apart when he falls asleep on me? I think he’s even gotten his gross drool on me... Why don’t you go do it, Levi? You have your knife back. I’m sure you know where he is, and you’re the third eldest. You could easily—"
“Stop!” he shouts, voice high-pitched and panicky. “I couldn’t.” The syllables shake. Like he’s trying to convince himself more than convince you.
“I know, I know, you’re a good boy. I love that about you, Levi.” He sucks air in through his teeth, never accustomed to the confession no matter how often you make it. “And I don’t want to smell like your brothers. I try to mask the scent! Why do you think I always bury myself in your bathtub? Sometimes I steal your fabric softener, too,”—he takes another deep, shaky inhale at your confession—“so I can be surrounded by you even when you won’t touch me. But I guess it’s not enough! Maybe I need you to smother the scent for me. You can do that, can’t you? Please don’t make me leave you here, Levi... What if they corner me, what if they touch me all over, and I can’t ever get rid of the—"
Finally, the knife is ripped from your palm, and you yelp in pain. You don’t have time to cradle your sliced hand before Levi shoves it against his wall with his forearm, your shirt pulled into his first. When the blade rips through the center of your shirt, the overeager slash nicks your sternum. You gasp at the sting, and Levi’s bright eyes flicker to the dot of blood.
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” His thumb runs over the cut, smearing blood across his glove and your breast. “I don’t want to hear my brothers’ names out of your mouth.”
“Make me scream out yours if you’re so worried about it.” You grit your teeth and grin—an uncomfortable combination—trying to ignore the searing sensation in your palm and the blood oozing down your head line and heart line to dye Levi’s glove. You can’t let him lose his momentum. “Make me forget they exist.”
He squeezes at your breast, just a little too hard to be pleasurable. You moan out loud and high, exaggerating slightly to build Levi’s confidence.
“You never should have met them in the first place... From the moment you arrived, I never had a chance,” he says, like he isn’t the one fondling your tit like a sex-starved teenager, like you didn’t goad him into this.
“Yet here you are, the first one to make it to second base! Look at you gooooo.” You bring your free hand over his, squeezing delicately.
He gets the hint, trading harsh gropes for curious caresses. His thumb brushes over your nipple, lingering for a moment before he brings his hand to your mouth to similarly swipe his thumb over it before firmly pushing his index finger between your lips. “I can’t take this off myself.”
(Not without dropping the knife, anyway.)
You eagerly part your lips to catch the cheap, bloodstained fabric between your teeth, biting down so that it flops onto your chin when he pulls his hand out from it. When his palm makes its way back to your chest, you spit the glove out as best you can. Since so little of it is within your mouth, it doesn’t make it far, landing on Levi’s jacket before sliding to the ground.
“Is my glove too gross to keep in your mouth?” Normally, when he calls himself that, it’s the start of another useless, self-loathing tirade. But now, you hear him pant heavy with arousal as his clammy hands close around your tit. It doesn’t make a difference if he’s repulsive (he isn’t); you’re trapped beneath him. With his disgusting glove in his mouth and his disgusting fingerprints on your skin, he’s making you filthy.
“It’s because I forced you...” His voice is quiet; you can’t tell if the shake in it is gleeful giggling or choking back guilty tears. Either way, he can’t keep his hands off you; his fingers trace a rib to your sternum, down to your belly button—
“There’s no way you’d let me touch you otherwise, right? You don’t feel like you can tell me no, do you?”
—detouring to the V of your hip before slipping down beneath your waistband. He doesn’t even pause when he asks,
“Do you hate me?”
You avoid the question.
(You know your answer doesn’t matter.)
Instead, you respond in kind.
“Do you wish you’d done it sooner?” You thrust up into his touch, sighing when his clumsy fingers find your already-soaked folds.
“Please don’t ask me that...” His voice is taut and tense, just like his guilty, clumsy touch. But he doesn’t quit.
“Oh, come onnnn, don’t talk like you can get out of the consequences of molesting me just by whining about how bad you feel about it!” You laugh as your hips rock into him. “I bet you do wish you’d done it sooner! You wish you would have shoved me into that bathtub and held me down with all your weight and claimed the human whore the moment you met me!”
He hisses at the word “whore.” “Don’t call yourself that.”
“But it’s what you think of me, isn’t it?! I see it in your fucking eyes, coward! Every time I go to class with someone else, say hello to anybody else, fucking look at anybody else. I thought you hated me, but you just wanted to claim me, right? Right, Levi??? You didn’t wanna kill me when I first saw you in demon form; you wanted to take me.”
Levi can’t give any answer here without incriminating himself; his hand stays curled motionless at your folds because he simply doesn’t know what to do with you.
“I always wanted you to, you know. But I couldn’t ever convince you that you were good enough for me after that,” God, you’re raving, but you can’t stop. You can’t. Stop. “I guess I should have gone the other route? Fucked all your brothers so you’d finally touch this whore—”
You can barely sneer out the last word before you feel the sharp pain of his palm striking your cheek and you’re tossed to the ground. Immediately, Levi slams down above you like a wild animal. He misjudges his landing, though, and the knife that should have plunged into the ground above your shoulder tears into your skin. When you cry out with pain and the blood begins flowing, he seems to realize just what he’s done.
He begins to retreat, abandoning his knife, and you yank him back down by his sleeve. No, no, no, you got so fucking close, goddammitgoddammitgoddammit, you can’t let him run away now. You prop yourself up onto one elbow, and your faces are so close that you can finally see those gorgeous tritone eyes tearing up beneath the mask again.
“It’s okay, Levi. You can hit me! You can cut me, too!” You pant out with excitement. You’ll never get enough of the way his pupils alternately slit and dilate when he’s shocked; it makes him look downright angelic and you’re so angry that he’ll never see himself how you see him. “It’s not my favorite, but you’re finally touching me! I don’t care how you do it! I want all of you, Levi! I don’t fucking care what it is as long as you’re looking at me and you’re touching me and you’re thinking of me, please!
Please
please
please
please
please, just--
show me.”
You’re crying now, too; your shoulder hurts so much, and of course you’re crying because you’ve held this in for so long, but you’re smiling and you’re laughing and you can’t remember ever feeling so happy or maybe it’s just so
free.
“Are you angry with me, Levi? Jealous? Do you love me? I love you so, so much. Do you wanna own me? Do you think I’m a slut? Want to punish me for talking to other men? Whatever it is you have to give, I want it.”
Too hysterical to care about futility anymore, you smash your lips into the mask when you have nothing left to say. Your tongue pokes through the tiny holes in the plastic, tolerating its sharp, rough edges in a desperate hunt for the taste of his smooth, pale skin. You think to take it off, but before you make up your mind, the back of your head hits the floor hard. Levi holds you down by the throat--no, no, anything but THAT--with his gloved hand and shoves two fingers from his other hand between your lips, wetting them.
“I said not to call yourself that...” He grits out, trying to hold back tears, and his fingers plunge uncomfortably deep, making you gag around them. He doesn’t pump them in and out, instead swirling them around, searching for the softest, wettest parts of your mouth.
“You’re not being fair!” he whines. “You say I don’t listen to you, but you’re not listening to me, either!”
He’s not entirely wrong. You really aren’t listening—you’re too focused on trying to break free from his hand around your neck. There is one touch you hate, and it’s that. You can’t do that again. Your fingernails scratch into his skin, but he doesn’t budge. You’d forgotten his strength. Stupid cocky human.
“I’m sorry that I can’t believe all your nice words... I really, really wish I could! But how could I, when you can’t even keep from degrading yourself? If you’re so pretty and perfect and still think you’re dirty, then what do you really think about me?”
(Fucking idiot. He is passionate and patient and puppy-like and you are a sadistic, impulsive monster in a cage of human veins and skin.)
You cough when he removes his fingers from your mouth, but the returned hollowness is unsatisfying; his fingers around your neck make you feel like something is still lodged in your windpipe.
(It might be your better judgment.)
“Please... stop...” you whisper.
You are certain you’ll go unheard, but by either mercy or miracle, Levi releases you. You neither help nor hinder him as he tugs your shoes and jeans off and tosses them off God-knows-where; you’re too busy heaving for air.
(So much for “whatever it is you have to give.”
You’re a fucking coward, too. Not even committed enough to die for him.)
“You just said it yourself! I’m a coward. What else do you think? Am I your charity case? Maybe you should try telling me the truth.” His voice cracks with a sob as he smears his saliva-soaked fingers down your already soaking cunt; his tears drip beneath his mask down and plummet down to your goosebumped chest. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t be brave enough to touch you before now. Maybe I can make it up to you this way? Or will you finally admit I’m too disgusting for you?”
He fumbles to remove his oversized coat, swearing whenever his sweaty fingers slip. He only gets it three-fourths unzipped before yanking it off—breaking the zipper and exposing a plain white tee-shirt in the process—and moving on to his belt and pants. When he pushes them down to bunch around his thighs, you gasp at the sight.
His inner thighs are soaked with clear fluid. Two indigo tendrils with small sucker-like bumps on their undersides emerge from a slightly scaled, chubby-lipped opening to tremble centimeters above your naked sex, slick and drippy with what you assume must be precum. Dripping with precum just for you even though you haven’t touched him. You swallow that morsel of better judgment back down to whine with anticipation, arching up into his touch as the bottom tendril practically licks at your entrance.
“Disgusting, aren’t they? I’m so fucking disgusting...” He pulls his remaining glove off before looming over you, his palms resting on opposite sides of your head. Despite the mask, you can feel his warm, shaky breaths on your lips. “B-but you asked for it. I can’t stop now, so this is your fault!”
(He’s right. This is your fault. But he’s not going to believe it once he comes off this high.)
The bottom cock slows its teasing flicks, sliding down again just enough to find your entrance and poke shallowly in it. “You can’t complain about anything that happens from here on out. You can’t hate me!”
(You won’t. But he’s going to hate himself.
For once, that might be useful.)
“I could nev--agh!” You’re cut off by Levi ramming his cock as deep as he can inside you. Your voices mingle in the cold air, both of you crying out loud and high. The pain from the sudden stretch melts into pleasure then spikes like a nail as he quickly begins thrusting, too fast and too hard, too needy to find what’s bliss and what hurts.
(Yep. Definitely a virgin. Didn’t give you any time to adjust.
Or maybe he’s just selfish. Maybe you’re not his first, maybe he’s had lots of frenzied belligerent conquests, and he simply doesn’t care how a whore feels once he’s convinced himself they can take his filthy fucki--
y’know what, you don’t want to think about it.)
The top tentacle, trapped between your pelvises, slides fast and slick against your clit with every movement. The suckers don’t feel functional, otherwise they’d cling tight to your soft insides and threaten to pull you inside out with each thrust, but their unusual texture is borderline overstimulating. Your body instinctively contorts to escape it, but you meet it head-on. You will take whatever he has to give, and you will love it even if you have to lie to yourself. “Wh-what about this... fuuuuck, makes you think—shit!—that I’d complain? I asked for this, Levi! So give me all you’ve fucking got!”
He lowers himself, balancing on his elbows so that his face is barely inches away from yours. From here, you get the clearest view you’ve had all night of his slitted pupils blown out with excitement. They bore into your own, and you curse that goddamn mask. You wish you could see how red his cheeks are right now then lick the sweat and the tears and the grime and the heat from them.
“You have no idea...” he pants out, “just... what I think about doing to you every time I see you. If you knew, you’d never let me touch you... or fill you up like this. Ugh, I really am the worst!” He laughs under his breath, giddy and reckless, and the way his eyes narrow sends a shiver (scared? aroused? you’re not sure) straight down your spine into your burning core.
Ugh, you can’t stand being teased. You need to know how much he wanted you, and it better have been only you. You want to know every fantasy he’s ever had; you want to be every fantasy he’ll ever have.
“Mmmmmn, but you’ve already got me. It doesn’t matter now if I hate you or not; you’re already inside me! I’m yours now.” Levi moans loud at the reminder, fucking faster into you. “So tell me.”
“Ah, e-every time... I get you alone, I want to pin you to the wall and fuck you. I wanna cum in you so bad and make your pussy all mine, even though I know you’d hate me for it. But even when... when I think about you hitting me... or spitting on me...” he shudders, and his rhythm becomes erratic for just a moment, “I just get more excited. That’s so gross, isn’t it?”
“Fuuuuuck, Levi! You should have done it! I’ve wanted you so bad! I wouldn’t have fought back,” you snake your arms around his back, slipping them beneath his shirt to claw into his skin as you smile, giddy, up at him. “Unless you want me to? Tell me more! I won’t hate you, but I’ll hit you if you want!”
He groans, nearly growling, at your enthusiasm, “I can’t believe you like this... Fuck. I think about sneaking into your room to... to fuck you all the time! Because you couldn’t fight back! You might even sleep through it and never know—shit—never know the cum between your legs when you wake up is mine!”
You gasp at his confession and wrap your legs around his waist. Levi’s cum spilling from your cunt as you slept... He wanted you so much. You grind frantically against his top cock, willing yourself toward your peak. Yes, yes, tell me how much more you want me.
“I-I’ve even made it to your door before. I almost did it...”
Wait. What the fuck. He almost fucked you? Almost did the most reprehensible possible thing because he wanted you so much?
Fuuuuck, that shouldn’t make you squeeze so tight around him, shouldn’t make you keen with how much you love him.
“That’s—shit!!— that’s pretty fucked up, Levi!” You ghost your fingertips down to the small of his back, tracing a small circle there and making him shiver. “I guess you’re pretty lucky that you picked me; I don’t know who else would forgive you for getting just ten little steps away from raping them.”
“I’m sorry!” he cries out. Tears fall from his eyes onto your cheekbones before he buries his face into your bleeding shoulder, the thin plastic scraping uncomfortably against your neck. But his thrusts into your cunt just get deeper and more desperate, and you can feel his hot tentacle pulsing with arousal. “P-pleeease forgive me, I would never! I don’t know what I was thinking!”
“Your hips aren’t sorry! Fucking helllll, Levi, you’re getting more excited the more you tell me about h-how you almost fucking—” You grab the hair at the nape of his neck, wrenching his face back up so that your eyes meet, “—raped me.” Despite the blood now smeared across the perforated mouth of the mask, this is the most pathetic he’s looked all night, with his eyes all welled up with tears and his chest heaving with guilty sobs. He tries to still his hips, pretends to be good and considerate and not like he’s getting harder by the second, but his thighs tremble, and every few seconds he weakly pumps into you.
“But it’s okay!” You flash him another loving smile—
(You aren’t patient, but you can be forgiving, and kind... this is kindness, right?)
—and press a chaste kiss to the front of his mask, tasting your own coppery blood. "I told you: I could never hate you! I still love you, I’ll always love you; this can be our secret, okay? Just stay with me, and nobody will eeeever have to know what you’ve done! Can you be a good boy and do that for me?”
He nods, slow and uncertain, as he chokes back another sob. The pained sound is so pretty; you need more of it.
“If you still feel bad about it…” your voice is soft and contemplative; Levi watches you intently. “I can punish you. What do you think you deserve before alllll can be forgiven, sweetheart?”
Levi’s breathing hitches, and he seems to finally remember that he is inside you, that you’re hot and wet and tight and needy around his tentacle, and he needs to move because it feels so fucking wonderful but he also needs to hurt because he deserves it and as he begins to pump again, he whimpers out, “Could you… please hit me?”
What a cute little masochist.
(And if you swing just right…)
Your lips curl devilishly with anticipation.
“Only if you keep going. Fuck me just like you would have any of those nights while I was sleeping, Levi. I wouldn’t have expected to wake up with this wriggly, slimy cock stretching me out--” Levi groans in response to your words, eagerly complying. You found just the right way to talk about his tentacles. ”--and I wanna feel just what got you so reckless that you might have woken me up, so I’m not going to give you a warning. Is that fair?”
“Yes! That’s better than fair,” he pants as he bottoms out again and again, trying to keep a steady rhythm. You’ve adjusted to him perfectly now; each scrape of the bottom tentacle against your sensitive walls makes you buck up into him, squeezing the top tentacle between your clit and his pelvis. The bottom tentacle undulates within you with each re-entry, practically licking your insides and making you curl your toes. It’s difficult to hear Leviathan babbling over your own increasingly desperate wails.
“You’re too, too good to me. I can’t believe you’d even look at me. I had to have you! It’s not fair, you couldn’t look at me like that and not let me take you… You always tease me with that little smile, I know you don’t look at anybody else like that, fuck, fuck, it’s like you were just asking me to fill you up, you always wanted it, right? Right? Please tell—”
You cut him off with a swift, stinging slap to the face, and just as planned, his hockey mask shifts sideways, leaving white scrapes on his flushed cheeks. Levi is stunned, eyes wide and mouth agape at the bloody, blushing, mostly-naked mess below him. Before he has a chance to react, you lunge forward to mash your bloodstained lips up against his chapped ones. His tears and sweat and your own dried blood taste better than anything you’ve had in any realm.
-
Levi is swept away in your feral kisses and your soft lips and your cold hands sneaking below his thin t-shirt for a moment before he remembers, that, well, he can’t remember anything,
but you’re shirtless—no, your shirt is shredded down the middle—and you’re bleeding and he is inside you, holy fuck he’s inside you and you feel better than he ever imagined and you’re in the haunted house and none of these things should be happening and where are the guests and where is Mammon and you’re bleeding, holy shit you’re bleeding, who hurt you, there’s a knife on the ground he bought that knife for tonight it has blood on it you’re bleeding from your shoulder and the inviting dip between your breasts, your breasts—they’re beautiful so beautiful—no no no, you’re bleeding, you’re bleeding—
did he hurt you?
Leviathan pushes you back down, barely forceful enough to detach you from him because he doesn’t want to touch your naked breasts or your jutting collarbone or your shoulder, why is just your shoulder so fucking alluring, he doesn’t want to touch or see any of you, not like this, (he absolutely wants to see you, he wants to pin you back down and trail his forked tongue from your eyebrows to your cu—no, he has to stop) and he scrambles back onto his knees with his trembling hand covering his mouth.
He doesn’t want to know what happened.
He wants to run.
But he trips on his bunched-up work pants, and his hand slips on his discarded raincoat. In the blink of an eye, you pounce on him, straddling him and pinning his wrists down with a strength he never knew you had and a wild gleam in your eyes that he’s never seen and that he doesn’t think he likes having seen.
“No, no, nononono, you can’t leave me! Not like this, not after what’s happened. You can’t leave me, Leviathan. I’ll tell everybody what happened.” Oh fuck, do you know? Did someone see him outside your door? Do you hate him? If so, why are you straddling him? Why are you smiling toothier and hungrier than he’s ever seen? “I’ll take your pretty knife and I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll kill myself. Don’t be a fucking coward and stay with me.”
He has to know what happened.
“What… what did I do to you?”
“It doesn’t matter, Levi! I’m yours! I’m finally yours!” Your chest trembles and heaves with every ecstatic breath. Levi doesn’t know if it’s weakness, want, or guilt over an act that he can’t even remember that keeps him quiet and glued to the ground as you raise your hips, one hand letting his wrists go so that you can guide a fidgeting tentacle back into your cunt.
You sink down around him so easily; Levi can’t restrain a quiet whimper as you take him to the hilt. The tendril squirms within you, and he isn’t sure if it’s fighting against this or desperately trying to map and memorize every single centimeter of you now that it finally has the chance.
He isn’t sure of anything.
He thinks this is what he wanted.
It might still be.
It has to be.
When you notice the tears streaming fast and free down Levi’s cheeks, you slide your hands down his lightly scaled sides, guiding him into an upright position. You pull the still-askew mask from his face and gently kiss his tears away. And for good measure, you dot your lips along the scrapes on his cheeks, too, as if you were comforting a toddler fallen in a too-big playground, before resting his head on your shoulder. You gently stroke his damp violet hair, making soft “shhhh” lullaby noises as you rock your hips back and forth on his cock, grinding your clit against his still-exposed top tentacle.
Levi wraps his arms around you in response, soaking in your hysterical heartbeat as his tears drip down into your shoulder wound—the wound he probably made but can’t remember how or why.
The blood crusting around the gash makes him want to vomit. But it’s nothing compared to the molten heaven pooling in his core as your bouncing becomes more erratic, your whines higher and more frequent.
“All mine, all mine, all mine, allmineallmineallmine… You’re all mine, right, Levi?“
Levi winces at your tight pull on his scalp and your nails scraping his chilly back. What right does he have to complain about the pain, though? He’s not the one with ripped clothes and ripped skin.
He should ask you, demand an answer, but every protest dies with each brush of your hardened nipples on his bare chest. He can’t fight the way you sing possessive nonsense just for him, the way your cunt stretches just. For. Him.
“You won't look at anybody else? You won't touch anybody else, you'll just think of me, right? You're such a good boy, I love you so much, you're my good boy!"
This is the happiest he's ever seen you. And this was what he wanted every night he thought about fucking you. Hell, this should be better, 'cause you want it! He didn’t force you! (He hopes.) You want him so much! You only want him! (Fucking how?)
So this is all okay, right? It doesn’t matter what he can’t remember!
"Y-you'll cum in me now, right? You wanna fill me up? Knock me up?” Suddenly he’s no longer in your shoulder and your hands are on his face and your tongue is in his mouth, and he’s so much bigger in every way but he feels like a mouse clutched in an eagle’s talons did you just ask him to—“Knock me up, Levi! Then everybody will know that we belong to each other!"
Belong.
Levi’s hips snap up. Belong. He remembers something now, and it’s that he wanted to make you his. You could finally belong to hi—no, to each other. He plunges his shark sharp teeth in your neck as he frantically fucks up into you, his hands bruising into your hips as you keen with overstimulation, his hands and mouth stained with your blood, his growl reverberating throughout your body as his cum floods your womb.
Finally. Finally. His. You’re finally his.
Until he catches his breath and remembers his bloody knife and his bloodier gloves on the splinter-ridden floor and feels you tremble-giggle into his chest and the sticky heat of his own seed dripping from between your pillowy thighs back onto his pelvis and realizes just what he’s done.
“I’ll tell everybody what happened.”
He doesn’t want to know what happened. He ruined you, but at least you want him to stay.
Levi snuggles you closer into his chest, suddenly freezing despite your human heat and the sweat coating your both.
He ruined you—
(And you’ll never tell him otherwise
because it's not like he ever believed you before.)