crimson and viridian

anonymous asked:

I don't know why but I can't stop thinking about Levi having many tattoos on his body, but hiding them. He starts dating Erwin, who knows nothing of said tattoos, and Levi doesn't bother telling him. One day Erwin carries Levi to bed and starts undressing him. He isn't prepared for what he sees, since he wasn't expecting to see the tattoos. So, instead of doing the do, Erwin simply explores Levi's body and Levi, in turn, tells him all about the meanings behind the drawings

Clothes flutter to the floor, the whispers of cotton and linen a soft protest to puddle dark in the moonlight, and Erwin presses his lips to the soft crease of Levi’s elbow where he starts to be clothed again. 

“What are these?” he asks, breathless whispers, half expecting the ink beneath his lips to come fluttering off as well. The darkness spirals up, chasing veins with vines and the swirls of calligraphed letters, a poem written purely in prose to the meter of Levi’s pulse. Levi stiffens beneath his touch, a hand coming up to thread through Erwin’s hair, perhaps to push him away, perhaps to pull him closer, but Erwin decides for him as he sits up, eyes tracing over the painted canvas of Levi’s skin. “There are so many.” 

Levi is breathless beneath him, guarded, half ready to wrap himself in the covers and hide away already. Cream disappears beneath the ink, a second skin, and Erwin wants to know every splash of ebony and crimson and viridian like his own. 

“Do you think they’re ugly?” Half whispers, and Erwin chases them, ugly doubts, away with reverence, placing kisses to the sweep of Levi’s collarbone, the curve of his shoulder, the tattooed skin sweet beneath his tongue. 

“Will you tell me about them?” 

Propped up against the pillows, his skin gleams in the moonlight as he traces along his left arm absentmindedly, starting at the crease of his elbow where obsidian leaches into ivory. The vines start off dark, lightening shade by shade into brilliant green, sprouting scarlet stargazers that blossom with pistils of phoenixes, chasing fire across the canvas of his body to flutter across his chest. 

“Stargazers were my mother’s favorite flower,” he begins haltingly, and Erwin knows better than to interrupt to ask about the past tense. “They look up at the sky, high hopes and dreams, limitless ambition.” He pauses, and Erwin waits breathless for the continuation. “Maybe if you fuck me extra well tonight, I’ll tell you about the phoenixes.” 

Levi falls asleep almost instantly afterwards, drifting off into his dreams with a soft sigh of surrender, sticky skin and kiss swollen lips. Erwin absentmindedly traces over the vines with a light finger, one that makes Levi’s breath hitch with half a laugh in his sleep. He lays a hand over the phoenix that crests over Levi’s shoulder, and he wonders if Levi believes in second chances. 

For every choice we make, every step we take, every word we speak—a reality is born. There is no such thing as ‘not having a choice’. There is always a choice, even when you cannot fathom it. The funny thing about choices, is that to make one is to discard all others. You can change your mind, later, and go back and try to act differently, but you can’t turn back time. A choice, once made, can never be undone.