A Way With Words -Prologue.Pt2 (ErwinxReaderxLevi)

“A Way With Words”

[A Modern AU fan-fiction]

Erwin x Tsundere!Reader x Levi

Warning: Current and future contents may contain mature language, violence and/or situations (which are not of explicit nature). THIS PART may be lime-ish (mild one though—none of it contents scenes, just small, suggestive stuffs). ._. 

Synopsis: The shattering solitude during your journey when you left for or return from your University is always the lowest point of your daily life. However, one fine afternoon, you are caught in between karma—to relish the chance of amicable change or remain in the lonely comfortable present and to chose between the professional, successful executive Erwin Smith or the freelancing, unlucky German artist Levi Ackerman as your companion.




A raspy gasp reaches into his aching lungs through dried up throat and flaring nostrils as he heaves in for the humid air—cold sweats now seeping through all his stretched out pores. He immediately hurls the blanket over to rid of that stinging heat, letting it slip off from the mattress in an ‘omph’ sound; the dense air around him reluctantly tries to cool his body down. He sits up now, his breathing still as tense as ever, but his once deep slumber is now scared away by the herald of a similar, painful sentiment.  

It’s like Switzerland all over again!

There’s a mere hole through a gape between the deep lavender curtains that allow a shed of light into the dark room, which was designed—like all the parts of his five-bedroomed Victorian townhouse—in a modern contemporary style. Simplicity is the best for him as it suited his organised personality all the same; the master bedroom, or rather his room, is equipped with white-gloss surfaces everywhere (from the bedside table, the wardrobe, chest of drawers to the bed frame, etc). There’s a king sized bed with satin-white sheets and clutters of green dots to complement the room’s mauve walls, two pictures of orchids framed with deep brown wood hanging aligned with identical porcelain bedside lamps and a simple clock of mahogany wood hanging across the bed—one he now stares at blankly due to lack of proper light.

His crystal azure eyes trail towards the windows’ pane to his left, wondering if he had left them open, but the lack of oxygen in the room is evident that he hadn’t. A pounding headache abruptly summons his unusually calm fortitude of a head; he quickly reaches up to knead against the skin above his temple, jaw tight through the pain. He ruffles up his already unkempt blonde hair as he tries to chuckle off the idea of him suffering from trauma which was incurred from seven years ago. He shrugs now, proceeds to drag his feet along the bed’s surface towards its side with his bucking knees attempting to stand up; he walks on over to the curtains. He digs his fingers into the fabric, pulling it away and squinting his eyes in the process—to his surprise, it was already morning.

Shit! I better get my phone! Armin and Nifa are probably screa—

CRASH!

He whips his head behind him; he could tell the sound came from below and he rushes out of his barren master bedroom, down the staircase to see what it was—even quick enough to grab onto a golf club that he left in his office next door. His home had only been redesigned recently and what was a congested, cramped up five bedroomed house now became incredibly large and flat-like; he has to make sure that there the master bedroom shares with another room (which was later converted into his office), two guest rooms ready on the second floor and a single room down at the same level as the kitchen for his future guests. 

His hard digits grip tightly around the rubber band of the handle, making silent haste down the refurbished carpeted steps, and oculars tearing at every sight of items in his house—just making sure that everything was intact and still there.

Everything’s still here... Keep calm. Maybe that sound was from a cat, a dog or some animal outside! 

He feels his grip loosen around the handle, but it isn’t the time to hesitate; he may have an intruder in his home and he doesn’t like the idea of their confrontation on this beautiful sunny afternoon, having just woken up from a nightmare—an outlandish and ludicrous one of that. He then sees that one of the door to the rooms on the second floor was actually opened—this immediately becomes his first target. As he approaches the door, he passes by the other room and checks its contents—just in case. But no one was there nor was there any signs of intrusion. 

Just take a peek inside the room, Erwin—that’s all you have to do!

He peeks over the rail of the staircase along the hallway, checking to see that no one was waiting or lurking there; when the coast is clear, he quickly wraps his hands around the brass door knob and gently (but quickly) pushes it open and swing his club—revealing no one there. 

What the hell?

He walks into the room, where he merely studies the same pure white satin-silked bed; its sheets are warm, the blanket messed around and over, its pillows have an existing crater where a human head must’ve lied on and there is now a backpack that he knows doesn’t belong to him—it even has so many flight tags. Not to mention, there are clothes all over the room—from the floor by the doorway to the bathroom, some of them even leaking out of the bag itself. Erwin then raises his eyebrows when a hissing cold wind blows into the room and gasps silently as he caught the sight of the window panels—

No... I left it open?

With his aghast expression remains plastered on his now pale face, Erwin Smith walks over to the window sill, ignoring how the golf club slips out of his hands through his daze. His arms, though limb and nearly lifeless, reaches out for only to shut the windows tight; he never recalled opening them—unless he was too drunk last night to notice. Perhaps his drunk self was too depressed to think straight and left the windows open. 

I’ve moved on from her. We all did. We all have. 

He lets out a reluctant sigh as he exits the room, picking up his golf club, and frowns at the thought of his own mistake—had there really been an intruder, he shouldn’t have done that and let the intruder have an advantage over him. Shaking his head, he goes back to the office and returns the club to its rightful place; but when he gets out of his office and shuts the door behind him, he hears a familiar tune. 

“And mother always told me be careful of who you love,
and be careful of what you do ‘cause the lie becomes the truth~oh!
Billie Jean is not my lover!