SnK: Only Human -C.7.5- (Erwin x Reader x Levi)

“ONLY HUMAN”  

Erwin x Reader X Levi

WARNING: Future contents may contain mature/explicit gore or violence. Current chapter contains somewhat explicit language—it’s Levi’s... again. ._. There is no skipping because otherwise you'd miss out some details! 

You were a proud member of the Military Police of Wall Sina. Your family owned a popular bakery that had been due in its tax payments and land rentals, and you—as the eldest female child of the working-class family—feel responsible and helpless in that situation. A new opportunity of working as an undercover spy for the Military Police opened up with great perks—all of which helps you and your family. You took it without thinking, hoping it would solve all your troubles. But as a spy, your memories of your family were wiped clean and you were thrown—after countless torture and all those sadistic devices—outside of the safety of the Walls. Before long, you were saved by the infamous Recon Corps but to what end? Was that your true purpose—to infiltrate the Recon Corps for the MP's sake?!
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A pack of stray dogs began barking in the distance, long howls of anguished loneliness amidst growls of rebellious desperation suddenly surround the quiescent midnight air; summer was ending soon and the breezy—if not cold—autumn air began its creeping descend into this scenic, almost quaint part of humanity's surviving population—the Imperial Capital of Wall Sina.

The old baker, [father's name][l/n], had just finished up his rounds in his homely family bakery in the corner street of forty-fifth avenue, in the quiet part of downtown right at the border of the prestigious West Side. He stood there in the nearly teeth-clattering weather, admiring how the grey stains of rain had decorated the brick-red walls of his four-story shop cum townhouse. It looked like one of his young sons forgot to blow out the night light again as he looked up to the upmost floor; he smiled, shaking his head, before he opened the main door to grab onto a pack of 
rubbish—mostly consisted of stale and rotten leftovers of pastries. He dragged it out of the shop's doorway, down the five-steps staircase of its entrance and through the scraping concrete pavements towards the end of the road—he would do this every Friday night before closing up his bakery as the next day would be garbage collection day.

He sighed as he dust off his hands against his apron—now it was filthied with yellowed flour and sticky hot sugar—before he looked up to the sky once more.

The moon was a beautiful whole sphere reflecting light off the sun; its light kinder, gentler and caressing every surfaces on the earth's grounds with a slither of silver and a beaming glow unlike that of the sun’s scorching light. Shadows grew longer and bigger as the moon rose higher and higher—an observation of pure haste in contrast to the moonlight’s touch itself. Darkness seemed to creep everywhere as the old man [l/n] looked about slowly from one corner of the street to its end; an ominous presence lingered wherever he looked—shadows almost whispering a deceitful murmur of help.

Indeed, it was an occupational hazard here in
 Wall Sina to bask in the shine of the moon or in the submerging chasms of shadows surrounded its confines—but Mr [l/n] had been living here all his life, used to its lurking dangers.

He sighed as he thought about the recent uproar of an infamous group of thugs from the underground; he had heard some tales that they were very young and some even say that they were all orphaned—but these youngsters held a grudge against the world for what happened to them, at least he thought so. While he genuinely only felt pity and compassion for them, his friends were none kinder. They even pushed him around for believing such things; like his huge, tall and gregarious friend who maintained a bar with his wife—apparently, the couple was a victim of the said thug’s ruthless wrath (Mr [l/n] liked to refer to them as witnesses instead) and still they pompously behave conceited.

“Oh, Hogan that ol'fool!” he mused aloud; his hands collected at his waist as he sighed deeply, “He probably challenged everyone into an arm wrestling like usual and finally lost! His own wife won't even admit that she was waged—stubborn fools! I'd take those tea leaves too if I'd won... But Hogan's always won...”

A distant crash started him, which was followed by fierce snarls and barks.

He spun around and over, wondering where it came from—his angle seemed to place the sound everywhere; but the shadows revealed nothing more than its usual haunting foretell of a negligent mass of misfortune roaming around. He wiped his brows, body trembling as he slowly receded into his humble home. Without hesitating, he turned the lock on the door and let out a relieved sigh; if he had waited another moment to enter his home, he might never have done so in one piece—let alone alive. Quite recently he felt as though he had a protection from his lucky stars, receiving strange hints that led to a great different things—one of it was that whenever he thought of other’s misadventures, he’d somehow dodged his own. “P-please! Take the money! J-just don’t harm my f-family!” Mr [l/n] protested, waving his arms and backing away; the stranger rose up, striding towards him.

“Tch,” the stranger snorted darkly, “I don’t need your money. Even if I steal, I don’t rob from the poor and suffering like you...”

“T-then, just what do y-you want?”

“To talk... quietly, without others knowing,” the stranger raised his head, as if hinting the occupants in the above rooms; then he repeated, “Just between us poor to poor, man to man.”