Anonymous said:
I wish you would write a fic where Levi is Mikasa's thesis advisor, and he makes her life a living hell (like all of them) and she's still alive thanks to coffee and free cookies (like all of us)

alienheartattack:

This made me have some feels, so here they are.

Levi is so gruff and mean but only because he knows she’s so brilliant and her thesis can be something huge in their field, but she’s a bit sloppy with her research sometimes and her writing could use some polish and she needs to nail this completely in order for her to get her work out there. He knows she has it in her, but she needs to be pushed.

Still, he is not merciless. One evening he stops in his office after teaching his evening class and Mikasa’s still in the grad student office down the hall, the only one left. She was there when he came in that morning, and - now that he thinks of it - he’s pretty sure she was wearing that red sweater the day before. She’s working frantically, fingers pounding away at her laptop keyboard, occasionally flipping through books or scribbling notes. There are pens and highlighters tucked behind her ears and snarled in her hair; around her, her desk a whirlwind of books and sticky notes and writing utensils.

She looks, in a word, insane.

He takes the elevator downstairs and jogs over to the coffee kiosk, trying to get the barista’s attention before she closes up for the night. There are only a few things left and the cash register is already put away, so she simply packs a bagel and a bottle of orange juice into a plastic bag, telling him they’re on the house.

Upstairs, Mikasa doesn’t hear the office door open, doesn’t hear the sound of the professor’s shoes against the floor. She just keeps typing, keeps checking sources, keeps thinking about his many, many criticisms. Keeps trying to be better, because even when he’s infuriating her she knows it’s all worth it, because she’s learning from the best.

“Hey,” he says, startling her. She jumps to attention and looks up at him from her seat. Her eyes are bloodshot and bleary, shadows arcing below them. He points toward his own, pressing one fingertip against the bluish circles beneath his eyes. His other hand offers her the plastic bag. “Eat this and then go home and get some sleep. You’re starting to look like me.”

March 4   75♥


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