The Headpats Merchant: Buy One Headpat Get 2 Free

26-she/her If I have to think the thoughts you have to see them

[pinkberryfox]

I saw something that hurt my heart about him being cruel or violent in a relationship or something so I’ve got some headcanons about Levi Ackerman.

He’s baby. He’s grumpy baby, but he’s baby.

Slight NSFW.

Traumatized! Levi headcanons:

-Levi who flinches and grabs your wrist when you first raise your hand to brush his hair out of his face, because he’s used to being hit.

-Levi who wants so BADLY to be good to you even when he struggles to be romantic or open (he’s never known how) because he thinks it’s the only thing he’s done right

-Levi who’s afraid to show you his body because it’s scarred and rough and calloused and thinks you only deserve someone beautiful

-Levi who is used to being gawked and whistled at for his fighting skills and pretty face and can’t help but melt when you look at him with tender eyes and concern because he’s not used to it

-Levi who’s afraid to involve you in his life and keeps you secret because you’re soft and kind and somehow he feels you’ll die like everyone else if he doesn’t keep a distance (for a while)

-Levi, who if you’re in the Corps, makes every strategy revolve around your safety, until he loses his squad.

-Levi who pleads with you to quit the Corps before the job destroys you- his brows furrowed, holding your hand in both of his, ready to fall to his knees if that’s what it takes.

-Levi, who when he finally kisses you, treats you like glass. He’s had so much violence and he just wants to be careful with you

-Levi who can’t ever bring himself to “fuck” you, who only ever makes love to you (even when it’s fast and deep), praising you, worshipping you, memorizing you, focusing on your pleasure over his.

-Levi who tells you, “Relax for me. I’ve got you. You’re so pretty. Hold on to me.”

-Levi who gives the best possible aftercare, cleaning and holding you, giving you water and telling you he loves you.

-Levi who thinks you’re precious. He may call you a little shit, but there’s always the hint of a smile on his face and his gaze is soft.

-Levi, who when you argue, never raises his voice, and will leave the room to cool down with a short “I’ll be back,” before he approaches a topic again because he’s not a ‘captain’ with you, he’s your lover.

-Levi whose heart flutters when you call him beloved, or tell him he’s sweet, or that he makes you happy.

-Levi who calls you sweet names- but only in private. Never ‘corny shit’ like princess or dear, but simple things like ‘(insert color here) eyes’.

-Levi who looks at you reverently, because you’re the best thing he’s ever had.

PART 2

[irisinlovee]

let's not fall in love

Oh they were roommates!

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾! 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗂𝖽 𝗑 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

°❀.ೃ࿔* 𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖲𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋 𝖱𝖾𝗂𝖽, 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖥𝖡𝖨 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝖾, 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆 𝗃𝗈𝖻, 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽: 𝗂𝗍 𝗉𝗎𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾. 𝖥𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗃𝗈𝖻𝗌, 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝗎𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝖽𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅, 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇: 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌.

𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾-𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗃𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗌, 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗈𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝗌𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗉𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗋𝖾 “𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌.”

Episode One — Pilot

Episode Two — Moving Day

Episode Three — Honey, I'm Home!

Episode Four — You Can Hear It In The Silence

Episode Five — Walt and Walt Jr.

Episode Six — Apparent Domesticity

Episode Seven — Valentine's Day

Episode Eight— Play Pretend

Episode Nine — Urs

Episode Ten — I Like You (Sorry, I Never Meant To)

Episode Eleven — Let's Put The 'End' In Friends

Episode Twelve — Season Finale

[pinkberryfox]

ITS SO FLUFFY 😭💖

[deerfawnn]

your hands are cold — spencer reid

summary: after his release from prison, spencer returns to a life that no longer feels like his own. haunted by what he’s endured, he doesn’t expect kindness, least of all from you. yet, little by little, spencer learns how to trust again… and it all starts with you.

pairing: spencer reid x sweetheart!reader content warnings: small age gap, maeve arc doesn't exist / never existed (sorry !!), spencer's trauma from prison is constantly mentioned a/n: hai lovelies !! i'm so sorry for this long ( unplanned ) hiatus, but i'm back with a series and i really hope you like it !! <3 i'm going to try my best to update it weekly, but no promises can be made as most chapters still need to be edited.

part one: blossoming chestnut trees

part two: a restless night

part three: because of me

part four: everything is new

part five : hope against hope

part six: one door closes

part seven: a dream upon waking

part eight: the secret in the wall

part nine: passage of time

part ten: stars and butterflies

part eleven: on top of the world

⁠₊˚⊹ᰔ series is complete!

[pinkberryfox]

THE FLUFF, THE ABGST THE YEARNINGGGG

[esote-rika]

PINK IN THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Prof!Spencer Reid x Prof!reader

Identify problem -> brainstorm solution -> execute. This process has never failed you before. So what if the solution for this particular issue involves getting into a fake relationship with the new professor? It’s a means to an end. Nothing more. But Professor Reid—far too tender, and all too eager for scraps of affection—seems intent to make this harder than it should be.

contents: post-series, fake dating, one sided rivalry to lovers, professor!Spencer Reid, legal age gap (reader 29 and Spencer is 38), prof!reader, she wears glasses and it WILL be referenced a lot, fluff and other romcom-y shenanigans, no use of y/n. Not a series, more of a semi-related universe, but I recommend reading act one together for better context and build up!

ACT ONE - the set up

coffee with the enemy -> Spencer Reid is new but he’s already the university golden boy. Fellow faculty adore him, students worship the ground he walks on, even the administration loves him. You’re committed to your disdain for him—until he offers you access to his collection of medieval literature. [3k]

BESPECTACLED² -> A phone call from your childhood best friend adds to the stress of midterms. You seek refuge in the library, only to run into Spencer Reid. Somewhere between excel sheets, checking exams, and some accidental flirting, the stress dissipates and your annoyance fizzles into something strangely iridescent. [4.1k]

FACULTY WHISPERS -> All that attention on university golden boy Spencer Reid hits a peak, only to sour into malicious gossip. You’re not one to defend a man, so you do the next best thing—offer a temporary solution. [3.6k]

ACT TWO - blossoming alone over you

***Fics labeled with 𓍯𓂃𓏧💍will revolve around the wedding reader and Spencer will be attending as a fake couple

FOOTNOTES ON INTIMACY -> Boundaries are important in any relationship—even fake ones (especially in fake ones). Spencer Reid is very good at sticking to the rules you’ve discussed together, until he does something off script that sends you spiraling. [2.4k]

HARD LAUNCH -> Spencer doesn’t understand the significance of a social media hard launch. To compromise, he invites you as his date to a faculty soiree, prompting a night filled with nosy colleagues, and PDA you tell yourself you don't enjoy. [6.4k]

I DON'T EVEN DARE TO WISH IT -> A concerned Spencer Reid shows up at your doorstep when you miss two days of classes, bearing take out and gentle reassurance. Somehow he ends up in your bed. [5.2k]

KISS ME AND I MIGHT DROP DEAD -> Maybe practicing to kiss your fake boyfriend on your bed isn't the best idea, because now the image of him sprawled atop your sheets is burned in your mind and your lips ache to memorize the shape of his. [2k]

extras:

HONEYBEA masterlist - or a future timeline where they have a daughter

meet prof!reader fake dating rules! reasons for writing + diana reid & prof!reader headcanons

a/n: Think of this like a Hallmark movie (which, unsurprisingly, was what I was watching when I came up with this)—middling quality at best, but still (hopefully) fluffy and entertaining. No taglist, this is just my fun lil side project cause professor Reid is a NEED but I am, for better or for worse, too woke to make it x student. So here’s an almost 30-year-old assistant professor reader instead. gif by the best @reidgif

[pinkberryfox]

Actually obsessed with this series 😭💖

[esote-rika]

BABY I HAVE AN EVENT FOR THEM STARTING NEXT WEEK!!!

[pinkberryfox]

SORRY I GOT SO EXCITED I COULDN’T HELP BUT BINGE READ.

And in the last chapter when Spencer put in the rules for kissing, babes both reader AND myself were pouting

[esote-rika]

PINK IN THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Prof!Spencer Reid x Prof!reader

Identify problem -> brainstorm solution -> execute. This process has never failed you before. So what if the solution for this particular issue involves getting into a fake relationship with the new professor? It’s a means to an end. Nothing more. But Professor Reid—far too tender, and all too eager for scraps of affection—seems intent to make this harder than it should be.

contents: post-series, fake dating, one sided rivalry to lovers, professor!Spencer Reid, legal age gap (reader 29 and Spencer is 38), prof!reader, she wears glasses and it WILL be referenced a lot, fluff and other romcom-y shenanigans, no use of y/n. Not a series, more of a semi-related universe, but I recommend reading act one together for better context and build up!

ACT ONE - the set up

coffee with the enemy -> Spencer Reid is new but he’s already the university golden boy. Fellow faculty adore him, students worship the ground he walks on, even the administration loves him. You’re committed to your disdain for him—until he offers you access to his collection of medieval literature. [3k]

BESPECTACLED² -> A phone call from your childhood best friend adds to the stress of midterms. You seek refuge in the library, only to run into Spencer Reid. Somewhere between excel sheets, checking exams, and some accidental flirting, the stress dissipates and your annoyance fizzles into something strangely iridescent. [4.1k]

FACULTY WHISPERS -> All that attention on university golden boy Spencer Reid hits a peak, only to sour into malicious gossip. You’re not one to defend a man, so you do the next best thing—offer a temporary solution. [3.6k]

ACT TWO - blossoming alone over you

***Fics labeled with 𓍯𓂃𓏧💍will revolve around the wedding reader and Spencer will be attending as a fake couple

FOOTNOTES ON INTIMACY -> Boundaries are important in any relationship—even fake ones (especially in fake ones). Spencer Reid is very good at sticking to the rules you’ve discussed together, until he does something off script that sends you spiraling. [2.4k]

HARD LAUNCH -> Spencer doesn’t understand the significance of a social media hard launch. To compromise, he invites you as his date to a faculty soiree, prompting a night filled with nosy colleagues, and PDA you tell yourself you don't enjoy. [6.4k]

I DON'T EVEN DARE TO WISH IT -> A concerned Spencer Reid shows up at your doorstep when you miss two days of classes, bearing take out and gentle reassurance. Somehow he ends up in your bed. [5.2k]

KISS ME AND I MIGHT DROP DEAD -> Maybe practicing to kiss your fake boyfriend on your bed isn't the best idea, because now the image of him sprawled atop your sheets is burned in your mind and your lips ache to memorize the shape of his. [2k]

extras:

HONEYBEA masterlist - or a future timeline where they have a daughter

meet prof!reader fake dating rules! reasons for writing + diana reid & prof!reader headcanons

a/n: Think of this like a Hallmark movie (which, unsurprisingly, was what I was watching when I came up with this)—middling quality at best, but still (hopefully) fluffy and entertaining. No taglist, this is just my fun lil side project cause professor Reid is a NEED but I am, for better or for worse, too woke to make it x student. So here’s an almost 30-year-old assistant professor reader instead. gif by the best @reidgif

[pinkberryfox]

Actually obsessed with this series 😭💖

[spenceralacarte]

Criminal Minds One Shot

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Description: After a medical scare lands you in the hospital, Spencer proves exactly why he’s your emergency contact.

___________________________________

Title: The Emergency Contact

The nurse looked between you and Spencer with barely concealed suspicion.

“You’re telling me you’re not married?”

“No,” you said.

Spencer answered at the exact same time. “Correct.”

The nurse glanced down at the form in her hand. “But he’s your emergency contact.”

“Yes.”

“And he knew your date of birth, your allergies, your insurance provider, and the name of your primary care physician.”

Spencer shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside your hospital bed. “I have an excellent memory.”

“He also brought you a change of clothes.”

“He’s considerate.”

“And your preferred brand of shampoo.”

You turned toward him. “You brought shampoo?”

Spencer’s ears turned pink. “Hospitals usually provide toiletries, but approximately thirty percent of patients report being dissatisfied with—”

The nurse held up a hand. “I don’t need the statistics.”

“That’s usually what people say right before the statistics become relevant.”

You covered your mouth to hide a laugh. The nurse stared at both of you for another second, then handed Spencer the discharge papers. “She needs to rest for the next twenty-four hours. No driving, no work, and someone should stay with her tonight in case the dizziness returns.”

“I’ll stay,” Spencer said immediately.

The nurse’s expression became unbearably knowing. “Of course you will.”

Once she left, you looked at him. “You know she thinks we’re together.”

“She made several inaccurate assumptions.”

“You didn’t exactly correct her.”

“I told her we weren’t married.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

Spencer frowned as he considered this.

The doctor had assured you it was exhaustion and dehydration, nothing more serious. Still, Spencer had spent the past three hours hovering beside you, asking enough questions that the attending physician had finally threatened to confiscate his medical journals.

He helped you sit up slowly. “Any dizziness?”

“No.”

“Nausea?”

“No.”

“Blurred vision?”

“Only when you start listing symptoms.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“It was a little funny.”

His mouth tightened, but his hand remained around your elbow as he helped you stand.

Your knees wobbled and Spencer’s arm immediately circled your waist.

“I’m fine,” you insisted.

“You nearly fainted again.”

“I stood up too fast.”

“Which is precisely why I asked you to wait.”

There was no point arguing when he used that tone.

He drove you home, carried your bag upstairs, and refused to let you unlock your own apartment door.

“You know,” you said as he guided you toward the couch, “I’m capable of walking.”

“I’m aware.”

“You’re treating me like I’m made of glass.”

“Glass is an amorphous solid. You’re considerably more structurally complex.”

You stared at him. “That was almost romantic.”

“It wasn’t intended to be.”

The pink returned to his ears.

Spencer disappeared into your kitchen. Cabinets opened and closed, followed by the sound of running water.

“You don’t have any food,” he called.

“I have food.”

“You have mustard, half a lemon, and something in a container that I’m unwilling to identify.”

“It’s probably pasta.”

“It’s moving.”

You sat up. “Throw it away.”

“I already did.”

He returned with a glass of water and crouched in front of you until you drank half of it.

“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly.

The crease between his eyebrows deepened. “The doctor said someone should.”

“I could call JJ.”

“JJ has two children.”

“Garcia?”

“Garcia would panic.”

“Morgan?”

“Morgan would invite himself into your kitchen and make comments about your emergency contact form.”

You smiled. “And you won’t?”

“I’m already on it.”

“That’s what I mean.”

Spencer went still.

You turned the glass between your palms. “When did I put you down as my emergency contact?”

“Eight months ago. After the case in Baltimore.”

“You remember?”

“You asked if I minded.”

“I don’t remember telling you my doctor’s name.”

“It was written on the card in your wallet.”

“You went through my wallet?”

“The hospital needed your insurance information.”

“And the shampoo?”

His gaze dropped. “You complained about the hospital shampoo after your appendectomy two years ago.”

Something in your chest softened. “You remembered that?”

“Of course.” He said as though forgetting anything about you would have been impossible.

You placed the glass on the coffee table. “Spencer.”

“Yes?”

“Why did you look so frightened today?”

His expression closed almost immediately. “I wasn’t frightened.”

“You were. When I woke up, you were holding my hand so tightly my fingers hurt.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That wasn’t a complaint.”

He looked down at where his hands rested against his knees. “I knew the most likely explanation was exhaustion,” he said. “But there were other possibilities, and I couldn’t rule them out without testing.”

“And that scared you.”

He nodded once as you reached for his hand. Spencer let you lace your fingers through his, but he continued staring at them.

“You’re my emergency contact because you’re the person I trust most,” you said.

His thumb moved slowly over your knuckles.

“I thought it was because I always answer my phone.”

“That too.”

He smiled faintly.

You tugged his hand until he looked at you. “And because, apparently, you remember my shampoo.”

“I remember nearly everything.”

“Then remember this.”

You leaned forward and kissed him. For half a second, Spencer didn’t move. Then his free hand came up to cradle your cheek, and he kissed you back with careful, startled sweetness.

When you pulled away, his eyes remained closed for another moment.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he murmured.

“That didn’t require much energy.”

“Your heart rate increased.”

“So did yours.”

He opened his eyes. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“I’m not the patient.”

You smiled. “You’re still staying tonight, right?”

His expression softened. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Spencer settled beside you, letting you rest your head against his shoulder. He pulled the blanket over both of you and reached for the book he had brought from the hospital.

“Are you going to read to me?”

“I thought it might help you sleep.”

“What did you bring?”

He showed you the cover. “A Brief History of Epidemics.”

You lifted your head. “Spencer.”

“What?”

“Find something else.”

He sighed, but you caught the smile he tried to hide as he reached for the remote instead.

By the following morning, you felt completely recovered.

Spencer, however, was still listed as your emergency contact. Now he simply had a more accurate reason to be there.

[pinkberryfox]

THE FLUFFFFFF

[marcidstars]

like a heathen clung to the homily ⋆˚࿔ spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer returns home in the middle of the night, exhausted beyond words and in dire need of a snack. who are you to turn him down?

genre: smut (MDNI) word count: 2.9k

tags: fem!reader, oral (f receiving), munch!spencer, fingering, kissing, spencer is a tease, yes of course he's wearing glasses, title from a hozier song, written in a morrisons car park, proofread (please hold your applause)

notes: on god he's devouring that shit like it's his last meal

Coming home late is an art that Spencer Reid has learned to master. He’s studied which floorboards creek, which ones groan, and which ones scream bloody murder at the slightest misstep. He’s learned how to unlock and open every door without making a sound. He’s adapted to staying light on his feet and traversing the apartment, soundlessly, in complete darkness. 

Every inch of this place is memorised; every sharp corner, every piece of furniture, every lip of every thick woollen rug that he once would trip over almost every day. He even knows where you are most likely to leave your belongings, and he accounts for them, whether they are there or not, as he goes about his silent routine.

There used to be a time where he could make as much noise as he wanted to, within reason. A time where he could flick on the lights and hum a happy little tune to himself without fear of disturbing any sleeping lovers. But it isn’t just him anymore. His once solitary apartment—his bachelor pad, as Morgan used to call it—is now a shared space, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. He would happily spend the rest of his late nights fumbling around in the dark, holding his breath, if it meant that he got to return home to you.

But tonight, though he does continue with his usual dance in the dark, the last thing on Spencer’s mind is letting you sleep.

“Psst. Hey.”

You wake disoriented, half-buried among your hoard of soft pillows and softer blankets. You’re sprawled out like a starfish, limbs strewn across your shared bed, with your face partially obscured by your favourite purple and orange quilt—a birthday gift handmade by Spencer.

Leaning over you is Spencer himself. Hair tousled. Glasses sitting halfway down his nose. Backlit by the light of the moon peeking through the blinds and looking very much like a guardian angel.

All you manage in response is a low grumble. Words feel too far out of your reach as you squint up at him, face all scrunched up in this confused, sleep-riddled expression that is probably about as far from sexy as you can get. 

You’re dimly aware of the state of your hair, and of the fact that you’re sleeping in a shirt that very obviously isn’t yours; you like maths, sure, but not enough to parade yourself around in a shirt displaying a right-angled triangle with the words “I’m always right” printed under it in big, ugly lettering. You’ve told Spencer to throw this shirt out more times than you can remember, and yet here you are wearing it when he isn’t around. If he hasn’t already figured you’ve been missing him, then he’s bound to find out as soon as he sees that cursed shirt.

“…Spence?” you mumble, struggling to keep your eyes open.

He greets you with this huge smile, bright and excited in all the ways that are sorely inappropriate for such a late—or early—hour. 

“There she is.” He leans down to kiss your cheek, and he stays there for a moment, letting his words hit your skin as he murmurs, “there’s my angel.”

“You’re back,” you observe, stating the obvious. You rub your eyes, still trying to pull yourself out of your haze as he settles down beside you.

“I am.”

He sounds far more enthusiastic than you do, peppering your face with kisses like he’s been away for months, and not a week—six days, technically.

He was due to come home tomorrow night. At least, that’s what he told you. You wouldn’t put it past him to lie for the sake of surprising you like this.

“How did it go?” Your fingers find his face in the dark, and you cup his cheek. “The case. Did you—”

“Shh.” Spencer presses his lips to yours, silencing you with a kiss that seems to thrum with something more, something unspoken, but he pulls back before it can be explored. “Just let me kiss you.”

“Spence,” you whine, but your protests are quickly muffled as he kisses you again.

Still, despite your attitude, you lean into him. Your hands slip into his hair, and you thread your fingers into the silken brown strands as you pull him closer. You try to sit up, but he gently pushes you back down.

“It went well,” he eventually murmurs. “I missed you.”

“’Missed you, too. How well is ‘well’?”

Spencer sighs against your mouth, and he pulls away with a barely contained smile. He tilts his head slightly as he looks down at you, studying you in all of your sleep-ruffled glory. “We caught the unsub,” he says, “no one on the team got hurt, and Los Angeles can sleep well knowing they don’t have a serial killer to worry about.”

“Only paparazzi.”

“And celebrity stalkers.”

“Same thing.”

“Very true.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “But that’s enough about me. How have you been? Have you been sleeping okay?”

“Well, I was…”

He flashes you this faux-sympathetic pout. “Sorry.”

“Empty words,” you mutter, shaking your head. “I was having such a nice dream, too.”

“Oh?” Spencer shifts, bringing himself closer to you as he props his head up with his hand. “What were you dreaming about?”

You shrug. “Oh, you know…some pretty FBI agent, a queen-sized bed, and…” your voice trails off for a moment, and you puff air into your cheeks before adding, “whipped cream.”

Spencer’s brows shoot up, and he nods along animatedly as though you’ve just uttered something profound. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Sounds like fun.” He trails his fingers, touch feather-light, along your jaw. His glasses continue to slip until they’re balancing precariously on the end of his nose, and you’re certain they’re about to fall right off and hit you in the face. “But I feel like whipped cream on a queen-sized bed would just result in quite a…sticky mess, right? I mean, the amount of laundry that would come of it—”

With your index finger, you push his glasses back into place. “Shh, let me have my fantasies.”

“Okay, okay,” he concedes with a sigh—light and breathy, almost like a laugh. “And I’m very sorry that I interrupted such an…interesting dream.”

“Very interesting,” you say.

“I’m sure it was.” His hand is holding your jaw, barely. He’s handling you with such an impossible gentleness, angling your face towards his with such subtlety, that you hardly even notice he’s doing it. “Let me make it up to you?”

“Hm…maybe.” You find yourself leaning into his touch instinctively, gazing up at him with love-laced curiosity as you ask, “what do you have in mind?”

Spencer purses his lips for a moment, pretending to be deep in thought as though it isn’t painfully obvious that he has, in fact, come in here with a plan. His hand leaves your face, and he begins carefully peeling away your blanket. “The same thing I’ve had in mind for the last week.”

“I’m listening.”

The words come out a fraction quieter than you had been intending. You try to bite back a smile, but your efforts prove futile as Spencer pushes the blankets aside to reveal you in just a t-shirt and underwear. Again, his t-shirt. One that he clearly recognises, because his face lights up with this stupidly smug grin. When you roll your eyes in response, he leans down to kiss your cheek.

"It suits you," he murmurs, almost whispers, and he follows it up with another quick kiss before sitting up. 

He nudges your knee, silently asking something of you. Your brain is, admittedly, still a little foggy, so there's a moment where you just stare at him, buffering, before you spread your legs and hope it's the correct move. Thankfully, it is. 

He settles between your legs, on his knees, and leans over you. One arm braced against the mattress, the other brushing hair from your face. He inches his face closer to yours, taking a long moment to just…look at you, admire you before (hopefully) kissing you again.

You decide he's taking too long, so you cup his cheeks and pull him down until his lips meet yours, and it seems that every ounce of restraint he had been exercising thus far dissolves in a matter of seconds. He kisses you like he's been starved of oxygen, need-driven and thoughtless—as thoughtless as Spencer Reid can get, that is—like he'd devour you whole, if physics allowed it. 

His glasses, no longer in place on his nose, press against your browbone, and you break the kiss just long enough to take them off and set them aside, out of harm's way, before turning back to him. Lips still parted, ready for him to dive back into you.

But Spencer's focus has now shifted to your neck. He trails his lips down until they meet the junction between your neck and shoulder, where he knows you're most sensitive. He nips lightly at the skin, and you feel him smile, proud, as your breath catches. Then, he works his way back up until his teeth find your earlobe.

"You know, it's a generally accepted theory that erotic dreams may be representative of latent non-sexual desires, or needs, that aren't being met," he explains in this soft, honeyed tone as he pulls back. His hands travel down your body, palms brushing over your curves through your (his) shirt. "They can come about as a result of loneliness, or a need for safety—even low self-esteem."

His fingers hook under the band of your underwear, and you raise your hips without hesitation. He pulls them down slowly, so slow it’s almost hard to watch, because he just loves making you wait, skimming the fabric along your legs before casting them aside. 

"There's also a possibility that you may see qualities in this pretty FBI agent that you lack in yourself," he continues, lifting your leg to press a kiss to the inside of your knee before progressing, steadily, down your thigh, "such as…attention to detail, maybe. Or perhaps…orderliness…a level head…"

"Spence…"

At the sound of your voice, Spencer looks up at you, brown eyes wide. Almost innocent-looking. You never should have told him that those eyes, and that damn deer-in-headlights look, were your weakness—all he’s done since then is use them against you.

"Mhm?"

"We agreed to keep Freud out of the bedroom," you say.

Spencer grins, baring his teeth against your thigh as he chuckles softly. "I know, but it's kind of difficult. He's so relevant."

"I’m sure he is," you mutter, doing your best to look unamused despite the smile tugging at your lips. "I have an idea."

"And what would that be?"

"Stop talking."

He gasps, faking offence as his hands squeeze your thighs. "I thought you liked my ramblings."

"I do," you say, "when we're not…like this."

"Oh, I see…you're getting impatient."

You stay quiet, denying him the satisfaction of a response. If you disagree, then odds are he'll drag this out even longer. And if you agree, if you validate him, then it'll just go straight to his head. And his ego is already big enough as it is.

"I could be a lot worse," he adds with an unassuming smile, "if you—"

"Spencer."

"Yes?"

"…please."

The word is an admission in itself, but it beats the alternative.

Spencer sighs. "Well…if you insist." He lowers himself, settling fully between your legs as he brushes his nose against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you need him to be. "I suppose I won't boreyou with all the dreams I’ve had while I’ve been away…"

"Wait, what—"

A sharp gasp cuts through your words as Spencer's mouth finds your clit, and any coherent thought vanishes, replaced with hot static and an overflow of need that has built up in his absence. His fingers press divots into your thighs, keeping them open as he works you with a proficiency that only he could manage; that eidetic memory serves him well when it comes to memorising you. Your body, your essence, your nuances; all the little things he can play to that have you writhing beneath him, forgetting everything that isn't the way his mouth feels, and the hunger that it ignites within you.

Need mounts almost to desperation as you lift your hips in a silent plea for more, and you whine when he gently presses you back down against the mattress. Your fingers find their way into his hair, curling into the chestnut strands as you push his face deeper into you. He makes this noise in response; a low, pleased hum, and it reverberates through you in a way that has you fucking reeling with pleasure. 

He releases his grip on one of your tensed thighs, and the next thing you know he's slipping a finger inside you with ease. A second finger follows and, before you know it, you're arching your back and trying to stifle moans in the hopes that the neighbours won't hear you as Spencer finger fucks you with practiced, calculated precision, hitting that sweet spot repeatedly and bringing you closer and closer to the edge at a carefully controlled pace. He knows you, inside and out, probably better than you know yourself—no, definitely better than you know yourself, because not once have you managed to achieve this kind of high when you've flown solo. It's second nature to him, something he can do without thinking—something he needs, just as much as you do, after such a long week.

His name tumbles from your lips, whispered like a prayer between hymnal moans. He looks up at you and, for a moment, his gaze locks onto yours. What you see in those dark eyes in that split-second is nothing short of worship. Tainted around the edges with a smugness that he can never quite hide when he has you like this, especially when you start to devolve into helpless whines and whimpers and choked, breathless curses. The way you always do just before he brings you over the edge.

The orgasm hits you right when he wants it to; halfway through whining his name, so all you can manage is a weak “Spence-” before the tension snaps and you lose yourself completely. You moan into your hand, and your thighs clench around his head—not that he seems to mind—as he continues guiding you through it, squeezing every ounce of bliss out of you before it all subsides, and you melt beneath him, dazed and drunk on your own ecstasy.

Spencer sits up, red face glazed with a thin sheen of sweat, and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. He watches you for a moment, gaze travelling across your form like you're a work of art in his stupid t-shirt, and he allows you to catch your breath before leaning down and capturing your still-parted lips in a slow, tender kiss. Your hands return to his hair, and you pull him that little bit closer, unable to stop yourself from moaning softly as you taste yourself on his tongue.

You trail a hand down his body until your fingers brush against his prominent erection and, when you do, Spencer breaks the kiss with a gentle shake of his head. His fingers close around your wrist, and he pulls your hand away even as you whine in protest.

"Not tonight, sweetheart," he whispers.

"Why not?"

"Because," he punctuates his words with a kiss to the corner of your mouth, "I just want this to be about you."

You pout. "Why can't it be about both of us?"

All Spencer does in response is flash you a knowing smile—one that raises far more questions than it answers—before lowering himself until he's lying flush against your body, being careful not to put too much weight on you. 

"You're weird," you mumble.

"You like it."

"I do."

Spencer nestles his face in the crook of your neck, and you can still feel him smiling against your skin as you run your fingers through his hair. It's hard to believe that he's only been gone for a week; it feels like it's been so much longer than that. Too long. 

You'd ask him to never leave again, if you thought you could. But you know exactly what his answer would be; soft-spoken, sympathetic, disappointing. He can't be here every night, not without giving up his job, and you'd never ask him to do that. 

Instead, you go a different direction.

"So…" you murmur, "about those dreams you mentioned…"

He lifts his head. Eyes narrowed; brow raised. "Oh, now you want to hear about them?"

"Yes. I’m curious."

He purses his lips for a long moment, keeping you on edge until he finally shrugs and says, "no."

You frown. "No?"

Spencer nods, and that smug, knowing little smile returns. Only now it's tinged with a hint of something disconcerting—something sinister, almost. He kisses your cheek once, then your nose, and then, finally, your lips.

"I think it'll be better if I show you," he says, keeping his voice light and innocent. "Tomorrow."

[willowmeetsthebones]

"There she is." He leans down to kiss your cheek, and he stays there for a moment, letting his words hit your skin as he murmurs, there's my angel."

oh it’s everywhere

[pinkberryfox]

I’m foaming at the mouth high key

[levionlyyours]

Insult to Injury

☆ Summary: Levi Ackerman has never been good at flirting, which is unfortunate, because insulting you is no longer enough to hide the fact that he’s hopelessly, embarrassingly in love with you.

☆ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader

☆ Genre/Tags: Canon Compliant, Female Reader, Mutual Pining, Levi Ackerman is Bad At Feelings, Soft Levi Ackerman, Flirting, First Kiss, Love Confession, Humor, Fluff, Smut

☆ Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected piv, creampie

☆ Word Count: 9.0k

☆ AO3 Link

☆ Check out the other fics in this collection!

☆ a/n: this is day 2 out of 7 for my birthday week celebration! thank you to my beta reader @slaytherinthoughts <3

Levi first sees you in the morning in the hallway outside of Erwin’s office. You’re holding a stack of reports tucked under one arm, your cloak clasped crookedly, and a half-finished piece of bread pinched between your teeth because you realized eating breakfast and walking to your briefing is an efficient way to multitask.

Levi sees you from the end of the hall and stops walking. His entire body locks up for the stupidest reason—because it’s you. He immediately thinks There she is. Then, because his mind is determined to ruin him, it adds, Her hair looks nice. He almost turns around and walks directly back to his office just to avoid facing you, but because he’s Captain Levi Ackerman, a man who has faced Titans without blinking and therefore shouldn’t be taken down by a woman holding paperwork and chewing bread, he keeps walking forward.

“You look like hell,” he says as soon as he’s close enough.

You stop and look at him, taking the bread out of your mouth as you lift your brows. “Good morning to you too, Captain.”

Levi stares at the bread, then your mouth. He tries to find something else to focus on. Maybe he can tell you your cloak clasp is twisted and Erwin will absolutely notice. Maybe he could ask whether you slept, because the shadows beneath your eyes look darker than yesterday, and yesterday they had already irritated him enough that he left a cup of tea outside your office and convinced himself he only did it because your exhausted handwriting was difficult to read.

“You look better than yesterday, though,” he adds, because he doesn’t know how to shut up around you.

You half-smile. “That might be the closest you’ve ever come to saying something nice to me.”

He feels his stomach drop. Was it? Was that nice? Had he been too obvious? No. No, that’s impossible. No one could hear “you look like hell” and think it was sweet unless they were deranged. But you’re not deranged. In fact, you’re too competent and too observant for his peace of mind.

“You’re insane,” he says, reaching forward before he can stop himself to fix your cloak clasp. The moment he brushes his fingers against your throat, he wishes the floor would swallow him whole. 

You freeze out of surprise, then lift your chin slightly as his knuckles graze the skin beneath your jaw. Levi’s mind goes blank in the most humiliating way possible. He hears the scratch of your breath, feels your pulse at your neck, smells the soap you use—because of course you would be the only other person with proper hygiene standards—and everything he’s learned in life to survive abandons him. He steps back as if you’d burned him.

“There,” he says, voice flat. “Try dressing yourself like an officer next time.”

You glance down at the straightened clasp, then back at him, amusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Are you always this charming before breakfast?”

“No.”

“Only with me, then?”

He turns and walks away. Behind him, you laugh, and Levi immediately knows by the burning of his cheeks and the repeating Stupid, stupid, stupid in his mind that this is going to be a very long day.

He insults you again five minutes later inside Erwin’s office, where Erwin stands at the head of the table. Hange lounges over a chair, looking as if they’ve only slept for either four hours or not at all. Miche stands near the window quietly, as always. You take the seat across from Levi, who keeps his eyes on the meeting notes. He refuses to look at you. If he does, he won’t be able to stay composed.

“You’re quiet,” Hange says to him after Erwin begins explaining the revised training schedule for the week. “You’re either listening or plotting something.”

“Unlike you, I can do both quietly,” Levi says.

Hange grins. “That’s what I admire about you, shorty!”

You snort under your breath. Levi looks at you without meaning to. You’re clearly trying not to smile, one hand pressed over the bottom half of your face, eyes lowered to the table. He sees it all, because he always sees too much where you’re concerned. That’s the problem. It means he notices the loose strand of hair against your cheek, and the warmth in your eyes when you catch him looking at you. Levi looks away immediately, thinking to himself Idiot.

“Something wrong, Levi?” Erwin asks, quirking up an eyebrow.

“No,” Levi says.

“You were staring into nothing.”

“I was just assessing whether her paperwork is as sloppy as her uniform.”

You mock an offended gasp. “My paperwork is pristine.”

“It’s tolerable.”

“From you,” you say, pointing your quill at him, “that is basically a marriage proposal.”

Everyone in the room goes quiet. Hange inhales like they’re about to burst. Levi goes completely and utterly still. Marriage proposal. You said it as a joke. Obviously, right? It’s just a harmless, casual joke, banter shared between squad leaders when too much paperwork has turned everyone’s brains into horse feed. There’s no reason for his mind to take the phrase, drag it and him into an alley, and start beating him with it.

Marriage proposal. His mind races before he can stop himself, supplying a series of images: you standing at an altar, you and him in his office alone, your laughter at breakfast, your hand in his, your mouth on his—

No. He’s not going there again. Not now.

Hange’s grin grows wider. Miche looks out the window, but his shoulders shake with silent laughter. Erwin, who is the worst kind of friend to you both, simply looks between the both of you, silently filing this moment away for later to use against either of you when the time comes.

Levi picks up his teacup. “You’d make a terrible wife,” he says.

You grin and rest your chin on the top of your linked hands, elbows on the table. “Why’s that?”

“You’re loud, annoying, and you don’t even know how to chop a carrot.”

“You notice the strangest things about me.”

Levi drinks his tea to avoid having to answer, and even though the tea is too hot, he refuses to cough. Unfortunately for him, you notice his eyes squinting slightly, and your smile softens so much it nearly kills him on the spot. No, he thinks. I can’t let her do this to me.

He spends the rest of the meeting saying as little as possible, which would work better if Hange didn’t keep sneaking glances at him with barely contained excitement. 

Levi expects the week to improve after that. It doesn’t. The problem is that you’re everywhere. You’re in the training yard in the afternoon, walking between your squad members to correct their positions. You’re at the stables in the evening, arguing with someone about your saddle in disrepair. You’re at the mess hall the next morning, laughing with Nanaba over something silly, your head tipped back in a way that fully exposes your throat and immediately makes Levi think of how nice it would be to kiss it.

It’s nothing. It’s not attraction, it’s not a crush, because he’s a full-grown man and he has no use for romantic attraction. It’s just… a normal appreciation of competence. It’s nothing.

Then you bend to pick up a dropped training knife, showing off your ass perfectly, and Levi walks straight into a wall.

So, not nothing, then.

.

By the fifth day, he’s found numerous excuses to pass through the training yard—at least three times.

The first time, he claims he’s merely checking formations and whether the recruits are holding it correctly. The second time, he claims the training dummies aren’t being raised correctly. The third time, he says nothing at all because even he knows another excuse won’t fool anyone.

You catch him near the fence line with his arms crossed, watching as you demonstrate a disarming technique to your squad. “Captain Ackerman,” you call, breathless from your exertion. “Are you here to criticize my form again?”

His mind immediately says Yes, then No. Tell her she moves well. Tell her that her squad trusts her. Tell her she can command a room without having to do anything. Tell her—

“Your stance is less terrible than usual,” Levi says. He slaps himself in his mind. Stupid.

You turn slowly. “Less terrible? Are you praising me?”

“It wasn’t praise.”

“Definitely sounded like praise,” you sing.

“Get your hearing checked.”

You grin. Levi looks away, biting the inside of his cheek. Your squad disperses after another hour, groaning with exhaustion, and you remain behind to gather the practice blades, humming under your breath while the wind blows through your hair. 

Levi knows he should leave. He has reports, he has inspections, he has an office to clean and tea waiting for him that’ll oversteep if he continues standing here like some lovesick idiot. He finds himself walking toward you anyway.

“You’re wearing that wrong,” he says.

You look down at yourself, squinting your eyes. “Wearing what wrong?”

“Your harness.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’ve worn ODM gear for years.”

“Then it’s embarrassing that you managed to fuck it up this badly.”

You put both hands on your hips, cocking your head at him. “Alright, then. Fix it if it bothers you that much.”

His soul practically leaves his body, but because he has absolutely no self-preservation, he mutters, “Fine.”

He steps behind you and reaches for the strap crossing your back. It’s only slightly twisted, barely enough to matter, but he focuses on it as if the fate of the Walls depends on that strip of leather lying flat. Focusing on the strap is easier than focusing on how warm you are, how close you are, how you freeze when his hands settle at your waist to adjust the lower buckles.

This is normal, he thinks. You’ve adjusted soldiers’ gear before. He pulls and tightens. Then, he finally realizes this is not normal at all. He’s too busy thinking about your waist. How nice it feels under his hands. How nice it would be to hold it while he presses up against you from behind. Goddamnit, get it together. He tightens one strap, loosens another, checks the angle, then checks it again because he can’t bring himself to pull away.

“You’re awfully thorough,” you say.

Levi freezes. He hears the smile in your voice. A small one. Possibly innocent. Probably innocent. He can’t lean forward and investigate, because if he sees your expression, he may just blurt something stupid out like I like standing this close to you, and then he’ll have to desert the Scouts and live alone in a cave for the rest of his life.

“If you fall out of your gear, I’ll have to hear about it,” he says.

“Ah, so this is precaution.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re very thoughtful.”

“More like annoyed.” You laugh softly, and he finishes the adjustment too quickly, stepping away in an attempt to restore whatever part of his dignity just died. “There,” he says. “Try not to embarrass your rank.”

You turn to face him, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s just survived an internal war. “Thank you, Levi.”

He blinks at the use of his name. You usually don’t say his first name. It’s always Captain, Captain Ackerman, or Captain Levi. Never just Levi. He looks away before his expression can give him away.

All he says is a simple, “Tch.”

.

You still don’t realize that Levi thinks of you differently, even weeks later.

Levi is rude to almost everyone, blunt with everyone, sparse with praise and allergic to any kind of emotional displays, so it doesn’t occur to you immediately that the insults he gives you are not the same as the ones he gives everyone else. You just assume Levi tolerates you, perhaps even respects you. You don’t assume Levi watches for whether you’ve eaten, or that he’s memorized how you take your tea, or that he once spent ten minutes deciding whether he should knock on your door with medicine in his hand when you were out sick one day.

Hange assumes all of it, and unfortunately for you, Hange assumes very loudly.

In the mess hall, you sit alone at the end of one table with a bowl of stew, a cup of tea, and a stack of formation notes you’re trying to read without dripping broth on them. Even now, you don’t know how to stop working. Hange slides into the seat across from you so quickly that the table shifts. You look up, raising your brows.

“Hello to you too,” you say.

“You and Levi,” Hange says.

You pause with your spoon halfway to your mouth. “Me and Levi what?”

“Oh, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you haven’t noticed.”

You stare at them, and Hange stares back, eyes bright behind their glasses, their expression so gleeful it’s almost terrifying.

“Hange,” you say slowly. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Their smile falters, then returns even wider. “Oh, that’s even better.”

“Why am I scared?”

“You should be. I know something.”

“You say that a lot.”

Hange waves that away, then leans closer. “Levi has a crush on you.”

You almost drop your spoon into your lap. Surely they must be joking, right? The words don’t even make sense at first. They enter your brain, bounce around for a few seconds, then immediately get rejected by every sensible part of you.

“Levi,” you repeat.

“Yes.”

“Captain Levi Ackerman.”

“Yes.”

“Humanity’s strongest soldier. That Levi.”

“Do we have another emotionally stunted short man named Levi wandering around?”

You look across the mess hall at Levi, standing near the far wall, speaking with Erwin. His arms are folded across his chest, face blank as always. Nothing about him suggests he has a crush on you. The man looks like he was born to disapprove of everyone and everything. To be fair, he already does.

“He insulted my uniform,” you say.

Hange leans even further in. “I saw him fix your cloak.”

“He told me my paperwork was tolerable.”

“Levi considers tolerable high praise.”

“He said I would make a terrible wife.”

“He was totally thinking about you being his wife.” You open your mouth, then close it, because you have absolutely nothing to say in response to that. Hange presses on with a devilish smile. “He brings you tea, too,” they say.

“So?”

“Good tea.” That makes you pause. “He corrects your supply forms before Erwin sees them.”

“So? He corrects everyone’s forms.”

“No, he writes ‘redo this garbage’ on everyone else’s. Yours come back fixed.” You can only blink in response. “He always says something when your squad gets stable duty, and somehow those assignments always mysteriously change.”

“That could be Erwin.”

“It’s not Erwin, trust me.”

“Okay, well… he criticized my gear.”

“That was only an excuse to touch you.”

“Hange.”

“What? I’m observant.”

You sneak a glance at Levi again, and as though sensing your gaze, he looks over. His eyes meet yours across the mess hall, and you see the smallest shift in his expression. A fondness you hadn’t seen before. He then notices Hange sitting across from you, sees the wide grin on their face, and he narrows his eyes with immediate suspicion. Hange waves. Levi looks like he’s considering whether he could get away with murder. Then you notice—and you’re entirely convinced you’re just seeing things—the redness blooming across his cheekbones when he looks at you again.

Oh.

Oh?

That is, unfortunately, very cute.

Then you realize. It all hits you at once. The tea outside your office, the fixing of your cloak, the bread that mysteriously showed up on your desk, the fact that he somehow always manages to appear when you’re carrying something heavy, the way his insults land just a little softer when they’re directed at you.

“You’re enjoying this, you naughty thing,” you accuse Hange.

“Immensely.”

“If you’re wrong, I’m going to look very stupid.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“You’ve been wrong before.”

“I’m rarely wrong in matters this entertaining.”

Across the room, Levi pushes away from the wall and starts walking toward you. You feel your stomach drop as Hange stands up.

“Good luck,” they whisper.

You look to them in panic. “Hange, don’t leave—”

“Be gentle. He’s not emotionally housebroken.”

They vanish before Levi arrives, leaving you sitting with your lukewarm stew, your scattered notes, and the sudden realization that Levi Ackerman has been crushing on you for who knows how long now?

Levi stops beside the table. “What did they say?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes. “Nothing usually means something.”

“It means nothing, actually.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

You look up at him and, for the first time, allow yourself to study him with the possibility of affection returned. He looks the same as always: tight mouth, sharp eyes, neat cravat, straight posture. But now you see the tiny tells beneath it. He doesn’t look at you directly for too long. His attention flicks to your tea, your food, your notes. His fingers twitch once at his side before he forces them to be still.

He’s nervous. Levi Ackerman is nervous.

You nearly break into a way-too-obvious smile, but thankfully, you manage to just tilt your head. “Captain,” you say, “are you worried about me?”

“No.”

“Well, that was a quick answer.”

“Because it was an easy question.”

“So you’re not worried about me.”

“No.”

“And if I skipped dinner?”

His eyes flick to your bowl. “You’re eating dinner.”

“But if I did.”

“Then you’d be an idiot.”

“You’d notice, though.”

Levi looks at you pointedly, and you smile. You see the visible tightening around his mouth and the subtle shift in his breathing. 

“Hard not to notice when someone is being an idiot in public,” he says.

You lean your chin into your hand. “You know, if you wanted my attention so badly, you could’ve just asked for it.”

You swear Levi stops breathing. You see the hitch in his breath. His face doesn’t change as much, but you see the subtle shift in his eyes, the catastrophic collapse happening behind them that he’s so desperately trying to hide.

She knows, Levi thinks, then with rising horror, She knows, and Hange told her. I’m going to kill them. “I have better things to do than ask for your attention,” he says, swallowing through the tightness in his throat.

“And yet, here you are,” you say, smiling widely.

Because he doesn’t know where else to look, he peers at your notes. “Your handwriting is messy again.”

“Deflection.”

“Mere observation.”

“You make a lot of those about me.”

“Someone has to.”

You laugh. Levi wishes he didn’t love that sound as much as he does.

You become an absolute menace after that. 

.

You don’t do it immediately—you’re too clever for that, and Levi is too slippery to corner. So, you start with small things, such as sitting beside him instead of across from him at the next briefing, which he notices immediately. He stiffens in response.

“Morning,” you say cheerfully.

He looks at the empty chairs around the table. “There are other seats.”

“I like this one.”

“It’s too close.”

“To what?”

“To me, idiot.”

You look at him innocently, batting your eyelashes. “Am I bothering you, Captain?”

Yes, Levi thinks, because you’re too close that he can clearly smell your divine scent, and because your sleeve brushes his when you reach for a report, and because he can see the little crumb that you must not have fully swept away on your mouth and wants to stupidly wipe it off.

“No,” he says.

“Good.”

Hange bites their knuckles across the table.

Later in the mess hall, you ask Levi to pass you a fork. The utensils are closer to you than to him. It doesn’t go over his head, but he reaches for it anyway, because he’s embarrassingly obedient to you. When he hands it over, you deliberately brush your fingers over his. Levi nearly drops the fork. He doesn’t, thankfully, but he manages to keep his hand steady, even though internally, he wants to run face-first into a wall. 

You lower your voice. “Careful, Captain. You seem distracted.”

He glares at you. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes.”

“That was also a very fast answer.”

“You ask stupid questions.”

“And you still answer them anyway.”

You catch his eyes flicking down to your mouth only once, only for the smallest amount of time, but you see it, and all traces of wanting to tease him escape your body.

For all your amusement, for all the fun of watching him unravel, you’re not immune to him. Levi’s awkwardness is adorable, yes, and his insults are ridiculous as they are normal, but you know how to decipher the way he shows you attention. He’s always fiercely contained. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to crack that composure just a little.

After dinner, he follows you in the always-empty corridor outside the mess hall, the one just around the corner. He positions himself in front of you, standing near a window where the moonlight cuts across his face.

“You’re doing this on purpose now,” he says.

You stop walking. “Doing what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not. I want to hear you say it.”

He clenches his jaw. There’s no one else in the corridor, so surely, he can say it with little repercussions, right? Levi looks at you, then shifts his gaze away.

“You’ve been acting strange,” he says.

“I’ve been acting strange?”

“Yes.”

“That’s interesting.”

“No, it’s just annoying.”

You step a little closer, but Levi doesn’t move. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” you ask softly.

“No.”

“No?”

“You’re not making me uncomfortable.”

“Then what am I making you?”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, he doesn’t seem to have an insult resting on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike. The silence stretches for a moment longer than necessary.

“Annoyed,” he says finally, crossing his arms.

“Ooh, that’s the answer you’re going with?”

“It’s the answer you’re getting.”

“Levi.”

His name again. You use it gently, and the effect it has on him is visible in the slight flare of his nostrils and his fingers flexing once against his sleeve.

“You can tell me to stop,” you say.

“I know.”

“And?”

“And I won’t.” Levi looks irritated by his own honesty, but he doesn’t retract. His gaze drops to your mouth, snaps back to your eyes, drops again before he can stop it, and this time both of you know. Both of you feel it. Both of you stop denying it. “I can’t think straight around you,” he says very quietly. The words seem to surprise him as much as they surprise you.

Your smile melds into a softer one. “Do you want me to back off?”

“No.”

You take another step closer. “Do you want me to keep teasing you?”

Levi looks genuinely pained when he says, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

You shrug. “A little.”

“Brat.”

You raise your hand slowly, giving him enough time to move away if he so wishes, and you touch the edge of his cravat, feeling the fold beneath your fingers. He tracks the movement with his eyes as if your hand is a blade.

“Do you want to kiss me, Levi?” you ask.

Levi’s heart drops straight through the floor. There are many things he can do under pressure. He can make impossible decisions with blood on his hands. He can move faster than fear. He can face death with a blank expression. But this—a direct question, so clear in its intent, asked in your soft voice while you stand close enough for him to count your eyelashes—destroys him completely.

But he’s tired of losing to himself.

“Yes,” he says.

“Then what’s stopping you?” you whisper.

He waits a second longer, just enough to make sure you don’t step back or retreat fully, just enough to give you the chance to change your mind. You don’t, so Levi kisses you.

At first, he’s too careful, his mouth pressed against yours with restraint. It feels like he’s holding back an army, one hand hovering near your waist before he places it there. You feel the tension coiled in him, the uncertainty buried inside him. Levi doesn’t kiss you with any sort of confidence. He’s scared. You can tell. So you help him. You step into him, sliding one hand to his shoulder and the other to the side of his face, and kiss him back hard enough that his breath leaves him in a startled exhale.

Then he changes. Some guarded place inside him finally lets down its walls as his hand grips your waist and his mouth moves against yours with deeper intention, having thought about this moment for longer than he’ll ever admit. Every insult and cup of tea has been leading him here, to this corridor, to this moment, to the relief of wanting you and discovering that you want him too.

And goddamit, do you want him.

When you part, you stay close, your noses brushing, his hand still at your waist, having forgotten to let go—and when he remembers, he still doesn’t pull away. He notices your smile first.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re totally blushing.”

“What? No I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Stop it.”

“Levi Ackerman is blushing from one kiss?”

“You and your fucking ego.”

You laugh, and he can’t help the small smile that creeps onto his lips. Then he’s pulled back to exactly how you even got to this point, and his almost-smile curdles into a scowl. 

“Don’t flirt with me in front of Hange again,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because they’ll never shut up about it.”

You tilt your head. “And?”

Levi looks down the corridor once, then turns back to you. “And because I’ll probably embarrass myself,” he almost mumbles.

“You didn’t embarrass yourself,” you say. He looks slightly skeptical. “Levi. I asked you if you wanted to kiss me and you said yes. That was actually very impressive.”

“Tch.”

“For you, I mean.”

He narrows his eyes. You just laugh and kiss his cheek once before walking away with glee in your steps, leaving behind a very miserable, blushing Levi.

.

The days after your kiss are strange, for lack of a better word. You and him don’t announce anything to anyone else, which Levi appreciates, because if Hange finds out, he’ll never know peace again. But privacy doesn’t mean mercy—you’re too evil for that. You’re gentle with him still, but you’re also you, and you’ve realized very quickly that Levi’s composure is a door with a faulty hinge.

You touch his hand in meetings. You call him Levi and sometimes Vi in passing and watch him stop as his face flushes red. You smile at him over your drinks and soup and bread in the mess hall. You tell him, after one long afternoon of reports, “You know, you’re almost sweet when you’re pretending not to be.”

He looks up from his paperwork and accidentally leaves a line of ink across the page. You stifle a laugh. He’s not going to be happy when he looks back down. 

“I’m not sweet,” he says.

“Almost sweet.”

“Still wrong.”

“You brought me tea yesterday unprompted.”

“I always do. And you looked dead.”

“Aw, you noticed?”

“Hard to miss.”

“Because I looked pretty?”

“Because you looked dead.”

“Pretty dead?”

He stares at you. You stare back. His mouth twitches first.

Another thing that fits into your long, exhausting days are the stolen kisses. A brief one in the narrow hall outside the records room. A longer, messier one in his office after you bring him corrected notes. One in the shadowed stairwell that ends with him muttering, “You’re going to get us caught,” even though he’s the one who pulls you back by your wrist when you start to leave.

Every kiss teaches you something. Levi likes to pretend he isn’t affected by you, but he’s always betrayed by his hands. They start almost formal, then grow bolder when you respond, fingers spreading along your waist, your back, the side of your neck. He doesn’t make much sound unless you surprise him, and once you realize that, you become silently determined to surprise him every chance you can get.

He learns too. He learns that you like when he says your name softly, in the low, rough voice he uses when he’s too flustered to hide behind composure. He learns that you laugh into kisses when he deepens it out of nowhere. He learns that if he cups your jaw and tilts your face toward his, your breath catches so beautifully that it makes his heart flip.

One night, after a late strategy review, after Erwin dismisses the squad leaders and Hange leaves with an extremely pointed and suggestive look, Levi mutters, “Walk into a Titan’s mouth,” under his breath as soon as the door shuts and returns to his office. You join him because Levi still has your patrol notes. It’s just an excuse—both of you know it.

Rain taps gently against the windows. Levi stands behind his desk with your papers in one hand while he scans the revised schedule. Meanwhile, you lean against the edge of a cabinet and try not to watch his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You changed the rotation,” he says.

“Mhm.”

“It’s better.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Was that praise I just heard?”

“Observation.”

“A positive one.”

“You’re making it weird.” 

He looks up, but there’s a different look to his eyes, something worn down by days of wanting you and stopping and wanting you again. You feel your body answer, a warm pull in your lower stomach, the ache that’s been building every time he kisses you longer than you expect. Levi sees your expression shift, and he grips his papers tighter. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to start trouble.”

You push away from the cabinet slowly. “Would you like me to stop?”

He hates that question with a passion. Every time you ask it, it matters. You give him enough space to refuse, to breathe, to get himself together, and it makes him want you more than any stupid flirtatious remark ever could.

“No,” he says.

You approach him slowly. Levi sets the papers down, aligning them with the edge of the desk, as he always does. When you reach him, you don’t smash your lips against his—even though you desperately want to. Instead, you touch his sleeve first, then his wrist, then the back of his hand where his fingers rest against the desk.

“Stop thinking so hard,” you say.

“It’s what I’m used to.”

“I know.”

His gaze drops to your mouth. “You make it worse.”

“Good worse or bad worse?”

“Depends on what you do next.”

You kiss him, and there’s nothing quick about it this time. Levi’s hand rises to cup your face almost instantly, gripping your jaw firmly. The little sound he makes when you press yourself up against him is so involuntary, it makes your pulse jump and heat spread through your limbs. You back him into the desk by accident or maybe not, and he reaches up to grab your waist with his other hand. The desk creaks behind him.

Levi breaks away first, breathing unevenly, forehead nearly touching yours. “Wait,” he says.

You freeze immediately. “Sorry.”

“No, not—” He exhales sharply, frustrated with himself, then looks away. “Not stop. Just wait.”

You nod, sliding your hands down to rest against his chest. “We can wait.”

“That’s—no, that’s not what I—I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

There’s no insult waiting on his tongue this time. Levi looks down at your hands against his shirt, at the simple intimacy of being touched without being grabbed or wanted without being cornered. He swallows. You watch the anxiety move through him, which might not be visible to anyone else, but it’s obvious to you now.

“I’m not…” He stops, then sighs. “I’m not inexperienced, but I’ve only done this once before. A… a long time ago. It wasn’t—” His mouth twists. “It was fine. But it wasn’t this.” Levi looks angry with himself for even saying it. “And now you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I—I don’t know. Like I’m—like you could break me.”

“I don’t think that. But you are nervous, aren’t you?” His silence answers for him. You lift one hand to his face, touching him with enough care that he nearly closes his eyes. “That’s okay.”

His laugh is barely a breath. “Doesn’t feel okay.”

“It is. I promise you.”

“I don’t want to be bad at this.”

You smile and brush your thumb along his cheek. “Levi, you’re not being graded.”

“That sounds like something you say before giving a bad grade.”

You laugh softly. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“I want you,” you say, and your directness makes him freeze. “I don’t want a perfect version of you who knows exactly what to say or do. I want you. Nervous you, awkward you. A you who insults me because you don’t know how to flirt—”

“I know how to flirt,” he frowns. “I told you that you looked better than you did yesterday.”

“That is the worst excuse for flirting I’ve ever heard, baby,” you whisper. His ears turn red, and you grin.

“Shut up,” he mutters.

You kiss him again. His hand comes to rest on your waist, your fingers slide beneath his jacket, and his breath hitches when you move closer. Levi’s anxiety doesn’t just disappear, but his nerves settle under your touch. With your comfort, he’s able to move through them instead of having them stop him. 

When you begin taking off his jacket, you pause, waiting. He nods once, so you continue, and the jacket falls from his shoulders. Levi catches it before it can hit the floor, and in a motion that stuns you, he turns, folds it once over the back of the chair, smooths the fabric out, then turns back to look at you.

You stare at him. He stares back. “What?” he says.

“Are you seriously folding your clothes right now?”

“I’m not leaving them on the floor like an animal.”

“Levi.”

“What?”

“We’re having a moment.”

“And I can have a moment and have basic standards too.”

You look at him for a second, then you start laughing, almost too loudly. It spills out of you before you can stop it. You don’t know what you expected, but you honestly shouldn’t be surprised that Levi Ackerman can be flushed, breathless, visibly aroused, and still be a clean freak.

“If you laugh at me right now, I’m leaving,” he mumbles.

“No, you’re not.”

“No… I’m not,” he says, irritated that he’s proven your point. 

You catch his face in both hands and kiss him before he can recover, and that completely breaks his restraint. He grips your waist as he turns you and presses you back against the desk, enough to make you gasp and make his breath shudder in response. You feel him tremble once, or maybe it’s just you, or maybe it’s both of you. When you slide your fingers into his hair, ruining his neat parting, he makes a low, strained sound against your mouth.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You tell me if—”

“Yes.”

He searches your face for any hesitation. “Don’t just say it because—”

“Levi,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his. “I promise. I’ll tell you. You tell me too.”

He swallows, then he nods. He folds his cravat next, because that’s also non-negotiable, and you bite your lip so hard to keep yourself from laughing that he points at you and says, “Don’t.” You help him with your own clothes and he tries not to stare too obviously until you step closer and guide his hands to you.

“You can touch me,” you say.

He flexes his fingers. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“I’m not trying to be an idiot.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“But I trust you.”

Levi pulls you into the adjoining room—his quarters, a space you’ve only seen in glimpses before. He leads you there with your hand in his, fingers laced tight. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, you both stare at each other. You feel your heartbeat in your throat as you both begin shedding the rest of what you’re wearing.

Levi pauses, his shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes flicking over you with that same mix of hunger and hesitation that’s been building for weeks. “Can I… undress you?” He sounds like he’s asking for permission to breathe.

You nod. “Yes.”

He exhales, the sound shaky, and steps closer. His hands rise to your shoulders first, sliding your shirt off. He follows the path of the fabric with his mouth, soft kisses pressed to the curve of your shoulder, then the side of your neck. His breath is warm.

Then you feel the faint tremble in his fingers as they roam lower, tracing the line of your ribs, the dip of your waist, mapping you without looking. He tugs at the rest of your clothes, peeling them away until you’re bare before him. His eyes are dark and wide with want. He can’t believe that you’re real, that you’re here, that you want him. The anxiety spikes again, making his hands shake just enough that you notice.

You reach up, covering one of his trembling hands with yours. You whisper against his ear, “It’s okay, Levi. Breathe. I’m right here with you.”

You see his shoulders loosen by a fraction. He presses a longer kiss to your neck, sucking gently at the skin until a bruise blooms. He then pulls back to finish undressing himself. You don’t pay attention to where the rest of his clothes end up, because by the time they’re off, he’s guiding you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight as he climbs over you.

He doesn’t hesitate when he shifts lower and settles between your thighs. Without warning, he dives in, mouth hot against you as his tongue strokes in a long, slow lick. It sends a jolt straight through your core. You jump, a gasp tearing from your throat. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through his locks and gripping tight. The sensation is overwhelming despite its lightness.

Levi pulls up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, then you see the panic overtake him. “I’m sorry, I should have asked first, I just—”

“Don’t stop,” you breathe out quickly, your grip on his hair easing but not releasing. “I was just surprised. It felt good—really good. Please, keep going.”

You see the relief wash over him. Something hungrier takes its place. He nods once, then lowers himself again. His tongue teases your clit in firm strokes, alternating pressure that makes your hips twitch upward. At the same time, one hand slides between your legs, fingers slicking through your folds before one presses inside, curling just right as he adds a second.

The combination is devastating—his mouth sucking and licking with growing confidence, fingers thrusting in a steady rhythm that gathers heat in your belly. Levi’s thoughts race. He wants you to feel good. He wants to make you fall apart—and it shows in the way he devours you. His tongue flicks faster over your sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers work deeper, scissoring gently to stretch you.

Your moans threaten to spill out too loud, so you grab the corner of the pillow and bite down hard, the fabric muffling the sounds as your back arches. Levi notices, glancing up with a small, breathless laugh. 

“Cute,” he says, the word soft and fond before he doubles his efforts. His tongue presses flat and broad, then flicks rapidly while his fingers pump in time. The wet sounds of it mix with your muffled gasps. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter, your thighs trembling around his head as he pushes you higher.

Your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Your body clenches around his fingers as you ride it out, hips rolling against his mouth. He doesn’t pull away, licking you through every pulse, drinking you in with appreciative sounds until the peak fades and you’re left panting. The pillow is still clutched in your teeth.

Only then does he ease back. He presses gentle kisses to your inner thighs before crawling up your body again. His lips find yours in a deep, lingering kiss. The taste of you is shared between you. He presses against you, hard and aching to feel you, but he’s content to just hold you close. 

He trails kisses from your jaw down to the middle of your throat. You feel the rapid beating of his heart against your chest, matching your own. When he pulls back slightly, his eyes are dark and wide, but you can see the flicker of anxiety within them—the hesitation that he's been dragging with him the moment you stepped into his quarters.

“I want to,” he says. His fingers trace your hipbones. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t—” He stops, clenching his jaw, searching for the right words that won’t make him sound as vulnerable as he feels inside. 

You reach up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You won’t hurt me,” you whisper. “We go slow. We stop if anything feels wrong. I trust you, Levi.”

The sound of his name seems to unlock something in him. He exhales shakily, nodding once, and shifts his hips to align with you. His length presses against your entrance. You feel the tremor that runs through his arms as he braces himself above you. He’s trying so hard to be controlled, to be careful—but you can see the strain in his shoulders and his breath hitching.

He pushes in slowly, and the stretch is intense. Your breath catches, back arching slightly as your body adjusts. He’s thicker than you anticipated, filling you almost overwhelmingly. Levi notices instantly and freezes, his eyes snapping to yours with panic.

“Are you—should I stop?” he gasps, already starting to pull out.

“No!” you manage to say, gripping his shoulders tight. You wait a moment, letting yourself relax around him. Then you let out a breathy laugh that’s half wonder and half sensation. “You’re just… you’re big. Really big.”

Levi scoffs, though the sound is strained and his face is flushed. “Stop exaggerating,” he mutters. He’s still holding himself perfectly still, afraid of causing you pain by moving.

“I’m not exaggerating,” you insist, squirming slightly beneath him, which makes him groan low in his throat. “I need a minute to adjust. You’re filling me up so much, Levi.”

The explicit confirmation completely breaks him. His face goes red—truly, deeply red, even coloring the tips of his ears—and he lets out a choked sound of embarrassment. He ducks his head down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, hiding from you. You feel the heat of his blush against your skin and his chest rising with mortified breaths.

You can’t help the small giggle that comes out. You thread your fingers through his hair, holding him close. “Hey,” you whisper. “It’s a good thing. I promise. Just… give me a second.”

He mumbles something unintelligible against your neck. His hands slide down to grip your waist. You feel the slight shaking of them. Even now, while he’s joined with you, he can’t shake his nerves. It’s almost endearing.

Once the initial burn eases into a pleasant ache, you wrap your legs around his hips and pull him deeper. “Okay,” you breathe. “Okay, move. Please.”

Levi lifts his head slowly. His expression is still flushed, eyes glassy with arousal. He searches your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none, he begins to move. His first thrusts are almost torturous in their gentleness. He rocks into you with shallow rolls of his hips, testing the rhythm and depth, watching your face carefully for any adverse reactions. 

“You feel,” he starts, then stops, letting out a sharp breath. “You feel too good. I can’t—”

“Then don’t hold back,” you tell him, dragging your nails down his back. “Let go, Levi. I can take it.”

The leash around his neck snaps. His pace quickens, thrusts deepening as he loses himself in the sensation of you wrapped around him. The bed shifts beneath you, the frame groaning as he moves faster and harder. The sound of your skin meeting grows louder in the quiet room. He’s still trying to maintain some control—you see it in the strain of his neck muscles. But it’s slipping, eroding with every clench of your body around him.

You look up at him, watching the first bead of sweat forming on his forehead. His hair has fallen into his eyes. He’s beautiful like this—undone and desperate. 

“Captain,” you whisper.

Levi’s eyes flash. He responds with a single, brutal thrust that drives the air from your lungs and causes you to throw your head back against the pillow. You cry out, hands flying to grip his biceps. Your nails dig in hard enough to leave marks. 

He doesn’t apologize. He leans down, kissing you as he continues to drive into you. His tongue sweeps through your mouth, devouring, and you meet him eagerly. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he increases his pace. The kiss becomes messy, teeth clicking, breaths mingling in gasps. He pistons his hips, each thrust rocking the bed against the wall.

You’re his. That’s the only thought in his mind now, primal, washing away the last of his nerves. You’re here and you’re his and you want this, want him. He can’t focus on the kiss anymore, can’t split his attention between the taste of your mouth and the heat gripping him so perfectly. He breaks away with a low sound, forehead dropping to rest against yours. His eyes squeeze shut. He surrenders completely to the need pounding through him.

His hips become relentless, a rhythm that has you gasping and clutching at him. You feel the tension coiling low in your belly again. The friction of him drags against your walls, building you toward another peak. The sounds coming from you are embarrassingly loud—moans and whines that seem to echo. You instinctively raise a hand to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the noise.

Levi’s hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist before you can hide your sounds. He pins your arm back against the pillow, then does the same with the other. He traps both wrists in one of his hands above your head. His eyes open, burning into yours.

“Don’t,” he growls, voice gravelly. “Don’t cover your mouth. I want to hear you. Need to hear you.” He ruts in particularly hard, angling his hips to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. “Louder,” he demands, practically begging. “Please, let me hear how good I’m making you feel. Let me—fuck—let me hear it.”

His words, the desperation in them, the way he’s holding you open and vulnerable while he pounds into you, has your toes curling and back arching off the bed. You let the sounds come freely, cries of his name breaking from your lips. He groans in response, a visceral sound of satisfaction. His free hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing in circling strokes.

“Levi—” you gasp, straining against his grip. “I’m close, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me,” he pants. His own rhythm falters slightly as his own peak barrels down on him. “Cum on my cock, let me feel you—”

The coil snaps. You cry out loudly as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. Your cunt clamps down on him so tightly he curses, a strained, filthy sound. He keeps thrusting through your climax, dragging out the bliss until his own control breaks.

With a final thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his body locking into place above you. You feel him pulse inside you, feel the heat of his release flooding you as he cums with a ragged groan. He collapses forward, but catches himself on one arm. The other releases your wrists to cradle your face instead. 

He kisses you messily as he empties himself into you, his hips giving small, involuntary jerks with each pulse of his orgasm. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down. He kisses you through the falling peak, his tongue languid against yours now. When he finally pulls back slightly, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed. The anxiety has been completely washed away and replaced by something sated.

“You okay?” he mutters, thumb stroking your cheekbone.

You laugh and press a kiss to his jaw. “Better than okay. You?”

He huffs out a sound that might be a laugh. He hides his face in your neck again. “Yeah,” he breathes against your skin. “Yeah. I’m good. We’re good.”

When he pulls back again, you see the color high on his cheeks again. He slowly withdraws and falls beside you. The room is dark except for the grey light from the window. Levi lies stiffly at first—as if sharing a bed with you is somehow more intimate than the sex. You almost laugh again, but then you see the uncertainty in his expression. 

You touch his bare chest, fingers stroking his skin. He looks at you. “You can relax,” you whisper.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re all tense like you’re on trial.”

His mouth twitches, so you move closer, resting your head on his shoulder. After a moment, his arm wraps around you, tentative for half a second before it relaxes, drawing you against him.

“There,” you say. “Wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

“Tch. You’re annoying.”

“You like me.”

He’s quiet for long enough that you think he’s either asleep or just ignoring you, but then his arm tightens around you.

“Yeah,” he says.

.

Morning arrives. You don’t know where you are at first. There’s a strange warmth at your back, light pouring through at an angle that you usually don’t see in your room, the faint smell of black tea and clean linen, and an arm resting around your waist. 

Then Levi shifts behind you, and everything comes rushing back to you so fast your only response is a small squeak. You remember the office, his confession, his stupid folded jacket, his mouth and hands, his body fitting against yours.

You turn carefully. Levi is awake, his hair slightly disheveled as his eyes fix on you, less guarded than usual. “Morning,” you whisper.

He stares at you for a few seconds, then, because he’s Levi and doesn’t know what else to say, he says, “You drool.”

You open your mouth in offense. “I do not.”

“You did.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“On my pillow.”

“You’re lying.”

“Badly, apparently, since you’re not convinced.”

You shove his shoulder lightly, but he grabs your wrist without the intent to stop you. He brushes his thumb over your inner wrist once. You look past him and notice his boots aligned near the wall, his pants half-folded on the chair beside it. Then, on the floor near the foot of the bed, you see his shirt. Wrinkled and abandoned and scandalously unfolded. Your eyes widen with joy. He follows your gaze, then freezes.

“Oh,” you say softly, “Captain.”

“No.”

“You left that on the floor.”

“Stop.”

“Like an animal.”

He groans and closes his eyes. You start laughing before you can help it, and he rolls onto his back with a long sigh. He knows it’s way too early in the morning for such nonsense. You know it too. Will you stop? Absolutely not.

“I—I was distracted,” he stammers.

“You? Distracted?”

“Don’t sound so happy about it.”

“I’m incredibly happy about it.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he mutters.

Levi realizes what he said at the exact same moment you do. He opens his eyes, but he doesn’t turn to look at you yet. He stares at the ceiling, wondering if it’s possible to just disappear off the face of the earth forever. You turn toward him slowly, your grin widening and softening at the same time.

“You love me?” you tease.

His face changes in increments: irritation, realization, horror, resignation. “No.”

“Really? You just said it though.”

“I’m tired.”

“So am I, and I’m talking just fine.”

“Fine. Then I was… vulnerable.”

“That’s even worse for you.”

“Shut up.”

You prop yourself up on one elbow, looking down at him while your heart beats hard. “You love me.”

Levi stares at the ceiling, hoping it’ll fall on him and crush him at this very moment. Then, with a sigh that sounds like it was dragged from the very bottom of his soul, he reaches for you and pulls you down against him, hiding his face near your neck where you can’t see the color in his cheeks.

“You’re making this weird,” he says.

“It is weird.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“It definitely does. You insulted me for months because you had a crush.”

“I brought you tea.”

“You called me sloppy.”

“You were sloppy.”

“You also fixed my cloak. What was that about?”

“It was crooked.”

“And you told me my paperwork was tolerable.”

“It was.”

“Marriage proposal,” you whisper.

He groans into your shoulder. You laugh, smiling into his hair. Levi doesn’t tell you to stop, and instead just holds you there, letting the morning continue in all its noise and duty, while the two of you exist in the aftermath of your surrender to each other.

Levi still has no idea what to do with romantic feelings. They’ll remain inconvenient for now. Messy and, quite frankly, a nightmare. But when you trace circles over his shoulder and whisper that he’s the sweetest man you know, when you laugh softly against his mouth after he tells you not to push your luck, when your hand finds his beneath the blanket and he squeezes without thinking, he decides that maybe being terrible at feeling doesn’t mean he can’t learn how to feel.

After all, if you’re the one teaching him, he might just survive it.

MASTERLIST ♡ JOIN THE TAGLIST ♡ AO3 ♡ WATTPAD ♡ KO-FI

tags: @saccharinefool @bunbun6casp @hoebuns @levkuna @strangeeaglepost @how-interesting-wow @d1leviglazer @y44washere4somereason @ddilfs4life @nickibunny23 @slaytherinthoughts @levishart @gloomyveil @levislolita @nerdskillz @angierb05 @elegantmakercoffee @444anya @miaszt @vmxz6 @daisyy-lev @naxymoon @caliope13 @wh0r3f0rchoso @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @starfallenlevi @altpsyche @tea-rae

divider by: angelciide

[pinkberryfox]

FAVE READ IN A LONGGGG TIME 💖💕

[sophiabvni]

Milf!Reader who gets baby fever easily and can’t help but think about “just one more” to love.

Milf!Reader who’s body has changed, her breasts larger, hips a little wider, and a curvier figure.

Milf!Reader who’s always thinking of fun baking ideas so her husband comes home from work to the kitchen a mess as he walks over with a smile to see the beautiful sweets his wife and kid(s) made.

Milf!Reader who’s always singing to her kid(s) to put them to sleep, her husband secretly watching from the kids room as she hums them a lullaby.

“Just one more huh..?”

“Come on, you can take it. Thought this was what you wanted?” His large hands pressed slightly against your lower back to keep your arch. You had a pillow in your grip, muffling some of your screams and whines as he relentlessly pounded you from behind. Fuck.

Is this because he overheard you on the phone saying you thought about another kid? Well if this was the result you would’ve said it to his face a lot sooner-

He pressed you down, your stomach now flat against the bed as he keeps a steady pace, his hands on both your sides as he leans down to your ear.

“Gonna take good care of you baby” His right hand comes to hold your hip, you could only respond in broken cries. No matter how many times you guys do it he always stretches you out and he loves it. “My pretty girl.”

He places a soft kiss to your cheek and then your forehead as he leans over you a little, he was over you so you couldn’t see the smirk plastered on his face at the sight of you melting under him like this.

“Just one more, yeah?”

|| Toji Fushiguro, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Kento Nanami, Choso Kamo, Levi Ackerman, Jean Kirstein, Eren Yeager, Armin Arlert, Hak, Lauxus Dreyar, Gray Fullbuster, Sting Eucliffe, Katsuki Bakugou, Izuku Midoriya, Eijiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Shota Aizawa, Hawks, Tsukauchi, Sanemi Shinazugawa, Obanai Iguro and any characters you think fit luv. ||

[pinkberryfox]

UGH THIS IS TOO GOOD

[claudialynq]

COWBOY TOJIII

Hello another toji art I promise next one is gojo or geto or maybe them both I don’t know yet!!

[rayeprettyass]

Ouuu SHITTTT

[pinkberryfox]

ARF ARF ARF

[ariesrin]

Alternatives to 'said'

When character is angry:

Snapped

Spat

Snarled

Hissed

Barked

...or sad:

Choked

Mumbled

Managed

Croaked

Murmured

...or if they're feeling nervous:

Stammered

Babbled

Rambled

Muttered

Squeaked

...and even when flirting:

Coaxed

Purred

Teased

Hummed

Crooned

[babymorte]

i know they say no one is coming to save you but why the fuck not

[aidashakur]

Wishing you a relaxed nervous system

[pinkberryfox]

Getting to Know You!

Thanks for the tag @amywritesthings !!! 💖

Origin of your username: My favorite color is pink, I love strawberries, and foxes are one of my favorite animals 🥹

I always order this food: BREAD. ANY KIND OF BREAD JUST BREAD. I GO TO A RESTAURANT, WHAT DO I WANT? BREAD. MAIN COURSE? FUCK THAT SHIT GIVE ME THE FREE BREAD 🥖 (But on a serious note, I usually go eat sushi or pasta with orange sauce 🥰)

Current overused emoji: I’ve noticed myself gravitating toward “😒” because I think it’s funny but my usuals are “🥹💖”

Current favorite show/movie/book/video-game:

Show: GLASS-HEART! It’s got amazinggg music and THE most romantic kiss EVER

Movie: Clueless 🥰 I love Queen Cher 💖💕

Book: The one I ALWAYS find myself rereading is the third book, “Jealousy”, from the Series “Strange Angels”. Christophe is soooo 🥵

Video-game: …Hello Kitty racers on Switch 😅

Song on Repeat:

It’s SUCH a summer song 😝

Last thing you REALLY got into: Ummm… I’m trying to learn skincare? My bestie is supposed to call me this Sunday to teach me how to use my new Medicube products 😅

Oddly specific thing that brings you joy:

He’s so squishy and kissable and makes me so maternal 😂

Phone wallpaper: Hello Kitty!!! 💖🙈

What smell makes you happy: I LOVE vanilla, but also sour watermelon smells sooo good!!! 🫠 It’s the scent of my bubble bath and my favorite lipgloss!

Morning, night, or other type?: I’m most definitely nocturnal haha, I get the most done at midnight!

What’s your work/profession?: I am a ✨NURSE!✨ 😝 Currently taking a break from work to recover from a heart condition and get my RN! 🥰

Tagging~

@humanitys-strongest-brat @littlerequiem

[peskyfirefly]

ur girlfriend/boyfriend should NOT be ur first priority... ur first priority should ALWAYS be me, ur tumblr mutual

[thememedaddy]

[thesirensense]

Your self respect has to be greater than your desire to be loved.