summary: between sleepless nights, bruised hands, and captain levi’s relentless attention, the line between self-preservation and self-destruction begins to blur. captain levi watches you like he’s waiting for you to make a mistake. the problem is that you can’t stop watching him back.
content warning(s): age difference, power imbalance, loss of innocence, mildly dubious consent, canon-typical violence, circa season 1 of aot, aged up recruits, slight eren yeager/reader, not so slowburn, eventual explicit sexual content.
chapter specific warnings: nothing :p things are looking up for levi and reader trust <3 also going off the headcanon that levi can't read or write that well bc of his childhood. if u don't like that i don't care
author's note: there is a bit of a timeskip between chapter eight and this one, skipped over most of season two because i said so! this is basically a little bit before season three, and i dragged out the timeline a couple weeks because wym season 1 and 2 are like 14 days??? LMAO. soooo yeah. don't @ me about the timeline i do what i want.
“. . . I don’t think you’re supposed to cook it that way.”
“What do you mean!” Connie protested, the wooden spoon in his hand flying around while he talked, hovering dangerously close to everyone’s faces. “You put the meat first so that it can cook up and then the vegetables and then the spices and —”
Jean looked at the pot and back to Connie deadpanned. “That’s not the meat.”
Connie looked down at the pot and had to try his hardest to suppress a smile after realizing Jean was right. “What? No! You’re mistaken —”
“That’s bread,” Jean said, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop himself from yelling. Letting Connie be in charge of dinner today was turning out to be the biggest mistake anyone had made in a long time. “Now we don’t have anything to dip in the soup, Connie.”
“Well if you really think about it, the bread has already conveniently been dipped in the soup! So less work for everyone. You’re just mad because you’re not seeing my vision.”
“There isn’t a vision,” Jean shot back. “The bread is literally dissolving.”
Sasha sat up onto the counter and leaned over the pot, her hand wafting the smell into her nose. “I don’t know . . .” she hummed. “It still smells pretty good.”
Jean stared at her with half disbelief and half exhaustion. “Of course you’d say that. You’d eat tree bark if someone seasoned it the way you like.”
You laughed from your seat near Eren, trying your best to stay focused through all the chaos by chopping up a peeled potato on the cutting board. Eren was taking his sweet time peeling the skin off of them, making you roll your eyes when you had to wait for more than ten seconds in the assembly line. “You’re terrible at this,” you whined, kicking him from underneath the table. “Stay focused.”
“I can’t when Jean won’t stop complaining,” Eren stated, earning an angry wave of Jean’s hand. “You should’ve asked to be in charge of dinner duty if you’re going to yell at Connie the whole time!”
While Jean and Eren got into yet another argument, you sighed and spent your time finishing the last of the potatoes given to you and pushing them towards Connie and Sasha to put into the broth. “At least someone is competent,” Sasha said with a smile, flinching when the droplets of the stew coated her hands as she plopped the potatoes in. “Maybe Captain Levi won’t want to kill us as much as he wanted to yesterday.”
The rest of the group laughed at Sasha’s joke, but you gave a simple smile and focused on cleaning the counter of potato skins, sweeping them into a pile in your hands. It had been nearly a month since Levi ended whatever it was the two of you had been, and hearing someone else say his name still felt unfamiliar. It wasn’t in the painful way it had been before, when you couldn’t even think about breathing in his direction before that talk with Mikasa in Stohess, but it was still uncomfortable.
You were wrapped up in helping Eren with his Titan experiments that sometimes there were entire afternoons where you didn’t think about what happened with Levi. You would argue with Jean over card games or stop Mikasa from working out too much after she got injured saving Eren from Reiner and Bertholdt, and your stoic Captain was the last thing on your mind.
But then someone would say his name, or you would hear his footsteps upstairs in his room late at night, and your heart would remember before your mind could catch up.
“ . . . You’re zoning out again,” Eren complained, nudging your shoulder with his elbow. “I’ve been handing you the potatoes for like, thirty seconds.” Oh so now he’s mad that you’re the one taking a long time?
You blinked down at the table and saw three peeled potatoes sitting in front of you untouched. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Jean repeated. “You were basically asleep with your eyes open.”
You reached and flicked a piece of potato skin at him, watching it bounce against his face and fall to the floor. Jean gasped dramatically and immediately picked it up from the floor, throwing it into the trash can. “You are an incredibly rude person. You should stop hanging out with Eren before he corrupts you further.”
“Too late,” Armin stated, looking up from the recipe book he was pretending to read. “She’s already in too deep.”
You glanced over at him. “You’re not helping!”
The afternoon light waned through the windows, exposing the pink and orange hues of dusk to the worn wooden floorboards beneath your boots. The safehouse was definitely old, possibly older than yourself, and the old walls, creaking stairs, and furniture had seen better days. But after almost a month, it was practically home. Cloaks were draped along the coat racks, there were notebooks and leather bound books from both Armin and Hange when they visited, and the fire was always going in the hearth to keep the place warm in the fall air.
Everyone knew that it was temporary. Soon enough you’d be sent somewhere else or given another expedition to remind you all that peace was never lasting inside the Survey Corps. For now, however, this safehouse was home.
A floorboard creaked overhead and all conversations softened by a fraction.
You kept your eyes on the cutting board in front of you, reaching for the last potato as though it was your lifeline. The footsteps crossed the floor over all of your heads and began to descend down the stairs.
No one spoke, not because they were afraid of him, but because it was a habit, an unconscious reminder of the chain of command that sometimes got muddled being in the forest for so long. Levi rounded the corner a second later, dressed in his usual dark slacks and white buttoned up shirt. His eyes swept over the kitchen and immediately landed on the mess that was considered ‘dinner’ by Connie.
“I see we’ve decided to eat slop tonight,” he said, face deadpanned. “I can’t say I’m excited.”
Connie’s head snapped toward him, neglecting to use the spoon as a pointer the way he did with the rest of the group. “It’s soup.”
“Well is the soup ready yet?” Levi asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the doorframe. “And I better not see any mess when you’re finished. I don’t care if you’re up until two in the morning cleaning this kitchen to perfection, I want it done.”
Connie’s shoulders sagged. “You say that every night, Captain.”
“Because every night this kitchen somehow ends up looking worse than when I found it,” Levi replied evenly, crossing his arms. “It’s disgusting. We prepare food here.” He quietly pushed himself away from the doorframe and crossed toward the kettle sitting over the stove, ignoring the way that Jean and Connie began to get into another argument. It was background noise.
You allowed your eyes to follow him for a small moment, appreciating the way the white shirt clung to his broad shoulders leaving nothing to the imagination. It was unfair how effortlessly put together he always looked, even late at night when he was exhausted from a long day of training Eren to shift over and over again until everyone was tired and hungry. Even after everything, your first thought was that he looked handsome, annoyingly so.
Before he could notice you looking, you lowered your gaze back to the cutting board.
Mikasa and Historia walked in with pieces of chopped firewood, both of them dropping the logs in their hands beside the stove. “We’re almost out again,” Historia said, her voice impossibly small underneath the arguments on the other side of the room. “We’ll have to cut down another tree tomorrow.”
You busied yourself with grabbing the bowls from where they sat near the bucket of water you’d used to clean them earlier. “We’ll do that in the morning,” you decided, handing her a bowl and a rag so she and Mikasa could wipe off the dirt on their hands.
Dinner was remarkably silent save for the sounds of spoons scraping against bowls and Connie’s sighs every time someone took a bite and didn’t compliment his cooking. Thankfully, it wasn’t that terrible. The bread was soggy, yes, but the vegetables were cooked through and the meat that you’d helped Mikasa hunt earlier today somehow survived the experimentation. Sasha was already on her third bowl and Eren was too busy scarfing down his food to say something annoying to Jean.
“What are we doing tomorrow?” Sasha asked, setting her bowl down from sipping at the broth. “More experiments?”
Eren sighed, a sound that gave way to how tired he was. “I don’t know if I can do much tomorrow,” he admitted, exhaustion in his gaze. “I feel like I’m letting you all down but this constant shifting is really getting to me.”
“If it was easy you wouldn’t have to practice, Eren ,” Levi said, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “We’ll go slow. I’ll tell Hange to ease up for a day. Don’t expect it all the time.”
Eren let out a laugh. “Understood, Captain.”
“You’ve already made a lot of progress,” Armin said, setting his spoon down. “A month ago you had trouble transforming twice in a day. Now you can do more than that without exhausting yourself too much.”
“Yeah, but it’s not anywhere close to them,” Eren said, emphasizing the problem that was Reiner and Bertholdt. There had been no information about where they were or what they were doing since their betrayal, and no one knew if they were still alive. Ymir had given them a pretty good chance of survival, but all of you had fled the field before the Pure Titans turned their attention back on all the Scouts on horseback.
“You’ll get there, you don’t have to catch up to them overnight,” Armin said eventually through the tension at the mention of old comrades.
Eren gave a hum.
“Besides,” Connie started. “They obviously had years to figure out how to do this stuff. You’ve had . . . well you haven’t had that long.”
“Doesn’t make it less frustrating,” Eren said while looking down at his bowl.
“No,” Levi agreed in a gruff tone. “It doesn’t.”
You were the last one asleep, which seemed to be a common theme for the past few weeks. You tried to make use of it though, offering to clean the kitchen and pick up the common area so your friends could get more rest. Everyone settled into their own chores as per Levi’s request, and you quickly fashioned yourself as the one who cleans so you had more time for yourself at night. Maybe it was because you slept better knowing there wasn’t another chore waiting for you in the morning.
Whatever the reason, you had taken over the kitchen after dinner, washing the bowls and wiping down the counters. The lantern over the sink casted a warm pool of light across the countertop while everything else was comfortably shaded. Your perfectly crafted peace was good for a good five extra minutes before you heard familiar footsteps approach the kitchen.
Just the person you didn’t want to see.
“I didn’t realize you were still here,” Levi said, standing an awkward few paces away from you. “They left you to clean up everything?”
You sighed, not turning to face him and focusing on washing the bowl in your hand. “I wanted them to.”
“I see.”
Silence settled again and for once in your life you were extremely grateful for it. You weren’t scared of Levi by any means, all of your past encounters made sure of that, but you would be lying if you said that you wanted to be around him alone more than you needed to. There was once a time where you relished in being alone with your Captain, but now? Now all you wanted to do was stop cleaning all together and go to your room and scream into your pillow.
You wished he left after that. Or maybe you didn’t. You weren’t sure anymore.
“You don’t have to do that all by yourself,” he said after a brief pause. “They’ll get used to it if you keep volunteering and then you’ll always be expected to do it.”
You shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
“I didn’t ask if you minded.”
It almost made you smile, almost. It was so painful ‘Levi’ of him to say something like that and for a fleeting moment, you forgot about all that happened between the two of you. “I’ll remember that for next time,” you answered, resuming your washing. You heard the kettle beside you begin to whistle softly and without looking at him, you reached for another bowl that wasn’t there.
“You already finished them,” he said, walking closer to grab the tea pot, his shoulder brushing yours. Such a small touch sent you reeling, making you clutch onto the side of the sink to ground yourself.
You sighed and finally turned to look at him, he was too focused on grabbing a cup to notice it. He looked tired, dark circles beneath his eyes that hadn’t disappeared in the weeks you’d all been cooped up in this safehouse, and there was still that stiffness in his upper body you weren’t sure could ever be relaxed. He shifted his weight, which told you that his ankle wasn’t completely healed. Of course, Levi hid it well. Most people wouldn’t have noticed.
You hated that you did.
“Your ankle,” you said, the words leaving your mouth before you had the chance to stop them. “Is it . . .” The question died in the air between you both.
Levi glanced over at you, hands stalling for a moment from where they fiddled with a tea bag. “It’s better.”
You couldn’t help but laugh a bit, shaking your head. “Riveting conversation as always.”
Levi stilled before doing the unimaginable — he laughed. It wasn’t loud and it almost didn’t deserve the description of a laugh, it was a single breath of amusement through his nose, the corner of his mouth pulling up for a fraction of a second. You stared at him, unsure of what to do now that at least a part of his walls had been chipped away again.
But then his past words echoed in your mind. A lapse in judgement. Perhaps that laugh was a lapse in judgement as well.
“Well,” you said, rubbing your hands on your pants and glancing over at the clock. “Goodnight, Captain.”
Right as you pushed the door open, Levi spoke again. “Wait.”
You paused in your movement, taking a breath before turning on your heel, bracing for whatever he needed to say to you. It couldn’t be worse than anything he’d already said to you, but you still felt the need to walk on eggshells regardless.
Levi had gone quiet, fingers resting around the porcelain cup where his eyes stayed fixed anywhere but you. He looked as though he forgot why he had stopped you in the first place. “Tomorrow,” he began, clearing his throat. “I need your help with writing some correspondence to Commander Erwin.”
Your eyes squinted. “Writing?”
Levi looked mildly inconvenienced. “Commander Erwin prefers detailed reports. You write well. You explain things clearly.”
Your heart betrayed you, it wasn’t even a romantic compliment by any means. It wasn’t personal and it didn’t speak to your character, yet you still felt impacted by it nonetheless. He hadn’t given you a genuine compliment since . . . before. “You want me to help write the report?”
He tapped a singular finger against the side of his steaming teacup, the aroma filling your nostrils. “I need someone to make sure it actually sounds like a report,” he explained. “And I’m not good at writing it that way.”
“Okay?” You said, slight apprehension in your tone.
“Are you going to help or not?” Levi asked, finally making eye contact with you.
You wrung your hands, letting the question land before giving an imperceptible nod and walking away before the conversation strayed elsewhere.
an: a repost from my old blog which I've edited/reworked to improve the reading experience. Please enjoy 💜
pairing: levi ackerman x female reader
warnings: nsfw, modern au, phone sex, mutual masturbation, soft levi, he talks you through it cause ofc he does, divider by @/cursed-carmine (wc: 2.4k)
It was perfectly infuriating; you couldn't quite get there and you had been at it for nearly an hour.
Y’know, that blooming ache which resides so deep in your gut that it can only be reached by those with the most skilful of fingers or… well, the less said about the other possibilities the better, especially when you missed your partner more and more with each day that passed.
The gnawing need for sweet release mocked you, dancing out of reach of your dainty digits and even the incessant buzz of your vibrator wasn’t enough to see you fall off the cliff edge of ecstasy.
Tension crowded the muscles in your abdomen and thighs, a continual pull behind your navel but always ebbing away at the last second. It was clear your mind was choosing to remind you of the absence of a certain someone and you cursed your brain for being so mean, so damned cruel.
Finally, you kicked the sheets that were wrapped around your knees from the way you had thrashed around in experimentation. Frustration bubbled in your chest, your head thumping wildly against the pillows until a plume of downy feathers puffed over your face.
It had only been a week–one miserable week–since he had left. In fact, he was due home tomorrow morning; finally, finally, finally!
A thought popped into your mind… perhaps he was already home? Glancing at the alarm clock on your bedside table, the neon numbers illuminated that it was nearly midnight.
Your hand wrapped around your phone, the screen waking from its slumber and you worried your bottom lip with the edge of your teeth. Even if he wasn’t quite home, would he be awake for a call? A familiar smirk cut through the shadows and worries in your mind’s eye, the very slow and knowing smile which could curl your toes at the mere sight of it.
With your heart hammering against your ribs, you ran the flat of your palm between your thighs to dig the heel into the bundle of nerves that needed him more than ever. It was enough for you to tap the call button, bringing the phone to your ear to listen to the agonising ring.
Long had you known that dating a military man would come with its fair share of sacrifices and this one was by far the worst. You hated when he was sent out on missions which took him away from you. Sometimes it was only a day or two but others could see him away for months at a time and that was hell on earth. The highs were euphoric but the lows were crushing. Thankfully there were far more highs than lows.
Your stomach flipped over with every ring, the buzz of anxiety teasing your needy anticipation into a frenzy. He might be asleep, might not see the call… so many possibilities.
“Can’t sleep, darling girl?”
Levi’s quiet drawl sent an immediate shiver down the length of your spine, a lowly moan passed your lips by way of response and there was a sudden hitch of breath on the other end.
It took you a moment to collect yourself and speak, all the while Levi waited with apparently endless patience… how unlike him. “I-I miss you, Levi.”
Quickly, you hit the speaker button and gently placed the phone on the pillow, right next to your head. There was a coil of embarrassment that followed, knowing that you’d become so desperate to get off that you couldn’t even wait the few hours until you were reunited with your lover. What must he think of you?
There was a beat of silence, you almost checked to see if he had hung up on you but finally, he spoke again and it was worth the wait to hear the heated curiosity in his usually unaffected tone.
“Hm, is that so? You could have text me to tell me that. Was it my voice you missed, or perhaps… could it be something else?”
Arousal pooled from the entrance of your slowly clenching cunt, hips forced down into the mattress whilst your fingers painted through the wetness. How badly you wished those fingers to be his, to feel how he would spread your sticky lips apart to draw lazy patterns atop your delicate pearl.
“Miss your hands. Mouth. I-I miss everything,” you admitted with a whimper that only elicited a faint chuckle. You didn’t miss the sound of rustling sheets, knowing that he was in bed but not knowing whether it was his own or where he had spent the last week on his mission.
As a higher-ranking captain, Levi had the luxury of his own one-bed apartment on the base and you were grateful for that fact. It had made things between the two of you much easier when you didn’t have to worry about being discovered in compromising situations by his comrades. Memories of the rare mornings you had spent wrapped in each other’s arms assailed you; whispered words of affection mingled with wandering hands which had given way to new discoveries and endless hours of bliss.
Whilst you were caught wandering down a hazy, rose-tinted memory lane, Levi was losing his mind.
He couldn’t get past the broken way you sounded as you told him everything you missed, the needy inflection which was apparent and unabashed on your part. It had barely been an hour since he had slung his pack into his room and flopped atop his bed, but here he was considering throwing on the nearest clean pair of sweats he could locate and running to your apartment.
Instead, he scrubbed a palm down his face and eyed the traitorous erection lifting the elastic of his underwear. Images of you flickered in his brain like a bad home movie and he settled on a still of you laying in bed, legs spread with your pretty little fingers stuffed inside the very heart of you. He stroked over his clothed bulge and hissed, that was his duty, not yours.
“And what would my hands be feeling if I were there right now, sweetheart? Tell me, are you wearing the cute little bunny pyjamas you begged me to buy for you?”
You bit your lip, teeth sinking deep into your plush skin and your toes curled into the sheets before you lifted your knees and rutted your backside against the mattress.
“Nuh-uh, just a white camisole–s’too hot,” you breathed, listening for his reaction and delighting in the strained groan that fell onto your ears.
“Oh, naughty girl, not even panties? Are you wet for me? Would my fingers come away sticky and clear-coated if I were to touch between your beautiful thighs?”
You followed his words as if they were instructions, imagining it was the pads of his fingers which brushed your glistening folds and smeared the sticky essence over the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.
“Yes. Oh, Levi–fuck–I’m drenched. Need you inside me.”
His head fell back on his pillow at your admission, taking out his leaking cock to languidly pump from base to tip as he listened to your words and wished to be with you. Levi didn’t want you to know how needy you were making him, he had a certain reputation to maintain and he couldn’t let you know so readily that he was just as close to whimpering as you were doing right this second. Besides, this was about you and he would get you off at any cost and worry about himself later.
“My poor sweetheart, I know you want me there to stretch you out like you deserve. Here’s what you’ll do instead…” he stated, watching as precum spilled from his angry slit and coated his shaft. “Have you got that little bullet vibrator you’re so fond of there?”
“Mhm.”
You weren’t sure you had ever heard him speak so lewdly before and it was possibly the most intoxicating experience to date. His voice was as low and commanding as it ever was but there was a desperate longing underlying which made you feel empowered despite being completely at his mercy.
Fuck, you were killing him.
“Okay, I want you to put it in your mouth and suck on it like it’s one of my fingers, yeah? You can do that for me, can’t you?”
Your fingers shook as you lifted the small bullet vibrator into your wet mouth, tongue swirling around it in earnest to please. The smooth surface was no decoy for Levi’s finger but you reminded yourself of the times he had forced his digits into your mouth to keep you quiet and it quieted the reality of the device between your lips. Those memories heated your blood until it was close to boiling over.
“Lift that little top, let me feel those beautiful breasts. Be gentle, baby, no pinching. I can tell you’re impatient but just relax into it,” he coaxed softly.
Dainty fingers massaged the swell of your breasts, thumbs rolling over your taut nipples again and again in the exact way Levi would if he were here, and that reminder brought a howl of frustration to your lips.
The tired captain massaged his aching balls in time with your muffled ministrations on your breasts, every one of your shaky inhales tightened his stomach and drew his sack higher until it was near unbearable.
“That’s it, doing so good. I think it’s more than time to work that bullet on your sweet little button, I bet it’s so needy right now. Press it softly on your bud, darling, let the delicious pressure and vibrations build for me.”
“Levi!” You wailed in a pitiful display of your current state. “Shit–s’good, but it’s not enough. I… I need more!” You cried your frustration, and he could practically taste the salt of your tears on his tongue.
He fisted his throbbing cock, pumping so fast and tightly that it neared pain. The angry purple tip stared back at him and he knew that the only way to be truly satiated would be to find release with you, not alone as he was.
“Oh, baby, I know. How many fingers do you think you can take, hm? Two?”
Your every nerve ending was on fire. You were a struck match that was quickly burning down to nothing but ash and soot. Your soaked fingers reached for your entrance, the walls fluttered as you breached inside on a high keen.
Levi panted along with you and you knew that he was fucking his fist, that he wasn’t as unaffected as he tried to portray and you smiled at knowing you were the sole reason he was losing his composure.
Your two fingers twisted, flexing into your cunt and stretched the velvet walls apart, all whilst you slowly applied more pressure to your clit. The tension was there once more, similar to how it had felt earlier but there was hope this time. It was the same but it was different, your unfocused brain trying to decipher what was the change when you already knew it was him. Even miles apart, Levi could bring you the much-needed release when you couldn’t.
Where was his mettle? His courage and valour? All of it was AWOL as he admitted silently that you sounded fucking hot, so completely vulnerable with the eagerness to come. Moaning long and loud, chants of his name falling from your lips all whilst he continued to fuck his fist and tried to pretend it was your tight cunt.
“That’s it, lemme hear you.”
Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, the sound of his slick hand pumping up and down his thick cock heightened your imagination and allowed you to believe he really was here with you.
“Fuck–you’re gripping me so well,” he whined, feeding your painted delusions with a shudder evident in his voice. “Nearly there. Now crook those fingers, call me over with those fingers and lemme hear you fall apart.”
You exploded like a firework, sparks crackled behind your eyes the second you connected with your front wall and the mass of sensitive tissue engorged from your actions. The combination of the vibrator on your clit, your fingers stroking just right and the imagery that Levi fed you, was more than enough for your orgasm to finally–finally–hit.
Fat tears rolled down your cheeks as your body curled in on itself. You listened mournfully to the grunt on the other end of the phone and wished desperately that he was here so you could see his release if only to admire his features twisted into bliss before smoothing out into relaxation.
Levi was a mess; hot sticky seed had erupted from his cock like a force of nature. It covered his still-tight fist, splashed on his thighs and splattered his quivering abdomen. His muscles contracted from the severity of his orgasm, and he couldn’t clamp down on his reaction–how embarrassing. Amazing, but embarrassing all the same.
“Oh gods, sweetheart. That was–that was amazing.”
You sniffled in response, feeling a little overwhelmed in the aftermath of your orgasm. Mostly from the relief of finally getting there, but also because you were sad that your boyfriend wasn’t here to cuddle you close and sweet talk you through the overwhelming sensations.
The line suddenly disconnected with a quick beep beep, and you grabbed the phone even though your fingers were still smeared in your essence.
A text popped up while you stared at the screen, a soft smile spreading over your face and you rolled over and pressed your now beaming face into the pillows.
☆ Day 6 of Levi Month 26 | Boss/Secretary | Event by @levievent
☆ Summary: You thought staying late with Levi meant paperwork, contracts, and one more long night at the office. Levi, apparently, has a very different definition of overtime.
☆ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader
☆ Genre/Tags: Modern AU, Office AU, Boss/Employee Relationship, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, HR Would Like A Word, Smut
☆ Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, power imbalance, fingering, semi-public sex, risky sex, light dom/sub, sex during phone call
☆ Word Count: 2.0k
☆ Check out the other days!
☆ AO3 Link
☆ a/n: thank you to my beta reader @slaytherinthoughts! don’t ask for a part two or I will make Levi say “it’s giving.” don't even ask for one jokingly, or I'll block you.
The office always feels different after everyone leaves. It’s empty, it’s dark, and it’s eerily silent. Every chair is tucked in, every conference room has their lights off, and every door is locked. The only light in the room comes from Levi’s desk lamp and the city beyond the windows.
You’re supposed to be helping him sort incident summaries and revised contracts, but you’re simply watching him instead as he sits behind his desk. His tie is loosened slightly, his hair falling toward his eyes as he reviews the top page in a stack of reports. Even now, when no one is left to witness it, he’s intense to a point of fault. He looks untouchable like this. To everyone else, he is. Except you.
He knows you’re staring. It’s hard not to notice. But he refuses to reward you for it too quickly, because holding himself back from impulse is one of the ways he’s survived the world. Making you wait has become one of his guilty pleasures.
You rise from the chair opposite of him and move around the desk, your heels whispering against the carpet instead of clicking. Levi’s eyes remain on the paper in his hand, but the corner of his mouth tenses when you stop beside him. That tiny reaction is enough to make your stomach dip.
You perch on the edge of his desk, close to his paperwork, close to him, your skirt riding a little higher along your thighs as you cross one ankle over the other. Levi doesn’t look up, and instead reaches past you and slides a stack of documents away from your hip before you can rest your hand on it.
“Watch it. Took me an hour to arrange those reports,” he says.
You smile slightly. The feeling that’s been festering since he first locked the door unfurls. “I’m glad your priorities are in order.”
He stops moving his pen. You breathe in sharply, anticipating any sudden movement. Your breath stops for a moment, thighs pressing together, heart lifting into your throat. Levi finally turns his head. The look he gives you is not exactly indulgent, but the look of a man who’s spent the entire day pretending his secretary is just his secretary.
“You’re being exceptionally difficult tonight,” he says.
“Well, you’re the one who kept me late.”
“And you agreed to stay.”
“You asked in front of three department heads. I had to be professional.”
He actually scoffs at that. At the word professional, you assume. Then, without a word, he grabs your wrist and pulls you toward him, turning you around. A soft gasp leaves you before you can smother it. Levi draws you into his lap, your skirt sliding higher as your back lands against his chest. He exhales through his nose, a small, annoyed sound. One arm locks around your waist, forearm pressing across your middle, holding you in place while he reaches for the report again as though nothing has changed.
“Levi,” you breathe.
“Mm.” His chin dips near your shoulder, eyes already moving down the page. “Don’t start complaining about my attention now that you’ve got it.”
Heat spreads from your face down through your chest. You won’t melt just from his voice. But Levi has always been able to be cruel with little words. He signs the first contract one-handed, his pen moving cleanly across the page, while his other hand rests on your thigh. He reads. He signs. He turns a page.
His palm begins to move. He slowly slides his hand upward beneath the hem of your skirt, fingertips skimming over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your breathing falters. He stays focused on the report, but he shifts his hand from your thigh and tightens his arm around your waist when you shift against his lap.
Don’t react, you think, but the thought falls apart when his fingers reach your damp heat through your underwear and press. Your head tips back against his shoulder. The sound you make is small and barely there, but Levi hears it as clearly as if you had cried out.
“Don’t squirm,” he says. His fingers rub over the fabric in a slow circle, just enough pressure to make your hands curl around the arms of the chair. You feel the evidence of his arousal beneath you. Levi wants you. He can bury it beneath blank expressions, policies, and reprimands, but the hardness pressing up under you tells the truth.
His phone vibrates against the desk. You tense, but Levi doesn’t move his hand away. He sets his pen down and reaches for the phone, briefly looks at the caller ID, and taps to answer.
“Ackerman.”
The voice on the other end is faint but urgent, a client speaking too quickly about revised terms. Levi narrows his eyes, his hand sliding from your clothed center back to your thigh in a brief reprieve. Then his fingers return, firmer this time. Your lips part. A trembling inhale catches in your throat as he strokes you through the soaked barrier.
“No,” Levi says into the phone. “The liability clause stays as written. If they want our team on-site by Friday, they need to sign the amended version tonight.”
His fingertips press harder on the last word, and your leg twitches. The sound that escapes you is barely more than a broken breath, a soft “ah” that you immediately try to swallow. Levi turns his mouth away from the phone, his lips grazing your ear as his voice drops.
“Quiet.”
You bite your lower lip, eyes fluttering as humiliation and arousal twist together. You can’t tell which one burns you more. Levi returns to the call without missing a beat.
“Send it to my secretary. She’ll process it before morning.”
A wicked little flutter of bliss runs through you at the title, secretary, so ordinary in his mouth and yet filthy with his hand tucked beneath your skirt. The call ends with a curt farewell, and he sets the phone down screen-up on the desk. His hand rests between your thighs while your pulse pounds hard.
You turn your head toward him, seeking his jaw, his mouth, any part of him you can reach from this angle. Your lips brush near his ear, then you press a kiss against his jaw. You lift your hand, slipping it into his hair, threading through the black strands you’re never allowed to touch in public. He grabs your wrist and pins your hand against your own stomach, trapping it beneath his palm as his mouth curved in the smallest, most dangerous smile.
“Cute attempt,” he says.
You turn enough to look at him, your face close to his. “Did it work?”
His eyes lower to your mouth. For one second, you think he might kiss you. He doesn’t, though. “Almost.” Levi shifts beneath you, reaching around your body to pick up another report. He places it in your hands, his lips brushing your temple. “Read.”
You stare at the document. “You’re joking.”
“I rarely waste time on jokes.”
“You want me to read this now?”
“I want you to do your job.” His fingers slide along the inside of your thigh again, higher than before. “Properly.”
You grip the report harder as his fingers hook beneath the edge of your underwear and drag the fabric aside. The first touch of his bare fingertips against you makes your entire body twitch.
Levi’s mouth hovers near your ear. “Start from the second paragraph.”
Your eyes drop to the text, the letters swimming for a moment before you force them back together. “Following the preliminary site assessment, the assigned response team recommends—” Your voice breaks when one of his fingers slowly sinks into you. Your body takes him easily, making shame flare in your cheeks. “Recommends additional personnel stationed at—ah—at the west service entrance during all public-facing events.”
“Again,” he says.
“What?”
“You stumbled.”
You feel his heart beating against your back. His finger curls inside you, finding the place that makes your thighs tense and your spine arch against his chest.
“Read it properly,” he says.
Your voice shakes as you repeat the line, struggling to keep each word intact as he adds a second finger and works you open. The room blurs for a moment, shrinking down to the report in your hands and Levi’s breath near your ear. His fingers keep dragging pleasure higher without letting it spill over.
He makes you continue through another paragraph. Then another. Every time your voice wavers, he slows down. Every time you force yourself to speak clearly, his thumb rewards you with a circling pressure over your clit that makes the words come out weaker. Your thoughts fracture: don’t be loud. Don’t drop the paper. Don’t let him know how close you are. But he already knows. God, he always knows.
The phone vibrates again. You freeze. Levi glances at the screen. “Board member,” he says in an irritated tone.
“Don’t answer,” you whisper.
He accepts the call. “Mr. Smith,” Levi says, completely composed despite the fact that his fingers are still buried inside you. “I reviewed the updated risk assessment.”
You press your lips together so hard it hurts. Levi leans back in the chair, forcing you to recline more against him. His hand resumes, deeper this time, enough to make your eyes shut. The board member’s voice drones through the speaker, talking about budgets and staffing concerns while Levi gives short responses.
“Yes.” His fingers curl. “No, that estimate doesn’t include armored transport.” His thumb circles your clit slowly. “We can ask Hange if it’s that important.”
Your body starts to tremble. Levi feels it. His hand stops inside you for half a second, just taking in the moment as it stands. You’re close, and he knows it, the smug bastard. You try to breathe silently through your nose. It barely works. Pleasure gathers in your gut, your vision beginning to haze. Your hand flies to his wrist without meaning to stop him, only needing something to hold onto. He lets you cling to him.
A tiny stangled sound slips past your lips. Levi gives you a pointed look before speaking into his phone. “I’m going to have to call you back tomorrow. Have a good night.”
He ends the call before the board member can. He drops the phone onto his desk with a loud thud. Then he turns his attention directly to you.
“Now,” he says into your ear, and his thumb presses harder, circling fast while his fingers thrust into you with the speed he’s been denying you for what feels like an hour. “Where were we?”
You whimper as the orgasm breaks through you in a hot wave. Your head falls back against his shoulder. You bite down on a moan that still comes out in a trembling “ahh—Levi—” while your thighs clamp around his hand. Your hips rock despite his earlier warning. He holds you through it, his once free arm now hooked around your waist. His mouth is close to your temple, listening to every fractured sound you fail to bury.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispers.
The words undo you even further. The last tremors fade, and you slump against him with your eyes half-closed, breath uneven, and skin flushed. The office returns in pieces. You see the amber light of the lamp first, then the papers, then you look down and see Levi’s hand in between your legs. He withdraws his hand slowly, and you shiver at the loss.
In one smooth motion, he pushes the chair back and rises, taking you with him long enough to turn you toward the desk. Your hands land against the surface, scattering a few papers as he bends you over it. The wood presses through your shirt; your skirt rides high over your hips. Your breath catches all over again when you peek back.
Levi stands behind you, dark-eyed and flushed in the subtlest way, one hand working open the buckle of his belt. His mouth is curved at one corner.
Can i request a Levi x Reader smut fic with Reader riding and bouncing on Levi's dick while wearing a bunny ears and lingerie
basically them fucking like rabbits :P
Bounce
Levi x fem reader
1k
Modern AU - outfit - toys - dirty talk - smut
You dress as a bunny and bounce on Levi.
Your hips shifted slightly; a deep, rumbling grunt escaped your lover. Your soft hands slipped under the crisp, smart shirt of the man before you, exploring the hot, soft dips and curves of his muscles. Every touch set his body alight with desire. Soft pecks of love from your lips covered Levi’s neck and jawline.
Levi’s calloused hands latched onto your warm breasts, his elegant, long fingers massaging them as if he were a baker kneading precious dough. Now and then, his thumb would brush your peeking nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure down to your core.
He released one breast before reaching up and tugging on your ear, causing a cute whimper to escape your adorable lips. “My cute bunny,” he purred. “Look at you.” His hand dragged down to your neck to lightly grip it. “So desperate and willing to bounce for her lover.” His thumb ran over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. A deep purr vibrated in his chest. “Good little bunny.”
Being touched and spoken to like a goddess, like you were a precious bunny, made your soul burn. Filled with confidence, you tangled your fingers in his hair and began moving up and down on Levi. Feeling his thick, long cock sliding almost all the way out of you before plunging back in was electrifying. Your hips involuntarily bucked, shoving your breasts in Levi’s face.
Levi firmly gripped your plump buttocks and began moving you up and down as he bit, licked and sucked at your chest. Feeling your hot, wet pussy wrapped around him, clenching him tightly as pleasure throbbing inside you, it made him purr in delight.
You squeaked as Levi flicked your bunny tail. “Le-Levi.”
He playfully tugged on it, making you moan. “This little tail…” his sharp gaze studied you. “Is it inside you?”
You tried to hide your face. “Shh.”
“Panties with a hole, a tail inside you, and cutouts for your nipples.” He spanked your behind. “You spoil me, little rabbit.”
You gripped his broad, muscular shoulders and began bouncing a little faster on him. Feeling his cock sliding inside you along with the plug of the tail, the two pressing together was driving your body insane. You were close to losing it, exploding with pleasure and not knowing what to do. The way Levi fitted your body was as if he was sculpted by a god.
Squelching and slapping filled the room. The plush bed below you shifted and moved to accommodate your bouncing. Now and then, Levi’s hot, wet tongue would find its way to your breasts, as if he was a moon attaching to his planet. Soft presses and movements of your tail by his hand made your body burn with pleasure.
Each movement by you, you thought you were going to break, but Levi stayed strong. It seemed like everything you did only made him stronger and hornier. There was no sign of him cumming anytime soon; you were going to break first, and he was going to make sure you were going to break over and over until you couldn’t think. It seemed that this bunny costume and tail only served his animalistic desires for you.
As your leg slipped a little, Levi caught you. “Tch, oi bunny,” his voice was hoarse and deep, laced with pleasure. “Don’t give up now. You’re so close to cumming.” He reached down and played with your throbbing clit. “Let me help.”
Feeling his dedicated and delicate touch just sent an explosion inside you. Stars began to flicker in the corner of your gaze, your hearing fading, and the sound of your panting and heart all-consuming. This was it, the moment where you would lose it and Levi would remain unfazed and starved for more.
With a flick of your head back, you cried out to the room as if you were seeing a vision from a god. Your orgasm tore through you like a breast ripping through a home trying to find its prize. Levi’s strong hands gripped your hips and kept you moving as your legs failed you. His piercing silver gaze studied you, as if you were an ethereal being giving him his salvation.
“Levi.” You cried. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.”
“Good bunny.” His voice was like a loving purr. “You enjoy that.”
You whined as you cupped Levi’s face, your legs shaking as the last bits of pleasure moved through you with each heartbeat. “You didn’t cum. This whole thing was supposed to get you to cum.”
Levi hugged you closer. “Forgive me, my darling bunny. You’ve treated me to such a delight that I don’t want it to stop.”
You dragged his cock from you before turning back to Levi. “Mean.” You looked over your shoulder at him. “How are you not losing your mind?”
He leaned closer and caressed your tail, causing it to move and pleasure to spark inside you. “Darling bunny.” He moved closer, his cock twitching and glistening in your arousal. “You think I’m done?” He played with your tail, making you shiver in delight. “A bunny still needs to bounce. Bend over for me.”
You leaned forward and presented your behind to him. “Levi.”
He tugged on your ears a little. “If only these were real, I’d love to tug on them.” His cock plunged deep into your aching pussy, filling you and stretching you wide. “Bounce with me, little bunny.”
You mewled a little at the position; you were meant to be in control, and yet you were now putty in his hands. As commanded, you bounced back on his cock, feeling his thighs hit your bum and his body smack your tail. All you could do was grip the bed and cry out as the slapping filled the room once more and your pleasure burned you again.
Levi held your hips, guiding you and moving you. The way you moved, the way your back arched so beautifully, was divine. The two of you kept moving together, chasing your pleasure and your bliss. Your walls massaged his cock so beautifully, and at this angle, he could feel the little tail in you. All the pleasure was intense and addictive.
You looked back at Levi as you panted. “Levi. Mm, does it feel good?”
“It’s incredible. You’re incredible.” His hand collided with your behind, causing you to cry out. “I want you to be a good little bunny for me all night long.”
☆ Day 3+5 of Levi Month 26 | Captain/Civilian + Strength Kink | Event by @levievent
☆ Summary: Trost knows Levi Ackerman as humanity’s strongest soldier. You know him as the difficult customer who repairs your cabinets, drinks your tea, and keeps finding reasons to return after closing.
☆ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader
☆ Genre/Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Civilian Reader, Shopkeeper Reader, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Sexual Tension, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Fluff, Smut
☆ Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, first time, virgin reader, fingering, strength kink, captain kink, standing sex, unprotected piv, creampie
☆ Word Count: 11.5k
☆ Check out the other days!
☆ AO3 Link
☆ a/n: thank you to my beta reader @slaytherinthoughts! please don’t ask for a part two or I will delete the letter L from my keyboard. If you ask for a part two, even jokingly, I will block you.
[ I could not find the original artist. If anyone knows who the OC is, please tell me so I can credit them properly! ]
The afternoon crowd flows into your shop. Somewhere beyond the open windows, wagon wheels clatter over Trost’s cobblestones while merchants shout over one another in the market square. Unfortunately for you, all you hear inside is a woman demanding to know why lamp oil costs more than it did last month and a child ratting a tin of nails despite his mother’s repeated warnings.
“You’re welcome to argue with the merchant who supplies it,” you tell the woman, sliding her purchase across the counter. “Though I should warn you, he’s louder than you are.”
She leaves muttering beneath her breath. You barely have time to breathe before the bell above the door rings again. Every conversation falters, then sinks into small murmurs as multiple customers glance toward the entrance and quickly pretend they haven’t. A man near the shelves steps aside, clutching his basket to his chest.
Captain Levi Ackerman stands just inside the doorway. You recognize him immediately. Everyone in Trost would. His height is less imposing than the stories suggest, but nothing else about him is small. He surveys the crowded shop with a flick of his eyes before they land on you. You straighten your spine without realizing it.
Don’t stare. He’s a customer. A very famous customer, perhaps, but still a customer.
Levi approaches the counter and places a folded sheet of paper in front of you. “Need these.”
His handwriting is immaculate, each item listed with perfect alignment and the quantities written beside it: cleaning cloths, hard soap, lamp oil, leather wax, replacement buckles, stitching needles, and two tins of black tea. You’re not surprised humanity’s strongest soldier has perfect handwriting.
“I’ll get it,” you say.
Levi doesn’t just wait while you work—he inspects everything. He holds one cloth up toward the light, rubbing the fabric between his fingers before setting it down. He tests the buckles and opens one of the lamp-oil bottles to smell it.
“That batch burns clean,” you tell him. “Less smoke than the cheaper kind.”
“How long?”
“Forty hours, assuming the wick is trimmed properly.” Apparently satisfied, he adds the bottle to the growing order. You half-smile. Most people find your explanations irritating. Levi listens to every one. “You’re particular,” you observe as you place the tea tins beside the soap.
“I don’t like buying useless shit,” he says.
“Most customers simply grab whatever is cheapest and complain later when it falls apart.”
“Most people are idiots.”
The answer comes so flatly it pulls a surprised laugh out of you. A few nearby customers peek at you from the corner of their eyes. Levi narrows his eyes slightly, unable to tell if you’re laughing with him or at him.
“Can’t argue with that,” you say.
The final box of replacement straps is trapped on a lower shelf behind a wooden shipping crate delivered that morning. You step around the counter and crouch, planting both hands against its side. The crate doesn’t budge. You push harder, shoes sliding across the floor slightly. Your cheeks burn as you adjust your grip and try again, horrifically aware of the fact that Levi is watching this entire thing.
“Move,” he says.
You turn your head, irritation flaring. “I’m trying to.”
“Not the crate. You.”
You lift yourself with a scowl and step aside, prepared to tell him that the crate is packed with metal tools and will take two people to lift. After all, it took two people when the supply company brought it in the morning. Levi crouches before you can speak. He slides his fingers under the edge of the crate, and then he lifts it. There’s no grunt or even visible tremor of effort. The muscles in his forearms flex beneath his pale skin as he carries the crate a few feet away and lowers it beside the wall without struggle.
You forget entirely about the straps. You’re too busy looking at his hands, then the line of his forearms before common sense finally returns to you and you look away. When Levi straightens, his eyes are already on you. He says nothing. One eyebrow raises before he steps aside, leaving you to retrieve the straps with your face burning.
.
Levi returns fourteen days later. This time, he arrives with two Survey Corps soldiers and a wagon waiting outside. Levi checks the contents on his list while you direct the soldiers toward the stacked crates at the back of the shop.
“Those bottles stay upright,” Levi tells one soldier without looking up. “Unless you want to spend the trip back smelling like lamp oil.”
The soldier immediately rights the crate. You hide your smile behind the ledger.
It becomes a pattern after that. Sometimes Levi arrives with a wagon and several exhausted-looking subordinates. Other times he comes alone, slipping into the shop quietly between the larger groups of customers, waiting near the counter with an order folded neatly inside his jacket pocket.
At first, his visits remain strictly practical. He asks for supplies. You collect them. He inspects them. You exchange money and brief, dry remarks before he leaves. Then, without either of you consciously agreeing to it, the space between those steps starts to fill.
You learn that he dislikes tea blended with dried fruit, considers floral varieties “perfumed water,” and will tolerate nothing weaker than a black tea brewed long enough to become almost bitter. When a merchant from the interior sends you a small shipment of unusually fine leaves, you place two tins beneath the counter before displaying the rest. It makes sense to save them for him—he buys consistently, pays promptly, and never wastes your time haggling over prices.
Still, when he enters a few days later and you give him the hidden tins, the subtle surprise in his eyes feels far more rewarding than it should.
“You kept these aside?” he asks.
“They would’ve sold otherwise,” you say vaguely. He squints his eyes at you, but you busy yourself wrapping the tins in brown paper. “Don’t look too happy. You’re paying full price.”
.
The next month, Levi notices the lower door of the cabinet behind your counter hanging crookedly from one hinge. You’ve already kicked it shut three times that afternoon and intend to repair it eventually, which is what you tell him when he crouches to inspect it.
“You’ve been saying ‘eventually’ since I walked in,” he remarks.
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been kicking it.”
“It closes, doesn’t it?”
“Barely.”
Before you can object, Levi removes a small screwdriver from one of the maintenance kits he’s just purchased, tightens the hinge, adjusts the pin, and opens and closes the door twice to test it. The repair takes less than a minute. You lean against the counter, watching him put the screwdriver back in its case.
“Do you charge for unsolicited maintenance?” you tease.
“You couldn’t afford me,” Levi says dryly.
“Oh ho, arrogant, aren’t we?”
The cabinet never breaks again.
.
Many months and many visits later, you notice the torn edge of one of his canvas supply bags. The seam has split near the strap, likely from carrying too much weight, though when you mention it, Levi looks down at it with a blank expression.
“Leave it,” you say, holding out your hand.
“I need it.”
“You’ll have it back before the order is ready.”
He narrows his eyes. “You sew?”
“I run a supply shop. Things tear.”
He reluctantly passes it over. You mend the seam with a thick thread while he inspects a shipment of buckles, reinforcing the corner so it’ll withstand more abuse than the original stitching. When you return the bag, Levi tests the repair with a pull.
“You don’t have to look so suspicious,” you tell him. “I didn’t lace it with poison."
“Wouldn’t be surprised.”
He brings the bag back on his next visit so clean that it looks newly purchased.
.
By the beginning of summer, you’ve started offering him tea whenever his orders require more than a few minutes to prepare.
The first time, he remains standing at the counter, one hand holding the cup by the rim while he reads through an invoice. The second time, he accepts the narrow stool you drag out from beneath the back table. By the fourth or fifth, he sits without being offered, watching you work silently.
Customers still recognize him, of course, and some continue staring from a distance, but Levi becomes part of the place. He’s as constant as the bell above the door. You would never admit it aloud, but you’re starting to enjoy his presence. Some days, you peer out the window, hoping to catch a glance of his undercut or short stature headed toward your shop.
“How’s business?” he asks one afternoon while you wrap bars of soap. Based on your interactions with other soldiers, you’re convinced only Levi uses it.
You look up, a little taken aback by the question. “Are you worried I’ll close and force you to buy inferior tea elsewhere?”
“No, so answer the question.”
“Busy. But merchants raised their prices again.”
Levi frowns, not at you but at the numbers written in your ledger. “You making enough?”
You can sense the small hint of concern in his voice, hidden beneath the bluntness. You lower your gaze before you can give yourself away—the joy you feel from being asked. “Enough,” you assure him.
After that, you begin asking questions too. You never ask for expedition details; civilians quickly learn that there are answers they truly don’t want to hear. Instead, you ask whether the day went well, whether the recruits listened, whether the commander has finally stopped drowning him in paperwork. His replies are usually brief, yet he answers every time.
Occasionally, he arrives with a hand wrapped in bandages, bruises disappearing under his collar, or exhaustion painted in dark shadows beneath his eyes. At first, you ask what happened.
“Training.”
“An idiot with bad aim.”
“Nothing worth discussing.”
Eventually, you stop asking. You simply add a small tin of salve to his order when his knuckles are split, or tuck fresh bandages beneath the cleaning cloths. The first time he notices, he sets the bandages back onto the counter.
“These aren’t on the list," he says.
“I know that.”
“I didn’t pay for them.”
“I know that too.”
Levi studies you for an uncomfortable moment. You prepare yourself for an argument, but he places them back inside of the bag and says, “Don’t make a habit of it.”
Unfortunately for him, you already have.
.
As autumn thins into winter, his schedule changes. The afternoon visits become early-evening visits, arriving when the crowds have faded and sunset pours orange light through the front windows. Soon, he begins appearing as you sweep the floor or count the coins in the till.
“You know, the hours are painted on the door for a reason,” you tell him one evening.
Levi looks toward the sign. “Paint them to open later.”
“I can’t change my business hours like that.”
“Seems inefficient.”
“So does waiting until the last possible moment to buy supplies.”
“Military emergencies don’t arrange themselves around your schedule.”
“Neither do I.”
Yet you always serve him. Worse, you begin to expect him.
On evenings when the Survey Corps is due back from training or when you know an expedition is approaching, you leave the lamp in the front window burning after sunset. There’s inventory to finish and shelves to dust, but despite telling yourself all that, you find yourself looking toward the door whenever footsteps sound outside.
Most nights, he doesn’t come. On those nights, the shop feels hollow, and you resent it enough to extinguish the lamp earlier than you wanted to.
One night, Levi arrives after you have already locked the door. You’re standing behind the counter with the day’s ledger open when his silhouette appears beyond the glass, briefly illuminated by the streetlamp outside. He sees the sign turned to Closed, then notices you through the window. You look up and lock eyes with him. Neither of you moves. Then Levi lifts his hand in a small acknowledgement and turns away.
You abandon the ledger, hurry around the counter, and fumble with the lock. “Levi!” His name leaves your mouth, and only a few seconds later do you realize you used it without his title.
He stops. The street is nearly empty, the market long since abandoned, and cold air spills into the shop as you pull the door open. Levi turns slowly, his eyes dropping from your face to the hand still gripping the door handle.
“Aren't you forgetting something?” you ask, slightly breathless.
“You’re closed.”
“I noticed.”
“I can come back.”
“You’re already here, though.”
He hesitates before stepping inside, and you shut the door behind him, sliding the lock back into place. Levi looks toward the darkened street outside, then at the single lamp glowing in your window.
“You shouldn’t stay here alone this late.”
“I’m not wandering home through an alley,” you say, nodding toward the narrow staircase behind the counter. “I live upstairs.”
“That doesn’t stop someone from coming through the door.”
Despite yourself, you smile. There’s something about his irritation that warms your heart. It’s mere concern disguised as disapproval. “Then it’s fortunate humanity’s strongest soldier is with me, isn’t it?”
Levi gives you the flat look you expect from him, but he doesn’t answer at first. He looks at you smiling before turning toward the counter, and although his expression remains composed, the tips of his ears seem slightly darker than they were outside.
“Make the damn tea before you say anything else stupid,” he says.
You turn away to hide your widening smile, reaching for the tin you’ve kept beneath the counter specifically for him.
.
The Survey Corps’ order arrives three days before their next expedition, written across two sheets of parchment instead of Levi’s usual one. By midday, nearly every clear surface in the shop has disappeared beneath stacks of cloth, leather, tools, medical supplies, herbs, and enough tea to sustain an entire regiment—or Levi alone through one particularly irritating week.
By the time he arrives, the afternoon sky has paled to a wintery grey. A wagon waits outside the shop with its rear gate lowered. Cold air slips through the open doorway. Levi enters without the soldier who ordinarily accompanies him. Moblit, you think his name was.
“Your help abandon you?” you ask, looking past him toward the empty wagon.
“Delayed at headquarters,” Levi answers.
“Convenient.”
“For him, maybe.”
You suppress a smile and lead Levi toward the back of the shop, where the largest portion of the order has been packed into a broad wooden crate reinforced with iron at each corner. It contains bottles, tools, hardware, and several heavy bundles of treated leather, all arranged tightly enough that nothing shifts when the box is pushed. It had required both you and the deliveryman to move it away from the wall that morning.
You place one hand on its lid. “This one will need two people.”
Levi looks at the crate, then at you. “No, it won’t.” Before you can explain how heavy it is, he steps forward and crouches, slipping his hands beneath the edges. The wood creaks faintly beneath his grip, then he lifts. The crate rises from the floor in one smooth motion and for a startled second, all you can do is watch.
His forearms clench beneath the rolled cuffs of his shirt, muscle shifting visibly as he adjusts the weight against his body. The fabric pulls across his shoulders and upper arms, revealing the strength hidden beneath his uniform. It’s easy to overlook just how much power he carries.
He doesn’t grunt or stagger. There’s only a subtle deepening of his breath and the steady placement of each boot as he crosses the shop. You know exactly how heavy that crate is. That knowledge makes the sight infinitely worse.
Heat gathers low in your stomach with humiliating speed, enough to make your thighs press together beneath your long skirt. This is stupid. You’ve seen men carry stock before. You’ve hired laborers with broader shoulders and arms twice the width of Levi’s, and none of them have ever aroused you by simply picking up a box.
But none of them are Levi.
Levi carries the crate through the doorway and lowers it into the wagon without dropping or dragging it. When he returns, flexing his fingers once, he finds you still standing beside the empty space where the crate was. Staring. He narrows his eyes slightly.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks.
You shake your head lightly. “Nothing.”
“You look… strange.”
“The shop is warm,” you say quickly.
Levi turns his head toward the open door. A cold gust sweeps inside at that exact moment, raising goosebumps on your arms. You curse yourself in your mind as Levi returns his gaze to you.
“Right,” he says.
You retreat toward the remaining supplies before he can say anything else. “There are two smaller boxes left.”
“I can see that.”
“They can be taken separately.”
Levi looks at you, then at the boxes. For the briefest moment, the corner of his mouth twitches. He stacks one on top of the other and lifts. You stare as he adjusts them against his chest, his arms wrapping securely around both. He doesn’t need to carry them together. You know it, and judging by the way he shifts his grip before looking directly at you, he knows it too.
“Show off,” you mutter.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
This time, the faintest smirk appears before he turns toward the wagon.
.
Afterward, his behavior becomes suspicious. On his next visit, Levi rolls his sleeves past his elbows before moving a stack of supply boxes, despite the shop being cold enough that you keep your own sleeves buttoned at the wrists. He carries four shovels when two would have been sensible, the muscle in his arms tightening beneath the weight while you lose your place twice in the ledger.
The following week, he steps behind you to examine a tin stored on the upper shelf, bracing one hand against the wood beside your head instead of simply asking you to move. His chest nearly touches your back, his body surrounding you.
“How old is this batch?” he asks close to your ear.
Your thoughts are completely empty. “Recent.”
“How specific.”
“It arrived…” You swallow. “Tuesday.”
Levi hums, reaching over you for the tin. Your voice has gone embarrassingly thin, and from the slight tilt of his head, he notices.
The final confirmation comes several weeks later when you climb onto a stool to retrieve a box from the top shelf. The moment you pull it forward, another box shifts beside it, sliding toward the edge before you can catch it. Levi moves faster. One hand catches the falling box. His other arm circles your waist and draws you backward against him, steadying both you and the stool before either can topple.
For one suspended second, you’re pressed firmly to his chest, his forearm tight across your middle and his fingers spread against your side. “You trying to kill yourself?” he asks.
“No,” you breathe.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
He sets the box aside but doesn’t immediately release you. Your hand has landed over his arm. Beneath your palm, the muscle remains taut from holding your weight, and your fingers clench before you can stop them. Levi’s gaze drops to the contact.
Then he looks at your face. There’s no mistaking the satisfaction in his eyes now. He’s been doing it deliberately.
Levi knows he should find your staring irritating. He has spent years enduring people gawking at him, but your attention feels different. You watch his hands and arms with open hunger, yes, but you’re also the person who notices when those hands are bandaged, who slips salve into his orders without demanding explanations and leaves the window lamp burning when his duties keep him late.
He likes the little hitch in your breath when he stands too close. He likes watching your confident words tangle whenever he rolls his sleeves higher. And, perhaps most dangerously, he likes knowing that he can make you look at him that way.
Levi steadies the stool beneath you and finally steps back. “You should be more careful,” he says.
You turn, narrowing your eyes at the calm expression he has arranged over his face. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He reaches for the heaviest box on the floor. This time, he rolls his sleeves up first.
.
Cold falls over Trost early in the evening. The cobblestone glitters faintly beneath a thin layer of frost. Most of the market has gone dark hours ago, yet the lamp in your front window continues to burn.
You’ve already looked over the ledger twice. The shelves are dusted. The floor is swept. The till is counted. There’s no practical reason for you to remain in the shop. Still, you sit behind the counter with a book open before you, rereading the same paragraph while listening for footsteps beyond the glass.
When they finally come, your heart jumps. Levi appears with his cloak wrapped around him. He slows when he sees the illuminated window, then glances at the hours painted on the door sign. You’re out of your chair before he can turn away. You swing open the door.
“You’re late,” you say.
Levi looks past you into the empty shop. “You’re still open.”
“For the moment.”
He steps inside, bringing a rush of bitter air with him. You close the door quickly before locking it again. Levi watches your hand leave the handle.
“Why are you still down here?” he asks.
You move toward the counter, pretending to straighten the book you abandoned. “I had work.”
“The work you finished hours ago?”
Your head snaps toward him. “How would you know?”
“The floor’s dry, the ledger’s closed, and you’ve been staring at that same page since I reached the window.”
Damn him for noticing. You fold your arms. “You’ve been coming later.”
His expression shifts, only slightly. “You stayed open for me?”
“Well, I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Heat rises in your cheeks despite the cold in the room. You turn away under the excuse of examining the small list he places on the counter. Two tins of tea. One spool of heavy black thread.
“That’s it?” you ask.
“That’s what the list says.”
“This could’ve waited until morning.” You look up, but Levi meets your eyes without looking away. The certainty in them makes something warm unspool in your gut. You clear your throat. “You want tea?” He nods. You retreat into the small room behind the shop.
A narrow table stands beside the stove, surrounded by crates, jars, and half-cartons waiting to be sorted. While the water heats, Levi removes his cloak and drapes it neatly over the back of a chair, then shrugs out of his uniform jacket. The pale shirt beneath fits tight against his muscles. The sleeves are already rolled to his forearms.
You turn toward the upper shelf for the tea tin, stretching onto your toes. Your fingers brush its edge, but as you pull it forward, the heavy ceramic container beside it tips. Levi moves before you can recoil. One hand catches the container inches from your head. His other arm grabs you, pulling you back and against his chest as the shelf rattles above.
The tin is secure in your hand, but your other one is flat against him, pressed over his chest. Beneath the thin fabric, you feel hard muscle clenching. Levi’s breath warms your temple. His arm remains locked around your waist, his fingers spread along your side. He could easily lift you if he chose. You shake the thought out of your head before it can take root.
Then, because you’re incapable of feeling humiliated right now, you press your fingers slightly into his chest. Levi lowers the container to the table, his gaze dropping to your palm.
“Finished inspecting me?” he asks.
Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. “Not particularly.”
Silence expands between you. Levi’s eyes lift slowly to yours, and the amusement there is unmistakable now. Something hotter lingers underneath that makes your pulse trip. “That so?”
“You’ve been distracting me for months.”
“By buying supplies?”
“By carrying them.” His mouth twitches. You squint. “You smug asshole. Stop it.”
“I’m not smug.”
“Yes, you are.”
Levi loosens his hold enough for you to turn within the circle of his arm, though he doesn’t step away. The closeness forces you to tilt your face upward. His voice drops. “Is that why you keep finding heavier things for me to move?”
You stare at him. “What? I don’t—”
“The crate of tools.”
“That was part of the order.”
“The bookshelf.”
“It needed moving.”
“The box you put back on the highest shelf after I carried it down.” You open your mouth, then shut it, embarrassed. Levi’s faint smirk deepens. “You’re not subtle.” Your name drops from his lips.
“You knew?”
“I suspected after the first crate.”
“You leaned over me to reach a shelf you could’ve asked me to move from too.”
“You were blocking it.”
You search his face, catching the satisfaction he no longer bothers to hide. “You’ve been doing it on purpose.”
Levi’s thumb shifts once against your waist. “Mm, you kept staring.”
For months, every late visit, every cup of tea, every unnecessarily heavy box has been leading here. The realization fills you with a sudden, reckless courage. You may not have any experience in this department, but the feeling inside you is too full to keep hidden.
“So you like it,” you say.
“Like what?”
“When I stare.”
His eyes darken. “Depends where you’re looking.”
Your breath hitches and Levi sees it, the smugness in his expression becoming nearly unbearable. You decide you’ve had enough and grip the front of his shirt before kissing him. For a second, Levi freezes. The stillness sends panic flashing through you—I misread him, I pushed too far—but before you can pull away, his hand closes firmly around your waist and drags you flush against him. He kisses you back.
All the restraint he’s carried through a year of visits seems to break at once. His mouth moves against yours hungrily, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck. He has no intention of allowing distance between you now that it’s fully disappeared. You clutch at his shoulders, feeling his muscles shift beneath your hands as he turns you and presses you against the edge of the table. A quiet sound escapes you. Levi swallows it, tightening his grip.
When he finally draws back, both of you are breathing harder than the kiss should justify, your foreheads nearly touching. Levi looks toward the tea kettle on the stove, then he looks back at your mouth.
“Tea’s waiting,” he says.
You smile. “I don’t really care.”
“Neither do I.”
His mouth comes down on yours again, and this time, there’s no hesitation left in it. He resents every wasted day. He could’ve had this all along. His hand slides from your waist to the curve of your hip, fingers pressing in through the fabric of your dress. The other hand remains at the nape of your neck, angling your face so he can take his time stealing the breath from you. When you make a soft sound into his mouth, Levi pulls back to look at you.
“A little lifting, a little showing off, and you’re half out of your mind,” he teases.
Heat floods your face, but there’s no use pretending now. Not after the way you kissed him. Not with his arm still caging you in and his mouth swollen from yours. “I hate you.”
“Something tells me you’re lying.”
Before you can answer, he slips both hands to your waist and lifts you. The gasp rips out of you before you can stop it. One moment your feet are on the floor, and the next, you’re perched on the edge of the table as though you weigh nothing at all. Levi stands between your knees, an unmistakable satisfaction in his gaze. The motion is so easy and effortless that your stomach flips hard with arousal.
“Pathetic,” he says softly, and there’s a cruel little curve to his mouth that tells you he intends the word to land like a caress instead of an insult. “You like that this much?”
You swallow and fail to hide how your legs instinctively spread a little wider for him, inviting him closer. “You know I do.”
“I do now.”
He fits himself between your thighs, moving in until the warmth of him is everywhere. Your hands go to his shoulders for balance, then slide upward, fingers brushing the undercut at the back of his head. Levi exhales through his nose, the sound almost like a warning, and then kisses you again with more force than before. His hands travel over you, one splaying against your back, the other smoothing down your side and over your thigh before gripping beneath your knee and hiking your leg higher around his hip.
Your mind dissolves into sensation. The heat of his body. His shirt brushing against the fabric of your dress. The roll of his hips that lets you feel exactly how hard he is already. The realization sends a jolt through you, strong enough that you clutch at him. Levi breaks the kiss just long enough to catch your expression.
“Oh, that got your attention,” he says.
You glare at him, breathless and flushed. “If you’re going to keep talking, at least do something useful with your mouth.”
One eyebrow lifts. “Bossy.”
He obeys, though. His mouth drags along your jaw and to the side of your throat, where he kisses twice before biting lightly enough to make you shiver. You tip your head back without permission. Levi’s hands tighten on you when he feels the surrender in it. The small approving sound he makes against your skin sends another pulse of heat low through your belly.
The kettle begins to rattle on the stove. Neither of you pays any attention to it—until it begins to whistle a moment later, stupidly domestic against the way Levi is kissing down your throat like he means to ruin you before the tea ever reaches the cups. He lifts his head, annoyance flashing over his face.
“Damn thing,” he mutters.
You laugh shakily, and that undoes the last thread of his patience. Levi reaches for the kettle, yanks it off the heat without taking his eyes off you, and sets it aside. Then he turns back, hooks his arms under you, and lifts you again. You gasp and instinct makes your arms loop around his neck while your legs wrap around his waist. He doesn’t even brace. He simply picks you up and presses your weight against him. It’s so easy, and it leaves you utterly pulsing. Levi feels your thighs tighten around his hips. He knows exactly what this is doing to you. The faint smirk at the corner of his mouth confirms it.
Levi starts up the stairs and doesn’t strain in the slightest. His shoulder nearly brushes one side on the turn, yet he climbs with ease. One step, then the next, utterly untroubled by the fact that he’s carrying your full weight in his arms while you cling to him. He isn’t breathing hard. His pulse doesn’t stumble beneath your palm where it rests against his pulse point. He simply carries you like this is the easiest thing in the world. You press closer without meaning to.
He reaches the landing and nudges your bedroom door open with his foot, carrying you inside. Your room is simple. The bed is neatly made—at least from what Levi can see in the dark. He makes out the shape of a folded shawl resting over the chair by the window. A brush lies on the dresser. Ordinary things. He lays you back on the bed with more care than you expect before he reaches to light a lamp. Then he returns to you, his hands braced beside your shoulders as he leans over you and kisses you again, savoring the fact that he finally can. You grip his shirt and hold him there.
When you break apart, you both remain close. Then, you ask, “How far are we…” You pause, clearing your throat. “How far are we going tonight?”
Levi stills. His expression shifts, some of the heat fading into a more serious tone. “As far as you want. No further.”
You look at his collar instead of his eyes when you speak. “I haven’t done this before.”
For the first time all evening, Levi looks caught off guard. Enough for you to see the brief flicker of surprise, followed by something rarer: nerves. It’s subtle, almost hidden under his natural stoicism, but it’s there. His gaze drops for a moment, then returns to yours with more caution than before.
“You mean at all?” he asks. You nod. He exhales slowly through his nose. One of his hands leaves the bed to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His thumb lingers at your temple.
He’s been with women before. He knows how to make a body respond, how to use his mouth and hands, how to be careful when it’s required and rough when it’s wanted. But this is you. You, who saved the expensive tea for him. You, you waited with the lamp lit at night. The idea of your first time being with him should make him unbelievably happy, and it does, but layered beneath that is an unwelcome thread of concern.
What if you regret this? What if afterward you look at him and realize you wanted the idea more than reality? What if he’s not what you deserve for this?
“You should think about that,” he says, lower now. “About whether this is really what you want.”
“It is.”
“You’re saying that while I’m on top of you.”
You almost smile despite your nerves. “Would you prefer I write a strongly worded letter first?”
A breath of dry amusement leaves him. “No.”
You reach up and touch his face, brushing your thumb near the corner of his mouth. “I want this,” you say softly. “I want it with you.” You hesitate only a second before forcing yourself to add the rest. “As long as you’re not planning to disappear tomorrow and pretend this never happened.”
Levi’s eyes sharpen at the thought of it. His hand closes over yours where it rests against his cheek, holding it there. “Do I seem like that kind of bastard?”
“You seem like many kinds of bastard.”
The draws the faintest huff from him. Then his expression turns serious again, stripped bare. He leans down and presses his mouth to yours once. “I’m not walking away from you after this,” he says against your lips. “Couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”
The words are simple, but the meaning inside them lands so hard your throat tightens. Levi doesn’t say the softer thing plainly. He probably never will. Yet you hear it anyway, those three words, there in the certainty of his voice and in the way his hand cradles your face.
“I want you to stay,” you whisper.
“I’m here.”
You nod, gather your courage, and say the words that matter. “I want this.”
Levi searches your face one last time. Whatever he sees there satisfies him. The tension in his shoulders eases slightly, replaced by concentration. “Then let me take care of you.”
He sits back enough to begin undoing your clothes. He doesn’t rush and is careful with each fastening. When he loosens your dress and slides it from your shoulders, his gaze follows. You help where you can, lifting, shifting, letting the dress fall away until you’re left in your underwear beneath his stare. A shiver runs through you.
He removes the rest, pausing each time your breathing changes, giving you space to stop him if you so choose. You never do. By the time you lie bare beneath him, your skin feels oversensitive everywhere his eyes touch. Being looked at by him nearly makes you hide, but his hand slides up your calf, over your knee, and across your thigh, and you can’t seem to think of covering yourself when his touch feels like that.
“You’re beautiful,” he says.
Your face burns. “Levi—”
“Don’t start arguing.”
You laugh softly, then gasp when his hand reaches the inside of your thigh and parts you. His gaze drops. The expression that crosses his face at the sight of how wet you already are sends a shameless jolt of warmth through you.
“All this from me carrying a few boxes?” he teases.
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” you sigh.
“Not a chance.”
He bends and kisses you again while his fingers stroke through the slickness between your thighs, teasing at first. You jolt when he brushes over the sensitive little bud and he makes a low sound of approval into your mouth. You reach for him, for anything, one hand catching in his shirt. He draws circles over your clit while kissing along your jaw and throat, and the pleasure rises quickly, making your hips twitch against his hand.
“Easy, I’ve got you,” he murmurs. Then one finger slides lower and presses at your entrance. You tense instantly. Levi lifts his head to look at you. “Look at me.” You do. His eyes hold yours. “You can tell me if something doesn’t feel right. Understand?”
“Yes.”
He nods and eases his finger inside you slowly, giving your body time to adjust around the intrusion. The sensation makes you suck in a breath. It’s not unpleasant. His free hand smooths up your side. You try to relax. It helps that he keeps kissing you between instructions. His finger moves carefully, curling just enough to make your breath hitch. The tightness begins to fade, and you part your thighs wider.
Levi notices and rewards it by adding another finger only when you’re ready, stretching you gently, patient despite the fact that his own breathing has grown heavier and the front of his pants strains visibly now. He doesn’t rush, even when you clench around him, even when you make a tiny sound that nearly drives him to the edge. He’s intent on preparing you properly.
You’re a mess by the time he’s finished. Flushed, damp, squirming against the sheets, thighs trembling around his hand while he works you open and keeps your pleasure just shy of too much. When he finally withdraws his fingers, your body protests with an empty ache. Levi brings his slick fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean without looking away from you. The sight nearly makes your soul leave your body. He sees that too, bastard that he is.
“Thought you might like that,” he smirks.
“You’re horrible,” you whine.
“And you’re soaked.” You cover your face with one hand, mortified and too aroused to care properly. Levi grabs your wrist and draws it away. “Don’t hide.”
Then he stands to undress. There’s no vanity in the way he removes his clothes. You stare at him greedily while he strips with no hint of self-consciousness at all. Shirt first, revealing his muscled chest, then the rest. When he pushes his pants and briefs down and steps free of them, your breath catches hard enough that his mouth curves.
He’s large. Larger than what you felt pressed against you downstairs. Large enough that you feel your stomach turn with anxiety despite everything else. Levi sees it immediately and some of the smugness drains from his expression. He climbs back onto the bed and settles over you, one hand stroking your thigh.
“We’ll go slow,” he says.
You nod, forcing air back into your lungs. “I trust you.”
He bends, kisses you deep, and when he positions himself at your entrance, his forehead presses briefly to yours. The first push inside makes both of you stop. You tense around him with a soft whimper, the stretch intense, bordering on pain exactly as you feared. Levi stops at once, one arm braces beside your head while the other grips your hip.
“Breathe,” he says, his voice strained now. “Slowly.”
You try. He kisses your cheek, your mouth, your temple, anywhere he can reach while waiting for your body to ease. The tenderness of it steals some of the discomfort away. He murmurs low reassurances you barely even register as words, only tone. Inch by inch, he sinks farther in, stopping whenever your face pinches, giving you time, letting your body accept him at its own pace.
When he’s fully inside you, the feeling is overwhelming. Full, stretching, intimate in a way that knocks the breath from you all over again. Tears prick faintly at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity.
“We can stop if you want,” Levi says.
You shark your head, fingers gripping his shoulders. “No. Just… stay for a second.”
He does. His chest rises and falls against yours. You can feel the effort it takes him not to move yet, not to chase his own relief when your body is wrapped so tightly around him. There’s tension all through him, each muscle held on a leash. The knowledge of that, of how much strength he’s containing for your sake, sends a throbbing ache through you even now.
The discomfort ebbs slowly. “I think…” You swallow. “You can move.”
Levi searches your face one more time before he obeys. He draws out only a little before easing back in, the first slow stroke unbearably careful. The friction is different now, no longer a stretch or an ache. It’s a full feeling that makes your lips part on a shaky breath. Levi watches your face the entire time, gaze flicking over every minute change in your expression. Your hands grip his shoulders when he shifts his hips and finds a deeper angle.
“That better?” he asks, the low rasp of it sending a tremor through you.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Gods… yes.”
He moves again, still slow, his control so complete it almost makes you dizzy. Each thrust is a little deeper once your body gives him permission. The bed creaks softly beneath you. The lamp on your nightstand throws gold over the planes of his face and shoulders, over the darkness of his hair falling slightly loose at the front.
This is Levi. In your bed. Inside you. The thought lands so hard in you that your thighs tremble where they surround his hips. He notices that, and his hand slides down your side and over your thigh in response, thumb stroking once at the sensitive skin there while he keeps moving patiently.
“Still with me?” he asks.
You manage a breathless huff that might have been a laugh. “You ask that while doing this?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Your fingers climb into his hair, tugging lightly. “Don’t stop.”
“Bossy again.” His mouth returns to yours before you can answer, swallowing the small sound that escapes you when he rolls his hips and sinks in more fully. The kiss is slower than the ones downstairs.
Levi had expected nerves and expected the need he’s been suppressing for months to make him clumsy with it. But he hadn’t expected this feeling each time you look at him. He wants to make this good for you. Wants it so fiercely that it unsettles him, because he’s wanted bodies before, wanted release, wanted the fleeting distraction of skin and sweat, but this is different. This is you looking up at him from his bed—no, your bed, damn it—with flushed cheeks and parted lips and your hand in his hair. He realizes he could very easily hurt you by being careless.
So he keeps it slow. He kisses your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth while he finds a rhythm gentle enough for your first time and deep enough to keep his own control from snapping in half. Your body adjusts around him, the remaining sting fading beneath the building pleasure. You no longer feel the ache. Soon you’re arching into him slightly when he thrusts, seeking more.
The fullness that felt almost too much at first has become delicious, each stroke dragging against something inside you that leaves your breath catching higher every time. He presses a kiss below your ear and you wrap your legs around him further. That earns a low sound from him, a mix between a breath and a growl.
“Easy,” he mutters.
“You’re the one telling me to relax.”
“You’re the one squeezing me like that.”
Your face goes scarlet. “Levi—”
“Mm.” He lifts his head enough to look at you, eyes half-lidded now, his restraint beginning to crack around the edges. “Keep doing it.”
The answer that slips from you is embarrassingly needy. Levi’s mouth curves again. He braces more of his weight on one arm and brings the other hand down between your bodies, fingers seeking the place he made you squirm under his touch before. When his thumb strokes your clit, you jerk with a broken gasp.
“There,” he says.
The added pleasure is immediate and enough to numb your mind, if only for a moment. Your heels dig into the mattress. Levi keeps thrusting slowly while circling your sensitive bundle of nerves, giving you too much and not enough at the same time. Every pass of his thumb sends sparks racing through you.
You’ve never felt anything like this. Nothing in your imagination, nothing in those half-embarrassed late-night thoughts about his hands, his forearms, the ease with which he could move supplies and you along with them, comes close to the reality of him using his body on yours.
“Levi,” you breathe, clutching at him.
He hums against your throat. “Tell me.”
“I—” The words snag on another wave of pleasure. “I don’t know what’s happening.”
His hand gentles for a beat, thumb stroking slower as his forehead touches yours. “You don’t need to know. Just feel it.”
You do. You feel all of it. Him sliding in and out of you. The strain in his body as he holds back for you. The roughness of his palm against your thigh. The pressure building between your legs. Your body answering him more greedily than you knew it could.
He shifts, reaching for your hands. At first, you think he means only to lace his fingers with yours, but instead he draws both of your wrists up above your head and presses them into the mattress with one hand. A tiny noise escapes you. Levi freezes for a second, then looks down at your face, feeling your pulse jumping beneath his grip. He sees the sudden dilation of your pupils and your thighs spreading more willingly beneath him. A slow, wicked recognition dawns.
“Oh,” he says, and this time the smugness in him is pure sin. “I almost forgot.”
“F-forgot what?”
His next thrust is a little firmer, enough to make you squirm beneath him while his hand keeps your wrists pinned in place with ease. “You like this, don’t you?” You turn your face away instantly, mortified. Levi shakes his head. “No. Look at me.”
When you hesitate, he gives your wrists the slightest reminder press and drags his thumb over your clit again. The helpless sound you make forces your eyes back to his.
“Answer me,” he says.
You can’t even pretend. Not when your whole body is betraying you like this, gut coiling tighter every time he holds you down and moves inside you. “Yes,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes what?”
You glare at him as best you can while half-melting under him. “Yes, I like it.”
“Like what, exactly?” You make a muffled sound of frustration, but he only tilts his head down at you as the corner of his mouth twitches. “You’re stalling.”
Your face burns so badly it feels feverish. He waits, mercilessly patient, still rolling into you that makes thinking impossible. “It’s your strength,” you finally confess in a rush. “Alright? I—I think it’s insanely hot. You move me like I weigh nothing, you—” Your voice breaks when he ruts into you suddenly. “The way you can do this.”
“Insanely hot,” he repeats, testing the words.
You regret talking. But he doesn’t laugh or mock you. The hand around your wrists loosens just enough for him to slide his fingers down and intertwine them with yours instead. Then he lets go entirely and sits back on his heels, withdrawing from you, making you whimper at the loss.
“Levi—”
“Up.”
You barely have time to prop yourself on your elbows before he slides his hands under you and lifts you off the mattress. A startled gasp leaves you as you rise into his arms once more. Instinct makes your legs wrap around his waist, arms clutching around his shoulders. With you hanging onto him, he slides his cock back into you. Your head falls back with a broken cry.
The angle is different like this—deeper, somehow. Levi’s hands settle beneath your thighs and around your back, supporting your weight effortlessly while he stands planted on the floor. Not a shake. Not a stumble. His breathing deepens, yes, and a line appears between his brows from the strain of restraint, but his hold on you is secure. You cling harder.
“Oh my gods—”
Levi’s mouth brushes your jaw, the words almost a kiss. “This what you wanted?”
You can’t answer properly. He gives you one shallow thrust, then another, each movement lifting you slightly on his cock. You dig your nails into his shoulders. The sheer indecency of being held up like this while he fucks into you sends a white-hot rush through your body. He feels the way you squeeze around him and huffs a dark laugh against your skin.
“Thought so.”
You bury your face against his neck. His skin is warm, smelling of soap and the cold air he brought in from outside. Every thrust jolts through you. Every time his arms flex under you to keep you lifted, your mind goes blank.
Levi had known your fixation of his strength aroused him. He hadn’t anticipated how much. Holding you like this, feeling you cling and gasp and grow wetter every time he proves exactly what he can do, is doing ugly, wonderful things to his self-control. There’s a possessive pride in it, a hot satisfaction each time your body answers to him. You like that he can carry you. That he can pin you down. That he can lift and hold and fuck you all at the same time. The knowledge goes straight to his cock, straight to that selfish place in him that wants every pretty reaction wrung from you by his hands alone.
He thrusts harder. The sound that comes out of you is wrecked, and Levi closes his eyes for one second as it shudders through him. “That’s it. Hold on,” he mutters.
You do. Dear gods, you do. Your legs lock tighter around his waist and you cling to his shoulders while he sets a steadier pace, more confident in what your body can take. Your own little cries fill the room, thin and breathless at first, then louder when Levi’s mouth finds your throat and he bites lightly there before soothing the spot with his tongue.
“Levi—
“Mm?”
“You’re—” A thrust cuts the sentence in half. “You’re really doing this.”
He actually scoffs, the arrogant bastard. “You sound surprised.”
“You’re just—” You can’t think. His hips snap up again and your whole body jolts in his arms. “Strong.”
The praise lands visibly. His grip tightens. His next thrust is deeper. “Keep talking like that and I’ll forget to be nice.” The warning should be alarming. Instead it sends a thrill through you, and you moan outright. Levi lifts his head, eyes narrowing. “You’d like that too, wouldn’t you?” Your expression must answer for you, because his mouth curves in disbelief and hunger. “You’re filthier than I thought.”
“Says the man holding me up and—ah—fucking me.”
The pleasure is building so high now you feel almost lightheaded from it, every thrust feeding it, every subtle flex of his arms reminding you that he is truly just holding you there, using strength and balance and pure controlled force to keep you suspended on him. Your cunt clenches around his cock. Levi’s hand leaves the back of your thigh for a moment to slip between your bodies, fingers finding your clit again. You nearly sob.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, and the endearment is so unexpected, so warm in the middle of all his rough control, that it makes your whole body flutter around him. “Doing so well.”
Sweetheart. The word goes through you like lightning. Levi feels it instantly, the way you tighten, the way your nails dig in, the way your breath turns ragged. He groans under his breath and rubs firmer circles against your clit, pushing you closer to the edge you only half understand.
“Come on. Let me see it.”
Your head tips back. The room blurs in amber and shadow. All you can feel is him—inside you, around you, beneath your hands, holding you up. Your lips find his ear. You barely know what you’re saying until it spills out.
“Captain—”
He stills just enough to suck in a sharp breath. Then his entire body goes tighter. The title out of your mouth, here, now, in that tone, hits him somewhere primitive. His eyes flash. The hand at your back slides higher, gripping harder, and the next thrust lands with enough force to rip a cry from you. His restraint splinters a little more with each movement after that. Not reckless, never that, but harder. Hungrier. He fucks you with a rougher rhythm that leaves your body jolting in his arms.
“Say that again,” he says, voice ragged.
Your brain is melting, but you obey. “Captain.”
“Again.”
“Captain—”
“Fuck.”
His head drops to your shoulder. You feel the hot burst of his breath against your skin, the strain in his body as he drives up into you with a tempo that makes your eyes roll back. His hand works your clit between thrusts, and the pressure inside you turns unbearable in the best possible way, coiling tighter and tighter.
He’s close. You can feel it in the way his control roughens and his breathing finally falters. Every muscle in his arms and stomach hardens when you clench around him. He lifts his head enough to look at you, pupils blown wide. “Tell me where.”
You blink, dazed. “What?”
“Where do you want it?” His voice is all gravel now, barely held together. “I’m not pulling out unless you tell me to.”
The question goes through you with another violent rush of arousal. You think of the tea tucked in your cupboard, the bitter contraceptive brew you bought once from a woman in the market after too many whispered warnings from older shopkeepers.
“I have the tea,” you gasp. “The contraceptive one.” He watches your face, making sure. You nod frantically. “Inside. Please.”
That does it.
Levi’s eyes close for one shuddering moment, as if the permission hits him almost too hard to process. When he opens them again, they are dark and wrecked. Then he kisses you, hard and deep, and thrusts up into you three more times, each one stronger than the last.
The final one has your whole body shaking in his arms. Levi comes with a strangled groan against your mouth, cock pulsing inside you as he fills you. The sensation is so intimate, so overwhelming, that you moan into the kiss and cling to him like you’ll fall apart if you don’t. He stays buried in you while the force of it takes him, forehead pressed to yours now, breaths finally breaking rough from his chest. His arms never loosen. Even at the peak of his own release, he holds you securely, never letting your weight slip for a second.
When the shuddering in him begins to ease, Levi kisses your cheek, your temple, the corner of your eye, all those tiny places with a gentleness that feels almost dazed. Then he carries you the two steps back to the bed and lowers you onto the mattress carefully. He doesn’t pull out. He braces over you, still inside you, one hand slipping between your legs again while the other strokes your hair back from your damp face. You’re still drifting, still trying to understand what just happened to your body, when his fingers find your clit and begin rubbing slow, slick circles.
You jolt. “Levi—”
“You haven’t finished.”
“I think I might die.”
“Not tonight.”
There’s the faintest thread of dry humor in it, but his expression is intent. Focused. He watches your face the way he did when he first touched you, reading every shift in your breath, every twist of your hips. His cock softens only slightly inside you, still warm and filling, and the combination of that lingering fullness with the precise pressure of his fingers drives the pleasure back up almost immediately, harder to escape.
You grab at his wrist. “It’s too much.”
His free hand catches yours and pins it gently to the mattress beside your head. He knows you’re close to shying away from what you want. “No,” he says quietly, firm as iron. “You can take it.”
The certainty in his voice goes straight through you. Your body arches under him. The sensations pile too high, too fast, each circle of his fingers pushing you toward something that feels impossible, unbearable, then suddenly inevitable.
“Levi, I—”
“I know.” His mouth brushes yours. “Let it happen.”
It breaks over you all at once. Your body locks and then shakes as rapture crashes through you in bewildering waves. A broken cry leaves your mouth. Your thighs try to close, your spine arches off the mattress, and Levi is suddenly everywhere—his hand holding yours down, his mouth at your cheek and jaw and lips, his fingers still working you through the violence of your release.
He’d meant to guide you through it gently, meant to be patient all the way through the end and let the moment belong entirely to you. Instead, the tight way you pulse around his cock sends a jolt up his spine, and his hips rock before he can stop them. The movement is small, but your body answers. Levi hisses under his breath.
“You’re trying to kill me now,” he says.
You barely hear him. You’re floating, your limbs feeling loose and heavy, your skin sensitive, your chest still heaving as the aftershocks ripple through you. Levi eases his touch at your clit only when your whole body twitches from oversensitivity, and even then he doesn’t pull away completely. He strokes once, gentler now, until the pleasure fades.
Then he kisses you, trying to collect himself after watching you come apart underneath him. You taste your own breath on his tongue, still shaky. His hand leaves yours only to cradle the side of your face. When he lifts his head, all severity has left his features. He looks tired.
“Well,” he says, “that answered that.”
You blink up at him, dazed. “Answered what?”
“Whether you’d be satisfied.”
The memory of his earlier hesitation comes back through the haze. Of all the things you might have expected from Levi, concern that you would regret giving him your first time was not among them. But it was there. You’d seen it.
You lift a weak hand and touch his face. “You were worried.”
He looks as if he wants to deny, just off reflex. Then he looks down at you spread beneath him, flushed and thoroughly ruined in your bed, and he decides the effort is pointless. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he says, and pauses for a moment. “You matter.” Levi looks away as your throat goes tight, but when he looks back, his gaze drops to your mouth again. “And because I know exactly what I’m like.”
You almost laugh. “Terrible?”
“Difficult.”
“That too.”
The corner of his mouth moves. He leans down and presses his lips to yours once, then closes his eyes, as if the contact eases his mind. “I didn’t want this to be something you regretted later.”
You slide your hand behind his neck and hold him there. “I won’t.” His eyes search yours because some part of him still seems to need proof. You give it by lifting yourself enough to kiss him first, despite your exhaustion. “I won’t,” you repeat against his lips. “Not even a little.”
That, at least, seems to reach him. He relaxes his shoulders slightly and sighs through his nose, almost laughing at himself. “Good.”
Only then does he carefully pull out. The empty feeling after such intense fullness makes you wince. Levi sees you and mutters an expression of sympathy under his breath. He reaches for a folded cloth lying on your bedside table. You know it’s clean, at least. He parts your thighs with one hand and swipes the cloth between your legs. He then wipes himself and tosses the cloth into a basin.
Your limbs feel like they’re made of sand. You watch him through half-lowered eyelids as he straightens the blankets one-handed, then lifts them over both of you and lays beside you on the bed. He reaches for you and pulls you against his side. For a second, you’re too surprised to move.
“What?” he says.
You turn your face against his shoulder. “Nothing.” You smile faintly into his skin. “I just didn’t expect you to be the sort of man who cuddles.”
Levi makes a sound of profound displeasure at the word. “Don’t—don’t call it that.”
“What should I call it, then?”
He pulls you closer with an arm around your waist. Your thigh slides over his and your head rests against his chest. When your fingers drift over his sternum, you find a scar and trace it.
“Sleeping,” he says.
“In my bed.”
“Yes.”
“With me in your arms.”
His chin brushes the top of your head. “You’re pushing it.”
You laugh softly. A sleepy thought nudges at you, and you tilt your face up enough to look at him. “So you’re staying.”
Levi looks down, unable to believe you’d ask that after everything. But he doesn’t ridicule you, and instead slides his hand up your back and down again. “I told you I would.”
You hum, then after a few moments, speak again in a quieter voice. “That thing you said downstairs,” you murmur.
“You’ll have to be more specific, sweetheart.”
Your stomach flips at the name. “When you said you couldn’t walk away from me even if you wanted to.”
He’s silent. You can feel, more than see, the moment he realizes where this is going. He resents having to say any truth that leaves him feeling exposed. You flatten your hand over his chest. Beneath your palm, his heartbeat is slow.
“I heard what you meant,” you say.
Levi stares at the far wall for a few seconds. “Then I don’t need to say it badly.”
You lift yourself just enough to kiss his jaw. “You really are difficult.”
“I warned you.”
“And I still let you into my shop.”
“That was your first mistake.”
“My second was apparently letting you into my bed.”
His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers combing through your hair. “You don’t sound sorry.”
“I’m not.”
A faint huff leaves him. He tips your face up and kisses you properly, his lips tasting of the last remnants of intimacy. It eases you when he settles you back against him. For a while, neither of you says anything. You listen to his breathing and feel the rise and fall of his chest under your cheek. He’s spent so long appearing in your doorway with lists and lingering over tea before vanishing back into duty that being held by him feels stranger than being taken apart by him. It’s somehow more intimate.
Levi’s fingers continue to drift along your spine. You wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. It’s so unlike the precise man who inspects all of the supplies you give him and criticizes the way you lift things. But that fact only makes you feel more tender.
Sleep starts to tug at you. Then it hits you, and you mumble into his chest, “The tea downstairs.”
“The tea can wait.”
“No, the other tea.”
His hand pauses. “You’re thinking about the contraceptive tea now?”
“If I fall asleep without taking it—well, are you ready to be a dad right now?”
Levi closes his eyes. “Unbelievable.”
“You asked.”
“I asked where to finish, not whether you intended to become irritating immediately afterward.”
“You like me irritating.”
“Sometimes.”
“Most of the time.”
“Arrogant,” he mutters.
“You’re one to talk.”
For all his complaints, he shifts and eases out from under you. He reaches for his pants. The sight of him dressing just enough to go downstairs in the middle of the night, hair messy and expression blank despite the bite mark appearing on his throat, nearly makes you laugh. He catches your smile as he buttons his pants and narrows his eyes.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing, Captain.”
His gaze darkens. “Don’t even start.”
“Who’s starting? I’m exhausted.”
“You don’t sound exhausted.”
“Just… inspired.”
That earns you one of his annoyed looks, but it’s ineffective against you now that you’ve seen him when he orgasms. He disappears downstairs before you can tease him further. You hear him moving through the back room of the shop below. Another intimacy. Levi in your kitchen. Levi pouring hot water. Levi handling your cups with those same hands that held you through your first climax.
When he returns with the cup in hand, you push yourself upright. The blankets slide down your chest. Levi’s gaze flicks over you, taking in your skin and messy hair and the marks he left behind.
“Drink,” he says.
You accept the cup with both hands. “You didn’t poison it?”
“Wouldn’t waste the effort.”
You sip and gag immediately. “That’s foul.”
“It's medicine, not tea.”
You drink the rest anyway, then hand him the empty cup. He sets it aside before sliding back into bed with you, pulling the blankets up around you both. You settle into his shoulder this time, one leg slipping between his. He allows you to tangle with him without comment.
Sleep drifts closer. Through the drowsiness, you ask, “Were you ever going to tell me?”
Levi freezes. “Tell you what?”
“That you were in love with me.”
He makes an irritated sound. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
You lift your head enough to look at him. He looks almost younger in this soft glow of the lamplight. Less like the captain everyone in Trost recognizes at a glance, more like simply Levi—sharp-tongued, meticulous, and currently in your bed with no way out of the question except honesty or cowardice. He clearly dislikes both options.
“I started looking for the light,” he says.
“What, like you’re dying?” you joke.
He rolls his eyes. “No, you idiot. The one in your window.” His gaze shifts past you, fixed somewhere else in the room. “You always left the lamp on. Later than you needed to.”
It takes you a second to understand that this, from him, is a confession. He’s answering in the only way he can bear: by naming evidence, by admitting he saw your care and returned it, by refusing to wrap his emotions in pretty words.
You slide your arm across his middle and move closer. “Then I’ll keep leaving it on.”
A long silence follows. Then his mouth brushes your hair. “You’d better.”
The lamp eventually burns all the way through, throwing the room into shadow. The sheets have cooled where you’re not touching. Levi’s breathing evens out, though his arm never leaves your waist, even in the drift toward sleep. You lie awake a little longer, just enough to feel the occasional brush of his thumb against your side.
At some point, you murmur half into sleep, “You know everyone in Trost would lose their minds if they knew Captain Levi Ackerman was asleep in my bed.”
His chest shifts under your cheek with what might be a laugh, but it’s too small to be certain. “Then don’t tell them,” he says.
You smile, eyes closing fully at last. “How selfish of me.”
☆ Day 2 of Levi Month 26 | Breeding Kink | Event by @levievent
☆ Summary: There’s something Levi wants, something he’s thought about far too often and said nothing about for far too long—he wants to breed you.
☆ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader
☆ Genre/Tags: Modern AU, Established Relationship, Smut
☆ Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie
☆ Word Count: 1.3k
☆ Check out the other days!
☆ AO3 Link
☆ a/n: damn header got the mature label slapped on this. have to repost, so sorry for the double ping for people on my taglist! anyway, thank you to my beta reader @slaytherinthoughts! pls don’t ask for a part two or I’ll write Levi calling sex “bumping uglies.” don't even ask for a part two jokingly, I will block you.
“You’ve been staring at me for ten minutes,” you say, sitting on the edge of the couch as you look to Levi, standing at the kitchen counter with a glass of water in his hand. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Levi’s mouth twitches, annoyed at being read so easily. “Tch. You make it sound so dramatic.”
“It is dramatic. You’re really bad at pretending to not stare at me.”
He sighs and looks down at his glass, then shifts his gaze to you. Levi Ackerman is not a man who embarrasses easily, so the faint color rising along the tops of his cheekbones catches your attention immediately.
“Come here,” he says.
You get up and stop in front of him. He sets the glass down, hand sliding around your waist. Up close, his expression is even more conflicted.
“What is it?” you ask.
For a second, he says nothing. Then, in a voice lower than usual, he admits, “There’s something I want that I haven’t told you.”
Your stomach flutters. “Okay.”
“It’s not because I didn’t trust you. I just wasn’t sure I should say it out loud.”
You rest your hand on his chest. “Tell me anyway.”
He looks at your mouth. “I think about breeding you.”
Levi watches your face, waiting for impact. Braced for rejection, maybe, for you to laugh. His face doesn’t give much away, but his thoughts are written clearly in the tension of his shoulders. Fuck. I said it. If she looks at me differently now, fuck it.
But you don’t laugh. You don’t reject him. You stroke your thumb once over his shirt. “You think about it,” you repeat.
“More than think,” he says. “I want it. The idea of filling you, seeing you take it…” He cuts himself off like he’s already said too much, then mutters, “Forget it.”
You stare at him for a second, then step closer until your bodies touch. “Levi. If I didn’t want to hear it, I’d tell you. And I asked because I want to know.”
There’s a new hunger to his eyes, unmistakable, but also caution. He always gives you that, even when he’s half out of his mind. It’s one of the things you love most about him. So you give him what he hasn’t dared ask for.
“Show me,” you say.
Something in Levi shifts. His eyes go black with want, and when he kisses you, it’s nothing like the restrained pecks you shared over coffee this morning. It’s deep in its intensity. His hand slides up into your hair, angling your head exactly where he wants it while his other palm presses into the small of your back, pulling you into him. You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound with a low groan.
He kisses you harder once the realization that you said yes actually kicks in. His tongue sweeps against yours, starved for your taste. You clutch at his shoulders. By the time he pulls back, both of you are breathing hard.
“You’re sure,” he asks.
“Yes.”
His forehead presses briefly to yours before he takes your hand and leads you down the hall to the bedroom. He flicks on the lamp, then strips your shirt off first, then his own, then the rest of both of your clothes, leaving a trail of fabric across the floor. Right now, he doesn’t care about the messiness.
He lowers you onto the bed, then kneels between your thighs and kisses his way down your stomach. When he spreads your legs wider and moves between them, he flicks his eyes up to yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
You nod. His mouth on you is captivating. He takes his time at first, tongue dragging slowly along your wetness until your hands fist in the sheets. He listens to every little sound you make and adjusts, mouth and fingers working in tandem.
“Levi—”
“I know,” he says against you. He knows. He always knows. He keeps you on the edge until you’re squirming, then eases two fingers inside you, groaning at how wet you are. “So fucking ready. You have any idea what that does to me?”
You inhale shakily. “Probably the same thing your mouth is doing to me.”
That earns a rare, wicked half-smile from him before he bends back down and sends you over the edge. The orgasm hits hard enough to make you bow off the mattress. Levi holds you through it, one arm across your hips while his mouth and fingers work you until your thighs tremble around him.
He climbs over you, his eyes blown wide and his composure shredded. You reach between you and wrap your hand around his cock. Levi’s head drops with a broken sound. He lines himself up and pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the same time. The stretch is delicious after the way he opened you up. He grips the headboard with one hand, fighting himself not to slam forward.
You look up at him. “Levi.”
“Don’t,” he says hoarsely, eyes shutting for a second. “If you say my name like that right now, I’m done.”
That makes you laugh softly, though it turns into a gasp when he finally sinks in all the way. He presses his forehead to yours again, every muscle tense. He starts to move. Even when he’s rough, he’s careful, keeping a brutal consistency that pulls pleasure out of you until you can’t think. Tonight there’s an extra layer to it, every thrust charged with the confession from the kitchen. You see the strain in his face, hear it in the way his breathing shifts when your legs wrap around his waist.
“Tell me,” you whisper.
His eyes snap to yours. “What?”
“What you’re thinking.”
He gives one sharp thrusts that makes your nails bite into his back. “You know what I’m thinking.”
“I wanna hear it.”
The last of his restraint burns away. “I’m thinking about filling you,” he says, low and shaking. “About fucking my cum so deep into you that you have to take every drop. Thinking about it leaking into your womb.” He watches your face as he says it all. “Thinking about you swollen with me, knowing I did that to you.”
“God,” you breathe.
Levi’s mouth crashes to yours. His pace turns harder, bed creaking under the force of it, and the room fills with the slick sound of him driving into you, your gasps, his rough little grunts that he usually keeps buried. Not tonight. Tonight he’s too far gone, and every sound he makes feels like a reward. You feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix, and you squirm in repsonse.
“Is this what you wanted?” you ask against his mouth.
“Yes,” he says, the single word wrecked. “Yes, fuck. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to tell you.”
“Then don’t hold back.”
He laughs once and hooks your leg higher over his arm. The angle has you crying out, cunt clenching hard around him. Levi nearly loses it right there. He reaches between your bodies and rubs your clit in quick, ruthless circles. The combination of that and the relentless drive of his hips tears your second orgasm out of you fast. Your whole body locks up around him.
Levi curses your name and thrusts deep, holding himself there as he comes with a low, wrecked groan. You feel the heat of his release. His body shudders with each pulse. His expression is almost enough to send you under again: stunned pleasure, relief, helpless devotion.
For a long moment, you both stay still. Then Levi kisses your damp temple and stays buried inside you, one hand sliding down to your stomach absentmindedly. His breathing gradually steadies. “You alright?”
You smile lazily and brush his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. “More than alright.”
He looks at you, a new raw vulnerability to his eyes. One you rarely ever see. “I mean it. If that was too much—”
“It wasn’t.” You touch his cheek. “I liked hearing it.”
Levi’s eyes soften, though his hand remains spread possessively over your belly. “Dangerous thing to tell me.”
summary: the night before fall semester, you meet an attractive older stranger at a bar. after too many drinks, you go home with him. the next morning, still hooked on the memories of last night, you walk into your graduate cognitive psychology seminar to discover that the stranger you met is your teacher — professor levi ackerman.
words: 2.6k
part: 2/? (pt 1)
content warning(s): modern levi ackerman x fem! reader, college au, professor/student relationship, power imbalance, porn with plot, dubious consent, dubious morality, eventual explicit sexual content, angst.
chapter specific warning(s): nothing really
author's note: more of a worldbuilding chapter than anything. . . sorry this chapter took SO long to post. i have no excuse other than i suck and im lazy.
You’d spent the last forty-eight hours trying to find a way to change your schedule.
You went to the scheduling department for the School of Psychology and asked almost every single worker if there was any loophole that would make it so you didn’t have to take Professor Ackerman’s class. All of them said the same thing — No. There was absolutely no way that you would be able to get out of this, not unless you were willing to extend your studying by another semester.
The class was a required seminar for your concentration, and Professor Ackerman was the only faculty member teaching it this semester. Professor Davis had to step down unexpectedly only two weeks ago like Levi said. There was no other section.
You were stuck.
Which was how, on Thursday, you found yourself climbing the stone steps that led towards the psychology building. The cooling temperature of early September had replaced the scalding heat of August, the excitement of a new school year was beginning to wear off, leaving students rushing in between buildings with coffee cups in their hands and tired looks in their gaze. Everyone was settling into their own routine and you were too, normally though, you loved this time of year. It was a fresh start, a new year, new you.
You adjusted the strap of your tote bag hanging on your shoulder, pushing open the door and making your slow march to Room 314, his lecture hall. The same girl who you saw speaking to Professor Ackerman on Tuesday was leaning against one of the wooden pillars talking to another girl you recognized from one of your classes last spring.
“I’m telling you, he’s brutal,” she said, fingers typing on her phone, barely looking up. “I asked him if I could be his TA so I could get a resume boost and he shot me down, barely even looked at me!”
Her friend shrugged. “He probably already has one.”
“No, he said he didn’t want one,” the blonde stated. “It’s so annoying.”
“Do you think he’s married?”
You nearly tripped over your own footsteps when it caught against the edge of a floor tile, casting your gaze down to the floor that suddenly became very interesting instead of the conversation you were overhearing. Because you knew that Professor Ackerman wasn’t married, you knew this very well. There hadn’t been another toothbrush sitting beside the sink or another pair of shoes in the front door, and there was no way he would’ve slept with you if he had a wife — or at least you hoped.
The realization settled somewhere inside you that you knew things about Professor Ackerman that no normal student should know, small and harmless at first and then something deeply intimate. You knew which side of the bed he slept on, how he alphabetized his books, and he preferred warm lighting over white. On the other hand, you knew exactly the type of noises he made when your lips wrapped around his dick for the first time, or the way his hands gripped your thighs open while he licked a thick stripe from the entrance of your cunt to your clit.
It was better to just push the door open to the lecture hall before you could hear the rest of the conversation, your footsteps echoing in the partially empty lecture hall as you made your way towards the seat you had been in before. Levi was already standing at the front, one hand bracing against the edge of the lectern while the other was fidgeting with the lighting of the projector casted in the front of the room.
He was dressed similar to how he was on Tuesday, donning a charcoal colored sweater with dark slacks pressed without a wrinkle. His sleeves were rolled nearly to his forearms, showing a silver colored watch that matched the thin-framed glasses on the bridge of his nose.
You grabbed your notebook and pen from your bag and set it down on the desk in front of you.
Levi looked up and for the shortest moment imaginable, his eyes met yours without hesitation. Afterwards he simply looked away again, organizing the notes on his desk until they were perfectly straightened at the edges, using the same detached professionalism he had promised you on Monday.
Students filed in and settled down, the sounds of chairs scraping against the floor and conversations that you couldn’t quite make out filled the space.
At exactly nine o’clock, Professor Ackerman cleared his throat.
“Okay, good morning. Today we’re going to discuss what I lectured about Monday: attention and executive function. You’ll all be expected to participate in this discussion for the established seminar portion of your grade,” he announced, clicking a button to show the beginning slide of his presentation. “Before we begin, I have a departmental announcement.”
A few students sat up a bit straighter.
“Tomorrow evening at seven, the Department of Psychology is hosting its annual graduate welcome mixer. Faculty members, graduate students, and research coordinators will be in attendance. If you are planning on conducting research or being a part of a research group, I suggest you come to meet faculty outside the classroom and foster potential research interests.”
A student raised his hand near the front of the hall. “Is it mandatory?”
Professor Ackerman sighed, pressing the button to the next slide that showed the event flyer with the location and time. “Do you want to get a job after school?”
“I mean . . . yeah.”
“Then you can probably answer your question yourself. You’re all adults, if you’d like to make your lives more difficult, don’t come to network. It doesn’t affect me at all.”
You heard a few laughs behind you and for a brief moment you saw the corner of Levi’s mouth twitch up in an almost smile.
“There will be food, if that sways your choice more than potential research opportunities.”
“I’ll go,” the student said a little bit too quickly after Professor Ackerman's comment.
Levi rolled his eyes, clicking the presentation forward to the beginning slides of lecture content. “Great to know where your priorities lie. Now, can we get started?”
Clusters of faculty members and other graduate students stood scattered throughout the big event space, warm light spilling from the lights above. Glasses of wine and plates of hors d’oeuvres sat neatly on long tables. You could hear drifting conversations of research funding, dissertations, and conferences between people dressed in business casual. Thankfully, the cream colored blouse and black trousers you chose an hour earlier matched some of the others’ outfits with ease.
To your right was Armin Arlert, your friend who you had survived two years of graduate school with. He was studying the room with the same hesitation and curiosity that you were, blue eyes looking between professors to mentally map where people were to talk to later.
“You know you won’t be able to talk to everyone,” you said to him, nudging your shoulder against his own.
Armin glanced to his side. “Yeah, maybe, but I can try.”
“Hm,” you conceded. “Enlighten me, where are we going first?”
Armin gestured his cup toward the side of a particular group, a tall blonde man stood relaxed but commanding the conversation he was having without needing to try. Every few seconds someone else would wander over to greet him, shaking his hand of calm authority. “Professor Smith, he’s my faculty sponsor,” he said. “We’re going there first.”
“Armin—”
Before you had any time to protest, Armin already started to weave through the crowd. You followed, staying close to him so you didn’t get swept up into a random conversation with a stranger.
More pieces of Professor Smith’s conversation began to drift into earshot as you continued closer with Armin.
“ . . . we finally got the research grant from the government.”
Professor Smith’s eyes widened. “Congratulations, does that mean that you start soon?”
“Hopefully September.”
He nodded, gaze lifting when Armin approached, a smile beginning to grow on his face. “Armin,” he said. “I was wondering when you were going to join us.” He reached out to give Armin’s shoulder a light squeeze. “And you brought company.”
You walked to stand at Armin’s side.
“We started graduate school together,” he said, motioning to you.
Professor Smith extended his hand gracefully. “Erwin Smith, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You too, Professor,” you replied.
“Please, outside of the classroom it’s Erwin,” he replied, turning his attention back to Armin. “Did you start the proposal for our study? I want the variables determined by the end of next week.”
Armin gave him a nod. “Yes sir, I’m about halfway finished.”
There was a quiet pride in Erwin’s voice that reminded you less of a professor and more of a mentor watching his mentee grow into their own. You were proud of Armin for doing so well, though, it probably helped that he didn’t sleep with his professor for the class that he needed in order to graduate.
Erwin turned back to you. “And how are you finding your first week?”
“I survived it,” you said with a laugh.
“A noble aspiration,” Erwin commented. “Which seminars are you taking this semester?”
You listed them off one by one, watching him nod in recognition and when you got to your Cognitive Psychology course, his expression brightened a touch more than with the others.
“With Levi?” He asked.
Your shoulders stiffened imperceptively. “Yes.”
“We worked at Trost University together a few years ago,” Erwin said. “And he’s also one of my oldest friends.”
Great.
Just great.
“Does he seem like he’s settling in?” He asked.
“He seems . . . fine,” you managed.
A quiet laugh left him. “I’ve known Levi for a long time, he always seems like he’s doing fine. He’s an excellent researcher but teaching has always mattered to him just as much. I don’t think he’d ever admit it aloud, of course.”
You blinked. Levi liked teaching? It seemed in his lectures that he merely tolerated it, especially with his no nonsense attitude with how he ran his class. You’d assumed he was only teaching because the department demanded it in order to run his research projects. “He likes teaching?” You asked, trying not to sound so shocked.
Erwin sensed your surprise and chuckled. “He has a unique way of showing it.”
Before you could prod him for more information, another voice cut into the conversation.
“Erwin.”
The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you turned to watch Levi walk towards the group. He approached with a glass of red wine in one hand, dressed in a charcoal colored blazer over a black button down. He looked less like Professor Ackerman and more like the man you’d met at the bar nearly a week ago. Only now, there wasn’t a smile waiting for you or the blatant flirting and eye fucking he’d given you that was able to charm you enough to go home with him.
Levi’s gaze landed on Erwin first, then to Armin, and lastly to you, which he spent less than a second looking at. If someone had walked by, they would assume that this was the first time you had ever talked to Levi outside of the classroom and from the looks of it, that was exactly what Armin and Erwin believed
There wasn’t the slightest bit of recognition or hesitation or anything that suggested anything beyond professor and student happened between the two of you. Whatever had existed between the two of you, in Levi’s mind, had been locked away behind that same face that stood at the front of a nearly packed lecture hall.
Erwin glanced between the two of you, blissfully unaware. “I was just asking her how your seminar’s been going. You’re not being too hard on the students the first week, right?” A knowing smile tugged at Erwin’s features, a harmless tease towards his more stoic friend.
Levi’s expression didn’t change, turning his face fully towards Erwin as though the look of your face was irrelevant to him. “It’s graduate school,” Levi spoke simply, a matter of fact tone like it was the most obvious question he’d been asked. “They’re adults.”
Erwin laughed, his hand slapping softly on Levi’s shoulder. It seemed like this wasn’t out of the ordinary for Levi to act this way. It made you wonder why he’d shown such a different side of himself with you that night, or perhaps that was a performance as well. Here, he fit with the professor persona who organized every thought before speaking it aloud and carried himself with quiet confidence.
That night, he’d leaned against the bar with his sleeves rolled up his forearms, nursing a drink and laughed under his breath when you commented on how he alphabetized his textbooks with meticulous precision.
“Did you go here for your undergraduate degree?” Erwin asked you, taking a sip from his glass. “Since Armin did, I assume you did as well.”
You nodded. “Yeah, I did. I wanted to stay here when I learned how good the graduate department is here.”
“Smart girl, very wise decision” Erwin praised. “Well since you’re so familiar with campus, you should join Levi’s research group so you can show him all the good places. He’s trying to find the place that serves the best tea.”
Your smile froze and you could see Levi unblinking from your peripheral view. His expression remained composed, but you could see the way that his fingertips whitened as he clutched his glass, grey eyes trying so hard not to squint in scrutiny towards the friend who was trying to help him in all the unspoken wrong ways.
You opened your mouth and realized you didn’t know what to say, you wanted to get out of this conversation as soon as possible so you didn’t have to feel as though a spotlight had been lit right on top of you. Join his research group? Spend hours together multiple days a week? Meetings, data, conferences, office hours . . . you had barely survived sitting through two of his lectures so far pretending that you hadn’t woken up in his apartment less than a week ago.
Armin, blissfully unaware, sweetly nudged your shoulder and smiled. “That would be a good fit, wouldn’t it? Your research interests do line up pretty well with Professor Ackermans.”
Levi’s eyes settled on you for the first time since joining the conversation, nothing intimate behind his gaze nor soft. It was measured, as though he was taking the consideration seriously. “I’m not sure I’m looking for anyone else right now for the research,” he said plainly. “The project’s already well underway.”
“Levi, you were talking about needing someone else to sift through all the data just a few days ago,” Erwin said. “You should just give her a chance. Armin has been wonderful on my team, and I’m sure he vouches for her.”
“I do,” Armin spoke, nudging you again. “She’s a really good student.”
Normally, you would accept the praise with open hands. Armin had seen you at your best and was one of the best students in your cohort, praise from him meant something. But now you wanted nothing more than to yell that you were actually the worst student in the world and would actually be horrible on Levi’s team.
I’m actually terrible. My statistical analysis is fraudulent and I can’t code and I can’t even read English!
The worst part was that Armin did really believe every word that he was saying, he had no idea how much you were drowning in this conversation. If the earth opened beneath your feet you would happily climb into it and never come out.
“It’s settled then,” Erwin said. “You’ll think about it?”
A quiet beat passed and Levi didn’t answer immediately, instead tracing his thumb along the stem of his wine glass. “I’ll consider it.”
“Good, Levi. You might be surprised how much work you can get done with some help.”
You took a very long and thorough sip of your glass, the burning of alcohol down your throat a temporary reprieve from the pit in your stomach.
