Wildflower
☆ Summary: It was supposed to be harmless dare: find a flower, hand it to Levi, walk away. No one accounted for what that flower would do to both of you.
☆ Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Female Reader
☆ Genre/Tags: Modern AU, Enemies to Lovers, Smut
☆ Content Warnings: Alcohol use, explicit sexual content, dubious consent, sex pollen, aphrodisiacs, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected PIV, multiple orgasms, creampie, multiple creampies, cockwarming, biting, dom!Levi
☆ Word Count: 6.1k
☆ AO3 Link
☆ a/n: This was the second highest voted poll option for the 400 follower celebration, which I chose to write for celebration of 500 followers! pls don’t ask for a part two I will lick a shopping cart if you do.
[ Art by usson0002 ]
You huddle on the worn plaid couch in the cabin’s living room, knees drawn up beneath you. The whole place smells like damp pine from the woods outside and the acrid tang of cheap alcohol burning your nostrils. Though the fire snaps and spits in the hearth, throwing orange light across the walls, it barely does anything to fight the cold that leaks through the old window frames.
It’s the final night of the group trip—Erwin’s grand idea, naturally, because apparently nothing says team bonding after a miserable work week like cramming everyone into a cabin in the middle of nowhere with questionable plumbing, too much alcohol, and Levi Ackerman. Levi, who is currently the primary source of the knot in your stomach. Levi, with his permanent scowl and tongue sharp enough to fillet someone alive before breakfast.
You put up with him because everyone else loves him, or at least claims to, but your patience with him has always been thin. Hange insists he’s just “misunderstood,” Petra calls him “harmlessly grumpy,” and Erwin gives you that weary, knowing look every time you and Levi end up snapping at each other like two feral animals. But you know better. Every comment he throws your way feels personal, like he’s dissecting your every flaw.
Two days ago, when everyone had first piled out of the cars, Levi had taken one look at the muddy footprints you tracked across the porch and said, loud enough for you to hear, “Great. Took five minutes for the place to turn into a pigsty.”
You’d turned on him instantly, your bag slung over your shoulder, and said, “Maybe if you weren’t such a neat freak, you’d unclench your ass long enough to enjoy a vacation.”
Erwin had clapped a hand on Levi’s shoulder, steering him away with a diplomatic smile. Miche had just stared as usual while Hange laughed so hard they nearly dropped their suitcase. Petra had given you a sympathetic pat on the back.
Everyone knows about the tension between you and Levi by now. It’s not even subtle. It’s an open secret, a running joke, a little spark that Hange claims makes group events “more interesting.” You’ve told them they should seek help multiple times.
Now, the men have migrated out back to the fire pit. Erwin is grilling burgers, Miche is drinking a beer, and Levi is probably critiquing the alignment of the logs or something as stupid as that. Meanwhile, you, Hange, and Petra have taken over the living room for girl time.
On the coffee table sits the punishment lineup for Drink or Dare: grain alcohol for you, absinthe for Hange, and ouzo for Petra. The rules are simple. Take the dare, or take a drink of whatever awful bottle has been assigned to you. It was Petra’s genius idea to choose drinks each of you personally hates, which means the dares have become progressively unhinged.
So far, you’ve eaten a raw onion slice on Hange’s dare. They streaked through the thankfully empty kitchen. Petra had confessed, in horrifying detail, her most embarrassing hookup story involving a clown costume. Against all odds, the bottles remain mostly full.
“Okay, my turn!” Hange announces, practically bouncing in the armchair, their glasses sliding down the bridge of their nose. They’re already tipsy from an earlier forfeit, having chosen to drink rather than send their boss a dick pic—which, frankly, is the first wise decision they’ve made all weekend. “Petra. Call your ex and demand that he moan your name. Loudly.”
You choke on your water so hard it burns your nose. Petra’s face flushes beet red, but to her credit, she snatches up her phone with grim determination. “Fine,” she says. “But if he blocks me, you’re buying drinks on the next trip.”
Next trip. You silently pray Levi won’t be invited.
The ringtone rills the room on speaker. When Oluo answers, sounding cautious already, Petra launches in before he can even say hello properly. “Hey, Oluo, I need you to moan my name right now. Make it good!”
There’s a stunned pause, then a sputtered, “What the fuck, Petra?” The line goes dead. You and Hange absolutely lose it. You fold forward, laughing so hard your stomach hurts, while Hange makes a strangled noise somewhere between a cackle and a death rattle. Petra, mortified, throws her phone onto the couch and reaches for the ouzo bottle. She takes a shot and immediately coughs.
“Why did you drink?” you wheeze, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes. “You did the dare.”
“I needed one after doing that,” Petra shudders.
“Fair,” Hange says, still giggling.
“Alright,” you say, leaning back, cheeks aching from laughter. “Your turn, Petra.”
Petra recovers, eyes still watering, and then turns toward you with a look so wicked that your smile falters before she even opens her mouth. “You. I’m coming for you.”
Your stomach flips. She’s got that look—the one that says she’s about to escalate. “Lay it on me.”
She points at you with one devilish finger. “Go outside into the woods behind the cabin, find a flower—any flower—and bring it back to Levi. No explanation. Just hand it over and walk away.”
The room goes silent, save for the crackle of the fire. Your heart stutters. “Levi?” you repeat, staring at her. Petra smiles innocently.
Of all people, Levi. Levi, who once told you your coffee breath qualified as a biohazard after you leaned too close to argue with him. Levi, who treats every interaction with you like an endurance test handed down by a cruel god. Levi, who will absolutely look at a random flower in your hand and somehow turn it into a federal crime.
Heat creeps up your neck, equal parts embarrassment and irritation. Why him? Why not Erwin, who would accept it politely and probably say something poetic? Why not Miche, who would sniff if and move on? This is absolutely sabotage, but the alternative is grain alcohol, and the thought alone makes your throat close.
You glare at Petra. “Fine,” you mutter, pushing yourself off the couch. As you slip on your shoes, you add, “But if he kills me, I’m haunting your ass first.” You flip them both off on your way to the back door.
The hinges creak as you slip outside, and the cold night air smacks you full in the face. The backyard fire pit glows amber, silohuetting the guys: Erwin standing over the grill, Miche sitting with his beer while staring into the flames, and Levi lounging in a chair with a mug of tea cradled in one hand.
You veer left before anyone can call out, keeping close enough to the cabin that you can still see the light from the windows. Moonlight filters through the canopy, turning the forest floor silver. Twigs snap beneath your sneakers with every step, obnoxiously loud in the quiet.
Stupid dare. Stupid Petra. Stupid Levi and his stupid face and his stupid ability to make your heart feel weird for reasons that are obviously anger and nothing else.
The air grows damp, alive with cricket chirps and the distant hoot of an owl. Your skin prickles. What if you get lost? What if you run into a bear? You tell yourself you’re being ridiculous. You’re a grown adult. You can walk twenty feet into the woods without turning into the first victim in a horror movie. Probably. You push deeper, the flashlight from your phone cutting a beam through ferns and underbrush. Your friends are probably snickering inside.
Then, you spot a cluster of wildflowers, delicate white petals glowing ethereally. You kneel and pluck one. It’s perfect. As you lift it, a bead of amber sap oozes from the break, sticky and glistening like dew. Great, it’s messy. Levi’s going to love that. You wipe it halfheartedly on your jeans, but it clings, tacky against your fingers.
Heart hammering, you trek back, the flower clutched in your hand. The cabin lights beckon you back. You skirt the fire pit’s edge, avoiding the gravel path where the guys sit. Levi’s profile is stark in the firelight. Erwin laughs at something Miche says. Your stomach twists. Just do it. hand it over. But doubt floods you: He’ll think I’m insane. Or flirting. God, no. Or worse, he’ll realize it was a dare and mock me forever.
You step into the firelight. “Levi.”
Three heads snap toward you. Miche’s nostrils flare subtly—he’s got that weird sniffing thing—and Erwin’s blue eyes widen in polite surprise. But Levi… Levi freezes, mug halfway to his lips. His gaze locks on you. Suspicion etches his features: narrowed eyes, slight tilt of his head, mouth pressing into a thin line.
You thrust the flower forward, the sap gleaming. No explanation. No apology. No context. Just you standing there like an idiot, arm extended, cheeks burning. Your pulse thunders in your ears.
Take it, you bastard. Don’t make this weird.
Erwin clears his throat, glancing between you. Miche shifts, arms crossing over his chest, and you catch the faintest suggestion of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Levi stares a second longer. You don’t know what his deal is. He doesn’t even have to say anything. He just needs to take the damn thing.
Then, his fingers brush yours as he plucks the flower from your hand. He turns his slowly between his fingers, the white petals catching the firelight, the amber sap shining at the stem. For a second, you wait for the insult. The dry little remark he always seems to have prepared. The inevitable, what the hell is this? It never comes. He says nothing. He just looks back up at you with an intensity that makes your heart stumble. You can’t stand it.
You spin on your heel, fleeing before he can speak, your heart slamming against your ribs. What was that look? Did you imagine the tension? No, he’s probably just plotting revenge. Gravel crunches underfoot as you burst through the back door, slamming it harder than intended. Hange and Petra are peeking from around the corner like spies, faces lit by their phone screens—of course they’re recording.
“Oh my god!” Hange whisper-shrieks, yanking you into the living room. “He took it! Without a word! Levi Ackerman accepted a mystery flower!”
Petra collapses onto the couch, clutching her sides. “Your face! Why did that look so romantic?”
“Romantic?” you say, eyeing your alcohol bottle. You definitely need a drink after that. But the confusion stops you. Why didn’t he snap? Why didn’t he make some little cutting comment and flick the flower into the fire? The fire inside pops mockingly, and from outside, muffled voices drift: Erwin’s chuckle, Miche’s rumble, Levi’s low murmur—too quiet to catch.
Hange pours celebratory shots—water, mercifully. “Your turn to dare now. But spill—did he smell it? Crush it? Fall madly in love? What?”
You flop down, forcing a laugh to drown the unease. “Nothing. He just took it like a weirdo.”
Hours blur after the game. The living room devolves into a haze of laughter. Petra passes out first on the couch, her assigned bottle clutched to her chest like a teddy bear. Hange drags you to the shared bedroom upstairs, a cramped space with twin beds. Both of you giggle too loudly, whisper-shouting at each other to be quiet. Hange drops into one bed and is asleep almost instantly, sprawled on their stomach with one arm hanging off the mattress.
The cabin quiets. The guys’ voices fade from the backyard, and doors creak shut. You strip to a tank top and shorts and slide under the quilt. You stare at the slanted ceiling. Moonlight pours in through the thin curtains. Exhaustion threatens to tug at you, but sleep evades, your body too restless. Your skin feels too warm under the covers. You shift onto your side, then onto your back again, then kick one foot out from under the blanket, irritated by the sudden heat gathering under your skin.
At first, you blame the alcohol. But you didn’t have that much. Then it creeps in: a low throb between your thighs. You shift, pressing your legs together, but it flares hotter. What the hell? Your nipples harden against the tank top. Heat pools in your core, slickness gathering. You turn your head and squint at the clock. It’s 2:17 a.m. Maybe it’s just stress from the game. Or… Levi’s touch? No, that’s insane.
The memory of his fingers on yours sparks unwelcome imagery—his eyes, his shirt clinging to his muscles. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing it away, but your clit throbs, demanding attention. Slick heat gathers until you feel trapped inside your own skin. You know this isn’t normal, but you have to get a grip. Hange snorts in their sleep. The sound should make you laugh. Instead, the room feels stifling, the walls closing in.
You can’t take it. Slipping from bed, your bare feet hit the cold floorboards. The hallway is dark and endless, lit only by a light from the main floor. Your heart races. You’ll just get some water and fresh air. Then it’ll pass.
You creep downstairs, every creak of the stairs amplified. Petra is still in the living room on the couch. The kitchen is dark, the fridge humming. You fill a glass with icy water but it does nothing to quell the fire raging inside. The heat still rushes through you, making your hand tighten around the glass until your knuckles ache. Your body betrays you with every breath.
A hand suddenly clamps your wirst, yanking you sideways. You don’t even have time to scream. You gasp, glass shattering on the floor in a spray of shards. Panic surges as you’re dragged, stumbling, into the spare bedroom off the kitchen. The door slams shut and you’re shoved against the wall, the wood biting your back.
Levi looms, his breath ragged and eyes wild in the sliver of moonlight that pours in through the window. His hair is disheveled, his shirt untucked, his pants… oh dear god. There’s a strain against his sweats, unmistakable.
“What the fuck did you do to me?” he growls, pinning your shoulders.
You blink, confusion crashing against fear. “What—get off! I didn’t do anything!” you whisper-shout, hands shoving at his chest. Arousal spikes tratiorously at the contact, your core clenching. What the hell has gotten into you?
His eyes narrow, face inches from yours. Fury is etched in every line. “Don’t play dumb. You drugged me. What was it?”
Drugged? The word yanks you back. “You’re crazy! I didn’t do shit. Let go!”
He doesn’t budge, his grip tightening just enough to terrify you. “My dick has been hard for the past hour no matter how many times I jerk myself off. What kind of aphrodisiac did you drug me with? Did you give me a pill? Slip it in my tea?”
His voice drops to a hiss, his cheeks flushed—not just anger, you realize. Desperation. The outline in his pants twitches, and your own body responds, wetness soaking through. Shock ripples through you. Images flood—Levi’s hand down his pants, letting out frustrated grunts. Your thighs rub together.
Then the pieces slowly start fitting together.
“It’s the flower,” you blurt.
He stares, incredulous, like you’ve slapped him. “Very funny. Now tell me what you drugged me with before I report your psychotic ass.”
“No, listen!” You twist against him, but it only presses your breasts to his chest, your nipples scraping deliciously. You shake your head internally. You need to focus. “It’s the only thing we both touched. You took it from me. The sap got on your fingers too. Our friends wouldn’t drug us, not even for a prank.”
You’re not sure if you even believe yourself, but Levi’s expression shifts and his breath hitches. His eyes flick to your lips, then down your body—tank riding up, shorts clinging to your thighs that rub together. His eyes widen ever so slightly. He must realize that you’re going through the exact same thing. He releases your shoulders, raking a hand through his hair.
“Great. A fucking flower got me hard,” he spits.
You meet his gaze. “Yeah, well, a fucking flower got me wet. We’re even.”
Silence lengthens between you. His eyes darken, pupils blown, scanning your face, your heaving chest, then lower. His confusion mirrors your own. This can’t be real. A flower that releases an aphrodisiac? But the pull is undeniable.
Heat crackles between you, the air thickening and charged like a storm about to break. Slowly, your bodies lean in like magnets, the fight dissolving into shared desperation. He’s too close. He smells so good. He’s still hard against your thigh.
You don’t know who moves first. Your lips crash. You moan into it, hands grabbing his shirt, pulling him close. He groans, a low sound in his throat, his tongue invading and claiming yours. It’s messy and frantic. Teeth nip your lower lip. His hips grind his rigid length against your core. You break for air, foreheads pressed, both of you panting.
“Fuck,” he rasps, hand sliding to your hip, gripping hard enough to bruise. “This… we can fuck it out. Get rid of it. Then we’re done.”
“Yeah,” you say, nodding, even though your mind is reeling. Are you really about to have sex with Levi? But the ache demands it. All logic is lost. “Just this once.”
Levi’s gaze sears into you, stripping you bare before a single thread hits the floor. Your back hits the mattress with a muffled thud as he throws you down. Your entire body is buzzing, waiting for any sort of contact, your nerves screaming for more. He cages you. Forearms brace on either side of your head, trapping you between his body and the bed. The heat radiating off him is suffocating.
Then his mouth descends. It isn’t a kiss so much as a collision—hunger made physical. Your lips part under the assault, yielding to the invasive slide of his tongue. Teeth knock together. Saliva slicks your chin. You taste the black tea on his tongue as you arch up, hands clawing at the muscle in his shoulders. He answers with his hips, grinding down. The thick ridge of his erection drags against your soaked core through the thin fabric. The pressure drags a whimper from you, swallowed by his mouth. Your clit pulses with each thrust of his hips.
The kiss deepens into passionate chaos. His growl vibrates against your lips. Your nails rake his back under his shirt. He breaks away, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. His teeth graze your pulse point, sucking hard enough to bruise. You gasp, head falling back against the pillow.
Sensation detonates across your skin, but the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins turns every spark into an inferno. Your flesh feels raw, hypersensitive to every touch. Every lick sends jolts straight to your core. His hands roam, shoving your tank top up to bunch under your arms. The sudden kiss of cold air stiffens your nipples, and then his mouth is there, closing over one breast.
His tongue swirls before sucking hard. You cry out, back arching off the bed, fingers twisting in his hair. The slight pain lights a fire in your abdomen. He switches sides, teeth nipping, drawing another moan—a moan that’s too loud for the paper-thin walls. Levi’s hand flies up, clamping over your mouth mid-gasp. His eyes lock on yours, dark and commanding.
“Stay quiet if you want my cock in you,” he warns, thumb pressing your lower lip.
How the hell are you supposed to stay quiet? Still, you nod frantically, eyes wide, biting his palm to stifle the next inevitable sound. He smirks and slides his free hand down your body, shoving your shorts aside. Fingers find your folds, slick and swollen with need. He groans against your skin at the copious wetness that coats his hand. Two fingers plunge in, curling ruthlessly. His thumb circles your clit. You whimper into the cage of his hand, hips jerking, walls clenching around him. He pumps steadily, scissoring and stretching you to prepare you. His hawkish gaze never leaves your face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every grimace of need.
Your orgasm builds like a rising tide, hovering just out of reach, but every time you teeter on the edge, he eases back, denying you. Tears prick your eyes. You nod again, muffled pleas vibrating against his palm. The room spins in lust’s haze.
Finally, he withdraws, both of you shedding your clothes in a frenzy. Shirts are yanked off, shorts are kicked away, his sweats hit the floor. His cock is freed, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s thick, heavy, veins tracing the rigid length, the head flushed dark and weeping. You know, with a certainty that settles in your gut, that he’s going to ruin you.
He hauls you toward the bed’s center, palms gripping your hips, flipping you onto your stomach with a suddenness that knocks the breath from your lungs. Face down, knees sinking into the mattress, you push up slightly on your forearms, ass lifted in involuntary offering. The position exposes everything, rendering you utterly vulnerable to the weight of his gaze and the hunger you can feel radiating off him.
His weight crashes down atop you, a heavy, furnace-hot blanket of muscle. His knees force yours wider, spreading you until the air ghosts against your drenched entrance. The blunt head of his cock prods your slit, dragging through your arousal in a teasing slide that has you whining into the bedding, hips twitching back.
Then he drives forward. One smooth thrust buries him to the hilt, splitting you open on his length with a stretch that’s almost agonizing. You scream, but the sound dies against the pillow as you bury your face in the fabric, teeth sinking into cotton. He fills you impossibly, the sheer girth of him forcing your walls to accommodate. Levi stills, chest heaving, his breath scalding the shell of your ear. You feel the tremor in his thighs.
Then he moves. He pulls back and snaps forward, flesh slapping against flesh, driving the air from your lungs. He sets a brutal rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that jolt you forward on the mattress. Every ram of his hips is angled perfectly to strike that tender, swollen spot inside you. The bed shakes, the headboard thumping softly. You bite the pillow until your jaw aches, trying to swallow the sounds, but a moan rips free.
His hand clamps your mouth again, sealing the sound inside. “Shut the fuck up,” he warns, his hips slamming harder in punishment. You obey, breaths ragged through your nose. He fucks you without mercy. Sweat slicks the seal where your bodies slam together. His chest is plastered against your back, trapping you completely beneath him.
Wet kisses pepper your neck, tongue tracing your vein before sucking marks into the skin. His groans build. To muffle them, he bites your shoulder. The pain melts into ecstasy. You clench around him, chasing the peak he denied earlier, but he controls it, pace faltering as his own end nears.
“Fuck—where do you want it?” he rasps, thrusts erratic.
“In me,” you beg, words muffled against his hand.
He snarls, burying deep one last time, grinding against your womb. His release floods you, hot ropes painting your walls. Levi shudders atop you, biting harder to silence his moan. You teeter on the edge, clenching to milk him, but he slips out too soon. Cum trickles down onto the bed.
He rolls off, chest heaving, but he’s still hard. His cock glistens in the moodnight, twitching back to life. “Shit,” he curses, glaring at the ceiling. “That damn flower.”
Panting, you prop yourself up on your elbows. You roll onto your back and look at him. “Wow, so you’re not even going to get me off?”
Levi’s eyes snap to yours, narrowing at your quip. A spark of challenge ignites in the storm grey. He shoves your legs wide and he settles between your thighs, breath ghosting your slick folds. Out of all the ways you expected him to get you off, you thought this would be the last. For a clean freak like him, you thought he’d despise giving. Clearly, you were wrong about him. In more ways than one.
His tongue comes hot and flat against your core. He licks a slow stripe up your center, gathering your mixed release. You jolt, hands fisting the sheets, a whine escaping your throat before you can swallow it. He groans into you, vibrations shuddering through your core. He seals his lips around your clit, sucking and flicking with precision. His fingers part you, delving in to curl against your g-spot, pumping in time with his tongue’s assault.
“Levi—” you moan, too loud. His hand covers your mouth again, eyes flashing warning above your mound.
“Quiet,” he hisses, muffled by your skin, but he doesn’t stop. His tongue lashes harder, fingers curling relentlessly. Your moans are swallowed by his palm. The stars behind your eyelids deotnate into surpernovas. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, walls spasmsing violently around his thrusting digits. Your release floods his mouth. You cry out into his hand. He laps you through it greedily until you slump, trembling.
He rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His cock stands rigid against his abdomen, angry and red, twitching with renewed demand. “I’m not done,” he says, positioning over you.
He hooks his legs over the crooks of his elbows and folds you open—wider, wider still—until your knees press toward your shoulders and you feel the stretch of your hips, the total exposure of your core to his gaze. The position renders you helpless, a vessel for his use. The swollen head of his cock nudges your slit, dragging through the mess of your combined arousal, then he thrusts home, burying himself to the root.
You gasp, a desperate sound, arms flying up to wrap tight around his neck, anchoring yourself as he splits you open on his length. But the moans spill free despite your best efforts—volume rising with each savage snap of his hips.
Levi snatches the pillow from beside your head and slams it down over your face. Darkness engulfs you instantly, the scent of old cotton and sweat filling your nostrils. His voice filters through the barrier: “Tap my arm twice if you can’t breathe.”
You nod frantically under the fabric. You have no need to tap. He fucks you hard, setting a punishing pace. The sound of his skin hitting yours echoes softly. The mattress springs scream. When the bedframe hits the wall too hard, he curses under his breath and slows to deep, grinding rolls that press his pelvis flush against your thighs. They still hit every sweet spot inside you. Sweat drips from him onto your stomach.
Pleasure coils again despite the recent peak. He shifts the pillow aside abruptly, tossing it across the room. The air hits your flushed face. His mouth claims yours with feverish hunger—lips bruising, tongue plunging to swallow the moans you can no longer contain. The kiss is salvation. You taste yourself on him. Hands roam—yours in his hair, tugging; his gripping your thigh, angling deeper until he’s grinding against your cervix.
His thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles to match the rhythm of his hips. You break the kiss to gasp, but he chases your mouth, refusing you air. Pressure builds, inexorable. Your walls flutter, your release barreling forward with terrifying speed.
“Levi—gonna—” The words die in your mouth as you cum first, lightning spiking your nerves while your vision whites out. Your nails dig crescents into his back.
Your clenching triggers him. He buries deep, groaning into the kiss, hot jets of cum pulsing inside you, filling your womb again. Your bodies lock together, shuddering through the aftermath, muscles spasming in unison. He collapses half-atop you, forehead to your shoulder.
And yet, he doesn’t soften. His cock twitches, still hard, trapped in your fluttering heat. Levi lifts his head, frustration etching his features. “Fuck—this thing won’t quit.” He pulls back slightly, staring down at where you’re joined, at the sight of his length disappearing into your cum-slick, swollen folds.
Panting, you meet his gaze. “Stay inside. Just ride it out.”
Levi pauses. He looks somewhat skepitcal, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, but he sighs and shifts. “On your side,” he commands, laced with fatigue.
You comply, rolling onto your side. Levi mirrors you, molding behind you with his chest to your back and his thighs slotting against yours. One strong arm snakes under your head like a pillow, and the other hooks your top leg over his hip, opening you. He lines himself up and slides back in with a slow push. Inch by inch, he sinks all the way in, reclaiming the territory he never truly vacated, until his pubic bone is pressed flush to your ass.
You reach back instinctively, fingers gripping the jut of his hip. Levi envelops you fully, wrapping both arms around your torso, one hand splaying possessively over your stomach, the other cupping your breast. He groans low, the sound rumbling through your joined bodies. He twitches inside you, like a heartbeat against your walls. His lips find your neck, pressing soft kisses along the fresh bruises.
Neither of you moves. You stay connected, breathing synced in the quiet. The fullness is exquisite torture, his thickness stretching you as your cum-slick walls flutter around him, milking him without motion. Minutes pass and the tension simmers, a banked fire waiting only for the breath that will ignite it again.
“Why do you always act like I shit on your parade?” you murmur, turning your head slightly against his bicep.
Levi huffs, breath hot on your ear, hips shifting minutely—enough to cause your stomach to flip. “Me? You’re the one with the attitude, snapping like everything I say is an insult.”
You snort softly, clenching around him involuntarily; he hisses. “You nitpick everything. Calling me messy like you’re perfect, Mr. Disinfectant.”
His grip tightens on your breast, thumb circling the nipple lazily. “You are messy. Doesn’t mean I think I’m perfect. But…” He pauses, his voice dropping. “Fuck it. You’re hot as hell. You drive me insane.”
Heat floods your cheeks. You can’t exactly say that you don’t feel the same way. You just never wanted to admit it—to anyone else, or even yourself. “Well… I think you’re attractive too. Stupidly. I just didn’t want to admit it, so I pushed back.”
His chuckle vibrates into you. “Mutual torture, then.” Fueled, he stirs, hips drawing back an inch then pressing forward in a slow, deep thrust.
“Levi,” you moan, arching back.
He holds you tigher, spooning your trembling body. His body envelops you completely like a protective cocoon. “Stay quiet,” he murmurs against your hair, thrusting again. It’s a slow, grinding slide that buries him to the hilt, stirring your depths.
There’s no frenzy now, no desperation—only a deep, rocking connection that grinds his pelvis against your ass with each forward press. His cock drags against your swollen walls, the ridge of his head stroking that aching spot inside you. The pace builds languidly, a rising tide rather than a crashing wave, each roll of his hips designed to wind you tighter rather than break you apart.
One hand slides down your stomach, calloused fingers dipping through the slick mess of your combined arousal to find your clit. He rubs gentle circles, syncing the pressure perfectly with his thrusts—up and in, press and roll. The other hand rises to knead your breast, fingers pinching and rolling the nipple until it aches.
The triple assault overwhelms you. Your clit throbs under his fingertips, his cock strokes a sensitive spot inside you, and the sharp tugs at your nipple thread a wire of sensation directly to your core. Moans build, muffled against his arm. You bite your lip, but they escape—his name, whimpers, pleads. The bed, mercifully, stays silent. His mouth trails hot, open kisses along the curve of your shoulder.
Your climax creeps in, inevitable. The feeling in your stomach spreads like liquid fire. “Levi—close,” you gasp, hand clutching his veiny forearm, nails digging into the taut muscle.
“Cum,” he orders, voice strained to breaking, the single word a command against your ear. His thrusts deepen, fingers pressing harder. It breaks you open, waves crashing against you as your pussy clamps around him, your wetness soaking his hand and cock. You tremble in his arms, crying his name into the pillow.
Your release milks him and triggers the flood of his own climax. Levi sinks in all the way, groaning your name against your neck as his essence erupts for the third time, painting you full. He pulses endlessly, hips stuttering in shallow jerks as he empties everything left inside him. Warmth overflows you, his seed trickling despite his plug.
Exhaustion claims you both. Your limbs feel heavy, your breathing slows, and neither of you move. You’re too spent to disentangle and return to separate beds. It’s risky, but you both decide without even speaking it aloud that you’ll stay like this. His arms remain around you. His heartbeat thuds against your back. Your eyelids droop.
The flower’s fire turned you from enemies to lovers, if only for the night.
.
Sunlight pierces the spare room’s window, a golden blade slicing through the dust. It rouses you from your sleep. Your body aches, a delicious soreness. Your thighs are sticky, and your core is tender from Levi’s relentless claiming. He’s still behind you, arms lax but draped possessively. His morning wood twitches half-hard inside. You hope it actually is just morning wood and not the flower.
You shift and he stirs, his eyes cracking open. His cock slips free with a wet sound, cum trickling anew. Levi tenses, rolling away. No words. The vulnerability from your confessions has evaporated, replaced by awkward silence. You both dress hastily. He cracks the door open first, and you follow.
Everyone is staring at you. Not subtly, either.
Erwin is at the counter, mug suspended halfway to his mouth, his expression neutral in a way that somehow makes it worse. Miche stares at you like he already knows what went down. Petra blushes furiously over her cereal, and of course, Hange is grinning like a maniac, chin propped on one hand, eyes bright with the knowledge that they’ve been handed blackmail material gift-wrapped by the gods.
Levisteps in behind you and stops. You freeze, heat crawling up your neck. You eye the ground where the broken glass should be. It’s swept up into a broom pan. Clear evidence. Recovered evidence. The worst kind. No one speaks. Tension crackles, and eyes dart between you two like witnesses to a crime.
Levi veers upstairs without a glance, shutting the door behind him. You bolt after him, cheeks burning, slamming your bedroom door. You consider simply staying here forever. Then you peel yourself away from the door and start stripping. Your tank top hits the floor, then your shorts follow. You grab a towel and turn toward the mirror, only to stop dead.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whisper.
Hickeys are covering your throat and collarbone. Bite marks, too, faint but unmisktable, trail along places you absolutely cannot explain away with mosquitoes. A shower calls to you. Hot water. Soap. Steam. The chance to scrub away at least the sweat, if not the memory of every humiliating sound you apparently made in a cabin full of your friends.
You wrap the towel around you and take one step toward the bathroom. Then footsteps pound down the hallway, and the bedroom door bursts open. Hange barrels in.
“Hey, so by the way,” they start, flopping on their bed, “did you know that flower you picked up yesterday—the female ones anyway—have an aphrodisiac sap? It’s loaded with pheromones. Apparently it makes woodland critters go absolutely feral. Little sex rabbits everywhere. Nature is beautfiful.”
You whirl on them. “You couldn’t have told me before—”
“Before you fucked Levi’s brains out at 3 in the morning? Yeah, we all heard. Thanks for waking everyone up, dude! ‘Levi, oh god, Levi’—classic.”
Mortification washes over you, drowning you. Your face flames and you dive under your blankets, burrowing like a child. The sheets muffle your groan. Hange’s laughter erupts. They poke your foot.
“Spill. Was he any good?”
“Out!” you yelp, kicking blindly at them through the covers.
You're not looking forward to the trip back home.
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