having a crush on professor Levi would be so hard and embarrassing at the same time because why are you blushing while being scolded for not getting a simple formula?
you are currently in his office, seated on his chair under his desk. your hands fiddling with each finger as they nestled timidly down on your lap while he's explaining the problem you were having earlier in class. you are one of the top students and your grades in almost every subject were beyond excellent. well, almost.. except for professor Levi Ackerman’s class. his subject wasn’t even that hard, you just can’t seem to focus no matter how hard you try. it’s like he always finds his way to creep into your thoughts making it hard for you to listen attentively and keep your attention on the lesson. now you’re having trouble catching up with all the lectures you missed, thanks to your daydreaming about your hot professor who won’t leave you alone (in your mind at least)
“Did you get all of that?" his hard gaze on you makes your face heat up and you panic at the question. you just nodded, but the truth is you didn’t even understand any single word that he said. you were too focused on how close he was standing next to you. his arm resting perfectly on the back of your chair while the other flexes as he points at the screen in front of you and it’s not helping either with how good he smells, the scent of mint so intoxicating fills your senses and your breathing becomes ragged. your thoughts start to drift around dangerous waters and you can't help the image planted in your mind, you on his desk, him between your legs. your palms firmly placed against his chest while his hands are roaming at the small of your back. he pulls you against him making you gasp and he takes that as an opportunity to connect your lips with hi— you close your eyes and shake your head in attempt to push the dirty thoughts away, what the hell is wrong with you?
"tch. you’re clearly not listening again.” he flicks your forehead and that made you snap out of it.
“s-sorry sir, I was just..” you tried to reason but you couldn’t find anything to say, not even an excuse. you can’t just blatantly admit to him that the reason why you couldn’t focus is because of him and how badly you want him. you hear him let out a disappointed sigh and you feel bad. you can’t even look at him right now.
“something bothering you isn’t it? you need to tell me what is it so we can fix it.” Levi says as he grips your chair, twisting it around making you face him. fuck, your faces are now so close to each other. too close, you feel like you might pass out any second. you’ve never been this close to him before and if he leans a little more, your lips would definitely touch. why does he have to be so fuckin hot?
“tell me, what seems to be distracting you that you can’t even focus in my class?”
Levi isn’t dumb. he’s actually aware of your odd behavior in his class that has been going on for months now. he’s been observing you silently, but there hasn’t been a single improvement from you at all. in fact, you actually became worse. he knows that you are smart and that you aced almost every class you’re in, so what is it about his class that has a top student almost close to flunking?
then he figured it out when he called you into his office this morning.
“am I making you nervous?” this time, he says your name. the way it rolled off his tongue so smoothly, you feel chills inside your body causing goosebumps to rise from your skin. you gulped, trying to calm yourself. shit he knows.. of course he would! but still, he doesn’t know that you like him, right? he couldn’t possibly..
pairing: levi x reader
word count: 3.2K
tw: swearing, mentions/descriptions of sex, alcohol consumption, marijuana use, mentions of cheating, nude photos, age gap, teacher/student
themes: modern au, college (grad school) au, enemies with benefits, enemies to lovers, slow burn, professor levi, writer!levi, extremely smutty, lots of pining, hurt/comfort & hurt/no comfort, dom levi/sub reader
tags: @number-0-iz @propertyoftoru @commanderawkward @thenamesholly @shortmexicangirl @missyasma @syubseokie @ceceofthevalley @sleepynyx @lavidamuerta @rxcked @peacchfuz @musababy | reply to be added!!
<chapter nine | chapter eleven>
“I’m going to be honest with you,” Levi whispers in your ear, clearly not as sobered by the present situation as you are. “I have no idea what we should do right now.”
Although this comment is not particularly helpful, his voice at least shocks you from your current state: frozen, lipstick smeared down your chin, legs on either side of Dr. Ackerman, dress ridden up to the very tops of your thighs, just gawking at Reiner while he stares open-mouthed back. Shaking yourself from your trance, you shove off of Levi as quickly as possible — which likely looks more like a drunken tumble from where the blond is sitting. Your heels hit the pavement, stinging the blisters that have formed within them, and you yank down the hem of your dress roughly.
“I am so sorry,” you stammer out, but he’s shutting the trunk behind his barking lab and rounding to the driver’s side. In a matter of seconds, Reiner has already backed out of the parking space and started down the drive. Speechless, you turn slowly back around to face your accomplice.Levi, ever the kind, generous soul that he is, is laughing a real, full-bellied laugh, holding onto his sides and doubling down so the top of his head touches the seat in front of him. You groan and roll your eyes, giving him a frown. “Goodnight, Dr. Ackerman,” you tell him flatly, watching as he tries to regain his composure.
Stray chuckles still leaking from his mouth, he leans back on his hands. “Sweet dreams, brat. Be a doll and snap a few photos for me while you’re getting undressed. Surely you wore something you wanted me to see,” Levi says, and with that, the driver slams the back door shut. Your cheeks blaze red.
“I’m sorry about that,” the driver apologizes, “Mr. Ackerman gets kind of messy when he’s drunk.” In all fairness, the suited brunette has no way of knowing that you also get kind of messy when you’re drunk. “Would you like me to walk you up, Miss?”
You smile and shake your head. “No, thank you,” you say, turning on your heel. “Drive safe,” you call. Attaching your hand firmly to the banister, you wave back at him and start up the stairs. Only three of them trip you up as you stumble to the top and trudge to the black door, a yearning for your pillow creeping underneath your eyelids with every painful step. Reaching to rummage in your purse as you approach the silver plate that reads 17B, you suddenly flash back to scurrying out to avoid Zeke’s voice of reason — and when you skipped out the door, your keys hung perfectly still on the rack to your left.
“Fuck,” you whisper under your breath as you lift your fist to the black-painted obstruction in front of you. Beating it lightly three times, you hope that your roommate is either too tired to argue or has had a sudden change of heart.
A bout of shuffling, muffled voices, and footsteps sounds from the previously quiet apartment in the ten chilly seconds that you wait to be accommodated. The short series of clicks from the locking mechanism and the turn of the knob come shortly after, the door pulling open to a dark room lit by the television screen and a face framed by familiar messy brown locks.
“You look like you had a good time,” Eren jests, stepping back to let you in. He’s dressed in a hoodie and sweats, hair half tied in a haphazard knot. Tossing your purse down, you plop on the loveseat by the door and start at the horrendous shoes on your feet without even taking a look around. “Tell me something fancy you did. I’ve been waiting all day.” The green-eyed gossip takes his spot next to you, tossing an arm around your shoulders as you kick the stilettos underneath the sofa.
Zeke’s dismissive scoff draws your attention to the couch on the other wall, where he sits on the end closest to Eren and you. On the far end, Armin is nestled comfortably into half of a plush, blue throw blanket, the unoccupied half lying in wait for your friend’s return. “Don’t encourage her,” your roommate grumbles. His younger, more agreeable brother kindly flips him the bird before turning back to face you.
Choosing to follow suit and ignore the muttering blond, you look at the ceiling in thought. “I did a lot of fancy shit,” you say honestly, trying to pick out the highlights. You give him and your other two friends an overview of the events of your date with Levi, highlighting important details like the driver, the wine, and the escargot. Two of the men among you nod along with wide-eyed engagement, but Zeke just frowns.
“Dude, I’m sorry,” you tell him, even though he’s actively avoiding your eyes. “I love you, but you’re not my fucking dad.” Maybe your tone is a little harsh, but then again, so is the buzz of the wine. And so is the edge you’ve been on since Reiner stormed off. And so he’s been since you walked in the door.
He doesn’t protest, though; in fact, he doesn’t reply at all. He just gives your apology a dry little chuckle and tosses a two-fingered salute over to his little brother, standing, stretching, and starting toward the hall. As he fades out of view, Eren whispers, “Do you think we’ll get all cranky like that when we get to be his age?”
Now feeling a bit less up to company, you let out a yawn. “I need to go to bed,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers. Two fifty-pound cinder blocks sit on either of your shoulders, one for each of the blonds effectively ruining your otherwise perfect night. As you retire, you can’t help but be a bit thankful that you’ve rid yourself of the ten-ton anvil that is Levi.
While you drift to sleep, tucked tight and warm into your bed with the soothing sound of muffled music slipping beneath the door, you figure you’ll begin putting out all of these fires tomorrow — but as your wine-weighted lids begin to flutter shut, Dr. Ackerman begins to pervade over anything else in your mind.
-
LEVI
Waking up from a nap on the floor of his office at the university, Levi realizes that he is a fucking idiot.
Admittedly, he needed some time to let loose — his meeting with you this morning left the man rather shaken, after all — but he would’ve preferred it took place within the security of his home. Pulling his knees to his chest and looking about the quaint room, all the anger leaves him in the same breath as the chuckle he produces. Hange has neatly arranged a pot of tea, two aspirin, and a snack on his desk, accompanied by his pressed and folded jacket, cell phone, and a handwritten note.
Moblit is on standby with the car — text him when you wake up. I’ll see you this evening. Make good choices.
Hange
Levi lifts himself to his feet with his hands and strolls around the desk, taking a seat in the plush black chair and tossing the aspirin into his mouth immediately. As he takes his phone and powers it back on, he’s suddenly hit with a very disturbing memory. He asked you to dinner. Why the fuck would he ask you to dinner?
He punches the messages shortcut firmly, tapping on the thread with you as quickly as he can locate it. The minor headache eases into a deep, throbbing pain as the conversation comes back to him, and Dr. Ackerman wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do now.
-
The week passes rather quickly after the Tuesday night outing. Before he knows it, Levi is twirling his thumbs over the keyboard for what feels like the billionth time on a cold Sunday afternoon. You’ve spoken one time since dinner, and he’s not entirely sure how to remedy that. Again, he scrolls back and forth through the scarce text thread the two of you share — just shy of twenty-four hours after you gave your address, he received a total of three photos:
A selfie you took in the backseat of his car on the drive home: you look messy in the most attractive way he can imagine, a bit of lipstick smeared under your bottom lip as you smile and your neckline pulled much lower than it was when he picked you up. You’re resting snugly underneath Levi’s arm, his head laid gently atop your own. The pigment around his mouth perfectly matches the one on yours. The picture doesn’t show, but he knows that his other hand is tucked between your thighs.
A photo of you in the mirror, presumably in your bedroom before dinner. The dress compliments your form in the most flattering of ways, making Levi’s stomach twist.
Then, the grand finale: another in the same mirror, snapped just before you sent the message, if he had to take a guess. He’d made a sloppy joke about seeing what you’d worn for him, but he didn’t expect you to follow through. Red, lacy lingerie hugs tight to your perfect body as you pose casually, your face just out of frame. Even as he views it again now, his mouth goes dry.
Levi replied as soon as he could pull himself together, saying the only thing he could think clearly enough to type out: You’re beautiful. And you sent a fucking smiley face. He had no idea how to reply to that, so he didn’t. This was Wednesday.
He tosses his phone down on the desk in front of him, resigning yet again until another hour or two from now. His eyes roam for something to keep him busy; off days are few and far between, and he rarely finds himself with nothing to do. Boredom is on the top ten list of things the man absolutely loathes.
A manila folder tucked beneath a stack of paperwork catches his eye, and Levi plucks it out with two fingers before flipping it open. The idea of something so important slipping his mind baffles him, but he can’t spend much time thinking it over. Flicking the switch for the lamp and leaning back, he devours your latest submission with striking urgency.
Before he nears the end of the first sentence, he can sense something very different behind your keystrokes. For the first time, the words seem to jump off the page as if he’s stepped into a film, distorting his senses and immersing him in the action taking place before him. It clicked — you’re back in on the project. Levi worried before that you would never adjust when he made you change gears so suddenly, but there’s a familiarity in the text before him. These are the kind of pages written in a frenzy, eyes locked on the cursor and fingers moving rapidly, as if you’re trying to keep up with someone telling you exactly what to write down.
And you go under. Ignoring the rumble of your stomach and the demands of your bladder becomes second nature, and nothing on the planet matters more than copying what the voice says until it’s finished. Hours later, you’ll emerge with a pounding headache and nausea, but it’s worth it. Because the frenzy itself feels like fucking drugs. There is no feeling in the world more comfortable than the pure solitude of putting your all into the page. Perhaps there is one thing he does love about writing: that one beautiful feeling. It’s rare for Dr. Ackerman to retract a statement he’s made in the past.
As his eyes reach the last word, a lightbulb shines above his head. Levi grabs his phone.
I finished reading your pages. Can I call you so we can talk about it?
-
YOU
Your blood runs ice cold as you read the message from Dr. Ackerman, and you blow the smoke out of your mouth as quickly as possible. As if that will make a difference.
“Fuck,” you groan, passing the blunt to Eren and sinking your head into both hands. “Levi wants to call me about my pages.” He coughs while you look up at him, eyes so low and bloodshot that they’re nearly closed. Seeing this concerns you — your friend smokes weed far more often and has a much higher tolerance than you do. Although you knew you were high, you didn’t know you were that high.
The brunette sitting in the bathtub beside you laughs as he thumps the ash into the little black trash can. “You’re way too stoned to talk to him,” he says, nudging you with his shoulder. “Make sure you put it on speaker.”
You mutter, “Fuck you,” under your breath as you try to type out a message that doesn’t say, hey levi! i’m blazed right now, but i’m trying to be cool about it so you don’t notice. Once you manage to complete that task, your phone rings within the second. You take in a deep breath and tap the green button.
“Hey!” you greet Dr. Ackerman, trying to feign cheerfulness as Eren points urgently at the speakerphone icon. Reluctantly and begrudgingly, you oblige him.
“Hey. I want to apologize for taking so long to read them. Hange put the folder underneath something, and I forgot you gave it to me,” Levi says, his voice deep and smooth. Your lips turn up automatically at the sound, before shooting right back down. You should’ve been preparing what you were going to say. What are you going to say?
Eren throws up his hands as you look at him, your eyes wide and anxious, and you consider hanging up. Your brain is full of static. “That’s okay,” you stammer out, mentally kicking yourself as hard as you can. “I really don’t mind. What did you think?”
“I was really impressed. I hope I can see more like it.”
Perhaps it's the shock of Dr. Ackerman actually praising your work. Or the sound of Zeke arriving at the apartment overwhelming you amongst everything else happening right now. Or maybe it’s just the fact that you are way, way too high to be having this conversation with him. Whatever the reason may be, it makes you blurt out, “Are you just saying that because we’re, like, fucking?”
Although the line is silent, Eren is not. You press the mute button as quickly as you can as he shakes with laughter beside you, the hand clamped over his mouth not accomplishing much as far as muffling it. You smack his arm and mouth, “Shut up,” at him, but he just sticks out his tongue. Levi clears his throat.
“Listen, I didn’t pick you based on a fucking headshot. Can you be an adult for a second?” His voice is gruff, sending your heart to your throat and Eren’s eyebrows to his hairline.
You stammer embarrassingly for a moment before gathering your composure. “I’m sorry. Really. I just find it hard to believe,” you try to explain, your tone small and timid. Your friend puts a supporting hand on your shoulder as he does an awful job of masking his snickering.
“Be more confident. I’m not going to lie to you if you write something shitty, but I’m not blind. I know you can write well,” Levi tells you, his tone bordering on soft. “Are you busy right now? I have some notes for you. Most of them are praise, so it can wait if it needs to.”
You jump as a loud knock sounds at the bathroom door. “Hey, are you in here?” Zeke calls, and you’re too overwhelmed to remember the mute button again. “Eren’s car is outside, but he’s not here.” Stupidly, neither you nor your brunette companion answers, and the door pops open. Your roommate strolls in and furrows his brow, a brown laptop bag slung over his shoulder. “Why are you in the bath together?”
In a split second, Zeke spots Levi’s name on your phone, and the three of you make dumbfounded, wide-eyed eye contact as the man on the other end of the line clears his throat roughly. Everyone starts talking at once.
“Levi, that’s not what he meant.”
“Hi, this is Zeke, her roommate, and they are totally clothed, and there’s no water. I promise. Please don’t be mad.”
“Hey Dr. Ackerman, I’m Eren. We’re not taking a bath. My brother is a fucking idiot. We’re smoking a blunt in the bathtub. We’re just friends.”
The silence is long and mortifying as you begin to hoist yourself out of the big white tub, dusting off your jeans and glaring at Zeke ferociously. He stares back apologetically, looking like he’s starting to get nauseous. You’re feeling the same way. The only sounds in the little apartment are the breeze in the window and the low buzz of the heater — oh, and your own heartbeat.
Finally, Levi speaks up. “Why are they talking to me like I’m violent or something? Your other boyfriend didn’t seem afraid of me.” He chuckles at his own joke, and the tension in the air softens a bit.
“None of them are my boyfriend,” you say, annoyed and avoiding his question. He’s better off not knowing the shit you’ve talked about him to your friends. You chew on your lip as the blond shoots you an enthusiastic thumbs up and Eren tosses the roach out the window.
He laughs again, and you can’t help but grin, although you try to hide it from your merciless company. The man in the tub is already making kissy faces at you. Now that the imminent doom of Dr. Ackerman thinking you’d called him while in the bath with a lover has dissipated, you start to process your surprise at Zeke defending you. You hadn’t discussed your situation since the fight after your date last week.
You hadn’t talked to Levi since your date last week either, and it was starting to drive you crazy. Thinking about crawling into bed with him all the time is starting to drive you even crazier.
“I’m glad you weren’t stupid enough to smoke in public again. That explains why you were acting like such a dumbass,” he teases, and you toss a little wave at your friends as you start toward the door. “I can wait until Tuesday to tell you what I think, then. I’ll let you go since you’re busy.”
“No!” you exclaim as the door clicks shut, a bit too enthusiastic for your own pride. You clear your throat. “I mean, we can talk for a little while if you want to. I’m going to my room now,” you say sheepishly, hoping he wanted to discuss more than your pages.
You hear a bit of shuffling and a couple of muffled voices before Levi comes back to the phone. “Something actually just came up. I have to meet with some dickhead from a magazine. Text me, okay?”
Despite your disappointment, you force your lips up into a smile. “That’s o—”
tw: swearing, mentions/descriptions of sex, alcohol consumption, cheating
themes: modern au, college (grad school) au, enemies with benefits, enemies to lovers, slow burn, professor levi, writer!levi, extremely smutty, lots of pining, hurt/comfort & hurt/no comfort, dom levi/sub reader
tags: @number-0-iz @propertyoftoru @commanderawkward @thenamesholly @shortmexicangirl @missyasma @syubseokie @ceceofthevalley | reply to be added!!
note: i hope you guys enjoy this one!! i spent a lot of time with it and i think i like it :) back to the reader's pov, picking up right where we left off.
Dr. Ackerman’s walls are soundproof.
Part of you immediately assumes that he was not aware of this fact when he was harshly instructing you to moan his name loud enough for Reiner to hear on the other side of the wall, but a much more insistent part of you believes that Levi loves two things and two things alone: humiliating you — his topmost priority — and being a shining example for the drama queens of the world.
As you sit on the passenger’s side of Reiner’s SUV for the second time today, you would prefer to be anywhere else in the world. Thick fingers rest idly on your leg, a near-unnoticeable tap of his pointer finger keeping time with the song on the radio, which you’d already heard on the ride up to Levi’s office. The sun is higher now, on track to reach its cusp by noon as it beams through the windshield to irritate your eyes.
Upon staggering out of the great oak door and greeting your apparent new ‘boyfriend,’ you knew that a plan was in order. Originally, you assumed Reiner would be long gone to likely never call you again — and the fact that you were content in that is something you’ll have to address later — but there he sat, unaware of the betrayal you committed right behind his back, all smiles. Quickly, you applied a melancholy expression to your panting mouth and informed him that you had to go home and get to work on your novel immediately. Of course he obliged politely; the more agreeable the man is, the more you want to rip your own hair out.
Sane women appreciate kind men, you assume. But you’re far too exhausted to explore where that leaves you.
“You shouldn’t let him get under your skin,” Reiner says suddenly, making you jump. “What he thinks doesn’t mean anything. You write beautifully.”
If Zeke or Eren or your mother had said something so brash, you’d know they meant it for comfort and no more. You’d agree and laugh and move on, both parties involved knowing that Levi’s opinion is easily the most important thing that will ever come across your ears. When the clueless blond at your side says the same, it’s because he believes it to be true. If he thinks you can out-write Ackerman, all of his compliments become null and void.
A long-highlighted quote from Serpentine races through your mind, more fitting to the sentiment than makes you comfortable. Artists' souls are few and scattered, unknown and unheard to those not cut from our cloth.
“He’s practically the god of writing, you know,” you answer, not meeting his eyes as he stops at a traffic light. “If he says my work is bad, it’s because it is.” Reiner lets out a long sigh in place of a rebuttal, not bothering to defend his position. A loud buzz sounds in the seat beneath your leg — your phone announcing a new email. The brick apartment complex appears on the horizon as you open your inbox, fingers punching the screen more harshly than usual.
Dr. Ackerman has instructed me to provide you with his cellphone number; his information is attached.
Zoe Hange
Although you click the attached contact information without hesitation, anxiety runs to your core. Your thumbs twiddle over the keyboard idly while the gears in your mind grind harshly against one another. A few rough drafts of the fateful message roll off of your fingers while you think it through.
Hey, Dr. Ackerman, I got your email. This is my cell phone number! Okay, no exclamation points. Should you call him Levi? Is that too suggestive?
Hey, Levi, I got your email. Assuming he does not return to being a devil next time you see him, you’ll probably text him more than professionally — so should you lose the capitalization? It would be much more strange to randomly switch one day, right? Speaking of seeing him, Tuesday is far too distant; as soon as you have time to sit down and think, you’ll likely have a life-altering nervous break from the unanswered questions between the two of you alone.
hey, levi, i got your email. is there any way we can meet sooner than tuesday? Perhaps calling him by his first name is too suggestive. Thumbs beginning to ache, you type the final draft of your message: hey, dr. ackerman, i got your email. is there any way we can meet sooner than tuesday?
Ten minutes later, you’re shutting your bedroom door tight behind you. Of course, your elusive and frightening writing advisor has yet to reply to your message — still, you’re thankful to be away from your other problem, a man named Reiner Braun. Ever since he happily informed Dr. Ackerman that he was your boyfriend, the issue has been rather thought-provoking.
You groan before tapping the telephone icon, scrolling through your recent calls. Zeke is out to lunch with a girl he met at school, but Eren is rarely busy — the line begins ringing without another thought. Putting the call on speaker, you lay your phone down flat on your desk and tug your hair free from the elastic restraining it. Your shoes hit the floor next, then your skirt, which you’re bare underneath due to Levi’s new white lace pocket square.
The line picks up as you tug a pair of lounge pants over your legs. “You okay?” Eren asks immediately, his voice wary of your mood. You almost giggle at the assumption, but there are much more serious matters to address.
You tie the drawstring around your hips and settle into your desk chair. “I feel. . .” you begin, taking a deep, audible breath. “Clinically insane. Disloyal. Humiliated. Slutty. Intrigued.” A quiet laugh sounds through the speaker, bringing a little smile to your lips. “I’m in a good mood, although I shouldn’t be. Dr. Ackerman may have —” you pause, deciding how much to reveal, “made a move.”
Eren gasps sarcastically. “A move?” he pries curiously, as you log into your computer and swirl the cursor around idly. “You’ll have to give me more to work with.” You open a blank document and position your hands over the keyboard, not quite sure what you’re aiming for. The smooth plastic glides beneath your fingertips as you brush them back and forth.
“Well, it was more than a move,” you admit, the memory stuck to the front of your brain. The blinking cursor begins to morph into words as you speak, the gray-eyed man’s advice ringing loud in your ears. “First, he’s totally fucking rude to Reiner. He introduced himself — like, ‘it’s an honor to meet you,’ and all — and Dr. Ackerman literally said, ‘Okay,’ and ignored his handshake.” In some other compartment of your brain, there’s a room — scratch that: it’s a tent lit with only a lantern, with a pallet on the ground made of blankets — and the deliciously frightening love interest, Jasper, is berating Laura’s ridiculous behavior.
Laughter bursts loudly through the phone, but it doesn’t interrupt your desperate typing. Words have become a paragraph now, closing in on two. “God,” Eren wheezes out, “I would’ve fucking gone home, man.”
You can’t help but chuckle along with him as you recall the memory, but there are too many trains of thought running for it to keep your attention long. Jasper’s hand brushes Laura’s wrist scarcely, just enough to send a chill through her. “Then he sends me to the office, and I’m in the chair I always sit in. He comes in, sits on the front of the desk instead of his chair, and is like ‘I don’t want to read your shit today.’”
Eren winces through the phone as your fingers continue their rapid assault of the keyboard below them. “Harsh.” You giggle as you indent another paragraph.
“No, it’s okay,” you assure him, “because here’s the thing. After that, one thing led to another, and he gave me head. Against the wall, that Reiner was sitting on the other side of.” Adrenaline coursed through you like nothing ever had before — you won’t tell your friend that you moaned the man’s name shamelessly thinking that Reiner absolutely could hear you. Some secrets must stay in that office.
Eren doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but you aren’t unnerved. A certain ambitious electricity pulses through your fingers as you finish off the first page of the scene, watching the satisfying appearance of a fresh, white space. “I have so many questions. Reiner — what’s the plan about him? Feelings for Dr. Ackerman? How was the head? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
You laugh loudly as Jasper takes Laura’s chin between his fingers and stares down at her. “Why do you think I’m calling you?” you ask playfully. “I only know the answer to one of those questions, and it was pretty damn good.” A jarring vibration sounds against your desk, sending your heart to your throat as you peer down at the notification. “Oh my god, Levi texted me. Love you. Bye.”
You hang up the phone viciously before opening the text thread with Dr. Ackerman, reading his message immediately as he had yours just a little while earlier — perhaps you would take your sweet time to reply, as well. As you read the contents of the message, you know that won’t be possible. The blue bubble reads: I really need to see you tomorrow.
Tomorrow — you could finish these pages by tomorrow. Only one page in, and you know this scene is going to be worlds ahead of the last thing you brought to his desk. Your heart skips at the word choice; should you reciprocate it? A split-second decision and your fingers are beating at the keyboard. i really need to see you, too. what time? i have class, but i’ll make myself free.
The message is marked read immediately, making you suck in a breath. Your teeth grind together as the three gray dots at the bottom bounce rhythmically. Dinner tonight, then. I’ll pick you up for reservations at 7. Blood sets your cheeks ablaze as you read, freezing you in place. Reservations sound rather upscale — as if the fabulously wealthy dine out at Olive Garden — which makes your skin crawl. Furthermore, this is a man you fervently despised until his fingers started to trail up your legs.
But who are you to deny dinner with a famously unobtainable master of literature? Especially when it's the same one that had you writhing underneath him only an hour ago — and you wouldn’t mind doing the same after the dessert course this evening. You read it over a thousand times before you send it, but you finally deliver your address and toss your phone as far from you as possible.
Directing all of your focus on the document in front of you, you pour yourself into the keyboard with vigor, desperate to present something worth reading to Levi the very next time you sit before him. Making time to get ready for dinner will be a challenge, but it’s one you take in stride. You have a big day ahead of you.
-
As the clock begins to wind down to your impending doom, anxiety starts to rear its unbearably large head. After squeezing the most expensive dress in your closet over your head and carefully perfecting your appearance, the pages you printed an hour ago are screaming at you to read them over again; you try to ignore them at first, scrolling idly through social media, but it becomes deafening after a while. Reluctantly, you pluck the manila folder from the desk and start out your bedroom door.
The hallway is loud with the scent of clashing perfumes — Zeke had been holed in his bedroom with his brunch date since they arrived around noon. Raven-haired and rather tired looking, the girl was very kind and introduced herself to you — Pieck, from out of state, and she’s an editor. Still, she kept a confidant of yours from crucial intel regarding Dr. Ackerman, so you were praying for her departure. Now that she’s gone, you hardly have time to tell a good story.
Zeke is laid across the couch, round glasses nudged toward the tip of his nose as he peers down at a worn out copy of Mrs Dalloway. As you cross the threshold, his eyes come up to meet yours. “What are you all dolled up for?” he gawks, folding down his page and laying the book on the coffee table.
You wiggle your eyebrows suggestively before changing the subject. Holding up your manila folder as if it’s a certificate of achievement, you shoot him an award-winning smile. “New pages. Can I pick your brain?” Zeke only lingers on the previous topic for a second before deciding to cooperate. A wise move.
He waves his hand at you as if he’s herding cattle, and you’re quick to oblige; your heels click beneath you as you dart across the den, offering your friend the envelope like a thoughtful gift. You swallow hard as he takes it and sits up straight, pulling the packet free. “I want to show these to Levi tonight. Tell me what you think,” you say as you chew on the inside of your lip.
“Tonight? Sorry — did you call him Levi?” Zeke questions, forehead wrinkling as his eyebrows shoot up.
You shake your head rapidly, giving him a quick, sly smile before throwing the subject out again. “I am begging you to read the fucking pages, Zeke.”
Now a bit tense, your roommate thumbs through the packet while you bite your nails beside him, focusing all of your energy into reading his facial expressions. Halfway through, you decide you must stop surrounding yourself with such stoic company. You glance at the clock as he turns to the last page, and the fated hour is closing in. Nausea churns through your stomach.
You brace for impact as Zeke hands back the neat stack, but he presses his lips shut tight. After five long, silent seconds of staring at one another, he says, “I’m not spilling until you do.”
Letting out a dramatic groan, you begin to pace back and forth across the hardwood living room floor. “I wanted to wait until I had time to give you the details,” you explain, pleading with him through wide eyes. Regardless of your defense, he remains stubborn, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m getting dinner with Dr. Ackerman,” you admit. “We kind of had a moment today.”
Zeke, now totally upright with his brow drawn in, looks speechless for a moment. You find that a sliver of nervousness slinks through your brain as he stares at you, although you never considered before that you fear his reaction. He opens his mouth to speak twice before he actually settles on his next words. “Just so I can be sure we’re talking about the same person — you do mean Dr. Ackerman, your personal antagonist, right?” your friend asks, gawking at you as if you’ve sprouted an extra head.
You frown. “We aren’t eloping. It’s dinner. Who the hell says no to fancy dinner with a famous author?”
Zeke shakes his head, rubbing one hand across his brow back and forth. “Probably the girl he’s sent home crying on multiple occasions? I just don’t feel right about this, dude. Like, it was funny that one time, but he’s a lot older than you. I thought this was a joke.”
Heat rushes to your face as you shove the packet back into the folder and shut it tight. “Why would it be a joke? I’m an adult, you know. I have a college degree and pay stubs to show for it.” Rolling your eyes, you stuff the envelope into your purse and toss it over your shoulder.
“I just wouldn’t want you to get taken advantage of,” he says, his concern clear in his expression. Zeke reaches out to you as you adjust your hair in the mirror, probably for a hug or the type of come-to-Jesus discussion that requires hand holding and eye contact, but you pretend not to see it. After a second, his hand drops away.
Your phone vibrates on the table beside you, and you snatch it up immediately. From Levi: I’ll be there in a minute or so. Shaking the irritation from your skin at once, you tuck your phone away and spin to face your protective friend. “I have it under control — pinkie promise. But I can’t argue with you right now because I’m leaving.” You walk over to him and squeeze his shoulder with one hand before starting toward the door.
“Be careful,” Zeke calls as you leave. “Text me if you need me.”
The door clicks shut behind you, and you are overcome with fear. No new headlights shine in the wide parking lot outside of your apartment door, although the street lights reflecting off of the afternoon’s rainfall on the slick, black pavement fool you once or twice. Admittedly, you aren’t quite accustomed to the never-worn shoes currently strapped uncomfortably around your ankles, so you’re glad he isn’t here to see you stagger down the slippery, concrete stairs.
As you reach the bottom, two near-blinding headlights start up the drive; as the car takes a careful left into the lot — sleek and black, a BMW — your phone vibrates in your pocket. Anxiety shoots through you, and you don’t even bother to check the screen. The car comes to a halt with the left side facing you, the driver door opening before you can take your first step.
A man in a suit nods his head at you politely before grasping the handle of the back door, pulling it open slowly to reveal dark leather interior. More of the spacious backseat comes into view as you approach, and you immediately spot pressed black slacks and pale knuckles. Levi sits on the far side, knees spread wide with one hand resting limp across his left leg. Over the crisp white button-down shirt, a deep crimson blazer clings to his shoulders and makes the pink of his lips impossible to ignore. The watch on his right wrist shines while he props his chin, elbow against the door, and his charcoal eyes examine you up and down.
“I was afraid you would wear a sweater,” Dr. Ackerman quips as the suited driver offers you his hand. Hesitant, you take it in your grasp and allow him to help you into the warm, comfortable seat.
“Thank you,” you tell him warmly as he shuts the door behind you and goes back to his place at the steering wheel. You return Levi’s blank stare with a nervous grin. “I like to think I clean up pretty well.” The car shifts back into drive and eases forward, turning a wide circle in the lot and heading back down the entryway.
“You do,” he says, and your smile becomes more genuine. After a second of only the low classical music — a cello, you think — playing softly through the speakers, you begin to rummage around in your purse for the manila folder. Fishing it free, you extend it timidly to the man at your side.
Dr. Ackerman glances down at it briefly before looking back at you, folding in one of his eyebrows just slightly. The warm, cozy interior of the BMW suddenly becomes unbearably hot. “I wrote this today,” you elaborate, watching the whites of his eyes grow just a little wider. “I think that it’s closer to your expectations.”
A smirk flits across his mouth as he takes the envelope from your shaky hands, leaning forward and snaking his arm around the passenger’s seat to lay it down flat. “Give that to Hange while we’re eating,” Levi directs the driver, who nods along with his instruction. “Have them put it on my desk in my study at home.”
His back comes to rest against the seat again, and his eyes fall straight to you. “I’m excited to read it,” he tells you, his tone genuine. You fight to keep your jaw from dropping, but you’re sure the widening of your eyes gives away your surprise. “I always am.” The elixir that courses through your veins is warm and comforting, and you feel the corners of your mouth pulling up high.
It gives you enough confidence to push your luck. “I really wanted you to read it tonight,” you say, leaning toward him. He chuckles and shakes his head, making you frown.
“I’d rather not have to insult you. You always cry, and the place we’re eating has a dress code,” Levi responds flatly, and you almost think it’s a joke. Still, with his history, you tend to stray on the safer side. Crossing your knees, you pull your phone from your purse and unlock it. “I would just really like it if I didn’t upset you tonight,” he continues suddenly, making you look up to meet his gaze.
You shoot him a reassuring smile as the car pulls beneath a pavilion. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
In the light, you can see now that the suited driver is brunette and pale, in his late twenties. He exits the vehicle again to open your door, offering a hand and helping you out, then taking your purse with the other. You thank him as you take it back, looping it around your shoulder and watching as Levi steps out onto the cobblestone beneath you.
The restaurant is sleek and modern, painted in shades of burgundy and grey along the long, rectangular exterior. Dim, yellow-toned lights are your only indication toward the door, which is tall and cherry colored with a man in a suit standing at the frame. After tucking a bit of cash in the driver’s pocket and sending him off, Dr. Ackerman is right back at your side. He offers you his arm, and although it sends a chill through you, you take it without a bit of protest.
“French food?” you ask curiously as the two of you stroll past the sign. “I’ve never had anything you could consider French.”
His arm breaks away from yours as he pulls open the door, holding it for you and following behind. “You’ll love it,” Levi promises, laying his hand flat on the small of your back as he guides you toward the hostess. “I’ll order for you, if you’d like.”
Dr. Ackerman’s hand stays snug against you as you follow the hostess through the small, packed restaurant. The round, white-clothed tables are populated with men in suits and women dressed to the nines, sipping glasses of wine and dining on dishes you’ve never seen before. In a corner, you spot Zeke’s latest fling dining with a woman in a pantsuit — you wave, but she doesn’t notice you.
Though you can’t identify the scents that surround you, you know that they’re utterly delectable. Every second you continue to traipse through the restaurant and breathe the mouthwatering aroma feels like hours. Finally, the black-clad woman leading you lays your menus down at a more private table in the back corner, half obscured by lattice and already set with two glasses of water.
Levi pulls out your chair as he detaches his hand from its place on your back, and you take a seat. You clear your throat as you take the sturdy plastic menu and give it a once-over, not recognizing or understanding a single word — the prices aren’t even listed. Before Dr. Ackerman has made it around to his chair, you’ve already tossed it back onto the table in resignation. “I’ll have whatever you’re having and a glass of wine,” you inform him as he sits down.
He takes his menu and yours from the table, stacking them neatly and setting them on the edge of the pristine white cloth. “You have excellent taste,” he praises sarcastically, lifting a hand to get the attention of a server in a black button-up shirt. A moment later, she stands a few feet away, hands folded neatly behind her back.
“Good evening, Mr. Ackerman,” she greets him, and Levi returns a polite nod. “Will you be having the usual, sir?” She’s blonde and fox-faced, with a lilting voice. Her name tag reads “Ella.”
“Yes,” he replies smoothly, unfolding a cloth napkin to lay over his lap, “and the same for the lady. Could you pick out a nice bottle of wine for us?” Ella nods and ducks away, tucking the menus underneath her arm as she goes. The water is cold against your teeth as you sip from the glass, watching your date nod in acknowledgement of a group of suits strolling by.
You can’t help but feel a little important as you sit among such wealthy company, eyes hungry to take in every luxurious detail. Long-stemmed roses inside clear crystal vases sit in the middle of each table, and you’re surprised to see that they’re real; you don’t envy the poor restaurant employee tasked with putting them out each morning. Arranged neatly at each place setting is a cloth napkin and more silverware than one could ever use, filling you with a bit of apprehension as you try to deduce which fork would be best for each course.
A loud, continuous vibration shocks you back to your plebeian existence, making you flinch. Rummaging through your bag, you locate your cell and yank it free, lifting it to your eyes for inspection. Your heart sinks to your feet — it’s Reiner. You’d forgotten about him. Again.
Avoiding the storm-cloud eyes dissecting you a few feet away, you decline the call rapidly. writing — i’ll call you back, you type, guilt flooding through your chest. Powering off the phone, you stow it back in your purse and fold your hands on the table in front of you; a fake smile paints across your lips as you combat Dr. Ackerman’s suspicious stare.
“You can take that if you need to,” Levi says plainly, and you shake your head in response.
“They seem to be familiar with you,” you redirect, gesturing to Ella as she approaches. “Come here a lot?”
A rare grin flashes across his face as two empty wine glasses are placed in front of you. “Often enough,” he answers, shrugging. “There isn’t much worth eating here in the city, but I try not to work Niccolo to death.” An ounce or so of deep red wine splashes against the glass before Ella pulls the bottle back. Without prompting, Levi lifts it by the stem and swirls it twice before taking a long, slow sip. “Yes, that’s good,” he tells her, before turning his attention back to you.
“Niccolo?” you question, cocking an eyebrow as the server fills both of your glasses and turns to leave again.
“My chef,” Levi explains, leaning back in his chair. “He’s fucking annoying.” You can’t help but laugh despite his seriousness, and his eyes get a bit warmer. Though you knew he was wealthy, Dr. Ackerman being rich enough for a private chef surprises you. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you’re a cashier for a living.
As the small talk continues, you learn a lot of things about him that you didn’t know before. French food is actually his favorite — best eaten in Paris according to him, and his brief mention of bringing you along one day soon did not go unnoticed — but he isn’t averse to Italian. He’s traveled the world a hundred times over it seems, his magazine always fully loaded with anecdotes and details. More pressing than any of the other facts, however, was that Levi is capable of being nice.
Monotonous as speaking to him can be, you’ve begun to notice a couple of tells to which Dr. Ackerman is prone. Recognizing his jokes was your first feat of the evening — the tip of his nose twitches like a bunny before he makes a sarcastic quip, and you realize he’s a lot wittier than he gets credit for. However, that is not to say that the man sitting across from you does not enjoy being mean; the second tell you identify is that he narrows his eyes when he mentions someone he doesn’t particularly enjoy.
“I actually wanted to discuss something with you tonight,” Levi begins as you pop another hors d'oeuvre between your lips. Without waiting for your reply, he continues, “I want to apologize before I even get into it.”
The sincerity in his eyes frightens you, sending your back straight and drawing your brow in. “What’s going on?” you inquire, trying to judge his expression and failing miserably. He dabs his mouth with his napkin.
“I have not been honest with you. I chose you to work under my wing personally, and I have sent your portfolio to my publishing team. I’m sorry for not telling you before.”
Your ears ring. Although it seems that your body has petrified in place, your mind is sprinting marathons — the words personally, chose, and publishing repeating in your head at a screaming volume. One thing that evades you is why Levi is hanging his head; how is the admission that your childhood idol hand-picked you worthy of such a sincere apology? A giggle bubbles at your lips.
“You chose me?” you ask, eyebrows pinched tight against the bridge of your nose. “I thought you hated my work.”
As if the situation was not already puzzling enough, Dr. Ackerman lets out a laugh. Not bothering to explain further, he reverts back to his previous sullen demeanor. “I just want you to be aware of your position. To give you an opportunity to duck out, if that’s what you decide.” He runs one hand through his hair before taking a long swig of the sweet red wine.
“Duck out? What the fuck are you talking about?” you blurt out, regretting the harsh tone as soon as you employ it. You lower your voice quickly before starting again. “Why the hell would I give up this kind of opportunity?”
Levi clears his throat, leaning back and gesturing to Ella as she approaches with your entrees. As she sets the plate gently in front of you, you’re momentarily distracted by the sight of perfectly cooked duck breast. “I’ll have a scotch,” he sends her off, picking up his fork and knife. “If that’s how you feel, I’m glad. I’d like to continue working with you,” he says, cutting into his food. “I just thought you’d be intimidated to be published alongside me.”
You hesitate before putting the first forkful in your mouth, but it melts deliciously on your tongue when you finally do. Living in his shadow hasn't crossed your mind, but you try to push it away as soon as he introduces it. Currently, you aren’t published at all. Anything is better than that, right? The validation you’re feeling right now could last a lifetime. So you shake your head and smile wide. “No, not at all. Thank you,” you tell him genuinely.
A scotch on the rocks appears at his side without a word, and Levi lifts it to his lips, trying to obscure the pearly white of his teeth as the first real smile you’ve seen flashes across his face.
-
Nearly two bottles of wine and a créme brûlée later in Levi’s beamer, his rough hands are pulling you to his lap, pearly teeth pricking at your neck and two fingers rubbing harshly through your panties. The buzz in your brain gives you more courage than usual as you loop intricate knots in his hair and grind against the growing bulge in his slacks. “We don’t have time, sweetheart,” he whispers, peppering a few more kisses on the base of your throat before lifting his chin to look at you.
A whimper sounds from your throat as you stare down from him, steely eyes entrancing you as you watch your reflection in the billowing flames of his pupils. “Spend the night with me,” you murmur back, more wine-drunk than you’re willing to admit. He just shakes his head with a little grin, reaching to comb a loose strand of hair out of your face.
The air around you shifts all the sudden as your eyes dart to Levi’s lips, and you realize that you’ve yet to taste them. You lay your hands flat against his warm, heaving chest, spreading your fingers out wide and feeling his heart thumping underneath the right. Maybe it’s the wine, or instinct, but you begin to lean in. “Kiss me, then,” you say, feeling his thumb glide softly across your cheek.
You swallow when his left hand comes to cup the other side of your face, molding along your jaw like its twin and pulling you closer. His lips brush yours chastely at first, with a gentle hesitance that sends a tingle down to your toes, red wine and mint and raspberry reduction dancing across your tastebuds and electricity streaking through your veins. It stops here for a moment, fleeting, as Levi’s entrancing heather eyes examine your expression; before you can take a breath, he pulls you flush against him, slipping his tongue past the threshold as his lips crash onto yours. Your mind explodes into colors and feeling, nothing tangible or decipherable left to identify as you return the feverish kiss, arms looping around his neck to close the gap between your drunken bodies.
The cruel universe only allows a few seconds more of this heaven before you feel the car begin to slow to a stop, shifting into park before your eyes open again. Levi, looking uncharacteristically bewildered with his tousled hair and swollen lips, allows his hands to slide from your cheeks to rest on your hips, never looking anywhere but up at you.
You’re broken from the serene trance as the back door opens with a pop, eyes darting to the driver through the tinted window as it swings wide. Quickly, you peck another kiss on the red lips beneath you and shoot him a smile. “Text me,” you say, and he nods in agreement. As you look over to get your purse, the sound of a barking dog grabs your attention.
Eyes darting out the door, you see Reiner and his lab sitting in the trunk of his SUV.
tw: swearing, past death of a character's mother, i think that's all for this one
themes: modern au, college (grad school) au, enemies to lovers, slow burn (smut is immediate but feelings aren’t), professor levi, authority kink, extremely smutty, i should be ashamed, teasing & edging, pining so hard it's embarrassing, dom levi/sub reader
tags: @number-0-iz @propertyoftoru @commanderawkward | reply to be added!!
note: this is a couple of hours late but hopefully some of the reveals in this chapter make up for it lol
LEVI
George R. R. Martin said once: “Some writers enjoy writing, I am told. Not me. I enjoy having written.”
As for Levi, he loathes it with every fiber of his being — it makes him too vulnerable. He much prefers that satisfying feeling of closing a long-opened document at the end of an impossible night, all directions his mind had split into converging into one discernible path and paving the way towards something exciting. He loves steeping a cup of tea while reading over a weeks’ worth of work written in a night. He is not a fan, however, of the blinking line currently mocking him from the computer screen.
He is particularly fond of linguistics, though, so he’ll be the first to tell you that cursor sounds so close to curse for a reason. It’s a daunting thing, watching it tick the time away while deadlines keep approaching. Only the most disciplined people can be the most successful writers — luckily, discipline is all he knows. His slender fingers glide across the keys, no particular rhyme or reason to the letters he pecks as he tries to fight through the block. Recording each little movement of his steadily chugging train of thought, Levi allows his mind to wander.
As much as he likes ignoring his personal assistant, Hange, he can’t avoid them much longer. Though he holds them still, his eyes beg to flick up to the time and date. He already knows: it’s near midnight the day before his deadline. Once he finishes his pages, he still has much left to do — he’s preparing to meet with you, after all. Tomorrow morning is September 7, the first day of the new semester, and he will finally have his hands on the work of his protegé. His fingers twitch to switch tabs, but he halts them before they disobey him. You can wait. You must, and everything must, until he emails this document to Hange and thus unlocks the shackle on his leg.
Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink.
“Fuck it,” he mutters under his breath, surrendering himself to curiosity. He clicks over to his file on you, which has been sitting open for quite a while. Scrolling through the unimportant, he settles the mouse on the link to your submission excerpt for the hundredth time. He can’t help it — it’s inspired. He devours it again with the same hungry, critical eyes he uses for his own work alone. And that’s what led him to choose you. Months before, an email arrived in his inbox from a potential student and fan. Of course, Levi does not handle his own emails — he doesn’t like writing them. The social contract of a professional email requires too many exclamation points for his personal comfort. Still, Hange read your letter and reported to his office without a second thought.
He hates people that send him their work. He’s never cared much at all for anyone but the Greats, so catching his assistant’s eye was quite the feat.
“She reminds me of you, even though it’s nothing like what you do. I can’t put my finger on it, but her stylistic choices are just full of you. Not copying, and probably not even purposeful, but as someone who’s read everything you’ve put out more than the average reader, I can tell she’s a big fan of yours.”
Levi read your excerpt, expectations as low to the ground as always, and came out pleasantly surprised. Of course, it isn’t perfect. Everyone has their origin story — even Charles Dickens had to first learn to read.
He recalls his own origin story, shooting his eyes up to the sky as he thinks about his mother. Using her initial for his pen name and dedicating every novel in her memory seems too scarce, at times. He can remember sitting idly, pen and composition book in hand, writing the night away until Mom finally returned. She was always so tired when she got home.
He shakes her out of his head, straightening, and dives back into your excerpt. There’s no time for mourning. Putting even more notes in the margins than he already has, this time he is noting the things he especially appreciates. He relishes in it — it’s so rare that he enjoys something this much. Levi is aware that he’s an asshole, as most assholes typically are; however, he doesn’t try to be that way. Every year since his birth, unfortunately, he has grown more and more convinced that he is one of the lucky few on the planet to not be born absolutely fucking braindead. And that isn’t his fault.
As he reads again and again, he can’t help but wonder which parts of it come from you. When you mention music, is that what you like to listen to? Does Laura love apples and caramel, or is that you? Are you really this terrified of love? Is your sleep always sound and full of dreams like Jasper?
These are the kind of thoughts that led him here. When Levi first read the excerpt with Hange sitting excitedly nearby, he sent them out of his office, pulled out a pen, and went to work. Later that day, he spoke with the dean and requested to be assigned as your advisor. Unbeknownst to you, Dr. Ackerman hates advising. He is no stranger to special treatment due to his fame — in fact, he rather expects it — thus, he’s never had to take a student on. He doesn’t advertise this fact. Mail doubles every fall, brimming with desperate and untalented authors begging him to mentor them, or at least send a bit of criticism off-the-books; they have no clue that his name isn’t even in the assignment pool to begin with. You’re the only one.
He ponders if he should tell you that, but decides it might be a bit too much of a boost to your confidence. You’d never write anything better if you knew that L.K. Ackerman liked it now. What’s the point? And plus, starting back at the top of page one once again, he knows that one day you could be a Great.
-
The sun is worryingly high when Levi finally punches the send button with indescribable fury, before spinning his chair 180º and launching out of it like a man on a mission. That mission, of course, is a relaxing cup of tea, a shower, and at least a half hour of peace before the exhausting day he has ahead of him.
“Hange!” he shouts, trying to reach every corner of the echochamber that is his home. “Morning tea!” He shuts his bathroom door behind him as he goes in, settling in front of the tall mirror on the wall and starting at the buttons on his shirt. A beep sounds from the shower.
“This intercom system was expensive, you know,” his assistant’s voice sounds through the ugly fucking speaker on the shower wall. “It doesn’t hurt to use it, Levi.” Levi rolls his eyes in the mirror, tossing his trousers on the floor and heading for the shower. He doesn’t feel that he’s being unreasonable; what kind of person has speakers in every room? It looks absolutely abysmal. Hange had also replaced his old showerhead with a flat rainfall faucet on the ceiling — he enjoys that one. The intercom was simply a tasteless choice.
He switches the handle to hot and steps in before pressing the button next to the speaker. “I told you I didn’t want it. When it got here, I told you to make them leave. After they installed it, I told you that you’re fired unless you get it the fuck out of here and fix my walls. You’re fired,” he tells them stubbornly before leaning back into the near-scalding water. After the first five times he fired them, Hange stopped leaving — which pissed Levi off quite a bit, at first, for whatever reason. Admittedly, he did call them within 24 hours each time demanding that they pick up his dry cleaning or favorite tea and a gift for themselves on the way to prepare his breakfast and press his suit. After a decade of nearly living together, it’s no more than a joke; he can’t imagine an offense that would cause him to genuinely dismiss Hange. Levi doesn’t even know where he gets his drycleaning done.
As he’s lathering shampoo into his hair, the beep on the intercom sounds once again. “What kind of tea are you in the mood for?” they ask, ignoring Levi’s hatred of the intercom yet again. They did the same thing with the stupid fucking pool table. (Of course, Levi learned to play pool once Hange ignored his complaints long enough; it turned out to be fun, but he’d never admit that to the public.) He reaches for the button.
“Something relaxing. I just finished my pages for the night. I’m seeing the girl from after that shitty writing contest in New York last week. What was her name?” All he could remember was how nauseous reading her work made him feel, and that she was very eager to give him her phone number afterwards without even mentioning writing whatsoever.
“Emily.”
“That’s right. I’ll be seeing her today. Then I’m meeting the brat for the first time this morning.” Levi isn’t anxious to meet you — of course not. He just isn’t used to being an advisor. At least, that’s the only explanation he has for his obsessive preparation. “Press my brown jacket. I’ll have jasmine and mint tea. Thank you.” He steps out of the shower and onto the mat, drying his skin before wrapping a towel around his waist.
“I’m on it, Captain.”
-
Levi smooths out his hair in the reflection of his blank computer monitor as the New York girl — Emma? — pulls her cardigan over her shirt in an effort to hide the missing buttons. Oops. He sighs as he looks down at his watch — 11:17. Hange is going to be angry. And more importantly, you were going to be angry, if you’re even still waiting. Personally, he would’ve gone home by now. But he has a feeling you’re persistent. Regardless, after seeing how much of a mess the girl is in, you won’t have too high of an opinion of him anyway. He takes his jacket from its place in a chair in the corner and drapes it over his arm, going toward the door and preparing himself to be incredibly disappointed.
He opens the door, and as he expected, Levi doesn’t see you. God damn it. Vision tunneling on the wretched woman the university had unfortunately stationed in his building, Levi trudges across the empty waiting room. “Tell me I’m done for the day, Cheryl.” If he’s lucky, you left your cell phone number with the witch. He’d hate for Hange to be the one to communicate with you after this stunt; still, he doesn’t know his email password.
“Sorry, boss,” she starts, her voice thick with a Boston accent. “That little bird over there is waiting on you.” She sighs and rolls her eyes before pointing to the wall directly adjacent to the door. He’d just missed you. Now it looks even worse. Perfect.
His mind pauses for a second when he looks at you, and he cocks his head to one side in thought; he knows you. “Oh?” Levi starts towards you, and it clicks. The two of you have met a few times before, between signings and keynote speaker gigs forced on him by his publicist. You’ve talked to him about your passion on a few occasions. He decides to keep the realization to himself. He doesn’t want you to come into this reserved. “What do you need?”
“I had an advising appointment scheduled with you for 10:30 A.M., Dr. Ackerman. Sorry if it’s any inconvenience,” you answer, clearly irritated. He doesn’t appreciate passive aggression in the slightest, but he supposes you could be interesting if you’re a challenge. Unfortunately, Levi has never reacted well to bad attitudes. His temper is rather uncontrollable.
“Am I supposed to already know your name or something?”
-
“I don’t care to read all of this shit when I have the author in front of me. I prefer organic responses anyway,” Levi jokes, marveling at the work put into organizing it all. It would take him hours to get through this. He couldn’t wait. “Is this the piece you sent in an excerpt of? I remember your application.” Despite how he feels about your work, he’s trying not to seem too interested. That’s how he learned. Praise breeds stagnation.
He watches as you start to fidget, biting down hard on your lip and scratching at your thumb with the nail of your pointer finger. He doesn’t get it; he was never so insecure about his work, even before he was published. No one needed to tell Levi he wrote well. He’s always known. “Uh, no, sir, I unfortunately abandoned that project a while ago. But this one is much more —”
Wait, what is she saying? he thinks, reeling. Abandoned? She was admitted based on that project. Is she stupid? After a second of deliberating with himself like this, he decides that you must simply be naive. Or very, very brave — either way, it’s unusually entertaining. He laughs. “I’m sorry,” he begins, not sure what kind of tone to take. On one hand, it’s not like you’ve done this before, and based on the way you’re tapping your fingers, you’re already mortified; on the other, you should know that you can’t do things like that in the future. Hange tells him that he needs to work on not looking so furious all the time, but he doesn’t mind it. The people he tolerates are willing to tolerate him back, anyway. “I guess we’ll have to reschedule. Pull that project back out and bring me some good pages. I chose you for that piece. I’ll be the one to let you know if you should abandon it,” he says. Levi wants to tell you how disappointed he is not to be able to discuss it with you, but you don’t look very happy with him right now. It’s unfortunate — you’re a very beautiful girl without the scowl. If you intend to act like a brat every single time you don’t get your way, Levi fears that this is going to be a very unfortunate relationship. Cluing you in that he chose you should’ve been enough to perk you up. He narrows his eyes and goes to the door before it can escalate further. At this point, you’ve pissed him off a bit. He watches as you get up stiffly and leave without so much as a professional, “Thanks for your time.” Who raised you? he thinks, annoyed.
Still, Levi can’t be terrible to you; he wants to mentor you. You have to at least think he’s decent. “It was nice to meet you,” he says as you pass him by, and it’s the truth. A temper would be a challenge, but the longer he watches you walk away, the more he thinks about his own. Hange has gotten used to it, and Erwin. Maybe he can do the same for you — maybe. If you make concessions as well. He remembers that he doesn’t have your cell phone number. “Come back at the same time on Thursday with something I want to read,” he calls after you.
“Yes, sir,” you squeak out, weeping more than prevalent in the sound of your voice, and Levi freezes in his tracks.
He fears he may have vastly misread that entire situation.
-
When he sees you next, you’re late, and you look terrible. You’re clearly coming off of a very long night, and judging by the state of your hair, it was not one spent studying. And the circles under your eyes are making it clear that you didn’t spend it sleeping, either. Do you really disregard him this much? For fuck’s sake, he makes Hange press a suit for him before your meetings. It’s disrespectful.
“Don’t drink the night before your meetings with me. And comb your hair next time,” he says, trying to reprimand you without escalating the situation. He opens the folder and pulls out the freshly printed paper inside, ready to devour it like he had with the first handful of pomegranate seeds. He’s come to “adore” it, per Hange’s phone call with Levi’s publicist. He snorted at that one. Anyone interested in a tabloid-style article about an author enjoying the work of another author is no better than someone who is illiterate, in his opinion. In fact, they’re much worse. The illiterate ones aren’t at fault.
He sees your mouth drop open as if you’re surprised. “I overslept, sir. I stayed up working on the piece from my application,” you say, and Levi quickly notices that you aren’t a very good liar at all. He laughs. That’s extremely convenient for him; it will likely be rather tortuous for you, though. Hopefully after a while you’ll drop the attitude and he can be constructive.
“We’ll see,” Levi says, genuinely hopeful as he reads through the pages. They’re well-written, of course. The style is unique and pleasing and consistent. However, to his extreme disappointment, it’s something very different from the tale he’s been reading for weeks on end. All of the personality is gone. The best themes have been diminished to practically nothing. The dialogue is weak. He frowns, realizing that the piece is practically unrecognizable. You bullshitted this. What would his advisor have done in this situation?
Oh, I know. Without missing a beat, Levi puts it in the shredder. It says it all, no questions asked, and hurts people’s feelings a little. One size fits all. He refuses to tolerate a lack of effort. If you aren’t connected emotionally, you’ll never write anything worth more than the $5 bin at Wal-Mart; and that’s being generous. Maybe a local newspaper.
To his surprise and slight amusement, you don’t appreciate this at all. That’s understandable. Levi wanted to throw the desk the first time his advisor did it to him. Still, he doesn’t tolerate disrespect. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He wasn’t expecting you to raise your voice. You’ve been so timid before. Admittedly, he wasn’t trying to intimidate you then. Hange told him at breakfast that morning that he’s “abrasive.” He thinks Hange’s an imbecile. “That’s my best work! I put my heart into that!” you shout, and Levi furrows his brow. If you really believe that, you’re delusional. And you need a serious wake up call.
All he can do is laugh. Why are you trying so hard to fail? He knows what good work of yours looks like. This isn’t even close. Still, he wonders if you’re really being honest. “If that’s the best you’ve done, it’s concerning, but I can work with it. If that’s the best you can do, I would just start over in undergrad. This isn’t the project from before. Their chemistry and tension as enemies has no substance. You killed the betrayal theme, and the sex scene physically lowered my libido. So, is that the best you can do, or not?” he asks, looking into your eyes. He’s started to really enjoy looking at them as of late — you are very pretty, after all. He wants to set his hand on top of yours or something friendly of the sort. Those types of gestures help people understand tough love; plus, you look more sad than angry all the sudden.
“I can do better,” you stammer out, and Levi almost smiles. Still, he stays stern. He can’t kill your motivation. This one might just work.
“Good. Write it again — but well. 6:15 A.M. on Tuesday. If you’re late again, I will email the department chair. You’re dismissed.” He gets up from his place at the desk and promptly goes to the door, showing you your way out. A bit dramatic, but that makes it more fun.
“6:15?” you say, suddenly whining like a child. Levi looks at his fingernails. He isn’t entertaining tantrums. “Are you going to actually give me any real critiques?”
“I will critique you when you bring me something worth critiquing. Get out, and drive safely,” he says flatly. For the sake of his health, Levi prays this attitude has dissipated by next week. He would need Cheryl to bring him some chamomile tea in a moment.
He watches as you storm through the door as if you’d had the last word, trying to regulate your breathing and rush out to report his crimes to your closest girlfriends. His eyes go wide when he hears a dry laugh come out of your mouth. He fights back a rarely-appearing smile. For a second, he looks you up and down unabashedly, before spinning his chair around and shaking the idea out of his head.
You’re very intriguing. He needs more.
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note: i bet you didn't think levi would be the one doing the embarrassing pining now did you
