Some interests of mine: nature, earth in general, thrisfting, reading, writing, listening to music, playing the flute, gaming, plants/gardening, 420, envrionmentalism, feminism, history, education, atla, and nascar
games in my rotation rn: rdr2, Stardew, gta, sims 4, slime rancher, terraria, stray, and little kitty big city
i have very little patience for the -isms. racism, sexism, homophobia- ect. will not be tolerated in my space. i will tweak out.
some things i DO NOT like: racism, xenophobia, transphobia, literally just anyone mean. also being treated like anything other than a sweet angel princess.
if discord is more comfortable for you, feel free to reach out to me there!
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Each metal step you took up towards the grandstands clanged loudly against your weight. Once you reached the platform, you garnered brief looks from the other competitor’s spotters. Were they eyeing their competition? Or worse, could they tell just moments ago you were about to be fucked by the Van der Linde Crew’s Driver, Arthur Morgan? You pressed the back of your hand against your cheek, hoping you would have already recovered from your short escapade.
You took long, quick strides to your reserved position at the metal railing.
While the audio system possessed an adequate enough noise canceling system, the microphone could pick up outside voices if the individual was close enough. That’s why this time you could hear a different voice aside from Arthur’s.
“Arthur, what happened? Got something on your knee there.” Javier says, his voice accompanied with slight static.
“Ah, this?” He grins. He gestures towards the very spot that was a declaration of what was his. “Needed a sweet treat to gear me up for the race. Might’ve went a little overboard.”
Your palms jumped up to clamp over the ear muffs of your headphones, as if your hands could block the conversation. You frantically turned your head side to side, paranoid at the chance someone might hear. But your fear remained unnoticed, as all of the spotters showed no interest in anything else besides their own driver.
The roar of the crowd snaps you back to reality as all of the individual competitors are projected on the jumbotron. The MC riles up the crowd as he narrates the introduction of each racer.
“Next up is the underdog of the series, Arthur Morgan!” He enunciates and drags each syllable of his name for dramatic effect.
The energy of the crowd grows in intensity at the sight of Arthur’s handsome visage on the screen, an indication of how his popularity has grown throughout his career.
You leaned forward, fingers grasping on the metal railing, no different than the adoring crowd wanting to catch a glimpse of him up close. He catches sight of the camera aimed at him and presses his middle finger against his earpiece. His lips begin to form words that everyone can see but only you can hear.
“Missin’ you already, my lady.” He says with a gentlemanly drawl, the audio laced with a soft crackle. “Once this is all over, I’ll be back to collect my real prize.” His seagreen eyes fixate on the lens of the camera, bestowing upon it the gift of a quick wink.
Your heart swells with anticipation. The crowd’s going wild, including you and even the other spotters in the grandstands with you, a tad flustered at his laid back charm. You were thrilled at the fact that his message while public was at the same time private just for you. After all those times you observed him from afar, you’ve never felt closer.
At the signal of the flag marshall, all of the drivers approach their cars in position. You watch Arthur swing his legs through the window of the car in one swift move. It was time.
Just as Arthur drove like it was second nature, you prepared the line of communication as efficiently as you knew the back of your hand. You swiveled the stem of the mic to cover the surface of your lips, the foam making direct contact with skin.
“Ladies and Gentlemen!” The MC bellows through his microphone. “Start your engines!”
The engines roar to life, hand in hand with the thunderous noise of the crowd. You say a silent prayer.
“5… 4… 3…” Each spoken number lines up with the flashing of the stoplights. The flag marshall stands poised with his pistol aimed towards the sky.
“2… 1…”
He pulls the trigger, and the shot bangs loudly through the rumbling of the race cars as they all launch forward past the starting line with lightning speed. The cars all rush to hug the inside of the track, as one cycle through here covered the least amount of distance.
You saw Arthur’s car follow suit, steadily parallelling himself between two cars. At this point, Arthur was in 7th position in the midst of 20 total race cars. Since it was in the initial laps, you weren’t too concerned. Arthur always said there was no use stressing to keep the lead position in the very beginning when you had nowhere else to go but down.
Now that all of the drivers have maneuvered themselves into a set formation, the cars maintained a consistent speed, on the lookout for any possible opening to overtake another car.
Your eyes catch sight of a car in 10th place and begin to accelerate and propel forward, hoping to bump up their spot.
“3 back to the 37.” You alerted Arthur to the distance of Car No. 37 approximately 3 car lengths behind him.
“Right side.” The same car was maintaining speed on Arthur’s right hand side.
“Looking right.” Now Arthur’s car and No. 37 were locked in a struggle to overtake each other. Both cars kept parallel, maintaining both speed and acceleration.
Trying to make a pass three cars up was gutsy for sure. But you remained calm. You still had a job to do and that was to make sure to play the part as Arthur’s eyes.
“Copy.” Arthur’s voice breaks through the static, his tone steady and unfazed by the current development.
Arthur allows no openings. His car continues to surge forward. He holds onto his spot and keeps bumper to bumper with the car just ahead of him.
Realizing it was a useless struggle, Car No. 37 gives up on making a pass and falls behind again.
You let out a shaky breath and take another to calm your beating heart. You reminded yourself this was only the start of the battle. The Pinkertons at this point were in 5th place, not too far ahead of your crew.
This particular circuit was a length of 500 miles, equal to 200 laps around the race track. Besides the couple of passes that were occurring in the lower positions, the top ten remained as a tight formation, leaving no room for any possible merge.
You continued to sound off quick and efficient traffic updates to Arthur. You ignored the pressure that was building in your eardrums with the earmuffs tightly enclosed around your head. The pain was obsolete and temporary compared to the prize money on the line.
20 laps of the race now remained. The tension within the grandstands were palpable now that the circuit was close to reaching its end. No doubt the crowd as well was either apprehensive or hopeful based on who they were placing their bets on.
At this point, the Pinkertons were unsurprisingly taking the lead at 1st place, considering they were the reigning NASCAR Cup Series champions for generations.
But Arthur Morgan wasn’t to be underestimated, as he was the runner-up just behind the Pinkertons’ driver. He confidently climbed up to 2nd place up until the last 20 laps, making the appropriate passes at the drivers who even allowed the tiniest margin of error.
The two cars fell into a world of their own with the remaining cars falling substantially behind. You were glued to Arthur and his surroundings, the vessels in your eyes becoming more prominently red at being strained.
You glance briefly at the jumbotron to relay the number of laps left to Arthur.
“5 to go.” You pause momentarily. You weren’t expecting a response because any words meant for the race was wasted time, and Arthur knew that but…
“You’re doing great by the way.”
It wouldn’t hurt to offer a small affirmation right? Every muscle in your body was locked in place. Your body was reacting involuntarily to the stress. Maybe the comment was more for you than him.
He responds with a warm chuckle, your favorite sound sending a tingle down your spine. He doesn’t follow up with a comment, but you understood. A bottle of his laugh could send you into intoxication for hours.
The flag marshall waves the white flag, signaling the final lap of the race.
The MC’s voice roars over the speakers. “And here we are folks! The last lap! Who will be our champion tonight?”
This was it, the final deciding round.
“Clear.” You let Arthur know that besides the Pinkertons’ driver in the lead, there were no cars overlapping with his. It was also a message to Arthur that it was now his turn to make a pass at the Pinkertons. This lap was his last chance to upset the Pinkerton dynasty and establish the Van Der Linde Crew as a household name.
Arthur begins to sway his car to the side, taking the risk of no longer hugging the inner track. He surges forward at this moment and gains momentum, eventually keeping pace and overlapping with the Pinkerton’s driver.
The two racers were now side by side, faced with just the straightaway towards the finish line.
You being Arthur’s eyes was useless at this point, as there was no other way but forward. The same went for the Pinkerton’s spotter. This was the conclusive moment.
You yank off your headset and clench the curvature of the device in your hand down at your side. Cold railing meets the palm of your hand once you grasp at it. Lifting yourself onto the platforms of your feet, you lean forward in absolute hysteria to witness the first car that crosses the black solid line.
“We now have our finalist! Our NASCAR Cup Series Champion–”
You have three minutes to get down.
You whipped around and dashed towards the exit, shuffling quickly down the stairs as they echoed in your wake. Not even the MC announcing Arthur Morgan as the NASCAR Champion could keep you from running off.
People and faces whip past you as you continue downwards, floor after floor, either taking flights of stairs or whichever elevator was unoccupied. Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one taking off as you were forced to squeeze past large crowds of people celebrating after the crowning of the winner.
Three minutes was impossible, you thought. Maybe Arthur was setting you up from the start.
You slow down to a light jog and eventually a brisk walk once you enter the garage pit reserved only for crews and staff. You didn’t need to search very far for him. Your crewmates were already causing a scene with the champion in tow.
Your heart soars at catching sight of him. Arthur’s uniform collar is relaxed, and his gloves are half tucked into his pockets, the fingertips trailing off midair. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to expose his forearms. Hair is slightly tousled from his helmet, and he’s all smiles.
Everyone took turns clapping a hand over his shoulder and enthusiastically shaking his hand in congratulations. He was amazing out there, they said. Others more familiar with Arthur engulf him in a bear hug.
Dutch isn’t as over the top with the congratulations, but it didn’t mean he was any less delighted as the others. You see him holding Arthur’s hand with both of his own, his voice more subdued in the midst of bustling celebration.
“Job well done, son”
Once the high of your mad dash settles down, it finally registers to you that you’re just as ecstatic. The entire crew’s hard work paid off, and now their reward was bragging rights and a grand prize of 1 million dollars.
You silently keep to the outskirts of the crowd, not wanting to disturb Arthur’s well deserved spotlight. It wasn’t until you felt a hearty slap to your back that your presence was made known. You jolt at the sudden impact and realize that it was Javier.
“Well look who it is!” He draws everyone’s attention to you. “Our lady of the hour is finally here!”
A second round of celebrations begin, rinsing and repeating the same congratulations they gave to Arthur now to you. You give everyone sheepish but grateful smiles as they respectfully shake your hand or pat your back.
A crew member shoves you lightly towards Arthur. “Get over here!” They say. You stumble forward but right before you could land straight to the floor, Arthur stops you in your tracks with his outstretched arm. You reflexively clutch at his forearm to steady yourself. A moment passes before you raise your eyes to meet his, and you couldn’t help the giddiness rising to your head at being in such close proximity to him.
Arthur’s also happy to see you. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and he flashes you a knowing smile. He proceeds to help you gain your footing, but not before his ungloved hand trails slowly down your arm appreciatively. The tiny hairs on your skin raise at the contact.
Once he reaches your wrist, his fingers move to thread through yours and clasp your hands together, just like before.
“Well fellas, we’ll meet you at the bar.” Arthur says, tugging your hand to pull you closer to his side and eager to get you alone for himself. “Tab’s still on Marston’s, right?”
The crew breaks out in cheers and whistles as Arthur stealthily leads you away. You give a quick wave to everyone, and you hoped they didn’t see the obvious blush dusting your cheeks.
You take quick strides alongside Arthur’s long ones to his personal car. His hand was rough, callous, but warm in yours, and it makes you tighten your grip in his even harder as a way to decrease the distance between you. He turns to look at you in response, giving you a cheeky grin. He raises your hand to his lips and presses against the back of it a firm kiss.
It sends you into a frenzy, and you wish you could jump into his arms at this very moment. But not before he opens the passenger door of his car for you. He waits for you to climb in the seat, shuts the door, and circles to the driver’s side.
As he starts the engine, you notice a mischievous glint in his eyes.
“You’re up to something…” You try to press him for answers.
“I told you three minutes, didn’t I?” He pulls out of the driveway and takes the car onto the main road. You open your mouth to protest, but he renders you speechless once his hand falls down to rest against your inner thigh and the other to steer the car.
“I get to claim my prize and then some,” his voice low and husky. His thumb starts to trace lazy circles against your skin.
You cease any attempt to argue, not when you and him now have the chance to be together. Instead, you look out the window, watching the scenery pass by you. It was dark now, so you couldn’t see much. Despite that, the change of pace was refreshing.
Arthur drives for a while until he pulls the car over an outlook to the beach. Daytona 500 gets its namesake from the city Daytona Beach, Florida. Despite how close by the shore was, the crew was on a tight schedule for the big race. Detours were off limits.
He opens the door on your side and waits for you to step out before closing it behind you. You begin to walk closer to the edge of the outlook and gaze out towards the shore in awe. Even in the darkness, you could see the white foam of the sea just after the waves crested and crashed onto the sand.
“Thought it would be nice for you to see before we went back to home base.” Arthur says.
“Oh– Thank you.” You were surprised but also deeply grateful for Arthur’s thoughtful gesture. “It really is beautiful.” You take a moment to relish in the seabreeze.
You heard the crunching of sand underneath his shoes as he treaded closer towards you to embrace you from behind. You slightly jump in surprise, but he holds you firm and steady. One of his large, strong arms drapes across your stomach to rest on your hip while the other sneaks under your shirt to touch your skin. You shiver in response at the contact, and you feel his fingertips tuck under your bra to graze your breast.
Warmth and heat rush throughout your body. Arthur drops his head to press his lips against the nape of your neck. You tilt your head to allow him more access, and he opens his mouth to nip at your skin. You reflectively wince, but even the slightest pain becomes pleasurable once you feel him lick the hickey that was growing.
He roughly palms your breasts and drops his hand that was once on your hip to snake inside your pants. He deftly unbuttons and unzips your pants to desperately rub at your folds. He demands entrance after having a taste of you. You gasp at the sensation as you feel your slick pooling in your cunt. You thread a hand to grasp onto his hair and have the other lay over his to guide his movement over your bundle of nerves.
“Fuck.” His breathing turns heavy. He rests his forehead onto your shoulder, and you could feel his cock growing hard against your ass. He holds you firm and grinds against you.
“Do you like that?” He inserts a finger inside you and prods your inner walls. Once he finds you stretched out enough, he inserts another.
You nodded weakly. You were tethering on pleasure and delirium in Arthur’s hands. He picks up speed as his fingers move in and out of you, curling inward when they sink inside you to the base. He keeps his thumb on your clit and deftly rubs tight circles against it.
Heat pools in your stomach. You cry out as your orgasm crests and crashes over your body, reminiscent of the waves on the shoreline. He captures your lips in a kiss to consume your noises. Your hips buck forward as pleasure wracks throughout your body, but Arthur keeps you pinned against him. As he holds you tight, he brings his fingers up to his mouth to suck off your cum.
You yelp as he slings you easily over his shoulder and brings the both of you to the hood of his car. He lays you gently over the cool metal and hurries to strip you bare. His fingers hook into the waist of your unbuttoned pants and underwear. He tugs it down your thighs and legs in one go as if he can’t get to you fast enough, the fabric rucking in his grasp.
You also start to pull your shirt over your head and unclasp your bra, tossing it to the side. Once you were successfully rid of all of your clothes, you were completely exposed to Arthur’s heated gaze.
Lust and desire were apparent in his eyes as his eyes raked over your body. He looked at you as if you were like a precious gem to him. He lowered his head and pressed a trail of kisses from your sternum, between your breasts, all the way down to your belly.
“Pretty girl.” You feel him pant against your skin.
Your cunt clenches at the praise. “Your turn.” You say breathlessly, slightly embarrassed and wanting to take the attention off of you. He chuckles low and gravelly, and you help him pull off his clothes. You admire his muscular body as your hands travel down his shoulder, over his biceps. Your hands dust over his abdomen, and reach lower.
He groans at you grabbing hold of his cock, hot and throbbing and leaking with pre-cum. Your heart continues to pick up speed, and you feel lightheaded. All you knew was that you needed him inside you. You raise your hips and he grabs the underside of your thighs to settle in between them. You guide him to align with your entrance. He gathers up your wetness before sinking inside you all the way to the hilt.
“Arthur.” You pleaded, your eyes wet with unshed tears. Your hands held onto his broad shoulders.
“You’re going to be the death of me.” He pants through gritted teeth. His hips circle against you to rub his pelvis against your sensitive clit, sending pleasurable tingles down your thighs and legs. He languidly draws his hips back and then pushes forward, starting a rhythm that has you seeing stars.
He spreads his hand against your abdomen and traces it up against your skin to cup your breast. He clenches it in his palm, and you moan in response. He thrusts into you more roughly, the sensation so addictive you move your hips in tandem with his.
You grab his hand at your breast to intertwine with yours, and you bring it towards you to kiss his knuckles. He growls with satisfaction, and his pace starts becoming stuttered and uneven. A second orgasm was fast approaching for you. The heat building in your cunt bursts and courses through every muscle in your body. Your walls wrap around him like a vice, and he groans at you tightening around him.
He continues to seek his own high and pounds his hips against yours. He’s close to his release. You rub up against the hood of his car in rhythm with his thrusts.
“Mine.” He murmurs like a man possessed. His pelvis snaps forward, and he comes inside you hard, emptying all of his spent to paint you white. He rides out his orgasm, rolling his hips lazily. Your thighs twitch, already sensitive from your second orgasm. He slumps against you, and you wrap your arms around his, holding him tight against your racing heart. Despite the difference in size between you two, his weight felt comforting against your body, now sticky from your combined sweat and cum.
Your fingers stroke his back and draw unknown shapes onto his skin. You gazed up into the night sky as you held him. You hoped to always be watching him up close like this from now on.
As the crew’s spotter, you were their “eye in the sky” – or at least, as high in the sky as you could be atop the grandstands overlooking the speedway. All NASCAR spotters took their positions here on competition day, but for now, you were the one lone figure during this early morning, when the fog could still creep through the air without the sun burning through it. Not really the best conditions for a spotter but Dutch, the crew chief, was adamant on the entire Van der Linde crew practicing from dawn to dusk to prepare for the Cup Series.
Come hell or high water, we need to be prepared for every possible situation he said.
Much to everyone’s surprise, your team climbed to the upper echelons of NASCAR racing despite coming from mainly humble beginnings. With the 1 million dollar prize money and the crew’s reputation in the NASCAR world on the line, practicing for the upcoming race was of utmost importance to Dutch.
The issue was… the star of the show was late to practice. The crew’s driver, Arthur Morgan.
Your hands were shoved into your pockets, the zipper of your crew jacket inched all the way up to your chin. With the morning chill still in its wake, your nose and cheeks were flushed pink, and the only protection against the cool temperatures was the headset enclosing your ears, muffling the sounds of the outside world.
Suddenly, your ears were able to register the familiar sound of static coming from the head set. You pulled your right hand out of your pockets, unclenching the unconscious fist you made to fumble with the mouthpiece. You quickly adjusted the stem over your mouth, the foam just a millimeter from grazing your lips.
“H-Hello?” Your voice came out slightly hoarse as this was the first time you were putting your vocal cords to use today.
“Missed me?” Arthur’s voice rumbles through the channel. His signature southern drawl was tinged with slight static.
Speak of the devil. You approached the metal railing of the grandstands and couldn’t help but instinctively look down the speedway to find him yourself. If your headset was able to register the input of his voice, surely he was finally on the race tracks. As you leaned over the railing, your eyes scanned the asphalt… settling right on the outline of a figure that you knew had to be Arthur, sauntering slowly to his car– his baby girl he calls it. The pit crew was currently working on the car, servicing any of its parts that needed maintenance.
“You’re gonna get an earful from Dutch,” You warned him. The crew chief wouldn’t be too happy to hear that we were off schedule.
“But I already get plenty of that from you darlin,” He teased in a low voice. Arthur stood a couple of paces away from his race car. Despite how far away you were, you were able to make out his easy going countenance. You saw him standing with his weight shifted to the side, and his hands loosely grasping his waistband, the velcro collar of his NASCAR uniform relaxed and open to expose his throat.
You shook your head, but he managed to earn a smile from you. “How anyone puts up with you…” Your voice trailed off into the mouthpiece. You usually were able to deal with his antics, but it took some getting used to in the beginning. Dutch, perhaps a little less, but for him, it was like a father admonishing his son. He’d always forgive him. In the end, Arthur’s driving skills spoke for itself.
“That’s why I have you.” Despite the maybe half mile distance from you two, he spoke as if you were right there standing in front of him. “Take care of me today too, alright?” He spoke softly into the mic. Cockiness and arrogance gone without a trace from his voice. His middle and index finger were pressed against his earpiece as he tilted his head up towards you.
And you would. Without question. Once he was on the race tracks, it was just you and him. If you told him to do a somersault on the pavement, he would. One time, for fun, you told him to sing “Old McDonald Had a Farm,” and without skipping a beat, he bellowed out the song through the channel driving 200 mph. He sang the E’s and I’s zipping straight to your eardrums. That was the sort of trust between a driver and a spotter. You never hesitated.
But you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction. Not yet.
“Cute. Now get in the car, Morgan.”
He chuckled. “Yes ma’am.”
He turned his back towards you, but secretly, you wished you could watch him there forever, not strapped inside his car and hidden away from your vision. As a spotter, you were the closest to the driver but also the furthest.
Arthur’s easygoing stride quickened to a purposeful pace towards his car. He stopped to talk to the car chief and the engineer while handing off Arthur’s helmet to him. Most likely they were updating him as to what alterations and adjustments they made to his vehicle. There was no sound output on your side since Arthur would usually cut off the channel until he was inside the car. With a practiced motion, he slipped the helmet over his head, securing it snugly in place. You saw his hand clasp the top of the window frame and deftly swung his legs through to the inside of the racing vehicle, like putting thread through a needle.
Members of the pit crew moved quickly to make last minute checks on the car. With Arthur now in the driver’s seat, they helped pull the straps and click the buckles, securing him tightly into place.
You let a few more minutes pass by before you spoke into the mouthpiece again. Without his figure directly in your sight, speaking into the channel felt like you were probing your way blindly in the dark, searching for some sort of sign or signal.
“Morgan? Are you there?” You received only static as your response.
“Morgan?” You tried again. Did he forget to dial back into the channel? “Arthur–”
“Missin’ me already?” His husky voice entered your ears again. “Don’t worry. You know I can’t stay away.”
Damn him for making you feel the slightest bit worried. Sometimes he really liked to push his luck with you. “Just start driving,” You replied curtly, a frown on your face. You felt sympathy for him when Dutch would be on his ass about practice, but now you were starting to share the same feelings as the crew chief.
“Alright~ you know I’m just playin’ with cha” He spoke easily trying to diffuse the situation, as he always ends up doing with you. You could hear him revving up the engine now as it roars to life. “In position.”
You nodded and used your fingers to press the foam piece tight against your lips, making sure the morning wind had no chance to garble the transmission. No more games now.
“Clear all around.” You announce to Arthur, letting him know that there were no cars in his immediate vicinity.
“Copy,” He responds promptly, the humor clear out of his tone.
And at that, you watch his car from high above propel past the starting line at lightning speed. The next time after this, he would be driving in the Daytona Cup Series.
----------
It was only hours away from the big race. You could hear the roar of the crowd in the stands outside and the bustling of the other crews scrambling to get ready in their section of the expansive NASCAR garage. Your crew had their own section as well to tend to the maintenance of Arthur’s car. There could be absolutely no mistake tonight.
All of the crew members including you were standing in a team huddle formation, with Dutch maintaining position as the forefront and you and Arthur standing next to each other in the circle.
“Now son, I won’t deny that you’re the fastest driver out there” Dutch motioned to the direction of the race track. “But I’m tellin’ you, you can’t be too reckless. Understand? Keep a clear head and keep yourself tight on the inside track.”
You nodded your head in agreement with the crew chief, turning to look at Arthur. “O'Driscoll's driver will be at your bumper constantly during the race.” You knew the patterns of the rival NASCAR gangs extensively from both live races and previous tapes. The Pinkertons also ran the Van Der Linde crew for their money.
“They’ll drive to overtake you at any chance they can get. Pinkerton’s driver likes to play dirty too.” You warned him.
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know,” Arthur says gruffly as he slowly rubs his hand across the back of his neck.
“If we win, drinks are on John,” Javier, the crew’s car chief and Dutch’s right hand man, comes up behind Arthur and claps a hand over his shoulder in friendly gesture. He grins over to John standing on Dutch’s left hand side and winks. John gives him a heated glare, clearly not looking pleased that he’ll be taking the tab for the entire crew’s drinking expenditures tonight.
Arthur’s eyes light up mischievously with this new information.
“Well, I’ll be~” His hands briefly disappear into his pockets to pull out his pair of black leather gloves. “Then I guess I can save some of that prize money for a rainy day.”
And with that, the tension that was unconsciously in the air for the entire crew dissipated as all of the members let out easygoing laughs and jokes.
“Alright, now y'all know what to do” Dutch reigns in the crew with his authoritative voice. “Do your jobs and clear out.”
He didn’t have to repeat himself. The crew immediately disperses and gets to work. Arthur takes his time though and slides his fingers snugly into his gloves. Even at the most important point of his career, he’ll still take his sweet time with the same demeanor as if he was just at practice.
You were beginning to follow suit with the others. Your place wasn’t here, but at the top of the grandstands. Your headset was already prepared and hooked around your neck.
Just as you were about to set off though, a booming voice freezes you in place.
“Hey. Where do you think you’re goin’?” Arthur asks pointedly.
It felt as if you were caught red-handed in a crime you didn’t commit. You awkwardly pointed your index finger up towards the top of the stadium, motioning with your eyes as well.
“Up towards the box… like I usually do…” Your voice wavers with uncertainty. Was there something wrong? You could sense a hint of annoyance in his tone.
“You run off without even a ‘good luck’ for me?” He frowns.
You immediately feel apologetic. “O-oh! Sorry. Good luck…” You respond half-heartedly by mistake. It was hard to muster up the enthusiasm when it felt as if you were being put under a harsh spotlight. It was strange. Through the radio transmission, you had no hesitation exchanging banter with Arthur during practice. But in person? That was a different story. There was no channel or static that could hide your expressions or body from him when the two of you were face to face.
“You upset with me or somethin’?”
“Upset?” Your eyes widen in wild confusion. “With what?”
Arthur grows frustrated as he tries to find the right words. He tightens the velcro that fastens around his wrist into place.
“Just– you been distant.”
“Morgan, what are you talking about? I see you practically everyday. The job kind of warrants it.” Your voice held steady, but you started getting nervous trying to deflect his questioning, your palms sweaty.
“That ain’t it.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m talkin’ outside of work.” He finally looks straight into your eyes this time, his eyes peering through you to find an answer. You felt like a butterfly pinned under a magnifying glass for observation. “Before we got big. You weren’t cold like this.”
You thickly swallow down your saliva. Maybe you did try to keep your distance from him. But you couldn’t help it. Arthur Morgan the NASCAR driver was a big star now. People knew his name even if you didn’t know much about the sport. He’s Dutch’s prize pony and workhorse at the same time. Not only did the crew’s success hinge on his performance on the racetrack, but on his public performance too. Press conferences, interviews, even late night shows, Dutch made sure he was there to set his image and establish his fame.
You remember one time when you watched Arthur on a screen backstage for a press conference after a big upset at a different circuit race. This took place back when the crew was still building up its reputation. He didn’t even need his own PR team. He had this laidback charm and easygoing grin that could pull his audience in.
Despite all those years as Arthurs’ spotter, you noticed fame didn’t get to his head. It was mainly just him getting busier.
That’s why you were scared to take more of his time. It was reserved for the crew and for his career as a NASCAR driver. He didn’t belong to you in the first place. Out in the stadium, up on the grandstands, you were just a voice in his head. But you still made sure to take your job as his spotter seriously. At least with the headset, you were able to hear the sound of his voice. Because it was a one way radio channel between just you and him. You could delude yourself into thinking he was yours, even for a little bit.
“Sorry…” You apologized again as you turned your head to the side, avoiding his eyes. You felt so stupid. “If I came off that way, I didn’t mean to.”
He crosses his arms across his chest. He was silent and grave as he kept you standing there, still not satisfied with your answer.
“I–” You were fumbling for any sort of explanation. It was tough with Arthur looking at you so intently. An involuntary blush was rising up your neck.
“I didn’t want to distract you.” You shut your eyes in embarrassment. There, was he happy now?
His eyes widened in surprise.
“Distract me?” It was his turn to be completely bewildered by your admission. “Darlin’ you’re in my ear 24/7.” He taps his earpiece lightly. “It’s tough not to be. What are you goin’ on about?”
You held your hands together, fidgeting with your fingers. You could talk about how just speaking with him makes you happy. Or the giddy feeling you get when he gives you his signature lazy, gentle smile just before he slides on his helmet. And that you want to be more than just his spotter. But usually before any of those thoughts come to fruition, he gets whisked off immediately to attend to more important matters for the sake of the crew.
You don’t want to just be the voice in his head anymore. You want to touch him.
You finally looked up to meet his gaze, but this time your eyes met his with astonishment.
“You…?” He asks you softly.
You clamped your fingers over your lips that had just betrayed you, feeling absolutely mortified. The heat in your face having risen to make your cheeks flush pink. Did you just…?
You held a hand up in defense, already thinking of a million excuses, most of which made no sense.
“That’s not– I wasn’t–” What had gotten into you? Just before the Daytona Cup Series too. Maybe the pressure of winning was getting to your head as well. “I didn’t– I didn’t mean to say that.”
You stood there withstanding Arthur’s unbearable silence, your head held low. This was the absolute worst moment you could let your feelings get the best of you. Arthur was at the height of his career, and all of the prize money was on the line for the crew. You were frightened that you could be responsible for jeopardizing that.
“Come with me.” He uncrossed his arms and extended his palm out to you. You didn’t have any time to read his expression. His frame was already turned away from you, but he kept his arm out, waiting for your hand.
Hearing the authority in his voice, you knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to refuse him. You stepped towards him and reached your hand to rest in his. Without hesitation, his fingers move to interlock with yours, and he pulls you along with him to who knows where. Heat and pleasure bloom in your chest as your gaze lays fixed on your hands clasped together, not even noticing that he was guiding you to a more secluded area of the garage pit.
The two of you ended up in a dimmed hallway, still accessible to the other NASCAR crews but not warranting enough attention to the presence of you both.
In that moment, you realized how close Arthur was to you as you saw his body looming over yours. He took slow, deliberate steps that forced you back to the wall of the corridor. As your backside collided with the hard surface, his large, bulky frame leaned in towards you, pinning you in place. He placed his hand against the wall as it was millimeters away from your head.
“What are you–” Your question was cut short. The breath was knocked out of you when you felt him step his leg forward to nestle his knee between your thighs.
Surprised at the sensation, your hands helplessly found purchase on his hips, holding on for dear life.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you?” He leans in towards your ear, breathing down your throat but his lips never quite land on skin. He brings his other hand to have his fingers slowly skim down your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake even with his gloves on.
You look at him with weak eyes, affection but also embarrassment clear on your face. He stares back at you darkly with lust and desire clear in his heated gaze.
“Every. Single. Time.”
You gasp as you feel his knee drive up towards your cunt, drawing tight circles against your clit. You hook your fingers in the loopholes of his crew uniform to hold yourself steady. Eyes turned glossy, you rolled your head against the wall to look towards the end of the hallway, crew and pit members still scrambling about to get ready for the race, but paying no mind to anything else despite the two of you being in such a public place.
“Just when I think I have you, you slip outta my fingers.” He says gruffly.
You close your eyes to bask in the deep rumble of his voice, resonating through your bones. You instinctively arch your back at the sound, seeking more pleasure as you raise your hips.
“And that cute voice of yours in my ear.” A guttural groan escapes his lips. “Always imagining how I can mess you up.”
His hand hovers down the silhouette of your waist, over your hips, to cup over your ass, lifting it up to give him more leeway in driving his knee up your entrance. You were mesmerized by this point, your cheeks tinted pink as you licked your lips growing dry from the short breaths you were taking. In the deepest crevices in your mind, you wanted him so desperately, and your wish was coming true. You tilted your chin up towards him as the back of your head rested against the wall, meeting his gaze. There was no turning back now with your feelings laid bare.
Arthur was creating delicious friction between your clit and his leg, soaking your panties with your cum and even leaving a stain on the fabric covering his knee. He groans at the sight, but keeps rubbing you until you supposed the stain was large and wet enough to satisfy him. Fortunately his uniform was black with red accents, so any questions asked could be easily explained with his trademark charm and grin.
“Arthur.” You begged him, eyes pleading. You dug your fingers into his hips to compensate for the orgasm creeping down your belly straight to your cunt, threatening to consume you.
“Pissed me off when you’d just run off without as much as a word.” His voice was rough as he was getting off on your own pleasure. He gives an appreciative tug at your ass. “But now I know you’re my own personal pussy. Isn’t that right?”
You laugh. “Brute.” You teased him, even when you were at his mercy.
He chuckles softly. “After all of this is done and through…” He splays his hand along your jawline and presses his thumb against your lips, demanding entrance. You part them open obediently, and you felt his finger prod deeply to play around with your tongue.
“You have three minutes to get down from the top once the last car crosses the finish line. Three minutes. Anything over and you’re in trouble. Understand me?” His grip on your jaw was firm as his breath washes over your face.
With his thumb still in your mouth, you could only nod your head in response. Your body shuddered at the idea of even just being a couple seconds late and what he would do to you.
“Good girl.” He wasn’t talking about the car this time. You couldn’t help but whimper at the sudden praise. He draws his thumb out of your mouth, bringing it to his lips to take a quick swipe at your saliva, as if he was getting the last remnants of his meal off his finger.
He draws his knee back too, leaving your core feeling weak and empty. You didn’t want him to stop, but it was just moments away from the race. Dutch would be furious if he wasn’t ready by his car, set to go. He glances down at your headset hung around your neck and lifts them up to enclose the ear muffs over your ears.
“Talk to you soon.” He winks at you and taps his earpiece, clearly rejuvenated enough to win the Cup Series. He backs away, keeping his longing eyes on you before he spins on his heel, walking away to meet up with the car crew.
Your knees buckled, resulting in you sliding down the wall, your ass on the ground now with your legs sprawled out. Your head was feverish as you lost all the strength in your legs to remain standing. Playing spotter was perhaps a more difficult job than you thought.
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☆ Summary: The Scouts bet you that Captain Levi won’t respond to your flirting. You’re determined to prove them wrong, but Levi has never been the kind of man to let someone else control the game.
☆ Content Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, light dom/sub, marking, power imbalance, unprotected piv
☆ Word Count: 9.8k
☆ AO3 Link
☆ a/n: This was the winning poll option for the 400 follower celebration! THANK YOU TO THE MOST BEAUTIFUL AMAZING WONDERFUL @slaytherinthoughts FOR BETA READING <333
[ Art by Pixiv Id 49949467 ]
Your favorite part of the day has always been dinner time. The dining hall always gets loud, exhaustion loosening everyone’s tongues so laughter spills easier and smiles come brighter. It’s usually the same thing every night—Sasha trying to barter food from everyone, Eren and Jean arguing about something stupid and menial again before Mikasa cuts in and threatens to kick both of their asses, and Ymir showering Christa with love and affection.
You’re halfway through your stew, watching how Mikasa has slowly been moving the carrots she doesn’t want into Eren’s bowl while he talks too passionately to realize it. Your conversation had somehow shifted from your last assessment scores to which superior officers would be easiest to flirt with. Not exactly the most appropriate conversation, but hey, it should be expected of a group of twenty-something year-olds.
Jean suddenly snorts into his cup and says, “Captain Levi is incapable of being flustered.”
Connie barks out a laugh. “Captain Levi? Yeah, no. I think if you flirted with him, he’d just tell you your posture was shit.”
“He might blush if someone compliments his cleaning,” Sasha says.
You laugh at the thought of Levi turning pink over you complimenting his polishing of the floorboards. It’s almost charming. But you’re pulled back into the reality of things quickly, reminded by the sure fact that Levi would be the type to make you run sixty laps for even breathing wrong in his direction. At least he would look irritatingly beautiful barking orders at you.
“Maybe he just needs someone hot to compliment him,” Connie says.
Ymir, sitting beside Christa with one arm draped over her shoulders, rolls her eyes. “Please. That man could walk through a brothel and find the mop sexier.”
The table erupts into laughter. Armin drops his face into one hand, already checked out of the conversation. Christa turns scarlet but presses her lips together, very clearly trying not to laugh. Jean wheezes, and even Mikasa lets out a small, polite laugh. You shouldn’t laugh as hard as you do, because if Levi heard your conversation right now he would probably bury you all six feet under.
Then Eren, who has never met a stupid idea he couldn’t charge at headfirst, leans forward with bright eyes and says, “Someone should test it.”
You pause, nervously playing with the charm of your necklace. Jean is the first to look at you. Then Connie. Then Sasha. Then Ymir, a little more wickedly.
“No,” you say immediately, because you know that look, and you know yourself. “No.”
Jean grins. “Come on.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re the only one who could pull it off.”
“I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted.”
“You say things to the officers that none of us would ever say,” Connie points out. It would be rude if it weren’t true.
“Maybe you could only do it for a week?” Christa offers.
“A week?” you echo, already feeling the dangerous little spark of interest light inside you. The worst part is that they’re not entirely wrong; you are bold, you are blunt, and you have secretly spent far too much time wondering what it would take to make Levi Ackerman’s perfect composure crack, even if only by a little. “You’re giving me a week to flirt with humanity’s most emotionally repressed man?”
“Get a reaction,” Jean corrects.
“Define reaction,” Armin says.
“Blushing counts,” Eren says.
“Stammering counts,” Jean adds.
“Looking away counts,” Christa says.
“No it doesn’t,” Ymir scoffs. “That could just mean he hates you.”
You cock your head. “To be fair, I think he does hate me.”
“He hates everyone,” Mikasa mumbles.
“What if he flirts back?” Armin asks.
Eren scoffs loudly. “Captain Levi? Flirt back? Be serious.”
Your stomach twists at the thought. You can’t even imagine Levi doing anything as human as flirting. But what if he were to step a little too close, lower his voice to a smooth cadence, fix his eyes on yours and then your lips and then smash his mouth against—
Nope. You’re not going down that mental road again.
You set your spoon down and touch your necklace again. Everyone is watching you intensely. The best move here is to refuse. It’s the most sensible move. Captain Levi isn’t a toy for your entertainment. Making a game out of a man who can kill Titans like swatting flies is going to land you in deep shit. You know that.
And yet, you still smile. “A week?” you ask, leaning back with a confident half-shrug. “Give me three days.”
Jean’s grin widens. “That confidence is exactly why we picked you.”
Ymir snorts into her cup. “No. We picked her because she has no sense of self-preservation. And she’s a fucking idiot.”
The worst part is you can’t even argue with that. Game on.
.
Day one, you begin with too much confidence and nowhere near enough strategy, which, in hindsight, is probably the natural consequence of accepting a bet over dinner while surrounded by idiots.
You see Levi just after breakfast, walking through the corridor with a stack of reports in his arms. He looks somewhat more annoyed today, but because Eren and Jean are watching from around the far corner—not very subtly, might you add—and because you refuse to lose your nerve on the first attempt, you slow your steps just enough to pass him shoulder-to-shoulder and say sweetly, “You look good today, Captain.”
Levi doesn’t stop or look at you. He doesn’t even blink in a way that could potentially be considered meaningful, unless you’re desperate enough to start seeing romantic symbolism in basic human functions now. He simply keeps walking, the scent of his soap trailing behind slapping you in the face. You’re left standing there in the middle of the corridor with your mouth still curved into a smile. Meanwhile, at the end of the hall, Jean presses a fist to his mouth to stop himself from laughing and Eren mouths, Nothing?
Nothing. Not a twitch, not a glance, not even a disgusted little sigh. Fine, you think, watching Levi disappear around the corner. Eren and Jean shoot upright and pretend to engage in conversation, though it’s horribly broken and awkward from what you can hear. The moment Levi’s footsteps fade, Jean shoves Eren’s shoulder, and Eren shoves him back.
First shot missed. Happens to the best of us.
.
By day two, you decide subtlety is the coward’s way.
You happen to run into Levi again in the supply closet. While you’re searching for a specific cleaner, the door opens behind you and he steps inside. Suddenly the cramped room seems to shrink even further. There’s barely enough space for both of you to stand without brushing elbows. He doesn’t acknowledge the fact that you’re so close, naturally.
Instead, he reaches past you for a rag on the shelf above your shoulder. He leans close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. Your muscles lock momentarily. Damn him for being so attractive. Still, you manage to tilt your chin up and say, “Careful, Captain. Any closer and people might start talking.”
He pulls back and looks at you. For a second, you think you’ll get something. A stammer, a blush if you’re lucky, but Levi only looks unimpressed. It’s the exact same look he gives soldiers when he manages to find a speck of dust after three straight hours of cleaning.
“People already talk,” he says flatly. “Usually because you give them material.”
You swallow a laugh. Damn him. You lean your shoulder against the shelf, trying not to focus on the fact that your pulse has just spiked dramatically. “Oh, we can give them plenty of material.”
Levi takes the rag, steps back, then leaves.
.
By day three, you’re beginning to suspect the bet is cursed.
You’re gathered in the yard for ODM training. Your friends have formed a not-so-suspicious circle across the field. You see them gathered with a false innocence, sneaking glances at you, favoring the potential spectacle awaiting them over doing anything useful.
You check your gear and realize one of your straps at your thigh is loose, the buckle hanging awkwardly against your leg. Before you can crouch down to fix it yourself, someone approaches.
“Hold still,” Levi says.
You’re almost embarrassed by how quickly you obey. He crouches in front of you and grabs the loose strap before you can object. There’s nothing intimate about it, nothing that should make heat rush to your face—and yet it does. You look down at his dark hair and the concentration on his face and think to yourself, this is fine. This is normal. He’s just fixing your gear. You’re not going to die.
Then you remember the bet. Now’s your chance.
“You always this good with your hands, Captain?” you ask, nervously toying with your necklace.
Across the yard, Connie visibly folds in half. Eren grabs Mikasa by the sleeve. Sasha’s mouth drops open. Levi tightens the buckle with one tug and looks up at you, his expression so blank it’s almost hostile in a way.
“Only when someone’s done a shit job and I have to fix it,” he says.
You stare at him as he walks away, unaware of the others across the yard silently screaming into the void.
.
By day four, your pride is no longer bruised. It’s limping, bleeding, and asking whether anyone saw the driver of the carriage that hit it.
You’re cleaning one of the common rooms with a scrub brush in hand and a flicker of annoyance in your heart when Levi comes to inspect the progress. He steps inside, surveys the floor, the windowsill, the table legs, underneath the tables, and even the door handle.
“Do it over,” he says.
You slowly turn your head toward him. “Excuse me?”
His gaze flicks to the windowsill. “Dust.”
You look behind you at the window. Tragically, there’s dust. It wouldn’t matter to a normal person, but Captain Levi is far from normal when it comes to cleanliness. “You’re very hard to impress, Captain,” you say, forcing your voice to carry a teasing tone instead of something that makes it clear how badly you want to throw the rag at his head.
Levi looks at you, and he doesn’t look away. Standing under his intense gaze like this makes your stomach clench in ways you don’t even want to think about. “And you’re very easy to ignore.”
Your smile twitches before you can stop it. That one stings a bit more. You know Levi isn’t above personal insults, but were you really that forgettable to him? You manage to muster up a bit more courage and say, “You know, I’m more skilled in other areas.”
Levi only quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head. That was enough to pull him in, it seems. Success. “How so?”
You smile, because finally, you’ve found the opening. “You’re not the only one who’s good with their hands.”
Silence. Such deep silence that you could hear a pin drop. Levi holds your gaze for exactly one second before he says, almost bored, “Knock it off and get back to work.”
And just like that, he moves on with his day, leaving you standing in the room with a rag in your hand, a burning face, and a grim realization that you may have underestimated both his composure and his commitment to making you feel like an idiot.
.
The moment you sit down at dinner that night, Connie leans across the table and hides his mouth from the view of the superiors’ table with his hand. “Nothing?”
You drop your head into your hand. “Nothing.”
“Not even a blink?”
“He has eyes, Connie. He’s going to blink,” Mikasa says without looking up from her bowl.
Sasha groans and slumps dramatically over the table, one hand still clutching her apple. “We’re doomed.”
You groan too, louder. “No, just me.”
Jean makes a sympathetic noise that’s ruined completely by the fact that he’s smiling. “You still have three days left.”
“Three days to accomplish the impossible,” Eren mumbles.
Armin, kinder than the rest, tilts his head. “Maybe you need to adjust your approach.”
“My approach is fine,” you say.
“Your approach is dogshit,” Ymir says.
Christa gives you an almost apologetic smile, which makes you feel even worse. You stab at the softened carrots in your stew with one hand and toy with your necklace with the other. Every time you touch it, you remember your mother’s hands in yours, the cold metal in your palm, her soft words wishing you safety and prosperity. You long to see her again. Soon, you think. Soon.
You force yourself to not look toward the officers’ side of the hall, where Levi sits with Hange and Erwin, drinking tea without a care in the world—as if he hasn’t spent the last four days ignoring your best efforts. It should be funny. It was funny, at first. But now his lack of a reaction has begun to get under your skin, turning challenge into irritation, then irritation into a feeling that’s far more embarrassing, because it’s one thing for Levi to ignore the flirting and another thing entirely for him to make you feel like he’s ignoring you.
It’s personal now, you decide.
.
Levi thinks this is the most irritating week of his life, by far.
It’s not distracting enough to matter, and certainly not enough to affect his work, but it’s definitely irritating. And persistent. You are persistent. You’re always there. In hallways, in supply rooms, in the training grounds, always pushing and pushing, waiting for him to break at the seams.
Levi doesn’t crack. He’s survived this long by being difficult to shake. Still, he thinks about it—about you—more than he should, and that annoys him the most.
Levi walks into the stables. Hay bales are stacked neatly against the wall. The tack is all lined up and organized in the storage room. He’s only searching for a harness clip, nothing more, because apparently grown soldiers can’t keep equipment where it belongs. He barely passes the first row of stalls before voices reach him from the far end. He recognizes them. Eren, Jean, Armin. Levi stops before they see him.
“Told you,” Eren says with a hint of smugness. “Captain Levi doesn’t flirt.”
Levi’s brows shift by the smallest degree.
“She still has two days, Armin says, a little quieter. “And honestly, he’s been looking at her more than usual.”
“Looking annoyed doesn’t count,” Jean laughs. “He looks at everyone like that.”
Levi freezes for a moment, then swallows. Then Eren speaks again, painfully unaware of the grave he’s digging with both hands. “Doesn’t matter. The bet was to make him react. She’s been flirting with him for five days and he hasn’t done anything.”
Levi doesn’t know what to feel at first. Then annoyance practically slams into him. Of course the sudden compliments, the lingering looks, the suggestive comments delivered with too much confidence and nowhere near enough survival instinct are not lapses in judgement but a coordinated effort by the loudest collection of children to ever survive to adulthood.
He almost steps out. He almost makes them regret every syllable. He almost assigns all three of them stable duty until their hands smell permanently of horse shit. He almost leaves to go find you and drag you into his office and inform you that if you have enough free time to treat your commanding officer like a tavern dare, you have enough free time to scrub every inch of the barracks.
But he doesn’t. He remains where he is, half-shadowed beside the tack shelves, and thinks of you when you were in the supply closet with him, your chin tipped up and your mouth spilling smooth words you clearly expected to land, of the flash of irritation in your eyes when he refused to give you anything back.
So, you’ve been trying to break him in front of an audience. Bold. Stupid. And mildly interesting. You want a reaction from him. No. More than that. You want proof that he can be moved, that there’s something you can reach underneath all the discipline and deadpan remarks if you’re reckless enough to keep trying.
Fine. Let’s see how well you handle it when he stops being polite.
He turns without a sound, leaving the missing clip for someone else to find and the three idiots still talking at the far end of the stable, none of them aware that the terms of the bet have just changed.
Two days then. If you wanted a reaction that badly, he could give you one.
.
Day six begins badly, which, considering the trajectory of the week so far, should not surprise you. The morning vanishes beneath papers and one disaster involving Connie dropping a crate of replacement gas canisters. You’re on the last thin shred of your patience. By the time late afternoon rears its ugly head, you’re tired and hungry, having spent five days throwing stones at a wall. You’re considering whether you should just run headfirst into it. But you can’t give up. That would be mortifying. Also Jean would never let you hear the end of it.
So when you turn the corner into the east corridor and nearly collide with Levi himself, you decide the universe has not abandoned you entirely. He stops before you can hit him, and you catch yourself with one hand against the wall, your heart giving a stupid little kick as you look at him. He looks as he always does: composed, mouth set in a flat line, irritatingly clean despite the hour.
Fine, you think, dragging your confidence up by the collar. One more time.
You let your smile come slowly, forgetting how the last few days have been consistent public humiliation. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me, Captain.”
Normally, this is where he would keep walking. Normally, he would ignore you and tell you to find something useful to do. But Levi stops beside you, close enough that the corridor feels smaller, close enough that you can smell the last cup of tea he had still lingering on his lips. He turns his head, eyes meeting yours from the side. Your smile falters.
“Why would I?” he asks. Your breath hitches—stupidly. The words themselves are nothing, barely a response, but it’s the way he said them, in a way you’ve never heard from him before, that makes the world stop for just a single second. Then his gaze drops, briefly, and he says, “You wanted my attention, didn’t you?”
You forget how to answer. Your mind produces absolutely nothing. You can’t find a single comeback or tease. You technically got him to react, and you should be celebrating, but you can only focus on the fact that Levi has just taken the same game you’ve been playing all week and held it against your throat.
Before you can recover emotionally, he turns and walks away. Just like that.
You remain there, your hand now nervously touching your charm necklace, staring at him while your heart nearly explodes out of your chest. The worst part isn’t that he answered, but that he answered like he knew exactly what it would do to you.
No. Absolutely not. This is not happening. You are the one flirting with him. You’re the one with the bet, the plan, the reputation for saying things no one else dares to say, and Levi is supposed to be an immovable force. He is not supposed to look at you like that.
And you are not supposed to feel this way in return.
.
Dinner approaches, and you almost manage to convince yourself that you imagined it.
He was probably being sarcastic. You’re tired and frustrated and maybe starvation has you seeing seduction where it doesn’t exist. Levi’s voice is always low, his eyes are always intense, and your imagination just lost its grip because you’ve spent too many days thinking about him.
The mess hall doors open onto chaos. Everyone is trying to leave and enter at once. Soldiers are pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the crowded corridor, laughter and complaints tangling with the clatter of dishes from inside. You’re caught near the doorway, half-turned as Jean calls to you from the table and Mikasa waves to you.
You start to step aside when you feel a hand settle at the small of your back. Levi moves behind you, close enough that his chest nearly brushes your shoulder as he guides you smoothly out of the flow of traffic. His palm rests low on your back for a moment longer than necessary. Your lungs practically stop working.
“You’re in the way,” he says.
You turn your head, because apparently you’re feeling particularly self-destructive tonight and want to look directly at the weapon killing you. You find him already watching you. Your mind tells you to take the mercy of silence and leave with whatever remains of your dignity.
But because your survival instincts are apparently the worst and will always lose to your mouth, you say, “You always touch your subordinates like that?”
His hand slips from your back, his eyes holding yours as he answers, low enough that the noise swallows it before anyone else can hear. “You always like getting touched by your superiors, or is it just me?”
Your mouth parts. Nothing comes out. Levi’s eyes flick, very briefly, to your lips, then he steps around you and walks into the mess hall like he didn’t just completely make you short circuit. You stand there in the doorway, heat rushing to your face so fast it nearly makes you dizzy. You reach up to touch your necklace again. You still feel the burn of his palm against your back.
No, no, no. That did not happen. Captain Levi did not just say that to you in a crowded hallway. Captain Levi, who has spent five days ignoring your every attempt to flirt, did not just choose now, now, in front of the open mess hall doors where your idiot friends are sitting within view, to say that.
You turn slowly toward the dining hall. At the table, every single one of them is staring. Eren has a spoon halfway to his mouth. Mikasa is watching you calmly, as she always does. Ymir is smiling widely. Jean’s eyebrows are raised to his hairline. You walk to the table on stumbling legs and sit down shakily.
Jean speaks first. “Well?”
You reach to pick up your spoon, then you realize there is no spoon. You haven’t even gotten your food yet. “W-what?”
“What happened?” Connie demands. “We saw him stop.”
“Did he react?” Eren asks. “Did he blush? Stammer? Look away?”
“Nothing happened,” you say a little too quickly.
Armin tilts his head. “Nothing?”
“Nothing,” you repeat, trying not to spontaneously combust from the inside out.
Eren squints at you. “Why do you look like you just ran thirty laps?”
“Because I hate all of you.”
Sasha gasps softly. “Even me?”
“Especially you,” you joke.
“Oh, come on. Something happened,” Jean laughs.
“Nothing happened.”
“You’re flustered,” Christa says gently. Damn it, of course it had to be her who noticed.
“It’s hot in here.”
“It’s winter,” Mikasa says. You glare at her.
Ymir leans forward, elbows on the table as she rests her chin on her linked hands. “Oh, something definitely happened.”
“It didn’t,” you insist, even though your skin is still burning where his hand touched your back.
The bet was supposed to be simple. You flirt. Levi refuses to react. You keep pushing until you either win through charm or lose with enough grace to pretend you never cared. At no point was he supposed to turn around and make you feel like the bet had never belonged to you at all.
You stand up and grab your food, your cheeks still hot and shoulders stiff. When you sit back down, Ymir’s gaze follows you. She knows. She absolutely knows. But you tell yourself again that nothing happened as you stab a potato hard enough that it breaks apart in your bowl.
Nothing happened. And if that’s true, then you’re in far more trouble than you thought, because apparently Levi can do absolutely nothing and still ruin you.
.
It’s the final day. The day you either make Captain Levi blush, stammer, or lose composure, or you lose the bet and spend the rest of your life—however short that may be—listening to Eren and Jean taunting you and becoming the most smug humans to ever exist on this earth. You’re much less confident than you were when you started, and truthfully, you’re ready to take the loss and humiliation.
The training yard is blue with the early morning, fog clinging low to the ground while the first soldiers trickle in with their gear half-fastened and their faces pinched against the chill. You stand near the equipment racks with your ODM harness hanging around your hips. Your fingers feel slightly clumsier than usual as you tighten the buckle at your waist. It’s not that you’re nervous. You’re just tired and cold. You’re aware that Levi has spent the last twenty-four hours looking at you as if he knows something you don’t, touching you where he doesn’t need to touch you, speaking in a voice that, franky, should be illegal, and then walking away like nothing ever happened.
You tug the buckle too hard and it nearly pulls the breath out of you. Then it falls loose, and you mutter a low, “Shit.”
You feel someone move behind you. Your heart reacts before the rest of you does.
“Your waist buckle is loose.”
You close your eyes for a brief second. Damn the universe for sending him. If you’re going to lose, you might as well go out strong. “I’ve got it,” you say.
“You don’t,” Levi says.
Before you can argue, he steps in behind you. His hands rise to your waist, grabbing the buckle you were fumbling with, and your spine straightens so fast you might as well have been pulled up by a wire. He’s so damn close. Too damn close.
There are people in the yard. Not many, but enough. Enough that you can’t turn around and ask him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, enough that you can’t grab his wrist, enough that you can’t do anything except stand there and pretend him correcting your gear isn’t an act of psychological warfare.
His voice lowers near your ear. “You’re distracted.”
“I’m not,” you say a little too fast.
Levi pulls the buckle tight, enough to force a little “mmph” out of you. You swear you hear him scoff in amusement. “You are.”
“I’m perfectly focused.”
“You’re slower.” His knuckles brush, barely, against your stomach as he tightens the leather. “Your breathing’s off.”
As if your body is eager to prove him right, your breath hitches. You hate him. You hate him so much you want to bite him. You angle your head just enough to speak over your shoulder. “Did you come over here to critique my breathing?”
“No.” He leans in just enough that his next words touch the edge of your ear. “I’m wondering what’s on your mind.” Your first name falls from his lips. You despise how much you like to hear him say it.
Your brain, which has faced Titans, blood, death, and the endless exhaustion of military life, simply abandons you. “I—nothing,” you say, the word catching in your throat.
Levi freezes for a breath, then finishes buckling your gear. He withdraws his hands, but he doesn’t step back immediately. The absence of his touch feels somehow worse than the touch itself.
“Save your filthy little thoughts about me for later,” he says.
You freeze. There’s no possible response. Nothing clever nor dignified. Nothing that doesn’t immediately reveal your thoughts, filthy or otherwise. But you realize they’ve already been dragged into broad daylight and inspected by the one man you least want to have that power.
Levi steps around you casually with a perfectly neutral expression, acting as if he hasn’t taken your last functioning nerve between his teeth and smiled around it. You stand there, frozen, your entire body burning.
Maybe this bet was a bad idea.
.
By midday, you’re coming to terms with the fact that you’re no longer trying to win the bet. You’re just trying to survive the damn thing.
The realization comes to you somewhere between drills and the deeply inconvenient moment when Sasha asks why you keep looking like you expect someone to sneak up on you. Because that’s exactly what it feels like right now; like every corridor has become a battlefield and every corner might contain Levi with another clever line ready to slide under your skin and make its home there.
He’s only doing this because he knows, somehow, because he’s figured out the bet or sensed weakness or simply decides that torturing you is a productive use of his time. That’s what you try to tell yourself, anyway. But none of those explanations quell the heat in your stomach. None of them make you stop remembering the low cadence of his voice. None of them help when you take the stairwell after grabbing a stack of reports to deliver and find him descending from the floor above, eyes already fixed on you as if he knew exactly where you would be.
Your first instinct is to step aside. Your second is to flee. Your third, which is unfortunately the one you choose, is to fight.
Levi reaches the landing and moves as if to pass you, not stopping, not granting you so much as the satisfaction of another look, and you feel your pride explode in your chest. This is reckless, but when have you ever not been reckless? It led you here, after all.
“If I didn’t know better, Captain, I’d think you were coming onto me,” you say.
Levi stops. Slowly, he turns. His face is unreadable, but his eyes are not empty. They are darkened, focused purely on you and filled with so much control it feels more dangerous than if he had simply smiled.
“You’d know if I were coming onto you,” he says.
A warning. A door. A line on the floor with your toes already over it. Leave it alone. Let him go. Remember that there are only a few hours left in this ridiculous bet and the safest thing in the world would be to stop poking at the man who’s already proven he knows exactly how to make you forget your own name without even touching you.
Stupidly, you say, “Would I?”
For a moment, nothing happens—then Levi steps closer. A single step that takes the distance between you and closes it. His boots echo quietly against the stone. Your back doesn’t touch the wall yet, but every part of you understands that it could. He leans in and you go still. It’s just enough room to move away. But you don’t. His breath brushes your ear as he speaks.
“You’d know,” he says, voice so low the words barely survive the air between you, “because I’d have you backed against this wall and make damn sure you remembered who you were teasing.”
You swear you feel your knees give out. There’s no other way to describe it. A part of you dips, a violent little swoop of heat and shock and want that leaves your fingers tightening around the reports until the papers bend.
Levi draws back just enough to look at you, almost patiently, able to see every ruined thought passing across your face—and he has all the time in the world to watch you suffer through them. You force your mouth open, but nothing coherent arrives. His gaze drops once to your hands clenched around the reports, then he steps past you, the sleeve of his jacket brushing your arm.
You nearly pass out when his footsteps finally fade away.
.
Hours later, after dinner, you and your friends gather in the yard, warm with lantern light and the fading noise of the day. The sky above the barracks deepens into a royal blue. You sit on the grass with your friends, trying to look as normal as possible and most likely miserably failing.
The bet is nearly over. You’ve technically won it, but for some reason, you don’t want to admit it, because if you do, the things Levi said and did become real. Still, you don’t tell them anything. Connie is looking at the stars, Sasha is finishing the last of her crackers that she snuck out of the mess hall, Jean is laying down with his hands behind his head, Mikasa is watching the yard, and Ymir keeps glancing at you with an expression that suggests she knows there’s blood in the water and she’s simply waiting for you to admit you’ve been bitten.
Eren is the one who finally breaks. He waits until the last bell rings from somewhere inside the barracks, marking the end of the day. He smiles and looks at you so smugly it makes you want to slap him.
“That’s it,” he says. “Told you. Captain Levi doesn’t give a shit about romance.”
The others groan, laugh, and argue, immediately debating technicalities, because Jean insists there may still be time if Levi walks through the yard in the next thirty seconds, and Connie says you should just sprint inside and say something ridiculous in case it works.
You hear it all from very far away, because you know with certainty that Levi didn’t blush, nor stammer, nor look away. He didn’t lose. Not where anyone could see, at least. Eren is right. Jean is right. Everyone is right.
But they don’t know about the corridor, about his hand at your back, about the training yard and the filthy little thoughts he somehow spoke into existence just by naming them; they don’t know about the stairwell, about the way his voice lowered just for you, about the wall that never touched your back but has been haunting you for hours anyway.
You sit there in the grass with your face turned toward the darkening yard, letting the others mourn and gloat around you, while the memory of his words presses insistently at the forefront of your mind.
You’d know.
You press your lips together and say nothing, because the truth is yours now—and Levi’s.
And that might be worse than losing.
.
Several days pass, and in that time, Levi Ackerman becomes a ghost. He’s somehow everywhere and nowhere at once. In the courtyard while you’re sharpening your blades, standing at the edge of the formation while you run drills, passing through the dining hall with a cup of tea in one hand; and every time you see him, every time his eyes flick over you, your mind drags itself to the stairwell again.
You try to be normal about it. Privately, you fail, but in public, you’re a master of composure—or at least that’s what you tell yourself every time you miss a cue or spend a full three seconds staring at Levi’s mouth during morning briefing. You spend too long trying not to think about him, and the act of thinking about him suddenly becomes the only thing you know how to do.
Then the summons comes, delivered after dinner by a junior soldier, who says, with a nervous little glance over his shoulder, that Captain Levi wants to see you in his office.
“Did he say why?” you ask.
The soldier clears his throat. “Performance issues.”
The others at the table look at you with a mix of confusion and pity, but you don’t look back at them. You simply stand, smooth down your jacket, and walk out of the dining hall while desperately trying to ignore the fact that your heart is about to explode.
Outside Levi’s office, you lift your hand to knock, but you pause when you become aware of the warmth gathering underneath your collar. This is ridiculous. You’re a soldier. You’ve faced Titans. You’ve bled, trained, survived, laughed in the face of exhaustion, taken orders from men twice as loud and half as terrifying, and you are not going to break down just because Levi asked to speak with you behind a closed door.
You knock.
“Come in.”
You open the door. Levi’s office is exactly as it always is; painfully neat, the shelves orderly and every stack of papers aligned neatly. A single lantern burns on his desk, where he sits with a report open in front of him and a cup of tea sitting near his right hand. He doesn’t look up immediately, and it makes the knot in your stomach tighten.
“You wanted to see me, Captain?” you ask, stepping inside and closing the door behind you.
Levi lifts his eyes and says, “Sit.”
Your spine reacts to the order first as you enter the room and sit in the chair opposite his desk with as much grace as you can muster, which isn’t a lot under the circumstances.
“Am I in trouble?” you ask.
Levi leans back slightly, his fingers resting against the edge of the report. He studies you carefully. “Depends how honest you plan on being.” You smile despite the cold chill running down your spine. He narrows his eyes at you. “Your focus has been shit.”
Well. Not the line you expected, maybe, but the tone is familiar enough to turn into irritation, and you’d rather deal with irritation than the other feeling gathering in your stomach.
“My focus is fine,” you say, more meekly than you’d like.
“No, it isn’t.” Levi closes the report. “Your turns were wide during drills yesterday. Your reaction time was slow this morning. You checked your gear and didn’t realize your gas pressure regulation valve was broken.”
Your lips part, then close again. Damn him. “That was one mistake.”
“Several mistakes.”
“I was tired.”
“You’ve been tired before. You’re sloppier when you’re distracted. And you’ve been distracted.”
Heat starts rushing to your face. “Is that what this is about? My form?”
“It’s about performance issues.”
Your body locks up. Levi’s expression doesn’t change, and that’s the worst part, because his face remains perfectly neutral while the words crawl under your skin, dragging every memory of the last two weeks with them. His hand at your lower back, his voice at your ear, his proximity in the stairwell, his near-command to save your filthy thoughts for later. You try to breathe through your nose.
“My performance is fine,” you say.
“It’s shit,” he says.
You grip the arms of the chair a bit tighter. “Did you just call me in here to insult me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Levi sits in the silence for a moment, then he says, “Next time you make a bet involving me, pick a group of idiots that won’t talk about it loudly.”
You swear your stomach drops so fast that the whole room spins around you. Your vision blurs and your mind scrambles backward through every report, every hallway attempt, every bold little comment you’d thrown at him. He knew. Levi knew.
You stare at him, completely frozen, shame flooding through you before anger surges to meet it. Not only did he know, but he had let you keep going, watched you struggle, and taken the game from your hands and turned it against you.
“You knew?” you say.
“Since day five.”
Your face burns. The air in the office suddenly feels suffocating. “And you just let me keep going?”
You swear you see Levi’s eyes glint with amusement. “No. I started playing.”
You stand suddenly, chair scraping back against the floor loudly. “That was petty, Captain. Were you trying to embarrass me?”
“You’re the one who was trying to make me blush in front of half the regiment.”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, because he’s infuriatingly, humiliatingly right, and he knows it. “That was different,” you say weakly.
“How?”
“It was a bet.”
“Mm.” Levi steps out from behind the desk. “That makes it better?”
You hold your ground as he rounds the desk, though you become increasingly aware of the closed door, his desk behind you as you turn around, how his shoes make almost no sound against the floor. Your pulse skips.
“It was harmless,” you say.
“It was stupid.”
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
His eyes lock onto yours. “No. I didn’t.”
Your back suddenly meets the edge of the desk. You hadn’t even realized you were stepping back. Levi doesn’t touch you, but he steps close enough that the space between you becomes a silent dare, and when his hands come down on either side of you, palms braced against the desk, you’re caged without being held. Trapped only because neither of you has chosen to move.
He’s left you room to step away. You could step away. But he’s so close. He’s close enough that you can see the shadows beneath his eyes and the faint scar above his eyebrow. Your breath thins. Levi’s gaze sharpens on you.
“You’re very bold when there’s an audience,” he murmurs.
You swallow, but your throat feels dry. “And when there isn’t?”
For the first time, something almost like a smile threatens the corner of his mouth. He cocks his head slightly. “That’s what I called you here to find out.”
The office goes silent. It presses around you, filling the space between your faces, making you conscious of every small thing surrounding you: the desk biting into your thighs, the faint scent of tea gone cold, the lantern flame shifting in its glass, Levi’s hands braced on either side of you, close enough that your own fingers could reach his wrists if you dared.
Your anger is still there, and your embarrassment too, but beneath both, beneath the humiliation of being caught and the fury of being played, something else opens its eyes, a recklessness that’s starving for touch. It’s been alive since the corridor, since the stairwell, since the first time Levi turned the game back on you.
His gaze drops to your mouth. Yours drops to his. Neither of you moves. You can hear your heartbeat thundering in your ears now, unsteady despite your best efforts to calm it. Your hands grip the desk behind you. The urge to say something snarky leaps to your lips, but you have nothing. You’re completely, utterly speechless.
But you feel the smallest flare of courage. And with that courage, you’re able to whisper three simple words.
“I dare you.”
The kiss is nowhere near gentle. It’s controlled for a single second, just a firm press of his mouth against yours, like he’s giving you exactly one moment to pull away; and when you don’t move, when your hands leave the desk to grab his cravat and pull him deeper in, his restraint breaks. He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this, like he’s been counting every reckless word you threw at him and has finally decided to answer all of them at once.
Your legs press into the desk as his body leans in, one hand leaving the wood to rest on your waist, the other sliding to your jaw. You make a small sound against his mouth that you would absolutely deny under oath, but Levi hears it, feels it, and answers by tilting your head exactly how he wants it. Your thoughts turn into complete static, but only one breaks through.
This is the reaction you wanted. Not a blush or a stammer. This.
Levi pulls away to breathe, his mouth still close enough to brush yours. His hand is still firm at your waist. You don’t speak, and neither does he. You notice the darkening of his eyes. Yours are fixed on his mouth. Then his thumb moves along your jaw.
“You wanted honest,” he says quietly.
You smile against his mouth and whisper, “I wanted a reaction.”
Levi scoffs. “You got one.”
His mouth crashes back into yours, tongue sliding against yours. One of his hands fists in the fabric at your lower back, pulling you against him. The other cups the nape of your neck, holding you exactly where he wants you. You feel the way his breath hitches once before he deepens the kiss even further. He’s done waiting.
He tears his mouth away again, voice low and rough. “Bedroom.”
“Is that an order, Captain?” you tease.
Levi’s mouth twitches into something almost resembling a smirk. “It’s an invitation. Don’t confuse the two.”
His fingers lace through yours and he leads you out of the office, down the short hallway to his private quarters. The door shuts behind you, and then he’s on you again, mouth hungry, hands already working at your straps. You push his cravat aside and unbutton his shirt with equal urgency. Every brush of his hands against your skin sends sparks racing through you.
You reach up to your neck and unclasp your necklace, setting it carefully on the small table beside his bed. You’ve never taken it off, so the absence doesn’t register at first. When it does, you feel more naked, despite already fully being so. Then you turn back to him. Levi watches the movement, then his hands return to your bare waist, guiding you backward until the edge of the mattress meets the backs of your knees. He gives you the gentlest push and you sink onto the bed, the sheets cold against your skin.
Levi follows you down, bracing on one forearm as he kisses you again. His free hand trails along your side, mapping the curve of your waist, the flare of your hip. He breaks the kiss to move lower, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your throat, then the slope of your collarbone, then lower still.
When his lips close over once nipple you arch, a soft sound escapes you. He sucks gently at first, then with more pressure, tongue circling the sensitive bud while his thumb teases the other. The dual attention makes your walls flutter around nothing. You thread your fingers through his hair, feeling the satisfaction that rolls through him at every gasp you give.
He continues downward, kissing a path over your stomach and your hipbone. He bites gently, leaving a whisper of a mark. His hands part your thighs and then suddenly, without warning, his mouth is on you, tongue stroking slowly. At the same time two fingers slide inside, curling so perfectly that your vision blurs for a moment.
Levi’s thoughts are focused on only one thing: he wants to feel you come apart, wants to hear every sound you make when there’s no audience left to perform for. He works you steadily, tongue flicking and sucking at your clit while his fingers stroke that perfect spot again and again.
Your own thoughts scatter now. The bet feels distant, ridiculous compared to the reality of Levi’s mouth and hands. Pleasure builds fast, coiling tighter with every pass of his tongue and every thrust of his fingers. Your hips move without conscious thought, chasing the sensation. Levi’s free hand presses your thighs wider, keeping you open for him. The quiet growl he lets out against you vibrates through your core. Your inner walls clench around him, urging him deeper.
“Levi, please,” you whimper, hands tangling in his hair as you grind against his face. “Need more.”
With a low chuckle, he adds a third finger, stretching you deliciously as he picks up the pace. His tongue dances over your clit, sending a wave of ecstasy through you. He doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue. Your thighs close around his head. One hand flies from his head to the sheets, gripping tight.
In a moment of surprising tenderness, he reaches out for your hand with his free one, lacing your fingers together. His other hand is still preoccupied, fingers thrusting deep and curling against your g-spot. The tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. Your quiet moans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure that seems to drive Levi on.
Your orgasm comes so suddenly it catches you by surprise. Your body clenches around his fingers as wave after wave rolls through you. You cry out, back arching off the bed, your hand in his hair tightening its grip on his locks. Levi doesn’t stop until the tremors ease, drawing every last ripple of pleasure from you with careful strokes of his tongue. When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are dark and intent, lips glistening. He kisses the inside of your thigh once, then moves back up your body to press his mouth to yours.
Your heavy breaths turn into small, hitched inhales as your pulse races. Levi’s weight settles partly over you, one hand stroking your side. You feel his cock twitch against you. You reach for him, pulling him closer, and he comes willingly, his chest pressed against yours as he grinds his hips down to meet yours, his length sliding over your wetness.
He then pulls back, eyes searching your face. There’s a softness in the way he lifts his hand and brushes his thumb across your cheek. He feels the rapid flutter of your heart through your chest. He’s been denying it for days now, but he’s wanted this. He wanted it since the first time you tried to make him react, but he needs to know you do too.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
You nod without hesitation. “Yes.”
Levi watches you for another second, looking for any signs of doubt, then he settles between your thighs. His hand guides himself to your entrance, and the first press of him stretches you in a way you never could have prepared for. He’s thicker than you expected, the tip parting you slowly. The sensation is overwhelming at first. You feel every inch as he sinks deeper. Your body yields around his solid girth. A quiet sound escapes you, half gasp and half moan. Levi stills once he’s fully inside you, giving you time to adjust.
He takes both of your hands in his and lifts them above your head, pinning them gently to the mattress. His fingers are laced through yours. He begins to move, slow rolling thrusts that you feel the full stretch each time he pushes in. The push of him inside you is deep, hitting places that make your toes curl.
Sensations layer one over another: the slickness, the pressure against your inner walls, your hips tilting to take him deeper. He lowers his mouth to your neck, lips brushing first. Then his teeth graze in a light bite, the sensation racing down your spine. You feel the sting melt into heat, and he soothes it with a slow kiss before biting again, a little harder this time.
Against your skin he murmurs, “You feel so good.”
The words spread through you in a rush of heat. He shifts your hands and grips both of them with just one of his, while he slides his now free hand down to grip your hip, steadying you as he thrusts again, deeper. You kiss him when he lifts his head, mouths meeting in an open exchange that still tastes faintly of you. He pulls back enough to speak, still moving inside you with long strokes.
“Is this what you wanted?”
You nod, a moan threading through the motion, your body arching to meet each thrust. The stretch is constant, a fullness that blanks your mind. Levi feels the way you clench around him and the small tremors in your thighs. He slows deliberately, hips rolling in a lazy pace that keeps him buried deep but denies the hard friction you’re starting to crave.
“Yeah?” he says, tilting his head. “Wouldn’t like it if I stopped now, would you?”
You shake your head, no words yet, just the desperate cling of your legs wrapping tighter around his waist. Your hands flex under his hold. You feel the strength in his grip. You couldn’t break free if you tried, and somehow, the contrast of tenderness and control makes heat flood through you again.
Levi’s mouth curves slightly. “That’s right. You want me to keep going, pretty girl?” He leans down, his lips barely ghosting over yours. “Come on, use your words.”
You nearly crack under the weight of his words. Your voice comes out breathy and urgent. “Please don’t stop. Keep going, Levi. I need it. Need it harder.”
He obliges without hesitation. His pace shifts, thrusts growing harder, the bed creaking softly beneath you as he drives in with more force. His thickness fills you completely with each stroke. The wet sound of it mixes with the quiet moans he lets out against your neck. He bites there again, teeth sinking just enough to mark without breaking skin. He kisses the spot, tongue soothing the sting.
A rush of emotion floods you through the physicality of it all, a mix of being wanted so thoroughly and the unexpected gentleness in how he holds you even while fucking you harder. The moment Levi releases your hand to brace himself properly, you drag your nails down his back, the urge to mark him back rising. The scratches start light but deepen with the next thrust. Levi’s voice comes low near your ear.
“Not too hard, love.”
You nod quickly, the word settling somewhere low in your stomach. You know why he said that. Marks like that would be impossible to hide in the showers. Questions would rise. Explanations you couldn’t give. You ease the pressure of your nails, letting your hands smooth over his skin instead. You feel the flex of his muscles beneath.
Levi doesn’t falter, his hips snapping down in a rhythm that pushes you higher again. He kisses you to muffle the louder moans that slip out of you, his mouth claiming yours while he drives deep. The tip of him brushes your cervix with every stroke. You feel the tension coiling in him, the way his breathing grows rougher, the subtle tremor in his arms holding his body up. His own pleasure builds, the quiet sounds he makes rising in volume, murmured words of how perfect you feel around him, how much he’s thought about this.
The pace stays relentless, but he still holds enough control that he doesn’t get lost in the haze. You cling to him with your legs. He kisses your neck again. You feel the precipice approaching for him, the way his thrusts grow slightly erratic, his quiet moans turning into messier, louder groans.
When he pulls out at the last moment, it’s with a low moan, and he shoots ropes across your stomach. The sight of it, the claim on your skin, the way his body shudders through his release, almost makes you cum again on the spot.
Levi stays close afterward, breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. He kisses you gently, fingers stroking over your wrists where he held them before to check without words that you’re alright. You nod silently. He suddenly stands on slightly shaking legs and crosses the room to retrieve a cloth. He sits beside you and wipes you carefully before lying beside you, one arm draped over your waist.
You turn into him, closing your eyes, not worrying about what the morning will bring. Right now, it’s just you and him, and the very distant thought that you’ll have to thank the others for throwing you into this bet.
.
The morning after is painfully awkward.
Surely, you can survive sitting down with your friends after spending the night with Levi. Surely. Probably. Maybe, if no one looks at you too closely.
You slide onto the bench beside Sasha, trying not to remember Levi’s hands on your waist, Levi speaking against your lips, Levi’s breath finally turning uneven in the dark when your fingers dragged through his hair and pulled a rough sound from his throat that absolutely would have counted as a reaction if the rest of these idiots had been there to witness it.
Then again, fucking your captain probably counts as a reaction too.
Sasha looks up from her breakfast. “You’re late.”
“I slept in,” you answer smoothly.
Ymir, sitting across from you with Christa close at her side, narrows her eyes immediately. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“That sounded defensive.”
“That’s because I’m being attacked before I’ve had tea.”
Jean and Connie snicker. Then Connie sighs and shakes his head, saying with genuine disappointment, “I still can’t believe you couldn’t get the Captain to react. I was so sure you could do it.”
Oh, you did it alright.
“I did my best,” you say.
Ymir props her chin on her hand and smiles lazily. “Please. No one could ever make Levi blush or stammer. The whole thing was a waste of fucking time.” She pauses, then adds, “A funny waste of time, though. That was pathetic.”
Jean points his spoon at you without looking at you. “She did get him to talk to her more than usual.”
Armin suddenly says your name. All eyes turn to him. He tilts his head, eyes locked onto your throat. “Where’s your necklace?”
Your hand goes to your throat and meets bare skin. Your heart drops through the floor, through the earth itself where it can lie down and die in peace. You know where it is. You know exactly where it is. But you cannot tell the truth, because you would absolutely never hear the end of it.
“I must’ve forgotten to put it on,” you say, and immediately slap yourself in your mind because you have never forgotten to put on your necklace, because you never take it off except for showers.
Then you feel it on the hairs on the back of your neck. Someone’s approaching. But before you can turn around, a hand enters your vision and sets something down on the table in front of you. Oh gods, you know those hands. They were all over you last night.
You look up and your entire soul leaves your body.
“You left this,” Levi says.
You look down at what he set down. It’s your necklace. Right there, on the table, beside your hand. In front of everyone. No one speaks. No one breathes. You stare at the necklace and it feels like its staring back in disappointment at you.
Levi turns and walks away without another word. When you look up, every single head is turned to you. You look back down at the necklace, your face absolutely boiling with embarrassment and the memory of last night. Fuck, fuck, fuck—
“Why did the Captain have your necklace?” Connie asks.
You pick it up with slightly shaking fingers. “That is… a great question.”
Jean leans forward. “And?”
“And I’m admiring how great it is.”
Eren’s eyes are now huge, both horrified and fascinated. “Wait, did you manage to get him to react?”
You look down at the necklace of your palm, remembering Levi’s hands lacing through yours, his mouth lavishing attention on your neck, his body settled between your thighs, his praises and moans and whispers—all things you will be taking to your grave and beyond it.
Then you smile.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
thank you for reading, and for allowing me to reach this milestone <3
series started (06-08-21) wc: 113.5k chapters: 19/24
back to main masterlist AO3 VERSION
commission by @catyypss
"People worship old buildings, and people love to explore them. Nothing and no one stays the same. If you think I'd have the younger you. The less scarred you, the you that hadn't lived and loved as fiercely as you have now…”
Pairing: Levi Ackerman/Reader
Description: Chapter 139/ Season 4 Part 3 Spoilers. There's no other place you saw yourself after the Battle of Heaven and Earth, than his side.
Content Warnings/ Tags: Mental Health (Depression, PTSD),
Trauma, Major Character Death Mentions, Grief, Comfort, Minor Canon Divergences, Slice of Life, Fluff, Blissful Domesticity, Angst, Mutual Pining + Longing, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Tension, Post-war Levi, Soulmates, Established Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Idiots in Love, Drunken Shenanigans, Doting on Levi, Switch Levi, Switch Reader, Romantic Soulmates, Possessive Behaviour, Doting on Levi, Soft Dom Levi, Loss of Virginity.
Chapter 0: Prelude (06/08/21)
As the battle ends, you and Levi are now faced with the rest of your lives.
Chapter 1: The Letter (06/08/21)
Your peace with Levi is disrupted when an old wound is reopened, forcing you to think about not just the past but the future as well.
Chapter 2: To you (13/08/21)
You have a bittersweet epiphany.
Chapter 3: Care (13/08/21)
Levi helps you practise some self care, with a treat in mind to help uplift your mood.
Chapter 4: 'This is why you shouldn't have wine.' (20/08/2021)
Levi takes you to dinner, and after countless sips of wine, you both loosen up...
Chapter 5: 'Hard boiled?' (27/08/2021)
You're gifted something you cannot wait to share with Levi... maybe dreams can come true after all.
Chapter 6: Highs and lows. (03/09/2021)
You and Levi go out on an adventurous day trip before the weekend ends, and the real planning begins.
Chapter 7: The mysterious Ackerman man (11/09/2021)
A glimpse into Levi's 'inner world'?
Chapter 8: The power of jealousy. (21/09/2021)
How powerful is jealousy?
Chapter 9: Husband. (05/10/2021)
How long will you wait?
Chapter 10: Where are you? (17/10/2021)
Levi's all at once, left alone. But what about you? Where are you? Are you alone too?
Chapter 11: I'm military trained! (24/10/2021)
Levi is finally coming to terms with his feelings.
Chapter 12: White Paws. (1/11/2021)
The beauty of change.
Chapter 13: That was chaos. (14/11/2021)
The cadets navigate through some issues, while you and Levi move forwards, with no intentions of turning back.
Chapter 14: Almost. (26/11/2021)
You're both ready, almost ready?
Chapter 15: Massage man. (26/12/2021)
There's definitely something you and Levi are forgetting? But you're more in tune than you've ever been.
Chapter 16: Finally... (23/01/2022)
What is love? What is sex? What does it all mean?
Chapter 17: We're making love. (23/09/2022)
You and Levi spend the night physically affirming your love.
Chapter 18: Sweet, sweet ‘filthy’ love. (27/01/2023) NEW
Amongst struggling to keep your hands off one another, you and Levi organise a leaving party for the ex-cadets.
the official sequel to press four for more options.
So you're dating your neighbor who also happens to be a sex hotline dom named Levi Ackerman. Stranger things have happened, right?
READ THE STORY ON AO3
Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)
Rating: Explicit ( 18+ )
Word Count: 7.3k
Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), slow burn, neighbors au, newly established relationship, eventual smut, sex work, phone sex, pet names, mention of body image, alcohol, tags to be added as story progresses
one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight
A Post-War Tale
In Progress, Ch. 9/16 / Word count: 50k
Exclusive on AO3
PAIRING: Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)
SUMMARY: Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely.
Or: After the Rumbling, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.
— with you, at the end of all things - Levi x GN!Reader
You and the Captain stare at the ghosts of the Survey Corps at Fort Salta, and say your goodbyes. You're glad to be with him, here at the end of all things (wc: 1.3k).
— lessons in dancing - Levi x GN!Reader
Levi doesn't think you should be with an old man like him. You show him otherwise (wc: 2k).
the sweetest sin (part one / part two) - 7.3k w. nsfw.
a friendly dinner with your parents’ longtime friends. among them is levi — your dad’s best friend, and someone you’ve known for as long as you can remember but it’s been a while since you last saw him.
dad!levi: cozy little moments - sfw. ONE, TWO, THREE
— ONE SHOTS:
missed calls! - wip. nsfw.
it should’ve been a quick “come pick it up” call. but levi, the cinema janitor who found your student ID, has a voice that makes it impossible to hang up.
it looks better on you - 2.9k w. nsfw.
it was a dumb idea to show up underdressed to the friday night match—or maybe the best one you’ve ever had. now levi’s jacket isn’t the only thing you end up taking home tonight.
stars and silk - 3.5k w. nsfw.
a royal masquerade ball was held to celebrate alliances, the only man you longed to see had vanished… or was he right beside you all along?
baby fever - 2.7k w. nsfw.
levi won’t admit it, but he’s had baby fever since the day he saw you holding your friend’s baby.
unhurried devotion - 2.7k w. nsfw.
after the war, levi has all the time he never had before with you and he spends it in the best way.
look at you - 1.7k w. nsfw.
planing to wait for levi with a bath, you barely undress when he wakes up and joins you in the bathroom.
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