Tired and horny

“You’ve been staring at me for ten minutes,” you say, sitting on the edge of the couch as you look to Levi, standing at the kitchen counter with a glass of water in his hand. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

Levi’s mouth twitches, annoyed at being read so easily. “Tch. You make it sound so dramatic.”

“It is dramatic. You’re really bad at pretending to not stare at me.”

He sighs and looks down at his glass, then shifts his gaze to you. Levi Ackerman is not a man who embarrasses easily, so the faint color rising along the tops of his cheekbones catches your attention immediately.

“Come here,” he says. 

You get up and stop in front of him. He sets the glass down, hand sliding around your waist. Up close, his expression is even more conflicted.

“What is it?” you ask.

For a second, he says nothing. Then, in a voice lower than usual, he admits, “There’s something I want that I haven’t told you.”

Your stomach flutters. “Okay.”

“It’s not because I didn’t trust you. I just wasn’t sure I should say it out loud.”

You rest your hand on his chest. “Tell me anyway.”

He looks at your mouth. “I think about breeding you.”

Levi watches your face, waiting for impact. Braced for rejection, maybe, for you to laugh. His face doesn’t give much away, but his thoughts are written clearly in the tension of his shoulders. Fuck. I said it. If she looks at me differently now, fuck it.

But you don’t laugh. You don’t reject him. You stroke your thumb once over his shirt. “You think about it,” you repeat.

“More than think,” he says. “I want it. The idea of filling you, seeing you take it…” He cuts himself off like he’s already said too much, then mutters, “Forget it.”

You stare at him for a second, then step closer until your bodies touch. “Levi. If I didn’t want to hear it, I’d tell you. And I asked because I want to know.”

There’s a new hunger to his eyes, unmistakable, but also caution. He always gives you that, even when he’s half out of his mind. It’s one of the things you love most about him. So you give him what he hasn’t dared ask for.

“Show me,” you say.

Something in Levi shifts. His eyes go black with want, and when he kisses you, it’s nothing like the restrained pecks you shared over coffee this morning. It’s deep in its intensity. His hand slides up into your hair, angling your head exactly where he wants it while his other palm presses into the small of your back, pulling you into him. You gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound with a low groan.

He kisses you harder once the realization that you said yes actually kicks in. His tongue sweeps against yours, starved for your taste. You clutch at his shoulders. By the time he pulls back, both of you are breathing hard.

“You’re sure,” he asks.

“Yes.”

His forehead presses briefly to yours before he takes your hand and leads you down the hall to the bedroom. He flicks on the lamp, then strips your shirt off first, then his own, then the rest of both of your clothes, leaving a trail of fabric across the floor. Right now, he doesn’t care about the messiness. 

He lowers you onto the bed, then kneels between your thighs and kisses his way down your stomach. When he spreads your legs wider and moves between them, he flicks his eyes up to yours. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You nod. His mouth on you is captivating. He takes his time at first, tongue dragging slowly along your wetness until your hands fist in the sheets. He listens to every little sound you make and adjusts, mouth and fingers working in tandem.

“Levi—”

“I know,” he says against you. He knows. He always knows. He keeps you on the edge until you’re squirming, then eases two fingers inside you, groaning at how wet you are. “So fucking ready. You have any idea what that does to me?”

You inhale shakily. “Probably the same thing your mouth is doing to me.”

That earns a rare, wicked half-smile from him before he bends back down and sends you over the edge. The orgasm hits hard enough to make you bow off the mattress. Levi holds you through it, one arm across your hips while his mouth and fingers work you until your thighs tremble around him.

He climbs over you, his eyes blown wide and his composure shredded. You reach between you and wrap your hand around his cock. Levi’s head drops with a broken sound. He lines himself up and pushes in slowly, both of you groaning at the same time. The stretch is delicious after the way he opened you up. He grips the headboard with one hand, fighting himself not to slam forward.

You look up at him. “Levi.”

“Don’t,” he says hoarsely, eyes shutting for a second. “If you say my name like that right now, I’m done.”

That makes you laugh softly, though it turns into a gasp when he finally sinks in all the way. He presses his forehead to yours again, every muscle tense. He starts to move. Even when he’s rough, he’s careful, keeping a brutal consistency that pulls pleasure out of you until you can’t think. Tonight there’s an extra layer to it, every thrust charged with the confession from the kitchen. You see the strain in his face, hear it in the way his breathing shifts when your legs wrap around his waist.

“Tell me,” you whisper.

His eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“What you’re thinking.”

He gives one sharp thrusts that makes your nails bite into his back. “You know what I’m thinking.”

“I wanna hear it.”

The last of his restraint burns away. “I’m thinking about filling you,” he says, low and shaking. “About fucking my cum so deep into you that you have to take every drop. Thinking about it leaking into your womb.” He watches your face as he says it all. “Thinking about you swollen with me, knowing I did that to you.”

“God,” you breathe.

Levi’s mouth crashes to yours. His pace turns harder, bed creaking under the force of it, and the room fills with the slick sound of him driving into you, your gasps, his rough little grunts that he usually keeps buried. Not tonight. Tonight he’s too far gone, and every sound he makes feels like a reward. You feel the tip of his cock kiss your cervix, and you squirm in repsonse.

“Is this what you wanted?” you ask against his mouth.

“Yes,” he says, the single word wrecked. “Yes, fuck. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to tell you.”

“Then don’t hold back.”

He laughs once and hooks your leg higher over his arm. The angle has you crying out, cunt clenching hard around him. Levi nearly loses it right there. He reaches between your bodies and rubs your clit in quick, ruthless circles. The combination of that and the relentless drive of his hips tears your second orgasm out of you fast. Your whole body locks up around him.

Levi curses your name and thrusts deep, holding himself there as he comes with a low, wrecked groan. You feel the heat of his release. His body shudders with each pulse. His expression is almost enough to send you under again: stunned pleasure, relief, helpless devotion. 

For a long moment, you both stay still. Then Levi kisses your damp temple and stays buried inside you, one hand sliding down to your stomach absentmindedly. His breathing gradually steadies. “You alright?”

You smile lazily and brush his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. “More than alright.”

He looks at you, a new raw vulnerability to his eyes. One you rarely ever see. “I mean it. If that was too much—”

“It wasn’t.” You touch his cheek. “I liked hearing it.”

Levi’s eyes soften, though his hand remains spread possessively over your belly. “Dangerous thing to tell me.”

“Why?”

“Because now I’ll think about it even more.”

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

tags: @saccharinefool @bunbun6casp @levkuna @strangeeaglepost @how-interesting-wow @d1leviglazer @y44washere4somereason @nickibunny23 @slaytherinthoughts @levishart @gloomyveil @levislolita @nerdskillz @elegantmakercoffee @444anya @miaszt @daisyy-lev @naxymoon @caliope13 @wh0r3f0rchoso @starfallenlevi @altpsyche @tea-rae @ssomethingalieen @starryscara @starlighttitan @leviholics @angelbearknyyy @tallvanillalatte @gingerbreadsnail @geminifairy222 @myfreespirit23 @kacasplaca @christmaswarlock @jmmasstuff

divider by: sweetmelodygraphics

You were the marketing coordinator two floors down, but you spent more time on the finance level than your own. To everyone else, you were Sukuna's "work wife"—the only soul brave (or foolish) enough to perch on the edge of his desk during meetings, tease him about his coffee order, and—most infamously—steal fries right off his plate while he ate lunch at his desk.

Today was no different.

The executive lunch spread was laid out in the glass-walled conference room: grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, and a mountain of thick-cut fries that Sukuna had specifically requested. He sat at the head of the table like a king on a throne, sleeves rolled up to expose veined forearms, stabbing at his food with precise aggression. A cluster of department heads hovered nervously at the far end, discussing quarterly projections in hushed tones.

You sauntered in without knocking, wearing a fitted pencil skirt that hugged your hips and a silk blouse unbuttoned just one notch past professional. Your heels clicked confidently across the marble floor.

Without a word, you slid into the chair beside him—the one no one else would touch—and plucked three fries from his plate, popping them into your mouth with a satisfied hum.

The room went dead silent.

One analyst choked on his water. Another stared like you'd just performed a public execution. Sukuna didn't even look up from his salmon, but the corner of his mouth twitched—the closest thing he ever got to a smile in public.

"Those were mine," he growled, low enough that only you could hear the playful edge beneath the menace.

You leaned in, brushing your knee against his under the table. "And now they're mine. You always take the best ones anyway, Mr. Finance Director."

Someone at the table whispered, "She's going to die. Today's the day."

But Sukuna just pushed the plate slightly toward you, allowing you to steal another fry. The rest of the meeting continued with everyone else sweating bullets while you casually doodled on his quarterly report and whispered filthy promises in his ear whenever the projector light dimmed.

By 4 PM, the tension had built to a breaking point. The office was emptying out, but you lingered, "accidentally" leaving your tablet in Sukuna's office.

He was waiting.

The second the door clicked shut behind you, Sukuna's hand shot out, grabbing you by the waist and yanking you against his hard chest. His mouth crashed down on yours in a bruising kiss, all teeth and hunger. No gentle buildup—never with him. Weeks of sneaking around had turned this into an art form: quick, dirty fucks in supply closets, his office after hours, even once in the executive bathroom during a particularly boring investor call where you'd had to bite your lip bloody to stay quiet.

"Been thinking about this all fucking day," he muttered against your lips, walking you backward until your ass hit his massive oak desk. Papers scattered. A pen holder clattered to the floor. He didn't care. "Watching you steal my food like you own me in front of those spineless idiots."

You laughed breathlessly, fingers already working at his belt. "I do own you. We're married, remember? Or did you forget the ring you keep hidden in your pocket?"

Sukuna's eyes darkened with lust and something fiercer. He spun you around, bending you over the desk with one strong hand between your shoulder blades. Your skirt rode up as he shoved it to your waist, exposing the lacy red thong you'd worn specifically for this.

"Married or not, you're still my little work wife out there," he said, voice rough as he palmed your ass, spreading you open. "And my filthy slut in here."

He dropped to his knees behind you without warning. The first hot swipe of his tongue along your clothed pussy made you jolt. He ripped the thong aside, burying his face between your thighs like a starving man. His tongue was relentless—lapping at your folds, circling your clit with firm pressure, then plunging inside you. Two thick fingers joined soon after, curling brutally against that spot that made your knees buckle.

"Fuck—Ryomen—" you gasped, gripping the edge of the desk. The city skyline glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but all you could focus on was the wet, obscene sounds of him devouring you. He sucked your clit hard, fingers pumping faster, stretching you open. Your thighs trembled.

He pulled back just as you were about to tip over the edge, standing up and pressing his clothed erection against your ass. "Not yet. You don't come until I say."

You heard his zipper, then felt the thick, heavy weight of his cock slapping against your soaked pussy. Sukuna was big—long and girthy, with a slight upward curve that always hit perfectly. He rubbed the head up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices, teasing your entrance.

"Beg," he commanded, one hand fisting your hair.

"Please," you whimpered, pushing back against him. "Fuck me, Ryomen. Need your cock."

With a guttural groan, he thrust in to the hilt in one brutal stroke. The stretch burned deliciously, filling you so completely you saw stars. He didn't give you time to adjust—just started pounding into you with deep, punishing strokes that rocked the heavy desk forward.

"Shit, you're always so tight," he growled, hips snapping against your ass. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the office, mixed with your moans and his low grunts. He reached around to rub your clit in tight circles, never slowing his rhythm. "Gonna fill this pretty pussy again. Mark what's mine."

You were lost in it—the way his cock dragged against your walls, the way his balls slapped against you, the way his free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. He leaned over you, biting down on your shoulder through your blouse as he fucked you harder. The angle shifted, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

"Come for me," he ordered, voice strained. "Now."

Your orgasm crashed over you like a wave, pussy clenching around his thick length as you cried out his name. Sukuna followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling hot ropes of cum inside you with a choked groan. He stayed there, grinding slowly through the aftershocks, making sure every drop stayed buried.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing. Then he pulled out carefully, watching with dark satisfaction as his cum dripped down your thighs. He used two fingers to push it back inside you.

"Keep it in until you get home," he murmured, kissing the back of your neck almost tenderly.

You turned in his arms, grinning up at him. "Yes, sir. But only if you let me steal your dessert tomorrow."

Sukuna chuckled—a rare, genuine sound—and kissed you softly. "Brat."

The next morning, the office was buzzing with the usual fear. Sukuna stormed through the halls looking as terrifying as ever, barking orders that made grown men pale. You arrived at 10 AM with coffee, perching on his desk as usual and stealing a bite of his blueberry muffin.

The analysts watched in horrified awe as he merely raised an eyebrow and let you have it.

"Work wife perks," someone whispered.

If only they knew the real perks involved being bent over that same desk every other night, taking your husband's cock until you couldn't walk straight. Or the wedding bands hidden in his wallet and your jewelry box. Or the way he whispered "I love you" against your skin after every filthy encounter.

You winked at Sukuna across the desk. He smirked back—the secret smile that belonged only to you.

Lunch couldn't come fast enough.

The weeks blurred into a delicious routine of corporate terror and hidden passion. Sukuna's reputation only grew more fearsome after he publicly eviscerated a vendor during a budget meeting for "wasting his goddamn time." You, meanwhile, played the perfect work wife: bringing him lunch (which you always sampled first), organizing his files with color-coded tabs he pretended to hate, and sitting in on finance meetings just to "take notes."

No one suspected a thing.

Until the day the copier jammed on the 15th floor.

You'd dragged Sukuna into the supply closet under the pretense of needing his "height advantage." The second the door locked, he had you pressed against the shelves, your legs wrapped around his waist as he freed his cock and sank into you in one smooth thrust.

"Quiet," he hissed, even as he fucked you hard enough to make the shelves rattle. "Or everyone will hear what a slut my wife is."

You buried your face in his neck, biting down to muffle your moans as he railed you. His cock was so deep at this angle, grinding against your cervix with every upward snap of his hips. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his dress shirt sticking to his muscular back. One hand held you up effortlessly while the other slipped between you to pinch and rub your clit.

The risk always made it hotter—the voices of coworkers just outside the door discussing toner cartridges while Sukuna destroyed your pussy in the dark. You came first, clenching around him like a vice, soaking his cock. He followed with a muffled curse, pumping you full again.

Afterward, he cleaned you up with his handkerchief like a gentleman, then sent you out first with a possessive slap on the ass.

"See you at my desk for lunch," he said. "And don't even think about ordering your own fries."

By the time you reached the finance floor, your legs were still shaky, but you wore a bright smile. Sukuna was already at his desk, looking perfectly composed and terrifying. You slid into your usual spot and immediately reached for his plate.

The entire floor held its collective breath.

You stole an entire handful of fries this time, grinning as you ate them slowly, one by one.

Sukuna's eyes met yours with a heat that promised retribution later—probably in the parking garage, or his car, or the executive elevator that had mysteriously stopped working twice last week.

The crack of your secret marriage made every stolen bite taste sweeter. The fear everyone else felt only heightened the thrill. Because while they saw a monster, you saw the man who fucked you senseless every chance he got, who whispered vows against your skin in the afterglow, and who—despite his reputation—always pushed his plate toward you with that secret, fond glint in his eye.

Later that evening, after the office had emptied, Sukuna locked his door and cleared his desk entirely. He laid you out on it like a feast, spreading your legs wide and eating you out until you were sobbing with overstimulation. Then he flipped you onto your stomach again, fucking you slow and deep this time, savoring every clench and whimper.

"Love you, wife," he growled as he came, hips stuttering.

"Love you too, Ryomen," you gasped, reaching back to pull him closer.

Outside, the city lights twinkled. Inside, the feared Finance Director was nothing but yours—body, soul, and all the fries on his plate.

art creds to @/reyomensukuna all dividers by @/uzmacchiato and @/pixopix