#levinsfw26

He’s not going to lie, you really are good at maintaining the cleanliness of the shop. You even donated potted plants to make the shop look appealing and a phonograph to play classical songs in the background, bringing color and life to the place. It’s only been six months since you started, yet you’ve already brought so much life to the shop (read: to his life), so much more than he ever could and would. There’s not one bad thing he could say about you, not one reason to fire you. You need not be told what to do, always ready to greet the customers with a smile (something he isn’t good at), prepared to help them choose which tea to drink (which, to his surprise, you know a lot of), serve orders right after they’re made, and clean up after the customers left. You’d wash the used teacups without being told, wipe them dry, and organize them on the overhead cupboards just the way he prefers. It didn’t take him long to realize he’s been watching you (and enjoying it) from behind the counter all this time.

And you are so, so good at making him feel good. So fucking nice to look at when you’re on the ground and between his knees, your calloused fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking him slowly while you suck at the head. He forces himself to look at you, eyes half-lidded, his cheeks a faint red, and it always catches him off-guard, makes him choke out a gasp, when he finds you already looking at him. A hum escapes his throat at the sight of your smile around his cock, his eyes rolling back so hard when your lips wrap around his head.

He breathes your name out, setting his eyes on you again. “Go deeper,” he murmurs.

You prop yourself up with your forearms on his thighs, careful not to hurt his knee. He grabs at the shelves on each side of him, gripping so hard his fingers turn white, still unable to make himself touch you with his disgusting hands. You let go of his cock, and he chokes out a moan, head hitting the jars on his back when you take all of him into your mouth, deep down your throat that your nose touches his stomach and you twitch and gag on his head. A sharp pain tears through his knee when his hips buck up in reflex, thrusting his dick further despite already hitting the back of your throat. You pull back with a loud gasp and an admonishing laugh that makes him sigh out another cuss. Levi watches you caressing his thighs. You’re staring back at him, tongue stuck out and pressed against the frenulum of his cock, your hands momentarily sliding up his pelvis and under the fabric of his shirt while his cock disappears into your mouth once more.

“Fuck—” he utters weakly, body shuddering as his cockhead hits the back of your throat.

He can’t believe he’s once again allowed himself to be this pathetic disabled man so easily reduced to a whimpering mess by a girl fifteen years younger than him. How can he let you do this? And in his tea shop, for that matter! How can he disgrace you and his little tea shop?!

How the heck are you so good? How the heck do you look so fucking good with your mouth around his cock?

“Fuck,” he sighs, thighs shaking, the coils in his belly starting to tighten. Your fingers wrap around his girth once more, stroking him while you kiss down his length, earning a twitch from his cock and a stream of pre-cum leaking from the slit. “I think I’m—”

“Please, Captain,” you cut him off, smiling prettily. Knowingly. He loves it when you call him that, you can tell. Even when he says he’s not that person anymore.

“Shit!” His toes curl in his shoes.

You grab at his hips, bracing yourself as you take him back into your mouth. He cries out a moan, and when his head hits your uvula and your throat tightens around him from another gag, the coil in his stomach finally snaps. His body shudders as a huge wave of pleasure takes over. You pull back slightly, fingers immediately wrapping around the base, stroking him hard and fast while you suck the cum right out his twitching cock. Suck harder and his soul might also leave his body. Levi bucks his hips once, twice, and stops when the pain in his knee becomes too much. He lets out a whimper, though he’s unsure if it’s because of the pain, or the pleasure, or the desperation to fill your throat until you’re choking on his cum. You giggle around him, eventually pulling away once he’s finished. Levi lets out a breathy sigh, tired yet very satisfied, as he watches the movement in your throat when you swallow.

Smiling, you wipe the corner of your mouth for a little show. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he answers, breathless. “Are you?”

You nod. “Felt good?”

“Yes.” No doubt about that.

You stand up. He straightens up in his seat when you begin to unzip your pants.

“Brat,” he utters, alarmed. He knows where this is going. You’re going to ride him next, and it wouldn’t even take him five minutes before he’s cumming again.

With the boots you’re wearing, you struggle a little to step out of your pants and underwear. It’s one of the things he likes about you: the not-so-fancy clothes or dresses (not that he’s going to ever say that out loud—at least, not yet).

“What?” you chuckle. “A good soldier should be rewarded, right?”

“Yes, but—” The words die in his throat when you sit on his lap. His hands immediately find your waist, keeping you still.

You lightly poke his nose before draping your arms over his shoulders. “Never had a girl go head over heels for you when you were younger?” A rhetorical question, one you always ask when you’re doing this with him. You know he would’ve had a line of women vying for his attention. You’re sure he was famous not just because he was Captain of a squad. Even until now, despite the broken eye and the scar on his face, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes upon.

But Levi sighs, quietly as if he doesn’t want you hearing it. There’s a sad smile on his face, almost regretful, that you would’ve missed if you aren’t looking closely.

“I didn’t know,” he says, thumbs lightly brushing your hips. “With the threat of titans and all the fighting to survive, I didn’t have time for such things.”

Your shoulders drop. Levi lost half of his life battling monsters because of your people. Because of you. You begin to wonder how he could keep you with him at the shop. By his side. You can’t understand how he could still look at you so gently like you weren’t someone who killed his people during the war.

A gentle squeeze on your hips pulls you back to reality.

“You’re in there again,” he murmurs knowingly.

You shrug it off, then respond with a coy smile, “well, now you’ve got all the time in the world.” He only hums, and you take that as a positive response and begin rolling your hips, rubbing your wetness against his cock. “And we’ll make every second of it count.”

His hands trail up, staying at your waist. “I’m too old for you.”

You pause just to click your tongue at him, as if scolding a child. “Only I get to say that.”

“It’s true though,” he insists.

Pressing your foreheads together, you resume rolling your hips into his. “Fifteen years isn’t a lot.” You place a chaste kiss on his lips.

“You do know how much fifteen years is, don’t you?” he chuckles.

A loud knock from the main door startles the two of you. Levi glances at his wristwatch.

“They aren’t supposed to be back in another hour!” you cry out, pulling yourself away from him. “Ugh!”

Gabi’s shouting outside, calling your name and Levi’s. You quickly put back your underwear and pants on, glancing at Levi as he pushes himself up from the chair. You hurry over to help him pull his pants up to his waist.

“Go. Tell them we’re stocking up the shelves.”

You look over at the boxes of tea, none of which are open.

“Five minutes.” You close the door behind you.

Levi straightens his clothes and starts unboxing, get things moving even a little bit. Outside the stockroom, he hears you asking the trio how their days went, making small talks. You discuss your plan for dinner, a little belated celebration for Falco’s birthday. It doesn’t take long before Gabi’s asking about Levi while walking towards the stockroom. 

“Hey, old man,” she calls over to the man in question, who has just opened the second box. “Let’s get going! It’s the weekend!”

“It’s only Friday,” he answers.

“Friday night,” she points out.

Levi glances at his watch. “Ten minutes to four.”

“Come on, Grandpa,” Gabi chuckles, rolling her eyes. “You need to relax sometimes!”

Huh. He does need to relax after what you’ve done to him. He could still feel his heart hammering in his chest after his last orgasm!

“I’ll just finish this second box,” he answers with a sigh.

“Falco’s gonna help with the rest of the boxes!” Gabi volunteers, turning to the boy in question. “Right, Falco?”

“Of course,” he answers in a “do-I-get-a-choice” sigh.

Thirty minutes later, your group heads out to a steakhouse downtown, where you wait for another half hour before a table big enough to accommodate your group is cleared. You each get a steak meal, fruit juices for the kids, and a bottle of wine for yourself, Levi, and Onyankopon. A simple celebration. Quiet, but a happy one. Gabi recounts memories when she and Falco were still with the Warriors, birthdays they celebrated with Udo and Zofia. There is bitterness in her voice even though she’s smiling through her stories. You hate reminiscing. There’s nothing nice to remember when you were still in the military, not when the only friend you had died in battle. It was your fault after all. He may still be alive if only you didn’t run away. He may still be alive if you took him with you when you ran away.

You have been selfish. You still are, choosing to show up before Levi everyday despite knowing you were once with the people who made their lives a living hell.

“So, tell us what you’re grateful for, Falco!” Gabi’s voice pulls you out of your thought bubble.

You glance in Levi’s way, realizing he’s watching. He must’ve noticed you zoning out, knows what thoughts are in your head. You look away, pretending to stir your wine.

Falco’s reluctant for a moment. “Well… I am grateful that we are all here and that you remembered my… my birthday,” his voice cracks, tears clouding his vision. “It’s been a while since we’ve celebrated this peacefully.”

“Aww, you’re such a cry-baby!” Gabi teases. “What else?”

“That’s it,” he sniffles.

“That’s it?!” She complains.

“A-huh. Your turn.”

“What? It isn’t my birthday!”

“It isn’t, but the birthday celebrant wants to hear what you all have to say too,” Falco says with a chuckle, looking at each of you across the table.

Gabi smacks her forehead, earning a laugh from Onyankopon, who volunteers to go next. He says he’s grateful for the food and that he got a job to keep himself from starving and to keep a roof over his head. Then, he passes the spotlight to you.

You know what to say but somehow, the words won’t come out. You don’t want to ruin the mood, but besides the fact that you get to do whatever you’re doing with Levi—which, you obviously can’t disclose to anyone around the table—the only other thing you are grateful for is that…

“...I ran away,” you say, almost inaudible. Then, you look up, meeting Levi’s eyes, and in a louder voice you continue, “if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here with you all. What I did was a disgrace, but I’m glad I did it.” You swallow, remembering your late friend. “Somehow,” you added shakily, unsure suddenly, shame immediately eating up your insides.

“You still fought,” Falco points out. “And you kept us safe. Remember?”

“Mhm!” Gabi agrees eagerly. “You looked after our families!”

You nod, although weakly, as if you aren’t convinced yourself.

“None of you kids should’ve been there,” Onyankopon adds.

There’s a bitter smile on your lips when you turn to him. “I’m no kid. I’m twenty-five.” But you understand him. You were nineteen when you were conscripted. No one at that age should’ve experienced being in the frontlines of war.

“You did what you had to do to live,” says Gabi. “We all did.”

You shrug, turning back to Levi. “Not so good a soldier, am I?” 

He doesn’t answer. You know he thinks otherwise. He always tells you what you did isn’t wrong. That you should’ve had a choice back then.

He holds your gaze for a moment, and knowing it’s his turn without you having to voice it out, he says, “I’m grateful that we are all here celebrating.”

“Come on, you can do better than that,” Gabi protests.

Levi looks at her, unbothered. “Your turn.”

Gabi purses her lips. And then, she sighs and smiles softly. “We made it out alive.”

“That’s it?” Falco counters.

“That’s it!” She raises her glass of juice. “Cheers to us!”

That’s something you all easily agree with. Glasses raise and clinks together for a toast to what’s ahead and to the birthday celebrant.

They’re right. What matters is you being here. You are alive. What’s done is done, and you only did what you had to do to stay alive. You will forever bear the guilt of running away, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy anymore.

The day ends sooner than you would’ve wanted. You and Levi part ways from Onyankopon, Gabi, and Falco, whose houses are in the opposite direction. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, closing the space between you and Levi after looking behind you to confirm the trio are out of eyeshot. You shove your hands into your pockets, kick at the thin sheet of snow that covers the ground, before latching onto Levi’s arm.

“So cold,” you chuckle.

“Take my scarf.”

You squeeze his arm. “I’m good. Thank you.”

The two of you walk in silence, side by side, until you finally reach your house.

Standing at your doorstep, you turn to face him with a shy smile. “It’d be nice to have someone to cuddle with on this cold night.”

“Just ask, brat,” he says with an eyeroll and a chuckle.

You open the door and take his hand. “You should come in.”

And he does, closing the door behind him. You kiss him slowly, your cold hands trailing up his chest and hooking over his shoulders. It’s so quiet all you hear is the sound of your lips against his, none of his breathing nor yours, for time seems to have stopped and with it your lungs from needing air. He is your oxygen, your blood. Everything you need. He gently wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Pulling away slightly, you smile at his pink cheeks and smoldering eyes.

“Stay for the night,” you hum, touching his cheek. Warm. They feel so nice against your fingers.

“We both had drinks.”

“Nothing will happen,” you promise.

You both know that’s a lie.

You take his hand and turn to face… the stairs. “Shit. I forgot.”

“I didn’t.” He squeezes your hand. Reassuring. “Go start heating water. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“I can still walk, brat,” he points out, no heat in his voice.

You let out a little cheer before placing a peck on his lips and then heading upstairs.

He steps out of his shoes, pushing them aside by the main door, which he makes sure is locked before following you upstairs. Levi tries not to be negatively affected by it, but it still takes him almost a minute to climb just an eight-step staircase. Forty six seconds, to be exact, for just eight steps. For fuck’s sake.

He’s not the kind of man you should be with.

When you come out of the bathroom, you’re humming to a song, dressed in just your plum sweater and underwear, walking into your room to get a pair of sleepwear for you and Levi. He takes a moment to catch his breath and lets the burning sensation in his knee subside. You always remind him to be patient with himself. Healing and recovering takes time, you always say, and you’ve always been patient with him even when he’s too much of a burden. You deserve better.

But he can’t leave you. Whatever it is he feels for you, he feels so intensely, he can’t bring himself to walk away.

“You good?”

He lets out a deep sigh. “Yeah.”

You hug the clothes and towels against your chest and take his hand, leading him to the bathroom. You help him undress, unbuttoning his trench coat, taking his shirt off, then his slacks, underwear, and socks. He watches you fold them neatly on the counter before starting the shower, letting the water run for a few seconds until steam fills the bathroom and clouds the mirror. You help him step into the bath with you, enjoying a short moment of comfort under the hot water that pours over your heads and down your bodies. When it’s time to bathe, he leans back against the wall while you scratch his hair to wet it thoroughly. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why he doesn’t want to go: he likes how you take care of him. He likes this kind of affection.

It feels so nice he wants time to stop so he could be with you for as long as possible. You always make him feel that way.

Maybe it isn’t so bad to want to be cared for the rest of his life.

He places his good hand on your back, the one with complete fingers, letting it sit at the top of your bum. You take a step closer, right thigh between his thighs, so close that it rubs against his cock whenever you move. He keeps his eyes glued to yours. You stare back, a ghost of a smile curling your lips. You know what you’re doing to him, what each barely-there contact does, sending jolts up his belly, rousing his body from sleep. The first twitch comes when you scratch at his undercut, and he barely manages to suppress the moan that escapes his mouth.

“Don’t tease,” he groans, and you only laugh. A bit late for that, because by the time you’re done washing the soap from his body, his cock’s already up.

“You sure you don’t want to?” You ask with a lilt in your voice.

No. He swallows down the word and says, “let’s not waste water.”

You chuckle. “Okay, gramps. Your back, please.”

He turns around, hands pressed on the wall for support. He notices the holes. 

“What are these for?”

“Oh…” you hesitate, but you know there’s no point in keeping it from him. “I was going to install handrails for you to hold onto at times like this.”

His lips part, but nothing comes out of his mouth. Why would you do that? Why would you go through such lengths for him?

You pull closer, pressing your body to his, arms wrapped around his body. “Don’t you like it?” You ask, thinking his silence must’ve meant he disliked the gesture.

“I— I do… I appreciate it,” he forces out. “But you didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to, but I wanted to.” You place a kiss at the nape of his neck. Your left hand inches up his left pectoral, while the other takes his cock and starts stroking it. “It’ll help especially when I do this.”

“Shit—” He murmurs your name.

“Hmm?” You twirl his nipple in your fingers, pulling at it to stiffen. “How about this? Do you like it?”

“Y–yeah…” So much that his knees almost give out when your fingers focus on the head of his cock, stroking deliberately in a circular motion.

“I knew you would,” you murmur with another chuckle, pressing your thumb against the frenulum and then dragging it up the slit, drawing out some precum. That also pulls out a whimper from him and causes his hips to jerk back, which, unfortunately, sends a sharp pain down his bad knee.

Levi says your name in warning. You pull back with an apology.

Fuck. Fuck! He should be the one apologizing.

He shifts his weight on his other leg, but the discomfort in his knee wouldn’t go away.

You grab the soap and start cleaning his back. “Sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You did not.” He turns his face to look you in the eyes.

That brings a smile to your lips as you continue to wash his back, all the way down to his legs and feet. He still can’t believe how you’re patient with him, how you make things so much easier for him without asking anything in return.

How did he get this lucky? Does he even deserve this? Does he deserve you?

When you’re done with his back, you ask him to face you once more so you could wash his front thoroughly. He turns without a word, then pulls you into a hug.

“Oh,” you chuckle, hugging him back. For a moment, it’s just the sound of the shower that can be heard until you look up at him to ask “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, even when all he wants to say—to ask for—is that you never get tired of him. “Do you have the rails? Let’s install them tomorrow.”

You smile widely, and it steals his breath away.

When he’s all rinsed, he steps out of the shower to start drying himself with a towel. He watches you wash the shampoo off your hair, his heart swelling with emotions while thoughts race in his mind. He wishes he could do the same to you: wash your hair for you, scrub your body clean, fuck you under the shower, make you cum with his fingers, make you cum some more with his mouth (and his cock, if only his knees could handle his weight.)

He wants to be better for you, but he knows he can’t rush himself to heal. He does have to be patient with himself like you are with him.

“Did I forget anything?” you ask, realizing he’s still in the bathroom.

He shakes his head and starts getting dressed. “I’ll wait for you in bed.”

“Be there in a few minutes.”

Levi prepares the bed for the two of you—that’s the least he could do. And when you finally join him fifteen minutes later, he no longer stops you when you pull his trousers and briefs down and then lay on your stomach between his legs. He watches you closely as you kiss his still soft cock, nuzzling the head with your nose before taking him and stroking him with your mouth, so slowly until he’s hard as a rock and he comes. He doesn’t stop you when you mount him (he does choke out a ‘wait!’, but doesn’t get the chance to ask if you still have pills because you’re already taking him back inside you with your other set of lips). He doesn’t stop himself when he grabs your waist gently, a reminder that he’s got you should you get tired. He doesn’t stop you when you lean forward, pressing him down on the bed with your hands on his chest, as your hips move fast and your moans grow louder, more desperate, even louder, until you’re a twitching and whimpering mess on top of him.

And he doesn’t resist when he says he’s cumming and you tell him to do it inside you.

Levi doesn’t take walks for leisure.

He tells himself that as he steps outside the Survey Corps Headquarters and into the forest clearing anyway, twigs and leaves crunching underneath his boots. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants as he tries to ignore the pounding headache forming behind his eyes from three straight hours of paperwork and two separate arguments with soldiers who apparently couldn’t follow the simplest instructions. If he has to read one more report written like a drunk wrote it with his feet, he’s going to start throwing people off the wall himself.

The forest air is cool and damp, carrying the smell of moss and earth and leaves, and despite himself, he feels some of the tension in his shoulders loosen slightly as he walks further from the castle, further from the noise and the mess and the endless responsibility that seems to sit permanently on his shoulders.

He walks without really thinking about where he’s going, just following the familiar perimeter paths, scanning automatically for anything out of place because even when he’s trying to relax, he never really stops being a soldier.

His gaze snags on something anomalous amid the greens and browns—a flower unlike any he has encountered in these woods, its petals a striking violet swirled with inky black veins that pulse faintly in the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. The center glows with an otherworldly iridescence that draws him closer despite his instincts screaming caution. He frowns slightly and crouches down to get a better look. 

“That’s new,” he mutters under his breath.

He leans closer, studying the shape of the petals, the strange dust clinging to the center, and after a moment he reaches out and lightly touches one of the petals with his finger.

The flower reacts with an explosion, a fine cloud of shimmering pollen erupting directly into his face like a burst of glittering dust. He coughs harshly, waving his hand to dispel the particles, the taste acrid on his tongue as he straightens up. He wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve while muttering a curse under his breath.

“Stupid plant,” he mutters. “Tch.”

He starts walking back toward headquarters, annoyed more than anything, already planning to tell Hange so they can come catalog the stupid thing and probably get excited about it like the lunatic they are.

But after about a minute, he slows down.

Something feels wrong.

At first it’s just a strange warmth in his chest, like he walked too fast or the air suddenly got hotter, but the warmth spreads quickly, rolling through his body in waves that make his skin feel tight and overly sensitive.

He stops walking. “What the hell?”

The heat keeps building, crawling up his neck, settling low in his stomach. The arousal hits him like a thunderclap—his cock twitching to life in his pants, swelling rapidly into a rigid, throbbing erection that strains painfully against the confines of his uniform pants, the ache so intense it borders on agony. 

Every pulse of blood sends jolts of desperate need radiating through his groin and up his spine. Levi grits his teeth, breath hitching as he presses a palm against the bulge, not to soothe but to confirm the betrayal of his own body. His mind reels with confusion and a rising tide of humiliated fury. 

This isn't normal. No way. That damn flower—has to be. He forces himself to move, legs unsteady as he retraces his path back to headquarters. Each step rubs fabric against his oversensitive shaft and amplifies the torment. His face is a mask of stoic control even as sweat soaks his shirt collar.

“That stupid fucking flower,” he says through clenched teeth.

This is ridiculous. This is absolutely ridiculous. He is not being taken out by a plant. 

By the time he reaches the headquarters building, the heat has gotten worse. His skin feels too tight, his uniform feels too heavy, and every movement is suddenly very noticeable in a way he absolutely does not appreciate.

He finds Hange in one of the side rooms surrounded by books and papers and what looks like three different jars of something that is probably toxic.

“Four Eyes,” he says flatly.

They look up immediately, glasses sliding slightly down their nose. “Levi! Perfect timing, I was just reading about—”

“I need you to look something up,” he interrupts.

They blink at him, immediately noticing something is off. “You look… sweaty.”

“I am sweaty,” he says. “Focus.”

He quickly describes the flower—dark petals, glowing center, releases dust when touched—and Hange’s eyes immediately light up with interest.

“Oh! That sounds like—wait, hold on.” They start flipping through a thick book on the desk, pages turning rapidly while Levi stands there very still, arms crossed, trying very hard to ignore the heat crawling through his body and the increasingly distracting erection that is not going away.

Hange stops on a page and leans closer, scanning the text. “Oh no,” they say.

Levi narrows his eyes. “What?”

They turn the book slightly so he can see the illustration. The flower looks exactly like the one he touched. “It’s a defensive plant,” Hange explains. “When touched, it releases a concentrated aphrodisiac pollen to deter animals and humans from messing with it.”

Levi stares at them. Very slowly, very flatly, he says, “Great. Now tell me how to make it fucking stop.”

Hange grimaces slightly and looks back at the book, scanning further down the page. “…There’s no way to make it stop,” they say carefully. “You have to wait it out.”

Levi’s eye twitches. “How long?”

Hange winces. “It says effects can last anywhere from several hours to… up to twenty-four hours depending on exposure.”

Levi closes his eyes for a long moment.

Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours of this.

Levi's vision blurs at the edges as another surge of heat coils low in his belly, his cock leaking pre-cum into his underwear, the wet spot growing embarrassingly as he clenches his fists to maintain composure. Of all the stupid, bullshit ways to go down—humped into submission by a fucking plant?

“I’m going to my office,” he says flatly.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Hange says quickly.

Levi spins on his heel to stalk back to his office, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the walls. He collapses into his chair only to spring up again as the chair's pressure against his ass sends a fresh spike of need through his trapped erection. 

Alone in the sparse room, surrounded by stacks of reports that now mock him with their banality, he paces like a caged animal, boots thudding against the floorboards as sweat drips steadily down his back, soaking his uniform while his breaths come in ragged gasps. His chest heaves with the effort to suppress the primal urge clawing at his sanity.

This is the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to him. He’s Humanity’s Strongest. He's survived the Underground and its savage nature. He’s taken down Titans that the veterans struggled with. He’s survived battles most people would not walk away from. And now he’s being taken down by a flower. A fucking flower.

The internal battle rages fiercer with each passing minute, his thoughts devolving into a haze of filthy imagery—imagined hands stroking him, mouths sucking him down, tight heat clenching around him—his hips twitching involuntarily as he grips the edge of his desk, knuckles whitening. His nails dig into the wood while he fights the compulsion to shove his hand down his pants right there. 

He has to do something.

The decision crystallizes in his fevered mind. His free hand is already fumbling at his belt buckle, the promise of release the only anchor in the storm threatening to drown him.

Levi leans back against the desk, the edge digging into his lower back as he unzips his pants and frees his painfully rigid cock, the thick shaft jutting upward, veins bulging and tips glistening with fresh pre-cum. His hand wraps around it with a desperate grip that has his hips bucking. He strokes himself with rough, urgent pulls, thumb swiping over the sensitive head on each upstroke. Sweat drips from his brow onto the floorboards, his breaths escaping in harsh pants that echo off the walls.

The first orgasm builds swiftly, coiling tight in his gut before exploding outward. Ropes of cum splatter across his shirtfront and the floor as he grunts low, body shuddering violently. Even as the aftermath fades, his erection remains defiantly hard, twitching insistently in his slackening grip.

What the hell? Not enough?

Well, Hange did say it would last for several hours.

Undeterred and growing frantic, he resumes the rhythm, hand slick with his own release, chasing a second peak that crashes over him even harder, spilling more seed onto the growing mess. His knees nearly buckle as stars burst behind his eyelids—yet, still, the unrelenting hardness persists, throbbing with renewed ferocity, leaving him slumped and cursing under his breath. His mind is a fog of humiliated rage and insatiable hunger.

A knock at the door shatters the fragile illusion of privacy. Levi’s head snaps up, voice cracking through the haze as he bellows, “Don’t come in!”

But the words twist in the air—or perhaps his own ragged shout misfires—and you push the door open, arms laden with a stack of inventory sheets for his approval. You step inside, eyes downcast at first, but when you raise them, your eyes widen in shock at the sight before you: Captain Levi, hand frozen mid-stroke on his massive, slick erection, face flushed red and glistening with sweat. 

The papers tumble from your grasp in a fluttering cascade across the floor. You slap a hand over your eyes, spinning around so fast your boots squeak. Heat floods your cheeks. What have you done? Captain Levi, of all people—you had to catch him like this? You need to get out and pretend this never happened.

You stammer apologies as you back toward the door. “I’m so sorry, Captain! I—I thought you said to come in. I’ll leave right now. I’m so sorry—”

Before you can retreat fully, Levi lunges forward, his hand clamping around your wrist in a vice-like grip. He pulls you to a halt as his other hand hastily tucks himself away, though the bulge remains prominent. Desperation etches into his usually impassive face, steel eyes pleading in a way that twists something deep inside you.

“Wait—please don’t go,” he quite literally begs. “Something happened out in the woods. A flower sprayed some shit in my face and now I’m stuck like a dog in heat for the next twenty-four hours. Hange confirmed it. There’s no cure. I just have to ride it out. I can’t… I need help. Please.”

Fuck my pride, fuck everything. If she walks out, I’ll lose my mind, he thinks. Vulnerability cracks his ironclad control as he holds your gaze. The mighty captain reduced to raw entreaty.

You hesitate, pulse thundering in your ears, torn between duty and the electric pull of his touch. He’s your captain; this could end your career. But he looks so wrecked begging like this. Part of you wants to say yes to ease the pain in his eyes.

“Captain, I… you’re my superior. This isn’t right,” you say. 

He steps closer, thumb brushing your pulse point soothingly. His breath ghosts over your skin. “It’s okay. No one has to know. Just help me through this. I trust you.” The sincerity in his words, mingled with the musky scent of his arousal hanging heavy in the air, erodes your resistance until you nod. You give in with a shaky exhale.

Levi surges forward, crashing his lips against yours in a messy, devouring kiss, all teeth and tongue and pent-up frenzy. His hands frame your face as he pours his desperation into the contact. He tastes of need while you melt against him, your own arousal flickering to life.

He breaks away just long enough to guide your hand downward, wrapping your fingers around his still-throbbing cock through the half-open zipper. The heat of him sears your palm as you tentatively stroke the velvety length, skin slick from his earlier releases.

A whimper escapes him at the first touch of your softer grip—high and needy, utterly unlike the stoic captain you know—and it ignites something primal in you, your core clenching with heat you hadn’t anticipated. You almost want to hear him make that sound again. Your thighs press together as slickness gathers between them. Your breath hitches while your hand moves slowly now, from base to tip, thumb circling the weeping slit to draw out more of those delicious, broken noises.

Levi’s hips stutter into your rhythm, head falling back as pleasure eclipses the torment for fleeting moments. Your hand feels like heaven. It’s so much better than his own. The need escalates swiftly, pulling tighter until he begs again, voice wrecked and eyes locked on your lips.

“Your mouth—please, use your mouth on me. I need it so bad.”

You sink to your knees before Levi as he leans back against the desk’s edge, the wood creaking under his weight while your hands steady on his muscular thighs. Your lips part to take the flushed head of his cock into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around the salty tip as you suck gently at first, savoring the way he throbs against your palate. 

Your own arousal throbs insistently between your own legs as you bob your head deeper, taking more of him inch by inch, saliva coating his length while your fingers dig into the tense cords of muscle under his skin. 

Levi’s control fractures almost immediately. A string of whimpers spill from his lips—high, needy keenings that grow into unrestrained moans louder than he intends. They echo off the office walls. His fingers thread into your hair, gripping firmly, guiding your pace with desperate bucks of his hips that push him further down your throat.

Fuck, her mouth is too good, Levi’s mind reels, pleasure spiking through the haze like lightning. His body is tense as your tongue presses flat along the underside, humming vibrations around him while you hollow deeper. Your nose brushes his pubic bone on a particularly eager thrust. 

The orgasm rips through him in under a minute, his grip tightening in your hair as he cries out. It’s a raw guttural moan that borders on a shout. Hot spurts of cum flood your mouth, thick and copious, forcing you to swallow around him to keep up. His thighs quiver under your hands as waves of pleasure crash over him, leaving him gasping and slumped. His cock barely softens, twitching back to full hardness almost instantly.

Without a word, still panting, Levi hauls you up by the arms with superhuman strength. He drags you through the narrow adjoining door into his bedroom—a minimalist space with a simple bed, neatly made sheets, and little else reflecting the clean-freak captain’s discipline—before throwing you onto the mattress with enough force to bounce you once. You land sprawled on your back, heart hammering with a mix of exhilaration and trepidation.

You watch wide-eyed as he strips himself completely, peeling off his sweat-damp shirt and uniform pants in frantic motions, revealing his compact, chiseled physique. Abs ripple, his cock juts proudly upward again, glistening from your saliva. He turns his predatory gaze toward you.

Frustration boils over as Levi attacks your uniform, fingers fumbling angrily with the endless straps and buckles that seem to multiply under his touch. His jaw clenches in irritation while curses fly under his breath. The pollen fuels a near-feral impatience that has him nearly ripping the clothes from your body. Too many damn layers—fucking military bullshit, keeping him from what’s his right now.

He yanks at a stubborn belt until it snaps, but when the next one fails to yield, he reaches into his bedside table drawer and pulls out a switchblade. He flicks it open, the thin blade glinting as he slices through the leather straps and fabric, shearing away the shirt and pants in tatters that pool on the floor. Your bare skin is exposed to the air while you gasp at his  movements.

“I’ll order you a new uniform,” he says hoarsely, eyes devouring your newly revealed body. Your nipples harden under his stare. He tosses the blade aside and climbs onto the bed, caging you with his body, voice dropping to a ragged plea laced with command. “But right now, I just need you.”

Levi wastes no time in claiming you fully, his body covering yours as he notches the thick head of his cock at your dripping entrance. He thrusts in with a single, brutal rut of his hips that buries him to the hilt inside your clenching heat. The stretch burns deliciously as your walls yield to his girth amid a shared gasp that fills the spare bedroom.

His movements immediately devolve into a messy, frantic rhythm, hips pistoning erratically as sweaty skin slaps against skin, the bed frame groaning under the onslaught while he captures your mouth in a sloppy kiss, tongue plunging deep to mimic his cock’s desperate invasions, all needy swipes and bitten lips that leave you both breathless and marked.

You arch beneath him, nails raking down his back as pleasure sparks through your core with every uneven thrust. His messy pace grinds his pubic bone against your clit in erratic bursts that have you moaning into his mouth. 

Levi breaks the kiss to pant against your neck, words tumbling out in a needy torrent between grunts, his voice raw and cracking as he drives deeper. “Fuck you feel so good. Better than I imagined. Your pussy’s sucking me in. Gods, I need you. I need this tight little hole wrapped around me.”

He hooks your legs over his shoulders then, folding you nearly in half with surprising strength. His hands grip your thighs as leverage to plunge even deeper, the new angle slamming his cock against that sweet spot inside you with every frantic withdrawal and snap back in, balls slapping wetly against your ass while the room fills with the obscene symphony of his needy whimpers and your rising cries.

His first orgasm builds blindingly fast amid the chaos, body tensing as he buries himself impossibly deep, crying out a broken “Shit—cumming—” before flooding your pussy with his ropes of pleasure. Your inner walls flutter around the pulsing heat of him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow. He hovers over you on trembling arms while whimpers and animalistic grunts spill from his throat, hips maintaining their rough, relentless grind as if possessed, chasing even more through the oversensitivity.

He’s still so hard, still burning. He has to keep fucking you to make it better. His emotions are a tangle of selfish hunger and an unexpected urge to give back. His fingers slide down between your joined bodies to find your swollen clit, rubbing firm circles over the nub. 

It catches you off guard amid the haze. You thought he would just use you and be done with you, but he’s taking care of you in this shitty situation. You have to stop yourself from fully letting yourself feel the flutter in your stomach.

Pleasure coils tighter until his skilled fingers, syncing with the drag of his cock stretching you anew, slick with his first load. The dual assault shatters you both simultaneously—your orgasm tearing through you like wildfire, pussy convulsing wildly around him as you scream his name. Tears prick your lashes. Levi follows with a guttural whine, his second release pumping even more cum deep into your spasming depths, overflowing to trickle down your thighs as he collapses half atop you. His forehead presses to yours, both of you shuddering in the afterglow.

But he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

Levi shows no signs of relenting even after his second climax. His body is a machine fueled by the otherworldly essence of the flower. He rolls you onto your side and hitches your top leg over his hip, sliding back into your cum-slick pussy with a wet squelch that draws twin moans from you. His thrusts regain their frantic rhythm, almost immediately while your skin slides together in the humid confines of his bedroom. 

The hours blur into an endless cycle of raw, needy coupling that leaves the sheets twisted and soaked beneath you. He can’t get enough. Your body is his salvation. Every clench pulls him deeper, and he has to keep going until he breaks. You cling to him, your mind a whirl of exhausted bliss.

Time loses meaning as he maneuvers you through position after position, the night deepening outside. At one fevered peak, amidst a slower grind where he spoons behind you, his teeth sink into the fleshy curve of your shoulder in a possessive bite that marks your skin red. The sharp pain spikes your arousal higher as you cry out, nails scoring his skin in retaliation while he growls against the bite—Mine—taste her, feel her shudder—fuck, perfect. Later, while he’s pounding deep on top of you with circling hips, he captures your hands in his, linking your fingers with his before stretching your arms above your head and pinning them to the mattress. He whispers hotly into your ear, “You’re so perfect,” the words laced with needy reverence that pierces your heart. Your body responds with a fresh gush of wetness that eases his relentless slides.

Hours stretch on without pause, Levi’s stamina inhuman under the pollen’s curse. He flips you atop him for you to ride while he bucks upward, then he bends you over the bed’s edge for brutal from-behind thrusts that shake the frame. 

Your orgasms stack upon one another until you’re a trembling, hoarse mess of please and whimpers. Every nerve is alight while his dirty litany evolves into softer avowals of need—“Need you like this forever, so good for me, taking everything”—his internal world fracturing under gratitude. 

You’re a gift for saving him from his madness. He doesn’t deserve you—but fuck if he’ll let go of you.

Finally, as the first hints of pre-dawn grey filter through the window after hours of non-stop fucking, Levi’s body betrays him mid-thrust, muscles seizing in total exhaustion despite his cock remaining stubbornly hard and twitching inside you; he collapses forward onto the mattress beside you, chest heaving, utterly spent physically even as the fire simmers unquenched. He pulls you close in a rare moment of limp vulnerability.

After a merciful hour-long break where you both lie entangled in sated stupor, breaths syncing in the quiet, Levi stirs with renewed vigor for round two. The aphrodisiac grants him one final surge as he claims you missionary-style once more, slower now but no less intense, drawing out mutual climaxes that leave you limp before he slumps again. The pair of you have fucked well into the night until the total span from the flower’s betrayal clocks nearly eight grueling hours.

Levi lies next to you in the rumpled bed, body finally cooling as the unnatural heat ebbs away like a receding tide. His erection softens at long last while clarity returns to his steel-grey eyes. He turns to you with a soft exhale, murmuring, “It’s finally gone. The aphrodisiac wore off,” but you offer no response. 

Levi looks over to see you dead asleep beside him, face slack with utter depletion, lashes fanned over flushed cheeks and lips parted in peaceful exhaustion. A deep sigh escapes him, his emotions cresting in a quiet wave of affection and regret-tinged protectiveness.

He looks at you. You wrecked him and wrecked yourself for him. He didn’t expect this… connection. At first, he was speaking needy nonsense. But somewhere, between the hours, he found himself desiring you in a way deeper than some flower’s curse willed him to. You cared enough to help. Most people would have walked away. You care, and it affects him more than it should. But that’s something he’ll worry about later. For now, he wants you to rest. You’ve earned it.

He draws the thin blanket over your entwined forms, leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to your forehead before he settles back, eyes drifting shut to claim sleep at last.

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divider by: strangergraphics

The evening of your wedding feels like a sentence. It’s not much different from one—giving up your life so the youngest of your family survives.

To almost any other Eldian, wedding an Ackerman is an honor. The Ackermans are Warriors, Titans by blood. To hear the way your husband-to-be is spoken about by people in the internment zone, one would think he was at once their personal family member and a god. Some other girl might be ecstatic to be in your place, might be glowing with pride as all her neighbors and friends congratulated her. This is not the case for you, however.

The ceremony is brief, witnessed by only a handful of Marleyan officials whose job it is to ensure all the T’s have been crossed and the I’s dotted. Even if you had family left to attend, they would never come to such a state-sanctioned union.

Levi Ackerman stands in front of you in his dress khakis, pressed and clean as always, never a button out of place. Only a week ago, you were a mere kitchen girl serving his tea, barely a handful of sentences exchanged between you. Now, he is your husband.

To you, he is not a source of Eldian pride; he’s Marley’s obedient war dog. And he refuses to look you in the eye.

+++

The papers are signed, and you are ushered into the hall where a newspaper photographer is waiting. He directs you and Levi through an array of stiff, staged poses, asking you to stand close, closer, closer still—until you can smell the bleach on Levi’s shirt. Flash bulbs pop, and afterward, the general claps Levi on the back and wishes the happy couple luck. You are dismissed.

Inside the vehicle, your husband sits with his hands folded and his gaze fixed out the window. You do not speak until the rumble of the engine settles and the driver—an Eldian from the internment zone—opens the door to the modest apartment assigned to you on short notice.

Inside, it’s boxy and pale, with furniture that reeks of varnish. Two glasses and a bottle of sparkling wine wait for you on the kitchen table—courtesy of Captain Yeager, according to the card. Levi roundly ignores the gesture and goes straight through to the living area, loosening his tie. You follow, trying not to retch at the idea of seeing your picture on the front page the following morning.

“You should go ahead and wash up,” Levi says without turning to look at you. The words are spoken with the same intrinsic authority as every order you’ve ever heard him give.

Bitterly, you drop your meager luggage by the door and walk to the bathroom, which is as sterile as the rest. You lock the door, not out of fear but sickening distrust, before sloughing off your ceremony dress. Your hands shake as you stand under the shower and wipe away traces of the makeup the officer’s wife assigned to “prepare” you had insisted upon. A shame, you think, even if the flesh-toned foundation is a shade off and the lipstick is too bright for your taste, as makeup is rarely available in the internment zone due to glycerin rations.

You linger in the bathroom, taking your time. It’s more merciful to hide here, at least for a while.

When you emerge, dressed in a robe, Levi has already moved your things into the bedroom. The walls are papered in an outdated floral pattern that makes you want to gouge your eyes out. You decide it will have to be one of the first things to go, along with the hideous drapes and the phonograph, which would have been more at home in the living room than in here. A set of freshly-embroidered red armbands sits upon the dresser. The sight of them turns your stomach.

“You can have your turn now,” you say, the words coming out frigid.

Levi glances over from where he’s hung his jacket and nods once.

+++

Alone, you change into your nightgown and wonder if the higher-ups bothered posting extra guards or if they decided you’d be a fool for trying to run. They wouldn’t be wrong; it’s one thing to risk your own life, but it’s not the only one at stake. You think of your cousins, all young and barely old enough to understand what has happened, shuffled off to distant relatives with little more than a promise that they would be cared for. You can’t bear to think of them facing the same fate as their parents. Does Marley have a protocol for sending children to Paradise?

The apartment is quiet. The plumbing rattles faintly from the bathroom where Levi is washing up, and somewhere below, a radio is playing music muffled by concrete walls. You move to the closet and find half of it occupied by Levi’s neatly hung uniforms and the other half carefully kept clean and empty, presumably for your use. You think back to the robe carefully left out for you in the bathroom and the modest non-military-issue soap you found in the shower. The idea that the brusque man you married had thought about everything ahead of time infuriates you.

But Levi, as you’re well aware, has an almost pathological regard for routine. He keeps a shoehorn at the threshold of his office and a dish for pocket change on his desk. And you’ve noticed him reach for a spare handkerchief to wipe at a spill or a stray spot on many occasions.

You work efficiently, jaw clenched, emptying your peeling suitcase onto the bed and stowing everything away into its new proper place. What would happen if you just decided to upend all of it? Leave your worn shoes in a heap, scatter your hairpins all over his military precision in defiance? The urge to do so is so sudden it stings behind your ribs, but you refrain.

You’ve folded your last chemise when Levi returns to the bedroom. His hair is damp, and he’s put on a fresh button down with the hem untucked and the sleeves unbuttoned. It is not the first time you’ve seen him a little dressed down, as he so often is late at night when he stops by the canteen for a cup of tea, but there’s an awkwardness to it now. An intimacy that makes your skin crawl.

“Hungry?” he asks.

It’s a simple question. Only one word, and there’s not much intonation behind it. But it brings your blood to boil.

“Don’t,” you hiss, nails biting into your palms. You can’t stand to stand here and pretend you’re anything other than a broodmare for Marley’s wretched furtherance of the Ackerman bloodline. Their perfect, loyal soldiers.

Levi’s mouth twitches, the ghost of a wince. “It was just a question.”

“Well, there’s no need to act like this is a real marriage,” you sneer.

“I don’t intend to make this worse than it is,” he says.

You want to ask what that means, but you’re not sure you want the answer. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you had my family arrested.”

He narrows his eyes. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“You’re a dog of the Marleyan military,” you snap. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re complicit.”

Something flares in his gaze, and before you can blink, he’s snatching your wrist. “Come,” he snarls, yanking you firmly toward the door. You fight him, but it’s no use. He marches you into the living room and takes both your shoulders in his hands.

“Let go of me!” you demand.

“Watch your mouth,” Levi barks, and the gravity in his tone makes you go still. “Don’t talk like that again. You don’t know who’s listening.”

You stare at him, searching for traces of malice or threat, but find only exhaustion. “Where?” you ask, unable to help yourself.

He sighs and releases you, flexing his hands. “In the bedroom. The phonograph.”

“I see,” you say flatly, and with a deliberate turn, you walk to the kitchen, more rattled than you want to admit.

+++

You sit at the little table with the sparkling wine between you, but neither of you opens it. Levi pulls a loaf of bread and a jar of preserves from the paper sack left by the kitchen sink and sets them out matter-of-factly.

“Eat or don’t eat,” he says. “But don’t cry to me if you choose to starve yourself.”

“Is that an order, sir?” you say acridly.

He shoots you a sharp look. “It’s a suggestion.”

You watch him as he takes the seat opposite you and rolls his sleeves one by one to the elbow. He’s always seemed compact under those military fatigues, but the lean, corded muscle of his forearms reveals the true strength of his frame, shaped by decades of training. You know Warrior training is brutal, designed to take the soldiers apart and put them back together into unquestioning weapons of the state. That’s exactly what Levi Ackerman is to you.

“Do you always make sure your prisoners are fed?” Your voice is tart, but you can’t quite meet his eyes. The jar trembles a little in your hand as you twist it open.

“I don’t see you as a prisoner,” Levi says.

“Just as well. I doubt the commanders will care about your opinion.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait. He spreads preserves on his bread, then sets the knife down and considers you. “I’m sorry for the position you find yourself in, but it isn’t my doing. Treason has consequences.”

The words are cold, yet the fact that they don’t seem to hold any intentional malice makes it all the worse. Your heart hammers, and your stomach turns. You want to see him choke on the dry bread.

“Disproportionate consequences,” you spit out at him. “My whole family was sent to the island, even the ones that had nothing to do with it. The little ones lost their parents and older siblings. Did you torture them, too? Try to get them to give up our neighbors? Our friends?”

Levi’s face hardens, but he is so impassive, it is impossible to decipher whether your anger moves him. “It is harsh, but that’s how Marley roots our traitors.”

“Traitors?” You let out an incredulous scoff. “They were Eldians, same as you!”

“Exactly,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “And as Eldians, they should have known better.”

The chair beneath you scrapes the floor loudly and you stand. “What do you know?” you ask, voice rising without really meaning to. “You’ve been Marley’s mongrel since the day you were born! And it doesn’t make you any better than us in their eyes.”

“Sit down,” Levi says, eyes darting to the bedroom, where the phonograph sits like a voyeur in the dark.

You don’t sit. You’re too furious to sit. You glare at him, trembling, vision blurring, and consider how far you’d get if you tried to catch a man like Levi Ackerman unaware. When he is asleep, perhaps, or unsuspecting in the shower. It’s a fantasy through and through, because you’re certain you are no match for him in any scenario. But the possibility pulses through your veins, dark and malignant.

Levi calls your name, and you blink. The tears fall hot down your cheeks, and your vision clears enough for you to notice the look on your new husband’s face. He is watching you warily, steel eyes flickering between you and your hand, which you now realize is wrapped tightly around your knife. The blade is still sticky with preserves. You inhale shakily.

“Put it down,” Levi says, almost gently, as he slides out of his chair and inches closer with his hands carefully raised.

You let him approach, lips parted, and his hands close careful around yours. They are shockingly warm for a man that seems carved from unfeeling marble, large and somewhat gnarled from years of strenuous physical activity yet strangely beautiful.

He stands there as you breathe like you’ve just sprinted, and it is almost farcical—as if the bread knife could prove a genuine threat when Levi’s hands are certainly orders of magnitude more deadly. For a moment, you imagine plunging the blade into his chest or your own thigh but loosen your grip instead.

Levi’s shoulders drop. He slides the knife from your hand slowly. There is something unguarded in his face, a momentary slackening.

“Don’t make a scene,” he says, but his voice is low, and if you didn’t know better, you might have heard it as a plea.

The moment passes, and in its wake, exhaustion seeps into your body. You slump back into your chair, and Levi drops the knife to the table with a clatter.

“I didn’t ask for any of this, either,” he says.

He doesn’t scold you further; he just sits down again and resumes eating like nothing happened. You wipe your face with your sleeve, the humiliation mixing in with your anger. You can’t even muster the rage to stomp back to the bedroom. You sit, defeated, and chew mechanically on a hunk of bread

The instant Levi finishes, he stands, collects the dishes, and cleans them at the sink. “You know what's expected of us, don't you?” he says.

You stare at his back, wishing that in all the time you’ve known him in passing, you had learned to read the meanings in his tone. You want to pretend you don’t know, but there are rules, and the rules are as inescapable as walls.

“Yes,” you say quietly.

“They’ll be listening,” he says. “To make sure we comply.”

An image of the phonograph flies through your mind. You want to puke. You want to scream. You want to throw yourself on the floor and cry. But you want to save what’s left of your family, too.

“Fine.” You wipe your face with your palm, surprised not to find more tears.

The faucet runs for several minutes after the conversation has effectively ended as the sound of meticulous scrubbing fills the silence. You wonder if Levi is genuinely that particular or if he simply prefers scrubbing a plate to looking at his wife.

Levi dries the bread knife with a dish cloth, then sets it in the drawer. “I won’t force you,” he says at last. “It—it doesn’t have to be tonight, but—”

He trails off and doesn’t finish the thought, but he doesn’t need to. You understand well enough what he means. It doesn’t have to be tonight, but it will have to be eventually. The government did not arrange this marriage out of charity. Public Security did not spare your cousins because they suddenly discovered a conscience. The officials who witnessed your vows this evening are not expecting companionship or domestic bliss. They are expecting Ackerman children.

“I know,” you say. Perhaps, it should surprise you that he isn’t forcing you. He could do what he wanted; you know this, and that knowledge is worse than fear. You can’t claim to know him very well beyond how he prefers to take his tea, but for some reason, you believe him.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says. “We can figure out what we’re going to do later.”

“You’d rather sleep on the floor?”

Levi’s expression shifts minutely. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

Military camps, your mind supplies. Years of field exercises and of doing whatever Marley demanded of him, even if it meant sleeping in the dirt like the dog he is. And for the first time, you think of what a sad life that must be.

+++

It’s sometime after midnight when the noise wakes you. Falling asleep had been no easy task after such a tense day, especially with the awareness of the phonograph and of the man lying on the floor somewhere behind you.

At first, you’re not even sure you heard it. You lie still beneath the blankets, listening with your eyes open in the dark. For a few seconds, you almost convince yourself it was nothing. Then, it comes again. A sharp intake of breath, followed by thrashing and the incoherent mumbling of someone deep in the throes of a nightmare.

You sit up, blinking against the gloom, and let your eyes adjust. The moonlight through the hideous drapes paints everything in cool silver. On the floor, Levi is still and silent, but only for a moment; the next gust of breath sounds close to a whimper, and his arms jerk taut around the thin blanket.

You’re paralyzed for a split second, then slide off the bed as quietly as you can. In the shadowy limbo between the window and the wardrobe, you make out the sweat glistening on his brow and his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. You could wake him. You think a wife with even a drop of affection in her marrow probably would. It would be easier to turn away and pretend you did not notice. But you don’t move away.

“Levi,” you say quietly, lowering yourself to your knees.

You reach out, and your fingers brush his shoulder. The reaction is instantaneous. One moment, you are kneeling beside him. The next, you are on your back against the floor beside your bed, the air knocked from your lungs, and Levi is above you with his hand around your throat.

There’s a wildness in his eyes that tells you he’s not fully awake when he lashes out, but the panic surging through your veins is real enough. You can see the moment he realizes what he’s done. His pupils dilate, and Levi recoils, his hand vanishing from your neck. He staggers backwards on his hands, and you touch your throat, searching for damage. Your fingers encounter only clammy skin and a fluttering pulse.

“You—” you choke out, then stop. What accusation is there to make? You had known what the Ackermans were.

“What the hell were you doing?” he asks.

You’re surprised by the tremor in his voice, and you sit up, kneading your fingers over the small ache along your windpipe. “You were…making sounds,” you manage. “I thought maybe—”

You cut off the sentence, not sure if you should admit tenderness after everything between you. Levi cards a hand through his dark hair. He looks like a shell of a man, skin sallow and eyes haunted. You wonder if he dreams of Titans or of men in white coats, or if the nightmares claw at him the same way they gnaw at you.

“It’s nothing,” he says roughly, pushing up to his feet. “This was a mistake. I’ll be outside. You stay and rest.”

Speechless, you watch as Levi turns away and crosses the room to the door, not even bothering to collect the blanket and pillow from the floor. Then, he disappears into the living room, clumsily closing the door behind him. A moment later, you hear the scrape of a chair being pulled away from the kitchen table.

You remain seated on the floor. The room feels strangely empty without him in it.

+++

Sleep does not come after that. For two hours, you lie awake, and no matter what you do, you can’t manage to drift again.

You stare at the ceiling and find yourself replaying the look on his face. Not the one from when he lunged at you, but after—that brief, terrible instant when he woke and understood what he had done. As though nearly hurting you had frightened him more than whatever dream had dragged him from sleep.

The realization is impossible to reconcile. As long as you have been old enough to understand what Marley touts as salvation is actually propaganda, you’ve believed Levi Ackerman to be exactly what they made him. An obedient, unquestioning, dangerous weapon. But tonight has complicated things.

You hate complications.

Eventually, frustration outweighs exhaustion. With a sigh, you throw back the blankets. The hallway is cool and quiet as you make your way toward the kitchen. Your throat still aches faintly when you swallow. You try not to think about that, either.

A dim light spills across the floor from the living room around the corner. You pause, hearing a strange sound. A low-throated noise that makes your heart stumble. You worry Levi has fallen into another nightmare and continue forward, creeping quickly on your toes.

Levi sits at the sofa with his back to you, too focused on whatever he’s doing to notice your approach. You take in the tableau and feel a sense of disorientation at what you’re witnessing. The soft intermittent clinking of his loose belt buckle; the rhythmic plap, plap, plap of flesh; the half-muffled groans falling from his mouth. He mumbles something as you approach that sounds suspiciously like your name.

It doesn’t come together in your head until you’re close enough to see—his member, thick and flushed, standing erect where the front of his trousers have been sloppily undone, shining with precum and furiously stroked in one hand. Heat floods your face as blood rushes south to your cunt in a wave of lust, quickly followed by mortification. But by then, it’s too late. The hand freezes, and Levi lifts his gaze to meet yours.

“Shit!” he hisses, scrambling to cover himself with a handful of the forgotten paperwork sitting beside him.

You stare at each other, the air suffocating but crackling with an undeniable electricity.

“You should go back to bed,” he says with a scowl.

Indignance crawls up your throat. It’s not like you were the one caught with your pants down. “Are you always this loud?” you shoot back, but your cheeks are burning, and your thighs press together unconsciously. “What are you doing up anyway?”

“I don’t—” He sighs, disgruntled. “I don’t like to sleep much.”

You stand very still, wondering if he’s even aware of his hand still tenting the stack of official papers, trembling ever so slightly atop his erection. A week ago, you would have had nothing to say to this man but “Would you like more tea, sir?” You would have scurried from the canteen at night to avoid the Warriors entirely. How perverse, then, that you’re the only person alive to catch Levi Ackerman like this.

“You know,” you say, crossing your arms, “I heard you say my name. I think you owe me an explanation.”

Maybe it’s payback or spite, or maybe you’ve lost your mind from the sleep deprivation and dread. He looks at you for a long beat. Then, to your utter shock, a flush rises under the sharp line of his cheekbones.

“Do I?” he says quietly.

“Yes,” you try to snap. “Jerking off to the thought of bedding Marley’s newest breeding sow? Does that help you relax, sir?”

A faint flush appears at the tips of his ears. “You’re one to talk,” he says. “Don’t think I didn’t see you gawking at my cock just now.” His voice is as icy and flat as ever, but despite that—or because of it—heat begins to spiral in your belly. “Were you getting aroused watching Marley’s loyal dog stroke his cock to you?”

“So, you admit it!” you cry, jabbing your index finger toward him. “You were getting off to me! Pervert!”

Levi’s lips tighten in the most infinitesimal quiver before he looks away, fuming. “Yeah, but not for the reasons you think. I’m not a monster.”

“What, is that supposed to be reassuring?” you scoff. “What reason, exactly, makes this better?”

“I’ve been watching you for a while,” Levi blurts out, looking stricken by his own confession. “Back at HQ. I…” He hesitates. “I always noticed when you were in the canteen. How you pour the tea. How neat you keep your apron even when it’s a hundred degrees and the kitchen smells like dog food. I know you hate this, and I don’t blame you, but—” He breaks off, unable to finish.

Your mind races with the implications. You’ve never, not once, thought of yourself as the object of anyone’s desire, least of all the Levi Ackerman. A tremor runs through you.

“You never spoke to me,” you say, narrowing your eyes. It comes out more petulant than you intend.

Levi tenses. “I couldn’t. It... wasn’t allowed. You were never supposed to see this side of me.”

“So, what. Did you make a deal with them? Did you choose me because you liked the look of me?” you ask quietly.

“No!” he shoots to his feet. “Fuck, no! I told you, I didn’t choose any of this!”

The papers scatter, rustling to the floor, leaving him exposed and still half-hard. You swallow thickly. Your tongue feels frozen in your mouth. You’re aware of your nightgown clinging to your thighs, the painful ache of your own arousal, and the immense exquisiteness of having some tiny inkling of control over the weapon before you. You’re conscious, too, of the phonograph on the other side of the wall. Watching, always watching. Your skin prickles.

You take a step toward him anyway. “You didn’t want to marry,” you guess. “But you wanted to fuck me.”

A strangled, incredulous sound escapes him. “It’s not like that—”

But you’re in front of him now, and the words cut away.

“Should I pretend I didn’t see?” you ask.

He glares at you, and for the first time, you don't see only coldness. You are still adrenaline-sick, pulse roaring from the aftermath of nearly being throttled, and yet, what you remember now is the heat of his hand when it had pried your fingers from the knife, how intimate it felt to be the thing he clung to in that moment instead of the weapon.

You tug at the drawstrings of your nightgown. It slumps to the floor, pooling around your ankles, and you stand there, goosebumps feathering up your arms in the chilly apartment. Levi blinks at your nudity as if you’d doused him with cold water. Between you, his cock jumps and starts to twitch back to life.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmurs.

Liar, you think. But you don't say it out loud. Your hands move of their own accord, reaching for the muscle of his forearm, tracing the lines of his beautiful hand until it shudders.

He doesn’t lunge like you expect. Instead, Levi stands stock still, the steel of his eyes thinned out by the black of his pupils, his sullen face aglow in the wash of city lights through the window. He’s stunning, you think, and you want to punish him for it, even as you yearn to be handled.

“You can touch me,” you say softly.

He does not hesitate now. The soldier learns his new orders instantly. His hand finds your waist, and he draws you closer, till the line of your naked body is flush with his. Your skin tingles wherever he touches you, and you feel the rigid length of him against your thigh, sweltering through his half-hanging pants.

When Levi leans in, as if about to kiss you, you turn away instinctively. But his lips land instead deliberately at the side of your neck, pressing hot against the already flushed skin. Your nerves alight with sensation never before experienced. Is it the act itself, the touch? Or the fact that it is Levi who touches you? You’re too stunned to work out an answer.

His palms skim up your sides, over your ribs to cup your breasts. He works slowly, gently, as if to offer penance rather than foreplay. His thumbs tease the pebbled nipples, and you shiver and gasp. The heat in your lower abdomen, which had already been stirred by the sight of his self-pleasure, now rises to a roaring flame. Contrarily, the flesh between your thighs grows slick with moisture at the same time. You can feel it sliding on your skin with every minute quiver of your frame.

It’s sick, you think. There’s something wrong with you that it feels this good.

“Do you want me to stop?” he murmurs into your neck.

You can only shake your head in response. It’s impossible to believe, in this moment, that this man is the same whose boots you’ve scrubbed clean of mud, the same whose name your family cursed behind closed doors. You can’t help speculating. Had he done this before? A Warrior like him, a god in the eyes of Eldians and a novelty in the eyes of all others, must be coveted by many, you assume.

You try to picture him with other women. The power wrapped up in that strong, lithe body. That stoic brow creased just so with effort. Those beautiful hands, capable of violence, yes, but also of throwing someone around with ease. The thought both galls and thrills you. You’re ruined, you realize, already addicted to the contradiction that is Levi. But the answer is obvious in the way he strokes you. No one has taught him to do this; he’s simply learned how to provide comfort in the only way left to him.

As his hands slide down to cup your ass and draw you tighter against him, there’s a hesitance in his grip that suggests he expects admonishment at any second. Perhaps, he expects you to hit him, to flinch, to run. Instead you press yourself to him bruisingly, letting his cock nudge up between your thighs.

Levi groans, and his hips jerk reflexively, seeking friction. “You’re going to drive me insane.”

Good, you think. It’s the least he deserves. He dips his head to your shoulder, teeth grazing, and your whole body shakes. The air is cool, but where he bites, you feel fire, and where he touches, you ache. You’re barely aware of your own hands until they’re unbuttoning his shirt, forcing themselves under the crisp fabric to move over the ridges of his chest and stomach.

Your breath hitches as the button-down slips off his shoulders and down his arms. Levi is unlike any Eldian you’ve seen before. Not even the dockworkers and trainyard men, toughened by labor but robbed of vigor by the hardships of internment, are built quite like Levi. His pale skin is stretched across hard muscle and littered with scars both old and new—not an ounce of him wasted, his ribs and abdomen cinched tight. You scan his form openly and wonder about the origin of each mark. If they hurt, or if anything hurts him at all.

Levi interrupts your ogling by placing a tender kiss to the center of your throat, right where you can still feel the ghost of his fingers pressing into your trachea. His mouth follows the column of your throat down to where he finds your standing pulse at the hollow between your collarbones. He sinks to his knees—your knees buckle accordingly—and his hands find the backs of your thighs. You lean your hands on his shoulders to keep from collapsing onto him.

He buries his face against your belly, breathing you in. “Stop me if I hurt you.”

The warmth of his breath penetrates your skin. You don’t answer, and anyway, he doesn’t wait for permission. When his mouth finds the soft place above your pubic bone, you gasp. He coaxes your legs apart, and you let him, shame be damned. The heat of his mouth moves lower, lower, and then the tip of his tongue is there, tracing over the wettest part of you.

You stifle a whimper; it feels wrong to make any noise, wrong but addictive. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the flicker of Levi’s tongue at your clit. He buries his face in you, and your hand finds its way into his hair. You nearly yank him away from the oversensitivity, but the pressure only makes him dig deeper. His tongue explores you thoroughly, sometimes darting, sometimes sucking, sometimes simply holding you in his mouth, letting you pulse there.

“Are you so desperate to prove you're not a brute?” you ask breathlessly.

“I’m not the one with something to prove here,” Levi says, his voice a rasp. “You’re the one accused of colluding with Restorationists.”

You nearly laugh, but it breaks into a moan as he presses two fingers into you. You think of the phonograph and the ears surely tuned to it; the impulse to keep quiet only makes you want to scream. So, you let him have it, let yourself gasp and keen and moan until you forget the point of it all.

The first crest of pleasure is so abrupt it robs you of thought. Your body and your thighs threaten to crush his head. There’s a brief moment where you imagine you could kill him like this, the great Levi Ackerman suffocated by your traitorous cunt, but as quickly as it comes, the image is gone, replaced by an explosion of sensation.

You come hard with a strangled cry, riding out the spasms as his hair grows damp with sweat against your skin. When you’ve gone quiet and trembling, Levi rises to his feet, face glistening and gaze hooded, guiding you to collapse against the sofa. You expect him to gloat—maybe even sneer—but when your vision clears, the reality of his state is not what you expected.

Levi stands hunched half over you, bracing one hand on the sofa back by your head. He’s panting hard, flushed chest glistening and heaving with every ragged breath. And his cock is straining, so hard it looks almost painful, leaking copiously from the tip. But somehow, he hesitates. There’s an almost childish anxiety that surprises you, stretching his face tight, and it stirs something akin to tenderness in you.

You reach for him. Groping with confidence you don't possess, you close your fingers around his twitching shaft. Levi’s jaw clenches before a faint, desperate groan escapes. In your hand, he is rigid and feverish, and you feel an astonishing surge of pride at his state. You bring your thumb to the head, lightly swirling the bead of moisture, and he shudders so hard the sinews leap in his neck. Some buried part of you purrs at the power of it.

“Get on the couch,” you whisper.

Levi obeys, lowering himself gingerly over you as you shift longways and part your legs to accommodate him. He hovers above you, looking ruined already, like it’s taking everything in him to hold himself back, and you wrap your thighs around his hips. Your nails dig into the muscled plain of his back, tugging him toward you until the smooth head of his cock is kisses the wet, aching opening of your cunt.

Teeth gritted, Levi glances at your face for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he pushes inside. He moves slowly at first, his arms shaking. But once he finds himself surrounded by your slick, silky warmth, his restraint shatters.

The stretch is sharp; you aren’t prepared for the sheer fullness of it, but the thrill of it drives you mad. You writhe, struggling to take him as he pounds into you. His hands move to your hips for leverage, and his grip is tight enough to bruise, even as his brow knits like there’s an apology on his tongue. But he can’t help himself. He can only rut into you like a man too long denied.

He fucks you with a violence that’s nothing like the care with which he’d touched you before as he groans out his pleasure. He rasps into your ear that you feel better than he’d ever imagined, that you’re so tight he won’t be able to last. Every drive of his hips forces helpless gasps from your throat. At some point you realize you’re moaning his name, begging, but you’re not sure whether you’re begging for him to be gentler or for more.

Eventually, he gives up on trying to piston in and out of your cunt and just buries himself deep, rocking slow and hard like he’s trying to leave a mark inside you. Each time you think you’ve gotten used to his size, he shifts, grinds, spears even deeper, and a fresh pulse of sensation makes your vision go white. You lose sense of place and time. The city beyond the walls, the unseen eyes recording you. Warriors, Restorationists, even your cousins. For now, nothing exists outside this small apartment.

You reach up to seize the nape of his neck, hauling him down for a kiss that is all hunger. His tongue finds yours, earnest and clumsy and desperate. The heat is blinding. You clench around him as he thrusts and feel his whole body shudder around you. Levi tears his mouth away from yours to bury his face in your shoulder. Then, with a broken hiss, he comes.

Thick pulses of his release spill inside you. The feeling is foreign, strange yet oddly satisfying, even when that little voice in your head reminds you that this is exactly what the higher-ups want: you, full of Levi until something takes and you’re swollen with his child. You picture yourself bent over the kitchen counter while Levi stuffs you full from behind, fucked on your back in the bed with your legs folded up to your chest, and shudder around his softening cock.

The city is deathly quiet, and you wonder if the phonograph is silent now, too. Whether whoever’s monitoring them has decided their work is done for the night, and if the sound of your moans have made some Marleyan bureaucrat blush behind his typewriter.

Levi’s head is pressed to the side of your throat, so still you think he’s fallen asleep—men, you’ve heard, are supposed to do that, collapse into a doze the second they’ve finished. But then he sighs, and rolls away onto his side, while his hand stays splayed at your stomach. You feel his cum trickling out of you in a slow leak, and the instinct is to rise and clean presses at the edge of your consciousness, but your limbs are submerged in postcoital honey, and Levi’s hand is heavy and warm where it rests on you.

It doesn’t feel real; you’ve slept with a Warrior. Perhaps, Levi has had the opposite thought. But what would your family think if they could see you now?

“You okay?” Levi asks. “That… isn’t how I meant for this to happen.”

He sounds remorseful, watching you with a wariness you used to mistake for malice. You equivocate, looking down at the place where his hand presses into your skin. There’s no way to answer his question truthfully, not with so much still churning in your chest. You want to tell him you feel nothing, that it was merely your duty, a demand of the breeding program—except that would be a lie, and you’re too tired to lie.

“I’m fine,” you say, and you find that you mean it.

You push yourself to sit upright. Levi’s hand slips off your stomach, trailing down your hip, where it lingers for a moment as if reluctant to let you go.

“We’re being listened to, right?” you ask, staring at the empty air.

He nods, shamefaced as a schoolboy. “They’ll check the tapes. It’s a formality, mostly. But…” He shrugs. “Still.”

“And what if the phonograph couldn’t pick anything up from the bedroom?”

“I think you were probably loud enough that they’ll get the idea,” Levi says, a touch of smugness in his tone that sparks some irritation. You smack him, albeit lightly. “Point is, we performed for them. There’s no need to repeat this mistake.”

Your stomach feels like a pit, anger rising hot up your throat. A mistake. As if he weren’t the one touching himself to the thought of you. And now, he’s trying to play the gentleman? You can’t help but call him out on it, and not just because you refuse to resign yourself to an indifferent marriage with him, detached and devoid of passion. You won’t be denied the feeling of his cock inside you again.

“You don’t get to call it a mistake if you’re going to make it again,” you say, shifting upright to straddle Levi’s lap. You grasp his shoulders roughly. Your cunt is slick, and his chest is sticky with sweat. Levi blinks up at you, stunned, as if he can’t comprehend your intent.

You press the heel of your hand into his breastbone, pinning him. With your other hand, you take his spent cock and stroke him languidly and feel him begin to harden again. He murmurs your name dangerously, as if to warn you that you don't know what you’re getting yourself into. But you most certainly do.

“The performance isn’t enough,” you say, like you’re making a logical argument and not actively trying to goad him into another round of sloppy fucking. “The Ministry will be expecting a report within the next few months, won’t they?”

“Yes,” Levi replies, visibly straining to get ahold of himself.

“And I expect they’ll simply replace me if you have nothing to report.”

He takes a beat to answer, hands shakily hovering at your hips. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Conceiving within a few months is a daunting task. Most Eldian women, raised on poor rations, do not conceive in the first year of marriage. If you do not want to fail, you both will have to be thorough to ensure something takes. You press his length, still wet from you, against your folds, and he shudders violently.

“Then, we had better make sure we have something to report,” you say, trying to sound curt.

You don’t quite want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how addicted to his cock you’ve become after just one fuck, how much you want to feel him breed you deep again, but Levi clearly senses your ulterior motive. He smirks wryly and bends to nuzzle your throat, drawing a little sigh from you that you don’t quite manage to hide.

If there is one night in your life you expect to remember forever, it is this one. Wed by a bureaucratic order, fucked to the brink of obliteration by a man you believed you could only loathe, and now, wanting it again. And again, and again.

Suddenly, he’s moving, standing, and scooping you effortlessly into his arms before you can protest. His strength is astonishing. You stifle a yelp and wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself. His cock valiantly rises to the occasion, hard once again against your ass.

“Efficient,” Levi says like he’s impressed. “I like that.”

And he carries you off to the bedroom.

Taglist: @ryunosukeakutagawapartner @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @slaytherinthoughts @niki-yoshhhhh @ackermansbabe2 @kickmybra1ns @officesirenleviackerman @levist3mptress

Levi didn't know what had happened, but when he came home that afternoon and headed to his room, he found it a total wreck. The wall connecting it to his neighbor's had collapsed, leaving debris everywhere.

"What the fuck?" was all he could manage to say.

It's been a week since that mess, and Levi isn't sure if he should be thankful for the collapsed wall. He had been eyeing you since last month, feeling drawn to you like a magnet but unsure how to approach or talk to you. But when you got home last week, he finally had his first real conversation with you. You agreed to hang a big white curtain between your rooms for privacy while waiting for repairs next week.

Levi's actually glad you're so easy to talk to. You always greet him in the morning and at night once you're both home, and sometimes slip into each other's rooms to share dinner while chatting about your day. That's when he realized he likes you.

On this particular day, Levi got home earlier than you. Exhausted from a long day, he retired to bed but later woke to noise from the other room, figuring you had just gotten home.

"His lights are off. He must be sleeping already," Levi heard you say. He sat on his bed, about to call your name to let you know he was awake, but froze when he saw what you were doing through the white curtain.

You stood sideways, slowly peeling off your top. Levi knew this was wrong. Watching you undress was a violation. But he couldn't tear his eyes away. When you unhooked your bra next, the shadow revealed the perfect curve of your breasts, like a private show just for him. It was enough to make him rock-hard as he cursed under his breath.

"I think my breasts got bigger again," you said, cupping them in your hands and lifting slightly, testing their weight. Levi watched, aching to touch them himself. He imagined his mouth on you. He pictured kissing down your neck and sucking one hard nipple while kneading the other. He could almost feel their soft, heavy give under his fingers.

"Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he quietly whispered to himself. He lowered his pants just enough to free his cock. The flushed tip was already leaking precum as he leaned back against the wall. His eyes locked on your shadow. He wrapped his hand around his throbbing length and started stroking slowly.

Next, you slid your pants off, even sitting on your bed to tug them off completely. Your breasts swayed enticingly with the motion, making Levi's mind reel. He pictured gently pushing you onto the bed until your back hit the mattress, then spreading your legs wide to eat you out with hungry, desperate licks.

He imagined you dripping wet for him already, your slick folds glistening as his tongue lapped them up, teasing your entrance before sucking your clit. You would taste so sweet, just like the sweet girl you are. You would moan his name desperately, "Levi, fuck, yes." Your fingers would grip his hair tight, tugging as you praised him. "God, you're so good at this, don't stop."

He stroked himself faster when he saw you hook your thumbs into your panties and slide them off. The shadow revealed you completely naked on the other side of the curtain. The thought alone made him ache to rip it down and see your bare body for real, touch it for real.

You walked to your drawer and bent forward to rummage for clothes. The shadow of your ass stuck out invitingly.

Levi's other hand slid to his balls. He massaged them firmly as he continued fucking his fist. He imagined himself right behind you, gripping your hips, slamming in deep to bottom out with every thrust, your moans echoing through the rooms.

Levi bit his lip to stifle his moan as you continued rummaging for clothes, your movements making your tits sway hypnotically. He pictured pulling your body flush against his until your back pressed to his chest. Both hands slid up to knead your breasts, rolling one nipple between his fingers while showering your shoulder with kisses.

When he finally thought he had given your tits enough love, his other hand would slide down to your clit, rubbing tight circles as he continued thrusting his cock in and out of you. He would match the rhythm perfectly, stroking your swollen bud until you cried out, moaning his name repeatedly.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he quietly moaned, his pitch low enough not to reach you, already teetering on the edge. He tightened his grip around his cock, imagining it was your slick pussy clenching around him as you came undone while he fucked you through your orgasm. With one final thrust, he would bury deep and come inside you, filling you up with thick spurts of his seed.

Levi came hard, ropes of cum splattering his shirt in a sticky mess that nearly made him curse aloud. Then he watched your shadow intently as you pulled on your clothes, tracking every move until you were fully dressed and turned off the lights.

"Shit," Levi muttered, slowly getting up to wash himself off as his mind raced with dread over how he would face you tomorrow after what he had just done.

Event by @levievent

The first time was an accident. The two of you were busy studying in your room, with Levi occupying your desk and you on your bed with your laptop, typing out an essay. You had asked him to proofread a particularly difficult section on the assignment.

However, instead of taking the laptop you offer him back to the desk, he moved next to you on the bed. Close, thighs touching. He smelt of fresh linens and the faint scent of earl grey. 

That had sent your system into haywire, your heart taking on a tumultuous pace. As he turned to face you, no doubt with thoughts about your essay, you blurted out the first thing that never fails to come to mind when you see him. 

"I want to kiss you." 

Your words had manifested into a strangled kind of sound, something akin to a squawk. Levi had looked shocked for a second, eyes wide, making you wonder if he even knew what you had said.

And then he did. Kiss you. Nearly with no time between the words at all, as if he had been waiting for you all along, Levi kissed you. It was better than what you had imagined.

Then, it spiraled into kissing him in other places. 

Fast-forward three weeks after leaping over that line of friendship, you have been thinking of him everyday, which only exacerbates that pesky crush you had on him in the first place that began years ago. 

Bent over his desk, nails digging into the plastic wood as he takes you from behind, you think about how you would like to hold his hand and do more than fuck and study. This is the third time today alone you've thought about wanting something more from him, when this was just casual. 

You're his friend. You have evidence. He's begrudgingly introduced you to people as his best friend many times before and after this thing between you. You still do friendship film nights where you make fun of his weird philosophical horror, and he pokes your cheek with his index finger to distract you from the tears your shed at the end of your rom-coms. 

Levi bends to attach his lips to your shoulder, thrusts slowing but hitting you deeper than before. It's delicious. You moan lightly as his teeth scrape across the skin.

God, you hope he leaves a mark. You need him to. He bites down harder as if he heard every word. His name tumbles from your lips loudly in pleasure. A hand moves to smooth your hair out of the way, he presses his mouth against the free space of your neck. You pretend it's a promise to litter you with marks all over when he has some time to dedicate to you later, and not just something that makes your cunt squeeze around him so he can get off quicker and then leave to meet with Erwin or something to do … whatever. 

"Just what are you thinking about, mmh?" Levi breathes into your ear.

"Y-you," your reply nearly gets lost when Levi kisses you again, tongue licking into the cavern of your mouth, "Just thinking of you," you pant when the two of you part for air. 

He thrusts into you a few more times before his eyes narrow. He pulls out of you, still hot and hard. You hiss at the loss of him, empty.

What is he thinking? You can never tell.

"Levi, what the fuck—"

"Bed, c'mon. If we keep at it like this, your back is going to give out," he pulls you by the wrist, oddly gentle. Your back is fine — mostly. His eyes remind you of pencil lead when he looks at you so intently like this, "unless you don't feel like it." 

You shrug, "It's your bed." 

"I-Yeah, fine."

You think he wants to say more, but he's pushing your back into the bed and settling between your thighs before you get the chance to ask. 

"Bend your knees for me."

You almost cave from his voice alone, husky in a way that makes you want to hear him wake in the morning and whisper out your name. He kisses and sucks at the flesh of your inner thigh. Your breathe hitches, but you reach down and tap his cheek to get his attention. He looks up and the sight makes you want to cry. He's flushed, wearing the most ridiculously pretty shade of pink across his cheeks and nose. 

"You're not eating me out again are you?" You ask curiously, ignoring the way your pulse is hammering at the door of your ribs, wondering when you're going to stop being such a coward and ask for more, " You seriously don't have to." 

His fingers find their home between your thighs, gathering the wetness and pressing against your clit. A burst of heat runs through you. 

"Clearly the first time wasn't enough. I … I want you to feel good." 

"I also felt good when you were hitting it from the back though —" You cut yourself off with soft groan as he inserts a finger into you, prodding that sensitive spot inside you. 

"Then that wasn't good enough. You—" he chooses he next words thoughtfully, "—you weren't with me. You were thinking of something else." He dips his head to suck lightly at your nub. The fact that his eyes are glued to you makes your face heat. He catches every crease of your brow and twist of your mouth. 

"You're too sweet to me, Levi." 

His voice is muffled, but your hear it anyway, "You're the sweet one," over the sound of him plugging up your pussy with his fingers and tongue, "so pretty like this. All you have to do it take it, alright?" He sighs in delight the moment you thread your fingers through his hair. He dives down to lap up all the slick you leak out. 

Your core vibrates with need, "Yes-yes, Levi, please."