#professor!levi

Levi turns around and your eyes lock making your breath caught in your throat. he is walking towards you, both hands inside the pocket of his pants. you suddenly feel so small with every stride he takes towards you, he’s getting closer and closer. not again

wait.. a deal? what is he talking about?

“I want you to write an essay.”

essay?? what the fuck!?

“im confused, sir. an essay about what?”

“a five thousand-word essay, no less— no more— I want you to write why you’re attracted to me, reasons and all that, I don’t care. convince me and I’ll let you pass this subject.”

there’s a glint in his eyes that you couldn’t quite decipher and hearing him repeat your attraction towards him from his own mouth is causing your stomach to flip. is he actually serious about this?

“b-but-“

“no buts, I just made you a deal. do you want to pass or not?”

you bit your lip, a little annoyed and disappointed. well, what do you expect with the deal he’s going to offer? one night with him to pass? or perhaps a kiss for every A+ on your papers? but no, this man just asked you to write a five thousand-word essay about why you’re attracted to him. now, you’re kinda convinced by the rumors of your professor being a psychopath. nevertheless, you decided to take the offer and give him your answer.

“yes, sir.” right now, there’s nothing more important to you than to pass his class. it won't be that hard, right?

“I am so sorry,” you stammer out, but he’s shutting the trunk behind his barking lab and rounding to the driver’s side. In a matter of seconds, Reiner has already backed out of the parking space and started down the drive. Speechless, you turn slowly back around to face your accomplice.Levi, ever the kind, generous soul that he is, is laughing a real, full-bellied laugh, holding onto his sides and doubling down so the top of his head touches the seat in front of him. You groan and roll your eyes, giving him a frown. “Goodnight, Dr. Ackerman,” you tell him flatly, watching as he tries to regain his composure.

Stray chuckles still leaking from his mouth, he leans back on his hands. “Sweet dreams, brat. Be a doll and snap a few photos for me while you’re getting undressed. Surely you wore something you wanted me to see,” Levi says, and with that, the driver slams the back door shut. Your cheeks blaze red.

“I’m sorry about that,” the driver apologizes, “Mr. Ackerman gets kind of messy when he’s drunk.” In all fairness, the suited brunette has no way of knowing that you also get kind of messy when you’re drunk. “Would you like me to walk you up, Miss?”

You smile and shake your head. “No, thank you,” you say, turning on your heel. “Drive safe,” you call. Attaching your hand firmly to the banister, you wave back at him and start up the stairs. Only three of them trip you up as you stumble to the top and trudge to the black door, a yearning for your pillow creeping underneath your eyelids with every painful step. Reaching to rummage in your purse as you approach the silver plate that reads 17B, you suddenly flash back to scurrying out to avoid Zeke’s voice of reason — and when you skipped out the door, your keys hung perfectly still on the rack to your left.

“Fuck,” you whisper under your breath as you lift your fist to the black-painted obstruction in front of you. Beating it lightly three times, you hope that your roommate is either too tired to argue or has had a sudden change of heart.

A bout of shuffling, muffled voices, and footsteps sounds from the previously quiet apartment in the ten chilly seconds that you wait to be accommodated. The short series of clicks from the locking mechanism and the turn of the knob come shortly after, the door pulling open to a dark room lit by the television screen and a face framed by familiar messy brown locks.

“You look like you had a good time,” Eren jests, stepping back to let you in. He’s dressed in a hoodie and sweats, hair half tied in a haphazard knot. Tossing your purse down, you plop on the loveseat by the door and start at the horrendous shoes on your feet without even taking a look around. “Tell me something fancy you did. I’ve been waiting all day.” The green-eyed gossip takes his spot next to you, tossing an arm around your shoulders as you kick the stilettos underneath the sofa.

Zeke’s dismissive scoff draws your attention to the couch on the other wall, where he sits on the end closest to Eren and you. On the far end, Armin is nestled comfortably into half of a plush, blue throw blanket, the unoccupied half lying in wait for your friend’s return. “Don’t encourage her,” your roommate grumbles. His younger, more agreeable brother kindly flips him the bird before turning back to face you.

Choosing to follow suit and ignore the muttering blond, you look at the ceiling in thought. “I did a lot of fancy shit,” you say honestly, trying to pick out the highlights. You give him and your other two friends an overview of the events of your date with Levi, highlighting important details like the driver, the wine, and the escargot. Two of the men among you nod along with wide-eyed engagement, but Zeke just frowns.

“Dude, I’m sorry,” you tell him, even though he’s actively avoiding your eyes. “I love you, but you’re not my fucking dad.” Maybe your tone is a little harsh, but then again, so is the buzz of the wine. And so is the edge you’ve been on since Reiner stormed off. And so he’s been since you walked in the door.

He doesn’t protest, though; in fact, he doesn’t reply at all. He just gives your apology a dry little chuckle and tosses a two-fingered salute over to his little brother, standing, stretching, and starting toward the hall. As he fades out of view, Eren whispers, “Do you think we’ll get all cranky like that when we get to be his age?”

Now feeling a bit less up to company, you let out a yawn. “I need to go to bed,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers. Two fifty-pound cinder blocks sit on either of your shoulders, one for each of the blonds effectively ruining your otherwise perfect night. As you retire, you can’t help but be a bit thankful that you’ve rid yourself of the ten-ton anvil that is Levi.

While you drift to sleep, tucked tight and warm into your bed with the soothing sound of muffled music slipping beneath the door, you figure you’ll begin putting out all of these fires tomorrow — but as your wine-weighted lids begin to flutter shut, Dr. Ackerman begins to pervade over anything else in your mind.

-

LEVI

Waking up from a nap on the floor of his office at the university, Levi realizes that he is a fucking idiot.

Admittedly, he needed some time to let loose — his meeting with you this morning left the man rather shaken, after all — but he would’ve preferred it took place within the security of his home. Pulling his knees to his chest and looking about the quaint room, all the anger leaves him in the same breath as the chuckle he produces. Hange has neatly arranged a pot of tea, two aspirin, and a snack on his desk, accompanied by his pressed and folded jacket, cell phone, and a handwritten note.

Moblit is on standby with the car — text him when you wake up. I’ll see you this evening. Make good choices.

Hange

Levi lifts himself to his feet with his hands and strolls around the desk, taking a seat in the plush black chair and tossing the aspirin into his mouth immediately. As he takes his phone and powers it back on, he’s suddenly hit with a very disturbing memory. He asked you to dinner. Why the fuck would he ask you to dinner?

He punches the messages shortcut firmly, tapping on the thread with you as quickly as he can locate it. The minor headache eases into a deep, throbbing pain as the conversation comes back to him, and Dr. Ackerman wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do now.

-

The week passes rather quickly after the Tuesday night outing. Before he knows it, Levi is twirling his thumbs over the keyboard for what feels like the billionth time on a cold Sunday afternoon. You’ve spoken one time since dinner, and he’s not entirely sure how to remedy that. Again, he scrolls back and forth through the scarce text thread the two of you share — just shy of twenty-four hours after you gave your address, he received a total of three photos:

A selfie you took in the backseat of his car on the drive home: you look messy in the most attractive way he can imagine, a bit of lipstick smeared under your bottom lip as you smile and your neckline pulled much lower than it was when he picked you up. You’re resting snugly underneath Levi’s arm, his head laid gently atop your own. The pigment around his mouth perfectly matches the one on yours. The picture doesn’t show, but he knows that his other hand is tucked between your thighs.

A photo of you in the mirror, presumably in your bedroom before dinner. The dress compliments your form in the most flattering of ways, making Levi’s stomach twist.

Then, the grand finale: another in the same mirror, snapped just before you sent the message, if he had to take a guess. He’d made a sloppy joke about seeing what you’d worn for him, but he didn’t expect you to follow through. Red, lacy lingerie hugs tight to your perfect body as you pose casually, your face just out of frame. Even as he views it again now, his mouth goes dry.

Levi replied as soon as he could pull himself together, saying the only thing he could think clearly enough to type out: You’re beautiful. And you sent a fucking smiley face. He had no idea how to reply to that, so he didn’t. This was Wednesday.

He tosses his phone down on the desk in front of him, resigning yet again until another hour or two from now. His eyes roam for something to keep him busy; off days are few and far between, and he rarely finds himself with nothing to do. Boredom is on the top ten list of things the man absolutely loathes.

A manila folder tucked beneath a stack of paperwork catches his eye, and Levi plucks it out with two fingers before flipping it open. The idea of something so important slipping his mind baffles him, but he can’t spend much time thinking it over. Flicking the switch for the lamp and leaning back, he devours your latest submission with striking urgency.

Before he nears the end of the first sentence, he can sense something very different behind your keystrokes. For the first time, the words seem to jump off the page as if he’s stepped into a film, distorting his senses and immersing him in the action taking place before him. It clicked — you’re back in on the project. Levi worried before that you would never adjust when he made you change gears so suddenly, but there’s a familiarity in the text before him. These are the kind of pages written in a frenzy, eyes locked on the cursor and fingers moving rapidly, as if you’re trying to keep up with someone telling you exactly what to write down.

And you go under. Ignoring the rumble of your stomach and the demands of your bladder becomes second nature, and nothing on the planet matters more than copying what the voice says until it’s finished. Hours later, you’ll emerge with a pounding headache and nausea, but it’s worth it. Because the frenzy itself feels like fucking drugs. There is no feeling in the world more comfortable than the pure solitude of putting your all into the page. Perhaps there is one thing he does love about writing: that one beautiful feeling. It’s rare for Dr. Ackerman to retract a statement he’s made in the past.

As his eyes reach the last word, a lightbulb shines above his head. Levi grabs his phone.

I finished reading your pages. Can I call you so we can talk about it?

-

YOU

Your blood runs ice cold as you read the message from Dr. Ackerman, and you blow the smoke out of your mouth as quickly as possible. As if that will make a difference.

“Fuck,” you groan, passing the blunt to Eren and sinking your head into both hands. “Levi wants to call me about my pages.” He coughs while you look up at him, eyes so low and bloodshot that they’re nearly closed. Seeing this concerns you — your friend smokes weed far more often and has a much higher tolerance than you do. Although you knew you were high, you didn’t know you were that high.

The brunette sitting in the bathtub beside you laughs as he thumps the ash into the little black trash can. “You’re way too stoned to talk to him,” he says, nudging you with his shoulder. “Make sure you put it on speaker.”

You mutter, “Fuck you,” under your breath as you try to type out a message that doesn’t say, hey levi! i’m blazed right now, but i’m trying to be cool about it so you don’t notice. Once you manage to complete that task, your phone rings within the second. You take in a deep breath and tap the green button.

“Hey!” you greet Dr. Ackerman, trying to feign cheerfulness as Eren points urgently at the speakerphone icon. Reluctantly and begrudgingly, you oblige him.

“Hey. I want to apologize for taking so long to read them. Hange put the folder underneath something, and I forgot you gave it to me,” Levi says, his voice deep and smooth. Your lips turn up automatically at the sound, before shooting right back down. You should’ve been preparing what you were going to say. What are you going to say?

Eren throws up his hands as you look at him, your eyes wide and anxious, and you consider hanging up. Your brain is full of static. “That’s okay,” you stammer out, mentally kicking yourself as hard as you can. “I really don’t mind. What did you think?”

“I was really impressed. I hope I can see more like it.”

Perhaps it's the shock of Dr. Ackerman actually praising your work. Or the sound of Zeke arriving at the apartment overwhelming you amongst everything else happening right now. Or maybe it’s just the fact that you are way, way too high to be having this conversation with him. Whatever the reason may be, it makes you blurt out, “Are you just saying that because we’re, like, fucking?”

Although the line is silent, Eren is not. You press the mute button as quickly as you can as he shakes with laughter beside you, the hand clamped over his mouth not accomplishing much as far as muffling it. You smack his arm and mouth, “Shut up,” at him, but he just sticks out his tongue. Levi clears his throat.

“Listen, I didn’t pick you based on a fucking headshot. Can you be an adult for a second?” His voice is gruff, sending your heart to your throat and Eren’s eyebrows to his hairline.

You stammer embarrassingly for a moment before gathering your composure. “I’m sorry. Really. I just find it hard to believe,” you try to explain, your tone small and timid. Your friend puts a supporting hand on your shoulder as he does an awful job of masking his snickering.

“Be more confident. I’m not going to lie to you if you write something shitty, but I’m not blind. I know you can write well,” Levi tells you, his tone bordering on soft. “Are you busy right now? I have some notes for you. Most of them are praise, so it can wait if it needs to.”

You jump as a loud knock sounds at the bathroom door. “Hey, are you in here?” Zeke calls, and you’re too overwhelmed to remember the mute button again. “Eren’s car is outside, but he’s not here.” Stupidly, neither you nor your brunette companion answers, and the door pops open. Your roommate strolls in and furrows his brow, a brown laptop bag slung over his shoulder. “Why are you in the bath together?”

In a split second, Zeke spots Levi’s name on your phone, and the three of you make dumbfounded, wide-eyed eye contact as the man on the other end of the line clears his throat roughly. Everyone starts talking at once.

“Levi, that’s not what he meant.”

“Hi, this is Zeke, her roommate, and they are totally clothed, and there’s no water. I promise. Please don’t be mad.”

“Hey Dr. Ackerman, I’m Eren. We’re not taking a bath. My brother is a fucking idiot. We’re smoking a blunt in the bathtub. We’re just friends.”

The silence is long and mortifying as you begin to hoist yourself out of the big white tub, dusting off your jeans and glaring at Zeke ferociously. He stares back apologetically, looking like he’s starting to get nauseous. You’re feeling the same way. The only sounds in the little apartment are the breeze in the window and the low buzz of the heater — oh, and your own heartbeat.

Finally, Levi speaks up. “Why are they talking to me like I’m violent or something? Your other boyfriend didn’t seem afraid of me.” He chuckles at his own joke, and the tension in the air softens a bit.

“None of them are my boyfriend,” you say, annoyed and avoiding his question. He’s better off not knowing the shit you’ve talked about him to your friends. You chew on your lip as the blond shoots you an enthusiastic thumbs up and Eren tosses the roach out the window.

He laughs again, and you can’t help but grin, although you try to hide it from your merciless company. The man in the tub is already making kissy faces at you. Now that the imminent doom of Dr. Ackerman thinking you’d called him while in the bath with a lover has dissipated, you start to process your surprise at Zeke defending you. You hadn’t discussed your situation since the fight after your date last week.

You hadn’t talked to Levi since your date last week either, and it was starting to drive you crazy. Thinking about crawling into bed with him all the time is starting to drive you even crazier.

“I’m glad you weren’t stupid enough to smoke in public again. That explains why you were acting like such a dumbass,” he teases, and you toss a little wave at your friends as you start toward the door. “I can wait until Tuesday to tell you what I think, then. I’ll let you go since you’re busy.”

“No!” you exclaim as the door clicks shut, a bit too enthusiastic for your own pride. You clear your throat. “I mean, we can talk for a little while if you want to. I’m going to my room now,” you say sheepishly, hoping he wanted to discuss more than your pages.

You hear a bit of shuffling and a couple of muffled voices before Levi comes back to the phone. “Something actually just came up. I have to meet with some dickhead from a magazine. Text me, okay?”

Despite your disappointment, you force your lips up into a smile. “That’s o—”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He hung up.

Dr. A is a genius, hired at the prestigious Paradise University due to his experienced background in the field of chemistry. A double major in Chemistry and Biophysics, PhD in Biochemistry, and former researcher at one of the most high-tech and affluent labs in the country, responsible for extracting and isolating DNA from the spinal serum in a nearly extinct creature Aglais titanus, allowing the species to be repopulated and studied further for its unique properties. He retired his white lab coat for a position at his alma mater, which he finds to be massively boring compared to his previous endeavors saving species and creating new lab techniques. At least the pay is good. Teaching was never his strong suit, but if Levi knew anything about anything, it was science. 

His methods were a little unorthodox and more often than not, students would leave his office crying. According to the Dean of students, “You cannot just yell at the students when they do not understand the basic thermodynamics and kinetics of life!” Levi called bullshit. His issue was now the lack of students enrolling in his classes and the large, bolded and underlined 1.4 score on his rate my professor page. No one even read those, right? The head of the chemistry department suggested Levi hire a teaching assistant that could provide students with a friendly face that was closer in age and had just recently sat where they were in his class, providing them with a resource that was “not as intimidating” as Dr. A could be. He did not need help, he was perfectly capable of teaching basic chemistry just fine on his own and did not need some bubbly, overly energetic brat to get in his way. However, the Dean of students decided for him that if he did not raise both his class GPA over the next six months and reduce the number of complaints filed against the department of chemistry, he would be under investigation for noncompliance to his tenure contract pending the end of semester results. Begrudgingly, he wrote up the job description and posted it to the university’s student job finder database, not expecting anyone to apply anyway. After a week of waiting for a notification to appear on the job site, he was starting to get a little nervous. Was his reputation really that tarnished these days? Another week goes by of Levi refreshing the page at least five times a day, and with just a few days left before the beginning of the semester, he was starting to wonder if he was about to kiss his job goodbye. Truth be told, he really did not hate it that much, he almost felt proud of the students when they could correctly answer his questions in class. He was only about a year into his contract and was surprised at how quickly it went by. Finally, he wakes up to the glorious notification on his phone that someone had applied for his TA position. 

You had been out of college for about a year now, getting your undergraduate degree in biology with the intent to attend medical school after. Plans had certainly changed since then, you thought to yourself crassly, scrolling through Indeed for the millionth time that week. As a child, your answer to the “what do you want to be when you grow up?” question had always been doctor. A gifted kid through primary school, and through high school, collecting an honor roll award every year since first grade. Your parent’s pride and joy, member of almost every club and sport, and teacher’s pet. There was nothing you had come across in your early years that you didn’t excel at. This was all until high school graduation, of course. You were denied from your first choice of university which was really the first time you had been denied anything. You ended up packing your bags and leaving home to some state school that provided you with a bountiful scholarship. “You’re sure you don’t just want to stay at home and go to a school around here sweetheart?” you remember your mother asking you as you shoved the last of your belongings into your tiny car. Staying at home was the absolute last thing you wanted to do. You loved your mom, but you needed to get out while you still could. You were terrified of starting somewhere new by yourself, but found it was much easier to adjust to than you thought it would be, enjoying the peacefulness of living with a single roommate even in the tiny dorm. 

Undergrad went by quickly, although somewhere along the way you lost your passion for healthcare and struggled to pick a path towards your future. It wasn’t that the classes were too hard (although organic chemistry took a couple tries) or that your interests no longer resided in the world of life sciences, you just had no idea what the hell you wanted to do with your life. Your grades were nothing to write home about, you faced failure for the first time in your life, and as each semester flew by, your impending doom of graduation was creeping closer and closer. The semester before you were due to cross the stage, you were debating leaving school altogether, lacking drive, energy, and honestly the will to get out of bed most days. You were surely glad you had not dropped out, because there was nothing more satisfying than submitting that final research paper and officially completing what felt like the hardest four years of your life. Your mother flew in for your graduation and celebrated your accomplishments for a few days before heading home and leaving you once again alone with your thoughts and the terrifying realization that you had no idea what was next. Countless hours were now being dedicated to job searching, job applying, and then rejection. It had become your new routine. That was until you received an email that would turn things around completely. 

You had totally forgotten about that grad school application you put in somewhere in the middle of the hectic last semester of college, thinking of it as a last-ditch effort and not really holding your breath for the results. You figured it was just another rejection letter and decided against opening it, why did you need another reminder that you were simply not good enough? Another day goes by, another email from the university. Jeez, they were definitely rubbing salt in the wound, you thought. Another day, another email. These notifications were starting to annoy you, and it had already been three weeks and you were still unemployed, your lease on your apartment was almost up, and things were not looking great. Finally on the fourth day of continuous emails from Paradise University, you said fuck it and opened it. “Congratulations (Y/N)! The Titan family would like to extend the distinguished offer to enroll in our most reputable Masters of Biochemistry program for the 2024 fall semester. Enclosed in this email…” Holy shit. You were accepted? You started tearing up as you continued reading the rest of the email. One of the most prestigious schools in the country, a program that only accepted 100 applicants nationwide, and they chose you. Everything was a blur after that. You packed up once more, signed a new lease in a new city, and started a new journey. Orientation was a breeze, all of the staff was welcoming, except that moody looking guy with a stick up his ass at that student-professor mixer the other night. However, your giddiness and excitement of this new beginning was short lived, because you were quickly reminded that you were still a poor, unemployed 22-year-old that just pulled out the biggest loan in existence.