levistripperman

[levistripperman]

~levi likes to eat your pussy after sex.

he likes to pull back and see the beautiful mess hes made of your cunt. levis favorite thing is to eat pussy he doesn’t mind being messy when he eats it either, but he likes eating it after sex pulling back to watch his cum drip out of you he pushes it back in with his fingers before fucking you with his tongue eating your pussy like its his last meal slurping up his cum and all your juices while fucking his fingers into you. he likes it even more when your crying and he especially loves seeing how your legs shake and the way you grab and pull on his hair pushing his head down for him not to stop he almost cums again when you start to squirt on his face he licks up every bit of it too he loves seeing how messy he can make you. levi likes to push you to your limits in bed and he does it all for your pleasure levi just loves to eat pussy he wants to eat it till you pass out then wake you up so he can eat it again.

[levistripperman]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 | Levi Ackerman x Reader

summary: How your usual Sundays work with Levi.

A/N: tried a new writing style. I think I like it. Enjoy. :)

Entrapped, your eyes lazily open. These four walls that surround you are impatient to welcome you to a new day.

A few blinks is all you need to adjust to the new brightness of the room. A single stretch is all you need to help awaken your body. You take care not to move so suddenly. The cage of hands still holds onto your waist, desperate to keep a hold of you. A silent fear that you’ll disappear.

Unable to move, you instead take the luxury of this moment. Tufts of hair tickle your skin continuously with every rise and fall of his chest.

You know better than to ruin the moment.

Slowly, gently, one by one, limbs begin to move. Light, fluttery kisses as a morning call. No words need to be said between the two of you. Not when your souls are glued together, binded. You know the words he wants to say. They linger on his tongue, transferred to you by a soft kiss.

Inhaling those three words, they provide warmth to your body. A warmth that no heat stronger than the sun could provide.

One by one, limbs begin to leave the bed. Still attached, following closely. Bare feet meet the cold tiles of the bathroom. For once, the blue tiles escape the suffocation of clothes being discarded. The heat of warm water soon floods the room, a smoky mirror and soapy giggles.

One towel. Not a problem.

Two clean bodies and one tear stained floor.

Lingering eyes observe each other, an inexplicable shyness now creeping in at the most normal task of dressing. Two bodies perfectly sculpted, made for each other.

You know your way around now. Able to confidently walk down these hallways with your eyes closed. The glow of sunlight helps to lead you nonetheless, reflecting off the old coat of white paint.

Unlike all the other days of the week, Sundays are probably the only day of the week that he favors the most. No rush, no work, no plans. One single day of the week where he can be completely selfish and keep you all to himself.

Your hips are lifted up onto his marble counter, before he would’ve scolded you, now his fingers cause a deep imprint on your waist as he lifts you.

Observing, your eyes never leave his back. You can see how the outline of his muscles work. Reaching, lifting. He knows how you like it. Your coffee, your kisses, your toast.

A white plate dotted in handcrafted flowers. Originally yours, placed down beside you with a cup of coffee that reads a rude innuendo as its design.

A kiss speaks as your thanks. Fingers scratch at his skin. Soft, gentle and shy. You think you could do this all day.

Numb lips, the coffee is only half cold when you finally acknowledge its existence.

Happy hums fill the room. The outside world is barely heard, despite an open window. The character of the summer brings out the good side of mother nature.

Two full stomachs and satisfied bodies dance around, cleaning up any remnants of last night’s previous dinner.

You tug at his hand, leading him to his own couch as if he doesn’t know the way. An unfinished novel lays open on his coffee table.

His blankets lay around in disarray, welcoming you in. His open arms barely offer an invite before you scramble on top, finding your dog-eared page.

Picking up where you left off, you’re already immersed into the world, Levi follows, closely tailing behind, muttering under his breath about the haste speed of which you digest the words.

Patiently waiting, you grow comfortable in his arms, your toes trailing up and down his calves.

After a few chapters or so, he lets out a sigh. Being the mind reader you are, you pick up on his restlessness. Bookmarking a new page, you set the book down. It’s crumpled cover still holding beauty, coffee stained and all.

You flip over onto his chest, taking the opportunity to wrap your arms around his body. Warm and whole. He reaches for his phone. Disturbing your position slightly. A few clicks later and his favorite jazz playlist is playing.

The likes of Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald fill the silence that follows on from the late morning. It’s already approaching noon.

Shutting your eyes, you allow yourself to be taken by the sweet melody. Humming quietly along.

A miniature part of you wants to suggest dancing. Tied to his soul, you can already hear his refusal in your ears.

The song comes to an end and another begins on shuffle.

His fingers circle your back, repeatedly creating patterns unknown to you.

“I bet you want to dance.”

Just from that single sentence you’re embarrassed. Hiding your smile in his scented shirt. Oh, how bound you were.

Slipping off the sofa, he drags you almost as if it was you who refused.

Joined together, hands wrapped around his neck, his own placed steadily on your waist. Swaying in the morning sun that gleams through the kitchen curtains. A sight for the neighbors to see.

You could do this for the rest of your life.

And so could he.

Taglist: fill in the form here to join!

@notgoodforlife @youre-ackermine @lovolee3 @the-milk-anon @evas-leslas @imkumichan @levi-supreme @leviismybby @bejewelledd @searriously @luvjiro @cometlevi @humanitys-strongest-bamf @idkks4m @secretmoneybearvoid @clownysr @thevelria @ackermendick , @lamees_004 @Ladygagaslefttoe @clownysr, @burningxaces @loveackermannn @sad-darksoul @crazychaoticizzy @sleepyfairyxo @elnyrae @sujiroses , @someonekeepstakingmyusernames , @kamona-levi

[levistripperman]

press four for more options. | part one.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), slow burn, eventual smut, sex work, phone sex, dirty talk, dom!levi, light dom/sub Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest singles near your area.”

God, even the automated voice sounds porn-y.

A breathy feminine voice straight out of a 1975 VHS tape croons into the dead air of your small apartment bedroom, setting your nerves on edge.

God forbid the noise travels through the walls into your next-door neighbor's bedroom. Harriet and Miro do not need to hear what you’re up to this Friday evening.

Maybe, up to this Friday evening.

You haven’t decided yet, though one could argue that calling was half the battle.

Dressed head-to-toe in an emerald cocktail dress with a face full of tear-stricken makeup, you feel utterly ridiculous sitting at the foot of your bed — not even the edge of the mattress, but the goddamn floor.

Even your black heels, now scuffed from someone stepping on them on your way out to fetch a cab, remain dangling at your toes.

(As non-committal as your last relationship, ironically enough.)

The experts say don’t shit where you eat. Dating someone you work with typically goes up in flames as fast as a rogue wildfire — and you should have listened to all of the warning signs, but Porco Galliard had been so damn charming that you’d forgotten just about everything.

Including your dignity, apparently, since you seemed to conveniently forget the part where he has had an on-again, off-again relationship with Pieck Finger well before you got hired at this place.

Not exactly side chick behavior, since he technically didn’t cheat, but the sting of being second place before the race even started lingered deep.

(Didn’t you know? He always chooses Pieck. It’s just one of those things.)

Well, no missing that now.

Especially since the two of them were so cozy at the annual shareholder event — right in front of your fucking salad.

The event’s slated to end at eleven so you’ve been nursing a wild array of drinks since seven, with little breaks.

In retrospect, the napkin with scribbled chicken scratch that Annie Leonhart, your closest colleague, shoved into your hand in the midst of your brooding at the bar may have been a joke:

You need to loosen up. Call this stupid sex line and get that stick out of your ass.

She wasn’t kidding. 

Every muscle in your body is too taut, including your brain.

So you took a cab, stumbled into your apartment, and landed — here.

Your phone sits right in front of you next to one of your half-worn heels, on speaker at the lowest setting.

Maybe it’s best to let the pre-recording list the entire numerical menu.

Maybe it’ll deter you from pressing anything at all.

“If you already know your match’s extension, press one.”

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

You tap the napkin carelessly against the stem of your glass of wine, contemplating exactly how Annie Leonhart managed to find the information for this service to begin with.

Did she already have a match?

Did she regularly call them to blow off some steam?

She's always so chill. It would make sense.

There’s a chance this is a nasty prank at your lowest moment, but you don’t think Annie cares enough about other people to plan such a masterful takedown. 

At the work event, she seemed pretty serious about the legitimacy of Scout Services Hotline, and honestly?

Even if you had been drinking all night at the event, you were going to need way more liquid courage to even consider trying your hand at calling a sex line to quell weekend loneliness.

So naturally, you opened a new bottle of wine.

At the first glass of wine, you still weren’t ready.

The second? The napkin sat adjacent to your laptop as you played compilations of sad break-up songs further aggravating your spiraling depression.

The third was the charm to get you to pick up the fucking phone to see what the fuss was all about.

“If you’re looking for someone specific — whether it’s the man, woman, or person of your dreams — press two.”

Tempting.

Your finger reaches out for the ‘2’ on your screen, but you wait it out.

“If you don’t have a preference for your delicious match, press three.”

“You could’ve done without the delicious part,” you mumble to yourself, picking up the glass of wine to take a generous sip. An involuntary grimace tugs at your cheeks.

“If you’re looking to speak with one of our representatives or need more assistance, press four for more options.”

For a solid five minutes you wait.

Contemplating.

Deciding.

You could press the red circle to hang up and go to bed.

It wouldn’t be the first time you rubbed one out and called it a night.

After all, what’s one more lonely weekend?

The spiel starts up again on a loop with the same seductive, breathy feminine voice.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest—”

You smash a button, but you’re not sure which one you’ve clicked.

Before you can lean over to see on your screen, a different feminine voice comes over the speaker.

It’s a little higher pitched than the menu screen voice, but it’s still inviting. Warm.

“Thank you for choosing the Scout Services Hotline. You’re speaking to Petra. May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of the person I’m speaking to this evening?”

A name.

You should give a name that isn’t your real name.

But technically wouldn’t your name be on the credit card if you go through with this anyway?

“You can give a nickname, too, if that makes you feel better,” the woman named Petra adds as if she's a mind reader, breaking the running silence on your end of the line. “A lot of our clients like giving a fake name for security and anonymity.”

“Doesn’t that break once you put in your credit card information?” you blurt, not realizing the thought has spilled on your lips.

Petra laughs musically.

“Technically yes, but if you prefer to be called something, then we’ll be sure to add that to your profile. I take it it's your first time calling.”

Why are you doing this again?

“Painfully obvious, right?” you lament, staring down at the scribble on the napkin. 

Did Annie have a fake name with this service?

“Not painfully at all,” Petra promises. “It’s a learning curve. So what may I call you?”

Real or fake?

Committed or just testing the waters?

“Scarlet?” you suggest, wincing immediately at the on-the-nose literary reference.

Letters, passion, blah blah love — it’s about the only creative thing your wine-addled brain can muster.

“I like Scarlet,” she hums, and immediately your brain is set on fire.

Are you going to be seriously this easy?

“Are you female, male, non-binary, genderfluid, prefer not to say…?”

“Female.”

"Pronouns?"

"Um, she and her."

“And you’re over eighteen?”

“Definitely over eighteen.”

“Perfect. So, Scarlet — did you have a preference on who you wish to speak to today? If you have a fantasy you wish to fulfill, then I can select someone for you.”

You want to scream.

Neurons fire as you try to come up with a cool and collected answer, only to allow the elixir of truth on your tongue to spill the beans.

“Just someone who’s got their shit together, honestly.” You exhale an awkward laugh. “I don’t know. I’m just calling because — I mean, I know you don’t care, but I like… um, deep voices? Stronger voices. Honestly I have no idea what to—”

“I have just the person.”

You pause.

Blink.

But you didn’t even describe anyone, not really.

A voice, maybe, if they cater to kinks of that nature.

You can only imagine they do — it’s a sex hotline, for crying out loud.

“Wait, you do?”

“Mhm!” she perkily states. “Is a man alright for this evening?”

A man with a deep voice who allegedly has his pretend shit together.

Granted it isn’t the opposite of Porco, he’s fairly capable at his job and out living his life just fine, but maybe you were just looking for a copy.

(Or a clue.)

“A man is… fine,” you hesitate. “Wait, so when do I give you my credit card information? My friend hooked me up with this, um — I don’t know if you have her name or if I should even say it, I know there’s probably some confidentiality—”

“Hold that thought,” Petra interrupts cheerfully. “You get the first fifteen-minute session for free, actually — you called just in time before our first-timer coupon expires.”

You can’t hide your surprise.

“Really?”

“Really!”

Ha, your fucking luck.

“If you're enjoying the call, just tell your match and we can set up your card and keep it going. All we ask is that you take a survey after your session. Then you’ll be in our system with this phone number! We’ll never solicit you for calls, but it’ll make the process faster the next time should you call our hotline again.”

You drop your head back on your mattress, sighing heavily.

“...okay, yeah. That sounds great.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“Give me one moment, Scarlet,” Petra giggles.

You hear something shift on her side. 

Maybe she’s swiveling her chair. Are they located in an actual office building?

God, an office where people just do this for a living sounds larger than life.

“I’ll connect you with your match in a moment.”

Then the line cuts out to the opening notes to Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On, and you’re pretty sure you’re this close to chugging the rest of this bottle in one gulp.

“Is this seriously what you do on weekends, Annie?” you mumble to yourself, enduring the brutality of the waiting music while Petra connects you to your alleged match.

A man with a deep voice who has his shit together.

Is that even a real kink?

Has the bar really gotten that low?

Should you have described someone’s appearance? It wasn’t like it mattered over the phone.

As soon as it gets to the high note of the song, the line cuts again — silence.

Immediately you scramble to sit up taller, your hands fumbling to grab the phone from the floor.

You bring it up to your face, cupping the device in both palms to muffle the noise if it becomes downright pornographic in seconds.

Moment of truth.

With bated breath you wait — the person on the other line sighs, heavy and deep, before answering with the most nonchalant tone.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re speaking with Levi. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

Holy fuck.

Immediately you forget your own voice listening to the hum of the receiver.

While you’ve only joked in passing that you have a voice kink, it’s screaming in neon lights here and now: this man’s voice may be monotone, but there is a growl to it. 

A rumbling.

At this very moment, you completely forget that this man is on speaker phone and you’ve just returned home from the worst work event in the world.

You don’t have an ex-boyfriend.

You don’t even know your home address.

You’re simply… existing, lips parted, taking in the sheer tingle rolling through your torso.

“You there?”

Right, you’re meant to talk back.

“Huh? Oh — yes! Yeah,” you recover poorly. “Hi. It’s, um, it’s Scarlet.”

“Mm, Scarlet… Scarlet, Scarlet, Scarlet…”

The way the name drags along his tongue nearly makes your mouth water. 

His voice — Levi — is smooth, like the velvet on your dress you’ve yet to take off.

“A pretty name for a pretty thing like you.” Something ruffles and Levi makes a small noise on the other end, likened to a cut-off hum. “Tell me what you look like, Scarlet.”

All you can do is stare at a chip in your wooden dresser directly across from you, listening to him speak.

“I’m…” 

What do you even say? 

How come you have to say anything at all? 

Can’t he just read a takeout menu to you and call it a night?

Before you can answer, there’s an amused huff. “Someone’s nervous.”

Your face turns — well, a certain shade of scarlet.

“Ha. Sorry, I’ve—”

“Never done this before?” he finishes for you.

How mortifying. 

“Is it that obvious?”

“It’s cute,” he relents, and you feel your face turn a degree hotter. “Don’t worry — I’ve been told I’m a great teacher, so you’re in good hands.”

“You’ll have your work cut out of you, trust me,” you breathe, feeling like you’ve been injected with an overdose of a truth serum. “Because I just got home from this stupid work event. My ex-boyfriend brought his new girlfriend — who also works with us — as his date — yay, me — except I feel like I was the side-piece-in-waiting for them. So he’s off getting laid and I’m calling a complete stranger on a random Friday because my work colleague recommended this phone sex hotline for a quick solution.”

Silence.

You blink twice as dread settles in your cut. You tap the phone off of speaker and push the device close to your ear, balancing it with your shoulder.

Did you scare him away? 

Was that too much of a depressive dump? 

You suddenly want to crawl under your bed frame and hide there forever.

But then — a gentle chuckle sounds from the other end of the line, and arousal shoots straight to your lower belly.

“Good thing all of the dirty talk is my job, then,” he muses. “You’re supposed to lay back and listen.”

“Listen?”

“Yeah, unless you weren’t looking to get bossed around.”

It isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever heard, that’s for sure.

“If I’m honest with you, Levi, I don’t know what I’m looking for,” you confess, running a hand down your face.

“Then let me figure it out for you. We have time.”

The man calling himself Levi pauses on the other end.

“Did you want to get fucked, Scarlet?”

Well, shit, he didn’t have to say it like that.

“Yes,” you blurt without thinking, then fumbling to recover. “I mean— Sorry, clearly I called thinking about sex, and your voice is extremely lovely and actually very hot—”

“Oh, you think so?” Levi interrupts, honey-smooth voice humming with amusement with that same hum that’s going to make you scream.

“Absolutely. Completely. Are you serious?” you sputter. “You’re like an ASMR wet dream.”

“A what?”

“A wet dream?”

“No, the other thing — ASMR?”

“Um, like when people make really niche quiet noises to a microphone with their mouths, and it gives you the tingly sensation in the back of your head.”

“Interesting,” Levi says. “So are you saying that’s what I do to you?”

For the umpteenth time, your brain blanks.

God, you could scream into your pillow.

If you weren’t so afraid you’d forget to mute your microphone first, then you already would be.

“Yes! — I mean, yes, but — wait, can we just pause this for a second?”

For a moment he doesn’t answer, but the tone of his voice shifts: still just as sultry, but with a hint of confusion and a dash of concern. 

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

No, this entire night is weird.

If you don’t say something, then this is going to just keep looping and wasting his time.

“Okay,” you start, mustering the courage to get through your speech, “I know I’m spoiling the first-caller coupon for a free call and I’m sorry, I’ll totally pay for the session since you’re great and sound insanely hot and I’m sure you’re amazing at your job, but I just…” 

You trail off, collecting your swimming thoughts.

“...I’m something like six or seven drinks in, I am craving potato chips, and I’d really like to just talk to someone for a few minutes.”

There.

It’s out in the open, your confession to the liminal altar.

You half-expect him to hang up rather than wasting his time with someone like you, but to your surprise, there is no click. No call ended. No new automated message.

“Six or seven is a lot,” he comments, and you can picture a brow furrow even if he doesn’t have a face. “Does this mean you handle your liquor, or is this a one-off rager?”

“I think I’m only still functioning because I ate my weight in dinner rolls at the party.”

“Do you have a glass or bottle of water near you?”

The switch up lessens the tension in your shoulder blades in an instant.

His voice is just as crooning, deep and inviting, but it’s nice to simply be asked.

“Nope.”

His voice sharply changes, authoritative and firm. “Then go get one.”

The demand does something to you. 

Without thinking twice you begin to rock up on your heels, standing at full height.

“Okay, Mr. Bossy.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks with a sprinkle of sarcasm. “Someone who has their shit together, if I read the notes right.”

“They write that stuff down?” you ask genuinely, minding your step as you pad barefoot across your apartment to your fridge.

“It’s your session,” he reminds softly. “We do whatever it is you want to do.”

“Even if it’s just to talk?”

“You’d be amazed at how many people call just to talk. Though I can’t say it’s my specialty.”

“No?”

“No. I’m not much of a small talker.”

The refrigerator door swings wide. “What’s your specialty, then?”

“Kink play, mostly. Dom and Sub. Guided masturbation. Edging. Making decisions for people who want to forget about making them for a while.”

One second the bottle of water is in your hand.

Next it’s on the floor.

“That’s, uh… a wide array of specialties,” you say. “And your rate, it’s…?”

“Not cheap.”

“Got it. So I’m really flubbing this free call.”

It’s small, but you hear a chuckle on the other end. “You said you wanted to talk, Scarlet, so we’re talking.”

Bending to grab your water bottle, you untwist the cap.

“Does this bother you, wasting your time talking?”

“You’re not wasting my time, Scarlet,” he says with such a promise that you almost believe it’s genuine. “You have a pretty voice, and you’re funny.”

“Shut up.”

“You do, and you are.”

“Uh-huh. And do you talk to a lot of people during your shifts?”

“That’s confidential.”

“So a lot.”

“Confidential.”

“And the length of calls,” you test, “are they hypothetically confidential, too?”

“It’s per minute, so.”

“Per minute?” you gawk. “Jesus, I’d go bankrupt talking to you.”

“Well, premium members receive bills per half hour,” he explains. “More bang for your buck.”

“Quite literally," you mumble. "And what’s a premium subscription get you?”

“Didn’t you check out the website before calling?”

“I told you I stumbled out of my cab and called the number on my napkin, Levi,” you chide. “I didn’t exactly do my research in my sexually frustrated state.”

“Fair, can’t blame you there.”

There’s something of a grunt on the other end, like he’s stretching his arms over his head.

Maybe he’s sitting in an office chair, too, going through the motions of his profession the same way the Petra lady had been.

You keep wanting to imagine what he’s doing on the other line, but you realize you haven’t asked the titular question yet.

“Hey, Levi?”

“Yeah, baby?”

It’s breathy, a roll of thunder in his tongue.

Instead of an office chair, you imagine a man lying on his bed.

Maybe his tie is half-done, hanging loosely around his neck.

Button-down open, exposing the planes of his chest; dress trousers unbuttoned and loose around his hips, so he can easily slide a hand—

Whoa.

You stop walking back to your bedroom and blink twice. “Oh, so you like pet names.”

Your face, in miraculous humiliation, grows another degree hotter at how amused he sounds with himself. “I never said that.”

“Sure,” Levi replies with a smirk to the concession. “What is it, Scarlet?”

(Maybe you’ll permanently change your name to Scarlet after tonight if it sounds this good on a man’s lips.)

You finally unzip the side of your dress and wiggle out, before finding a cozy spot in the middle of your mattress.

“How much time do I have left on this freebie?”

“Approximately three minutes.”

Time flies when you’re too busy gawking over someone’s voice, apparently.

“Can I ask what you look like?” you finally decide, playing along.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask,” Levi responds, returning to that same seductive tone he’d used when he first picked up the line. “Black hair, guess it’s a little shaggier than usual. Undercut.”

You squint to your ceiling. “I’m thinking of Dimitri from Anastasia right now but with black hair.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“You’ve seriously never seen Anastasia?”

“It’s a movie?”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry for your childhood.”

“It’s an animated movie?” he scoffs. “Even worse.”

“You wound me,” you joke, pressing a hand over the cup of your beige bra. “What color are your eyes?”

“A gray-ish blue,” he tells you. “Sharp nose. High cheekbones. I’m a daily gym go-er, so I’m mostly lean muscle. I can probably pick you up, easily.”

So a fit man with an undercut hairstyle with gray-blue eyes and a relatively sharp face. 

Now you have a face to the image of a man lying on his bed, still in that button-down shirt and dress trousers.

His happy trail is probably dark, too, disappearing just under the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Or boxers?

Maybe nothing.

Your hand moves on its own accord to the waistband of your panties, toying with the fabric.

Contemplating.

Wondering if it’s wrong — when it really shouldn’t be wrong at all.

“You sound handsome,” you murmur. “I wouldn’t mind being picked up.”

“Wouldn’t be the only thing I’d do to you,” he flippantly states, and your brain blanks to pure putty. “You sound a little more winded than before. Doing alright over there, party animal?”

“It’s late,” you lie even when you damn well know you don’t have to lie. “Lots of drinking, first water of the night, lying down…”

“Better make it two waters before you fall asleep,” Levi states. “That’s an order, Scarlet.”

“Uh-huh.”

Your hand dips under your underwear, testing the waters.

But—

“Final sixty seconds,” he adds. “Any last words you want to get in before the line disconnects?”

“Only one minute left?” you protest, ripping your hand out of your underwear to pull the phone away from your ear.

14:02

So it really had been a fifteen-minute call.

God damnit.

Tapping the speaker icon once more, you stare at your phone and press your tongue against the inside of your cheek.

“What’s your extension?”

Because you have to know.

Even if you don’t call again, it’s a comfort to have it on hand.

Levi waits a moment before responding.

“Two-five-one-two.”

2512.

You swipe away from the call to quickly pull up your notes app, tapping the number down with a noted reminder: the guy with the hot voice!

“Are you going to call me again, Scarlet?”

You open your mouth, but you struggle with an answer.

(You only have a few seconds! Think, idiot, think!)

“I’m not sure if—”

Click.

“Hello? Levi?”

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. Please stay on the line for a quick two-minute survey so we can better serve your fantasies in the future.”

Out of time.

You drop your phone to your stomach and groan.

Instead of calling back, you close your eyes — and, not before long, fall asleep to a dream of only one voice.

.

.

— —

.

.

    Saturday is a wash.

You wake late, missing an invitation to brunch.

For the better half of the day, you wonder about him.

Levi.

Your arbitrary match that doesn't feel so arbitrary anymore.

(It's placebo effect, you tell yourself. They're supposed to make you feel wanted.)

Punishing yourself for your excessive liquor and stupid plans, you trudge to your local gym and do your best to stay focused on your workout.

Every nameless person with dark hair that walks past you on the sidewalk from your apartment; anyone could be him.

The man waiting in line at the coffee shop.

The man who accidentally walked into you while you were switching the song on your playlist at the crosswalk.

The man weight training in the corner of the room, fringe cascading down his face as he drips sweat.

You keep the napkin in your gym bag, then transfer it to your purse as you run errands.

You could call.

It isn’t like you’re strapped for cash at the moment.

Granted it’s very wish fulfillment and it isn’t like he’s actually into you, but the attention is nice.

Besides — you haven’t thought of your ex once since you woke up.

Annie texts you twice within ten minutes of each message, which is unheard for her.

 [A. LEONHART]: So? Did you call?

[A. LEONHART]: Hello, earth to moron. At least like my message to tell me you’re alive. I’m not being interviewed by Dateline for you.

(Ah, there she is. Classic Annie.)

 [YOU]: Yeah, I called. Not sure if it’s my thing.

[A. LEONHART]: Sometimes they match you with a dud. 2nd time’s the charm ;)

[YOU]: Do you ever use someone’s extension?

[A. LEONHART]: Duh. I’m a regular of one guy.

Okay, so she talks to a guy. Something grips your stomach as you type your reply.

 [YOU]: Can I ask his name?

[A. LEONHART]: Why, so we don’t eiffel tower this?

[YOU]: jfc annie

[A. LEONHART]: lmao his name is Bert

    So not Levi.

For some odd reason, you breathe a sigh of relief as you close out of your messages.

Maybe you're one of a million, but at least you're not sharing with Annie.

Once you return home from your errands, it's close to dinnertime.

You cook something simple for yourself, occasionally glancing over at your purse like you can x-ray vision through the fabric to see the napkin.

Then again, it isn’t like you actually need the napkin.

The number is already in your phone.

Pulling out your device, you set it on the kitchen counter and draw a slow, calculative inhale.

One more call can’t hurt.

Levi may not even be working.

Hell, he could be talking to someone else. 

A regular.

Several regulars.

For over five minutes you stare down at your most recent calls list, willing yourself to just get brave for one second to press the button.

(It isn’t like Porco’s going to call you.)

The soured thought propels your hand without thinking, fingertip pressing the green phone icon faster than you can think. 

You brace for the ringtone, fists balled tight on the cool kitchen surface.

“Thank you for calling the Scout Services Hotline. You’re only a dial away from your wildest fantasies with the sexiest singles near your area. If you already know your match’s extension, press one.”

You continue staring.

Are you really doing this?

It isn’t like it means anything, which is exactly what you need with the upcoming work week.

A distraction.

A very expensive distraction, but hey — you’ll avoid takeout for a few weeks.

How bad can it get?

“If you’re looking for someone specific —”

You press one.

.

Author's Note:

Thank you for reading part one of my zany little 'Sleepless in Seattle' modern au! This has been a bluesky idea for a while now, and I needed a little reprieve from my other angsty Levi longfic silver underground, so I hope you enjoyed the ride.

There will be actual smut in part two, but as a Reader!Writer I had the thought of 'would I be suave enough to do the first phone call flawlessly or totally waste my free coupon'? and this chapter was born, lol. I promise this is not Porco slander.

Thank you for likes, and even more love to those who choose to reblog this to help spread the word of this new series or reply in the comments. ilu xo

[levistripperman]

Humanity’s Strongest Soldier

[levistripperman]

The way I would.. I would absolutely.. I would just… and then I’d.. fuck.

waking reverie

levi ackerman x f!reader

summary: sick and tired of overhearing the sounds of you fooling around with a fellow squad leader, Levi decides to confront you afterward at a particularly inopportune moment.

or, Levi catches you getting yourself off and has a thing or two to say (and do) about it.

word count: 4.3k

content: NSFW, 18+, smut, masturbation, fingering, oral sex, squirting, unprotected sex, rough sex, squirting, dom!levi, possessive!levi, creampie, choking, spit kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms

Hange is going to kill him if he keeps stealing their pencils. 

It’s the first thought that crosses Levi’s mind when a loud cracking noise is followed by something sharp jabbing into his palm, and he glances down to see the writing utensil crumble into a sad clump of shards over his page of notes. But he doesn’t mull over it long, not when he’s distracted by something he’s heard far too much of over the past few days—the sound of you giggling, followed by the door to Squad Leader Daniel Flore’s office slamming shut.

Tonight’s pencil met its earliest grave yet, the wood starting to splinter an hour ago when the mess hall cleared out, at which point Levi had begun unconsciously squeezing it in irritated anticipation of…this. 

There’s a scuffling of boots and the squeak of a chair scooting across the floor next door. But then things are relatively silent for a few moments after, and Levi looks up at the ceiling pleadingly, wondering if maybe he’ll finally get some peace tonight. But no, his hopes are quickly dashed when he hears the muffled yet unmistakable sound of you fucking moaning. 

Levi wishes he had another pencil to snap in half. 

Maybe the chair legs will have to do.

It’s not that Levi gives a shit about his fellow Survey Corps members getting laid. In fact, if it means they’re less high strung on the field, he’ll gladly set up a goddamn matchmaking booth outside of the building, if only to save himself the headache of trying to maintain order over a group of sexually frustrated idiots. Whatever it takes to make his life a little less miserable.

He’s perhaps a bit more judgemental when it comes to Squad Leaders pairing off, often shamelessly barking at them the next day not to let their “messy shit” get in the way of doing their damn jobs. Yet he generally waves it off all the same, rolling his eyes when the lovesick idiots start to realize what a bad idea it is to grapple with feelings when you’re supposed to be saving the world from man-eating Titans.

Anyway, you and Flore are both Squad Leaders. Fine. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

Whatever.

But the real fucking issue here is the fact that Flore keeps his desk up against the wall that he shares with Levi’s office. And he’s been fucking you up against—or on top of, maybe—that stupid, shitty piece of furniture for the past three nights in a row.

Loudly.

So loudly that Levi’s not sure if Flore’s got something to prove or if he’s just downright stupid. Probably the latter, if Levi’s being honest. Either way, he’s well and truly on the verge of losing his mind at this point.

And if a tiny part of it is because he’s downright fucking baffled that you’d go barking up Flore’s tree of all people? 

Levi Ackerman is not jealous.

…he just assumed you’d have better taste.

—

Perhaps fucking Daniel Flore a mere wall away from Captain Levi’s office wasn’t quite your best decision as of late. 

And not just because of the fact that he can more than likely hear the two of you going at it like foolish teenagers, which is just asking to draw more ire from the already irritable man. 

Not just because, despite your tendency to bicker with one another like it’s your job, you actually have quite a solid working relationship with the Captain. Something you’d tentatively call friendship—and he might even be inclined to agree, on his less moody days. 

The most conflicting part of your tipsy decision that has since turned into a multi-day affair is something else entirely. Something that, in reality, shouldn’t even matter. 

…because it’s not like he’s even interested.

At one point or another, you found yourself developing feelings for Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

—but the idea of Captain Levi fucking Ackerman deigning to get down and dirty with you of all people is laughable, at best. He can hardly step out of his office without turning heads, let alone when he makes his way through town. With the reputation that he’s built for himself over the years, he could have anyone he wanted.

Flore’s nice enough. And he’s a decent kisser, you’ll give him that. But as you glance back at the brown-haired man leaning against the chair and panting, a smug grin on his face as you slip your pants back on to conclude your activities, you internally cringe at the feeling of your underwear brushing against your sad, throbbing clit.

A throbbing clit that you’ll have to sneak off to your own office down the hall to take care of yourself for the second night in a row, because while you ended your first encounter somewhat satisfied, Flore hasn’t been able to get you off since. You’ve put on enough of a show each time to leave him thinking otherwise, half convinced that maybe there’s just something wrong with you, but after tonight, you may have to rethink your arrangement.

There’s a small, well-worn couch situated in the corner of your office, which you make a beeline for after closing the door and shucking your pants off once more. The material drops onto the wooden floor in a careless heap as you slump back onto the cushions, letting your thighs fall open as you lean your head back and slowly swipe a finger over the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs. 

Your folds are frustratingly dry, your fleeting thoughts of Flore doing absolutely nothing to help dampen your situation. So, also for the second night in a row…your thoughts betray you as they drift to a place you know will leave you slick and whimpering.

A vision of soft, black hair, steel gray eyes, and a familiar commanding, low voice is all it takes to encourage the sticky arousal now dripping at the apex of your thighs, a shameless little moan falling from your lips as you slide two fingers into your aching cunt.

“Have you ever considered that there are other people in the barra—”

The door to your office flies open as Levi storms in without knocking, though his barked out words are immediately cut off the moment his eyes stray to the sofa. He freezes in place, not even bothering to turn around as he slowly kicks the door shut behind him.

And it would be comical, just how many emotions are fighting their way across Levi’s normally composed face, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s now staring at you while you finger yourself because you were so desperate to get yourself off that you forgot to lock the fucking door. 

He blinks, crossing his arms. “You’re joking.”

Fingers still lodged inside of your wet heat because you can’t decide whether or not that’s less awkward than pulling them out and wiping them on the couch, you realize that you have no idea what to say. “I—”

“Was fucking like animals for forty-five minutes up against the wall beside my office not enough for you?” he deadpans.

Your face heats up in embarrassment, and you pull your eyes away from his heavy gaze, looking off to the side of the room as you subtly shift your fingers to your thigh. “That’s not exactly…I just didn’t…” you mutter, trailing off. 

Levi scoffs as he swiftly ascertains what you’re alluding to, “Don’t tell me Flore doesn’t even know how to get a woman off.”

You bristle with embarrassment over his forwardness, finally snapping your legs closed and hastily tugging a pillow over your lap. “That’s none of your business.”

“If two Squad Leaders are fucking on my watch, it’s my business to make sure your messy little relationship doesn’t end up getting us all killed in the field,” he sneers. 

“There’s no relationship. We’re not dating. It was a one time thing”

Levi doesn’t respond.

“Okay, a few-times thing,” you amend with a huff, shifting uncomfortably. 

He continues to stare at you, waiting.

“I was lonely and tired of taking care of things myself. Happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

His boots hardly make a sound as he takes a step closer to you and observes, “It looks like you’re still taking care of things yourself, anyway.”

You sigh heavily, “It’s slim pickings around here, Captain.”

Another step.

“So Flore was your top choice?”

Despite the fact that you’re nearly naked in front of the man who’s currently raising an eyebrow as he nudges your discarded underwear with the toe of his boot, you manage to school your features into a mask of cool indifference as you shrug, “My preferred taste is a bit more…unattainable.”

“Let me guess, Commander Erwin?” he drawls.

You can’t help the choked out laugh that escapes you at that—just how very off base his assumptions are. If nothing else, perhaps it means you’ve done a somewhat decent job at not making your crush on the Captain wholly apparent. 

“I mean, he sure does look like he’s fantastic in bed—”

“Spare me,” Levi groans.

“...but he’s just not quite short-tempered and difficult enough for my tastes,” you finish, letting your mouth quirk upward in the ghost of a smile. 

Levi’s knees bump into yours as he reaches the couch, looking down at you with his hands resting casually in his pockets. “And someone is?”

“Someone unattainable,” you concede.

Your breath hitches in your throat when Levi leans down, making a noncommittal noise as he swipes a layer of dust off of the couch’s wooden frame. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he asks, “So…you’d rather do this,” he gently thumps a fist over the pillow in your lap, “than try and approach this someone?”

Refusing to back down from his stare, you flippantly reply, “Sometimes the fantasy ends up being better than the real thing, anyway.”

Levi’s jaw ticks, and he asks you carefully in a low tone, “And just how often do you entertain this little fantasy?”

“Every night,” you breathe out, not missing a beat.

This time, when Levi leans in, his breath is hot against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “I can assure you the fantasy pales in comparison.” 

With that, he stands up straight and heads for the door without so much as a goodbye.

Gaping, you call out, “Captain Levi?”

His hand pauses on the doorknob, and without turning to look at you, he says cooly, “My office. Now.”

“I—”

“It’s cleaner.”

—

It’s ridiculous, the way your fingers tremble as you slip your pants back on—forgoing the underwear completely this time. On the field, you wield the dual blades at your sides with a steady, focused grip and instinctual precision that once upon a time granted you a top spot in your Training Corps class. 

And yet here you are now, caught in a battle between the stubborn button of your pants and your shaking hands, your entire goddamn axis thrown off kilter by the devastatingly handsome Captain currently waiting for you a few doors down. With a sigh, you give up, tugging your shirt down and hoping for the sake of the last charred bits of your ego that you didn’t misunderstand his invitation. 

Are you really about to go and fuck Captain Levi Ackerman?

You don’t have to ponder the question long, because you’re hardly two steps inside of Levi’s office, having slipped inside the door that he left open just a crack, when you find yourself firmly pressed up against it. 

Levi’s body is warm as he cages you in, eyes boring into your own while he reaches behind you and flicks the lock shut with an abrupt click that seems to echo throughout the room. You’re both silent for a moment, and he takes half a step back.

“Are you certain you want to do this?” 

The question catches you off guard, but you nod.

Levi inhales sharply through his nose and adds, “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you exhale quickly, already feeling more than a little breathless.

He leans in, letting his fingers ghost over your chin, his breath mingling in the vicinity of yours as he warns you softly,  “I’m not a gentle lover.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle,” you assure him, taking no small delight in the way his eyes briefly close at your affirmation.

“...and I don’t share,” he whispers, thumb skating over your lower lip.

“Neither do I,” you challenge, though you’re well aware you’re getting far too ahead of yourself with your implied request.

“I would hope not,” Levi chuckles lowly. “From now on, you come to me and only me.”

Searing heat drips through your veins, your lips parting slightly as the full weight of his words hits you. 

Levi’s lips hover over yours, so close you can nearly taste the promise on them as he murmurs, “...and you come for me. Only. Me.”

Oh.

Toes curling, it takes every ounce of restraint inside of your body to hold back the pathetically desperate whimper vibrating through you in response. The quiet, shaky “yes” that leaves you is hardly audible over the rapid beating of your heart.

But it’s all Levi needs to hear, that last exhale, before he cups your face in both hands and slots his lips against yours. 

There’s a focused, measured precision in the way Levi kisses, a push and pull in the way his mouth both guides and chases your own. With a tease of teeth along your bottom lip and a sensual dance of his tongue along the seam of your mouth, you’re caught up in a hungry, electrifying undercurrent that leaves you dizzy on the spot. 

You’ve spent more time than you’d like to admit thinking about Levi’s mouth. The delicate curve of his cupid’s bow. That restless tongue that’s always clicking against his teeth, as if it’s just waiting to be put to use elsewhere. The prominent taste of tea you could guarantee would be lingering on his lips. 

But there’s one thing you hadn’t accounted for, one thing that knocks the air from your lungs.

—it’s the way Levi murmurs your name into the kiss, the curve of each letter so sensual, his voice so rough that you know the memory of it is already irrevocably seared into your mind. 

You let yourself tangle your fingers in the silken, black strands of his hair, earning a pleased, rumbling groan in his throat in response. Pushing your luck, you tug on the locks, and the hot trail of kisses Levi’s blazing along your exposed neck is interrupted by the soft growl that leaves his throat as he bites down on your sensitive skin and begins to suck. 

The firm, solid pressure of his body against yours as you arch into him leaves you keening, and his hands drift down to grasp your hips while he presses hungry, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, as low as your partially-unbuttoned shirt will allow. You rock your hips into him, already drunk on his scalding, attentive touch, and a small moan escapes your lips when you feel the rock hard evidence of his own arousal drag against the apex of your thighs.

“Levi,” you pant out, rolling your hips once more.

He groans languidly, bringing his lips back up to yours for a chaste kiss. Fingertips skating beneath your chin, gray eyes bore into your own as he asks, “Safe word?”

Mind blanking for a moment, every single word you’ve ever known ceases to exist in the heady, addictive presence of the man before you. Your eyes land on something sitting on his desk; it’s broken to pieces but still unmistakable. 

“Pencil.”

Levi huffs out a low laugh, staring at you a little incredulously before he intones, “Tch. Fine.”

At that, he lets his hand trail down between your legs, another amused sound leaving him when he realizes you didn’t bother buttoning your pants back up before slinking into his office. 

“Eager?” he questions, only to let out a near feral noise when he notices your underwear also didn’t come along for the trip. 

All you can do is whine as he slides his hand into your pants, no small amount of satisfaction gracing his features when he feels the damp pool of arousal that’s since soaked through the material. 

“I hope this was all for me,” he observes, sliding two fingers through your slick, sensitive folds. 

You shiver, pushing into his touch, afraid that you might collapse if he doesn’t start sliding those thin, dexterous digits into your aching cunt soon. 

“You know it is,” you pant.

Your legs quake when he brushes his thumb over your swollen clit, fingertips teasing at your fluttering entrance. 

“I wonder if that’s why you couldn’t come for him,” he muses, bringing his hand up to eye level and watching the way your sticky arousal hangs between the digits. You’d whine at the loss of contact, if it weren’t for the way he sticks his fingers in his mouth and licks them clean.

His hand trails back down to your wet heat as you try to remember how to breathe, his gaze heavy as plunges two fingers into your cunt and rasps, “Because you wished it was my cock inside of you, fucking you stupid.”

Levi doesn’t wait for an answer as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of your needy hole, each thrust punctuated by the wet squelch of your gratuitous arousal. Heat spreads under your skin under his thorough exploration of your narrow, saturated channel, digits curling to meticulously stroke a spot that has you gasping his name. Your fingertips dig into his collarbone, and Levi surges forward, lips crashing into yours as he swallows your pleading moans. And for what may very well be the first time in your life, your climax takes you entirely by surprise, liquid fire whipping through your insides with the force of a raging gale.

He nips at your bottom lip while you come down from your shuddering wave of pleasure, but your fingers have barely begun to reach for his stiff length when Levi suddenly drops down to his knees in front of you. Nails dragging along your hip bones, he swiftly tugs down your pants and tosses them aside before pushing your legs further apart and burying his face between them.

Prickles of overstimulation crawl up your spine, and you let out a small sound of protest, but your core immediately turns molten again at Levi’s ragged tone as he breathes out, “One more. One more before I fuck you.”

There’s nothing calculated about the messy, hungry way he goes down on you, parting your folds to sink his tongue into your cunt, nose pressed firmly against your clit, a moan reverberating through him as he laps up every last drop of the cum that’s leaking out of you. His fingertips dig into your thighs, saliva running down his chin, and he moves to slide two fingers back inside of you while he begins to mouth at your sensitive bundle of nerves

At this point, even if Levi hadn’t made it explicitly clear that whatever this is between the two of you is very much exclusive—

…you’re not sure if anyone else could even come close. 

Reality trumps the fantasy, indeed, Captain. 

And with a firm crook of his fingers, the steaming pressure building up inside of you bursts, clear liquid spraying from your pussy and soaking Levi’s face and hand as you ride out your second orgasm.

If you thought Levi looked feral before, it’s nothing compared to the look that crosses his face as you squirt for him. “Oh fuck.”

He all but drags you over to his desk, unceremoniously swiping everything off of the surface and letting it all clatter to the floor before lifting you up—with strength that honestly shouldn’t surprise you—and placing you on its surface. Fingers aching to touch him, you grapple with his shirt, pulling it over his head while he trails his way down the remaining buttons on yours. You hardly have time to enjoy the planes of his bare chest before you, because he makes quick work of your bra, cursing under his breath at the sight and wasting no time in leaning in to taste your supple breasts. 

A small part of you almost wants to make a comment about dirtying Levi’s clean desk with the arousal you know is dripping out of you once more—you’re so fucking wet for him it’s boredline ridiculous—but all thoughts go fizzling from your mind when he latches onto your nipple and begins to suck.

“Fucking perfect,” he grunts, teeth grazing the sensitive bud. 

Unable to wait any longer to finally see what’s straining for release between his legs, you unbutton his pants, humming in satisfaction at the feeling of his deceivingly thick cock throbbing in your palm. Saliva coats your tits as he sucks more fervently in response to the way you’ve begun to stroke his length, your other hand tangling in his hair.

“Stop.”

You freeze at the command in his tone, waiting as he pushes down his pants and underwear, kicking them out of the way before stepping closer between your legs. 

“Next time,” he amends gently, leaning in to graze his teeth along the shell of your ear, lips and tongue pressing into the tender skin behind your earlobe. “Because I might very well lose my mind if I don’t fuck you right now.”

You exhale, muscles aching with anticipation. “Please, Levi.”

He pushes your thighs apart, swiping his fingers through your arousal and using it to coat his shaft before notching its reddened, leaking head at your entrance. And remembering your earlier words about just how you like it, there’s no warning when Levi plunges his throbbing cock into your slick, wet cunt, plastering his mouth onto yours to swallow down each delicious moan that echoes out of you as he splits you open.

There’s nothing gentle about the way Levi fucks you, sweaty hair plastered against his forehead as he revels in the warmth of your tight cunt with each snap of his hips, every thrust deeper than the last. The push and drag of his fat cock has you whining and moaning so loud your throat begins to burn, satisfaction curling in your gut at the mirroring sound that leaves him when you roughly pull on his hair.

Belatedly—too distracted by your lust-fuelled frenzy—you realize that smacking flesh and needy, desperate noises aren’t the only sounds echoing throughout the room. With each punishing snap of his hips, as Levi stuffs you full of his cock over and over, his desk violently smacks into the wall.

The wall that Flore is very likely currently sitting on the other side of at his own desk.

You tell Levi as much, and he makes no effort to slow down as he growls, “I don’t fucking care.”

And well, maybe it’s a little fucked up.

But given that the object of years worth of your wet dreams is currently balls deep inside of you and groaning your name repeatedly, you can’t bring yourself to give a shit, either.

So instead, you whimper, “Harder, Levi. Please.”

Hands trail along your throat, and Levi meets your gaze. You nod, and he tightens his grip, your dwindling airflow setting your nerves alight with pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waist, the balls of your feet pressing into the small of his back, and as he continues to choke you, your tight cunt chokes the width of his cock in equal measure.

It feels so fucking good that tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and your chest aches from the heaving, panting breaths you repeatedly continue to demand of it. The pressure on your throat lessens, and you feel Levi’s hand come up to cup your chin, his thumb pulling down on your bottom lip.

Though it’s only one word, you know he feels just as wrecked as you by his low, rough tone as rasps, “Open.”

You part your lips, and Levi leans in, spitting in your mouth. He feels the way your cunt clenches down on him in response, so after you swallow, unconsciously letting your lips fall back open, he spits again. 

In turn, you grab him by the hair and pull him in for a filthy kiss. Levi’s mouth devours yours as he grabs you by the throat again, moaning against your lips, “Good girl.”

The ache between your thighs blooms red hot, the coil of pleasure twisting in your gut unfurling so rapidly your vision goes white as you come hard, gushing around the stretch of Levi’s cock. He chases your lips as you throw your head back in pleasure, kissing you hard while he drives his length deep into you one last time to the hilt, hips jerking as he empties himself inside of you.

You let your body fall against his as you both come down from your climaxes, breathing heavily. Levi begins to rub soothing circles against your back, callused fingertips skating across your smooth skin, the gesture an amusingly stark contrast to how brazenly he just fucked you. When he pulls out of you, thick cum leaks from between your thighs, making a mess of his desk. 

And for once, it’s a mess that Levi Ackerman doesn’t mind.

Instead, he cups your cheek in one hand, a glint in his eyes as he murmurs, “I think I can get four out of you next time.”

Your eyes widen, laughter bubbling up in your chest as you lean in, lips ghosting over his as you retort, “Cocky bastard.”

Tongue clicking against his teeth, he rolls his eyes and mutters, “Brat,” kissing you again.

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

[levistripperman]

Levi x Reader (F) Tattoo

genre: smut, angst

summary: as he ends things, you desperately offer him your body, telling him to mark you even if it’s for the last time.

wc: 4,200

The darkness of the night takes over your flat, as you refuse to turn any source of light on, dead silence engulfing the space. It’s comforting, the dim, solemn room. Lying alone on the bed you shared with your lover, you stare at the seeping light from the windows. If only you could switch the street lights off.

You don’t know where it went wrong. This whole time, you settled with the assumption that everything was going well, that he looks at you the same way you do. But you have yet to learn.

It’s like he’s drifting away every passing day. Like he’s growing distant every waking second. His change of behavior doesn’t escape your scrutiny, even if his actions are as subtle as they can be. You notice how he scoots away from you on the sheets, and how he almost doesn’t seem to need a share of the covers. How he disappears earlier than you can wake up, and how he only leaves you with a note saying he’s off to work. It only tends to get worse everytime.

No, he’s not seeing another person. After three years and a half together, you’re quite confident you know him well. Quite. But eitherway, he isn’t the type of man who’d cheat. He’s a good guy, you know that for sure.

That’s why you don’t know how it came to this.

Were you not enough? Did you do something to throw him off? Is he sick of you? Has he lost his interest?

Thoughts and doubts flood your mind like crazy, leaving you wide awake with no room for rest. You check the time, and it’s a few minutes past his expected return. He should be here any moment now.

Yet an hour passes by like years, and you feel your heart swell out of nothing good. As you check your phone religiously, you heave a sigh, toss, and turn. You just hope he’s not drinking, though he’s not the kind to drink until he’s wasted. Heck, he’s never even reached the point where he’s tipsy. A smile creeps up your lips as you recall the times when you’d both drink, you ending up a mess and him always babysitting you, sweeping you up from your feet once you’d had enough and drive home, completely sober compared to you.

Before you know it, another hour passes by. Time feels like nothing. Void and numb. Maybe you should have taken your friends’ night out invitation? You haven’t caught up with them these past months. But you‘re aware you’ll just space out and think of him when you’re supposed to be having a good time.

Then, you feel your soul light up as you hear the front door open. Should you pretend you’re asleep? Should you greet him and ask him if he’s had dinner? Knowing him, he’ll only scold you for staying up for too late.

You swiftly turn your back against the bedroom’s door but don’t bother to close your eyes. You sense him enter, and your heart flutters nervously. You wonder where he’s been and what took him so long, just to eventually keep your questions to yourself.

His side of the bed sinks as he sits and loosens his tie, readying himself of some eyeshut. You wait for him to lie down, but he never does. Curiosity filling your brain, you ache to take a peek at what he’s doing, but he’s still steadily seated.

“You’re still up,” he says, perfectly aware. Your breath was queerly uneven, and you didn’t wrap yourself with the blankets the way you did. He knows.

Your breath hitches, freezing for a moment. Just how critical is he? Unsure whether to speak or not, undecided of what to say, you prop yourself up with your elbows and sit up, back leaning against the headboard. A long, defeated sigh leaves your lips.

It’s painfully silent. You take a glance at him and you’re greeted by his broad back. Both of you stay quiet, waiting for whoever initiates a conversation. It’s not awkward, nor is it uncomfortable. Just… despondent. Low.

“You can tell me,” you suddenly blurt out, voice but a whisper. You look at your hands and mindlessly fiddle with your fingers.

“Tell you what?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know already.

“I’m not dumb, you know,” you inform, shifting your gaze to the windowpanes. Curse those street posts, you prefer complete blackness, else he’d see how broken you are.

“Nothing’s up,” he says, and it ticks you off. Does he think you’re stupid or something? This has been going on for months, it’s impossible to try and not talk about it. “Just to remind you, I’m your partner,” you state with a firm voice. Let’s not beat around the bush here, Levi.

His muscles strain upon hearing your “reminder”. You probably caught him there. No one dares speak, letting a couple minutes fly by like nothing. You know he wants to say something, you can feel it, he’s tense. What’s stopping him?

You sigh for the uncountable time, giving up. “Let’s go get our rest, alright?” you place a warm hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen as you hear him. He less than seldom said that phrase, and it fears you the most that he’s saying it now of all times. You wish you were stupid to not get what he means. This is exactly how a guy like him would end it, but you want to play dense and pry it out of him. Everything. Because a sorry won’t be enough to answer your questions.

“Is it me?” you ask dryly, back to fidgeting with your fingers, heart thumping so wildly it’s like it’s about to explode.

“No.”

“Someone else?” It’s not.

“No,” he says, voice calm as ever. Figures.

“Then what?” your brows furrow as you question him, impatience starting to ring in your tone. His back facing you, his short words, his disinclined attitude, they’re frustrating. If he wants to end this, he better elaborate and be his most rational self.

He stays silent. You couldn’t take it any longer and open your mouth to speak, but before you could say a word, he finally answers, “I’m not fit for this.”

You fall mute, letting his words sink in. You wanted to burst into laughter, but you can’t. The atmosphere is simply too heavy, it’s weighing you down. Not fit? For what?

“Give me an idea. I can’t keep guessing here, Levi,” your pitch breaks as you call his name, the tension strangling you to death. “You have to tell it to my face!” you beg desperately. You’re right, he should quit cowering behind his excuses. He’s going to end this, and explain why, because you deserve it of all people. So he turns around to face you, but immediately regrets it the moment he does.

You are, indeed, broken.

No, you didn’t have the tear stained face a lady has when she’s been suffering long. No, your hair wasn’t a mess like you didn’t bother fixing yourself. No, you didn’t get thinner from neglecting food. In fact, you looked too perfect. Too organized, like you poured the whole of your attention into your appearance. Like you wanted to pamper yourself so you wouldn’t descend into an unrecognizable mess. Like you needed to look fine to convince everyone you are.

But the excessive effort goes to waste, the culprit being your eyes. Your eyes gave it away. The exhaustion in them is so unbearably visible, sabotaging your forged front. That, and a hundred more emotions underneath.

He hates it. He doesn’t like the idea of you hurting, especially if it’s because of him. And the way you tried to conceal it? He has to end this, fast. He can’t stand making you suffer even more.

“Listen, I tried everything, but I’m just not one for relationships,” he explains, looking you straight in the eye even though it pains him to. “I can’t love,” he averts his gaze for a fleeting moment upon saying the word. It’s too cheesy for his liking, but he has to go on. “And I doubt you can stay with a man who can’t show the least intimacy,” he adds.

Frozen, your brows furrow in helplessness. It’s all happening too quick. He’s definitely breaking up with you. He probably thought of this long ago but just can’t bring himself to do it. Now that you pushed him, he’s decided.

“I’m sorry.” And with that, he turns away and stands up, grabbing his coat and keys to leave. You witness as your world starts to crumble.

That’s it? Because he can’t love? What about the kisses you exchanged? The times you made love? The way he stays and listens as you go on about your day and problems? The meals you prepared for each other? His scoldings whenever you don’t clean to his standards?

More than three years of memories flash before your eyes as he takes his steps toward the door. After all these years, that’s the conclusion he comes up with?

“No…” you mutter, staring at his disappearing figure powerlessly.

You get up on your foot and run to him, later tripping over yourself from your weak strength. He hears the thud and spins around to help you right away. You’re on the carpeted floor, kneeling as you look at the ground. You‘re unable to feel your tears start to well on the corners of your eyes.

Levi grabs your shoulders with both hands to assist you up. “Brat, let’s get you to bed,” he says. A chuckle slips from your mouth by hearing the little nickname he calls you by. It’s funny how you find it more romantic than the sweet endearments people use with their lovers. Hearing something you consider romantic when he just ended things, ironic.

He ignores your unhumorous giggle and tries to lift you but you refuse. “I must’ve not been enough,” you mumble feebly. He doesn’t like it. You’re obviously drained of energy from pretending to be fine for too long, and now that he spilled it, you’re left with nothing but to show how affected you are.

“It’s not that.”

“Then it’s someone else,” you argue as if fully convinced, though you know it isn’t. You’re looking for excuses, anything else other than his reason. Because this is so much worse.

Because from here on, you’re going to blame yourself, look for some flaw, rummage your system for something wrong, and question what you lack. If only you could pinpoint anything, you’d be content.

“I told you already,” he presses, wrapping your hands around his neck to then carry you in his arms. But you refuse. You find the position convenient, and instead lean into his face for an unexpected kiss.

The moment you feel his warm lips, your tears stream uncontrollably. Oh, how you love kissing him. This is gonna be the last, right? There’s no making him stay anymore. You know Levi. Once he’s decided, he’s unbreakable. If so, you just want to savor it, one last time.

Keep reading

[levistripperman]

Levi x Drug Dealer! Reader (F) The Lunatic And Her Dog

genre: smut, canonverse — Levi’s early recruitment

summary: being a former thug, the new soldier is given a task to ingratiate himself, finding an old associate from his past along the way.

tw: vices (drugs, cigarettes), rough sex

wc: 12,039 holy fuck (smut is only latter half)

“Coderoin. A strong, sweet, and highly addictive drug that’s been circulating in Stohess District for about four years or so,” the Commander says, voice gruff as he explains the content of the unwrapped paper filled with azure tablets.

Coderoin. Levi thinks he’s heard of that thing not long before. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.

“The Military Police Brigade failed to capture the primary smuggler of this substance multiple times, and it’s only recently come to their notice that it’s gotten reformulated to a liquid solution,” he continues, pinching one of them in his fingers, rolling it back and forth to study its appearance.

Levi can only stand back in ennui, the lack of interest reverberating from his aura. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

Erwin places the tablet back to the paper, propping his palms on the tabletop, and stares deep into Levi’s unamused eyes.

“You’ll have to hunt this drug dealer down.” The curt order comes. Levi cocks a brow in confusion, wondering why the blond would make him do such thing.

“That’s the MP’s job. I thought I joined here to kill those filthy titans, what are you going on about?” he quizzes in confusion.

Erwin sighs, lids shutting close before he massages his temples. “The higher-ups are still not exactly in favor of your recruitment in the army, and as much as you hate buttering people up, you’ll have to deal with this case to secure your postion,” he makes intelligible, getting into the details so to clarify things out.

The raven haired man before him listens intently with a permanent scowl on his face, arms crossed over each other. He’s most definitely not liking the idea of seeking those damn swines’ goodwill. Just when he decided to trust the guy.

“You’ll earn Darius Zackly’s approval once you catch the little felon,” Erwin speaks truthfully. Of course, the Supreme Commander who so hates him, of all people. “It’s just this once. Trust me, you’ll have no more problems with your stay if you solve this case,” he even adds to convince the man. Not that there’s any way around this matter. Levi has to do this to prevent further threats in his position and to clear his reputation as well, by hook or by crook.

“You basically want me to suck up their asses,” he concludes, not a question, more of a full decisive statement. The Commander grunts his affirmative response, still getting used of his soldier’s sharp tongue.

“Tch. To hell with that.”

—

The afternoon later, he’s walking on the stony pavements of Stohess District, left with no choice but to follow the Commander’s orders.

Ever since the death of his last friends, Farlan and Isabel, just a few weeks back, things have gotten ridiculously out of hand regarding his enlistment. It almost arrived to a point where he’s wanted in court for seniors to debate whether he can stay up top or should be sent back to the Underground, considering his heavy crimes.

Holding a poster in hand, he studies the illustration keenly. It says the words WANTED: Notorious Drug Lord in big, thick, and bold letters. In the sketched picture is a person wearing a hood. From what he’s told, the wanted criminal has been in the hide for years now, but never once left the district.

“That man never shows himself. That portrait is from a witness in a pub near a shanty town. Some say he often appears wearing a cloak.” That’s what a Military Police officer said to him when he asked for the dealer’s whereabouts.

A man? He squints a little to see the image better.

It’s a bit difficult to determine since it’s only a roughly sketched side profile with a hood worn, blocking the hair, but he’s sure as hell those are certainly not eyes of a man, looking ultimately feminine and provocative. He doesn’t know, but those eyes are somewhat achingly familiar. And those plump lips that held a suggestive smile? He’s fully convinced that it’s a woman.

“A woman? That’s in no way a fair lady. Women here in Stohess stay at home and polish their husbands’ boots.” That’s what the Military Police officer said as well when he told it’s a woman.

Fucking sexists. Not that he cares, though.

Levi stops by the said pub, pushing on the saloon doors before walking to a table of three men, boisterously laughing like crazy. It’s dark and warm inside, the trademark ambience of local bars eating up the whole place. “Any of you seen this guy?” he lazily asks, showing the piece of paper to their faces.

Their eyes dart on the illustration before all of them fall silent, throwing looks at each other, and Levi can swear he could hear the rusty gears in their pea sized brain turn.

When they keep quiet, he almost surmises they turned mute upon seeing him and is about to leave them alone, finding them completely useless. He just wants to finish this task, and quick.

“Heard ya were a nasty criminal in the Underground,” the guy on his left comments and drinks the beer at hand, briefly pausing, “ya can’t seriously be turnin’ y’er back on that kinda past,” he smugly continues.

Levi’s brows twitch in irritation. How is that relevant to what he asked?

“Just answer the damn question,” he orders assertively and slams the paper onto their tabletop. The guys exchange gazes once again like it’s some sort of stupid inside code.

“What makes ya think ya can fool us? We know you’ll arrest us off the bat if we answer, young’un,” the man continues, his company still speechless. What, is he the leader of their pack or something?

The way they stare him down with the most condescending eyes is ticking him off to ridiculous measures, he could’ve knocked them out cold one by one already if not for the fact that they obviously know something, and nobody else is in the pub other than them and the staff.

“I don’t give two shits about your work. I’m not asking for you, I’m looking for this guy right here,” he jabs a finger into the poster, causing every one of them to look at it once more.

“I ain’t convinced—”

Levi has had enough of their refusal and decides to pull out his knife, kick the very chair the garrulous man is sitting on to drop him on the ground, beer spilling everywhere, before using the dirty sole of his boot to shove the man’s cheeks against the wooden floor.

He kneels down on his right knee, his other foot still stepping on the man’s face, and points the tip of his freshly sharpened knife just a few centimeters from his eyeball, which earns him a whimper of surprise.

“Gonna stop yakking any minute now?” Levi asks. It’s a bit surprising to him that the bartender of the pub didn’t meddle the whole time for pressing on his customers, oddly similar to the lukewarm nature of his hometown.

The two men freeze in fear, afraid that if they do anything to counter the soldier’s menace, their good friend might suffer and go blind. How worthless.

After a couple more seconds, the old geezer eventually gives in and speaks. “That’s our dealer,” he admits, voice weak and shaky. Levi cocks a brow and listens, finally getting the information he‘s aiming for.

“Guy’s been selling drugs that originated from the Underground,” he adds.

“Coderoin?”

“Yeah. He never shows up to us buyers, only sends brokers to deliver.”

“That’s not a man,” Levi corrects again, slowly getting convinced it’s someone he knows from way back. The descriptions about the wanted dealer and the way she arranges things precisely match, not to mention the poster looking exactly like her.

“I told you I won’t end up in brothels, Levi. I created something, and it’s doing great,” she says with a proud smile painted on her colored lips.

“What is it?”

“Coderoin.”

But the soldier only sounds out of his tree in the listeners’ ears, and they immediately speak to nullify his scarcely credible conspiracy theory. “There’s no way. Women here in Stohess—”

Yeah, he gets it. If they don’t believe it then let it be. See, this is why they haven’t caught the culprit for the past years, because they’re looking for a damn male.

“Where was she last seen?” Levi asks, completely dismissing their words, but the guy tries to oppose the small detail once again. “That’s a man—“

“Where was she last seen?” he repeats, cutting off his hostage’s words while he flattens with his boot the man’s cheeks in such a way as to crush his skull, emphasizing what really is important here and what he’s actually asking for. Levi ignores how the poor guy yelps in pain, waiting for intel he can benefit from.

“I don’t know!” he truthfully says, face already deforming from the forceful contact, having difficulty breathing.

“She lives at the skid row,” the bartender chimes in as he wipes on a glass, turning Levi’s head his way. Someone who knows her real identity, huh?

“How do you know?” he keeps his foot down and quizzes, looking for the authenticity in his words. The runt might be fooling him for all he knows, a trap to lure him in.

“I live there,” he simply says. “I don’t have business with her so it won’t be bad if I rat out on her,” he shrugs and turns his back to return to working. The guys listen, puzzled about what they’re talking about.

The ravenhead thinks for a moment, then rising to this heels, kicking away the head he was previously pulverizing before heading out the bar to make off.

In the end, none of them was substantial but the barkeep. And in Levi’s humblest opinion, the guy whom he mostly talked to should drop his so-called friends who didn’t even have the guts to drag their pal out of his plight, being one who gets rid of ineffective people himself.

He looks up at the gloomy afternoon skies once he exits, the clouds moving as he thinks about a variety of stuffs from his past. Envisioning and etching into his brain the familiar silky locks, rose red lips, and a pair of sultry eyes, he then starts walking.

Now, to find you.

—

With the help of the villagers’ directions, he’s arrived at the said skid row by foot. It surprises Levi a lot, having not expected to see a number of resemblances between the Underground and the surface. The visible corruption is no different from down there, with certain rundown areas openly exposed, just a couple blocks away from extravagant neighborhoods. That just goes to show that people’s amoral natures don’t change wherever they go.

He scans his eyes around, studying the dark and uninviting alleyways, the narrow paths, and the compressed townhouses. It’s almost as if the sun refuses to shine here.

This place isn’t any less than a junkyard, he thinks, coming from someone who has just escaped from one.

He takes a step forward to head to the flat where you apparently reside, only to get stopped by a bunch of gangsters, another guy putting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. An animal touching him with filthy fingers, something he hates the most.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the insect says as he looks down on the soldier’s short stature, showing not a droplet of respect. “What’s a scout soldier doing here? There ain’t no titans here, boy!” There’s nothing they love to ridicule more than suicidal people under the disguise of a uniform.

He immediately uses his clean hands that would unfortunately be dirtied as he removes the assaulter’s arm away from him, squeezing it with great force before twisting the whole limb around with full intentions to dislocate it.

The man screeching in pain, Levi gives him a good kick in the face, causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Of course, there’s three more left standing. Even if they’re rendered speechless and horrified, he still can’t let bothersome runts on the loose.

One of the delinquents attempts to swing a fist at him, a sorry excuse for a punch by the way, only to get hit right in the guts, disgusting spit flying everywhere. The other tries to slash a knife, which he only snatches away with nimble fingers before hitting a nerve on the neck to knock the guy out cold.

The last one, hairline already receding and looking grey, tries to hit him with a bat. It’s a pitiful sight to look at, really, how they all think they could give him a good beating when they approached him. He crouches down to dodge the weapon, dragging his dominant leg on the floor to kick sweep the old fart off of his toes, head falling against the solid concrete.

Dusting his hands to rid himself of the muck he gained from fighting them, Levi stands upright in vexation and observes as they either squirm or doze off on their own. A flock of vagrants that has got to learn how to keep their hands to themselves.

The thing is, he has had enough of drunkards trying to get on his way. He just wants to get his job done, bring you to those impotent MP’s and get this reputation Erwin kept saying to secure his position for a lifetime.

When finally sets foot on your alleged doorstep, he tries for three knocks, waiting for a response. As much as he wants to finish this task, he doesn’t want to barge in your suite, if possible, because he’d also hate it if it’s done to him. He tries again, focusing to catch with his ears any faint sound.

Minutes pass by and he turns the knob open to find out it’s unlocked the whole time, all his deliberations of keeping still and going down the drain.

It’s quiet and empty.

Levi freely enters, keeping an eye out for attackers, if there are. It’s small, but enough for one person.

He goes with the assumption that you live alone, and maybe don’t have any flings. He still remembers how you latch onto different guys back in the day to have them arrange deals for you. Yeah, you had a way with your words, especially towards men. The epitome of a social butterfly.

But maybe it’s not like that anymore, now that you’re in a city like this with rich people out and about.

How did you wind up here in the first place?

He keenly observes as he goes further in. To your credit, the place is relatively clean. No scattered trash, no messy clothing, and the furniture are well organized. Well, that’d be essential to make an innocent front and hide your junk evidence. But still, impressive.

Nothing really seems malicious at first glance. So far, no one’s coming out, and there are no drugs to be found.

He stumbles upon two more closed doors. He finds that one of them is a bathroom, and the other your bedroom. Aside from those, there’s nowhere else to go. He enters your personal space, looking for something peculiar.

Your bed is fixed, sheets folded nicely. You had a study desk, and a bookshelf. Based from the covers’ titles, they’re all about science. Tch. It’s a dead giveaway. No matter how much you tried to make an oh-so normal living space, those books would be a suspicious lead.

Now what? You’re nowhere to be seen.

Is she home?

He looks around the room looking for an ashtray or even a fire because somehow, it reeks of burning cigarettes, like it’s being consumed at the moment.

Something finally clicks inside of him. Of course, you’re a damn drug lord. An infamous one, at that. You’ll need someplace to hide once all hell breaks loose, and someplace to hide your stuff.

Levi uses his boot to lift the carpet he’s currently stepping on, and finds, just what he expects, a trapdoor. Clever, but not too much.

He then vigorously kicks the door open, which nearly bursts it off of its hinges, if not already. It swings down loosely, losing its assistive joints. He ignores the wooden ladder provided and instead jumps down, dropping on his knees.

“Now you gotta fix that,” says a soft and seductive voice that is definitely no stranger the young man.

Keep reading

[levistripperman]

Levi x Ex! Reader (F) Power Trip

genre: smut

summary: having assumed you ended things on good terms, you’re clueless as to why the Captain keeps treating you roughly. when you visit his office late in the night, you’re given the closure you least expect.

tw: rough, hate/make up(?) sex

wc: 8,122 yet again (‘◉⌓◉’) how even?

You fucking resent your exes. Yes, you do. They can be the pettiest creatures in the whole world if they wanted. Talk about the epitome of being a dickhead. And that one certain Captain is no exception. He’s the worst of the worst, actually.

You sigh exasperatedly as you dispose of the horses’ wastes for the nth time. Yes, you’re on stable duty yet again just for removing your jacket and wearing a tank top as undershirt, on a hot, summer day. Everybody’s complaining about the scorching weather, and you could say he shouldn’t blame you for wanting to be comfortable, but the Captain chooses to be a prick, saying it’s a violation nonetheless.

You’re not that naive to not know that he’s especially going hard on you for some reason. Heck he’s not even ordering anyone else around but you.

“It’s fucking burning and this top is decent enough for a uniform!” you murmur to yourself like a child, scooping the last dump while utterly vexed. Lately, he just keeps going for the littlest mistakes and you can’t help but suspect that he must be holding some kind of grudge against you. Whatever it is, you have zero ideas other than one.

You finish refilling the water buckets and replacing the hay with new ones. Finally done with your work, you close your eyes shut, breathing in the fresh air. You then stand straight and stretch out your limbs with all your might, spinning your head to crack some stiffened bones in the neck. After hearing a faint popping sound, you moan in satisfaction. Surely, this should be enough for a clean freak like him.

You give your work a glance one last time, admiring the neatly scoured walls and clean flooring all done by you. You want to think that the horses are grateful with what you did to their stalls as they neigh. Atleast someone’s got to thank you, right?

You steer to leave the stables and head inside. A good shower can make up for all the trouble. With that thought in mind, you go for your quarters to bring a spare uniform with you in the bathroom. Once you’ve stripped off your sticky clothes, you start to wash yourself. The cold liquid hitting your sweaty skin feels refreshing, and at that moment, you decide to stay for longer than one should take in showering. You earned this anyway, cleaning the stables all by yourself first thing in the morning.

Rinsing off the last of soap from your body, you’re left with nothing to do but keep drowning yourself with water. Staring into the wall, the lack of task makes you think back to the past. It’s actually been two whole months since you broke up with Levi. You still remember clearly how you ended it, stating how you don’t really seem like lovers anyway and how it could only hinder both your work and his. It wasn’t that taboo having a relationship with a higher ranking officer like how you thought it might be to other people’s eyes, but it isn’t the best either. All you can say is that you know what you did was for the best. But why is he acting like that? Unable to find a reason, you groan and brush aside the thoughts.

Call it slacking off, you don’t really care, but you spent a good one hour or so in there. All freshened up, your mood improved a bit. But just when you’re about to take a turn leading to the mess hall, the devil himself shows up infront of you.

His brows are furrowed as he leans his back against the wall with both arms crossed, infamous steel grey eyes, that though unreadable, pierces into your soul easily. What now? You want to roll your eyes so bad but force yourself to give a salute instead. Act up and he’ll make you clean the whole headquarters for fuck’s sake.

“Sir,” you firmly call. Levi eyes you from head to toe and quickly notices from your damp hair that you enjoyed yourself with a leisurely bath.

“While you were relaxing, everybody had hand-to-hand combat on the training grounds,” he says, obviously waiting for an acceptable explanation from you. His eyes are locked on you immensely, it’s like you’re being rooted to the ground. Great, now you missed out on a whole training session. Caught in action, even.

“Sorry, sir. It took me hours cleaning the stables and wanted to tidy myself before lunch,” you explain truthfully, staring straight ahead. A wave of silence takes over for a couple seconds as he stares you down and you avoid his gaze. It suddenly hits you that there’s only the two of you in the hall, making his stare feel more intimidating than ever, and it irritates you so much.

Part of him accepts your reason, really. Being one for good hygiene, it’s good that you chose to be presentable before facing food, but still, there is no need to take too long in doing so. Besides, it’s also not an excuse to skip training, which he cannot condone.

“Laps after lunch. No stopping until I say so,” he curtly orders and finally walks past you, leaving you alone and frustrated. He definitely knows that you just hopped out of shower and decides to butcher that. How wonderful.

A few more seconds go by and you’re standing in the very same place, feeling your blood boil slowly. Your eyes shut in annoyance, fists clenching. A groan escapes your mouth as you proceed to the dining area, readying yourself for the torturous hours.

—

About a hundred and who-knows-how-many laps later, you could feel your knees trembling. It’s only a matter of time before you collapse for endlessly running under the searing heat of the sun. With a flock of birds chirping as if to accompany you, and warm air whipping past your cheeks as you jog ahead, step by step, your hatred towards the Captain grows bigger. You can’t say he’s being irrational, but this is just too much. He’s obviously using his power to throw the book at you for some unknown reason.

Without realizing, you fall to the ground, still fully conscious but vision blearing. Lying on your side, you hunch over to curl yourself into a ball, puffing and blowing like crazy to catch your breath. Damn it, you’re exhausted.

On the other hand, the infamous ravenhead observes you from a distance. When you halted before he gave his word, he clicks his tongue and makes his way to your dead beat form. Before you know it, Levi is already looming over you. Of course, it’s like the situation couldn’t get any worse!

As much as you want to defend yourself right away to avoid further punishment, you’re taken aback once he offers you a hand to which you accept, but not before gawking at it dumbfoundedly for a good ten seconds, though. You didn’t know he still has a little kindness inside him, or maybe he’s guilty?

“I don’t recall permitting you to take your precious time and rest, cadet,” he informs, voice stone cold. Oh, yes, just when you thought he still has kindness left inside him.

Your whole body is cramping, but there’s no way in hell you’d let him see any more of what he’s done to you, so you try to conceal it. You fight him back with a glare, “Sorry, sir. Maybe if you didn’t give orders after orders I wouldn’t naturally collapse,” your tone is not even a bit obedient.

You have no excuses left, nor do you want to just give in and admit your mistake either because it will only probably feed his power tripping ego, and to hell with that.

His eyebrows twitch, figuring you’ve no intentions to reason with him. Your stare conveys what you want to say to him that you choose not to put into words; you don’t care at all. He’s acting like a child and you’re not up for that. He might be your superior, but there’s no damn way his actions could be justified.

“Barking like a dog, I see.” He eyes you one last time before taking his leave. Once he’s turned his back on you, your mouth agapes, thinking full well that he’s finally letting go of his obnoxious demeanor. No more orders? To say the least, it was too early to celebrate.

“Dish duty after dinner.” You wish you hadn’t heard it.

—

You went along with the assumption that the Captain already lifted your former punishment and not long after, dinner arrives.

“What are you eating?” Levi questions, one brow raised and staring you down. He gives your cup of tea and half a bread a scrutinizing look. He’s sure as hell there aren’t any walls breached recently resulting to food shortage, so why are you having almost nothing?

Meanwhile, you guess that now he just wants to meddle with your business. You swear, once you find him alone, you’ll absolutely grab the chance to kill him. Or so you want to think. He should be thankful you’re not one to cause a scene.

“I’m on a diet,” you shortly inform before sipping on your tea. Not really. You’re just drained of appetite and all intention to eat because of everything he’s made you done.

He doesn’t seem to like your answer and when you give him a glance, his face seems to have a permanent scowl written on it. “You call that a diet? That’s not healthy,” he says.

“Now you care?” you try your hardest to not roll your eyes. Bantering with the Captain is already turning a few heads enough, you don’t want to stir any more commotion.

“I don’t need a malnourished soldier around here, cadet, so you better start eating in proper proportions,” his tone is sharp and strict, as if indicating he was in charge and you’re just one to follow, which pisses you off the most. How can he treat you roughly one moment then act all concerned the other? At this point, you can’t even believe that you used to go out with him in the past.

“Well, it won’t be quite some time before I go malnourished with you ordering me around like a dog. Now if you will excuse me, sir, I have dish duty to attend to,” you sass him out unenthusiastically in one go before collecting your dirtied china and heading to the kitchen.

The way his grip on his teacup tightens doesn’t escape your attention, and you try to stifle in a smirk, unsure of sure how to react. You finally got back at him in a way, but you’re not entirely certain if it’s a good thing or a bad one.

—

A week has passed since you talked back to the Captain. Lucky you he didn’t reprimand you forthwith, but not exactly lucky because his power tripping has only worsened since then. It took you another stable duty after dinner because of “staying outside for too long, it’s almost curfew”, as the Captain said, for you to finally realize you’ve had enough of his bullshit and it’s about time you confront him in his office.

It might be past midnight for all you know, and the dead silence is eating up the corridors that you wonder for a brief moment if he’s still awake. Considering him, he most probably is.

Not even bothering with a knock, you set foot inside his study. As if to confirm your thoughts, your eyes immediately dart to his form sitting on his chair with paperwork. Even if it’s not all that bright inside his office with only a lone candle and the midnight moon serving as light, you quickly catch sight of his tired eyes and the bags darkening under them. He’s loosened up like he’s up for an all-nighter, discarding the jacket and leaving his partially unbuttoned dress shirt on.

You knew it, he still hasn’t rid himself of his bad habit that is overworking. It doesn’t matter to you now, though. Maybe in the past you would’ve given him a little scolding for it, but that’s not even what you’re here for in the first place.

Remembering your sole purpose of being here, your glare hardens. You choose to stay infront of the door right after locking it for you don’t know what you might do if you get close to him. Aggravated to the brim, you don’t even bother putting up a soldier front and a half-assed salute.

“Barging in your superior’s office in late hours past curfew without even stating your name and business, you’ve got some guts,” he comments, extinguishing his table candlelight with a pinch of his fingers. The moment you laid your eyes on him with a prickly gaze, he’s already identified who you are and what you’re here for.

“Cut me some slack, will you?” you complain bluntly, the clear disrespect in your voice ringing. Levi raises his head and takes note of your attire. You’re on your nightwear, barefooted. Insane brat, he thinks. You’re surely in for an informal visit. He cocks a brow and decides to listen to your rambling.

You take his silence as a sign to continue. “I’m surprised you can get so childish, Captain. Look at you, loads of paperwork on your table but still got nothing decent to do other than abuse your comrades,” you hiss despite having a difficult time creating eye contact thanks to the darkness.

In a flash, he’s made his way across the room and stopped just face to face with you, the glowing full moon casting abstract shadows over his raging expression.

“What the fuck are you going on about?” he fumes, fist slamming into the wooden door, locking you in place. He’s slightly impressed you didn’t so much as flinch.

But he couldn’t bear it. Something about you visiting him in his office in the middle of the night ticks him off to ridiculous measures. It ignites a memory he detests.

His face is dangerously close, making you feel like you’re about to fall on your knees due to intimidation. You fight it back, refusing to show him you’re affected.

“Oh nothing, just really delighted that my ex, who unfortunately happens to be the Captain, is exploiting his rank and commanding his subordinate to his wish,” you spit straight into his face, sarcasm laced gracefully in your tone. He has no right to be furious when you’re the one who’s been suffering under his irrational commands.

“Are you complaining?” he asks. You’d think he’s being oblivious if not for the fact that he’s currently towering over you, eyes as unreadable as ever.

“I didn’t know you were one to hold a grudge against people who dumped you, Levi,” you frankly say, dropping the honorific. You’re sick of beating around the bush, you just want answers. You see the pique brewing in his beautiful eyes.

“What do you really want? Is this because I left you?” you continue upon seeing him open his mouth. You’re definitely pushing his buttons now, interrupting him when he’s about to speak. There’s a limit to how much you can rub him up the wrong way, but right now, you’re just as pissed as he is.

“You were the one who wanted to be in a relationship. You’re a grown woman, you should have known what you gotten yourself into,” he seethes, shutting you up for a couple moments. He actually confessed that it was all about the past?

You admit, you really were the one to make the first move way back. You initiated the motives, which makes it all the more reasonable for you to end it. Right?

“It’s because things weren’t working out, Levi. You should know when and where to end things!” you argue. There’s no way in hell you’ll let him have his way. You genuinely thought you ended things with him maturely.

“You should have understood that I can’t be with you all the time. I have important matters to attend to,” he says, looking straight into your eyes, fierce gaze burning into your soul. You fail to notice how your breath keeps hitching ever since he walked up to you. Your knees are slowly turning into jelly under his menace.

No, you can’t waver. “How irresponsible can you be? Picking a petty reason to end it even,” he adds.

“Alright, high and mighty Captain. Sorry I hurt that little ego of yours, but what’s done is done, so can you stop being such a dick to me now?” you roll your eyes, not even the least sorry.

“For the record, things were working out. You’re just an impatient brat,” he adds calmly. A brat? He’s the one acting like a kid here if anything!

“It’s all in the past! And that doesn’t explain why you’re burning me to the ground with your punishments!” you complain, blood slowly curling as time passes.

“Maybe if you weren’t a lazy little runt, slacking off just because you feel like it,” his eyes narrow, taking a step closer to push you back against the door.

“Excuse me? You keep ordering me around like some kind of slave, do you expect me to not drop dead?” you protest, beginning to see red. You reach out your hands to push him away. He was just too close, you didn’t like it.

He beats you to it, grabbing both your wrists and pins them to the wall. Your eyes widen and you try to break free. He takes another step forward to fully immobilize you in place.

“I won’t be needing an impotent soldier who can’t even do simple tasks. I’m removing you from my squad,” he blurts out of nowhere, and you feel your heart drop for a second. This is what you’re talking about when you say he’s an exploitative piece of shit.

You gawp at him, not knowing what to say. Being in his squad for years and years, you know you deserve your spot there. But for him to remove you for little to no reason? Damn, you want to kill him and his irrationality so bad. To do that, first, you have to free yourself.

“Fuck you,” are the only words you muster. Guess you’ll have to pull the big guns after all.

Keep reading

[levistripperman]

Kinktober Day 12: Virgin!Levi & Cunnilingus

kudos to @bluebellhairpin for inspo <3

Tags: virgin!levi, cunnilingus, fem-ejaculation, fem!reader Word count: 2600

Nearly naked, unabashedly displayed, shamelessly sprawled - Levi wouldn’t change anything about you. It was all he could think about from the end of his bed, how perfectly you looked on it. A nervous smile graced your lips. Nipples hardly hidden beneath your lace lingerie. Matching panties, the cotton stretch over your slit clearly soaked through. He had a full-frontal view of your pathetic state.

Yet somehow, he was the embarrassed one.

Levi’s hands clung to one another in an attempt to ground himself. A thick gulp you could see in the bob of his larynx. Just as obvious as his nerves, though, was his lust: dilated pupils, flush in his chest, solidity outlined in his increasingly taut briefs. Steadfast yet calculated was his crawl towards you: one knee sunk into the mattress, hands followed until they could perch themselves beside your shoulders. Slowly, he flexed his muscles to lower himself to your lips. Push-ups put to use. 

Though most things were still foreign to your virgin, he had grown into a remarkably professional kisser. A fast learner. Soft brushes at first, tongue dipped into a tango with yours. He made sure to delve deep as though you were a destination he was eager to explore. Unafraid to prolong the kiss, getting accustomed to and even craving your taste. Tonight, he would try a new one. 

Swiping and signing off, you held his cheek in your hand and lifted his gaze to yours, “You sure about this, Levi?” You returned your lips to his briefly, reassurance that you loved him regardless of his answer, “I don’t want you to feel rushed.”

Levi propped himself on one arm, letting his free hand trace its sultry way down your chest. He cupped your breast in his hand and grazed his fingers over your peaks, increasingly firm. “I’m ready,” between his knuckles, he sandwiched your point, “I want this.”

You clenched your teeth hard enough to make your jaw tremble. “Are you sure?”

Levi sank his head down in the crevice of your chest. Chin perched above your heart. Silver eyes glared through his curtain bangs, “Gonna make me beg for it?”

You giggled: half-nervous, half-malicious. Not yet.

The begging would come later, but for now, you intended to guide him with grace. As much as he tried to hide it, and as doubtful as you were that he could feel this emotion, Levi was nervous. 

The way he undressed you, though, you were progressively blinded to his anxiety. Fingertips flicked, teased, squeezed the sensitive tips of your breasts, the start of your blood’s rush south. Dry palms cupped your smooth curves - the contrast in textures mutually adored through his blush and your sighs. After giving your chest its due attention, Levi brought his touch and body down down down. His digits bent to match the arcs of your waist, torso, hips - his hold intentional throughout. Levi had not said the words yet, but his actions spoke louder: he was in love with you.

Meanwhile, a blend of love and hate was how he felt about this last garment: the pretty black panties that blocked him from your sex. Right hand bunched into a fist, trembling with an animalistic urge to rip your underwear in two. Left hand twitched in yearning, admiring how perfectly the color complemented your skin tone. At the lace hem, they met in compromise: hastily yet thoughtfully hooking his thumbs through the loops, using the dainty fabric as a grapple on his dive down.

Ice gaze was dead set on your core, you could not help but chuckle at the shamelessness of his stare. Mere inches away from the reveal, so close, you could feel his exhales fall on your slickened skin. As those breaths grew heavier, so did the chill of the current. You nestled your shoulders into his pillow and shuddered with a near-silent hiss.

Near silent.

As fixated as his vision was, his ears were always tuned to your voice. At the first sign of your discomfort, his tug halted immediately, “You okay?”

“Y’Yeah,” you squirmed. More than okay. Arch of your back and the bend of your knees invited, “Keep - Keep going.”

His heart was beating faster than ever, yet he gave two slow and assessing blinks. When your parted lips gradually returned to a composed press and glimmer of a smile, he swallowed and continued.

This time, he alternated his attention from your facial expression to your lap, that hiss of yours still ringing in his reddened ears. Yet, for the seconds that your sex finally separated from its cover, he could not take his eyes away. Made to glisten in their own arousal, causing your panties to stick as he stripped them off of you. A clear strand of a substance unknown to him - stretched impressively far between the cloth and your middle. An instant obsession: heart jumped into his throat, Levi nearly choked, but cleared his airway through a cluster of curses. 

A shaky exhale, “Goddamn, baby,” chills coursed violently through him, “you’re so -”

“- wet?” You chuckled, both embarrassed and teasing. Kinda what happens in these things, you know. Actually, you pondered his inexperience, maybe he didn’t know. You perched yourself up a tad, just enough to reach his own arousal, “Bet you are, too.”

“Hey,” Levi glared and smirked, guiding your hand away from him and back to your side, “tonight’s about you.”

It was how he envisioned it, that tonight would be all about your pleasure, but he had to reconcile that this was indulgent for him, too. If it was truly all about you, he probably shouldn’t have bunched your panties snug in his fist and tossed them recklessly to the ground. If it was all about you, why was he so hard and leaking this much? If it was all about you, how could he feel this fucking good?

At last. The two of you shared an unspoken shared sentiment - he was finally between your legs. Laid on his stomach, toes dug stable into his comforter. Shoulders sturdy beneath the backs of your thighs, propping you at the perfect angle. Muscular arms snaked around your legs, hands anchored at your hips. Having such intimate, intertwined contact with him made his shivers contagious, inciting a brief duet of his moans and your mewls. 

Levi palmed his way down your front, bringing his right hand to your middle - the first direct touch. Your feet slid against the other in delectation, ankles twisted, arms ran weak. Levi rolled his wrist to invert his stance: base of his hand to your hood, middle finger aligned to wedge between your slit, fingertips gave their first swipes from bottom to top and back again. Skin calloused, but deliberately lotioned: a perfect solidity veiled in delectable smooth. His hands were heaven-sent. You sighed in praise to a higher power - God, karma, or Levi Ackerman himself - what the fuck ever did I do to deserve this?

You grabbed a hold of his feathered pillow, nails threatening to pierce the case. You threw your other hand back against his headboard, a feeble attempt to push yourself further down, closer to him. 

Maybe he was new to this, but intuition was his namesake. Fluent in body language, especially yours, Levi translated: you wanted more. He jerked his contact further into you, close enough for your clit to complete a palm reading. The digits that lined your gap plunged inside. In trying to fit, they were forced to meet your curve, by unspeakable mistake, allowing him to tap the spot it took other men years to find.

Instantly, your legs shot straight, your lips snapped apart, loud shrieks escaped promptly. Levi felt a sting of panic, but it was swiftly washed away by a flood of endorphins. Confident that he could do this after all. His minute, cocky smile remained a secret to you - your eyes still squinted shut in pleasure. By the time you managed to peek past, his thin brows had narrowed in determination - on a mission for more of those screams. 

In this objective and others, Levi always dove straight in. Purpose seized his being. In one suave motion, his hand traded positions. Now, his nose to your pearl, his lips to your folds, his tongue in between them. At first, it was your feel: warm, wet velvet - his cock ached in imaginative longing, how good it would someday feel around him - even better than he had dreamed. Then, it was your taste: a blend of all the delicacies that made his tongue sing. A bakery’s transparent glaze, the tart of lemon liqueur, the succulence of steak. Black tea - no sugar, no cream - your harmless bitter and hidden sweet were strikingly similar: your spirit was ascending into his favorites list. 

It was a race to the finish, it seemed. Levi could feel your muscles clench around him, could hear your gasps accelerate and heighten. At the same time, he was painfully aware of his own wavering. Up to his head in the best life had to offer, his tethers had been snipped fuck by facial fuck. Each round of vertiginous shivers had ended the same way: expelling their energy through his middle, coating himself in slick - only making those rocks sleeker, smoother, and harder to hold back. His bedding soaked through, only your sex could distract him from that. 

If not your sex, then his shivering - Levi cursed himself, the goddamn shivering - that had subjugated his figure since the very start. Known for his strength, he should have been grateful that you were the only witness to his crumbling. Instead, he leaned towards dismay: Levi would rather have anyone but you see it. 

A glass-shattering cry of yours summoned a proportionately violent round, one that actually managed to break you from your selfish bliss. “H’Huh?” 

His only response was a series of twitches. “Levi?” Your hold on him drifted: fingers formerly wrapped fierce in his hair gravitated gingerly down to his temple, traced along his jawline, until pinching his chin and lifting his gaze towards you. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.” Levi objected sternly, nearly offended. Though he had to admit, you were not wrong in recognizing that he was not his typical self. Levi closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, overwhelmed with infatuation. Neck-deep in indulgence, he shivered again, “It’s just…”

I haven’t done this before.

I know, sweetheart. I can tell. 

With the back of your hand, you brushed his bangs aside. Noticing the sweat that coated them, you felt warmth fill your being, flattered by his endeavor. Still, though your lust was aching - throbbing - your consideration for him stayed strong. “Should we stop? I really don’t mind.”

It was the truth - you didn’t mind - it was just the kind of person you were, and how you had lured him here in the first place. Countless were the nights you had dreamt of this scenario - Levi Ackerman between your legs - and even with that scene culminating before you, you would easily abandon it for his sake. Your smile was genuine, but so was his frown. Brows angled in anger, lip twitched in fight. His hold on your hips ardently tightened. Past grit teeth, he sneered, “No.” Knuckles bent sharp, turning white as he pinned you down to the mattress. Levi buried his face in your sex and growled, affirming to both you and himself, “I’m going to make you cum.”

Eye contact made, a devious smirk dominated his expression. This time, you were the one to shiver - the first of many as he delved in again.  

Tongue licked you up like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day - catching all the drips, licking his lips clean of your taste. In those swipes of your sides, he relaxed the muscle wide and flat. In fucking your insides, he sharpened his tongue to point - aiming to reach your pleasure centers. After enough repetitions and growing fluent in your figure, Levi added his fingers back into the mix, penetrating the places his mouth left neglected.

Concern could only last so long - a lesson you learned as your euphoria revived. His actions were calculated, driven, intentional - instigating an equally opposite reaction. Done by his control, your grip invariably loosened. Vision hazed, reaching only as far as these four walls, then his bed, then the couple, then yourself. 

When he began to shiver again, you held back your concern and stayed focused on yourself: it’s what he’d want you to do. In that blissful ignorance, you missed the way his moans intensified, his sweat dripped, his hips quickened. Twitches and breaths you assumed were intended for your pleasure were actually the symptoms of his. Each lick, swipe, and swallow of your taste has contributed to the burn in his insides. A flame in his middle, desires hot, composure melting away. Levi growled and jutted his hips into the mattress in an attempt to ground himself, the novice didn’t know that it would only compound the sensation. 

Levi’s moans were muffled into your middle, you rolled your eyes back and drowned his voice out with yours. Heat flooded into his center, a wave that would not be thwarted. Physiology stomped the last of his digits: the virgin sent himself over the edge that he tried so hard to cling to.

Post-coital comedown flushed his skin an embarrassing shade of red. Its clarity forced him to swallow an even more humiliating truth: even when eating you out, he finished before you. The closest he came to whimpering, Levi mused in defeat. He thought that tonight would be the night he made you cum first. Upset, angered: his frustration was subconsciously taken out in his movements. Taken out on you and your most sensitive area. 

“Y’Yeah…” you hummed, “There. Right there, Levi.”

One brow shot up in confusion. His mouth remained at work, his expression demanded: Huh?!

With your eyes fluttered shut, you unknowingly answered his question: “F’Fuck…” your voice was sweet and syrupy, then seering and screaming, “F’Fuck! Oh, fuck, Levi!!”

By now, he had come to know what that meant. Hands instinctively pressed down on your hips. Fingers spread you wide and shameless. Strong and innate were the final movements that got you there: circling your clit, massaging your middle, fucking your deepest depths. The physical game was one he was learning, but the mental one - he was an expert in. 

“Yeah, that’s it…” Levi relished the way your ridges clung to him. He was nothing in this moment. All consuming was his longing to make you cum. To you, it was an order. In his perspective, he was begging. “Come on, let go,” at last, his unparalleled praise, “my good girl…”

Levi’s low and luscious voice melodied your gasps and writhes - the crudest symphony: you lost yourself in it. The lightning: a tidal wave. The thunder: a flash flood. From your center and through every capillary, achievement and ecstasy soaked your entirety - and soaked him. 

Mere seconds after its onset, you consciously snapped from your orgasm. Body still rocked by ripples, voice interrupted by them, you looked down to Levi - drenched from bangs to clavicle - and panicked, “L’Le-vi? Are you… alright?”

Levi snickered briefly, the current of his laughs chill on your sweat-covered thighs. With two fingers, he massaged your vulva still twitching, “You’re the one I should be asking about.”

Still catching your breath, you coughed lightly and inexplicably stuttered, “Y’Yeah.”

“So you’re ready for round two?”

Your stutters inexplicably cured: “Yeah.”

Kinktober Year 3 Masterlist

[levistripperman]

Nothing in my head but being intimate with Levi (in a fluffy, comfort way).

Your arms around his waist and his arms behind your back, pulling you in. You rub your face on his, planting light kisses on his skin. Levi signs in pleasure and relief. He loves it when you kiss him.

You leave a kiss on the side on his lips. Levi turns his head, asking for a proper kiss on his lips. Instead, you rub your nose on his nose.

Levi tilts his head up, chasing for your lips. You giggle and pull back.

Levi pouts, "kiss."

You grin, tilting your head to kiss his cheek. Levi turns his head to meet your lips, but you pull away, brushing your lips against his.

Levi smirks, "come here, you tease." He grabs your face and holds you steady. He moves in slowly, watching your lips as he approaches.

You could see his eyes closing and when your lips touched, he is drunk in you. You close your eyes too, kissing him back. Your palm moves up to the side of his neck, casually stroking his jawline with your thumb.

You fell more in love with him again.

[levistripperman]

what do you mean hes fictional. i need him

[levistripperman]

This is more a less a note to myself…

[levistripperman]

Fanfiction is great because I'm a greedy slut that wants it all. Nothing you could ever give me in a TV show would achieve the high I get when I've got 13 au's all on the go at once with bonus fanart on the side, like the most luxurious multiple course meal with wine pairings curated just to my taste

[levistripperman]

Married to Levi Ackerman (pre and post war!)

╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗

cw : sfw, , Fiancé Levi, married Levi, levi x reader, mentions of trauma. Pre war and post war Enjoy!!

Pre War

I can picture Levi totally proposing at a nice dinner date, but, let’s be realistic. You’re a soldier and he’s a captain, you don’t necessarily have time for dates. I head canon that Levi would be one of those people that would literally propose to you in bed, or before an expedition. Of course it’s not the nicest proposal , but yet it was still intimate in its own, unique way. Levi opened up and was comfortably and fully vulnerable to you. You hardly saw him show any other emotion besides anger and seriousness, of course he showed love and affection towards you, but never like this.

Levi wouldn’t gift like most couples do. He’s a very attentive man. He doesn’t half ass things and buys some random shiny necklace he sees in the window of a jewelry shop. He’d prefer something you’d genuinely use than some thing you’d store in a special box out of sentiment. He pays attention to you, sees what you want and need. Been wanting to read a certain book? He already has it bought and hidden away for your birthday. Broke your favorite tea cup? He has it stashed away somewhere for your anniversary.

Levi literally has THE WORST separation anxiety. He sees you vanish in the markets and his heart drops to his stomach. God you wouldn’t even be able to fathom how bad it was when you snuck into Marley. If you were out his eye sight he’d get anxious. When he works for hours on end away from you his stress levels rise and his head aches. And although he’ll never admit it, he fears he’ll lose you. Whether that’s out on the battle field or you’ll simply abandon him due to his stoic and “unlovable” nature.

Fiancé Levi that wants to elope so you can share your ties, but also wants to wait because he wants to give you a ceremony you deserve.

Post war!

You and Levi definitely eloped privately before the attack on Marley, long before Eren started his efforts to start rumbling. Although Levi hates parties he really wanted to give you a wedding like you’ve always dreamt about, but you insisted to get eloped.

post war Levi that lets you trace his scars

Long after the war, around 2-3 years of your marriage Levi finally held a small party for your wedding. It wasn’t big, it was held at your house with good food and some guests. And, you actually wore your wedding dress. (Connie and Jean genuinely did not know you and Levi were already married)

post war levi always kisses your hand goodnight. It seems like a small gesture of affection but in reality it’s him showing how grateful he is to have you. Never in a million years would he have ever imagined himself married to someone like you. You haul ass and take care of him, push him around in his wheel chair everywhere, hell, you even clean for him. And your cleaning skills are far more than just exceptional to him.

[levistripperman]

hoe hoe ho-ly shit! imagine this beautiful man turning up at your door on christmas day *drool* 🤤

[levistripperman]

Oh…..my……god……..🤤

[levistripperman]

Rhaenyra Targaryen (Emma D'Arcy) & Daemon Targaryen (Matt Smith) House of the Dragon: Season 2 First Official Stills