levitoni

[levitoni]

Uhhh…priest and demon Levi fics coming soon. 🥱

[levitoni]

gothic levi <3

(bg is a william morris wallpaper)

[levitoni]

You wake up to the scent of tea. Not the bitter black kind that Levi drinks, but something softer—herbal, floral, sweet, the kind that comes in frilly pink and purple pastel packaging, that he only buys for you. Even though he grumbles and says it “tastes like damn grass.” You turn your head to see it on the nightstand, light liquid steeping in an ornate, ceramic teacup, steam curling up and kissing the air before disappearing. Next to it is a plate of apple slices—cut more meticulously than necessary—and two pieces of bread. Knowing Levi, the number is a deliberate choice, based on the trial-and-error of how your body had reacted to all the breakfasts he’d given you over the few weeks of your pregnancy so far.

Levi is sitting in the chair by the bed, his own black tea in hand. His eyes flick up when you shift under the blankets.

"You gonna eat, or are you just gonna stare at it then complain when the tea’s too cold and the apples are brown?” But there’s no bite to his words—just his own, Levi-brand of concern.

You roll your eyes and make a noise akin to a laugh, but reach for the tea anyway. "Good morning, grumpy." Your voice is raspy from disuse, and though he never said it directly, he liked being the one who got to hear your first words every morning.

He hums and doesn’t say anything else, just watches intently as you sip your tea and eat your breakfast. You can feel him monitoring every sip, every bite, tracking how much you’ve eaten and seeing if any of it upsets your stomach.

He's been like this since the day you told him you were pregnant—making mental notes as he watches you, sucking his teeth every time he notices a new symptom, making sure you don’t push yourself too hard. (Even though his version of ‘too hard’ is if you stand up too quickly or bend over to pick something up.)

You nibble at a piece of bread, and he watches until he's satisfied with the sight of you eating without retching.

“Keep going,” he murmurs as he lifts his own tea to his lips, not so much a demand as it is an encouragement.

He’s pragmatic in the way he cares for you—not too vocal about it, but you notice the changes in his behavior, in the things he does.

A new, heavier quilt that magically appeared at the end of your bed one day after you’d mentioned, off-hand, that you’d been getting cold at night. Pillows tucked behind your back when you were sitting on the couch, at the dinner table, against the headboard of the bed, which he’d fluff and reposition one, two, three times. Cabinets full of herbal blends of tea and every snack you’d mentioned craving, even if he knew that your cravings were fickle and fleeting. If you’d so much as crinkle your nose at a snack he placed in front of you, even if it had been your favorite only the day before, he’d swap it out for something else before you could protest.

Levi has never been soft. Not in the way others tend to be when they’re in love. But you notice things. And, more importantly, you feel the way he loves you.

You felt it when you could tell that he actively slowed his pace when walking beside you, a hand lingering near your back, just in case. He didn’t want to smother you, but he needed to be there.

And you felt it when, one night, you woke him up at midnight because you had an intense, inexplicable craving for a fresh, buttery croissant—the type of pregnancy craving that you’d learned wouldn’t go away until satisfied. You expected a narrowed gaze, a scoff, a curt lecture. Instead, he sighed, blinked a few times, and muttered, "Yeah, yeah," before pulling on his jacket and heading out to find one. He came back half an hour later, placing a pastry bag on your lap, the warmth of the fresh croissant palpable through the crinkly paper, before crawling back into bed next to you and shutting his eyes without making a fuss of the whole thing. Not even about the crumbs you’d inevitably get in the bed.

And you felt it at night, when you’d toss and turn because, truthfully, sleeping with a baby growing inside you was pretty damn uncomfortable—and he’d let you use him as a pillow, as a blanket, as whatever you needed. And his hand would drift lazily up and down your back in soothing little circles, or cradle your growing belly with a protective hold. When you’d stir in the morning, he wouldn’t move away. If anything, he’d pull you closer, as if to remind himself you’re both still there. Still safe.

He doesn’t coddle you or overwhelm you, not exactly. But his care is evident in everything he does, silent and precise.

And in that moment, as he watches you finish eating the last apple slice, he sets his own tea down and walks over to the bed, his brows set in a line of concentration.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, helping you, slowly, sit up in the bed, your legs swinging over the edge of it. He kneels down in front of you, his movements practiced and smooth. His hands, rough from years and years of fighting, grasp onto your ankles, assessing how swollen they are.

He narrows his gaze as he looks up at you. “You were on your feet too much yesterday,” he mutters, his voice low and disapproving as his fingers begin to gently knead your swollen ankles and legs.

“Levi, it’s fine,” you say, shaking your head in a swift, affectionate movement.

He presses his fingers against the arch of your foot and notices how you wince. He gives you a look, the corners of his lips twitching into the faintest, smug smile.

“Right,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. But he’s not mad, not really. Just worried. He continues massaging your legs, with his full, undivided attention. It wouldn’t be like Levi to half-ass anything.

“You don’t need to do all this, Levi, really,” you say, though you make no actual effort to push him away. “It’s gonna be a long nine months if you keep doting on me like this.”

“Maybe I’m just tired of watching you hobble around like you learned how to walk yesterday. It’s lamentable,” he says, his blue-grey eyes still wired onto your legs. You know that what he means, really, is “Maybe I just love you… You idiot.” And that’s more than enough for you. It’s everything.

Masterlist

taglist: @leviykwim @wittyjasontodd @veilsofroses @houseofcrying @velvetyshu (message to be added!)

[levitoni]

Hi! I just wanna start by saying I absolutely adore your writing sm. You’re my favorite Levi writer🤭

I saw you were taking requests and was wondering how you felt about a fic where the reader and Levi have either a really stressful night of paperwork or get back from a really horrible mission and she ends up convincing him to drink a bit with her. Except the next day they wake up in bed together totally confused on how they got there. But the plot twist is they’re best friends and reader is one of the other veterans sibling (could be adopted).

Sorry this was so long lol🫶

Wow, you guys flatter me too much 😅 thank you so much for the kind words! I hope that I do Levi justice because I really believe he is a very well written character(especially in the future with longer fics).

I will definitely be writing something similar in an upcoming fic/drabble, so stay tuned for that…it will probably be more fluff than smut though, as I would like to focus more on the interactions between Levi and reader, and possibly delve into some more characterisation rather than just straight up smut :)

Also sorry for not answering sooner, I have been quite busy with uni so I haven’t really had much time to write at all recently lol

Again, thank you so much for this ask, the response from you guys has been awesome 🫶🏻

[levitoni]

I just know Levi would eat you out so good. 

He would have you propped up on the bed, legs on either side of his head, his tongue soothing the delicious burn of your need.

At first, he would tease you over the thin fabric of your panties until he’d bunch them up, dragging them back and forth all over your cunt. He would be so enamoured by you, he’d probably be able to get off just by pleasuring you.

It would be so sensual, too-his jaw moving with his tongue, drawing languid and big circles over not just your clit, but your entire pussy, slowly, fingers digging into the skin of your thighs. His hands would be gentle, caressing and moving your legs into the positions most comfortable for you. He would leisurely make you go hazy with arousal, and I stand by that.

I picture him spreading your folds gently with his fingers, disconnecting himself from your sex. A thin string of saliva glistens brightly, linking him to your pussy. His face is obscured by the dim atmosphere in the room, and he has a lustful expression on his face as he pulls back to examine you.

You look totally fucked out, lost in the feeling of his hands and tongue running over your sensitive skin. You whimper as a beady string of spit lands on your clit. He thumbs over your entrance, and you clench down hard on him. He groans.

It is a constant cycle of giving you more than you can handle, and not enough at the same time. Levi knows that. And yet, he doesn’t want to give you his all for now. You’re deserving of it, but he believes in the ability to wait. 

And so Levi knows that he’s got you right where he wants you. He gently traces his nose against your inner thighs, pressing a single kiss to the area right below your throbbing clit. He’s teasing you constantly, and you hiss loudly. The only sounds in the room are your panting, and the obscene sounds of him licking you all over. Your legs tremble uncontrollably.

Though he would never admit it, he’s smitten by you, and he would give you the world if you asked him for it- especially in moments like these, when he knows you have such a tight hold on him. At the end of a long, hard day Levi would ruin you just for his own satisfaction. 

So he pinches your clit between his pointer finger and thumb, and rubs them in circles over and over again. The air hangs heavy with the smell of sex and musk.

His lips part as he admires you from below, grey eyes glazed over and focused on your wetness.  Your toes crack and curl. You wheeze loudly. He coos.

“Levi!”- you moan, grabbing fistfuls of his raven hair, gaze boring right through you. Your hips inevitably raise under the devastating pressure, and you think he might let you tip over the edge, when all of a sudden…

Nothing. All his ministrations stop. 

You’re confused for a second before his hand comes down forcefully on your cunt, slapping your clit. 

Your legs jolt, and you gasp. Levi is quick to shush you. 

“Does this feel good?”

You mewl. He hums as his entire palm massages your cunt, rich baritone filling your ears. 

“It does, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

Yeah, he really would eat you out good. 

[levitoni]

If you have any requests for Levi drabbles/fanfics/thirsty thoughts, drop them and I’ll be happy to answerrr :)

[levitoni]

I just know Levi would eat you out so good. 

He would have you propped up on the bed, legs on either side of his head, his tongue soothing the delicious burn of your need.

At first, he would tease you over the thin fabric of your panties until he’d bunch them up, dragging them back and forth all over your cunt. He would be so enamoured by you, he’d probably be able to get off just by pleasuring you.

It would be so sensual, too-his jaw moving with his tongue, drawing languid and big circles over not just your clit, but your entire pussy, slowly, fingers digging into the skin of your thighs. His hands would be gentle, caressing and moving your legs into the positions most comfortable for you. He would leisurely make you go hazy with arousal, and I stand by that.

I picture him spreading your folds gently with his fingers, disconnecting himself from your sex. A thin string of saliva glistens brightly, linking him to your pussy. His face is obscured by the dim atmosphere in the room, and he has a lustful expression on his face as he pulls back to examine you.

You look totally fucked out, lost in the feeling of his hands and tongue running over your sensitive skin. You whimper as a beady string of spit lands on your clit. He thumbs over your entrance, and you clench down hard on him. He groans.

It is a constant cycle of giving you more than you can handle, and not enough at the same time. Levi knows that. And yet, he doesn’t want to give you his all for now. You’re deserving of it, but he believes in the ability to wait. 

And so Levi knows that he’s got you right where he wants you. He gently traces his nose against your inner thighs, pressing a single kiss to the area right below your throbbing clit. He’s teasing you constantly, and you hiss loudly. The only sounds in the room are your panting, and the obscene sounds of him licking you all over. Your legs tremble uncontrollably.

Though he would never admit it, he’s smitten by you, and he would give you the world if you asked him for it- especially in moments like these, when he knows you have such a tight hold on him. At the end of a long, hard day Levi would ruin you just for his own satisfaction. 

So he pinches your clit between his pointer finger and thumb, and rubs them in circles over and over again. The air hangs heavy with the smell of sex and musk.

His lips part as he admires you from below, grey eyes glazed over and focused on your wetness.  Your toes crack and curl. You wheeze loudly. He coos.

“Levi!”- you moan, grabbing fistfuls of his raven hair, gaze boring right through you. Your hips inevitably raise under the devastating pressure, and you think he might let you tip over the edge, when all of a sudden…

Nothing. All his ministrations stop. 

You’re confused for a second before his hand comes down forcefully on your cunt, slapping your clit. 

Your legs jolt, and you gasp. Levi is quick to shush you. 

“Does this feel good?”

You mewl. He hums as his entire palm massages your cunt, rich baritone filling your ears. 

“It does, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

Yeah, he really would eat you out good. 

[levitoni]

And we haven’t been able to look away in 12 years.

[levitoni]

“he’s canonically considered ugly in the show”

this man ??

this scrumptious man ??

[levitoni]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Anto (19), she/her.

Masterlist:

Attack on titan

@levitoni 2025, do not copy or translate my works.

Last updated: 27/04/2025

[levitoni]

Levi Ackerman.

One shots:

Take my soul, leave my body.

Levi’s left alone in his office, but thoughts of you distract him from his paperwork.

Read on AO3.

Drabbles:

Levi eating you out

@levitoni 2025, do not copy or translate my works.

[levitoni]

Take my soul, leave my body.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x female reader. 

Warning: smut, NSFW 18+, minors dni.

Content: depictions of grief and guilt, solo masturbation, edging, choking, Levi cumming his brains out .

Author’s notes: Hi! This is my first one-shot ever. I hope I gave Levi’s character justice, as I absolutely adore him and he lives in my mind rent free. Keep in mind English is not my native language, so watch out for mistakes. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

Levi’s left alone in his office, but thoughts of you distract him from his paperwork.

The mess hall buzzes alive in the general uproar of the evening. The smell of wood wafts through the air, dishes being served left and right to greedy soldiers, who converse loudly and eat even more so. The sound of plates clanking together accompany the movement of dozens of people who walk past pushing each other, talking and grinning with the approach of the evening.

Flashes of green and brown pass by Lance Corporal Levi, seated on the veteran’s benches. Not bothered to entertain, the man remains firmly rooted to his spot, seemingly set in stone. A permanent scowl rests on his shapely lips, disturbing his otherwise polished appearance. A porcelain cup, fair like his complexion, rests between his elongated fingers, onyx bangs brushing against his eyelashes, uniform impeccably clean. Despite his still demeanour, nobody seems inclined to approach him tonight.

Not that he particularly cares for it, anyways. In fact, he’s glad he’s alone. Remnants of the day keep sneaking into his mind, confusing themselves with thoughts of his duties, the next expeditions, the upcoming training sessions. He’s annoyed, but most of all tired. His fingers tighten around the rim of the cup as soldiers bustle about next to him, shouting at a considerably high volume.

For him, it is one of those heavy nights: he feels a headache coming on this early into the dusk. He knows the tea won’t help; he’s too preoccupied by his own thoughts, granted to him in the form of discomfort, laced with a feeling whose definition he can’t quite place a finger upon. Typically it seethes deep in his being, reminding him of his past, prompting memories to arise deep in the nightfall; he thinks back to his youth, his companions in the Underground, his mother, alongside a recent addition: you. The emotion always renders him utterly useless, until the burning in his eyes subsides almost completely by the dawn of the following day and it stops washing over him in waves.

That’s why he doesn’t notice when you enter the hall.You’re with your comrades, your smile a bight contrast against the dark atmosphere, delighted at the prospect of finally relaxing in front of a plate of warm food. He doesn’t notice when you deliberately pick the table next to his, and when you sit on the furthest spot on the bench besides his, he feigns indifference until he lifts his gaze. 

Before he can react, you greet him over the sounds of the hall.

-Good evening, Captain- you say, velvety tone wrapping around him.

A couple of beats pass between the two of you. Then, there is a single indication of his acknowledgment: a mechanical nod, along with a look towards your direction.

His stormy irises glint under the dim lights of the room, like gray crystals shining in the moonlight. You don’t miss the gravity of the stare he shoots your way. You don’t think much of it: it seems a regular gesture, befitting of his intense character. 

But you don’t detect the slight tremble of his fingertips, nor the way his gaze runs over you, taking in how you look, your expressions, your every move. He observes the outline of your face and neck even after you turn your head away from him, his slated eyes raking over your jacket. In his imagination, he would like to lean over, so close you would almost be touching, gently grab your wrist and feel the weight of your skin beneath his fingertips.He would be close enough to perceive the heat of your breath, and maybe he’d ask you questions and listen to you intently, without ever missing a word spewing from your lips. Maybe he’d even take you away, if you would let him. 

But Levi is a rational man. He lives his life in the silent promise that one day, his heart's deepest desires will be fulfilled, and yet when anguish catches up to him, irrefutably and achingly, he’s terrified. He wholeheartedly wishes it would be the opposite, but every time he attempts to escape, it doubles down on him, suffocating him entirely. 

So he looks away when your head tilts towards him. He doesn’t want to deal with the idea of you tonight. He’s aware he’s scarred, and all he wants to do this evening is to bask in his loneliness. So he convinces himself it would be wrong of him to trouble you. 

He suddenly feels the urge to leave. The sound of laughter spreads trough the hall, the wood creaking as he lifts from his seat, swiftly and silently. A strange sensation simmers in his gut and engulfs him completely, and the next time you look towards his direction, he’s gone.

****************************************************************************************************************************

Levi walks away. The freezing corridor walls exude quietness, the only discernible sound his boots tapping against the cement floor, creating a rhythmic noise. He opens the door to his office, and he’s greeted by a familiar sight: bundles of paper on his elegant mahogany desk. The moonlight beams though the windows, ensuring a subdued and soft ambience, and the door closes behind him with a soft click. His shoulders drop as he walks over to his chair, exhaling softly through his nose. The rug mutes his boots, providing a muffled sound, disrupted by the squeaking of the chair as soon as he sits down. 

The moon is ever-present, with a warm milky glow in the sky. Levi believes the sight of it could become a song in the eyes of anyone willing to raise their head upward. He’s reminded of his childhood, the moon his exclusive and solitary companion during those restless nights, in the city whose inhabitants sleep, while sorrow doesn’t.

He pinches the area between his brows. The dull headache doesn’t seem to pass, and he opts to distract himself by opening the stack of paperwork and grabbing a report, in order to not sit up late and think about reasons why he shouldn’t try with you. He always feels as though when he moves and speaks it’s his shadow, but he’s convinced when you look at him, it’s him really.

Because of this, Levi sometimes cannot stand himself. He’s certain he despises himself when during the never-ending dusk hours his mind, branded with your image, reels in contemplation of you, like right now.

The pen wavers in his hand as a persistent impulse creeps at the forefront of his mind. 

He hates how much of an effect you have on him. He thinks of you these past few days, and the images his mind comes up with are proof of his longing: flashes of your pale, damp neck during training sessions, when you think he’s not looking. Your eyes, seductive and always welcoming. Rosy, pillowy lips in an almost perfect shape, never set in a straight line, inviting. He would be dishonest if he stated he’d never thought of them wrapping around his own, drawing out his breath, kissing him all over. 

He lifts his hand, rubbing his temples even harder now. Levi’s sure it’s sinful, but he’s been dreaming of giving you highs. Of pleasuring you until you’re stupid, making you thoughtless against his sheets, quivering with satisfaction. 

His mind fogs like the cold unfurling on a glass panel.

He would know how to treat you properly. At least, that’s what he always tells himself when twilight approaches. As the numbing coolness of nightfall imprints itself perpetually on the windowsills, rendering him scornful and estranged, he’s aware atonement is inconceivable.During these moments he’s reminded of everything and nothing at all simultaneously: your presence contained in fleeting fractions of time. Often, when he thinks of you, his heartbeat expands beneath his collar as darkness consumes him.

He’s aware he’s not allowed to have you, of course. Even more certain he’s not entitled to you; he thinks he would hate it if you so much as looked at him spitefully. And yet, he’s imagined your figure in impossible positions, his graceful fingers touching you, reaching spots bound to have you breathless, even better - gasping for air. The palms of his hands caressing the span of your entire frame, rousing goosebumps in their wake. His toned, lithe back spanning in between your thighs, his delicate tongue languidly tracing circles in places only he should see.

He knows you should be bent, but not ruined. Twisted, but not deformed. He has already seen the fire in your eyes, only he longs to feel it inflicted on him. He wouldn’t shun you for it, but most of all, he wouldn’t avoid it. He doesn’t believe he will ever steer clear of it when it burns through him, searing him alive.

He shifts in his seat. He feels hardness prodding at the fabric of his pants. The room is scorching hot, and he leans back in his chair in an attempt to calm himself, closing his eyes. 

His ebony hair appears tousled and soft, inky strands scraping against his bare neck. Heat becomes visible on his cheeks, vividly pink. He’s always loathed how effortlessly his skin reacts; in the Underground, kids would mock him and call him names for being so pale. But right now, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all when the only thing on his mind is you. The air is stuffy, and everything on his body seems too tight, too confining.

He starts taking off his jacket, folding it on his desk, but the movement causes his pen to fall to the ground.

-Fuck- he curses, his voice cutting through the stuffy air, sounding foreign even to him. 

But he doesn’t bother lifting it, guilt eating him alive. Would it be so wrong to relieve himself just one time? Levi doesn’t think he will ever be able to answer such a question. His cock throbs in his pants. Levi curses again. As his body betrays him, he recalls how he’s used all his willpower these past few weeks, and one thing he’s certain of: there’s not a single strand left. 

So he values his options: slaving away on the paperwork until morning, or surrendering to his filthy desires. Before he can even follow his reasonings, he shifts in seat again, not realising his mistake.His train of thoughts is immediately interrupted when his bare hand brushes against his dick. He nearly moans from the contact, shivers running down the length of his back.

All rationality is gone out of the window in an instant when he grabs himself through the fabric of his uniform, and the sinful noise he spews will remain forever embedded in his brain. 

He wonders if you hate him now.

In his mind, he begs for your forgiveness. But the need for you grows too strong. Especially when he rids himself of his shirt and cravat, and especially when he unbuttons his pants and doesn’t even bother to take them off all the way. He stops where the ODM gear marks are engraved on the planes of his muscular thighs, and pants wildly as he frees his dick from all kinds of restrictions.

He doesn’t have time to rationalize any of it, and he doesn’t think he wants to.He reels forward as he presses his thumb to his bright red tip, groaning when he rolls it in slow, tormenting circles. He wraps his palm around the sensitive area, huffing through his mouth as he starts moving up and down in sensual motions.

He thinks of having his way with you. He throws his head back as he fantasizes of bending you over, taking you right there in his office against the lacquered mahogany. He dreams of wrapping your hair around his hand and tugging it, forcing you to arch your back and allowing him to pound into you even harder. He moans particularly loudly when he focuses on the vein on the underside of his dick, imagining it’s you between his legs, running your precious tongue all over him, drooling over his round balls and rhythmically taking him deeper into your throat. 

He feels his high approaching too fast. He’s gasping as he bunches up the fabric of his pants in his right hand. To give himself a reprieve, he spits into it, and squeezes his manhood as his saliva mixes with his precum. His abs stretch over miles of skin, and pearly beads of liquid fall languidly on the short, dark hairs of his pelvis.He looks gorgeous like this, deprived and wanton.

And so he whimpers when he thumbs his slit in an upwards motion, and falls apart slowly; he is so needy, but nothing is enough anymore. He wants to cum so bad- the stimulation is insufficient, and he grows desperate by the second.

He lifts his hand up and brushes against his nipples. He thinks of your cunt swaddling him in its wonderful heat, while you ride him on the exact chair he’s sitting on. His hand speeds up, and the only sounds heard in the room are his wheezing and the heavy squelching caused by his movements.A known sensation envelops him totally, and he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop, not anymore.

He’s certain you’ve bewitched him. As he pictures your pussy on his tongue, he experiments by closing his hand around his throat, cutting off his oxygen supply completely. The reaction is immediate: one of his knees comes up and he knocks something off his desk. He doesn’t bother looking. You have him right where he wants to be: weak with desire. He stifles a groan. 

He understands that if you asked him for anything, he would give it away. He would do it, for you, and you only.He’s hanging right there, and for a split second he thinks he might slip and ruin everything. But Levi is not a person prone to making errors. 

Right before his unravelling, he forcefully grasps the base of his dick and pushes down. His muscles tense up entirely, tears prickling his eyes. He heaves.

The sensation fizzles out around his tip, smouldering and taking over him. He cries out, his hips rising up. He knows that If it were you doing this, he would be begging. 

He holds out for another moment, lifting his hand from his throat and grabbing the handles of the chair.Then, he furiously brings his hand down and touches himself.

A single tear escapes his eyes, and he nearly wails.

He chokes as his raging high washes over him, igniting him from the inside out. His muscles tremble though his entire peak as sweat dribbles down his forehead, his face scrunched up in an agonisingly beautiful expression. 

Levi has never come this hard. Deep inside, he wishes you were here to witness it.

When he finally opens his eyes, they’re glazed over. Exhaustion seeps into his bones, milky white liquid sticking his fingers together. Cotton seems to have lodged itself into his ears, and while he would prefer to clean himself immediately, he’s too tired to. 

He runs his hand over his manhood once more, his hand limp, and he almost hisses from the overstimulation. Papers are strewn all over the floor, a picture of his mind, and he gulps as he sits up further on the chair. He hears voices down the corridor, and he lifts his gaze towards his window.

One thing he’s positive of: he knows he can’t be saved. Nobody knows how will end will unfold. None of your gods can redeem him; so, as moonlight whispers pale hues into the dreamy night, he hopes you absolve him.