Work Text:
It was a late Sunday night. You were lying on your couch, an arm propped against the armrest, legs spread in a rather wild way, reading. A cold, abandoned cup of tea was resting on a pile of papers, next to your notes and draft.
You had passed the last few hours here, in your husband's office, needing the calm to finish your duty. Being a bookstore owner was a calm and quiet job. But most people wouldn’t get the anxiety of having to read a ton of books just so you could advise and talk about them to your clients. And that was precisely what you were trying to do, with furrowed brows, playing with your hair absentmindedly. The hand that wasn’t curling your strand was holding the book so close to your face that you could smell the fresh scent of the new pages. However, this one wasn’t perfect. It was a shitty romance. Not that you hate these kinds, but this one was just badly written. You knew it would interest some teenagers, though, so you didn’t mind.
You had just finished a chapter when the door to your right opened slowly. Your husband, Levi, appeared in the corner of the room. You didn’t have to look at him to guess he was judging the way you were standing on the furniture. You could feel his sharp grey eyes on you, probably reconsidering the past five years of marriage. And before you turned your face to him, you heard a dry chuckle.
"Still reading that crap?" he asked.
You lift an eye to him and nod before getting back to your reading. Levi didn’t push the conversation further. On a Sunday night, you usually stood there, reading. He didn’t mind. Sometimes, he would work on the desk behind you, correcting his students copies. You would smile each time you heard his sigh or mumbles over a bad exam paper. Some other time, when he was free of correcting duty, he would sit next to you and steal one of your already-read books. You knew he never finished those; it was just an excuse to stay with you. Not that he needed one, though. But even after years of relationship, the bastard still liked to pretend. Whatever. You like these moments. It was quiet. It was what you’d call: quality time with your short king.
Tonight, Levi wasn’t working over his desk. He had finished his work yesterday, while you were working at your store. So you knew he was just bored and craving your presence. At least, you assumed when he pushed your right thigh aside so you made room for him between your legs. Without deflecting your focus from the terrible plot, you pushed your back against the armrest, adjusting your posture.
Levi lay against you, his head resting over your lower belly. Your hand, the one you used to fidget with your hair, slid to his instead.
"You good?" you asked finally, your fingers scratching his undercut in smooth patterns.
"Mmh. Finished cleaning the kitchen," he answered before sighing.
His breath tickled your skin, the parts that weren't covered by your oversized shirt.
"Do you want to go to bed?" you add, lifting your book so you could check his features.
Levi had closed his eyes. His brows furrowed like even his mind was messing with him. His soft, silky, dark hair was falling on his forehead before your fingers brushed it aside.
"You’re almost done?" he asked instead.
"Yeah, in a few minutes."
"Fine. I'll wait."
So he did. At least for the first three minutes. The room went quiet, aside from the pages you turned and the sound of your both relaxed breaths.
Levi wasn’t the first step guy. It was more of your thing. Don’t get him wrong. He could be needy when he wanted or behaved like a starving man. But he had a way to hide this behind a cold composure that would leave you breathless.
So, when you started feeling his slender fingers brushing your inner thighs under your shirt, your heart stopped. First, you thought it was just him being impatient and wanting to go to bed. But, then, his lips brushed your soft skin. Slowly. Trailing kisses along your leg, his hand keeping it still while he lowered himself further to your crotch. Enough that you could feel his hot, tickling breath against your panties.
You shift. Your fingers let go of his hair, and you started to put your book away.
What you saw could make you stutter even if you have already seen this gaze multiple times. Levi lifts his head, eyes filled with an obvious desire. It was always a stunning view when he was kneeling between your legs, looking at you like you were a scrumptious dessert and also his perfect wife. When he had this gaze and reddened cheeks, you knew you wouldn’t have to beg. He was going to give you everything you wanted. And that…That was enough to make your mouth water.
"Keep reading," he commands with a harsh but warm tone.
"Levi—" you plead.
"I said I’ll wait. I didn’t specify how."
He put the book back into your hands, and when he was sure you would comply, he got back to his will. Meaning: spreading your legs wider and keeping you still between his firm grip. His kisses were more feverish now. Hot and wet. Greedy, almost. He teased you. His fingers worshipping your thighs. When his mouth reached your already soaked panties, he stopped.
"Tch. That much already ?"
Like he wasn’t aware of the power he had over you. His low voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you arch your hips towards him. Making crystal clear how much you wanted him. He knew that. And he wasn’t going to be an asshole and mock your pathetic attempt to have more.
Levi Ackerman was a lot of things: quiet, sharp-eyed, and particular to the point of obsession. But at home, he had steady hands and low murmurs against your skin. Sometimes it was funny how absurdly devoted he was to you. His wife. Because you knew how thin the list of people who got to know this side of him was. So, yes, when you moan softly and buck your hips to him, he doesn't leave you alone. His fingers hooked the waistband of your panties, rolling it down your already shaky legs.
He was a clean freak, and he loved two smells. Hygienic stuff — the more toxic, the better — and the smell of your pussy. So you didn’t need to raise an eye from your book to know he was smelling the blue-laced panties like they were sacred.
God, you try so hard to focus on your pages. But you couldn’t give a flying fuck on a rolling donut about what happened between Esmee and Georges at their dramatic wedding day. As a matter of fact, your eyes are closed now. Head tilted back, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed in an obvious, pleasurable way.
"Levi," you moaned in a whisper.
"Focus, brat," he answered.
His tongue didn’t rush you. It never did. His lick was slow on your center, deliberate, almost relevant. His nose brushing your little bud of nerves in an exquisite torture, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. Protective. Possessive. You wouldn’t know.
In five years of marriage and three others of established relationships, Levi knew you like the back of his pocket. He knew your weakest spots. He knew you liked a slow stroke around your folds; he knew it drove you crazy when he hummed against your clit; he knew you loved when he gripped your hips, restraining you while he kept devouring you. Furthermore, he absolutely knew you loved two, sometimes three, fingers hooked in your pussy, but you rather liked the pleasure of one and the sensation of your walls clenching around it. And most of all, he was aware that you loved it because it was him giving it to you. Him making you wet to the point that he almost drowns between your exquisite plump thighs. Him making you gasp and whimper, dragging his name out of your mouth with languid licks.
"God!" you moaned louder. "F-Fuck… Levi…"
This time Levi didn’t warn you. He knew you were just helpless. Poor thing. You were a mess, after all. Legs spread wide on the couch, shirt pulled up to your round breasts when Levi wanted to give attention to them, like he knew you would love. Your hand barely held the novel while the other was messing with the soft strands of your husband's hair. Tugging it to the point he groaned roughly against your wet cooch. But he likes it that way.
When he pushed one finger into your entrance, you cried like it was his hard dick; you were that sensitive. Again, he didn’t mock. If not, he encouraged you. Praise you. And when he was fed up with having to watch this stupid cover book instead of your divine features, he pushed it aside. The romance fell on the ground, and you could finally see how handsome Levi was like this. Hair still falling perfectly on his forehead, eyes still dark with lust, mixed with a loyal and unwavering love that makes things to you.
"You taste so fucking good, love. You know that, right?"
Of course you knew. You would taste yourself later on his pretty lips. Like you have done before.
Levi continues his work on you. His tongue began to circle your clit. Slow. At first. He wanted to hear you, feel your hips jerk to him so you could fuck yourself harder on his mouth. His fingers hooked inside your pussy, working in steady movements, hitting the spongy spot that makes you cry his name even louder. Your pelvis arched, your legs pressed against his head, making it almost impossible for him to breathe. Sometimes, you could swear he didn’t need to. He was that devoted. His lips kissed, nipped, and sucked your bud like it was the most delightful lollipop. And when he felt your breath getting erratic just now, he increased his pace. His nose brushed your clit again, this time deliberately.
"Aah, fuck… Levi, I-I’m close."
Oh, he was well aware.
"Please don’t stop. Please…"
Your moans were music to his ears. He was so hard, his pants started to be painfully tight. He didn’t even need to stroke his shaft. The feeling of your clenching walls around his fingers was enough. You, were enough. Yes, he could just masturbate while giving you the best head you ever had, but it wasn’t the point. He just didn’t need it right now.
Your grip on his scalp only gets tighter, like your pussy around his fingers.
"You greedy thing," he said, voice muffled against your folds.
You tugged his hair tighter. That makes him grunt. His low sound vibrates through your clit, increasing the pleasure.
His chin was covered with your wetness, juice drooling from his lips before running down the fabric of the couch. He couldn’t care less. That wasn’t the only time he fucked you there. He would clean it later.
"Let go, love. I won’t stop until you're ruining my shirt."
Fuck. That alone was enough to make you meow. You arched your back again, thighs pressed against your husband's head. He wrecked you. Your muscles were tense, your breaths a panting mess. Your chest raised heavily, and your heart felt like it was about to explode. Feet curling through the pleasure. Tension shifts. The pleasure overwhelmed you; it was too much. Enough to silence you. Your fingers let go of Levi’s hair and tugged his white shirt instead. Folding it under your touch.
"Don’t rush," Levi murmured, as if he could feel the exact moment you started to lose yourself.
His fingers curled again, pounding inside you with measured thrusts. Each one's dragging his name and more porn sounds from your mouth. Your velvet walls clenched again, making it difficult for him not to put his hard, throbbing cock inside you. He cursed under his breath, the sounds swallowed by the wet noises he made around your precious core.
You were on the edge. His tongue cleaning, lapping your moisture with an obsessive stroke. You hit your head against the armrest, eyes shut, biting your lips to restrain your noisy moans. But as you were going to let it go, feeling your climax building under his thrust and the torturous sucks around your pinky bud, Levi pressed a hand to your stomach.
"Look at me," he said quietly.
And this certain voice undid you. Your eyes flickered to his. And you hold his gaze while he finishes his meal. You, his delicious wife, whom he devours with such dedication.
You did ruin his shirt. At least the collar, which now was soaked from your squirt. You cry his name out, and he muffles it with a languid kiss on your mouth, swallowing your whimpers until the waves of pleasure end. You taste yourself on his tongue with a mix of black tea and something else that was just him. Then you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing him closer to you, needing contact while you came apart.
His fingers slow down their thrusts and stay buried inside you a bit longer. When he slid them out, you gasped, feeling empty again but sore in the best way. He pressed another kiss on your mouth, while his hands rubbed your shaky thighs, grounding you.
Then, when your breath felt steadier, normal, he pushed your hair aside.
"Still with me?"
You nodded, dazed. But with a lazy smile on your lips that makes his mouth twitch.
"Good." He muttered, like he’d been holding that word back.
The office is quiet again. Not the heavy silence from before when you’d been curled into the couch with your crappy book. This one was warmer. You were half on his lap now, breathing slower. Your cheek resting against his shoulder. Levi doesn’t let go of you; he never rushes the ending. His hand remained on your waist, thumb tracing absentminded lines against your skin.
At his feet, the book lies forgotten. He noticed. The ugly book cover was facing him again.
After a moment, he shifts just enough to reach for it without dislodging you completely. He picks it up, glances at the page, and marks it carefully.
"You were at the epilogue," he murmured.
You hum, eyes still closed. His gaze drops to you, but it’s not desire anymore, nor lust. Just his overwhelming love he sometimes doesn't know how to express.
"You want to finish it?" he asked. "Or go to bed?"
You blinked up at him, still high from that slow, post-everything haze.
"You interrupted me." you reminded him softly.
"I gave you a chance to finish it, though."
"Like I was standing a chance with that devil tongue of yours."
Levi smirked while studying you for a second. Making sure you were still fully there, steady.
"Alright. Bed, then." He decided. "You can read this nonsense tomorrow."
There’s something about the way he says it, like he’s scheduling you the rest you needed just as he was scheduling his classes. He stands carefully, setting the book next to the cold cup of tea, then offers you his hand.
When you stood up, your legs betrayed the hard care he put into you. Always observant, Levi leaned against you. His hand settles at the small of your back, guiding you silently.
"Go. I’m going to clean the mess I provoked."
You chuckled, glancing at his shoulder to witness the actual chaos behind him.
"We’ve done worse," you said with a smile.
"Don’t remind me."
You let him take care of the poor couch that had been blessed with your fluids. And you waited for him, sheets tight around you. The shower you took finished its job on your vanquished body. And it was a miracle you were still awake when he came back. You put your phone away, you’ll answer to Hange tomorrow, and make room for Levi. He handed you a glass of water and pressed his lips against your temple.
Maybe you didn’t like the romance of Esmee and George because yours was far more interesting. Besides, no one was like Levi and you.
"Love you," you sighed, pressing your head against his shoulder.
"Love you too."
Then, you slid back under the blanket, and when you put your cold feet against his legs, Levi swore, almost regretting his last words. But you knew otherwise.
The man was so down for you.