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yulsan · 2 years

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When I read this I immediately thought of this:

Hands Off [Levi]

summary: Miche is somewhat jealous of Levi’s strength, and the girl he’s sweet on—you. How else to resolve this but with a jealousy-fueled drinking contest?

warnings: alcohol consumption

wc: 2.3k

a/n: warmly dedicated to @peace-for-levi - HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR!! wishin u the best😁😁and thank you for adding onto this idea!! hope u enjoy😁💖

deadass, almost the entire time i was writing this i had this stupid smile on my face😭the entire concept for this was hilarious to me. i hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it <3

-lev☔︎

listened to while writing:

Miche isn’t one to hold a grudge, or even get all that peeved at things—he’s more of a gentle giant than anything, but—who the hell is this thug from the Underground to garner so much reputation and praise? So much so that words of his battle prowess and nerves of steel are quickly spreading, all the way from the Scouts’ HQ in Shiganshina to the Interior?

It’s not that Miche’s pride is rooted in being known as the strongest the Corps has to offer; it’s the underlying arrogance behind Levi’s eyes, and it’s you, his counterpart that was recruited right along with him. It sets a fire in Miche’s chest, both imagining knocking Levi down a peg, and garnering a bit of attention from a peach like yourself.

You arch a brow. “Levi doesn’t drink.”

He doesn’t—almost never, in fact—but that doesn’t stop him from shooting you a look, as if to say, What could it hurt?, and taking Miche up on his offer: a drinking contest.

It’s your birthday. You and Levi never put much stock in celebrating them, but Hange told Commander Erwin, who insisted they all hold a small get-together for the Corps’ two quickest rising stars. Hange naturally took that to mean a celebratory night of fooling around and pulling out what liquor they have on hand from the supply stores.

You hiss a sigh through your teeth in disapproval, but Hange is hooting with excitement at the prospect of a contest. “Oo! Do you think I could join, too?”

“If you don’t wake up with a hangover tomorrow morning,” Erwin comments, cool as a cucumber from where he’s leaning against the wide breadth of his desk.

Hange insists they can; you watch them cozy up to Miche, who’s pouring the drinks into shiny shot glasses before the coffee table, across from you and Levi.

You’re feeling the pleasant buzz of the alcohol yourself—you can’t stop yourself from staring and admiring the sharp line of Levi’s jaw, sloping down at the pronounced bump of his Adam’s apple. In the light, that rare blue hue in his eyes is making itself known.

Levi catches you staring, and playfully pats your cheek before plucking his shot glass from Miche’s hand; as for Miche, the glint in his eyes make it clear he’s looking to win this challenge.

Everyone’s shots go down. Hange grimaces, but Levi and Miche don’t even flinch.

With a grin, you cross your legs and openly regard the latter: “How confident are you that you’ll beat Levi, out of ten?”

“Ten,” Miche grunts, and you hear Levi scoff. “He’s impressive as hell on the battlefield, but there’s no way someone his size can carry his booze.”

Hange objects, insisting that Erwin is rendered a drunken fool after only two or three tankards of beer—a sight you’d personally pay to see. Erwin himself doesn’t reply, too caught up in the card game between him, Gelgar and Nanaba on the other couch, but you think you catch a blush creeping across his cheeks. Maybe it’s the alcohol.

The contest goes on; occasionally, you’ll reach over and indulge in one of the extra flasks of whiskey. More than once, Miche openly regards you with zeal when you swallow the searing stuff straight.

“Levi,” you giggle sweetly, and tug at his bicep—as if he could scooch any closer to you.

He grunts, the sound only slightly offset by Hange sighing and sliding down the cushions of their chair. They make it to the floor, groan, and slur, “I think… Damn, you guys.”

You make your voice a whisper, and kiss the shell of Levi’s ear before he can take his fifth shot of the night; the amber liquid stings your nose. “I think Miche’s checking me out.”

Levi was wavering slightly before, but your comment has him instantly straightening up. He checks your expression to make sure you’re serious, then glances across the coffee table. Miche is left to kneel before the stretch of the dark oak’s surface with Erwin and co. taking up the sofa, but it’s true: his cheeks are pink from the alcohol, clearly too drunk to stop himself from regarding you with desire.

“Hey.” Levi’s tone is only mildly threatening. “I’m over here, big guy.. Eyes off.”

Miche straightens up as if struck with electricity to the tune of your cackling. Levi is still watching carefully, offset by the mild bloom on the apples of his cheeks thanks to the booze—not to mention the slurring of his words.

Loosened up by the alcohol, it seems like the best idea you’ve ever had to drape your arms around Levi’s waist from behind and kiss the nape of his neck. To sober-you, Levi’s actions would be embarrassingly catty; to drunken-you, it’s sexy as hell.

“F’you win, wanna suck you off later,” you coo in Levi’s ear.

His concentration shatters; Levi takes a sharp breath, warm lust turning in his bottom half. He melts against you, relishing in the warmth of your presence against his back. He doesn’t need to ask what you’ll do if he loses—for you, there’s no way he’d allow himself to.

“Mm… You’re so good, Levi.”

Naturally, Miche is witnessing all this. Levi’s smirk is self-satisfied with his sweetie latched onto him, smiling soft.

Suddenly, he doesn’t even care about the drinking contest anymore—all Miche wants to do is wipe that smug look off Levi’s face; he wants you to wrap your arms around him and coo in his ear like that.

Abruptly, Miche proposes an arm-wrestling competition, with Erwin acting as referee because you’re drunk as a skunk, and Hange is passed out before the foot of their armchair.

It’s for the best, probably. You all would’ve been there all night had you passed the hours away drinking, seeing how Levi holds his alcohol better than the best boozehounds in the Underground, and Miche is the living embodiment of a tree.

Erwin won his game of cards with Miche’s squad by two out of three a while ago; he acts as the scruffier man’s impromptu coach as you for Levi. Really, all he needs from you is a warm look, and that’s while clear-headed.

You practically crawl into his lap to cradle his cheeks in your hands, uncaring to the audience in the room. Levi’s eyes are dark and swimming with lust; it kills him that he can’t pull you closer and let you have your way with him right this second, especially with the look you’re giving him.

“It’s my birthday.” You grin and swipe your pointer across that sensitive place behind Levi’s ear. Your plump lips curling into a small smirk makes his trousers feel tight. “Gonna fuck ‘em up for me?”

“I want you so fucking bad,” Levi professes in a hiss, words slurred. The world is a blurry haze, but with you so close he’s never seen a thing so clear; he remembers the way Miche looked at you, and jealousy burns in him. “I’ll win.”

Levi is tipsy enough to lean in and sloppily trail hot kisses down your jaw. It’s not just the bravery in an action he’d never do in a room full of his comrades, but the alcohol in your system that turns you on.

Alas, you chide him with a click of your tongue, guiding Levi off with a lone finger on his jaw. The soft betrayal in his softly parted lips makes you want to forget the challenge altogether and have Levi usher you someplace you can be alone, now.

“Be good,” you say.

Levi fully intends to.

The drunken flush crawling across Levi’s cheeks betrays his expression of utter determination—nerves of steel. He kneels on the floor between your legs, right across from Miche. The barren coffee table sits between, with Erwin seated in what was Hange’s lounge chair.

You forget that it probably isn’t in Levi’s best interests to bury your hands in his hair until Miche calls it out as he and Humanity’s Strongest Soldier lock hands: “You sure it’s smart to have your girl hanging off you like that if you intend to win this?”

“She does what she wants,” Levi shoots back, just as your movements pause. Pride warms your chest, causing you to hum in agreement and return to Levi’s fleecy locks of hair.

Upon assessing—or pretending to assess—their grips, Erwin calls go.

Miche seems to think he can overpower Levi based on strength alone. The challenge almost ends immediately, the larger man grunting in surprise as his hand just narrowly avoids being slammed down. Levi’s determined glare gives nothing away; he’s ruthless as hell, so much so that Miche must brace his spare hand against the tabletop.

You trap your lips between your teeth in an effort not to laugh; Erwin succeeds in doing so better than you, and Hange at this point is awake and at your far side on the sofa, giggling wildly.

Despite every distraction that would probably leave a weaker man keeling over, Levi’s hand never wavers onto his side. His and Miche’s shared grip either trembles in the middle, or it’s Miche who’s losing.

Besides absentmindedly playing at Levi’s hair, you’re staring at the taut muscles of his forearms as they flex with his efforts. Levi’s hand is lithe and sinewy, and all you can think about is how his fingers will feel in you later.

You don’t have to think long.

Miche is openly huffing through his teeth with the veins in his neck bulging when Levi—who’d apparently been holding back before—gnashes his teeth and reaffirms his grip. Not a moment passes before Miche’s hand crashes against the table, defeated. He groans in pain.

“Just like that!?” Hange howls with glee. “Incredible, Levi!”

Erwin gives Levi the win before checking in on Miche, who’s cradling his painful-looking hand. You almost feel sorry for him before Levi slaps the table with both palms and rises to his feet, albeit unsteadily.

“Better luck next time,” he grunts, just before you jump to your feet after him. Levi is already meandering towards the door.

Miche looks sore, but far from devastated. You spare him a kind word—reassurance, really—and the soreness softens. From now on, you hope Miche doesn’t go to underestimate Levi again, or hit on you, for that matter.

Parting birthday wishes are exchanged, the most jovial of all coming from Hange, who wiggles their brows at you at the same moment Levi comes up behind you. His grasps for you are scarce, desperate.

Levi eagerly, finally, pushes inside you with a grateful moan. The hickies he begged you to give him are flushed and purple, beneath the fine sheen of sweat on the column of his throat.

“Fuck,” you gasp, reeling Levi in and mashing your bruised lips together; messy and wet from the heat of your mouths.

Your thighs tremble with oversensitivity; Levi went about pinning your legs apart the moment you stepped into his quarters, making you cum twice underneath his mouth and fingers. Nothing at all compares to the way Levi’s thick cock prods your walls apart though, filling you up, giving you exactly what you’ve craved since the moment Levi defended your honor with fire in his eyes.

He’s so loud too, inhibitions loose and completely open thanks to the potent buzz of whiskey, now masked on his tongue by tangy sweetness—you. Levi could hardly hold himself together when your walls fluttered around him the second time, earlier; so fucking tight. Even now, with his girth plunging into you, your velvet hugs his cock, practically sucking him back in with every frantic thrust inside.

“Shit,” Levi gasps, scooping the backs of your thighs in his hands and leaving your ankles to dangle helplessly over his shoulders; the fleeting buzz paired with the bliss of the resolved lust engulfs him right down to his bones in pleasure. “That’s my good girl—fuck!”

You shift your hips, the new angle allowing for Levi to prod that much deeper. His cock throbs when your cunt squeezes him; it’s music to his ears when you cry his name and rake your nails down the toned muscles of his back.

“Go’na cum! Levi, Levi…”

Levi cages you in with his arms and rolls his hips. A satisfying sense of adoration consumes him as you chant his name, only offset when you card your hands through his undercut and the way he moans into the heady skin of your throat is like a dying man. It rumbles in his chest, earnest and loud.

Slick spills down your folds when the first wave of your orgasm comes crashing down on you. With your thighs at Levi’s waist, practically trapping him in, and your heat swallowing his cock, he knows he won’t be too long behind you.

You’ve almost rendered him dumb—pleasing heat smolders him, and yet Levi presses sloppy kisses to your throat and can do nothing but babble about how good you feel, how sweet you look writhing about underneath him in the throes of your climax.

It takes one more catch of Levi’s name on your lips. His cock drives into your warm cunt a few moments more, his girth dragging along your walls before he feels his heavy balls draw up, and Levi’s cock throbs.

You feel your toes curl with heat spilling deep inside you, paired with the gasp Levi emits against your throat; he’s draped over you close enough to feel all-consuming, protective and heavy. He shudders and moans breathlessly as he empties himself, hissing, mine, mine as the blaze of his climax bleeds away, leaving his cock twitching minutely inside you.

You’re fit to collapse once Levi stills and all that remains of sound in his bedroom is your respective attempts to catch your breath. Never has sex with Levi been so primal and desperate; on your birthday of all days—partially thanks to drinks and jealousy.

It’s for the best, anyway.

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