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jeanbie · 9 months ago

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SWEET UNWIND ★ masterlist.

pairing: levi x reader

warnings: sexual content, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampies, foodplay, grumpy & sunshine, fem!reader, piv sex, silent sex (little dialogue) | wc: 6.1k

note: proudly inspired by the insatiable thoughts i had while watching charles bake his cake and kill people in "the brothers sun". also i got cheated on and felt horny, so turned to my favourite cartoon man for relief

⏤ When Levi's not working, he likes to take things slow, and as of late, he's found that baking desserts is an excellent way to unwind. Yesterday, he made a beautifully sweet strawberry drizzled cake with cream. On today's menu, his personal favourite: cream pie.

Gangnam, Seoul; five to midnight, the city turning in for the night as bold and bright lights flicker to life, the streets lined with neon glows that on the waterfront look like blurry fireworks. While constant lines of traffic come and go, honking and revving at the lights as they hurry to wherever they need to be next, Levi switches off the egg-timer that blares to life loudly and sets it down on the kitchen island.

Behind him, baking in the oven with a warm and golden glow, is the sponge for his lemon drizzle cake. He glances up at the TV screen across the room and watches as one of the contestants drizzles extra veins of lemon curd across a wide canvas of white meringue cream, then looks back at his own display of ingredients.

First, he heads to the oven and using the oven glove, he pulls down the door and extracts his top sponge layer. Immediately, Levi sets it aside to cool — too hot and the dollop of cream that will spread into his smooth centre will melt and dribble off like water.

When Levi’s not working, he likes to take things slow, and as of late, he’s found that making desserts is an excellent way to unwind. It’s a simple step-by-step process where the final product produces something he can feel proud of, and something he can enjoy with a cup of tea or even something stronger.

He’s found over the last three years or so of baking that a hard liquor blends well with cheesecake, one with crumbled biscuits as a garnishing layer. Bailey’s accents any type of chocolate dessert almost too perfectly, and even does well inside of one. Last Christmas, for example, Levi enjoyed a whole chocolate truffle infused with the alcohol all to himself.

Baking takes a level of concentration that actually requires very little of him, and being able to see something he’s made all on his own at the end of it all can often be more rewarding than the stakes in the real world, outside of his entirely too fancy penthouse apartment. His job is often too demanding, too vicious, but coming home with a bag of ingredients that will eventually transform into something beautifully delicious feels like he’s turning a switch and stepping out of one life into another.

Outside, out there in the harsh city, Levi Ackerman is a force to be reckoned with, a danger to those outside of his inner circle. But here, inside his home, his fortress, he doesn’t have to be anybody but himself — Levi Ackerman, the man, the neighbour, the dessert enthusiast.

Now that the sponge has cooled and the decorations have been sliced and prepared, Levi takes to assembling his own version of the British Bake Off lemon drizzle cake. Instead of it being baked as a tray bake, Levi’s followed the same style as Mary Berry herself; circular, smooth and comfortably petite.

He takes the cream he prepared before and slaps it with a wet plop on the bottom layer of sponge, smoothing it out with the flat-knife until he’s satisfied with the coverage. Then, he uses a spiral technique to create a lemony blend to bite into.

He spares a single glance at the swirling iron staircase leading up to the upper floor of his apartment when he hears movement, a simple and quiet rustle of sheets and an equally low-volume groan — a stretch of some kind. Then, he looks back at his cake and sets the top sponge over the finalised inner workings of his cake and gets to work on the pipework and decorations.

It is so easy for him to get lost in the craft. One minute rolls into five and rolls into ten as he perfects the lemon slice arrangement on top of the cake. He even prepared some lemon gratings beforehand and uses them as a powdery layer on top of the smoothed out blanket of cream. Once everything is in place, Levi looks back up at the TV and watches the contestants present their final results to the judges.

Back and forth — his eyes move from their cakes to his. He thinks his cake would have earned him Star Baker that week, that’s for certain.

Even though Levi chooses to bake after work to dispel the tension building up in his bones, he still doesn’t feel completely satisfied with his work today. The cake is as good as he can get, especially when it’s his first real attempt at a lemon drizzle. But an ache lingers in his shoulders, a buzzing feeling of discomfort in every joint and muscle.

Today has just been extra hard. One dessert won’t suffice.

After a long haul of tracking down one of the leaders of a local crime organisation known as the Hannam Tigers, and successfully putting a few of his henchmen in early graves, Levi knows that one small cake won’t be enough to satiate his irritation for the night. In his line of work, things went wrong sometimes, even when they were annoyances he could do without.

The Hannam Tigers operate in a network of highly trained men with highly decorated backgrounds, and even with Levi’s colourful skillset, it can be a challenge to rid them from the world.

Levi rinses his hands under the tap and uses a cloth to dry them, catching the final portion of the competition on TV before tossing the cloth to the side and dumping his utensils into the sink. For now, he focuses his attention on the assortment of ingredients he’s set to the side to make his all time favourite dessert.

But first, he’ll need to head upstairs.

With what he needs in his hands, Levi escapes the kitchen before it swallows him into creating more and more desserts and then climbs the staircase curling up into the upper floor. Up here, there is a study that he barely uses — not because of his incompetence to utilise it, but instead for a general lack of need, considering he prefers a much more physical and hands-on approach to what he sensitively calls his ‘career’ — a small bathroom and his bedroom, which he heads for and catches a glimpse of the glistening city from the window inside, the door ajar.

Inside, he takes a few steps forward and sets his things down, looking up to make out your shape in the swamp of black bedsheets. He can barely see you in the dark, but you groan and make your presence known, sitting up on your elbows to peer at his silhouette cast by the light from the hallway.

“You finished your cake?” you ask, your voice tired but nonetheless sweet, caring, genuinely curious.

Levi makes out your face in the dim light and waits until his vision settles. Once he sees you more clearly and sees the smile on your face, he nods simply and looks back down at his messy pile of ingredients.

You arch up a little higher to see what he’s looking at.

“Bring any for me?”

Levi doesn’t look up. “No.”

“Rude,” you reply, amused and unable to make out what he’s arranging neatly on the ottoman at the bottom of the bed. “I happen to like lemon drizzle.”

He knows. That’s why he picked that episode to watch, those ingredients at the store.

“I don’t,” he replies. Levi’s not a fan of lemon anything, really.

The door behind him creaks ever so slightly, the light widening across the room. You sit up straighter, watching him as he falls into a carefully analysed breakdown of his mystery items.

“Can I have some later?” you ask, filling the silence with conversation. If you strain, you might make out the next episode of Bake Off beginning to play, but you search for Levi’s signature noises instead; his silent yet attentive laughs from his nose, the grunts under his breath, unbothered hums of his attention and or interest.

Levi looks up then, and rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. His blazer is downstairs hanging off one of the bar stools under the kitchen island, his shoes by the door. Now, he’s just dressed in whatever he came home wearing — there hadn’t been time to change, what with you slumbering like a princess in his bedroom.

It’s a good thing he likes you, otherwise the lights would have been on and his work clothes off. Instead, he left you to it, heading for the kitchen when he came home and switching on his complimentary British Bake Off episode to accompany him in his regular routine of baking.

“I only made it for you,” he tells you.

You arch an eyebrow — not that he can see, anyway. “Oh, really?”

He gives you a hum, thoughtless. You rearrange yourself under the sheets.

“I thought the whole point was to eat the dessert yourself after making it,” you say, filling the quiet moment with something as he skims his gaze over the ottoman again.

He doesn’t look up when he says, “Well, I haven’t finished baking yet.”

“Oh?” you reply. “Something else cooking?”

“Yes,” he says. Then, he rounds the bed slightly from the right and whilst looking at you, he climbs up onto the bed with his knees.

“What’re you making?” you question, a grin widening over your face as he looms near. You feel his hand just miss your leg under the sheets as he lays his hands flat on the bed, lifting his weight closer to you all whilst maintaining an unnaturally cool composure.

If you didn’t know him any better, you’d think he was bored by the entire exchange. His face is covered in shadows, and yet you can still see the slipping shift of something in his eyes as they catch in the light from the windows.

Levi’s face reanimates in the city lights, now not far from your own. He curls his fingers around the bedsheet and tugs it down, exposing your legs to the cool shift of temperature in the bedroom. You shudder, leaning your head back until it softly hits the wooden headboard.

“Pie,” Levi says.

“Mmm. I love pie,” you comment.

He grunts, another one of your favourite Levi-sounds.

His hand shifts from the bed to your leg. In the dark, everything feels more pronounced; his ever-so-slightly rough palm smooths across your thigh and down your leg, past the knee and down towards your ankle. Once caught in his grasp, he manages to pull you from your sloped position against the headboard and back down into the pillows. He knows you're wearing nothing else from the waist down — all the more reason to tug you down and snatch a glimpse of what he knows is his.

“What kinda pie?”

Levi finds your eyes again in the dark, and you’re not sure if he planned it, but now you can see his face in a spectrum of light. His expression is flat, toneless, yet intrigue dances across his eyes as they wander across your face, down past your neck, and down to the exposed skin of your chest from underneath one of Levi’s shirts you stole from his drawers.

He says nothing for a moment. Using both hands and releasing your ankle, Levi presses his hands against your abdomen, running them up underneath the shirt until he reaches your sternum, the sloping sphere of your breasts against his fingertips. His eyes flick up to yours as he pushes the shirt all the way up over your breasts, and uses his body to part your legs until your knees are on either side of his hips.

The weight of his gaze makes you squirm slightly.

He blinks. Licks his bottom lip so quickly you almost miss it and says very simply, “Cream.”

Your grin widens.

Levi lowers his face to your stomach, his lips pressing against the skin above your belly button. Immediately, as if practised, your hands jump up to his head of hair, your fingers threading through it as he works his mouth down from your stomach to the damp space between your legs.

A home within a home; a place he loves to push his face into when he’s had a particularly long day.

Levi doesn’t even have to put in any effort anymore. You quite contently lift your calves up over his shoulders, widening them enough to feel his lips circle around your clit, two fingers widening your folds so he can stuff his face with your cunt.

Coating your clit with a layer of wetness, he replaces his lips with his right thumb and moves his fingers, using his tongue to part you down the middle, and making you writhe against the bed with a satisfied moan.

He’ll admit it to nobody but himself — he’s missed you. You’ve missed him, too, and the way it feels when he rubs his thumb against your nub in careful circles and plunges two fingers up your cunt. Levi could fool himself all he liked with the fantasy that baking a cake was enough to relieve his pent up stress from work, but nothing quite works to ease the burden like a face full of his favourite girls’ pussy.

Levi’s left hand drifts from your stomach to your thigh, smoothing over the top before curving down and round to the inner of your legs, his forearm wrapped around you comfortably and effectively locking you in place. He likes to watch the wetness pool between your legs as he gorges himself on your taste, but today he closes his eyes and closes his lips around you, tasting every inch of you like you’re his own slice of dessert, his favourite kind. Topped and served with a string of elated moans, just the way he likes it best.

“Mmf—!” There’s not a lot for you to say, nothing you can conjure up from the air gasping in your throat as Levi’s tongue licks laps around your clit, his thumb just shy to the side as he leaves a wet present for him to massage into your skin, his mouth very quickly preoccupied by the space neglected beneath.

As his fingers curl up inside of you, then widen apart, your calves drop as if you’re trying to pull Levi closer to your body, and in turn he pushes his left arm down on your thigh and drags you with a smooth motion down the bedsheets and closer to his mouth. Your head arches back with the angled slope of your back, reaching up off the mattress in a coordinated performance of pleasure, and Levi finds the time to open his eyes and look up over your stomach and breasts to find your face; mouth agape and lids closed, gasping silently into the dark.

Yeah. Out of all the desserts he could possibly create in his kitchen, he’d probably have to confess that his favourite one was one that could be made in the bedroom.

Your hands take fistfuls of his hair and feeling the hot flatness of his tongue in the space between your clenching hole and your clit, you find your hips grinding up into his mouth, the slight nudge of his teeth making you squirm even harder beneath him. Levi’s no longer phased by the aching tightness of your fingers woven in a knot on his head. Whenever your fingers twitch and the clutch on his hair tightens, Levi knows he’s doing something right.

Every lick and nip against your cunt is matched by a groan, and as you ride the dampness between your legs against his lips, your voice thins out into a raspy nothingness. Your mouth is dry with the air of the bedroom, your eyes forcing themselves to close when they try and open to peer down at the man snug between your thighs.

Levi feels a mixture of wet substances around his mouth and on his chin, but before he can grant you the pleasure of cumming down his throat, he pulls back.

The emptiness of the space between your legs is jarring, and almost immediately you sit up. Your hands drop from his hair and fall onto the bed, which you use to lift up your shaking body to watch as Levi leans back on his knees and retreats to the forgotten ottoman. It is only when he rises to his feet to observe the array of secret items displayed for his eyes only that you realise Levi is still wearing every article of clothing he was before.

“What’re you doing?” you ask him, finally finding your voice as he arches over and fiddles with something that sounds plastic.

You catch the shine of your own arousal on his chin as he scans the catalogue of items.

“Preparing dessert,” he replies.

Your brows quirk, but when Levi stands upright and begins to shake something with his left hand, you feel your heart and its fast beating plunge straight to your stomach. A knot wells and tightens, and you bite a moan back and feel your thighs coming together like a magnet in anticipation.

Levi is shaking a bottle of whipped cream.

It shouldn’t surprise you nor excite you the way that it does. Levi has always had reservations about whipped cream — it should be from a bottle or made in a bowl; exclusively used as a side for a tart or cake slice, as a topping on a pancake, as the twist of sweetness on top of a hot chocolate. Levi doesn’t use whipped cream on his desserts in the same way he does as an accessory to the bake, but today — tonight, it seems as though he has found another valuable use for his generally unused bottle of whipped cream.

“This is new,” you say, feeling your ass lift off the bed as you struggle to contain your writhing excitement. Levi tests the nozzle; a burst of white cream spits out onto his finger, and without looking away he puts his finger in his mouth with all the nonchalance of a chef tasting his dish as he makes it. “I thought you didn’t like bottled cream on your desserts.”

“I like it on some things,” he replies. “First rule of baking is that you never feel afraid of trying something new.”

You hum thoughtfully as he retakes his position on the bed. It should make you laugh with the way he looks down at you while slowly twisting the bottle from left to right, but it doesn’t; it only makes you breathe heavier, your pulse quickening and legs opening as if on automatic and letting him take the space he’s claimed between them.

“They do say that it goes well with pies,” you say finally, watching as he angles the nozzle down on your stomach. The placement, if nothing else, has surprised you, and you suppress a moan of eagerness when he presses down and watches with a newfound intensity as the spiral of white cream pools out onto your skin. He’s cautious with the amount; just a small bud of cream, enough to swallow in just a mouthful.

Levi leans himself forward and pauses just before he can lick the dollop up off your tummy.

“Clue’s in the name,” Levi replies, and with his eyes boring into your own, he presses his lips around the blob of cream and mouths it up off your body. It is entirely too fast, your jaw slacken as he pulls away, as if gauging your reaction. The yearning expression on your face has the nerve to almost look endearing to him.

He swallows. “Sweet.”

He receives from you something sounding like a whimper. Then, his finger is back on the nozzle and using the cream, he creates a trail from where he last was all the way down to your clit.

You feel yourself clench when the cool texture of the cream sits in a melting bundle on your bud, and your teeth bury themselves into the flesh of your lower lip, biting down with extra force when Levi’s mouth shifts down to your clit and in one teasingly slow strip, he licks the trail of sweet cream up from your cunt to the wet spot on your stomach.

With his tongue, your back arches up off the bed, your knees by his shoulders. Levi is uncomfortably aware of the pooling arousal between your legs, his own forming tightness in his trousers. Watching you writhe with a glistening shine getting more and more pronounced so close to his face has proven to be exactly what he needed to unwind today, but he’s still not quite satisfied.

He’s not ignorant to the way your hips meet with the empty space he leaves when he moves away again, as if fucking an imaginary cock or grinding against an invisible set of hips. He uses his right hand to press you back flat against the bed and savours every second of your aroused moaning when he slathers your cunt with the cream, leaving no wet patch untouched.

He watches with only minimal irritation when the cream slips down your folds into a white pool on the sheets — his sheets — but he takes its sliding as a sign to move back in.

Levi licks the cream up as if it isn’t even there; it’s as if he’s taking gulps of you like it’s nothing, licking every inch of the cream and enjoying the wonders of your pleasure as you cry out above him. His nose brushes against the hidden bump of your clit, the feeling of his hot tongue making your toes curl behind his back, your fingers clenching around the sheets.

Ordinarily, you may have laughed at the sight of his lips coated in a white sheen, the cream on the tip of his nose, but today you can find nothing to laugh about. Every unit of energy is devoted to the tightening clench of your cunt, the tingling warmth growing inside of you as Levi wipes his nose and rises off the bed and onto his feet, right where the ottoman stands as a barrier between you.

He lets you play out your imaginary fantasy, rolling your hips into the empty vacuum of space where he was just situated and uses his hands to undo the belt around his waist. His trousers fall with an effortlessness when he undoes the front button, and he compels himself to watch you stare at him with a lustful gaze as he pulls his trousers down to his ankles. He decides he’ll keep his shirt on — it’s only fair, since you’re still wearing his, albeit the fabric is bunched up under your neck in the way he likes it.

He mounts the bed once again and meets you when you moan expectantly, and relishes in the sharp intake of your breath when he takes your right leg and folds it to the side. You look at Levi over your shoulder, your neck to the side as he presses you down with his left hand and uses the right to hold his cock.

You are once again reminded of how truly lucky you are to have a man like Levi; a man who needs nothing but your cunt in his face to get his cock standing rigid against his lower stomach.

You swallow a moan when Levi pokes the tip of his cock against your fluttering entrance, and when his eyes catch yours, the sharpened edge of his grey eyes staring straight into your own, you can’t catch the cry of pleasure that escapes when he pushes himself into you, feeling you wrap around the tip of him like your cunt is a mouth on its own.

Levi watches you gasp as if pained and he rolls his eyes.

“Shut up. You’re wet enough,” he says in a low tone.

“Hmf—!” And then the length of his cock is buried inside of you, only proving his point.

There’s nothing to explain the way it feels when he’s stuffing your hole: it’s as if he was made for you, a perfect fit to make you whole. Even with virtually nothing to ease the slip into your pussy, there’s no agonising stretch, no painful play — just a wholeness that feels as natural as anything else in the world.

Levi’s fucked you so many times that he might as well claim he lives up here, and each time he makes himself at home, he’s welcomed with open arms and a swallowing gulp. He pushes his hips all the way against you, until the underneath of your thigh is squished against his stomach and you feel the slight slap of his balls against your ass.

He’s never quite fucked you from this angle before, but it’s not unwelcome in the slightest. He wraps his wrist around your thigh and holds the front of it with his hand, his left coming to hold the sinking curve of your waist, which he uses to push you further into the mattress.

Every time his dick sinks further inside of you, you let out a moan — he moves in and out so fast it’s as if he’s trying to keep your noise at a constant speed, never wanting to be left in a silence.

Levi looks down at you as he fucks, no longer interested in the way his dick disappears into the dripping darkness of your cunt and instead entirely devoted to mapping out the pleasure on your face. Nothing he hasn’t seen before, but everything he loves to see.

His hips rock against you, his shoulders tensing as you clench furiously around his length. Surely you don’t mean to be coaxing him into an early finish — surely you wouldn’t be rushing him along when he’s trying to enjoy his dessert.

The tip of Levi’s dick kisses your insides, but from this angle and the burning heat pooling in your abdomen, you don’t know if he’s hitting your cervix or deeper into your literal stomach. Levi’s fucked you from all different angles in every corner of his house, but he feels extra large today. The darkened edge of his eyes might be deceiving you, the sticky residue of cream still on your skin.

You’re almost vibrating with pleasure as he fucks you, and all you can do is stay pinned to the bed like a doll and gasp out your praises.

Like most fucks with Levi, he says nothing besides, “Fuck,” in a dragged out, strangled type of way. He likes to make you suffer by dragging it out for as long as humanly possible, just to see you writhe and cry underneath him, your pussy pink and pulsing, begging for him to stop.

Today, however, luck looks to be on your side.

Unlike normal, Levi has little desire to unravel you into a sobbing mess. All he wants today is to fuck the brains out of his girlfriend and watch as her cunt fills with his cum.

Levi’s fingers clench into your skin, and for a second he closes his eyes in an effort to ride it out just a little bit longer before filling you up. When he feels your hand wrap around his wrist like a vice, his eyes fly open to look at you; you’re curled up, sunken in the bed, contorted into his favourite shape.

Levi spares a glance at his cock swallowed up in your hole and watches with pride as he thrusts in and out of the wetness, and after a stuttering sequence of your hips jerking and mouth falling open with the release of some of his all time favourite sounds, Levi devours the sight of white squeezing from around his dick.

He feels his throat catch. He’ll let you have that one.

Around the quivering clenches of his cock, Levi shudders and lets you squeal until you’ve run dry. He runs his fingers across the width of your connection and smooths the cum between his fingers. Then, without giving you the satisfaction of catching your breath, Levi continues his thrusting which gives him the continued pleasure of hearing you squeal and cry, your free hand reaching to the slip of sloping skin above your pussy as if you were trying to suppress the feeling rippling through you.

Long forgotten are the fingertips pressing bruises into your skin, but each thrust of his dick hitting the same spot inside you is met with an exhausted groan. Finally, when you’ve gathered the energy and courage to look up and around your body at his face, Levi lets slip what you think might be a satisfied smile, and he falters.

Ropes of warmth fill your cunt, and you hear Levi moan, loudly, and he unwraps his wrist from your leg and holds the base of his dick with his right hand. Carefully, he pulls himself out, save for the tip which remains snug in your hole, leaving no space untouched by his seed. He watches with wonder at the way your hole gapes around his cock like a mouth, swallowing his cum up until it billows out. Finally, he slips out of you, staring down at the oozing, swollen hole that is pulsing with cum.

For a while, he stares at it, breathing loudly as he waits for all of his cum to squirt out of you; it’s like squeezing a cream doughnut and watching the sickeningly sweet contents slide out.

Levi glances back up at you, amazed that you’ve been bold enough to watch him until the end, and he pats your waist appreciatively before rolling you back so that you’re flat on the sheets, legs apart, cunt wide.

Time to taste.

You watch as his head disappears between your legs, but he leaves no element of mystery. Your body almost jumps up off the mattress when his tongue pushes into your gaping entrance, lapping at the mixture of your cum and his and whatever else he can catch a taste of while he’s savagely licking down there.

Barely having the energy to pretend to stage a protest, you elect for moaning your approval and tiredly rake your hand through his hair again, pushing it from his forehead as you stare half-lidded at the crown of his head.

You lose count of how long Levi remains nestled down there. The only way you notice he’s no longer there is by the way he sweeps his hands down your legs and lays them flat, making note of every twitch and quiver your body makes.

Staring up at Levi and reluctantly forcing your body back up on your elbows, you grin up at him as he licks his top lip and appears thoughtful.

“Yeah,” sighs Levi, sniffing once in the way he does when he’s trying to fall back into his characteristic charade of coolness. “Homemade cream tastes better.”

Unable to argue, you heave out a laugh and meet his gaze.

“You’re fucking greedy,” you say, but that he actually does smile at.

“So what,” he replies, reaching for another one of the items on the ottoman; a cloth from downstairs that he uses to wipe the mess between your thighs, “we both know I like cream pies. I even shared.”

You flinch when he dabs the cloth against your still-sensitive pussy. You take it from him to finish the honour, meanwhile Levi gathers the bottle of cream and whatever else he brought and never used before opting to watch you shift the cloth between your legs, throwing it back at him in a forced huff. He catches it effortlessly.

“Whatever,” you say, very slowly moving across the bed to the floor. The wooden slabs are cold beneath your feet. “I’m sure your lemon drizzle is miles better.”

Levi shakes his head affectionately and moves to meet you face-to-face when you stand on your feet. He hums when he gets there and strokes his finger down your arm, charming his way into your arms and once he’s close enough to your face, he allows a smile to warm over his features.

He dips his head to greet your lips with a kiss, the first of the day since he left you in the morning.

“Trust me when I say,” Levi says when he pulls away, his expression amused as he croons his finger under your chin and quickly leaves another kiss on your mouth, “I very much doubt that.”

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