#levimonth25

It was only midafternoon, but the sky was dark, dark. Deep as night. The storm had settled over the hills, roaring dully beyond the shuttered windows, draping the rooftops in mist and filling the empty house with the smell of wet stone. You had just finished steeping a fever tonic, rubbing your strained eyes, when the bell on the front door jangled, startling you.

“Madame!” came a small breathless voice.

It was Étienne, the butcher’s boy, soaked to the skin and red in the face like a fire-warmed apple. He always ran too fast in the rain, which was how he earned the limp in his left boot.

“Goodness, what is it?”

“There’s a man,” he panted, water streaming down the ends of his shaggy hair. “Down by the hedgerow. I think he’s hurt.”

You didn’t ask if he was sure. Étienne was not in the habit of making things up. You grabbed your coat and satchel of first aid supplies, then slipped on a pair of beat-up boots. “Go home, you told the boy firmly. “And don’t breathe a word of this. To anyone.”

The path to the north field where the hedgerow sat was half-flooded, stones slick under your soles. Wind cut along the ridge, viciously whipping the hem of your coat. But you saw him, just as Étienne had said—slumped along the muddy embankment in a soaked-through jacket, one arm bent strangely beneath him.

You ignored your usual trepidations and dropped to your knees beside him. Up close, he was barely more than a shadow caked in mud and blood. He wore a foreign uniform, dog tags around his neck. A soldier, worn and bleeding. But breathing.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, brushing rain-slick hair from his brow. His skin was ice.

He stirred then, and your heart leapt into your throat. His eyes fluttered open, just for a brief moment, but long enough for you to catch the clear blue-gray of his irises. They were sharp and dangerous. And then, he slumped and collapsed fully into the grass, as if he’d only been holding on to see if anyone would find him.

You were no fool; you knew the risks. But you could not abide leaving him out here. You pressed two fingers to his neck. He was still alive. So, you hoisted his arm over your shoulders, hooked a hand beneath his belt, and began the slow, grueling drag toward the house.

Levi slept fitfully through the night, his memory coming back to him in pieces. The ambush, the flashes of gunfire and boots slipping in the mud. The crack of mortar fire, close enough to make his ears ring. Someone yelling over the ridge, their voice cutting off.

Then, the trees. Blood in his mouth. And silence.

He opened his eyes, vision swimming. There was no canvas tent overhead. No sound of groaning from bodies lying in stretchers beside him, and no orders being barked through radio static. Just a ceiling made of timber slats, warm and dry, and the low hiss of wind against the shutters.

He didn’t move, keeping his breathing shallow. The ache in his side told him everything he needed to know. He’d been hit. The pain was fresh but dull, which meant his wound hadn’t gone septic. He peered at the room out of the corner of his eye.

The bed he was lying on was small, dressed in clean sheets. Along the wall sat a table with glass jars and a ceramic basin half-filled with pink-tinted water. He was shirtless, bandaged, dog tags missing.

So, someone had found him. Which meant he hadn’t died. Yet.

Levi’s hand slid toward his hip, automatic, searching for the sidearm he already knew wasn’t there. His fingers met nothing but soft linen. Goddamn it. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up an inch, the pain blooming in his ribs. Before he could sit all the way up, the sound of footsteps reached ears, and he froze. They were soft, no boots.

The woman that stepped in through the door moved like a ghost, unnaturally quiet, carrying a woven basket and a cup of something steaming. She sported no uniform or weapon, just a dark wool dress with the skirts brushing the floor and sleeves rolled to the elbows. She looked like she belonged in a painting—one of those idyllic portraits of a typical country maid.

“You’re awake,” you said softly when you noticed he was awake.

Levi didn’t respond, watching her warily. He hadn’t expected to meet any locals who spoke the same language out here. You took his silence in stride and sat at the edge of the chair beside the bed.

“I brought you tea,” you said, holding out the cup to him. “I’m sorry. I’ve heard GIs prefer coffee—”

“This is fine,” he said brusquely, closing his hand around it.

You let him slide the cup from your grip and curled your fingers into the fabric at your lap. “You had a deep wound in your side. It looked like shrapnel, so I cleaned it and stitched what I could. You had a fever yesterday, but it broke overnight.” You paused and tilted your head slightly. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, looking away. It did, but not for you. “What matters is where the hell I am. What’s the village? How far behind enemy lines?”

Instead of replying right away, you chewed your lip, perhaps weighing the merit of giving him the answer. You were afraid that he might disappear at the first chance if he knew where he was. He was in no condition to be running off.

“You’re in the northern countryside,” you said carefully. “Occupied, yes. But the front line moved south last week. You’re not in immediate danger.”

Levi grunted. Danger was danger, immediate or otherwise. He squinted at you. “You live here alone?”

Again, you considered for longer than expected, and he thought that maybe you would decline to respond. But then, you gave a short nod and said, “I do.”

You rose again, setting the basket on the ground. “I need to check your stitches. May I?”

He gave no reply other than to shift his posture. Almost as if he were making himself smaller, less threatening. You took that as permission and peeled the bandage back as carefully as you could, trying not to disturb the line of stitches or the man beneath them. He didn’t flinch, not even when your fingers wandered too close to the edge of the wound or when the last bit of gauze tugged free from the dried blood.

The stitches had held. There was no sign of weeping or fresh swelling. The fever that had burned through him yesterday had fled, leaving only the exhaustion behind.

“You’re healing well,” you said in relief, glancing back at his face.

Now that most of the dirt was gone, and the blood was scrubbed clean, you could truly see him at last. He looked young—younger than his years, you suspected. Like youth had clung stubbornly to his features longer than it should have to spite the war that threatened to wrestle it away. His lashes were dark, casting shadows over eyes that could have been cold steel or smoke. A stubborn mouth. A face that wasn’t meant to be beautiful, and yet, there it was. It hit you deep in your chest, that soft ache of recognition.

He was handsome, in the way dangerous creatures sometimes were. Beauty that made no promises.

You caught yourself staring and dropped your gaze quickly, cheeks warming. He hadn’t moved, but he’d seen you; you knew he had. You cleared your throat. “You’ll need to rest a few more days. Then, I’ll help you leave.”

He exhaled. “Didn’t ask for help.”

“I won’t force you to stay,” you said, frowning. “But it would be a mistake to leave before you’re well. And if you must go, you must wait. At least, until nightfall.”

You moved to wrap the bandage again, hands steady even as you grew hyper aware of the space between you now. He was still watching you; you could feel the brush of his gaze on your face, your hands, your mouth. You were certain it was not with lust, but in the way a soldier assessed his surroundings. It made your pulse race anyway.

Then, a knock at the door nearly made you jump. Three firm raps at the front door. Your heart flew into your mouth.

Levi sat up straighter, his shoulders squared. Instinct kicked in fast. He even reached again for the gun he didn’t have anymore.

“It’s alright,” you said quickly, shooting to your feet. “It’s not soldiers. Just Madame Cormier. She’s here for a tonic I promised her.”

His shoulders lowered slightly, but he didn’t relax completely. He said nothing more as you motioned for him to stay put and turned toward the door.

You opened it only a sliver, just enough to see Madame Cormier’s lined face smiling back at you beneath the hood of her rain-wet coat. The woman had been kind to you after the funeral, at least in that nosy, concerned way country women often were—checking in every few days, leaving bundles of apples or boiled sugar when she thought you hadn’t eaten.

“I hope I’m not too early,” Madame said, voice low but clear. “I saw the light on.”

“No, of course not,” you said with a polite smile. You slipped the tonic vial from your apron pocket and passed it through the gap.

“You look pale, dear,” Madame murmured, peering at you closely. “Have you been resting?”

“Yes, I’ve been resting.”

“Be careful. There are eyes where there shouldn’t be, these days. Soldiers sniffing for things that don’t concern them. Things that might’ve wandered in from the woods.”

You nodded calmly, but your heart stumbled in your chest. “Yes, of course.”

Madame Cormier searched your face for another second, then gave a contented grunt. “Keep your curtains drawn.”

And with that, she turned and disappeared down the walk. You closed the door quietly and locked it before letting out a long breath. Then, you turned and marched to the chest by the cellar stairs.

You returned with a bundle in your arms and measure of equivocation in your face. Levi could tell you were trying to smooth it away. He’d seen that look before. Civilians trying to convince themselves that war hadn’t followed them home. You came to the side of the bed and laid the clothes down on the bedside table. A gray sweater, clean trousers, and a pair of socks neatly rolled. Nothing looked new, but it was all cared for, and they weren’t his size.

Levi looked at the pile, then at you. “Your husband’s?” he asked.

Your fingers toyed with the hem of your sleeve. “It was,” you said finally.

Simple and blunt. He didn’t wonder how long it had been. Frankly, it was none of his business. Levi nodded once and kept his condolences to himself.

You left him alone to dress, modestly averting your eyes when he sat up and hurrying off to another part of the house. He huffed quietly to himself at that as he gingerly rose out of bed. It was not as if you hadn’t already seen everything, having stripped him down to treat his wounds.

Ten minutes later, Levi emerged and found you in the kitchen. You’d made him something to eat: a broth with root vegetables and a half-stale hunk of bread you apologized for even though he didn’t see the need. He ate it all, quietly and gratefully.

Afterwards, you sat by the stove, sorting dried leaves into little piles on a cloth. You had steady hands, like a nurse’s. Levi could picture you in one of the light-colored uniforms of the nurses at the field hospital. He wandered the house, which was humble and clean, but his eyes picked up on the tiny signs of neglect. These, he suspected, resulted through no fault of your own. Rather, they were a symptom of newly-widowed life. He wondered if you even noticed the hinges on your cabinet door were loose, or the way the back door stuck in the frame, the splintering rung on one of the chairs.

Wordlessly, he started fixing things. He didn’t say why, and you hadn’t asked. He found a hammer and some nails in a drawer beneath the stairs, along with a length of twine and a splintered bit of paneling he could reuse. An hour later, when you walked in and caught him smoothing a plane of wood over the cracked doorway, you looked at him with bewilderment.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, brow furrowing with worry.

“I know,” he said simply.

You watched him work a minute longer, the wheels turning in your head. He seemed to have recovered incredibly well. Either he was unusually hearty or he was good at hiding it. You stepped forward.

“If you don’t mind helping… could you chop some wood before the rain sets back in?”

The sun was trying its best. Pale and dull, but sincere in its effort to dry the earth from last night’s rain. You fetched the axe from the shed and carried it out for him, pointing to the pile beneath the eaves.

You tried not to watch him. Truly. But he made it hard. There was something methodical in the way he moved, like he wasn’t wasting a single ounce of energy, not one muscle twitch more than necessary. He didn’t work with flourish, just precision and control.

It should’ve hurt more, seeing him in your husband’s clothes. The sweater was slightly loose in the shoulders but snug at the wrists. He’d cuffed the trousers once at the ankle. The clothes weren’t remarkable. Just old cotton, a little faded from sun and wear. Your husband had mended the elbows himself years ago; you remembered how he’d pricked his finger doing it, cursed in that quiet, unbothered way of his.

And now it was Levi wearing them. Moving around your cottage like he’d always belonged. You waited for the ache, for the sharp little twist of guilt, but it didn’t come. Maybe that grief had already burned itself out. Maybe there was nothing left but ash and memory.

When you turned away, you weren’t sure if it was because you respected his privacy or because it unnerved you, how much you wanted to keep looking. You returned to your table and worked. Mixed the balm requested by Madame Cormier. Measured out sleeping tonic for old Monsieur Bellier. The familiar quiet came again, but it was different now. It made room for two.

Midday, there was a knock. A soft rhythm you were expecting. Étienne. The boy beamed as soon as the door opened. His grown-out hair stuck out from under his cap.

“You’re early, ” you said fondly.

“I finished school quickly today,” he said, which was definitely a lie. Then, his eyes shifted, peering behind your shoulder. “Who’s that?”

You turned to see Levi coming in from outside, dark hair pushed back, carrying the basket of chopped wood like it weighed nothing. Étienne’s gaze latched onto him with open, startled curiosity. Like a stray dog who didn’t know whether to bark or beg for food.

“That’s not the man from last night?” Étienne asked in disbelief.

“He is a friend,” you said quickly. “He’s not feeling well, so he’s staying here to rest. That’s all.”

The boy squinted. “He looks strong.”

Levi raised a single eyebrow.

“Étienne,” you cut in before the child could say something more dangerous, “remember what I told you last winter when those men came asking about the old farmer’s nephew?”

“Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t say what I see. Don’t go sniffing in grown-ups’ business.”

“Exactly,” you said, handing him the wrapped parcel of bottles and a few coins. “Now, off with you.”

Étienne took the bundle and made a face. “I never get to have fun.”

You gave him a look, and the boy huffed, then scampered off into the damp grass.

“I’ll need a few more potatoes.”

You were wiping your hands on your apron in the kitchen, preparing a meal while Levi sat at the table with a cup of tea. You’d spoken mostly to yourself, bending toward the floorboards and brushing aside the rug to reveal the cellar hatch. The door often stuck, getting worse over the years. Your husband used to wedge it open with his boot, brute force over finesse.

You gave it a hard tug. The latch didn’t budge. With a quiet grunt, you tried again, putting your weight into it. The hatch gave way too fast. You stumbled, heart hammering, but before the panic could rise, you were caught.

Levi had one arm braced around your ribs. His other hand pressed against the back of your arm, large and warm through the thin fabric of your blouse. Breath left you in a soft, startled hush. How did he get there so fast?

You looked up and caught beneath the intensity of a gaze that felt like it could burn clean through you. A long moment passed between them in silence. Your ears were full with the rush of your pulse. You hadn’t touched a man since before your husband left to fight. And you hadn’t wanted to—until now. Until this quiet, sullen-eyed soldier passed through your door.

But Levi’s expression hardened before you could even name that want. The tension between you cooled to ice. He set you upright like you were nothing more than a stool that had tipped.

“I won’t bother you anymore,” he said flatly. “I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”

You floundered. “But—that’s—”

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said, jaw tight. He sounded suddenly distant, like he’d already left.

Then, he turned and walked out of the room without another word, leaving you standing there, still teetering over the cellar door.

It was a mistake thinking he could sit still through supper. Levi barely touched the soup, now cold on the table beside him. You’d left it outside the door for him an hour ago. He felt like hadn’t earned that bowl of soup. Probably hadn’t earned a single second of your kindness, either.

So, when you returned, softly knocking, he’d already known. Guilt had a scent. It lingered on the air between you.

You cleared your throat. “I wanted to—”

He stood, turning away. “Don’t worry about it.”

His words didn’t deter you. You stepped forward anyway, quietly encroaching upon his invisible walls.

“You’re not a burden here,” you said with a muted determination. “You should know that.”

Levi didn’t say thank you. He didn’t know what to say while you were looking at him like that, like you wanted to offer him more than soup and clean bandages. Like you might offer him peace.

But before either of you could say something you couldn’t take back, the knock came. This one was unexpected. Three sharp raps at the front door. His ears caught the muffled voices outside, the telltale sound of heavy boots crunching gravel.

Your eyes widened. “Root cellar,” you hissed, gripping the lapels of your dressing gown to draw it closed as you turned. “Now.”

Without hesitation, Levi crossed the hall fast, favoring his bad leg. The latch was still loose from earlier. He slid it open and climbed down into the musty dark, barely ducking beneath the low beams. The door shut behind him just as the outer door creaked open.

He couldn’t see anything. He could barely hear more than footfalls on the old floorboards and the low rumble of voices above. But that was enough for him to pick up on the clues. There were three men. They were familiar with you, casual. This clearly wasn’t the first time they’d barged in on you. Levi pressed himself to the far wall, ears straining.

“Frau,” one of them said. “Still living all alone out here, are we?”

Your voice followed calmly. “Yes. Still alone.”

“You’re too young to be wasting away out here by yourself. You must get... lonely.”

Levi closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His fury spiked listening to the way they spoke down to you. As if they had the right. As if they’d walk in and paw through your life and maybe take a little more if the mood struck. He didn’t give a damn about protocols. If he were at his full strength, if he had so much as a dull blade in reach—

But he didn’t. He had nothing but the still-throbbing ache in his ribs and a mouth full of teeth he was grinding to dust. Above, your tone didn’t waver.

“Is there something I can do for you?”

“There were reports of someone moving through the woods,” said another soldier. “A deserter, maybe.”

“I haven’t seen anyone.”

“Strange. A child said he saw someone.”

Levi’s blood turned to ice. Étienne.

Your reply came with the faint creak of the floorboard as you moved toward the shelf near the door. “Children see things all the time. They tell stories. I’d know if someone were on my property.”

The silence that followed stretched a little too long. Levi hated sitting there, useless, listening to you lie for him. If they hurt you—if they even brushed you—

One of the men chuckled lowly. “I suppose you would.”

There was the scuff of a chair leg. A bottle opened. They were helping themselves. Levi clenched his fists against the cold stone wall. His vision narrowed, even in the dark.

Let it go. Let it go. Let them walk out and leave her in peace.

He’d done worse things in war than break a few skulls. He could do it again. But that wasn’t what you needed. You needed them to leave without suspicion. You needed him to stay hidden.

So, he waited. For you.

When the cellar door finally creaked open, light bled down into the earth like a fresh wound. You stood at the top of the steps for a second. The lines of your dressing gown were crooked, sleeves tugged and collar pulled down just slightly where one of the soldiers had moved past you too closely.

Levi hauled himself up the steps without a second thought. “You okay?” he rasped.

You nodded. “They’re gone.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You looked away, one hand ghosting up to straighten your collar. Levi didn’t think as he reached out and took your wrist gently.

“Did they touch you?”

“No,” you said firmly. “No. Just talk.”

He should have felt relief. But he didn’t. Because he’d heard that talk, and it hadn’t been innocent. And he’d sat there like a fucking coward, listening. You must have seen it in his face, because your other hand came up between you, palm flat to his chest. You were so close now he could count the droplets of condensation still clinging to the ends of your lashes. You must’ve been shaking earlier. He’d missed that part—too busy convincing himself that he was noble for hiding.

Your breath hitched when his other hand came up, fingertips brushing the open edge of your nightgown collar. He ought to leave. He would leave, first thing in the morning. He knew this wouldn’t go anywhere. Couldn’t. And you knew it, too.

His mouth met yours before he could think better of it. The kiss wasn’t gentle or chaste. It was months of fear and loneliness and need, all crashing down at once. Your hands tangled in the sweater as his palm slid to the back of your neck. He kissed you like it would be the only time. Because it likely would be.

And yet, the moment broke slower than it started. When you finally parted, your lips were swollen and dark and lovely, your eyes a little dazed, and he was far too pleased that you had gotten that way because of him. You didn’t move away when he traced his thumb along your bottom lip. Instead, you took his hand and timidly guided it to your breast. Levi let out a shaky breath.

“You’re sure?” he asked gruffly.

Your voice came small but resolute. “I am.”

He led you to the hearth, still warm from the day. He remembered tending that fire earlier with half-numb hands and the wood he’d chopped, just grateful to be alive and upright. Now, it felt like the room had shifted, vibrating with something he hadn’t let himself want in a long time.

You let him guide you down to the rug, your fingers catching in his sleeves. The fire had gone out, but the coals were still giving off faint heat. He could feel it against his knees as he knelt over you. Your dressing gown had loosened in the rush earlier. Now, he reached for the tie with both hands and slowly pulled the belt free. He peeled it from your shoulders delicately, as if unwrapping a fragile gift, then bent and kissed you again.

Your mouth was warm, slightly bitter from the tea you brewed after dinner. Levi stroked your neck, savoring the feeling of your skin, soft and supple. You sighed as he licked your lip, then the inside of your mouth when you opened it to him. You were intoxicating. He was breathing hard, like he’d just gone sprinting through no-man’s land.

Lost to the haze, you wrapped your arms around his neck and allowed yourself to be consumed. You decided that for this brief moment, you would not think about what came after, would not concern yourself with consequences. His hand on your neck moved to tangle in your hair, deepening the kiss and leaving you breathless. He would not release you now, refused to. He licked and grazed his teeth down your jaw to suck lightly at your neck. After everything, after all that had happened in the war so far, all the death and the misery—it was all too much. He was urgent for you, swallowed by the fierce need to have you as soon as possible.

You barely knew anything about one another at all. Yet, you were desperate for his touch, succumbing to this desire that felt familiar and foreign at the same time. Until last spring, you had been a married woman. You were no longer a bashful virginal bride. But you still felt your entire chest flush as Levi leaned up to untie your nightgown. Your nerves fluttered violently, cool air sweeping over your breasts as he lowered the neckline to your waist. He breathed out a groan at the sight of your nipples.

Driven by pure instinct, he dipped his head and closed his lips around one pebbled bud. You muffled your cry against the back of your wrist, arching into him. He took it as encouragement to continue and lifted off with a wet pop to kiss your breasts and run his tongue over the swell of them. His hands drifted up, calloused thumbs dragging heavily over your nipples, over and over until you were in agony. You released a loud, lewd sound, shuddering under him.

“That’s it,” Levi murmured, peppering light kisses along the column of your throat. “Let me hear you.”

With a groan, you lifted yourself up slightly on your elbows and watched him continue downward. He kissed down and down until he was settled between your legs, messily bunching up the skirt of your gown. You helped him maneuver off your underwear, tossed aside into a heap somewhere with his sweater. Your splayed thighs were weak and trembling, and between them, Levi took in the sight of your cunt, soft and glistening. He shifted his hips, adjusting his painful erection.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he groaned, reaching up to stroke along your folds. You whimpered as he touched around your entrance, already blossoming with wetness and ready for him. Gathering the slip of your arousal, he massaged the swollen nub of your clit, earning him a soft cry as you threw your head back against the rug.

He rubbed you there, harder, relishing in your voice, your quiet, gasping moans. Then, leaned in and pressed his searing tongue to you. You inhaled sharply. Levi let out a low curse, tasting you. His hands cupped your thighs to spread you open more.

“Right there,” you gasped as he licked you, speeding his pace until your fingers delved into his hair. You tugged at the soft strands, grinding yourself into his face, all traces of shame lost and forgotten.

Levi hooked your legs over his shoulders and renewed his grip on your hips, pinning you down. You sprawled one arm over your mouth as he began to lap at you faster. When you accidentally pulled a little harder at his hair than you meant to, he only grunted and draped his arm across your abdomen where your skirt had ridden up, his tongue harsh and unrelenting.

You were close. He could feel it. Your legs were quivering around him, and your breathing had devolved into frantic panting. He switched to long, slow, firm strokes as your fingers tightened in his hair. You whined, working against his steel grip, but he was stronger. He heard you utter a frustrated curse and pulled back to deftly flick the tip of his tongue rapidly against your aching clit, redoubling his effort. You were a gasping, convulsing mess, and when he closed lips around your nub and sucked, the heat inside you finally snapped.

“Oh god,” you whispered before you came, shivering and muffling a strangled cry against your forearm.

Levi held you, wanting to feel every twitch in your body as you rode out your orgasm. It was only when you began shakily removing your legs from his shoulders that he let you go. He lifted himself up to admire your form, flushed and spent. You blinked up at him, eyes swimming, and reached for him, pulling him closer by the belt loops of his trousers.

He stared at you, speechless, as you palmed his aching manhood through the cumbersome fabric. Maybe he had simply expected for you to be done after he’d given you your pleasure. But now, faced with the reality of your persistent want for him, he was nearly rendered speechless.

“W—wait,” he said, grabbing your hand. “You don’t have to.”

You stopped, breathless, and confusedly looked at him. “I want to,” you said, then lowered your gaze uncertainly. “Don’t you want to?”

Levi groaned, pushing you back down. “I want you,” he said huskily. “Fuck, I want you.”

You pulled him halfway down with you, laughing breathlessly. “Then, have me.”

His head went hazy, and suddenly, he could not recall a single reason to hold back. In fact, the thought of resisting you felt physically impossible. Levi sat up, breaking your hold of him to fumble blindly with his trousers. He tugged them down, along with his undershorts, his cock bobbing up against his stomach. You moaned softly at the sight of it and reached out to wrap your hands around it. Levi exhaled roughly as you began slowly pumping him, a bead of liquid already gathering at his tip.

Again, he pushed you by the shoulders until you were flat against the rug and leaned over you. Your eyes shined up at him as you spread your legs for him, offering yourself up to him. Just for him. It blew his mind. All the months, all the wrong decisions and close calls and the war; he could feel it all flowing out of his system. To hell with the war. He could suffer at the hands of the enemy or his own commanders tomorrow, but tonight, he was going to enjoy this.

He took himself in hand and gave his cock a few more strokes before reaching between your thighs, where you were still dripping and puffy. His finger grazed along your slit, then pressed into you. Your mouth fell open, and Levi shifted his hips, letting his cock push against the crook of your thigh. You felt your chest swell with a strange fondness at the gesture, like he wanted you to feel how hard he was for you.

“Please,” you moaned, arching your neck deliciously, but he only continued carefully pumping his finger into you. He wanted to be certain you could take him. He felt a flicker of affection for you, one that was unfamiliar to him. You were an indulgence, a fleeting romp in the slog of a war with seemingly no end; that was all. That was what he tried to tell himself, anyway.

Levi shook his head of those thoughts and added a second finger inside you, ignoring the lingering feeling that, if you had truly been no more than a quick fuck, he would have done it already. He worked his fingers in and out of you, stretching your walls as you continued moaning beneath him, already starting to come undone again.

Your hands grasped at his back, nails clawing and digging into his skin while he split you open on his fingers. When your hips began to purl to meet his thrusts, he paused and curled his fingers inside you instead, feeling your frame shake in response. He pulled his fingers away, his hunger for you overwhelming. He took his cock and rubbed the smooth head of it through your sensitive folds, then pushed into you in a single stroke.

You gave a sharp gasp at the sudden fullness and gripped him painfully as you adjusted to his girth. Levi grunted and held himself still, giving himself time to savor your tight, wet heat surrounding him. You hugged around him so perfectly that the sensation clouded his thoughts. He experimentally drew out halfway and pushed in again. After that, he was unable to stop, thrusting into you deep and slow, letting all of him fill you with each stroke. Your hands scrabbled at the rug below your body.

“Fuck, so good,” he panted, gripping your hips. “So good. Does it feel good?”

He watched you closely as he fervently fucked you, desperately to know if you were enjoying it. You nodded, unable to form words, drifting a hand up to brush his messy fringe from his brow. Levi caught your wrist and pressed a hot kiss to the inside before drawing out to the tip and thrusting harder. Your eyes fluttered shut with a small cry, and he leaned down to kiss you, filling you with his tongue. He grabbed your leg roughly, feeling his control slip as his fingers dug into your flesh. He lifted it to open you up even more and increased his pace. The new position allowed him to reach deeper inside you.

Your moans grew louder and more ragged, shoved out of your lungs with every brutal thrust, and he found himself moaning in tandem, unable to hold himself back. He couldn’t kiss you while focusing on the agonizing pleasure of fucking you. Instead, he let his lips brush against yours, feeling your breath come out hot and fast on his face.

“Don’t stop—” you groaned, clutching at his shoulders with both hands. You delighted at feel of him so deep, the stretch of him making your mouth water.

Levi growled, slowing the snap of his hips just a touch. You whined, wrapping one leg around his lower back, attempting to urge him on. His steel gaze burned into yours.

“Please,” you begged.

He looked satisfied at that and resumed his previous frantic pace. You keened, the low simmering feeling of your orgasm accumulating again.

“Please, don’t stop,” you breathed, clinging to him. “Harder, please.”

His eyes locked with yours as he drove into you with abandon. It didn’t take long. A few more thrusts, and your knees were curling in as you came with a strangled sob. Your head fell back in your throes, but Levi took your chin between his fingers and forced you to look at him.

“Eyes on me,” he said, drinking in the twist of pleasure in your face. “That’s it.”

He held on until the last possible moment, then let out a long groan as he reluctantly pulled out. White ropes of his spend spat up over your abdomen as he shuddered over you, eyes screwed shut and expression trapped in bliss. You caressed his back as his shaking subsided, until only the aftershocks remained and your breaths slowed. Spent, Levi lowered his forehead to yours for a brief moment before he rolled over to lay on the rug beside you.

“Stay right there,” he said, sitting up with a grunt.

You lay still, watching out of the corner of your eye as he stood and disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he had a towel in hand, slightly damp and warm, which he used to tenderly wipe you clean. After he set it aside, he lowered himself back down and tucked one arm under his head. For a moment, perhaps for the first moment in months, he felt at peace.

You rolled over with a soft, almost sheepish sigh and curled into his side, resting your head against his chest. Your fingers traced an old scar on his ribs, then the fresher one bandaged beneath the wrappings you’d tied. The silence between you stretched, oddly light and comfortable. Your skin was still warm where it touched his. You made small sounds now and then, little hums of breath as if sleep was creeping up on you, but you weren’t ready to let go just yet. Neither was he.

Levi glanced at the window, at the ink-dark sky beyond. He should have been thinking ahead. About supplies. About maps. About the fact that he couldn’t stay here and risk dragging you into anything worse. But instead, he found himself watching the way your lashes fluttered as you fought sleep.

“Are you cold?” he murmured.

You shook your head, nestling in tighter. He let out a small breath of a laugh through his nose. His arm came around you instinctively, fingers splaying over the curve of your back.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen, to stay this long and feel this much. You were just supposed to be a place to land, a temporary shelter. But you’d been more than that. And brave, smart woman you were, you had to have known all along how this was going to end, even if you’d been kind enough to let him pretend, just for one night, that the world outside your cottage didn’t exist.

Your voice came soft and blurred by sleep. “You’ll be gone in the morning.”

It wasn’t a question, so Levi didn’t answer. Your breath went soft and steady. He let himself close his eyes.

You woke slowly, your cheek pressed to the spot where the wool rug had bunched beneath your head. For a second, you forgot where you were. Then, the scent of ash and clove salve drifted in, and the memory hit you like a wave. Your eyes opened to gray light seeping in through the windowpanes.

The hearth was cold. The warmth on your skin had long since faded. And the spot beside you, where Levi had slept, was empty. You were alone.

You lay still, wrapped in a wool blanket that had been pulled around you sometime in the night. Your legs were sore, the flesh between your thighs fragile and tender. You pressed them together and savored the feeling while it lasted. It, too, would fade, like the scent of him left behind in the wool.

Clutching the blanket to your chest, you sat up slowly. Your clothes were folded neatly and left within reach, as if he’d taken care not to leave you cold and bare when you inevitably woke. You ignored them and crossed the room barefoot to the window.

Outside, the early morning mist hadn’t yet burned off the fields. Trees stood still as sentries at the edge of the woods, and the grass was slick with dew. You imagined him slipping through it like smoke, heading west or south or whichever way led back to his unit. Back to his own life, his own world.

You leaned your forehead gently against the cool pane. He would make it, you thought. He would survive. And as you turned to gather your things, your eyes snagged on a folded piece of paper left beside the hearth, tucked neatly atop a tin of ointment. Your heart stumbled in your chest as you reached for it.

The note was brief.

Didn’t want to wake you. You sleep too soundly for someone with a cellar full of strangers. Thank you. For everything.

"Just… someone who thinks rank is a personality." You force a shrug. "Nothing happened."

"And that's why you're cleaning a ghost spot?" he asks flatly. You glance at the cloak. The stain's long gone. You set it aside, flexing your stiff fingers. "He was drunk. It's done."

"Names," Levi says.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I know you," you say, finally facing him. "You'd go handle it and then I'd owe you and then you'd act like I didn't and then you'd avoid me for a week so you wouldn't have to hear me say thank you, and then we'd be back where we started."

A muscle jumps in his jaw. "You don't owe me."

"You want to bet?"

Silence stretches. He steps inside, closes the door behind him with a careful click. The two of you exist in a pocket of air that feels separate from the rest of the world.

"You could've told me," he says. Quieter.

You exhale. "I didn't want to burden you."

He sighs and searches your face. "Did he touch you?"

"No." The word is true, but it tastes like rust. "He just made sure I knew he could."

Levi breathes once, slow and heavy, like he's compressing anger into a neat cube he'll store for later. He reaches for the cloak you finished, folds it with an absurd precision that calms you and irritates you at the same time.

"Tea," he says.

You open your mouth to argue. Then you close it. When Levi offers tea, it isn't hospitality, it's a truce. You follow him down the corridor, feeling the weight in your sternum shift from sharp to dull.

His room is as clean as a kept promise. He sets a kettle on the brazier, moves like he's done this a thousand times (he has). You sit on the edge of the low trunk and stare at your hands so he won't see your eyes sting.

He sees anyway.

"You're not fine," he says.

You snort. "You're very observant."

"Don't start."

"Start what?"

"The thing where you throw jokes at a problem until it's buried."

"Pot," you say, gesturing at him. "Kettle."

His mouth twitches, then steadies. The kettle begins to murmur. He pours, gives you the first cup. It smells like something green and alive. You keep your fingers wrapped around the heat and try to breathe through it.

"I'm thinking of leaving," you hear yourself say.

The steam curls between you and disappears.

Levi doesn't react for three heartbeats. Then he sets his cup down, unblinking. "Because of today?"

"Because of everything." You force a smile that doesn't fit your face. "Because I'm not built for this. For the way everyone looks at you like you're a weapon or a warning. For the way people with power wear the law like a glove and there's nothing we can do about it but pretend we didn't see. I'm tired, Levi."

"I know."

"Do you?" The laugh slips out, brittle. "You survive. You compartmentalize. You turn the world into a list and you cross it off. I… I carry it. It gets heavy."

He watches you calmly as he speaks, "What do you want?"

You swallow. "To breathe without being afraid I'll owe someone for it."

He considers that. Then, like he's decided to stop trying to be clever with pain, he steps forward, close enough that you feel the faint heat of him. He smells like soap and something quieter that you only smell when he lets you this close: his skin warmed by tea.

"This isn't an offer I don't think I'll ever make" he says, voice steady. "So think carefully."

You blink. "What..."

"Move into my quarters, that way people will understand we're in a relationship." He says it like a solution, not a plea. "Until you want to leave, or don't, lock stays inside at night. If anyone put their hands on you or thinks they can..." His mouth thins. "They won't."

Your heart knocks too hard against your ribs. "Is that… allowed?"

"Does that matter?" he asks. Then, after a beat, softer, "My room is clean. It's quiet. No one knocks unless they want their fingers broken so it's safe too."

You manage a breath that's almost a laugh. "I can't take your bed."

"You won't." His eyes flick to the narrow cot against the wall. "We'll figure it out."

"We," you echo.

He doesn't flinch. "If you want it."

You set the cup down before your hands betray you. "If I say yes, it changes things."

"It has already changed," he says. "I just stopped pretending I didn't notice."

The clock on the wall measures the fragile space between heartbeats. You could say no. You could tell him you'll be fine, that it's better to keep whatever this is undefined and therefore unbreakable. You could leave at dawn and never see whether the ache in your ribs is fear or relief.

But he's watching you like he watches a blade he's about to trust with his life: wary, sure, resigned to the risk.

"Okay," you say. Your voice shakes.

His shoulders drop so slightly you almost miss it. "Take the left cabinet," he says, like he's confirming inventory. "You hoard socks. I've seen it."

You stare. "I do not..."

"You do."

You don't realize you're smiling until the smile hurts. "Bossy."

"Efficient."

He moves to the trunk, drags out an extra pillow and sets it on the cot. It should be awkward and it is. But it's a comfortable awkwardness, the kind that means he's letting you into the strict geometry of his life and making room.

You watch him fuss with the blanket. "Levi."

"Yeah?"

"What if I don't want the cot."

He stills. Looks over his shoulder at you, eyes dark in the low light. "Then where?"

You feel your pulse in your mouth. "We'll figure it out."

A silence that is not empty follows. He nods once, like he's agreed to an impossible mission and returns to the pillow like he needs his hands to have a task.

You move first. You set your cup next to his. You cross the two steps between you and touch his sleeve the way you've wanted to since the first time he corrected your grip and didn't realize his breath brushed your ear. He goes very still. You slide your fingers down, find his hand, feel him exhale.

"Think carefully," he repeats, softer now. "I'm not… easy."

"I know," you say. "I'm not either."

He huffs a ghost of a laugh. "You're worse."

"True."

He turns, your hands still tangled, tension thrumming like a wire. You expect him to kiss you because that's what happens in stories. But Levi does not kiss you. He leans his forehead to yours instead and you feel the offer again, not spoken this time but still loud: Stay if you want. I'll try.

"Tomorrow," he says, words on your skin. "I'll handle the noble."

"Levi...."

"Quiet," he murmurs. "You don't owe me. I'll sleep better if I know he understands what he can't buy."

You close your eyes. "This isn't just protection." you murmur.

"No," he says and the word lands like a marker on a map. "It isn't."

Your breath steadies. The chair creaks.

"You said we'd figure it out," he says quietly.You smile into the dark. "We will."

His hand finds your wrist, two fingers light against your pulse, like he's counting proof that you're here. "Not just anyone," he repeats, a whisper meant for the night. "Remember that."

You fall silent, swivelling on the spot. As you knew from the moment he’d spoken, you’re met with the sight of Levi. A lump forms in your throat, unshed tears stinging behind your eyes as you take him in – half his face in bandages, leaving the stitches running across his cheek, his lips, all the way to his chin visible. He’s leaning heavily against the railings, bandaged fingers holding onto it just as tightly as you had only a moment ago. From here, you can’t see that he’s missing two of them.

“Levi,” you breathe, and next moment, you’re by his side. “You should be in bed, you--”

“Damn if I need you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t,” he scowls. His one visible eye narrows at you, his mouth pulling into a taut line. “Why is it that I have to hear from Armin fucking Arlert that you’ve been emptying your guts into the sea for the past – what? Two days? Three?”

You open your mouth to reply – to defend yourself, to lie, to wave it off – but Armin beats you to the punch. “Actually…then it’s been going on for longer than that.”

Both your and Levi’s attention immediately fixes on Armin. He freezes, eyes wide and gaze flickering, like a deer caught by a pack of wolves.

“What do you mean by that?” Levi snaps.

Armin looks from you to Levi and back again.

Levi clicks his tongue impatiently. “Spit it out, brat.”

Armin’s posture straightens, his jaw tensing. “You stopped eating breakfast about a week ago. When the Captain left with Zeke.”

You just stare at him, stunned that he even noticed.

“Commander Hange also told me you’d complained to them about…cramps. And uh-- spotting,” he continues, a faint blush rising to his cheeks, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “They said you’d been worried about having to deal with period cramps when we had to fight.”

You feel heat rise to your own cheeks. Pointedly avoiding glancing towards Levi beside you, you send a glare Armin’s way. “And why would they tell you that?”

Armin holds up his hands, palms facing up, like in a peace gesture. “They were just worried about you, that’s all! And they didn’t want to tell you before they were sure, in case they were wrong…” He trails off, biting his lip.

“Tell me what?” you ask.

“I don’t think that’s a conversation you should have right here.”

Speak of the Devil, you think, turning towards Hange. They’re walking towards you in a brisk pace, their steps lacking the usual spring, their eyes devoid of the usual spark. You guess Commanding a group of traitors trying to stop the end of the world does that to you.

“You, Levi, c’mere. We need to talk.”

Carefully, you sling one of Levi’s arms over your shoulder, wrapping your own arm around his waist to support him. He lets out a grunt of dismay but allows you to help him up the stairs to the cabins without further protest.

You know he hates being this helpless. You could see it in the way his mouth curled in dissatisfaction when you would hold the spoon for him, feeding him in bed when his hands were still so heavily bandaged that he couldn’t move his fingers. In the way he’d avoid looking at you, jaw clenched, a vein throbbing at his neck whenever you would help him to the bathroom, when he still couldn’t walk himself.

You’re grateful he even lets you help him.

When you reach one of the sleeping cabins, you first lower Levi onto the mattress, then take a seat beside him. You don’t comment on the way he presses his lips together, his abdominal muscles flexing beneath your touch, his fingers twitching – as if he’s in pain but refuses to let it show.

Hange pulls up a chair in front of you, resting their hands on their knees and raking a hand through their hair, messing up their already ruffled auburn ponytail.

“So, you wanted to talk,” Levi grits out. He leans his head against the headboard, glaring at Hange over the bridge of his bandaged nose.

Hange lets out a sigh, then looks at you. Their eyes are deep set, shadows pooling beneath like bruises. You wonder how long it was since they last slept properly.

“So, how long since you last had your period?” they ask.

You scowl, fisting the sheets beneath you. “Wha-- what does that have to do with anything?”

“Just tell me when.”

You roll your eyes. “When I was seventeen. That was ten years ago. Happy?”

“Hm, secondary amenorrhea. Not that uncommon, especially given the food shortages. And even more common for women in the military,” they mumble. They press the tips of their fingers together, looking thoughtful. “Okay then, let me ask something else. Have you experienced anything else out of the ordinary? Apart from the nausea, changes in appetite, cramps, and spotting?”

“And apart from the end of the world approaching, I assume,” you deadpan.

Your comment earns a twitch from Levi’s lips, but Hange doesn’t look amused. “Apart from that, yes.”

You pause, racking your brain. So much has happened lately. Eren, the Rumbling, Levi getting injured. Meeting Annie again. And Reiner.

Unable to think of anything specific, you shrug. “I’ve been tired as fuck, but that’s probably again, you know, because of the end of the world?”

Bottom lip sticking out and brows curled, Hange just continues to look at you. The silence stretches out between you, awkward and charged somehow, as if you’re all waiting for a bomb to be dropped.

Slumping their shoulders, Hange finally breaks the silence. “Alright, I’m going to be frank with you guys. I think…I think that you might be pregnant.”

Levi jerks in the bed beside you, his head hitting the headboard with a loud thud followed by a curse.

You, meanwhile, sit completely still. There’s a ringing in your ears, the only other sound reaching you besides the thundering of your heart. You feel cold-sweat coating your palms, and you frantically press them against your thighs to dry them off – and to keep them from shaking.

“…”

“…hey…”

“…let me just…”

“Talk to me, okay?”

Hange’s lips are moving, but you don’t hear what they’re saying. And soon, your vision blurs too, and you can’t even see that anymore.

You blink once, twice, then feel something hot and wet trickle down your cheeks. The mattress shifts beneath you, and calloused, cool knuckles brush over your cheek, wiping away the tears.

“S-s-stop,” you hiccup. “You’re gonna get the bandages wet.”

Levi scoffs beside you. “Tch. I don’t care.”

“And now we can add mood swings to the list,” Hange mumbles.

“Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, tears now streaming freely down your cheeks. Furiously, you try to wipe them away, but they just keep coming and gosh, why are you crying?

You take a deep, shuddering intake of breath. “It just doesn’t make sense. We took-- I mean, we were careful.”

“I took contraceptives and never finished inside,” Levi comments, making you choke on your spit.

Hange pinches the bridge of their nose. “At any other time, I would’ve been thrilled to learn about your sex life, Levi. But now, I’m just thinking you’re both idiots.”

“Oh, and how so?” you snap, clenching your fists at your sides, nails digging into your clammy palms.

“Ackermans are resistant to drugs, remember?” they sigh. “Levi can’t get drunk, anaesthetics don’t work on him – by the Walls, he didn’t even shed a single tear after I filled his shaving cream with onion juice.”

“You what?”

“I’ll need to do a pelvic exam to be certain,” Hange continues, ignoring the look Levi sends them. It’s impressive, how he can channel so much ire into a single, grey eye.

You feel yourself tense. “Is that really necessary?” you argue. “It’s not like it’s going to make a difference.”

Hange snaps their head up to look at you, and Levi looks like you’ve slapped him.

You glance between them. “What?”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Levi demands.

His voice is just a tad higher than usual, teetering on the verge of being shrill. You’ve never heard him sound like that before.

“Well, I’m going to help trying to stop Eren regardless,” you snap.

“Like hell you are.”

“Like you can stop me.”

“Watch me try.”

“Oh, I w--"

“Hey, guys, guys,” Hange interjects, cutting you off. They place a hand on your shoulder. “Let’s talk about this like responsible adults, alright?”

“It’s her not thinking this through,” Levi grits out. 

“Well firstly, then we’re not even one hundred percent sure,” Hange reasons. “As I said, I’ll need to do a pelvic exam first. And secondly…then that’s not solely your decision, Levi.”

Levi opens his mouth to argue, but Hange interrupts him again. “But that’s not to say that I don’t agree with you.” They turn their attention to you again. “You’re not stupid, I know that. Coming with us to fight – we don’t know what will happen. You might lose the child. You might both die. You know it’s a risk.”

You will yourself not to blink as you stare down Levi. He meets your gaze with a grim expression, eyes hard and jaw clenched. Neither of you willing to back down.

The silence is first broken when Hange clears their throat. “Ahem. Can I suggest something?”

In unison, you both whip around to glare at them, making them raise their hands in surrender. “Can I just do the pelvic exam first? Then we can figure out if this is just an unusual case of the flu or if you actually have something to argue about.”

You’re both silent for a while. You can see Levi’s jaw working, can hear his teeth grinding back and forth. But then, he closes his eyes, chest rising and falling – first quickly and uneven, as if he’s just run a sprint, but then slower, calmer. And when he opens his eyes again to look at you, they’re softer. The grey a little warmer. He moves his hand to place it above yours in a display of affection he rarely shows when it’s not just the two of you. “What do you want to do?” he asks.

You gulp, then glance over towards Hange. And then, you nod.

The last time Levi recalls being this restless was after the Wall Rose Invasion. Back when you’d gotten half your bones crushed by the Beast Titan and had to go through surgery, and he didn’t know whether you’d make it.

But it isn’t the same kind of restlessness as he’d felt back then – not exactly. Back then, red had clouded his vision, and he’d found himself in a misty haze of rage. He’d almost broken down the door to the operating room and had to be restrained by half the Scouts, and later, he’d paced back and forth in front of your room in the hospital wards, feeling empty. Like someone had ripped out his guts and left a gaping hole in their wake. 

But now, he isn’t angry. He’s not feeling empty. No, it’s like someone stuffed him full to the brim with emotions he doesn’t know how to contain. Surprise. Confusion. Happiness. Excitement. Dread. Joy. Fear. Awe. Pride. Anxiety. Gratefulness. Anticipation.

And he doesn’t even know if it’s true yet. If you really are carrying his…child. Just thinking the words makes his heart thrum loudly in his chest, his blood rushing in his ears and drowning out every other sound as he, just for a split second, imagines it.

How it would be like with you, belly round and breasts heavy with milk.

You’d look so pretty, he’s sure of it. The only downside would be that he’d have to take you from behind when you grew too big – not because he doesn’t enjoy that too, but because he prefers to see your face when he makes love to you. When he makes you cum around his cock, your eyes fluttering shut and your lips parting as you cry out in pleasure.

And he imagines how it would be after, when the bump has been replaced by a living, breathing, human being. Such a tiny person, looking like the perfect blend between him and you – or just like you, he wouldn’t mind that either. In fact, he knows they’d be perfect regardless – because how could something created from his love, from his devotion to you, be anything but?

He lets out a small huff.

Tch. Since when did he turn this sappy?

The door to the cabin creaking open snaps him out of his daydreams. The look on your face – your pale cheeks, the hard pull of your mouth, the crease between your brows – tells him everything he needs to know.

So, it’s true.

He watches as you walk over to the bed, expecting you to take a seat on the edge – like you’ve done these past days, to hand him water or feed him or just to keep him company. But instead, you crawl over the mattress until you’re sitting beside him. Your warmth seeps into his veins, making it feel like he’s melting. When you lean your head against his shoulder – slowly, carefully, so as not to hurt him – he turns to press his nose against your hair.

You smell sweet – like a spring meadow just after rain has fallen – but also with a slight tang to it, like iron. Probably from your time in the military, handling ODM gear and blades and thunder spears daily.

“I’m going with the others,” you tell him. It’s not a question, but a statement.

“Well, so am I,” he says.

You snap your head up to look at him. “Levi, you can’t. You’re still injured, you can barely walk--"

“If the woman pregnant with my child insists on going to war, damn if I’ll let her go without me,” he growls. “Besides, I don’t need to walk. I’ll be using the gear.”

“And how are you going to handle the gear with only three fingers?”

“I’ll figure something out.”

“That’s not the point, Levi. The point is that you won’t be top of your game and I refuse to lose you because of your stubbornness--”

“Like you’re one to talk.”

You pinch your lips together. He’s almost never seen you cry before, but he knows you’re just about to break into tears again – your eyes red-rimmed and glossed over with a sheen of fury, lashes wet and glinting in the dim light from the small window beside you.

He feels his throat constrict with guilt – guilt and regret. It was never his intention to make you cry again, even if you’re probably more susceptible to tears now than you’ve ever been before. At least, he’s heard that can happen during pregnancies.

He leans closer to you, his forehead pressing against yours. The bandages are in the way, but he hopes you’ll still find some form of comfort in just being close – like he does.  

“If you go, I’ll go. If you stay, I’ll stay. How’s that?” he croaks, voice oddly strained by the emotions flooding through him.

“I…I don’t know, Levi.” 

He reaches up to cup your jaw, tilting your chin until you look him in the eyes. “We’ve been through everything else together…this is no different.”

You blink at him. A single tear rolls down your cheek, from the corner of your eye to the curve of your mouth.

He leans in again, intending to kiss it away, but then pauses. It occurs to him that he hasn’t kissed you – not really – since his injury. At first, it was because his lips were split in half, and it hurt as fuck just to talk. But now, even when they’ve begun to heal and talking has become bearable…he knows his lips will never be as soft, never as pleasant to you as they were before.

He hates to admit it, but it makes him self-conscious. 

“What are you thinking about?” you whisper, your breath fanning across his exposed cheek.

“Do you…” He trails off, gulping. His grip on your chin slackens, but you reach up to wrap your fingers around his wrist before he can pull away. Keeping him there.

“Do you still want me to kiss you?” he asks, then holds his breath. Dreading the answer.

It doesn’t come. Instead, you close your eyes, tilting your head slightly. Your hand moves to the back of his head, fingers gently curling around the longer locks falling over the short buzz at his nape. Carefully, you press your lips against his. Peppering him with kisses, from the base of his nose to the corner of his lip to his chin. Your lips move over the bandages and stitches, as if you don’t even notice they’re there.

And when you pull away again, you’re smiling.

“Of course, Levi. Always.” 

AN: So, this was a little spin-off from my longfic call my name posted on ao3! Hope you enjoyed reading🫶

He holds himself with a straight-backed poise, princely in bearing. His garments speak of wealth and title, but his gaze lacks the practiced charm that should come with it.

Don't they learn courtesy in his kingdom?

The thought makes you huff a quiet laugh to yourself. You turn away, averting your gaze from him. Being looked at like that, so intently, so openly, is suddenly too much. Too overwhelming. As if seeking refuge, your eyes begin to wander across the masked crowd again. Gliding over silks, jewels and gilded masks… all in search of one person.

Levi should be here. Or rather—you wish he were.

You’ve grown too used to his presence beside you, steady and silent. Always there during ceremonies like this one, just behind your shoulder, watching. Watching the men who take your hand, share your dance, steal your time. While he remains in the background, unable to say a word.

A small wave of disappointment rolls through your chest as you fail to find him in the crowd. And yet, when no face reminds you of Levi, your gaze drifts back.

Back to him, the stranger, as if pulled.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Impossible. There’s nothing in that man that could truly draw you in.

Not when your heart has long since chosen someone else. Someone who has never needed to seduce or court you, because his every action already held more care than any suitor ever could. Your knight. You fell for Levi without even noticing, it was natural, effortless. So natural you only realized it once the idea of loving someone else felt utterly absurd.

Who could possibly compare? Who else would bend the world for you the way he does? Without permission, without recognition, without asking anything in return?

And still… that gaze. 

His expression is lost behind the velvet mask but he hasn’t looked away once. There is a weight in it. It’s unapologetic and far too open. The line of your collarbone where your gown dipped in a graceful curve, watching the skin left bare by silken folds. That’s not how a prince looks at a princess he hopes to marry.

You see him approaching, your body straightens unconsciously and the air around you changes, a mixture of anticipation and pressure.

“Your Highness.”

His voice is smooth, low and unfamiliar. And yet… 

“May I have this dance?”

You look at him, already knowing what you are supposed to do. The smile, a gracious nod, the acceptance you’ve rehearsed since you were old enough to be paraded in front of suitors. You’re used to this role, but the words catch behind your lips. 

Up close, his presence disorients you. He’s composed and steady, too much for someone who doesn’t know you. An ease that doesn’t match what you’ve been used to with suitors.

Partly out of duty, partly out of curiosity, you accept. Offering him a soft,  practiced smile. “Of course.”

You expect a bow, some stiff introduction or the usual pleasantries, but instead he only offers you his hand and leads you toward the center of the floor. Placing your hand in his gloved one, his fingers slide gently around yours and your skin pringles at how easily your fingers fit.

As his other hand finds the small of your back, the music begins. A string quartet, soft and elegant. Your bodies eases into a pattern, slow and gentle. His hand is low, not improper… but not princely either. The rhythm draws you together, closer than propriety normally allows. There’s no over-performed charm or awkward stiffness in him, just a grounding steadiness that makes you feel comfortable.

You raise your eyes to meet his, uncertain.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” you say lightly.

“No, I suppose we haven’t.”

“…You must be one of the southern princes, then,” you say, testing him. “My father said they arrived just today.”

“If that’s who you need me to be.”

He doesn’t offer you a name or a proper explanation, he just guides you into the next step. Your bodies move in perfect time with the music but your gaze flickers once again toward the crowd. Subtly scanning over the silhouettes near the columns, lingering a beat too long near every man in a dark attire.

“You’re unusually silent for a suitor.”

“Would words impress you more than this?”

The corner of your mouth twitches, once again giving  you an ambiguous answer, he’s not what you expected. 

And that’s unsettling, your heel nearly stumbles, but he catches your balance easily, as if he knew your foot would falter before you did. His gloved hand stays steady at your back, subtly guiding you through the next turn.

You keep expecting to see Levi. The silhouette you know so well, his quiet watchfulness that always seeks you. Your mind keeps searching, even as your body is led through a smooth dance. You’re dancing. You blink, startled to realize the music has swept you farther across the ballroom floor, your steps syncing with this stranger – this supposed prince with a strong, steady hand at your back.

“You look distracted, My Lady.” His tone isn’t accusatory, more… amused. Almost.

“My apologies,” you say quickly, straightening your posture. Your eyes flick back to his, or at least where you think his eyes are. The mask still veils half his face, and the flickering candlelight does the rest.

“I didn’t mean to be rude. I just…” you hesitate, the words are heavier than you intended. You’ve practiced courtly speech your whole life, and yet, they fail you tonight. “The room is quite full tonight.”

“You look,” he says again, his voice lower now, “like you’re waiting for someone else.”

Your breath catches. You consider denying it, but he seems so perceptive, it makes it hard to lie. So, your guard slips – just a little. “I’m just… unused to being left alone by a certain someone.”

“Ah. A shadow at your service?”

You smile faintly. “A knight assigned to me, yes.”

“Loyal, is he?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation. 

“He’s always there,” you go on, the words slipping out easily. “Even when I think I don’t need him. Especially then, actually. He’s protective. Stubborn too.”

His lips quirk, and for the first time, his gaze breaks its hold on yours, only to drop ever so slightly lower – to your mouth, just for a second.

“And yet, he leaves you unguarded tonight.”

Your breath hitches, you hesitate before admitting softly, “I wish he were here.”

“He is.”

The words land so gently, so deliberately, that for a moment you think you’ve misheard. You blink, startled. Your eyes lift to his again, and this time you really look as you try to hear him through the polished, practiced voice he’s using.

“Wait—” you whisper, your pulse quickening as possibilities begin to root in your chest. It’s more than hope, it’s recognition. The voice doesn’t sound entirely unfamiliar now — just smoothed into something more formal. 

Your gaze lingers too long on his mask. He notices it, you see his gaze catching yours and not letting it go.

“Levi?” you whisper, half-gasp, half-laugh.

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t need to — the silence and his faint smile are enough to confirm it.

“Do you want me to leave?” he says, his voice low.

You shake your head. “Not even a little.”

How didn’t you notice? You’d been too busy scanning the crowd for him to notice he’d already found you.

Your fingers twitch where they rest on his shoulder, drawn to the skin at his collar, the sharp line of his jaw you suddenly can’t believe you missed before.

His hand at your waist dares more, pulls you just a fraction closer, under the excuse of the dance. You feel the shift. The tension. The want. You’ve never seen him like this, never felt him like this. And yet, it’s always been there, hasn’t it? Beneath duty.

The music continues around you, a waltz still spinning through the room, but your world narrows to him. The warmth of him, the knowledge that under all those fine clothes and that smooth persona, it’s Levi, your Levi. Holding you like he never has before, like he finally can, in ways your heart craves.

Your gloved hand lingers at his collar, touching the edge of his jaw. You don’t ask what happened to the prince who was supposed to be here. You’re not sure you care or if you're ready to hear it.

Every step you take together, every measured sway of your hips beneath his guiding hand feels like a descent into something that’s no longer courtly or proper but intimate, personal and bold. 

The music swells towards its final notes, his hand tightens at your waist.

“Are you ready to leave now?” he murmurs.

You don’t even realize how close you’ve become until your chest brushes his, and neither of you pull away. You lift your gaze to his, giving him a slight nod. “I trust you.”

His hand takes yours again, and in a movement so natural, so seamless it could pass as part of the dance, he leads you away. Past the golden archways, past the crowd and watchful eyes, past propriety — you let him.

Through corridors you both know by heart, steps quiet against marble. Until the doors open to the balcony and the night air greets your skin. 

The garden lights flicker below, moonlight kisses your skin. The sounds of the ball fade to a distant hum. Out here, it’s just you and him, stripped of titles, rules and roles.

You turn to face him, the night hums quiet around you, velvet-dark and heavy with stars. Both of you reach for your masks at the same time, fingers trembling slightly. He lifts yours away with care, and your hand brushes his jaw in return, reverently, as if not to undo the spell you’re both under.

His hands settle at your waist, drawing you gently backward until your spine meets the cool stone railing. His grip is careful, handling you like you’re something precious — all his strength tempered for you.

“You’re quiet now, Princess,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with emotion. “Where’s that honesty you gave me earlier?”

He cradles your face in both hands now. His thumbs sweep your heated cheekbones.

Your own words echo in your head, that moment in the ballroom you confessed, in your own, careful and polished way. How you missed his presence. How you thought of him. And he was right there, hearing everything and letting you speak.

“I was talking about someone who would never dare something this foolish,” you whisper, trying to avert from his gaze.

He leans in, you feel his smile when he kisses the corner of your mouth. Then lower, along the angle of your jaw, down to your throat — places his gaze has lingered a hundred times but never let himself taste.

“You shouldn’t be smiling Levi,” you breathe. “I’m humiliated.”

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to see your face. “I liked everything you said.”

You swallow hard. “I didn’t know it was you…” 

“I know. That’s why I listened so carefully.”

Your heart skips a beat. Your fingers curl instinctively in the fabric of his cloak, then slide lower — seeking the broad strength beneath the layers, exploring the taut planes of his back and chest. Every muscle beneath your hands feels coiled and controlled but trembling ever so slightly from restraint.

His hands are moving too. Over the curves of your bodice, the arch of your back, the slope of your waist. Touching everything he’d only dared admire from afar.

“I should’ve stayed away,” he whispers. “And let you dance with someone else.”

“But you…” he exhales, his gaze falling on your lips. You’re suddenly aware of how close you are and how fast your heart is beating. “You deserve to know when a man would give up everything to have a moment with you.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly overwhelms you.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you answer quietly. “You were the only one I wanted to see.”

At your words, his lips hover a breath above yours. You don’t know who moves first, maybe it’s both of you. Or maybe you’ve both been leaning towards this for far too long.

He kisses like he protects — with intensity. When his mouth finally touches yours, it’s hungry, starving after too many restrained feelings. His hands are back at your face, tilting you as his mouth coaxes yours open.

You sigh into it, helpless to do anything else.

When you clutch his cloak tighter and your lips part further for him, he groans quietly and loses whatever control he had left — pressing forward, the railing presses against your back, yet nothing feels heavy.

You trail your hands up under his coat, feeling the shape of him, the heat of his skin.

“Say it again,” he rasps between kisses.

“You’re cruel,” you pant.

“I’ve waited years . Let me have this, let me hear you say it again.”

He kisses along your jaw, lower. His mouth draws heat wherever it travels, and your skin burns under his lips.

“I wanted you ,” you murmur. “And I still want you now.”

The groan he gives in return sounds so sweet in your ear. One hand trails down your back, over the tight embroidery of your dress, fingers dancing over the laces.

He doesn’t undo them fully, just loosens the tightness enough for his hand to slip under. You feel his fingers dip beneath layers, until they find the curve of your breast. Your breath hitches.

His mouth finds your throat at the same time, then your neck, his kisses are tender and unrestrained at once, leaving a trail of hickeys as he drags lower to your exposed collarbone. 

His thumb circles your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch, and your body presses into him instinctively, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

“You’re not very princely,” you try to tease, but your breath is ragged, voice caught in pleasure.

You tug lightly at his hair, desperate for his mouth back on yours.

“I never claimed to be,” he murmurs against your skin.

He leans in again, kissing you slower this time, more thoroughly. And while his mouth moves with yours, his hand slides under the soft folds of your gown, fingers trembling slightly as they find the bare skin of your thigh. Just skimming over the sensitive skin and exploring the heat between your thighs.

You let out a tiny, breathy sound against his lips, arms tightening around his shoulders as you instinctively rock forward.

“Is this alright?” he asks, still grounded in control even as you tremble for more. His free hand cupping your face.

“Yes,” you gasp.

His thumb strokes over the silk of your underthings, slowly, before his fingers slip beneath. His mouth finds yours again as he circles the sensitive spot with slow, deliberate movements. 

Sensations are already overwhelming, your hips move instinctively, seeking more as his fingers press more firmly. Brushing against the wetness at your entrance and parting you with care.

The first slip of his middle finger inside you makes you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound greedily as he pushes deeper, sliding easily but cautiously inside you.

“You’re so warm for me,” he murmurs, his arousal clear in the way his body tenses. His eyes are locked on you now, in awe at the way your body reacts to his touch.

When a second finger joins the first you shudder, this time a soft moan escapes before you can’t bite it back. Your hand slides to the back of his neck, pulling him close. 

The stretch, the fullness is unfamiliar but not unwelcome. His thumb never stops its slow circles against your clit, making your hips jerk into his hand.

Levi watches your face for any sign of discomfort but only finds pleasure. With every careful thrust of his fingers, the slight ache turns into a sharp, needy heat for more. 

His fingers curl inside you, easily finding the deep, sensitive spot that makes your body twitch in a totally new and different kind of pleasure. Your walls immediately tighten around his fingers, your moans growing louder in the quiet night air.

“You’re not exactly quiet,” he pants against your temple, his own breathing coming heavy now. But he’s not muffling them, if anything, he coaxes and chases them by redoubling his efforts.

“Levi–” you pant, not even sure what you're begging for. More? Less? Relief? You can’t form a thought.

Through half lidded eyes, you see him sinking down to his knees.

Your body trembles against the stone balustrade and Levi is kneeling before you now. Your long skirt bunched high in his fist, head bowed like he is about to pray – only the heat of his gaze is telling you this is no prayer the gods would bless.

He leans in, pressing your thighs wider apart with his shoulders. He replaces his thumb with his mouth as he presses his lips against your already sensitive nub. His tongue flicks out and moves over your clit, repeating the motion in perfect rhythm with his fingers inside you. 

He keeps hitting just the right spot like he already knows your body by heart — over and over while his mouth works on you eagerly. Your hips move desperately against him, chasing the friction and seeking more of all these sensations he’s igniting.

You feel dizzy, a new and overwhelming feeling building quickly inside you. Your hands tangle in his hair, your hips buck against his face, harder this time as the pleasure becomes too much. 

Levi feels it, your muscles keep clenching his fingers tighter at each curl of his fingers. “Let go,” he instructs, mumbling, his voice vibrating through you.

And somewhere in that blissful rhythm you feel the intense pleasure crashing over you, in ways you could’ve never imagined before. Your body convulses, your back arching against the railing, helplessly, as wet sounds turn louder in the silent, night air.

Levi doesn’t stop, not when your thighs tremble around his head, not even when you try to push him back with trembling hands. Fingers and mouth are still working on you until you finally stop convulsing and you collapse back against the railing.

His fingers slip from your entrance, wet with your release, he places several wet, lazy kisses along your inner thighs before smoothing your skirts back into place and rises up – both looking at each other like you can hardly believe what actually happened.

Your heartbeat is still trying to settle when his hands come to pull you closer. His lips find yours again, but slower, softer now. 

After a moment, Levi lowers himself to the cool stone floor, tugging you down with him gently, your body still loose from bliss, pliant under his touches. You end up half curled in his lap, wrapped in his cloak. His arms wrap fully around you, fingers trailing along your spine. 

You sit like that for a while, lulled by the rhythm of his chest, the stars shine and shimmer above you both. You tilt your head back to look up.

“They look closer tonight,” you whisper.

Levi hums quietly. “Maybe they came down to watch you.”

You smile, your eyes flutter shut for a second. “Do you think they’ll keep our little secret?”

“They’d better.”

You shift, just enough to rest your cheek against his shoulder, lifting your gaze to search his face in the moonlight. His hair is tousled, he looks almost vulnerable, you’ve never seen him like this.

“I want this every night now, Levi,” your voice is soft but amused.

He blinks down, his eyes search your eyes in return.

“Tomorrow,” you go on. “And the day after. And the day after that…”

His chest shakes with the quietest laugh, his arms tighten around you and he presses a kiss in your hair. He stays silent for a moment, his thumb tracing circles at your hips.

“I swore I’d give you anything you asked for… I can’t tell myself that it doesn't include this…” he whispers, mostly at himself.

“Then I’ll give everything. Just not all at once,” he finally promises, tilting your chin to guide your gaze up to his. “But soon.”