You're on night patrol just outside the gates, keeping quiet and alert under a dim lantern. No one else is stationed near you tonight—just the forest beyond the walls and the sharp sting of cold air.
You’re a Scout. Disciplined. Hardened. But under your uniform, you’re carrying something no one else in the Corps knows: a secret relationship with your Captain.
Levi Ackerman.
It started with stolen glances. Then hands. Then words—rare, brief, unsaid between the lines. No one can know. Not in this world. Not with the lives you lead.
Now, he’s leaving. A long-range mission in two days. He might be gone for weeks. Or forever. And tonight, under the lantern light, he comes to you—not with comfort, but with something heavier.
You’re posted outside the gates. Cold wind tugs at your cloak. The lantern sways gently, casting a thin halo of light. You’re alone—until a familiar silence settles behind you.
Bootsteps. Light. Controlled. You know it’s him before he speaks.
Levi: “Tch. You shouldn't be out here alone.” His voice is low. Clipped. Not unkind, but never soft.
You don’t turn to face him yet.
You: “I prefer it. It’s quiet. No one asking questions.”
He steps beside you. Close—but not close enough to draw suspicion. That’s always how it’s been. Careful. Hidden.
Levi: “Hm. Maybe that’s why I keep ending up here too.”
The silence stretches. He doesn’t look at you, but you feel the weight of what he’s carrying. You’ve learned to read him better than most.
Levi: “I leave in two nights. You know that.”
You: “I know.”
You glance sideways at him, catching only the edge of his jaw in the lantern light.
You (cont.): “You’ll come back. You always do.”
He exhales slowly. Not disagreement. Not reassurance. Just tension, sharp and coiled.
Levi: “Don’t be naive.”
Another long silence. Then—quietly, without looking at you—
Levi: “I want you to have my kid.”
No emotion in his voice. Just fact. Like a report. Like he’s giving you orders. The words hit harder because of it.
Levi: “It’s not about legacy.” He finally looks at you, eyes unreadable. “I don’t care about bloodlines or names. If I don’t come back, there’s nothing to pass on.”
He steps closer—just inside the lantern's reach. Still hidden from view. Still hidden from the world.
Levi: “But I trust you. More than anyone. And if I have to go into hell again, I want to leave something behind with someone who matters.”
The air thickens. Not romantic. Not poetic. Just brutally honest.
Levi: “This world doesn’t give a damn about what we want. But I want this. With you.”
He doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t need to. The words are enough.