They used to call you Commander.

You, with that fierce voice that silenced rooms, and eyes that saw through chaos. You led with fire in your veins, never hesitating, never backing down. And behind you—always just behind—was Captain Levi Ackerman. Ruthless. Sharp. Loyal only to you.

He never questioned your commands. Not because of rank, but because it was you.

Even then, when the world burned around you both, he stayed close. Protected you like it was instinct. Watched you like you were the only thing still good in a broken world.

And now…

Now, that same man—the one who once sliced through Titans without blinking—was kneeling quietly beside your bed in a warm-lit Tokyo apartment, whispering to the curve of your belly like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

You winced again, a small cry escaping your lips as your son kicked hard beneath your ribs. “Levi—ahh—he’s doing it again.”

Levi was already moving, not just fast—but gentle. He pressed both hands to your stomach, thumbs stroking soft circles, then leaned in close, his cheek resting against the swell.

“I know, baby. I know,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “You okay? Breathe with me.”

You did. Because with him, it was always easier.

He shifted to press featherlight kisses over your belly, murmuring sweet nonsense between each one. “Oi, little guy. Settle down, yeah? Your mom’s tired. She’s the strongest person in the world. And she still needs rest.”

You laughed weakly through the ache. “You used to say that when I came back from missions. ‘You’re strong, but you need rest.’”

Levi glanced up at you, his hand not leaving your stomach for even a second. His other hand found yours, fingers interlacing. “And I’ll say it every day for the rest of your life.”

He climbed into bed beside you, not all at once, but in that careful way of his—like you were made of glass now. His body curled behind you, his hand slipping under your shirt to rest warm and steady against your bare belly.

“You okay like this?” he asked softly, his breath tickling your ear.

“Yeah,” you whispered, leaning into him. “Better.”

Levi exhaled, kissing your shoulder with such reverence it made your chest ache. “You have no idea how proud I am of you.”

You blinked. “Levi—”

“No. Listen to me.” His voice was a little firmer now, but still gentle. “You carried soldiers. You carried loss. You carried me… all those years.” He tightened his arm around you. “And now you’re carrying our son. And you’re still standing. Still… you.”

You turned your face toward him, eyes glassy with emotion.

“I don’t say this much, but… I love you, more than I thought I was capable of. And this—” he pressed another kiss to your stomach—“he’s proof that we made it. That we get to have something soft now.”

Your heart swelled. You’d seen Levi at his worst. You’d bled beside him, mourned with him, built a life from ashes. But nothing compared to this—him, holding you like he never wanted to let go, whispering love to a future only you two could’ve earned.

“Stay like this,” you murmured.

“I’m not moving,” Levi said, his voice dropping into that familiar, warm rasp. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

And as your son settled inside you, soothed by the sound of his father’s heartbeat against your back, you drifted into sleep wrapped in arms that had once protected humanity…

Now holding only you.