𝘍𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦
⁀➷ 𝖫𝖾𝗏𝗂 𝖠𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗑 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 [𝖭𝖲𝖥𝖶]
word count: 6.8k (oops...)
tags: f/m, afab reader, feminine pronouns, 2nd person pov, NSFW, alternate universe (wwii), soldier!levi, porn with feelings, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, bittersweet ending
summary: Separated from his unit and wounded, Levi stumbles into a quiet village on the edge of the war. He expects a bullet or a cell. Instead, he finds you, a widowed apothecary who speaks his language and who should know better than to take in a stranger.
a/n: written for Day 4 (soldier/civilian) of Levi Month 2025 (hosted by @levievent)! sometimes, i claw my way out of the zeke pit and remember that i love levi as well.
masterlist | cross posted to ao3
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.
-L
