You lay back in bed, watching Levi get ready for the day. He dressed methodically, practice having worn away the challenges of missing fingers and a blind eye. He glanced into the mirror, smoothing his bangs into place, but suddenly stopped.
His hands dropped and he gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles flaring white. You sat up quickly, worried that he was having a flashback- a rarer but still present remnant of the war.
"Levi?" He couldn't hear you. You quickly slid out of bed and moved beside him, edging into his peripheral vision. You raised your voice, careful not to startle him. "Levi, I'm here."
At your voice, his rigid posture fell. He broke his gaze away from the mirror. To your surprise, a sheen of tears glistened in his eyes.
"What's wrong?"
He made a low, dismissive sound, hating the way he'd let emotions spring up and choke him so suddenly. But the shock of it hadn't given him time to process, to shove anything back down where it belonged.
He gestured roughly at his hair. You leaned in, squinting- and noticed a feathery patch of gray threading through his dark locks at the root. You couldn't help smiling. Was that all?
"You're getting older, Captain. There's no shame in that." You ran your fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. "I think you'll make quite the silver fox."
His lips twitched, but he didn't take the compliment. "Tch. It's not that." He caught your hand in his and roughly ran his thumb over your knuckles, staring down at your hands as if they were easier to bear than your face.
"I've never… she didn't…” His throat worked as he swallowed, searching for the words. You waited patiently. "I'm older than my mother," he said at last.
Oh. There was nothing to say, then. That was why it had startled him, his own body renewing grief. You gave him space to think, to keep talking if he wanted, keeping your hand in his like a tether.
“I don’t remember her face, have I told you that?” His face sharpened into something pained, guilty. “But I remember her hair was dark. I imagined the night sky was like that, as a kid.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t at all.”
Levi’s hands trembled. You gently maneuvered him back to the bed. He tipped backward and lay there, frowning at the ceiling. Frustration and grief blended in his voice. “I didn’t expect to get old.”
You curled against his chest. His heart beat against your cheek, soothing the ache in your own. “None of us did, huh? But here we are.”
“Here we are,” he echoed. Another silence fell. When Levi spoke again you almost missed the words- the two of you pinned under the weight of them.
“She would’ve liked you. I know it.”
“Levi,” you started, throat tight, but he shook his head.
A ficlet collection where Levi & Reader settle in the city of Alta Mar, marry and have a daughter named Matilda. A story about resilience, healing and parenthood.
PART Ⅰ : Scars
WC: 1.6k
TAGS: depression, wounds, Levi is emotionally constipated
A/N: This is an idea i've had in mind for several months now, the same universe as in this drabble i wrote last november.
Dividers by dividers-are-us
The war ended in global desolation, but now it’s time to heal for the better.
Levi focuses on the touch of your fingers on his face; the delicate glide over his skin, the subtle warmth on his cheeks it elicits.
Somewhere in Fort Salta, lying on a bed smelling like sour antisepsis, waiting for a doctor to come and see him. The touch of your lovely fingers on his scarred face, around the dirty bandages, is all he ever needs.
He looks at your eyes and gazes at how mesmerizing they are and the way they scan every inch of his head. He looks at your lips and thinks of how he would kiss them if only he could — slow and sensually, capturing your bottom lip then your tongue, should you allow it. He then notices your hair and imagines how he would tangle his hands in them if moving his body wasn’t so damn sore at this moment.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says with a low voice. “Why are you here, wasting your time with me?”
He can’t believe you’re there with him. After all these years, enduring his angry outbursts, manic episodes and depressive states. He was trapped in a past haunted by ghosts while the younger generation raced ahead, becoming the storytellers of a new era.
Why would you be here, looking at him and touching him like an enamored woman? Did he ever deserve your attention, or was he delusional again in his agony?
You laugh then smile at his stupid question. Levi has yet to see something as charming as this. And the laugh, the laugh! He hasn’t heard it in weeks, maybe months. It sounds so marvelous it almost makes him forget the infuriating ringing in his ears.
“Captain Ackerman, if you ask such a question, then you may be more unbelievably naive than I initially thought.”
“Tch. What does that mean?” he asks. And why does he sound like a little boy asking for answers? He’s too tired to be having a discussion of the sort. Too weak.
“It means that I’m not leaving.”
And you keep touching his face with loving attention, not knowing you’re also caressing a heart that hasn’t beaten for anyone in a very long time.
✱ ✱ ✱
The doctor finally comes, and you have to move away against the wall to leave him space.
Levi was never at ease with people of their kind. He was never at ease with the way they always asked for his incredible body, the way they always touch in improper places — he only wants your touch, if that ever means something, someday. So you stayed with him, as he thought. To keep him company and be there when the diagnosis would be made. Armin and the other brats were too busy negotiating their stay at the fort with the Marleyan soldiers until further notice. It had to be you, then.
The doctor starts with the leg. The first aid already provided has been beneficial and saved it from amputation, but the diagnosis was pretty clear: another operation was necessary to ensure proper healing.
“Whatever,” he murmurs through gritted teeth. “As long as I can walk normally again,” he says, but as he looks at you to back up his claim, he doesn’t see the doctor’s frowning brows.
Then, the doctor moves on to the hand and cleans it properly again. Levi remains silent. There is nothing to say, as both of you know he will never be able to fight again.
Finally, the doctor finishes with his stiff head. Levi reaches out for your familiar face to help him go through with it. Not that he ever cared about his own: he never thought he was that good looking to begin with. He simply couldn’t bear the disgust his newly disfigured face would prompt. He had already seen some of it, reminding him of what it was like to be an underground rat on the mighty surface.
The doctor removes the bandages, and his face shows no reactions. What a professional, Levi thinks. He won’t show how ugly I’m now. So he looks at you again, beautiful as always. The sight helps with the pain and the sorrow.
But you look nauseous, face twisted in disgust with furrowed brows and crinkled nose like you just saw the most sickening thing ever. And it saddens him beyond imagination. If that look is what he’ll get from you from now on, then he might as well jump off the cliff… or just accept he’s a physically ugly bastard, like he always was a morally ugly one.
Yet you’re very much concerned about him. He just doesn’t understand that seeing his wounds makes you shudder in pain as if you could feel his ache in your own body, silently sharing the burden with him. You were always empathizing with people like that. Levi does the same, which is why he can’t fathom that you empathize with him.
The doctor eventually leaves and you’re now back at your place on his side.
You gaze at him in silence, touching him with gentle caresses that bring the warmth again on his pale cheeks. You look as radiant as always and your face is beaming with a smile that makes his stomach feel warm in a way he can’t get used to.
“Why are you still here? Don’t you have better things to do?” he asks bluntly. How could you be so disgusted by him and soon after, looking at him like that?
“Stop asking silly questions, Levi,” you simply answer.
Your eyes meet for a long moment lost in time.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur in the silence of the room. “This is where I want to be.”
✱ ✱ ✱
Many weeks later, and there’s a roof over his head in a place he is allowed to call home.
You’re keeping him company on the mattress that serves him as a bed, lying on your side and looking at him with that same gaze he fell for weeks ago. The summer dress you’re wearing is too big for you and reveals your left shoulder to his undeserving stare; it’s an erotic sight for him, almost obscene. He can’t stop glancing at it, thinking of how soft your skin would feel under his calloused hands and how your body would react if he could touch it.
Levi’s body reacts to the thought, yet as always the same thing comes creeping into his mind and destroy the few bits of confidence he has — that he’s an ugly bastard who isn’t worthy of your precious attention. Sometimes, when you look at him a bit longer, he turns away to keep his disgusting face away from you.
That’s what he does again, unable to face you any longer from fear of seeing his own repulsive reflection in your eyes.
He doesn’t deserve you. Alone he lives and alone he’ll die.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He sounds defeated.
“Like what?”
“Like I matter, or something.”
“You matter to me, Levi.”
“I’m fucking ugly and useless, how can I matter to you?”
You let out an audible sigh, as this relationship was punctuated by them. Levi remains silent, as he proved many times already to be a hopelessly reserved person.
You sit up, move closer to him and lean toward him, cupping his face with your free hand. Taken aback, he says nothing and lets you do whatever you have in mind. You’re too close to him and in an indecent position for him to think straight and fair.
You kiss his forehead where the scar begins, making his heart palpitate in reaction. It’s so intimate, something he’s not used to. Your mouth lowers softly, kiss his right thin eyebrow and he almost forgets how to breathe. You lower again and kiss his eye in a slow, careful way — he closes it instinctively and a wave of unidentified turmoil invades his stomach. Then you leave a trail of kisses along his cheek, your lips tasting the scar disfiguring his face and the soft skin around. By the time you reach his mouth, Levi knows deep inside that he loves you to the end of his life and beyond. You kiss him, so caring and loving, and he responds to it with a clumsy fervor he won’t hide.
It’s so strange to feel like an old man finally allowed to enjoy love and happiness after a life of loneliness and desolation. Whether or not he’s worthy of it, he takes it all like the most precious gift he has ever received. Does that mean that you love him? The answer remains uncertain. Yet everything else has disappeared — from the crippling pain in his leg to the sadness rotting his mind. Only remains the strong feeling he has developed for you, growing in his heart for years.
Your lips part way too soon and now he doesn’t know what to do anymore.
A bright smile blooms across your lovely face; the very expression of his heart that his fixed face cannot convey. As he’s left with no words, mouth open in a forced silence, you start caressing his scarred cheek again in gentle strokes with your thumb.
“I love you, Levi. You have no idea how much I do.”
His lips quiver as the words trying to break out from his mouth weigh a lot; when was the last time he actually said those?
“Oh, I love you too, so fucking much.” But it’s just a mere murmur, shy words carrying meaningful feelings.
Maybe it’s time to indulge in another sweet kiss, after all. Maybe it’s time for him to start loving himself, so he can love you even more.
A/N: thank you for reading! English is not my native language and even though i edited this text a lot, i'm still quite insecure about it. Comments, likes and reblogs will be greatly appreciated <3
"Yes?" Levi looked up to see you leaning against the door, swaying on your feet. He sighed, realizing how drunk you must be. The night air was sweet, it flowed through your hair as you tried to adjust the stray strands.
You grinned sheepishly, stumbling over to him with unsteady feet. Levi sat up straight, ready to catch you if you fall.
"Whatcha doing out here alone?" You asked confusedly, tilting your head. Loud sounds came from the interior, voices and music tangling together. A lot of people was here in the usually empty house today.
"It was too loud inside." Levi replied. It was true. But perhaps not wholly. A tiny part of Levi knew he was avoiding you really.
Now wasn't that strange? Avoiding his newly-wed wife? On his wedding night?
But that was the problem.
It had been hours since he murmered the vows with you, your hands in his. It had been hours since then, but he still couldn't quite believe it. He still flinched every time his eyes fell on the gleam on his fingers.
It was a quite small wedding really. Go to the church, say your vows, then come back home with the guests. There weren't a lot of people left in you and Levi's life to invite, but there was still a handful. The brats, along with some Marleyan friends and acquaintances, the house was filled.
Levi had stayed in for the first few hours, talking to people, watching you talk to people. But then it became all too much. The questions, the teasings–it was too much. It was already too much for him, the bare concept of it, the fact that you were truly his now, it was all too much.
It felt like a dream, truly. You looked like a dream.
And he was so scared any second he might wake up.
So he stepped out, leaving you with all your friends as you laughed your head out at something Jean said. You gave a worried glance at Levi when he was leaving the room, but he only nodded, a gesture that all was well. Levi only needed to breathe a damn second.
What am I doing here? He thought.
What is she doing here with me?
This isn't how it should've been. You shouldn't have been stuck with him. You deserve better, someone whole, not..not someone as fucked as he was.
But yet there you were, clad in white with the brightest smile in your face. All throughout the day, he had not seen that smile fade once.
A girl like you had chosen him. Chosen him to spend your life with.
You were his now.
"I was always yours." You had told him right after. "I'd dedicated my heart for you, back in the first day of scouts, don't you know?"
He had wanted to run away then. Get the hell out of there because he didn't deserve the way you were looking at him.
He never did.
But here he was.
"Hey!" You snapped your fingers in front of him. "Heyyy! Earth to Levi?"
"Yes?" He looked up startled, broken from those parasites in his head. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking." You tutted disapprovingly.
Levi stared at you, scowling at how red your face was. "God, brat. How much did you drink?"
"I did not!" You gasped dramatically, hands flying to your chest as you clutched your heart. "I'm just..tipsy."
"You're going to be so fucking hungover tomorrow." He shook his head. "Just tipsy, huh?"
"Yes." You said defensively. "Also it's not my fault, Reiner made me drink."
"Of course he did." He sighed.
You put your hands on your hips, staring down at him. Then suddenly you leaned down, peering closely at him with parted lips and squinted eyes, head tilted with curiosity, like you were just seeing him now for the first time.
Levi instinctively leaned back. You were too close. "What?"
"Levi." You mutter.
"Yes?" He asked warily. You and your randomness wasn't anything new to him but it still leaves him on his toes everytime. Specially when you're drunk, there's no telling what you might do.
You observed his face with such intensity he felt warmth flooding his cheeks. You pulled back, finally seemed to have made up your mind on something.
"I think I like you a little."
Levi almost snorted then. Trying his best to hold back the smile that was tugging on his lips, he scoffed. "A little? Brat, you're married to me."
The information was absolutely new to you, it appeared. You pondered on his words, thinking closely. "Hmm" You hummed. "Yes. I think I like you a lot now that you mention it." You grinned. You didn't quite remember what he was talking about but you liked it. Being married wouldn't be bad.
"I know." His lips quirked. Such a rare sight.
Such a pretty sight, you thought.
"Do you like me?"
"Hm? Actually, no I don't think so. Not really."
You pouted. "But you're married to me too."
He reached for your waist, pulling you to his lap. Your legs straddled him. "Is that so?"
He smiled.
"Actually, I think I love you."
You grinned widely at the response, butterflies bursting in your stomach and your face flushed. "You're a simp."
"Definitely." He kissed your forhead. "For you? Definitely."
"And clingy."
"Shouldn't have married me then."
"You love me?"
"I love you."
You nodded thoughtfully.
"I changed my mind. I think I like you a whole lot. This much–" You streched your arms wide to show him the amount.
"You don't love me? You said you did."
"I did?" You squinted, considering his words. You let your fingers trace his face, running them over his scars. "You have a pretty face. So I must do."
"You think I'm pretty?"
"A whole lot."
"So you love anyone with a pretty face?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Huh?" You paused. " No. Not sure. They don't have faces like you. "
A small smile. You stared wonderingly. The moonlight shone bright across his face and you wondered if this was an angel.
An angel said he loved you.
"You love me?" You repeated the question again.
"I love you."
"That's... nice of you."
He snorted. "How generous of me huh?"
"I'm married to you?"
"Yup. Just today."
"Forever?"
"Definitely."
"So you're mine?"
"Yours."
"You're so nice." You stared at him. His gray eyes gazed into yours. "Can I kiss you?"
"Do you want to?"
You nodded. You wanted to. You really, really wanted to. The silvery moonlight carressed his lips and you wondered if he tasted like stars.
"Im yours, aren't I?"
You gave him a shy smile. But slowly, hesitantly, you leaned forward. Pressing his lips against his. Then pulled away.
"They're so soft" wonder dripped your voice.
His face heated up a little. His ears turning red. "You should get drunk more often." He murmured.
"I'm not drunkkk," You whined, leaning again to kiss him. You held it longer this time, feeling him press back against you. Euphoria spread through your blood, mixing with the already existent alcohol. You lost all ability to form coherent thoughts, not that you had much ability today. And When you pulled away, you felt happiness. In the purest form.
"You're the nicest person I've ever met."
It was him to lean forward this time, and he didn't let go.
Levi is afraid to break you, at first. His hands have sown so much violence, have been stained with so much blood. It almost feels wrong that they should touch your face. But the way you look at him, the way you trust him, gives him the courage to try.
At night, in the merciful dark, he holds you gently, cradles you like something precious. He stares at your hands when they're linked, silently marveling at the fragility of your fingers folded between his, the furthest thing from the handle of a knife.
When he climbs over you, limbs planted in the mattress to keep his weight from your chest, he's afraid you might shatter, a thousand shards of glass he'll never be able to clean from his sheets.
When you offer him your body, willing and wanting, it feels like drowning. He gasps for air in the forgiving crook of your neck, hiding his crumpled face, pressing his lips to your pulse, clinging to the reminder that you're alive, you're alive and here with him, around him, taking him in like he isn't going to destroy you in the end.
Levi curls around you in the dark. The flat planes of his chest and stomach press against your back, and you can feel his muscles tense and relax as he breathes deeply. His bangs prick the back of your neck but you resist the urge to shift away. One arm is draped over your waist, his hand resting along the curve of your hip. Your skin grows warm with his body heat, the sticky intimacy of a summer night.
Levi’s good leg hooks over yours, anchoring him even more to your body. As his sleep deepens his lips part just slightly. For a moment you can see him as a child, the too-brief time where he might have slept fearlessly. Now you softly twine your fingers with his, pulling his embrace tighter.
A sudden murmur washes against your ear but it’s just an incoherent sigh of sleep, a snatch of dream. Levi tucks his face against you, his steadying breaths falling damp and heavy on your cheek. You still don’t push him away- you don’t think anything could make you. Even if he slept until noon, the sun turning your bedsheets into baking sheets, you’d happily melt beside him.
postwar!Levi absolutely chafes under enforced bedrest, unfamiliar and uncomfortable with doing nothing
his useless legs feel like cinderblocks holding the waterlogged sack of his body to a riverbed, drowning slow
his nervous system hasn’t caught up to the uneasy peace, flooding his veins with adrenaline that has nowhere to go, leaving him gasping for air and sick over the side of his bed
he can’t clean the mess, and that might be the worst thing of all, the helpless wait for someone to witness his weakness
postwar!Levi can’t tell his fevered dreams from reality, follows the green smudge of Erwin’s cloak across an endless battlefield, calls to his commander till he’s lost his voice and wakes up tasting copper
the people who come to check on him are not who he wants to see- why hasn’t Hange visited, changing his bandages with their steady hands?
he leads Isabel and Furlan up a set of stairs that never seem to end, crunching over the hollow bones of birds that died searching for the sky
postwar!Levi finds his clarity has returned one featureless morning and he weeps for the first time since the battle of heaven and earth, mourns the loss of the delirium that had left the door open for his loved ones to creep through
he begins to recognize the recurring figures at his bedside, the gentle touch on his forehead that signals your arrival with water or blankets or bread
the light of anything more than a candle burns his blind eye, so he learns your face only by the flicker of firelight, the absence of shadow
postwar!Levi is desperate for something to occupy his fractured mind, painfully empty without the urgency of strategizing survival
you hide your surprise when he asks you to read to him in a voice rasped with disuse, saying he doesn’t care what it is, just something to focus on outside of himself, and you understand
you begin to visit him every evening, reading softly from your favorite books as he lies taut and silent in bed, brow furrowed in concentration, breathing through the pain that wracks his battered body
postwar!Levi finds unlikely comfort in your voice, your consistent presence, the slow walks along the winding paths of the stories you tell him
you take a quiet pride in the way he seems to soften each night, just barely, the deep black shadows under his haunted eyes fading into the color of an old bruise, his furrowed brow smoothing into satin as you read
postwar!Levi is sitting up when you arrive one evening, gives you the barest incline of his head in self-conscious greeting
he frowns and shrugs off your praise for his progress, doesn’t want to hear of how miraculous it is that he can heave his once-superhuman body up against the headboard, doesn’t confess how long it took or how much it hurt
he does, however, ask you for tea, not telling you that it would be the first time he’s accepted a cup he hadn’t prepared himself, swallowing a sick resignation with the request
postwar!Levi makes eye contact with you for the first time when he offers gruff thanks, shivering as your fingertips brush around the warm ceramic
something clenches in your chest and you turn away to hide it, occupying yourself with invisible specks of dust on his bedspread
you’re busy swiping the corner of your apron over the nightstand and miss the way his eyes go wide, then soften as he watches you bustle around him
“it’s alright. you don’t have to-” “-I know.”
the two of you speak at the same time, fall into the same embarrassed silence, watching each other warily in the low candlelight
your shadows overlap where they are thrown onto the wall as if they don’t realize the distance between the bodies that grew them, or refuse to recognize it at all
Levi wasn't convinced he had much to offer you. Not in a self-depreciating woe-is-me kind of way- he knew what his strengths were, knew you loved him. But he couldn't help thinking he didn't fit you, with your soft hands and softer smiles.
He found himself wishing he were a poet, a musician, a painter- some kind of artist that could love you beautifully, like you deserved. Instead, he had a voice that still cracked around kind words, a body more suited to violence then peaceful mornings.
Levi thought maybe he could learn. That you would be worth trying for.
his voice is strained, raw, shaking like it hurts to push the words out.
you’re everything, everything-
he pushes your reaching hands away like they’ll burn if they touch his skin, denies your words before they finish falling out.
he rakes trembling fingers through his hair, holds his palms out, empty, like they’re all he can offer.
once-neatly kept bangs tumble into his eyes, one wide, one scarred shut, staring blind.
please, don’t do this, you beg, but he doesn’t hear you, already somewhere far away, long ago, yet close enough now that you can almost smell the char of flesh and hear the scream he couldn’t swallow.
all he knows is that he can’t bring you down with him, doesn’t want to twist your fingers in his and find he’s left bloodstains on your soft skin.
you want him to, want to carry his burdens as best as you can, would take the sleepless nights of trembling memory and try to soothe him until morning, but you won’t get the chance.
there are tears in Levi’s sightless eye, but you’re too kind to tell him. he feels it anyway, tastes salt on trembling lips that will never meet yours.
you leave the door open, hoping he’ll call you back through it, but the hinged maw hangs silent.
Levi has never lacked for discipline, for strength. he’ll use it all to push you away, to keep you at arm’s length, further, to force himself to hurt the one thing living that he loves so you don’t join the ranks of the bitter dead.
never mind that the War is over. it will never be, not for him.
and eventually, you learn to leave him to the empty room, to the portraits on the wall that he only half-sees, to the medal tucked under his pillow, digging into his cheek like a cold caress.
