Levi x Reader Oneshots 2

Her Bed (Levi x Reader)

The bed in Captain Levi's quarters remains mostly untouched.

He washes the sheets regularly, so they always smell fresh. While the scent would normally comfort him, it doesn't help him sleep. It's too...detached. Too cold. Something's missing.

He tried sleeping in it a few times in the months after he got this private room, when he first became a captain. Yet, every attempt ended in disappointment. He's never gotten anything close to a good night's rest in his bed.

On the rare occasions when he did try, it took him hours to fall asleep, if he managed to fall asleep at all. He'd toss and turn fitfully, never feeling comfortable, jumping at every little noise – instinctively preparing for a threat only to realize it was the wind. Even when he did slip into unconsciousness for a few hours, he was always awoken by a devastating nightmare. And then he got up, sweating and shaking and utterly alone.

Finally, he gave up. His bed hasn't been slept in for years. He still washes the sheets on laundry day, satisfying the urge to keep everything in his space spotlessly clean. But other than that, it remains untouched.

Her bed, however...it's the exact opposite.

He can actually sleep in her bed. More than that, he sleeps well. Unconsciousness claims him faster, lasts longer, leaves him feeling rested.

The sheets are always soft, always warm, and while he cleans them as regularly as his own, they smell of more than just detergent. They smell of her – of jasmine and library books and home. The scent calms him, reminds him of the person he loves and trusts most, the person who loves him most.

And then there's the woman herself. Her presence. Her arms around him, imbuing his weary body with a sense of security and care. The gentle sound of her breath, lulling him into deep slumber. The rhythmic beating of her heart, soothing his subconscious even while he's asleep.

Moreover, her bed holds good memories for him. For them – because it's always been like this. Always warm. Always loving.

There have been nights when they've lain awake until morning, murmuring their secrets and dreams and desires into each other's hair, words they've never spoken to anyone else. And then, there have been nights when they've communicated more with their actions, cuddling and kissing and tangling together until they couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. And then, there have been nights when they've simply slept in each other's arms, his body registering the experience as a pleasant one even though he was unconscious.

Even if he does wake from a nightmare, he calms down quickly, can even go back to sleep most of the time. Because he's not alone in the darkness, not anymore. She's there. Holding him. Petting his hair. Whispering soft words to remind him of how much he's loved, and how it wasn't his fault, and how she'll do her best to live for him.

It's gotten to the point where more often than not, he doesn't even want to leave her bed when morning comes. He wants to stay, wrapped in softness and warmth and love he never believed he deserved until she convinced him of it, convinced him he was more than his failures and what he'd done to survive. But he can't stay, because lives are at stake, and his comrades are counting on him just as they're counting on her. So he drags himself out from beneath those divine sheets, and only for a moment, he lets himself imagine a future when he no longer has to, when their world is at peace.

For now, he contents himself with the knowledge that her bed will be there to return to when the day is done.