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slu7formen · 4 months

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Girl first of all I want to say that I'm OBSESSED with your writing I love it.

Second of all I would like to make a request about Luke so hear me out.

Luke and reader were in a relationship before he betrayed camp and they were head over heals for each other and then he stole the bolt and when Percy discovers he's the thief the reader is there feeling betrayed and specially heartbroken even though Luke ask her to go with him but she doesn't accept it because she's so loyal to camp and her friends.

Time passed and even if she wants to hate Luke she loves him more than anything. And Luke loves her too so instead of asking Annabeth to escape with him he asks reader and she accepts.

I want to see everything in here fluff, angst, everything you think about.

I hope you like this request and make it real for me because I've been having this idea for over a week.

Okay but I feel so bad ‘cause I totally forgot I had this story FULLY WRITTEN and READY to be published (‘cause I LOVED it), I’m so sorry angel, made you wait a lot more than just a week 🥺, but thanks for reading my stories <3

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

warnings: luke´s a traitor, betrayal, use of yn, swearing, kinda angst (?, KISSING, lil book spoiler

₊˚⊹♡

The crackle and pop of the bonfire filled the air, a comforting contrast to the vibrant bursts of color exploding overhead. The annual fireworks display was in full swing, casting shadows on the faces of your friends huddled around the warm flames. It was a picture of peace, a moment of respite amidst the constant threat of monsters demigod drama.

You stole a glance at the empty space beside you. Luke, your boyfriend, had told you he'd just be back in a minute. A few minutes had turned into an eternity, but you chalked it up to his usual impulsiveness. He'd be back any minute, with his signature smile and an arm wrapped around you.

You knew it.

From the moment you met, you and Luke had been inseparable. You were his confidante, his anchor in the chaos of being a demigod and his messy life. He was your rock, always there to make you laugh, to understand the weight of your heritage in a way no one else could.

The warmth of the fire danced on your skin, but a shiver snaked down your spine. Something felt off. The chatter of your friends seemed muted, replaced by a dull ache in your chest. You couldn’t deny the way you noticed how Luke has been acting lately. So weird and distant towards you the last couple days. You loved him, fiercely and unconditionally. You'd been there for him through thick and thin, especially after his quest left a jagged scar across his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes.

But then he suddenly just, snapped.

A memory surfaced in you , sharp and unwelcome. It had been months ago, a conversation in the darkness of his cabin in a particular cold night. Luke, his eyes filled with a desperate fervor, had confessed his anger towards the gods, his belief that they were cruel and neglectful parents. He'd spoken of tricking the Olympians, joining forces with the Titans to fight for a better life for all demigods.

The anger in his voice, the glint of rebellion in his eyes, had scared you. The scar on his face, a reminder of his failed quest, seemed to burn brighter that night.

You understood his anger. The gods were far from perfect, their neglect and cruelty evident in countless demigod lives. He'd begged you to join him, his voice filled with a desperate hope. But you'd refused, your loyalty to Camp Half-Blood and your friends unwavering. You had spent hours talking him through it as you held his hand, reminding him of all the good the gods had done, no matter how flawed they might be. He'd looked lost at the time, seeking comfort in your touch. You'd thought you'd reached him, extinguished that spark of rebellion.

You really believed that conversation was long forgotten. But there was a reason why you remembered it.

Some movement at the edge of the woods caught your eye. But it wasn't the boy you were expecting. Percy, his face pale and etched with worry, practically stumbled into the fireplace, his chest heaving and his grip tight on Riptide.

A pang of concern shot through you. "Percy?" you called out, concern lacing your voice. You pushed yourself off the ground, walking towards him. "What happened? Where's Luke?"

Percy hesitated, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. Shit, should he tell you? His silence was a hammer blow to your gut. You knew, with a chilling certainty, that something was terribly wrong.

"What?" you choked out, the question barely a whisper, expecting some kind of answer from the blonde boy, but nothing came from his trembling lips. The air felt dense, with a truth you desperately wanted to deny. You saw Luke getting into the woods with Percy, you saw it. And now, he was nowhere to be seen.

Then, it clicked. A cold, horrifying truth began to dawn on you.

He lied.

Without a word, you pushed Percy aside and started running, towards the woods. Your heart hammered against your ribs, like a trapped bird desperate to escape. You plunged into the darkness of the forest, the path you'd walked countless times with Luke now leading you into the unknown.

"Luke!" you screamed, your voice raw with anger and despair. You wove through the trees, the undergrowth tearing at your camp shirt, but you didn't care. You had to find him, to confront him, to understand why he'd chosen this path, if he chose it, why he'd lied to you.

But with each passing minute, hope crashed over you. The forest grew denser, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the frantic beat of your own heart. There was no sign of Luke, no echo of his footsteps, no smell, no sense of his presence, only the chilling truth hanging heavy in the air.

He was gone.

He had left.

You sank to your knees, the weight of betrayal crushing you as the first tears you ever cried for Luke Castellan, started to fall. The man you loved, the person you'd trusted with your life, had chosen darkness over everything you held dear. He had chosen Kronos over you.

Grief, a cold and relentless serpent, coiled around your heart. And that feeling never seemed to leave.

The year that followed was a blur of sadness and a desperate attempt at normalcy. The silence from Luke was deafening. Not a single Iris-message, not a single sign of the one who once, was your boyfriend.

You knew you wouldn´t be able to return to Camp, at least not for now. Every corner held a ghost of Luke's smile, every sword clang a reminder of his battles and his betrayal. Your friends, the true ones, bless their hearts, tried everything to cheer you up from a distance, but their efforts felt like trying to pick up the pieces of a broken glass in the sea.

You opted to stay home that summer. But even there, away from the prying eyes and hushed whispers, escape from Luke's betrayal seemed impossible. Messages and news found you no matter where you hid. News of Luke leading a rogue army aboard a stolen cruise ship, rumors of him serving as Kronos's right hand while the Titan slumbered – it all reached your ears.

The nights were the worst. The darkness mirrored the hollowness within you. Tears would stain your pillow as you relived the events leading up to his betrayal. You once seemed to dream about seeing him again, and now you only screamed when you saw his face in your nightmares.

The memory of his touch, the warmth of his smile, the nights you spent loving each other with the sheets tangling in your legs, all felt like cruel illusions now. Yet, a part of you, a stubborn, illogical part, still clung to the love you once shared.

And Gods, did you try to keep yourself as busy as possible. You threw yourself into your studies and little courses here and there, seeking solace in facts and logic. You even began working, a boring but well payed summer job. Yet, the pain lingered, a dull ache that refused to subside.

The more you tried to banish these visions, the more vivid they became. You missed him like a starving man craved a feast, a yearning that gnawed at your insides and threatened to consume you. Frustration gnawed at you. How could you still love someone who'd betrayed you so utterly? How could your heart still ache for a man who chose war over you? The questions echoed endlessly within you, a relentless chorus fueling your self-conscious.

How could you be so weak?

These consuming questions were your companions for a whole year. But as the second summer after Luke's betrayal rolled around, a shift occurred within you. The raw, agonizing pain began to dull, replaced by a quiet resolve.

Finally, you decided it was time to take back control again. Camp Half-Blood called, a familiar haven among the storm. You returned a changed person. The vibrant smile that once adorned your face was a ghost, replaced by a guarded expression that spoke about the pain you harbored in silence. The camp's familiar energy felt hollow, a constant reminder of the happiness you'd lost.

Training became your sole solace. You'd disappear into the arena for hours, your celestial bronze sword a blur as you cleaved through training dummies, each swing fueled by a potent cocktail of grief and anger.

Exhaustion became your closest companion too. You pushed yourself to the limits of your endurance, hoping to find oblivion at the bottom of an empty fuel tank. But sleep, when it finally came, offered no escape. You'd dream of him, leading his army of rogue demigods, his eyes filled with a fanatical zeal that chilled you to the bone. And in those dreams, you'd see yourself, standing beside him, not out of loyalty to his cause, but out of a desperate yearning for the boy you once loved, still love.

In the quiet moments, when your friends weren't around, the dam would break. You'd collapse onto your cool and empty bed, tears streaming down your face, a raw, primal sob escaping your lips. The memory of Luke was no joy anymore, it haunted you like a specter.

You hated yourself for the traitorous flicker in your heart, the desperate, illogical yearning for him. It wasn't the war that tempted you; it was him.

You hated how much you missed him.

The scent of rain clung to the humid night air and to you like a second skin as you zipped up your duffel bag. Another summer at Camp Half-Blood loomed, promising a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and pain, but more training. The worst was yet to come, so you needed to be ready.

New York City, with its cacophony of car horns and the anonymity of millions, had become your refuge these past few months. In Manhattan, the memories of Luke seemed to hold less power for some weird reason, their edges dulling with the passage of time. You'd spent the past months in this tiny apartment, the silence deafening compared to the constant hum of life at camp.

Just then, a sharp rap on the door shattered the silence of your apartment. It was past midnight, an unusual time for visitors.

Adrenaline surged through you. Months of living fully alone had honed your senses. You'd become acutely aware of the city's underbelly – the flickering shadows that could hide monsters thanks to the ever-present mist. You'd seen them stalking the streets, stalking you, their true forms hidden to them mortals, an unsettling feeling crawling up your spine whenever their paths crossed yours. They never attacked, but their chilling presence followed you like a phantom.

Grabbing your necklace, you asked, "Yes?"

Silence. You weren't taking any chances. Pulling down at the pendant once, the necklace morphed into your celestial bronze dagger.

You took a step, two. Could it really be a monster? Could it really be some creature trying to get to you, by knocking on the door? With a shaky breath, you cracked the door open just enough to peek through the gap, hiding the dagger behind your back.

The sight that greeted you stole the air from your lungs.

Standing on your doorstep, bathed in the harsh glow of the hallway light, was Luke. His dark hair was windswept, his face etched with a gauntness that hadn't been there before, but his eyes – those were the same eyes that had haunted your dreams for months. They held a desperate plea, a flicker of the boy you once loved struggling to break through the hardened shell of the man he'd become.

“Luke?”

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and a tangled web of emotions. Time seemed to warp in that hallway, a single moment stretched into an eternity. Luke looked different, yes. The carefree boy you knew had been replaced by a man hardened by experience, his features etched with lines that spoke of battles fought and burdens carried. But his eyes, those brown eyes that had once held a mischievous twinkle, now held a deeper sadness that mirrored your own.

"Hi" Luke finally said, his voice raspy.

You stood speechless, the dagger still clutched tightly in your hand. Years of longing warred with the fresh wounds of betrayal. You wanted to scream at him, to unleash the torrent of hurt and anger that suddenly washed over you. But something held you back, a flicker of curiosity, maybe.

"Um, can I come in?" he continued, his posture pleading despite his attempt at nonchalance.

Jesus. Was that all he had to say? After everything, after what he did, all he could muster was a request to enter your apartment? A tide of anger threatened to drown you. Did he not understand the gravity of what he'd done? Did he not realize the pain he'd caused? But you forced your thoughts down. You weren't a child anymore, throwing tantrums wouldn't solve anything.

"Are you armed?" you asked, your voice flat, devoid of any warmth.

Luke flinched at your question, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "You think I wanna hurt you?" he countered, his tone defensive.

"Last time I saw you," you spat back, your voice laced with bitterness, "was three years ago, and I know your little monsters are keeping an eye on me. The first thing I'm supposed to think about is whether you want to hurt me or not."

He sighed, a long, weary exhale. Unzipping his jacket, he turned slowly, patting down his pockets before turning back to you. His eyes, once alive with mischief and love, were now filled with a desperate sincerity. "See? No weapons. Just me."

You studied him, a battle raging within you. One part of you wanted to slam the door, to let him know that he wasn't welcome. Yet, another part, a smaller, more vulnerable part, couldn't help but cling to the flicker of hope that flickered amongst the ashes of your love.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you stepped aside, allowing a sliver of space for him to enter. "Fine" you said, your voice devoid of warmth. "But you better have a good reason to come here"

Luke hesitated for a beat before stepping inside. He closed the door softly behind him, the sound echoing through the tense silence. He stood there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the room, landing finally on the packed bags besides the tv.

"You're heading back to camp?" he asked.

You flipped the dagger in your hand, and the celestial bronze morphed back into the golden necklace. "What do you want?" you repeated, your voice still sharp, a shield against the emotions swirling within you.

Luke stood awkwardly in the doorway, the once carefree boy replaced by a man burdened by the weight of his choices. His leather jacket seemed to hang heavy on his broad shoulders.

"I…" he started, then stopped, seemingly unsure how to proceed. He cleared his throat, the sound scratchy and unfamiliar. "You look different" he finally managed, the words tumbling out awkwardly.

You scoffed, a humorless sound that surprised even you.

"Look, yn" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper, "I wanna talk, okay? I know what I did was wrong. I know I hurt you."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "You could say that again."

His fingers twitched at your bitterness, but pressed on. "I came here because..." He hesitated again, seemingly wrestling with an inner turmoil. "Because I-"

Frustration bubbled up within you. This cryptic approach, this lack of honesty, it was infuriating. "Because you what, Luke?" you demanded, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Because you decided to grace me with your presence after leading a rebellion against the gods? Or maybe because you just wanted to see if I'm still waiting for you?"

You watched his face harden, the vulnerability replaced by a familiar defiance.

"Don't twist this" he snapped, his voice firm. "I came here because..." He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours. "Because I miss you, yn. I miss us."

The air crackled with a tension so thick you could almost taste it.

You took a slow step towards him, then another. He took notes of yourself as you did. The way you had grown internally was so intense that he could sense it everywhere. He might have betrayed you, but that only helped you get on your feet stronger, grow stronger. Become the warrior he always knew you were.

Then, in a move as instinctive as it was fierce, your hand lashed out. The slap connected with a stinging crack, the sound echoing through the apartment like a thunderclap. Luke's head snapped to the side, a crimson handprint blooming on his cheek. Shame flickered in his eyes as he scoffed, quickly replaced by a dull acceptance.

He deserved it, that much was clear.

"How dare you?” you spat, your voice shaking with barely controlled fury, "How fucking dare you come back here after what you've done? After leading a rebellion against the gods, after putting everyone we care about at risk? After betraying me?"

Luke took a shaky breath, running a hand over the burning mark on his face. "I'm sorry” he said, his voice low and ragged. "I'm so sorry. I know I hurt you, and I know a simple apology won't erase the pain or fix things. But you have to believe me, I never meant for things to get this bad"

He stepped towards you, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture, but you flinched back, the space between you a tangible barrier. "Don't touch me" you warned, your voice laced with ice.

He lowered his hands, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“I know you hate me for what I´ve done. For joining Kronos, I-“

"You think this is all about Kronos?" you cut him off, your voice shaking with barely contained fury. "You think the reason my heart has been broken these past years is because you joined a fucking Titan?"

Luke remained silent, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a collapsing mountain. He knew better.

"This is about what you did to me, Luke" you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. "I was with you, all the time. I was your girlfriend! And you betrayed me. You left me alone” your voice broke so hard that you had to take a second to swallow the big gulp that was forming in your throat. “Everyone at camp looked at me after what you did," you choked out. "They either felt sorry for me, or they insulted me, saying that I was still loyal to you, that I was a traitor."

You closed your eyes for a moment, the pain etched on your face a stark reminder of the devastation he'd wrought. "You were the most important person in my life" you cried, your voice raw and vulnerable. "But you? You let Kronos fill your head with empty promises, and just like that, you forgot about us."

The truth felt like a bitter pill to swallow. He opened his mouth to speak.

"I asked you to come with me" he finally whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I gave you the chance to leave with me."

"And even after I said no," you countered, your voice trembling like the finger that was now pointing at his chest, "you still left. You threw me away like shit. And do you know what the worst part is?" Tears streamed down your face, tracing a path through the dust of old heartache. "That as much as I try, I can't seem to hate you."

A sob escaped your lips, shattering the fragile dam you'd built around your emotions. "I still love you, Luke" you confessed. "Even though it's a love that fills me with pain, it's still there. I hate myself because I dream about you, about the way things used to be. But when I don't, I feel like a piece of me is missing."

You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears and a raw vulnerability that left Luke speechless.

What had he done?

"I hate myself because I can't help but pray for your safety, even though you never seemed to care about mine. I hate myself because even after everything, I still love you, Luke."

Your heart felt like a shattered kaleidoscope, a million shards of love, anger, and pain reflecting back at you in a distorted reality. You walked and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs racked your body.

Luke, his heart heavy with a remorse sharper than any weapon, watched you crumble. The carefree girl he fell in love with was gone, replaced by a woman etched with the scars of his own actions. Hesitantly, he reached out, placing a hand on your back as he sat down next to you, a gesture of comfort that felt more like a branding iron on his guilt.

"yn” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I still love you too."

You didn't respond, the sobs coming in ragged gasps as your body struggled to contain the storm within.

"I know I left you" he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And you didn't deserve it. But… I was so lost, so angry. Kronos promised me power, a solution to all the problems I saw. He convinced me that Olympus was corrupt, that the gods didn't care about half-bloods like us. And when you said no, he-, he told me to leave you behind, said that it would be easier for everyone…"

His voice trailed off. Easier for who? Easier for him, perhaps, to sever the ties that bound him, to plunge headfirst into a rebellion fueled by manipulated ideals.

"But it wasn't" he choked out, a tear escaping his eye, carving a glistening path down his cheek. "Every day, every step I took… it was a constant reminder of what I'd lost. The guilt was eating me alive, yn, you have to believe me”. His hands desperately reached for yours, trying to get your fingers to intertwine by placing his over yours.

Tears welled up in his own eyes. "I regret everything. I mean it. I don't want to do this anymore."

You finally lifted your head, your eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. Luke looked different to you now, the bravado and arrogance gone, replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored your own.

"Don't want to do what?" you asked, your voice hoarse.

"This” he gestured vaguely to himself, but you didn’t quite catch it. "Following Kronos. Helping him rise to power. It's wrong. I can see that now."

“Little late to that, isn’t it?” you blurted out.

He took a deep breath, his expression resolute. "yn, there's a reason I came to you. A reason I risked Kronos' trust in me." He paused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Kronos wants me to become his host."

And the world seemed to suddenly stop. You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Your mind raced, trying to process what he had just said. Luke, your Luke, becoming a vessel for the monstrous Titan?

"What?" you croaked, fear coating your voice like frost. Your eyes darted around, searching for a way out, a solution, anything. But Luke wouldn't meet your gaze, his jaw clenched tight, a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. "No. No, he can't. It's not possible."

The thought of him, Luke, being consumed by Kronos, twisted your insides into knots.

Luke, however, seemed to gather his resolve. "Yes, it is" he said, his voice low and strained. "There are things you don't know, yn. Things I've done."

A cold dread gripped your stomach, a physical manifestation of the terror that clawed at your insides. Your mind raced, desperate for answers. "Then tell me" you only managed to say. "Luke, what have you done?"

He hesitated, looking around as if afraid someone might be listening. "There's no time now" he finally said, his voice tight with urgency. "But I promise I will explain everything. That's not why I'm here."

Taking a deep breath, he dared to reach out, his hand gently grasping yours, finally. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, a stark contrast to the chilling fear that gripped you.

He called your name, his voice softening. "Come with me" he said.

You only feel capable of frowning your brows in confusion. "Go where?" you asked, your voice wary.

"Anywhere" he said, like a plea. "Let's run away, together. It can be just you and me again"

He leaned closer, the air around him crackling with a tension that mirrored the storm within you. As his forehead rested against yours, a jolt of electricity shot through you. It was a familiar warmth, a spark that had ignited countless stolen kisses and whispered secrets back when your world wasn't teetering on the brink of war. His other hand cupped your cheek, the touch a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. His hand, usually warm and comforting, felt cool against your burning skin, a physical reminder of the distance that had grown between you. Yet, despite the chill, a wave of longing washed over you, a yearning for the simple comfort of his touch.

But reason tugged at you, a voice of caution in the midst of the storm. "But Luke," you stammered, pulling away slightly, "If you escape, Kronos will come for you. He'll come for us, and-,"

"I don't care" he interrupted, his voice resolute, yet laced with a tremor that betrayed his bravado. It was as if he was on the precipice, teetering between defiance and the vulnerability of a man on the verge of breaking. "I'll fight everything that comes for us. And if the war happens... I'll fight. I'll fight for everyone, I’ll fight for you. I'm not losing you again, yn."

His words resonated deep within you, a desperate echo of the love you still harbored for him, a love you thought you'd buried beneath layers of anger and sadness. You saw the fear in his eyes, a fear that you sadly shared, but beneath it, a flicker of something else – a raw, desperate hope. And as you looked at him, a wave of relief washed over you.

The relief of knowing he wasn't entirely lost, that a part of the Luke you loved still existed.

"I love you" he confessed again, his voice trembling.

Looking into his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling within them, the truth resonated with you. "I love you too" you whispered, the words tumbling from your lips like a long-awaited confession.

The world did indeed, stop. The rain, a relentless symphony against the window pane, faded into a distant murmur. The thunders became a muffled echo. In that moment, the only reality was the space between you and Luke, charged with the unspoken electricity of your confessions.

He leaned in further, a hesitant question in his eyes. A flicker of fear danced in their depths, a scared boy seeking forgiveness beneath the warrior's facade. You watched him, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest.

With a sigh that trembled on your lips, you closed the distance. Your lips met in a hesitant touch, a tentative exploration of a forgotten familiarity. Three years of longing, of unspoken words and simmering emotions, poured into that kiss. It was sweeter than you'd dared to imagine, a warmth that spread from your lips and drizzled down your chest.

Unlike the passionate encounters of your past, this felt different; like kissing him for the first time. Luke's lips moved against yours with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine. He held back, his desperate desire tempered with a respect that surprised you. You knew him.

But then, you yielded. Your lips parted, a silent invitation, and his tongue met yours in a dance as old as time. A full, heavy and angry thunderclap erupted outside, a jarring contrast to the intimacy unfolding on the couch. But you paid it no mind, lost in the whirlpool of rediscovered affection.

Your arms encircled his neck, a desperate hold. He, in turn, cupped your waist, his touch lingering on the curve of your hip as he gently lowered you onto the soft cushion. His body hovered above yours. His lips, however, remained glued to yours, a relentless exploration that spoke of a love both fierce and fragile.

The kiss deepened, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. You felt the familiar rhythm of his heart against yours, a counterpoint to the frantic beat of your own. It was a melody of second chances, of unspoken apologies and nascent hope.

His hand trailed down your back, teasingly brushing under your shirt, sending shivers dancing across your skin. You arched into his touch, a wordless plea for more. But just then, he pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions.

His voice, a husky murmur against your skin, sent shivers down your spine. "I missed this so much," he whispered, his lips trailing down the delicate column of your neck and the dip of your collarbone. His warm breath mingled with your own, a heady mix of emotions swirling around you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, the familiar texture a stark reminder of the past you both desperately clung to. He reached for your pulse, slowly sucking in before letting it pop.

"I wanted to feel you every night" he confessed. "Every night, I dreamt of you." His words were a stark contrast to the cold, distant Luke you saw in your dreams, the only vivid memory you’ve had of him the past years.

"Luke" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to speak.

He didn't stop. His hand drifted down your torso, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your lower tummy. Every touch felt like a brand, a searing reminder of what you had lost and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

"It was a mistake" he said, his voice thick with regret. "A big, fucking mistake. Leaving you, betraying you-, it was the biggest mistake of my life. My life doesn't make any sense without you."

With a strangled sound, Luke deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own. You clung to him, a drowning sailor grasping at a lifeline. The scent of leather that clung to him was intoxicating, a familiar anchor in this storm of emotions.

"Luke" you managed to gasp between kisses, a flicker of reason breaking through the haze of desire. You needed more than just words, needed a binding promise, something concrete to hold onto if you were to take this leap of faith.

He stared at you, his eyes a storm of emotions – desire, confusion, and a flicker of something that might have been annoyance. But before he could respond, you pressed on.

"Swear on it, Luke" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "Swear on the River Styx” you repeat. Luke’s eyes dart back and forth, from your lips, to your eyes, to filling up with confusion. “I’m not-,” you cut yourself off as you feel your eyes filling with tears again. You bit your tongue before speaking, “I’m not letting you hurt me like this again"

You knew it was selfish, a desperate attempt to safeguard your heart. But Luke was here, finally, after all this time. You craved the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence. The thought of letting him go again, of enduring another betrayal, was unbearable. Yet, a part of you, still scarred from the past, craved a guarantee, an oath sworn on the most powerful river in the Underworld. It was dangerous, yes, but did you care?

Did he care?

Luke's expression hardened. The River Styx, held a weight that couldn't be ignored. The river he already bathed himself in. It was a binding vow, a promise etched in the very fabric of existence.

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of doubt, a hint of manipulation. But all he saw was the vulnerability, the fear – a vulnerability born from the scars he himself had inflicted.

"I swear on the River Styx" he said, his voice low and solemn, each word heavy with the weight of the oath. "I swear I won’t ever leave you. I swear I love you. I swear I'll fight for you, for us, with every breath in my lungs."

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gatorbites-imagines · 9 months

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Dude, Absolutely write more about Steve and his 200 year old boyfriend. I wanna see into their life together more. Does Y/N become part of the avengers? What’s an average day for the two of them? What do the other Avengers think of them together? Has Steve ever called Y/N daddy out in public or in earshot of the other Avengers on accident? How inseparable are they? Anything you can come up with I’ll love man. Your writings so damn good!

Steve Rogers x Male reader

Headcanons

I was honestly so in love with the kinktober prompt with Steve and his 200-year-old lover, so I got excited when I got this request. Let’s say his hero name is Titan, just to have some old school sounding name.

The morning after your reunion, the two of you just laid in Steves bed, basking in each other’s presence and the fact that you were both alive.

After many kisses, from pecks to deep tongue filled kisses, and after a few rounds of Steve riding you again, as he was so taken with the fact that he finally could, you two finally talked.

You explained to him how you were a mutant, and how sorry you were for never telling him, how it had never crossed your mind to do so. And he apologized for throwing his life away like that, and leaving you the way he did.

Over the next couple of weeks, you stay in his apartment, even when Steve goes out to do avenger work or do stuff for SHIELD. He is always so tense when he walks in through the door, but he quickly finds you and crawls into your lap with a sighed “Daddy”, as if your presence alone is enough to calm him.

During this time, you introduce him to the future better than anyone else is able too, even rewarding him for being such a good student, just for the fun of it. You also end up telling him not to trust SHIELD, as you’ve seen who is involved with it, and what they do.

The Avengers team just assume Steve is uncomfortable with the future, and that’s why he’s always rushing home after missions or meetings, but in reality its to get home to you. When days are too rough, all he needs is you to squeeze him so tight his vision starts blurring and he’s left lightheaded.

He needs his daddy to take him out of his head, to take away his duty as Captain America, and just let him be your boy. Being with you is refreshing in the way that you always see him as Steve before you see him as Captain America, you’ll always see him as your boy before anything else.

The avengers first discover your existence during the attack on New York, as there is no way in hell you’ll allow your boy to run around on his own, especially not when you have more than a hundred years of experience than any of the members of the Avengers.

So, imagine their surprise when you come crashing in on your motorcycle, throw it right at a cluster of enemies, and immediately start tearing through the enemies with extreme skill.

I haven’t decided if you have any powers except for extreme strength, regeneration, no aging, the likes. But if you want, you can imagine the reader having any powers you want.

When everything is done and over with, the team, except for Steve, tenses when you start marching towards them. Seeing how you ripped apart the aliens with as much difficulty as one would a sheet of paper, they are on edge.

That is until you walk right past Tony, right past Natasha, right past all of them, walking right towards Steve. Whose face you take in your hands and start turning him this way and that, checking him over for injuries.

They’re all speechless to a certain degree, some more than others, especially when they see Steve start smiling and blushing like some kind of fair maiden.

Tony pulls a whole “are you guys also seeing this”, especially when you kiss Steve out of nowhere, and Steve almost arches into it, forgetting his shield somewhere on the ground to clutch onto you like a couple in an action movie.

Tony ends up being the one clearing his throat and being all “soooo… you gonna introduce us?” to get Steve and your attention.

Steve almost ends up introducing you as his Daddy, but he catches himself the last second and introduces you as his lover from before the war. When they want to know how you’re still alive, you just shrug and say you’re a mutant and you go by Titan.

After that you just kinda start hanging around the tower, but you aren’t an official part of the team. You don’t want to work for SHIELD, and you don’t want to work for the government. you’re also technically an honorary member of the X-men, a role you take seriously.

You end up getting along pretty well with the rest of the team, as you can take an interest in at least some of the things they are all into. You especially get along well with Tony, when you tell him you knew his father, and that he was a huge tool.

Seeing Steve with a man means that most of them need to change up the mental image they had of Steve, but seeing how happy and domestic you guys are, it’s clear it’s been a long-lasting relationship that just wasn’t in the history books.

If you guys end up rescuing Bucky and fixing him up without the whole civil war situation, you all end up just kinda living at the tower. You have your own apartment in Brooklyn, but its mainly for storage or if you and Steve need to go somewhere without anyone with super hearing nearby.

In the end its Bucky that exposes you guys for your title thing, as Steve has been too embarrassed to do it out in public the way you guys used too, and you respect his wants and needs.

It’s said in a very casual conversation too. Something along the lines of Bucky asking Steve “so, where’s was your daddy going this week anyway?” after you left to help the X-men. It causes a laugh from some of your teammates, as they think it’s a joke, until they see the blush on Steves face.

They’d think it’s just a kink for the bedroom in the beginning, until they start paying attention and hearing Steve mumble it to you when he needs comfort or reassurance. That’s when they learn its much more than just a kink.

It’s a way for Steve to give up all the pressure and responsibilities he feels in his life, for him to feel small and protected, to feel cared for, no matter what mistakes he may make. Its also there to reassure you that you are wanted and needed, that there is someone who loves you so deeply they want you to carry such a title to them.

Most of your team doesn’t really get it, but most of them have probably also seen weirder in their lives. Steve is also still a very private person in that regard, so it doesn’t call you that out in public, and you don’t make him.

Steve does allow himself to be more affectionate and vulnerable with you when your teammates are around, since they to some degree know what kind of relationship you guys have.

Like sitting in your lap on the couch when the team has movie nights, or letting you serve him dinner, or leaning against your chest when you hug him from behind. Or the times he is unsure of what to do in certain situations, and he looks at you for guidance.

Bucky is the calmest about it, since he remembers it from the 40s, and he had been around when it all started out. He didn’t have a title like you did, but he had seen how much comfort it brought you two, so he never questioned it.

So, all in all, the team accepts it as a dynamic you two have that they don’t really get involved with. Your knowledge helps them take down Hydra, and keeps lotsa the drama that happens in the movies from happening. Steves daddy didn’t just save him, but a lot of his teammates and innocent lives. Yay for Steves daddy.

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skzdarlings · 2 months

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the kingsguard ; jisung x reader ; part iii

pairing: han jisung/reader summary: You are a queen. He is a kingsguard - a member of a holy order that vows to defend the king in the name of the gods. They forsake all earthly goods and swear a vow of chastity to avoid worldly temptation. When he stands in as proxy for the royal wedding, all those vows are tested.

content info: reader is described with curly hair, mention of curves.

content warnings: a royal affair between queen reader and guard jisung. the king is a violently abusive man and continues to disrespect reader in this part. this chapter has an additional content warning for violence, assasination attempts and explicit sexual content: guided masturbation, mirror action, and skirting the breaking of chastity vows.

word count: 13000 words.

As promised, rest comes an hour later. Some stay in the woods with the wagons while the king and his party make for the nearby village.

The edge of the forest slopes downhill, the bustling city centre at its base. Civilians gather to watch the arrival of the royal retinue. Most of them duck out of the king’s path well before he reaches them. You suppose the party might have stopped at this village on the journey in and you can believe the king did not leave a kind impression on its denizens.

You struggle with your skirts on the steepest slope. Because your husband pays you no mind, Jisung helps you, swishing back the length of his own robes as he climbs onto a boulder to reach you. You thank him, placing your hands on his shoulders while he clasps your waist. He swings you down on the path.

No sooner have you stepped down does a little voice ask, “Is that the queen? Why is her hair down?”

You look over. Some children are gathered nearby, staring at you with wide, curious eyes. A mother scolds the loud one, putting a hand over the child’s mouth.

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry,” the woman says, bowing deeper than necessary.

“It’s all right,” you say. You smile as you approach, maintaining some distance as they seem skittish. You drop into a crouch to look at the children. “Yes, I am the queen,” you say. “I’m sorry I’m bit dishevelled. The road is very bumpy and I was quite uncomfortable, but I am very happy to be in your village now.”

When they determine you are not going to lash out at them, the children get closer. Soon they are all yammering away, each of them wanting your attention for an introduction or story.

“Can you have lunch with us?” a little boy asks. He looks back at the woman. “Mama, can the queen have lunch with us?”

“Oh, I would love to,” you say, smiling to placate the very startled woman. “But my guard needs to eat too and we shouldn’t keep the others waiting.”

“He can come too!” a little girl says.

A little boy goes right up to Jisung, his eyes wide with awe. Though Jisung is not especially tall, the boy looks at him as though he is a towering titan.

“Whoa,” the boy says. “Are you a real kingsguard?”

“Aha, I am,” Jisung says. “Are you?”

“Me?” the boy asks. “I’m not a kingsguard!”

The children all squeal with laughter, Jisung grinning down at them. You find yourself smiling too, surprised by how easily and naturally it comes.

“Is that your sword?” one of the children asks, tugging on his black robe but eying the silver sword hilt. “Can I touch it?”

“Ah, maybe no pointy objects,” Jisung says, giggling nervously.

“What’s the delay?” Chan asks, striding over. The king has already entered a nearby inn to eat and drink. A few kingsguards linger outside, minding the door.

Remembering your actual place, your smile fades. You stand and smooth the creases of your skirt. You remember the king insulting your appearance and making comments about weight, so you are not particularly keen to sit down and eat a meal with him. Anxiety swallows your hunger.

“We were invited to lunch,” Jisung says, laughing. He looks from Chan to you, his grin faltering when he sees your solemn expression.

Chan notices too. His thoughtful gaze flicks between you and the children. After some deliberation, he nods.

“Right,” he says. “The king is occupied anyway. Would you like to spend time in the village instead?”

Your heart brightens. You nod.

“I’ll send Jeongin for extra security,” Chan says. He shoots Jisung a stern look. “Protect the queen.”

“Always,” Jisung says, hand over his heart as he bows.

You know it is his duty, nothing personal, but that brightness in your heart turns incandescent with pleasure.

You sit with several villagers at tables in the square. There is more food than you can reasonably eat as several different families jump at the opportunity to feed the queen, at least once they realized you are more polite than the king. You easily eat your fill.

Jeongin and Jisung stand behind you, eating their own food as they pace and supervise. At one point, they agree to let the children see their swords. They even conduct a short bout of fencing while their little crowd oohs-and-awes.

You chat with the local craftsmen and some working women. One of them makes a less than flattering comment about the king’s manners. It garners Jeongin’s keen eye, flashing in his direction. When the kingsguard looks at him, the villager ducks his head in shame, but he does not retract the comment either.

You do not say anything, merely remark that you are proud to be chosen by the gods and you are serious about the responsibility they have bestowed upon you.

“I care about this land very much,” you say.

“Well, we’re all just glad someone at the capital does,” a worker says.

“The gods have chosen a queen we can be proud of,” says another.

You are better at offering kind words than receiving them, flustered by the compliments. You demure and look away. When your gaze wanders, you see Jisung already looking at you. He nods, offering you a smile so warm and kind that it leaves you even more flustered than before.

Lunch ends and the king returns. The villagers wave until you crest the hill, then it is a quiet trek to the horses and carriages. The group in the woods have packed away their things too. Everyone is ready to depart.

The king once again disappears without acknowledging you. Jisung helps you onto the horse, holding it steady while you mount, then he swings up behind you. A little girl gave you a ribbon to tie your hair, but he still gently brushes the low tail aside. He is wearing black riding gloves, the leather up to his knuckles, his fingertips bare as they leave goosebumps on your nape.

It does not take long to get back on the road. This path dips south towards the sea and the great cliff, so this is the last city for a while as the forest trail winds uphill. The next village is a day away. It lays on the other side of the descent, so camp will be constructed in the woods tonight.

You are not sure if you will be sharing a tent with the king. He claimed he would not have you until back in the capital, but that was before his mistress ran off. You shudder, imagining him taking those frustrations out on you. You may have to put that sleeping draft to use sooner than later.

“Are you cold?” Jisung asks.

Before you can answer, he presses his hand gently on the curve of your hip, guiding you back, closer to him. He is just offering his body warmth, mistaking your shiver for a chill. You remind yourself that he is a kingsguard. He has sworn a vow of chastity that he takes pride in maintaining. You are the silly one, starved for a kind touch, who feels the burning imprint of his palm long enough after he stops.

The journey continues. Songs are sung to pass the time, though Chan throws a look over his shoulder when Jisung starts a relatively dirty one. Jisung presses his lips together, smothering a laugh. You suspect his relentlessly goofy shenanigans are for your benefit as he keeps trying to make you laugh. It always works. You find yourself giggling helplessly into your hands on more than one occasion. He seems determined to wring an embarrassingly loud guffaw out of you.

The joviality does not last.

No one is expecting the arrow that flies straight through the window into the queen’s carriage. You and Jisung are a few feet behind it and he rears back, swift but startled, the horse baying its own agitation. You also yelp, clutching the saddle as he stabilizes the horse.

Minho was close so he also rears back, settling faster without the extra weight.

“Arrow!” he shouts. It starts a cascade of action, the guards shouting orders back and forth to each other.

You do not really hear them. Your heart pounds from the sudden jolt, but it worsens as you stare at the carriage. If you had still been in there, that arrow could have pierced a leg, shoulder, or even your throat.

“Jisung…” you say, an instinctive utterance, voice wobbling.

He lays a protective hand across your middle, all his silly theatricality gone, replaced with a sterner determination. His eyes dart around the treeline. His moves the horse just in time for another arrow to whizz past.

Chaos unfolds as a veritable horde pours out of the treeline, charging the royal train.

You never fathomed being at the centre of such violent mania. You were always at home, a safe and sheltered place, with bandits and assassins relegated to the world of stories. You liked to imagine you would be brave under duress, but the reality of such quick-moving danger is very different than a slow-told story.

You are terrified, especially after two close calls, though you have no time to deliberate on the coincidence. You are too lost in panic, clutching your chest like you can restrain your racing heart.

The kingsguards take formation to combat the onslaught. Jisung opts to retreat, prioritizing your safety, especially when another arrow flies your way. He is quick dodging it, racing further down the line.

Chan, swinging his sword from up on his horse, seamlessly takes down an adversary while shouting, “Get the queen to higher ground! Hyunjin! Go with them! Fuck, I wish Felix was here. Go!”

While Chan barks orders, you look at the man he cut down. Even though these bandits are the instigators, it is still a vile sight. You have never seen a man die under such violence. Your panicked heart seems to stutter and stop and start again.

Jisung is unphased, quick to follow Chan’s orders. He turns the horse and gallops towards the opposite treeline. Hyunjin comes thundering after you. All the kingsguards are armed with an array of weapons but it is fairly obvious which tools are favoured by which guards. Hyunjin has the most arrows and the most elaborate bow. You wonder if Felix was the other bowman, hence Chan’s exclamation.

They race you through the trees. You can only trust they know their way, seeking higher ground where they can defend you until the horde has been dispatched.

You look back and shriek. Some bandits are giving chase on horseback. You have never moved this quickly in all your life but it still feels too slow.

“Hyunjin,” Jisung says, loud but calm.

They criss-cross their horses, racing past each other. Hyunjin whips around, in a single motion dropping his reins and seizing his bow, then firing a shot behind him. It knocks the closest bandit off his horse. The other three fall back and continue their pursuit at a safer distance.

Hyunjin takes his reins. The horses cross each other again, making it difficult for anyone behind you to get a clean shot.

All you can do is hold on for dear life, keeping your eyes ahead. The guards race uphill. Once situated at an advantage, Hyunjin dismounts and takes position, firing an arrow without delay. The bandits below duck and take cover. You curl towards Jisung when they fire an arrow back.

“Take her further in,” Hyunjin says, lining up another shot. “I have this.”

Jisung continues into the woods. You are very far from the trail now, surrounded by clusters of tightly packed trees. Weaving in and out slows your pace.

After a time, Jisung eases his horse to a stop, giving you both a moment to catch your breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks. His hands are thoughtless, touching you more than a guard should, but his concern is obvious. His comforting hand settles on the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle, while the other pats your side to inspect any injuries.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your shaking voice betrays you. “All things considered.”

“All things considered,” he repeats with an airy laugh.

You let out a laugh too, halfway to a sob, an exhale of emotion.

You turn your face towards him. You are curled right into him, his hand on your nape, the other wrapped protectively around your waist. Your heart is a wild animal, frantic in your chest, and adrenaline fills your whole body with warmth. When you meet his gaze, that warmth gathers low. It finds all that tangled anxiety and loosens every knot.

His thumb slows. The arm around your waist lifts, just a bit, his hand hovering. He seems to realize you are too close, even with all things considered, but his own adrenaline holds him. He does not let go, though he knows he should, instead staring back at you, his dark eyes running all over your face.

“Your eyes are so—” he starts then stops. His face contorts with more terror than it showed during the attack.

“Pardon?” you say.

He swallows. You watch the bob of his throat.

“I mean—” he starts, but then he hears something. The softness in his gaze hardens as he whips his head up, catching sight of different bandits approaching on foot.

“They’re after me, aren’t they?” you say, thinking of the arrow in that carriage, the men on horseback. You are not sure if they intend to kill you or ransom you, but it is obvious they are less interested in the wagons than you.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jisung says, seizing the reins. “They won’t have you.”

He is faster on horseback but the trees are so dense that it is still slow-moving. The bandits on foot gain speed. One lets loose an arrow. Jisung dodges it, but the next arrow flies so close that you feel the wind as it breezes past your face.

“Fuck,” he says. His arm tightens around your waist, so firm it steals your breath. “Hold on,” he says. “We need to dismount quickly.”

His idea of a quick dismount is essentially throwing himself off the horse. It surprises the bandits but it also surprises you, wrenching a scream as you fly towards the forest floor. He keeps his grip and yanks you into his arms.

“Run,” he says, taking hold of your hand. “And get behind me when I say.”

You run through the trees, holding your skirts in one hand and his hand in the other. He is much faster but your adrenaline propels you. You already anticipated sore legs from so long on horseback, but you are going to be in agony from so much running. Provided you survive that long.

“Jisung,” you say in a warning voice. The treeline ends up ahead but it does not open into a clearing; it opens to the edge of a cliff, looming over the sea. You can smell the brine before you see the blue beyond the branches.

Jisung does not seem surprised. He barrels right towards it. When the edge nears, so close you can hear the ocean crashing into the cliff face below, he spins on his heel. Somewhere in the swirl of black cloth, he draws his sword, twisting it in the air and catching it as swiftly. He braces himself in a fighting stance.

“Get behind me,” he says. “And maybe close your eyes.”

His first order is easy, your shaking legs happy to halt. The second order is more complicated, because you cannot help but watch as he runs straight towards the three adversaries. Your own adrenaline peaks. You want to chase after him and somehow help, but your remaining sense wrestles that instinct back under control. There is nothing you can do.

He does not need help anyway. Someone charges him but he disarms the man in two short moves. You do not even see the moment Jisung reaches back, but suddenly there is a knife in his other hand and he sends it hurtling towards the farthest opponent. It thunks into the man’s chest and the spurt of blood startles you out of your frozen panic. You finally obey his second command and close your eyes, covering them with your hands for good measure.

You have many skills but swordplay is not one of them. You do not like the sight of gore. You never imagined needing a stomach for it. Is this my life now? you think, trembling to the sound of metal on metal.

Through all your fear, there is one constant reassurance: Jisung will protect you. You do not doubt him for a moment.

When someone touches your shoulder, you do not scream, knowing it is him before you open your eyes.

Those familiar brown eyes gaze back at you. You release a long held breath in an embarrassing sputter, eyes filling with tears.

“It’s okay,” he says, cupping your cheek, the leather glove warm against your skin.

You are shaking with adrenaline, your hands still raised. You look behind him, catching sight of three bodies strewn across the forest floor.

He moves his head to block the view. He carefully takes your quivering hands. He squeezes one gently.

“I know, it’s a lot,” he says. “The first time is the worst. You’ll be okay.”

The first time. There will be more. Of course there will be more. Your shaking worsens with the thought.

You cannot find your voice. You lift your eyes and meet his gaze, imploring with a glance and nothing more. His lower lip wobbles with an unsteady breath, his brow furrowed. His eyes are deeply sympathetic.

He seems to battle some internal thought, then shakes his head and surrenders, quickly bringing your hand to his lips and kissing your knuckles. His other hand goes behind your head and he pulls you towards him, wrapping you in an embrace.

You grab him around the middle, burying your face in his neck. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly against his steadier body, but his relative calm tempers you. Some of your hair has fluttered loose from the ribbon, unsurprisingly, and he smooths some of it down.

“It’s okay,” he says.

Your shaking slows but your heart still races, all that anxiety twisting again. You keep your arms around him, lifting your head as you ask, “Are there more?”

As if in reply, there is a disturbance in the trees. Jisung spins, drawing his sword again. He sweeps you behind him to block your body with his own.

Hyunjin emerges from the trees on horseback, a hand on his bow and the other clutching his reins. Jisung exhales then curses, sheathing his sword.

“You missed all the fun,” Jisung says as Hyunjin rides past the bodies. “Were you fixing your hair?”

“Funny,” Hyunjin replies dryly. “Where’s your horse?”

“She’ll find her way,” Jisung says. “Are there more of them?”

“There might be,” Hyunjin says. He dismounts and walks up to Jisung. They clasp hands but do not linger, both scrutinizing the forest, their gazes calculating. “I don’t like this,” Hyunjin says. “That wasn’t a robbery. They were after—” He glances at you but does not say it out loud.

You look at Hyunjin, at the hair that has come loose from his tie, the sweat along his forehead, the sharpness of his gaze. You remember him getting catty with Seungmin, his haughty expression and pointed glance. That playful agitation was very different from his expression now. Rage burns behind his dark eyes.

“Whoever planned this,” he says, bitingly, “is targeting the gods, as far as I’m concerned. And I don’t care who he thinks he is.” He swings his sword free just to stab it into the ground. “And I don’t care what Chan has to say about it. This an offense too fucking far. She’s the queen.”

“I know,” Jisung says, softer but just as thoughtful. He looks at you, pity in his eyes. “It’s not right at all.”

“Fuck this.” Hyunjin yanks his sword out of the ground and sheathes it again.

That anxiety turns to lead inside you, your stomach sinking. You want to curl up on the ground and stay there. Even Hyunjin has deduced the attack was too targeted to be a coincidence. He is trying to sound vague, but you hear the underlying accusation in his thoughts; someone wanted to kill you and someone was probably the king.

It makes sense. The union has been sealed. The money has been granted. The only thing that would stop him from killing you is a sense of honour and responsibility, but this king has neither. Of course he would try and eliminate you, but he could not do it himself. The king is a font of power, a representative of the gods on earth, but he is bound to his own holy vows. The queen is chosen by the gods. He cannot kill you himself as that would be an unholy offense.

No, if he wanted you dead, he would have someone else do it, and he would never consult the kingsguard on the matter, knowing their holy order would be vehemently opposed. The kingsguard protects the king. It also metes his punishment if he betrays the gods. It is why their own oath-breaking is so serious a crime.

Before further accusations can be made, distant shouts carry through the woods. It is not the kingsguard, nor any of the king’s men.

Jisung unsheathes his sword. Hyunjin draws his bow.

“Get the queen out of here,” Hyunjin says.

“Where are we supposed to go?” you ask, shoulders already shaking as the voices get louder.

Jisung turns around. His eyes dart right past you, but there is nothing there except the expanse of sea. He stares at the open water, shimmering under the afternoon sun.

He looks at Hyunjin. Hyunjin seems to understand him without any exchange of words. He sighs and gives Jisung a withering look.

“You’re crazy, but I guess you’ve had worse ideas,” Hyunjin says.

“As usual, Hyunjin, your confidence in me is inspiring.”

“I miss when we hated each other.”

“I love you too, man,” Jisung says. “We’ll meet you at the inn. Tell Chan we took a shortcut.”

Hyunjin snorts and shakes his head. The guards part ways. Hyunjin swings onto his horse and rides towards the noise while Jisung sheathes his sword and sprints back to you. You take his hands the second he offers them, needing the comfort. He squeezes yours tightly.

“You trust me, right?” he says.

“Trust you? Yes. Why?” you say hesitantly. “You’re not about to suggest something crazy, are you?”

“What?” His eyebrows jump. “Crazy? Me? Of course not. I mean, if it makes you feel better, I don’t have to say out loud—” He looks sideways again.

A sea bird calls as it swings over the water.

“You are not suggesting we go over the cliff.” Your voice shatters on a high-pitched squeak.

“If anyone else comes this way, they won’t assume we went over!” he answers quickly. “They’ll assume we went farther into the woods and look for us there! It’s perfect!”

“Yes!” you say. “They will assume that! Because that is the sensible direction to go, not over a cliff into the sea! Over the cliff! Over the cliff!”

While you rant, he removes his leather riding gloves. You fall silent when he touches you, his bare palm curved around the slope of your jaw. He guides your face to his so he can look at you, really look at you, his eyes intense.

“Trust me,” he says. “I swear on my life and my honour as a kingsguard. My queen. Please. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

Those intense eyes first found you in a room full of people who looked right past you. They have found you again and again.

You exhale.

“Yes,” you say, scarcely more than a breath. “All right. I trust you, Han Jisung.”

“Hold my hand,” he says, drawing you close. “We’re high but not fatally high. It shouldn’t hurt but we are going to break the surface quickly. Whatever happens, don’t let go of my hand.”

“I won’t,” you say. “I promise.”

He squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

You never had a fear of heights but maybe that was relative. Taking a running leap off a cliff is certainly one way to find out for sure.

It seems feasible with your eyes ahead, the sea rolling out in a vast carpet before you. Then your feet leave the ground and it feels as though the cosmos shift and the entire universe drops out under you.

It lasts like an eternity but also seconds. You break the surface quickly, just like he said, with a crash more forceful than the white waves on the cliff-face. It feels like a shatter in the fabric of reality. For half a heartbeat, you think it killed you, the force so impossibly brutal.

Then it settles. You open your eyes underwater. As promised, Jisung did not let go of your hand even though you landed heavier and faster, weighing more especially with your dress.

Your dress.

You try kicking towards him. He is pulling your arm but it only draws him deeper, sinking with you. His black robes swirl around him, the material light and loose in the water, but your dress turns into a silk anchor.

An instinctive cry leaves your lips, a desperate attempt to say his name, but it bursts in a flurry of bubbles.

You grab at him when he kicks down towards you. He guides your arms around his neck. You cling to him, not thinking sensibly, but with the frantic desperation of a dying animal.

You do not pray to the gods. It does not even occur to you. They have answered you with nothing but silence. You put all your faith in Jisung. He does not let you down.

Jisung tears the back of your dress, ripping the apart the seams with his bare hands. You feel the threads pucker and pop, the cloying material giving way around your neck. You help him, pulling at the neck and pushing at the sleeves. You get the bodice down your hips, then the rest falls away. It sinks without hindrance. You are left in a white shift, long but light, so freeing that you can practically taste the air.

Jisung grabs you. You cling to him. Together, you kick towards the surface. You shoot through it with a gasping breath, coughing and sputtering.

He shakes his head, whipping water droplets everywhere, then smooths his hair back in a single sweep. The blackness of his hair looks even darker when wet, an obsidian tinted blue in the sunlight and seawater. You think it is ridiculous how he cannot look bad even when soaking wet, while you feel like a drowned rat, your copious amounts of hair plastered to your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, laughing in spite of himself.

You splash him and he laughs some more.

“If that wasn’t your worst idea ever,” you say, “I’m not sure I want to know what was.”

“No, probably not,” he says, still giggling as he paddles towards you.

You duck underwater to smooth back your hair. When you surface, he is close – so close, too close. The flow of the water pushes your bodies together. There is very little between you, black and white material, so thin you can feel his body heat. You are not sure if that racing heart is his or yours.

Your hands find his shoulders instinctively. He keeps his hands out, treading water, keeping you both afloat.

“I—” he starts then stops, staring into your face. He releases a breath. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get to the shore.”

You emerge from the water, drenched and dripping, your white shift not only translucent but clinging to every curve. You notice first and a fiery storm of embarrassment ignites inside you. You wrap an arm over your ample chest and try to tug the material away from other sensitive places.

Jisung has his back to you. He is wringing out his black robes as best he can. When he does see you, his eyes widen, then he slips on nothing and faceplants in the sand. The tiny grains stick to his wet body like a second skin.

It makes you feel a little better about your own state, watching as he lifts his sand-covered face off the ground. You laugh and also apologize for laughing as he gets back in the water to wash it all off.

“Um, right,” he says, still scrubbing his face as he marches ashore. He does not look at you, glaring ahead at nothing while pushing his hair back. “Just… just wait.”

He gathers the hem of his robe to squeeze it dry. You watch, still flustered, but also a little bit…

You do not know the word. You just know that if Jisung thought you were unappealing, he would have no problem looking at you. But he determinedly keeps his eyes off you, muttering what sounds like a prayer.

You are about to make a comment, a joke at your own expense, when he abruptly strips off a layer.

Your eyes widen as you stare at his back.

It is true that Jisung is not as bulky as Chan or Changbin or even Jeongin. His build is a more slender athleticism. Those robes nonetheless concealed more than you thought. His under layer is far more revealing, a sleeveless black shirt and pants. His shoulders have a fair breadth, sturdy and strong, and his torso tapers down to a slim waist. His exposed arms move with a subtle musculature that catches you off guard.

You thought he was handsome this whole time, but the starkness of his sudden masculinity has your knees knocking. A regular man seems to emerge from the robes of the kingsguard and that is somehow more intimidating. You feel your own exposure more keenly.

Jisung folds the material over his fists and wrings it tightly. It makes the soft slope of his lean biceps strain.

You drop your gaze too. It makes for a comical effort when he tries to pass you the robe when neither of you is looking.

In the end, he turns around, holding the robe to block his face. You laugh shyly and step into it. He wraps it around your shoulders and you pull your arms through. Even though it is also wet, it does a better job of covering you.

“Thank you,” you say. You meet his gaze and say sincerely, “For everything.”

He laughs a short laugh, an airy, empty sound. It sounds more disbelieving than humorous. He tilts his head as he looks at you, like he has to think deeply, like there is something he does not understand. It makes your stomach twist and your heart skip. Even when he caught a glimpse of your body, it did not feel as raw as this regard. He looks at you and he sees through to something far deeper than skin and much more vulnerable.

“You know,” he finally says. “The king has not thanked me once. Not for anything.”

You do not know what to say to that. You hold the neck of the borrowed robe closed, fidgeting with it. He seems to remember himself and he shakes his head. He looks away, towards the trees that line the beach.

“Ahh,” he says. “It’s fine. The king shouldn’t have to thank me. And neither do you. It’s my duty.”

“It’s not because I have to,” you say defensively. “I want to. Jisung, I want you to know that it wasn’t meaningless. Everything you’ve done – I appreciate it. I appreciate you.”

He looks at you again, his face a storm of different emotions. The pinch of his brow looks almost sad. It makes you want to reach out and touch his face, smooth out his features under your fingers.

He steps back before you can.

“Your Majesty,” he says, bowing. He does not look at you when he stands, strutting past, heading down the beach. “Come on,” he says. “It’s still a couple hours to the city from here.”

You walk on foot to the next city, the one that will take the retinue a day to reach. Going over the cliff is certainly faster than travelling through the forest path, though obviously a less sensible approach. You entertain yourself with thoughts of the king’s carriage careening over the cliff.

It is a warm summer’s day so your wet clothes do not bother you. It feels rather refreshing. With the king far behind you, you can breathe a little easier.

You and Jisung amble along the beach. There is an awkward silence at first. Though he was chatty on horseback, having the other guards around made the conversations feel less personal. Now it is just you and him.

Fortunately, he is a natural showman. It does not take much to wrestle funny stories out of him. He has many, gleefully recounting every embarrassing story about his fellow guards. He tells you how he and Hyunjin didn’t get along at first. When you ask if it was for any political or religious reason, he laughs and says, “Nope! Just hated that handsome face. Seriously, who looks like that? Everything he did was annoying because he did it with that stupid smoulder.”

You laugh. At least an hour has passed and the sun has dried your clothes now. Your curly hair is partially dry but a tangled mess. Everything feels a little stiff and grimy with seawater, but you find you hardly care. Here, under the sun, cool from your impromptu swim, you feel more alive than you have in weeks.

“Why would it matter if he’s so handsome?” you ask. “With all due respect, it’s not as though that is especially handy in your occupation…”

He laughs maniacally at that. You swat his arm.

“It’s a valid question!” you exclaim.

“It is! It is!” he says, hands up in surrender. “And I don’t know, ha-ha. Old habits, I guess.”

“It wasn’t hard?” you ask. “Giving up your worldly goods? Swearing your vows?”

“No,” he says, a little more serious. He looks down at the ground, kicking a pebble along. “I didn’t have much to my name. And for the other part – ah. It’s never been that hard for me, to be honest. Serving the gods felt right. Before I was a guard, I didn’t really have a purpose. A reason to be here on this earth. But now… now I do.”

“I see.”

“Did you…” He clears his throat. He seems to know his question is audacious, inappropriate for a guard, but you give him an encouraging look. Maybe because you are alone, or maybe because you have shared an ordeal, or maybe because you are in his robes, he gives in. “Did you ever want a different life?” he asks. He then winces as if suddenly remembering last night. “Sorry,” he says. “That insensitive. I’m sure you—”

“It’s all right,” you say. “I know what you mean. It’s just… the question is a little overwhelming.” You look across the sea, stare at the long edge of the horizon. “Last night was… I felt a lot of things for the first time. I didn’t really know how to process it. I grew up with expectations. I didn’t know I would marry a king, but I was raised to expect a match. I knew I was in a position of privilege and that meant conceding other things. I… I just wanted to make things good for other people. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It does,” he says sincerely.

You smile at each other.

“Good,” you say. There is a moment of silence. You look at the horizon again. “I don’t think I really know how to want something, to be honest,” you say, more to yourself than to him. “Not deeply. Not truly. I was wealthy. All my needs were met. And I was never aimless. I always had someone telling me what to do. If there was ever time I wanted something, something I couldn’t have, I don’t remember. Maybe that’s for the best. I imagine that would be more painful than not wanting at all, right? Maybe it’s better to suppress it and commit to my duty. But I don’t know if that makes sense either.”

“It… it does,” he says. “It does.”

You eventually leave the beach and cross a short forest trail, intersecting the path the royal train will ride tomorrow. You walk into the city and look for the inn. It will be empty tonight in preparation of the royal visit tomorrow.

You reach the doors at dusk. The innkeepers recognize the kingsguard and usher you both inside. When Jisung introduces you as the queen, they fall over themselves, apologizing for being unprepared.

“It’s all right,” you say. You share a laughing glance with Jisung. “We took an unexpected shortcut.”

You are seated by a fireplace and given some food while they prepare a room for you. The innkeeper’s wife provides you with a more appropriate cover so you can return Jisung’s robes. He drapes them loosely around his shoulders, but they are stiff with seasalt. Fortunately, you will both have an opportunity to wash.

When the room is ready, the innkeeper’s wife escorts you upstairs. She has prepared a bath in the bedchamber.

Jisung departs for a moment, just long enough to wash himself in another room. His outer robes are taken to be washed along with your grimy shift, though he stays in his shirt and pants as a kingsguard is not supposed to wear anything but his uniform. His spare robes are in his saddlebags.

You wash your hair while the bath water is hot. You try to focus on the heat, the water sluicing over your skin. You fight to keep your panic down as you think about encountering the king tomorrow.

You are wringing out your hair when the door opens. At first, you think it is the innkeeper’s wife returning for some reason. When you see it is Jisung, you duck down so the water covers your shoulders.

Jisung stumbles to a stop, eyes widening when he sees you in the tub.

“Oh!” he says. He spins around and walks right into the door.

You cover your mouth, watching as he stumbles back into the room, holding his face. For such a skilled swordsman, he can be remarkably clumsy.

“Are you okay?” you ask. You kneel in the deep tub, pressing yourself to the edge so it covers everything sensitive.

“Fine,” he says, pinching his nose. He waves a hand in your direction. “Fine. Sorry. They told me you were washing, just not in a bath.”

“They just sent you in here?” you ask. “Why?”

“Uh, well, I mean…” He dances over the threshold, rocking back and forth with uncertainty. He keeps his back to you. “I mean, it, uh, it is my job to, um, watch you.”

“In the bath?” you ask dryly.

“Well, everywhere.” He pinches his nose again and takes a breath. “It’s not unusual. The vows and – you know. The kingsguard is a different order. The gods see everything and we serve the gods. It, uh, it is fairly normal for at least one guard to be around at all times, regardless how the king… or queen… is… um… occupied.”

You feel a bit flushed, not just from the hot water.

“At all times?” you ask.

“Yup,” he says, popping the syllable. “The king used to have Felix stand guard in the room all night, even when he was with his mistress and ohhh wait a minute. Wait a minute. Hold on. I think I just put something together. Yeah, wow, okay. That was probably a bad idea for everyone involved.”

He always makes you laugh, even when you feel anxious or embarrassed. It untangles that knot of dread faster than anything else.

You fold your arms on the rim of the tub and rest your cheek there. He is still standing with his back to you, the door open. It is letting in a slight draft.

“Jisung,” you say. “It’s your duty. It’s fine. Can you please come inside and close the door? It’s getting cold.”

“Ah. Right. Okay. Sorry.” He finally enters the room, though he pointedly does not look in your direction. He busies himself with closing and bolting the door, taking far too long testing the locks.

His hair is a bit damp. He runs his fingers through it and your own fingers twitch. You have never wondered what it would feel like to run your fingers through someone else’s hair, not until now. His hair looks like it would be pleasant to the touch.

You shake your head and look away. Such foolish thoughts. You settle in your bath and leave Jisung to his busy work. He inspects every corner of the room and verifies the windows are securely sealed and locked. Eventually, he seats himself in a chair near the fireplace, warming his hands and staring into the flames.

You absently splash a bit of water, watching the droplets plink around you. Your thoughts stray to the king then his absent mistress. You cannot imagine any woman willingly and happily submitting to that man. You wonder when she and her kingsguard connected. You are glad she got away. You hope it stays that way for their sake.

Your own future is less certain. The king wants you dead. You do not know if he will make another attempt soon or if he will concede defeat for the time being. You already know he will never like you. It is obvious he is not that type of man. He was born to power, raised believing he was divine. Rather than use that blessing to aid his people, it has given him a cruel sense of superiority over them.

The best outcome is that he will decide it is too much work to kill you.

Or maybe death would be better. You thought so last night, which seems so long ago now. You remember the king’s violent hands on you, the demands he made, the way he looked right through you, treating you like a wretched thing. You shudder to think he intended to hurt and use you, knowing he was planning to kill you the next day.

“Are you all right?”

Jisung’s voice draws you out of your reverie. You are slouched in the tub, the water preserving your modesty at his distant vantage. His face is illuminated in the firelight, the flickering light revealing his obvious concern. Those dark eyes are wide as they gaze at you.

“Yes,” you say. He lifts a disbelieving eyebrow in reply. You cross your arms over your chest, though it is your heart that feels exposed. “No,” you whisper. You whisper every last word, as though you can conceal it from the gods even while their servant listens. “I’m sorry, Jisung. I know he’s the king. I know he is heaven’s earthly sovereign. I know I’m his wife. I know, no matter what he has done, if he has done anything, I have a responsibility, but I—” You wipe your tears when they start to fall. You sink a little lower in the tub.

Your posture gives away your discomfort. Jisung stands. He goes to the bed where the innkeeper laid out a robe for you. He smooths it out and picks it up.

“Here,” he says.

He does not look when you step out of the tub. He wraps the robe around your body. The fleeting contact makes you shiver. You pass each other, avoiding each other’s eyes. He returns to his seat by the fire and you sit on the edge of the bed.

The room is quiet except for the crackling of the flames.

“It’s not right,” he says after a moment.

You were picking at lint on the robe, your thoughts asunder, but you look at him now.

“Pardon?” you ask in a small voice.

He grimaces. His hand is curled in a fist. He unclenches it slowly, then occupies his hands by removing his sword belt. He holds the weapon in his hands, running his thumb across the silver hilt while he frowns.

“It’s not just because you’re the queen,” he says. “You’re— you’re kind. You’re good. Your people cried when you left. The king’s people only cry when he returns. The way you talked to the villagers... The respect between you... The way you… the way you were good to those children…”

You recall the story of his own childhood, a poor peasant boy on the capital streets with nothing to his name but a song.

He rubs his forehead, then shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t have to suffer,” he says. “No one should. But you... It’s not right. It’s not right.”

“I’m not special, really,” you say, not even to be self-deprecating but because you can see him sinking into his thoughts. You do not want him hurting for your sake.

“You are! You’re the queen!” he exclaims. “By the will of the gods! And I really do believe that. Because you... You are everything.”

You jump when he drops his sword at his feet, the metal clattering on the wooden floor. He puts his hands together as if he intends to pray, but then he looks at you, aglow in the firelight.

“Your Majesty,” he says. “You are good and kind and funny and gentle. You are a heaven-sent queen. You are everything I ever dreamed of worshipping.”

Your wild heart breaks free. It is not with the pounding terror of adrenaline, but like a drumbeat, low and steady, a rhythm that has you taking a long, shuddering breath.

No words suffice in reply. You sit in tense silence until the innkeeper’s wife knocks at the door. She has come to empty and clear away the tub.

Jisung lets her in. You smile and chat while she works – because she adamantly refuses to let you help – and she confirms everything is to your liking. You assure her that everything is perfect and she can be proud of her work. Jisung watches silently the whole time, leaning against the fireplace, loosely holding his sword.

When the room is clear and the bed turned down, the woman leaves, and the silence feels even heavier than before. You sit on the bed in your robe, drying your hair with a cloth. Jisung locks the door then takes his seat by the fire again. You suppose he is going to stay there all night.

He slouches very low, his elbow propped on the armrest and his hand on his face. His knees are spread wide enough that you can imagine kneeling between them. You do not know what would follow, just that you want to be there.

Yes, you want that, you realize. You want to be there, looking up at him with a reverence equal to his words. It would be easier than finding something to say. Your gaze would speak for you, in a position that should be reserved for the king and the gods.

You know you cannot do that. Your roles are very different. When he says speaks of devotion and worship, it as a kingsguard, not a man, even if your heart aches – because whether or not it is blasphemous to imagine, you would worship a man like that all the same.

The very thought has you breathing a harder. You imagine him looking down at you, his hand your face like before – guiding, gentle, good. You cannot imagine Jisung ever touching you the way the king did. No, it would be different. The king seized your waist with a proprietary aggression. Jisung has touched your waist again and again, always to help you, always to protect you. You know that touch would not hurt. You know that touch would not leave you curled in pain for hours afterwards.

You know what it would not be, though you cannot imagine what it would be. You just know the thought makes you tremble.

But that is not your fate. It is ridiculous to imagine. It will be the king in this room tomorrow night.

You tremble for a different reason.

“He’s going to hurt me,” you whisper. You are not sure if you even want to Jisung to hear, but you simply cannot keep it inside. You speak, like if it leaves your mouth it will materialize and you can face it, fight it.

That does not happen. You just shiver worse.

“Even if he doesn’t kill me,” you say. “He’s going to hurt me. He already tried once. I won’t be able to stop him again.”

You dare a glance at Jisung. He is staring at you with those wide, sympathetic eyes. After a moment of contemplation, he stands. He paces a little, back and forth, seemingly debating himself in his head. It turns to incoherent muttering as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Jisung—” you say, prepared to apologize. It is not appropriate for the queen to complain to a kingsguard about her duties. You are putting him in a difficult space, because he is a good man who does not want to see you suffer, but he is a holy man and he should demand you pray and do as the gods bid you.

Instead he claps his hands together and sighs a musical sigh.

“There are—” His voice breaks and he laughs, a nervous little giggle before clearing his throat. He says more seriously, “There are, uh, ways – things – um – yes – that you can do – so it doesn’t – so it doesn’t hurt.”

“Ways,” you repeat slowly. “Things.”

“Yes,” he says, gesturing nonsensically, waving at nothing. “Ways. And things.”

“What ways and things?”

“You know.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“You do?”

“Ahhh…” Jisung looks sheepish, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He gives you a too-toothy smile. In spite of everything, warmth moves inside you, a bright and delightful joy, even if it is temporary. “Well, um. I’m chaste, obviously, so I don’t – I don’t know much. But I maybe know some things… There’s a ritual the kingsguards do… before they are, um, initiated…”

“Do…?” you say. You wave him onward with an amused smile.

“Uh, yes.” He stands ramrod straight and clasps his hands behind his back. “Don’t tell anyone I said anything, but, um. They send you to a brothel. It’s for a decent reason!” His hands fly out again, waving defensively even though you did not say anything.

You prop your elbow on your knee and your head on your fist, more entertained with his ranting than anything.

“You know,” Jisung says, speaking as much with his hands as his words, “They just want to make sure you are actually going to be okay with a vow of chastity, especially if you’re a virgin like, um, like I was. Am. Was. Am. Anyway. They don’t want a Felix situation, you know? Where you change your mind later. The vows are a serious, serious, serious thing. Felix was an exception, that whole thing was just – it was crazy, you know? But the vows. The vows. Oh, I was ready for the vows. My life… it wasn’t great, you know? I was worthless. I was a street kid. I was a thief. I came back from the war to nothing. The kingsguard gave me a reason to live. So I wasn’t tempted, oh nooo, I was never tempted. But they, um, they sent me anyway to make sure I knew what I was giving up.”

“I see,” you say. You want to correct him when he insults himself, but you suspect he will deflect any argument. Instead you ask, “What happened then?”

“Um, a very nice lady took me to a room,” he says. “I told her what I told you. I was ready for the kingsguard. I had my calling. I was finally going to matter. My friend had helped me and I couldn’t let him down.”

“And what did she say?”

“She just… listened,” he says, looking a bit fond in his recollection. You find yourself feeling a little jealous, not so much because he is thinking of someone affectionately, but because you have no one to think of that way. You have done your duty and reserved yourself and your affections for marriage, only to be given a very unaffectionate man.

You can only watch as Jisung reflects and says, “She said she knew a lot of men like me which, personally, I don’t think is true, I’m one of a kind, thank you. But she said, um… she asked if I wanted to, um, watch her. Touch herself, I mean. And, um, I, uh, did. Just to, you know, make sure. It didn’t count anyway because I didn’t touch her. It, um. Yes. Yes. That happened. So now I know ways and things.”

You blink at him. His awkward story-telling coupled with the twisting narrative leaves you more than a little perplexed.

“Touch herself,” you finally say. “Touch herself how? What does that mean?”

Jisung squeaks. He looks at you pleadingly, as if you can rescue him from the conversation he started.

“You don’t…” he says. It starts desperate but turns a little morose, his shoulders flattening with a sorrowful defeat. “No,” he says softly. “You don’t know anything, do you?”

He does not say it offensively but you bristle at the accusation regardless. You sit straight and lift your chin.

“I know exactly what we are talking about, thank you,” you say. “I am not a child, Jisung. I was raised to know my duty as a wife. I am very aware of what copulation entails.”

He raises his hands in surrender, not pushing the subject. You sit there, maintaining an air of haughty disinterest while he takes his seat again. He rubs his bare arms, absent-mindedly squeezing a bicep as he massages himself.

Watching someone touch herself, repeats in your head, your eyes on his hands as they move up his arm, rubbing his own shoulder.

Your wild heart gets the better of you.

“Do you mean… it doesn’t always hurt?” you ask in a slurred rush. When he looks at you, you look away, ashamed as you say, “I still don’t know what you mean by ways and things.”

“Well...” His tone is kind, patient. He waves a hand through the air. “I just mean… No. No, it doesn’t always hurt. Or it shouldn’t hurt, at least. So I’m told. I’m, uh, chaste. Obviously.”

“But you’ve seen a woman touch herself.”

“Yes.” The tips of his ears go red, or maybe it is the firelight. He scratches the back of his neck.

“And that… helps,” you say. “So it doesn’t hurt?”

“Yes, I think so,” he says, rubbing his hands together in a nervous fidget. “Again, I don’t really know for sure because I’m chaste.”

Yes, you know, especially with his constant reiteration of that fact. He has given you much to think about, though. Everyone always told you that a wife’s nightly duty was a painful, unpleasant thing, something to be endured to keep a husband content and create children.

You feel very foolish, much like you did last night when you tried and failed to run away. You have always considered yourself very intellectual and pragmatic, but lately you are feeling so many foreign things, encountering the world for the first time. It makes you feel younger than your age.

That anxiety twists in you again, its tangles and knots familiar by now. It is the nervous kind of adrenaline as you consider your next words carefully.

“Could you…” You cannot look at him, staring at the fire while you speak. “Could you… instruct me?”

“In-instruct you.” His voice breaks again. It feels as though you are both pubescent fools, falling over each other as you dart around this perilous subject.

When you look at him, your eyes meet, and that twisting anxiety becomes something else entirely. It burns hot as the fire, coiling inside you like some impossible, holy flame.

“Just… just so I know,” you say. “I don’t expect you to do anything like – oh, Jisung, I would never ask that, you know I would never. You’re a kingsguard.”

“I’m a kingsguard,” he repeats, like for a second he wasn’t sure.

“Yes, of course,” you say. “I’m sorry. It was a foolish question. I just – I trust you. And I just hoped—” Hope. Something you should stop doing. The gods have made their decision and there are no prayers that will move them. You must resign yourself to your fate, whatever that is. “Forget it,” you say. “I know my place. Whatever happens, whatever he does –I will bear it. I will.”

You smile a forced smile, but it is bright and encouraging. It usually fools people.

Jisung does not smile back. He runs his hand through his hair again. He takes a long, deep breath, and releases it as slowly. You swear, it is as loud as the flames, louder than the thunderous heart in your chest.

Despite it all, you keep smiling, determined to mask your emotions.

Then he looks at you and your mask immediately crumbles. Why do his eyes have this effect?

“Come here,” he says.

When the king commanded you, your body felt weak, terror coursing through your veins. It felt like an injury, so discombobulating that it incapacitated you long after.

Your body feels weak now, but the terror is not the same, not that dark, cold dread. It courses hotly, like the water on your skin, like the heat in this room, like the look in his eyes. You try to convince yourself that your body is just sore from so much riding and running, so of course your legs feel shaky as you stand and approach him.

But you know. You know. Well before you reach him, well before he guides you towards the floor-length mirror, you know.

You look at your reflection. You almost do not recognize the woman looking back at you, so undone when she has always been so meticulously composed. No emotions got in, no feelings got out, no wants were had, and no disappointments either. Now your eyes burn too, meeting his through the reflection.

He carefully, gently, gathers the hair that is loose around your shoulders. You shiver, fingers twitching, that coiled heat unravelling. He draws your hair back, guiding it over your shoulders and down your back. He briefly runs his fingers through half-damp curls. He stares at his hands, eyes wide like he is holding some much more precious than hair.

He swallows. With a final pat, he lets go. His hands fall to his sides where they curl into tightly bound fists.

“I can’t touch you,” he says. “That’s not – I’m not – I mean.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “This is not that. But you’re the queen and you shouldn’t suffer. It’s just not right, okay?” He looks at you again through the mirror, eyes shiny and sad. “I’m a kingsguard,” he says. “It’s my duty to protect you. From everything.” He smiles weakly. “Let me show you how to protect yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, surprised by the rasp of your voice.

“Okay,” he says, rasping too. He clasps his hands behind his back, standing straight as if preparing for a military inspection. “I’m a kingsguard,” he repeats. You know that, so you are not sure who he keeps reassuring. “I’m not – I’m not looking at you like that, okay?”

“I trust you.”

“Right. Right. Um.”

His hands are restless. At his sides, behind his back, now crossed protectively over his chest. You find yourself looking at the subtle curve of his bicep.

“Lower your robe,” he says. Your startled eyes dart up the mirrored reflection. “Just as much as you want,” he says gently.

You stare at him through the mirror. You never imagined your own eyes could look so heated, but they are twin to his, and you see a sort of beauty in yourself because of what you see in him.

You shrug the robe down your shoulders. He pointedly does not look down, keeping his eyes on yours. That is for the best. That is for the best?

You let it fall a little more. You feel the flickering heat of the nearby fire, warming your skin as it is revealed. Your heart jumps at the sensation, the feeling of exposure.

You forget how to breathe. In that held breath, you let the whole thing spill to the floor in a soft puddle of fabric.

He blinks, once, twice. On the third, his eyes dart down, but just as quickly up. He swallows. His voice shakes as he says, “Close your eyes.”

You look at those warm brown eyes one more time before obeying. You slip into the dreamy darkness, acutely aware of the world around you. Everything feels more pronounced. You feel every touch of heat like a burning mark, his breath like a kiss on the back of your neck. That coiling heat tightens again.

“What now?” you ask.

“Bring your fingers to your lips. Yeah, like that.”

You raise your hand, resting two fingertips on your bottom lip. You feel his slow exhale.

“Kiss them,” he says. The word kiss feels like a touch. “On your tongue.”

It feels a little ridiculous but you do as he says, wetting the tips of your fingers. It does not garner any particular sensation. No, pleasure comes from knowing he is watching. You cannot see him, but you know his gaze is fixated on you, rivetted to every movement to ensure you comply with his instructions.

It makes that heat turn molten.

“Okay,” he says, his voice a much lower rasp than before. He clears his throat but it still comes out rough when he says, “Touch your neck – on your pulse, right there – slowly. Slowly. Bring your fingers down your throat.”

You do so, shivering a little at the wet trail it leaves as you trace your fingers from your jaw to your collarbone.

“Does it feel like a kiss?” he asks.

At his suggestion, the touch no longer feels like yours. You imagine him in front of you, his open mouth, his tongue darting past his lips. Your whole body tightens and that heat rushes inside you. You imagine him taking his time, his tongue travelling from your jaw to your chest.

“Oh,” you say, a musical note of a sound. You hear his breath catch. “Yes.”

“Good.” He clears his throat again. “Keep – keep doing – that. Bring your hand – yes.” His voice gets softer, barely more than a whisper as you bring your fingers down the curve of your breast. “Yes. Like that.”

“Like this,” you repeat. It is easier to follow instinct with your eyes closed, listening to the beat of your own heart, the call of your own skin. You trace your fingers around the tip of your breast, where the peak is already stiff. You breathe harder, your heart faster, as it sends a shock of sensation firing through your body. “Oh. Is this what you meant?” The small touch feels torturous. You cup your whole breast and squeeze. The pleasure leaves you trembling.

“Yes,” he says. “But there’s, um. There’s more.”

“More?” You already feel dizzy. You never knew so many sensations were hidden under the surface of your skin. You cannot imagine what else is waiting.

“Lower,” he says.

There is a leap in your bloodstream as you obey. You chase it to no conclusion as the caress of your waist does not feel like much.

“No, um.” He moves; you can hear him. Maybe his hands are making gestures, maybe he is running his fingers through his hair. His voice is still rough so he clears his throat again. “To—towards the – the centre. The centre of your – body.”

Your hand hovers above your middle. You feel flushed, suddenly understanding his direction. Your apprehension must show, because he says softly, “You don’t have to. You can just—”

“I want to,” you say. The truth spills out of you in a rush. You want. You have never wanted so much. It has never been so clear in your voice.

“You do?” he repeats.

You answer by following the call of desire and touching the only place that makes sense. You make a noise when you do, surprised when you find evidence of all that coiling heat, wet on your fingertips.

“Are you – are you wet?” he asks.

You nod. “Is that good?”

“Yes,” he says. “That’s – that’s good. Very good.”

You soak in the praise, humming a sweet little sound as you move your fingers inexpertly. You brush somewhere sensitive, feeling like you have struck every nerve at once. Your gasping cry gives it away.

“There,” he says. “Right there. Touch yourself. Don’t stop.”

You shuffle your feet apart, just a little. A jolt of pleasure shoots down your body when he nudges your bare foot with his booted one, easing your legs further apart. He does not address it so neither do you, accepting it as a simple gesture of help.

“You can use your other hand,” he says, because one is between your legs and the other is just curled at your side.

You take his advice and cup a sensitive breast with your free hand. The noise you make will embarrass you later as it echoes in your mind, but right now you let it carry you away.

You cannot use both hands for long. Your free hand moves through the air, grasping at nothing. You need an anchor. Your legs are shaking and you are swimming in the darkness of your closed eyes. Spots of colour begin to dance across your shielded vision, twirling in dizzying motions. Your core feels tight.

“Oh – Jisung. Jisung, I—”

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice more strained than ever. “Trust me. Don’t stop.”

“Trust you,” you murmur. It sends another wave of heat rolling through you. The dizziness overwhelms, your legs buckling. You reach behind you instinctively and blindly reach for him.

He catches you, his soldier instincts fast. Your eyes fly open as you crash into his chest, so much of your weight supported in the clasp of his arms. His eyes look so dark, almost a solid black, his whole face flushed as if he was the one exerting himself.

You whimper at the sight of him, at the sight of yourself in his arms, all sloping curves and fire-hot skin, soft and naked against his firm, darkly-clothed body.

You feel his hands on your sides, clutching you tightly, his front slotted along your backside. His clothes brush your too-sensitive skin, his hands hot on your body.

You move just a little, rearing up under your own hand. When you shift, you feel him, his body behind you. He is undeniably hard, straining at the material of his uniform.

He sucks in a breath, his groan a low, scraping sound, but he does nothing about his own desire, even while it makes you gasp.

He does not dare move his hands. He does not dare look away from your eyes in the mirror.

“Come to me,” he rasps. “I got you.”

All that coiling tension gives way. It feels like the moment the cosmos shifted, when the world disappeared under you, when you crashed through the surface of the water and felt as though you entered another world. You see stars and your body throbs under your fingers. Your mind is gone, your body in animalistic pursuit, needing him, pressing against him.

“Shhh,” he says gently. You are gasping, every breath a watery sound. He exhales roughly, his own arms trembling. Even his breath is shaking, his nose pressed to your temple as he holds you for another second. “Shhh,” he says again. “That was good. You’re okay.”

“Oh.” It is all you can say. You slowly withdraw your hand, your fingers embarrassingly wet.

You are not sure what possesses you. Perhaps the same instinct that compels you to clean blood off a finger pricked from needlework. Whatever it is, you listen to that instinct and bring those fingers to your lips to suck the evidence away.

“Good fucking gods,” he says, his eyes wide.

He abruptly lets go and steps back. Fortunately, you have your footing now, so you do not fall, but it leaves a chill along your exposed backside. You shiver.

He looks around the floor for your discarded robe. When he sees it, he swift dives down to gather the material in his hands.

He is on his knees when you turn around.

For a long moment, he stays down there, staring at the fabric crinkling in his hands. His knuckles lighten with the intense strength of his grip.

“Jisung?” you say softly. With your adrenaline dwindling, you feel shy. Even so, your heart is still an erratic thing. It seems physical release cannot temper whatever has taken hold of that creature. It continues to pound and stomp as Jisung lifts his head.

“Your Majesty,” he says, his voice so shot it is barely above a breath.

You feel a jolt inside you, some trembling aftershock, intensified because he looks at you. Oh, he looks at you, forgetting himself at that vantage, his eyes everywhere from the curve of your knee to the slope of your thighs. Shiny brown eyes roam slower than a lover’s touch to the place between your legs, up the curve of your waist, your heaving breasts, and meeting your eyes with a near-crazed desperation.

“Jisung,” you say, a whisper as well.

He drops his head again, cursing under his breath as he closes his eyes. He shifts to one knee then finally rises, stumbling a little once upright. He wraps the robe around you without any delay, then he throws his hands out to his sides like he is issuing surrender.

“Good,” he says, avoiding your face, avoiding everything as he stumbles towards the fireplace and his discarded sword.

You close the robe around yourself. You do not know what to say. Words seem woefully insufficient, especially with his frantic energy as he fumbles with his sword belt, fighting to get it secured around his waist.

“Thank you,” you finally say. You sit on the end of the bed, holding the neck of the robe closed, looking at him with nothing but raw and open emotion. “I – I don’t know what else to say.”

He stares back at you, a hand on the hilt of his sword. The other sits over his midsection, curls around his belt. He looks like he might burst into flames, all that white and gold flashing behind him.

“If I can ever repay you…” you say.

You don’t mean it like that, but his eyes flash with want – unmistakable desire, then terror.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he says, bowing low. “You owe me nothing. You’re my – you’re my queen.”

He moves so quickly, it makes you jump, raising from his bow and striding across the room. He is at the door in a matter of seconds, his hand practically crashing onto the lock. There, it freezes, his fingers curled around the iron.

You stare at him. His shoulders are tense, lifting and falling with his deep breathing. Your lips part though you have no idea what to say. There is a feeling inside you but you cannot name it, cannot catch it with your voice. You can only take another breath.

He whips back around. You jump again. Before you can even think to move or speak, he is back in front of you. He slams down onto his knees and bows again, more frantic than before, the top of his head hitting your legs.

You reach for him instinctively, the curve of his neck looking so desolate and desperate. He seizes your hands before they can touch them, bringing them together then to his lips. He kisses your knuckles, though it such a hard and needy press, it feels more like a collision. You feel his lips and the bump of his teeth. He hisses on an exhale and drops your hands.

Without another word, he stands. He marches to the door. This time he does not hesitate, flicking open the locks. He steps into the hall without looking back. The door closes between you.

You hear his body hit the door, the drag of it as he sinks to the ground. He is sitting on the floor outside.

You move towards that door without thinking. You sink to your knees as well, pressing your ear to the wood. You can hear him breathing on the other side – heaving, frantic breaths that almost sounds like crying.

Perhaps it all the sensation catching up to you, but your own eyes fill with tears as you slump against the door. You fall asleep there, listening to each other with the divider between you.

#han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #jisung x reader #jisung smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #han jisung x you #skz x you #stray kids x you #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction

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clare-875 · 1 month

Text

One touch (Levi x Reader)

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Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader Summary: When you find yourself cornered, Levi saves you Warnings: angst to fluff, sexual harassment/assault, men being pigs, Levi swearing Note: The above image does NOT belong to me [AOT Masterlist]

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I'm used to it. That was what kept you unflinchingly moving past them, even when their dirty words were hushed in the air. I'll ignore it. Those were the words you chanted to yourself, so you could get through the day without nausea and rage dictating your actions, even as they tried to gather your attention. There's nothing I can do. That was the notion you fell into as you made excuses for your lack of action, your lack of saying anything about the matter, even or maybe especially to Levi. But despite the constant rhythm of your words reverberating through your head, it didn't change the fact that you couldn't escape. You couldn't escape them.

Every day these past weeks, high-ranking officers from deep within the walls had come to Scout Headquarters; for what you didn't know. Perhaps it had to do with rising suspicions on the integrity of Erwin, and thus they were sent to merely observe or criticize. Perhaps it was the rising stakes now with Eren and his ability to become a Titan prompting more eyes pointed our way. Whatever it was you did not care. But somehow it still had everything to do with you. You were well known both within the Scouts and in the general public: The one that could keep up with humanity's strongest soldier; Levi. But you were also known for other traits, mostly the way you visually stood out amongst a crowd. It never bothered you how "distracting" this could be, but never had you thought it would cause you the trouble it did now.

Each time you passed the higher ranking officers, yet to face any consequence by your fist or your words, they would start to whisper. Scouts knew better than to mess with you, not only as a Captain of the Scout Regiment who commanded respect but by the partner of Levi. They knew what would happen if he heard even a glimmer of disrespect and god forbid the heinous acts of the higher-ranking officers who taunt you now. Their voices had grown louder with the passing days, bolder by the power they yielded. Yes, their power; their status. Had it been any other low-ranking officer he would've hit the dirt before the next sly comment left his mouth, but you could scarcely do anything to them. The Scouts were already on high alert, and you couldn't make matters worse. What you failed to realise was that their boldness would soon seep not only into their disgusting words but into their actions. You got used to the suggestive comments you got as you passed. You kept your head high, unflinching as you walked; as though you had heard nothing at all.

But you weren't used to this.

They had you cornered, about five of them.

Your heart churns more in disgust than fear, you would result to that much less willingly; you wouldn't give them what they so obviously wanted. "I'm sorry, but I have to be on my way Erwin will-" You try to maintain the benefit of the doubt, not that there was doubt in the first place; you knew what they wanted. "Erwin can wait, can't he darling?" A hand of one man reaches out towards you and you grit your teeth, bile rising in the back of your throat at their intentions. You can see it in the depths of their sinister eyes; their lust. You smack his hand away before it goes to caress your face and you see the first break of the facade; a flash of irritation on the first man's face. "I hope I'm not misunderstanding here gentlemen, but it seems you want something I won't offer." Two more men come from behind the first, shit-eating grins on their faces at your words.

"You understand just right sweetheart." One grabs your left hand forcefully backwards as you struggle, surprised by his underlying strength. "But don't worry, we'll take care of you." The other man brings his face close to yours as he restrains your right hand to the wall behind you and suddenly, you are encapsulated by panic. You had failed to realise that despite rotting away deep within Wall Sina, these officers still had military training, and were still strong compared to you, especially when you dealt with five. You refused to give in so quickly though, moving to kick one of the men forcefully and you do so, much to your satisfaction. The man groans out in pain, hearing the crack of a rib under the power of your foot. You then move quickly going to rid of the man who looks up in shock at your sudden movements, grip almost faltering on your right wrist. But you are stopped.

The fist that is about to collide with the next man is held back as the first man holds it within his grasp tightly. "Do you really want to do that now sweetheart? Do you know what we could do to the Scout Regiment? Erwin? Levi?" You freeze at his words, chest constricting at the intent behind them. They could bring the regiment to ruins if they so wished, one misleading report could have the Scouts under investigation. Would you be so willing to be the cause? But you would never let these men get away with any of this. You are so lost in your thoughts the four men who still stand use the opportunity to hold you down and your heart lurches in your chest. "W-wait." Your voice is strained against their hold as you feel the tightness of their fierce grip, knowing it will leave bruises. "W-wait! I said n-"

"What the fuck is going on here?"

Suddenly all comes to a halt. Suddenly the grip on your wrists loosens and the four men step away. Never. Never had you felt such relief at the sound of your lover's voice. Levi meets your glossy gaze and instantly his face morphs into one of pure rage; of the deathly intent to kill. His mind is swift at putting the dots together, realising what he had just witnessed. He moves forward grasping one man harshly who stutters out excuses before he is slammed to the ground in one deadly movement. "I asked a fucking question." He then elbows before punching another man against his head, who is knocked out in a second. "Can you guys not listen? Can you shits not hear?" The three remaining men cower under the anger of Humanity's Strongest Soldier. "Fucking pigs, don't touch my woman."

You have never seen the true depths of his strength and his speed until this moment, you have never seen such fear in men's eyes. He moved as if to murder, blood on his knuckles but more that splattered from those he beat up relentlessly. He didn't care who they were, he wouldn't care if one of them were the king of the walls. All he knew was that they touched you. The one he swore to protect. He was relentless. You saw the rebounding forms of the men who yelled out, trying desperately to escape his outrage. You knew of Levi's background; he wasn't above mercy. The men were soon covered, adorned with black and blue, crimson seeping deep upon their skin. But Levi never faltered, there was a mad look in his eyes; one you would only see beyond the walls. Despite wanting to witness their torture as much as Levi wanted to witness their deaths, you knew what would happen if he was left to these men any further so you reached out to him.

"L-Levi."

He responds to your hesitant voice instantly, hears the slight tremble in it and feels hatred brim within him ten-fold. "Levi, please, we can't- we can't." Levi knows what you are trying to say, but only stops when you pull him to your side and he sees the torment deep within your gaze. Scouts scurry around you as they notice the five bleeding men looking in shock at the high-ranking officers who now seem more dead than alive. Their eyes go to Levi and his stained knuckles but he merely stares back at them harshly. "Clean up the blood, now." The Scouts nod quickly at his deathly glare as they scurry to get the supplies. Levi goes to the only man who remains conscious, groaning as he brings him up to his face by his shirt collar. "You look at her, touch her ever again, you're dead, understand?" The man has enough decency to have a flicker of fear flash within his eyes and nod, as Levi drops him to the ground before coming back towards you. His grip is tight on your hand as he drags you away from the scene to which you are still in a daze.

You only seem to register the events that have conspired when you finally reach the room you and Levi shared. Levi was pacing up and down as he turned to you. "How long?" You look up in surprise at the tormented look on his face. "How long [y/n]?" You flinch at his sharpness before looking to the ground. "Weeks- I don't know, since they arrived. I couldn't- I couldn't do anything." There is a deep silence in the room and suddenly you are afraid. Would he berate you now, would you meet his anger? Worse, would you meet his disgust? Unbeknownst to you Levi looks to you in utter defeat, in utter rage at himself. He had promised to keep you safe from all that threatened you and yet you had felt it so necessary to hide your blatant discomfort and pain. All for the sake of the Scouts.

He reaches out, hand skimming yours before he holds it. He witnesses the light bruising of fingers upon your wrist and he fights the urge to go back to the men and finish the job. You look up eyes wide and tears brimming within them. He meets your gaze briefly before moving forward and you are shocked to be in his warm embrace. You lean your head against his chest, emotions suddenly overcoming you. "You should've told me." You shake your head against him gently but his grip is sure as he makes you face him and he sees the sheen of tears in your eyes. Hatred brims within him again at the sight of your afflicted state. "I would've you know, I would've killed them." You sigh deeply, leaning your head against his chest once more in defeat. "You know you can't." But Levi's gaze is far off as he holds you against him. "One touch; you know I would."

Needless to say, once Erwin was informed discreetly of the underlying situation, the men were stripped of their titles and sent away immediately. You never found out if Levi ever stuck to his uttered words but you also never saw the men ever again.

#levi ackerman #aot #levi aot #levi x y/n #reader insert #x reader #aot x reader #captain levi #levi x reader #anime x reader #angst to fluff #levixreader #angst/fluff #comfort #levi comfort

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jayteacups · 10 months

Text

It's A Wrap!

Working on Attack on Titan as a makeup artist has irreversibly changed your life. As the end rapidly approaches, you find that letting go is harder than you’d thought. After years of harbouring feelings for Levi that you can’t divulge, his final day on set arrives. You know it’s time to say goodbye to him and part ways—but maybe you don’t have to.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader

Tags & warnings: Actor!Levi, Makeup artist!Reader, fluff, confessions, friends/idiots to lovers, alcohol consumption, briefly implied sexual content, AOT finale spoilers

Word count: 6.9k words

A/N: I’m back, happy Levi month everyone! I wrote this over the last month to cope with the fact AOT was ending and also life stuff. This is incredibly self indulgent, also I would love to tell more stories and scenarios in this AU, so this probably won’t be the last one-shot I write for actor!Levi and MUA!Reader hehehe. Disclaimer that I don't work in film or TV or makeup, sorry if there are any inaccuracies. Also please forgive me for the uncreative title, lol. Hope you enjoy the fic!

Levi’s last day on set is bittersweet.

For the final time, you lean against the wall and count down the seconds on your watch. The trailer door swings open to reveal the man of the hour. On par for the course, Levi arrives fifteen minutes on the dot before his scheduled arrival time. He’s holding his usual steaming flask of tea in one hand, with a nondescript rucksack (save for a Badtz-Maru keychain gifted to him from the Sanrio collaboration) slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” you greet him, pushing off from the wall, moving towards him like a moth to flame. He sets down his things in the sitting area and meets you halfway, letting you pull him into your arms. After years of working alongside each other, you’ve both grown accustomed to greeting each other like this in private, especially after the stress the two of you had put yourselves under during the Season 3 shoots.

“How are you feeling? It’s your last day.” You ask him as the two of you part. To your dismay, you’re already missing the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m fine. I’m not going to get all sappy about it.” His face is placid.

“That’s what Hange said when they filmed their death scene, and we saw how that ended,” you say lightheartedly. Hange had sworn to remain jovial and upbeat throughout their last day, but after seeing the several other actors cry at their phenomenal acting, they had promptly broken down. “And I bet you anything that Eren’s going to say that when he and Mikasa do the cabin scene next week, and we all know he’ll be the first to start crying and the last to stop.”

Levi rolls his eyes before he enters the wardrobe area, but you know he’s not serious. “If you think I’m going to break down in tears like Hange and the kids did, you’re dead wrong,” he continues, out of sight.

You smile. “Sure. It’s alright, you know, if you do end up crying. It’s an end of an era, we’re all going to get emotional.”

A few moments later, Levi emerges in costume, sans the bandages. He sits down in front of the mirror at the vanity table. “Yes, but I’m satisfied with what I’ve done here, and I have no regrets,” he muses out loud, continuing on from before. “And it’s not like I’m done with the show. There’s the wrap party, then the press tour and all that. So don’t expect me to get all worked up today. I’m not saying goodbye to Attack on Titan just yet.” His voice softens towards the end.

But it is goodbye for us, you wish to say. And I don’t want it to be. You haven’t been contracted for any of their press events. After you finish with Attack on Titan, you’ll have a handful of weeks before your upcoming contract for a new show begins. It’s a wonderful opportunity; the show is airing on a major streaming service and requires you to push your SFX skills to the limit. Sasha had been cast in one of the main roles and both Onyankopon and Nifa will make appearances too, so you’ll see some familiar faces on this new project. But selfishly, you aren’t ready to let go and move forward. Selfishly, you aren’t ready to part ways with Levi.

Sure, the two of you will make an effort to talk every now and then. You know him far better than to assume he’ll stop talking to you the moment Attack on Titan is finished; despite him being standoffish at first, it’s clear Levi cares deeply about everybody he’s ever worked with, cast or crew alike. But the chances of your demanding schedules ever lining up again are close to zero, and sooner or later, your frequent messages will fizzle out into a conversation lost to the ages. You’ll drift, until the two of you are strangers once more. It’s inevitable; you’ve seen it happen before with your actor friends from old projects. No doubt it’ll happen again.

You consider addressing the elephant in the room, wondering if it lingers on his mind, too. But instead, you hum in agreement and pass him a headband to hold his hair out of the way. He puts it on, clearly content to not bring it up just yet.

Levi chews on the inside of his cheek as you sort out your equipment on the vanity table. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his lips, which are a little more chapped than usual. It’s clear there is something else that’s bothering him, but you decide to let it go for now. Sometimes Levi just needs to sit with his thoughts for a moment. You’ve learned that being pushed just makes him close himself off even more. A life in the limelight can be unforgiving. Kuchel Ackerman had been the brightest star of her generation, but behind the scenes, her personal life was far from glamorous. It doesn’t surprise you that her son keeps his heart and feelings well-guarded.

As he sits and stews, you apply chapstick and some basic ‘barely-there’ makeup on his face, before creating the illusion of a hard-fought battle by adding a light layer of grime to his face. You’ll add more after the scar and bandages. As you work, Levi takes out a folder from his bag, which is embellished with a small cat sticker that Hange had stuck on years ago. From it, he takes his copy of the script, nary a crease in the sheets. Brow furrowed, he reads it over and over, mouthing his lines with the fervour of a prayer.

Now, that is odd.

“There is something on your mind, isn’t there?” You’ve also read the script for today’s scene. The director had decided to save Levi’s most poignant scene—where his character salutes the ghosts of his fallen comrades—for the very end of his shoot. (Levi’s epilogue scene had been shot a week prior.) This would be his most challenging scene yet, for it would be the first time he and his character will ever cry on screen. “You can tell me if you want. Anything you need to help you focus. There’s still time.” You give him a quick squeeze on his shoulder.

Stormy eyes glance up at his reflection, than up at yours. He puts down the script and sighs, voice subdued. “I just want to do the Captain’s ending justice, and I don’t think I can.”

“I think you can,” you murmur. You gesture for him to close his eyes, and pick up your finest brush. Willing your hand and heart into steadiness, you bring the brush up to his forehead, where the largest scar begins. You’ll never get used to how infuriatingly gorgeous he is. “No. I know you can. There is no doubting just how much you care about portraying him correctly.”

He swallows. “Well, I’ve never cried on camera before.” He stops, giving you a moment to work.

With the utmost care, you begin to draw the main line of the largest scar, the one that passes through his eye and lips. As the brush passes over his eyelid, it twitches ever so slightly, his long lashes tickling your hand. Smiling, you brush away a stray lash that had fallen onto his cheek. As you extend the line down his cheek, you try to reassure him. Levi’s usually so steadfast, but it makes sense that something like this would grow heavy on his mind.

“You’ve been practicing it with your coach, though, right? I mean, I’ve had to cover up your swollen eyes a number of times this season.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The brush reaches his lips. He opens his eyes, looking up at you through lowered lashes. Your heart aflutter, you staunchly ignore any and all thoughts of kissing him. Doing so has become more and more difficult with every passing day. Especially when every now and then, you think you see him glancing down at your lips whenever you lean in close to examine a detail of your work.

It’s more than likely that you’re imagining it, though.

Finally, the brush reaches his chin, finishing the outline of the first scar. You lean back to admire your work. After many instances of painstakingly painting on the scars and agonising over continuity, you don’t have to look at your old reference pictures to know the exact shape and curve of them, down to the millimetre. But you do so anyway, and smile in satisfaction when you compare today’s line to the pictures from the first time you drew them on him for practice. A perfect match.

“I know you’ve been working hard at it,” you continue assuring him, putting down the reference photos. “You’ve definitely come a long way.”

“Yeah, but I’m shit at it, actually. All those times we joked about how Eren would take forever to conjure a single tear every time he needed to cry, and now here I am in the exact same position. He’s going to rub this in my face should he ever find out.” He chews the inside of his cheek again, looking down. “Damn it. Don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m not… I don’t get nervous. I don’t show up to work feeling unprepared. That isn’t me. But today, it is.”

It’s unsettling, to see him so unsure of himself. His nerves are understandable, as he came into the show with more of a stuntman background and little actual acting experience. But anybody who’s worked alongside him could easily tell you just how dedicated he is to improving his craft, and that nobody else could play the Captain with the same quiet subtleties that Levi brings to the screen.

You hope your smile is somewhat reassuring to him. “And that’s okay. You know, crying on command really isn’t easy. I’ve worked with countless actors and many also find it difficult.” In your experience, most actors need a while to work themselves up to cry. The most obvious exception is Armin, who has the unnerving ability to turn it on and off like a light switch. “For you, all you need to do is make one tear out of one eye. You’ve managed to do that before, right?”

He nods, but the firm clench of his jaw and the crease between his brows don’t fade.

“So, it’s nothing that you haven’t practiced. And on the off chance that you can’t do it today, that’s perfectly fine. I have eyedrops in my bag.”

“Yeah, but…” He shakes his head in frustration. “This is going to sound dumb, but it… I don’t know, that feels like cheating. I know you’re thinking I’m being an idiot, and I probably am. I know eyedrops are common practice. It’s just… This is my character’s last moment before the epilogue, and I want it to be real. I don’t want to take the easy way out.”

“No, it’s not stupid. There’s no shame in needing to use eyedrops if you end up not being able to cry today, but it’s really admirable that you want to do it as authentically as possible. I think that since this is your final scene, and so many people are returning this morning, it’ll be easier than usual to muster up those tears.” Reaching for a set of different brushes and paint, you instruct him, “here’s what we’re going to do. I need you to just listen whilst I do the rest of your scars. I don’t want you to get trapped in your head about this, okay? Overthinking will just make it harder to get into character. Isn’t that what you said to Mikasa all those years back? It worked wonders for her. I often forget that this show was her first ever gig, with how good she’s become.”

He scoffs. “Really? You’re using my own words against me?”

“Well, what use is your own advice if you can’t follow it yourself?”

After a moment of hesitation, Levi sighs in defeat and closes his eyes again. “Shit, you’re relentless. Fine, then. I’ll trust you.”

You get to work, drawing the outlines of the second scar parallel to the first, then the smaller ones on his other cheek. As you add in the details, such as the texture of the stitches, you remind Levi of another story that he himself told you. He’d never worked with horses before being cast in this show, and yet was one of the quickest learners. Unsurprisingly so, since he’s incredibly kinaesthetically intelligent. To this day, the cast insists he looks the most at ease atop a horse, only second to Erwin, who actually used to ride in his childhood. You remind him that every single time, his hard work has more than paid off.

Somewhere down the line, you go off topic. Levi makes no move to stop you. In fact, he seems content just to listen to you talk about anything, everything. As the wounds take shape on his face, you reminisce on anecdotes from set, on the time the two of you spent together. With fondness, you recall your first meeting. Back then, you were an lowly assistant on the SFX team, transforming an unassuming man into the wounded soldier who, in his dying moments, listened to the Captain’s vow to eradicate the titans and bring meaning to his sacrifice. You talk about how the two of you grew closer during the filming of the second season, when Levi had a lot more free time to talk. How difficult the third season had been to film due to both of you being spread thin by additional responsibilities.

You skim over that time Levi mentioned you in an interview when asked about a favourite memory on set, and how warm it made you feel. You don’t talk about how you’d genuinely teared up after watching the final cut of the scene where Hange discovers a half-dead Levi by the riverbank, despite knowing that his ‘injuries’ were nothing more than your own handiwork.

And, with your heart clenching painfully, you certainly don’t dare to bring up the almost-kiss at last year’s cast and crew Halloween party.

———

“Cut! Perfect! Aaand that’s a wrap for Levi!”

The set erupts into thunderous applause. You clap heartily alongside the rest of the cast and crew. A deafening symphony of whoops and cheers fills the air, and if not for the growing lump in your throat, you’d join in too.

A standing ovation. Levi deserves it and more. Just as you expected, every angle the director wanted to capture had needed one take each, not a single one more. No eyedrops needed.

From your position, you can see Levi still sitting by the rock. Strangely, he makes no move to get up. Curious as to why, you peer past some crew members that had moved in the way, but you’re greeted with a sight that pulls at your heartstrings. Your eyes sting with new tears.

Curled up by the rock, Levi has his face buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving with quiet sobs.

Something in your chest aches. You knew that he would get emotional at the end—there was no way he wouldn’t, especially considering that his character cried too—but you didn’t expect him to feel so overwhelmed.

On instinct, your feet propel you towards him, but you’re promptly cut off by a few other crew members moving around. Through your rapidly blurring vision, you can only watch as several of the returning cast members rush forward from the smoke. Hange reaches him first, and pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Erwin is second, kneeling next to the duo and rubbing Levi’s back comfortingly.

Sniffling, you quickly wipe away your tears, remembering suddenly that you still have something to do. Unnoticed, you slip away from set.

There is a tradition amongst the cast that whenever a character dies, the actor receives a bouquet of flowers from the cast and crew. (A size limit had to be enforced after a very emotional Gabi had presented Sasha with a bouquet so large it couldn’t fit through the trailer door.) For this final season, the tradition has expanded to gifting the actor a bouquet when they wrap, for the characters that survive all the way to the very end.

The door to Connie’s trailer is unlocked when you arrive, just as he said it would be. Inside, you find a vase full of vibrantly coloured flowers on the kitchenette counter in the exact spot where you’d left it earlier this morning. Several weeks ago, the cast and crew had all nominated you to put in the order for the bouquet and present it to Levi on his final day, and Connie had offered to help you hide it from Levi until it was time. Careful to not drip water all over the floor, you pick up the flowers and jog back to set.

The fog machines are being carried out by the time you return. You immediately scan the set for Levi, but it seems he has been completely buried under a massive group hug with the veterans cast, no doubt Hange’s doing. You can’t help but smile at the sight. Most of the crew members appear to be taking a break before clean-up, as it is the end of the day. The air is filled with chatter, but a hush descends upon the crowd as you approach.

The actors peel away from the hug one by one. A smiling Petra helps Levi get to his feet. The bandages on his face are halfway unravelled. With one hand, he yanks them off, leaving both of his eyes to gaze at you unobstructed, ablaze with an intense emotion you can’t quite place. With his other hand, he quickly wipes away the half-dried tears on his cheeks.

“On behalf of the cast and crew,” you say hoarsely, “I give you these.” You step forward and present him the bouquet. “It’s been an honour. Thank you for everything, Levi.”

His fingers gently graze yours as he takes the flowers from you. Tenderly, he holds them close to his chest.

“I was wondering where you went just now,” he says. Of course he’d noticed. “Should’ve known you’d be the one to give me this…” His voice wavers towards the end. He scoffs and wipes at his eyes. “And to think I was done blubbering like a baby. Damn it. You were right.”

He pulls you into a hug without a second thought.

———

Somehow, you’ve been roped into taking photos for everyone. Levi unwraps the bandages around his hand before he begins. He first takes a photo with the director and producer, who both thanking him dearly. They part with a handshake. Almost immediately after, the cast members of the Alliance, along with Eren and Zeke, all swarm forward for a big group photo. They’d all come to watch in support, even if several of them weren’t scheduled to come in today. Connie confesses that he’d helped hide the bouquet by letting you into his trailer. Levi makes a light-hearted remark that he should’ve figured that out too, considering Connie also helped hide Hange’s bouquet—which Levi himself had been responsible for ordering and retrieving.

The veteran actors come forward next. Fitting them all into the camera frame was a challenge, but you manage to do it after one of your makeup assistants finds you a stool. Somehow, Erwin manages to persuade Levi into doing the Scout salute with the rest of them. (“I just did it in the scene, though… Fine, I’ll indulge in your corniness for today, you dorks.”) When he presses his fist to his chest one last time, the veterans erupt into cheers.

Hange and Erwin both stay back for a little longer. The trio pose for more photos, all grinning widely, though you decide to put a stop to the mini-photoshoot when Hange attempts to pick Levi up bridal-style and almost drops him.

(“When I said ‘put me down’, I didn’t mean for you to drop me with no fucking warning!”

“I didn’t mean to drop you. Besides, I caught you, didn’t I? You’re fine, see?”)

After that fiasco, Levi asks to take one with the original Special Ops Squad, as it had been years since they’d managed to meet up.

Zeke comes back for another photo, slipping one arm around Levi’s shoulders. As you meet the taller man’s eyes over the top of his phone, he winks mischievously, holding two fingers up in bunny ears above Levi’s unsuspecting head. Say nothing, he mouths to you. With a herculean effort, you suppress your laugh. Zeke has made it his personal mission to photobomb every main cast member from the finale. After months of shooting, Levi is the last one standing, and it’s incredibly entertaining how hard Zeke tries to finish his mission, even now.

“Hand down, Zeke.”

“Damn it, how did you know?”

“You’re about as subtle as Reiner is when he pretends he hasn’t broken a prop.”

Zeke laughs. “Nothing gets past you, Levi, does it?”

As the two continue to playfully bicker, more jokes than actual verbal barbs, you open the photo you’d managed to take split seconds before Levi called Zeke out. “Mission accomplished,” you say, and a delighted Zeke reaches over Levi’s head to high-five you. Looking mildly betrayed, Levi whips his head back around to face you.

You grin sheepishly as you pass Zeke’s phone back to him, the photo on display. “Sorry. I had to help him.”

“Why are you two like this?” Levi says, shaking his head, barely holding back a smile. He and Zeke part after a hug and a promise to get drinks soon.

Levi’s promptly joined by Falco and Gabi, and after their photo is taken, he ruffles their hair affectionately, which makes Gabi yelp. He really has stepped into the ‘cast dad’ role, a development that you find endlessly endearing. Soon after, their parents arrive to take them home— the kids have quite an early start tomorrow to film their scenes with Annie and Kiyomi on the boat.

Jean and Connie take the chance to snatch a couple of selfies with him, before the latter asks if he could join them to film a TikTok for the show’s official account. To Levi’s utmost relief, it isn’t a dance challenge. Connie instead asks him a few questions about how he feels about the show ending, and what the show means to him—he’s putting together a montage of every cast member’s responses.

On the sidelines, just out of view, you watch Levi give his answers. An ember of warmth kindles in your chest.

Soon after, Levi’s approached by the stunt team, headed by an old friend of Levi’s from his stuntman days. She’d made a cameo in the third season as Kenny’s lieutenant. You happily take a group photo for them.

After you hand Caven’s phone back to her, Hange taps you on the shoulder, having finished catching up with the other cast members. You smile as they hug you tight, swaying on the spot; today is the first time you’ve seen them since they filmed their death scene a few months back.

“It’s so good to see you!” They say, linking arms with yours. “Sorry it took so long to come and find you.”

“Don’t worry! It’s lovely having you back. How are you finding your return?”

“It’s great! I’ve really been missing this, even though it hasn’t been that long.” They pout.

“Oh, we’ve all missed you too, Hange,” you say, smiling. “Have you been up to much since you left?”

“Well, I visited my dad for a bit, then I sent in an audition tape for this thriller movie that my agent thinks I’ll be a good pick for. I also got a few other offers, but I’m a little on the fence. I’ll consider those if I don’t get that thriller role, but who knows when I’ll hear back from them?”

“I bet you’ll get it. Thrillers are right up your alley.”

“You flatter me, dear,” They grin. “Anyways, I am here to say that you are the only one left who has not taken a picture with Levi. And that needs to change. The two of you need something to remember this day by!” You realise they’ve been guiding you towards the rock, where Levi, Mikasa, Armin and Eren are deep in conversation. The younger actors are laughing boisterously at something Levi had said, heads tilted back, sporting wide grins. Levi’s still cradling his bouquet carefully, a soft smile as he speaks, looking up at his younger cast mates with endearment. Your heart warms at the sight.

The quartet look up as you approach. The younger actors wave goodbye, disappearing into the crowd. Hange quickly ushers you and Levi together, their phone already out of their pocket. “Alrighty, here we go!” They cheer. “Oi, look lively now, Levi. It’s the last photo!”

“Was about time we did this,” you whisper to him as you come close. At first, you settle into your usual stance whenever you take a photo with a cast member, but Levi is not just any cast member. Not to you. Gnawing on your lip, you grapple with yourself for a fleeting moment. Your professional side barely puts up a resistance, and so you lean in to whisper a question. Briefly, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss the delicate shell of his ear. You banish the traitorous thought, best as you can.

“Hey, can I put my arm around you for this?” As close as you and Levi have grown over the years, the two of you save your brief hugs for behind the scenes, in private. Physical affection is rare with him otherwise—whilst the cast tend to be very touchy with one another, Levi is usually seen on the sides, watching them with a quiet fondness in his eyes. That hug from earlier—it had to be a fluke, right?

And yet, he sighs, and bridges the small gap between you. His free arm moves behind you, a warm, firm hand comes to rest at your back. “You don’t have to ask, you know,” he murmurs in return. “I hugged you earlier, didn't I? Quit worrying. Go ahead.”

Warmth blooming inside you, you lean sideways towards him on impulse. You slide your own arm behind him, and Levi leans into your touch. “Just so you know,” he continues, “it was an honour working with you too.”

Hange starts to count down from three. A wave of emotion hits you, almost sweeps you off your feet. This is it. Your last day of working with him.

Still so much left unsaid.

Straining to keep your composure, you offer a wide, bright smile for the camera.

———

The next few hours are spent tidying and cleaning up. Most of the actors have gone home, but Levi stays behind to help out the crew, as he always does without fail. With how emotionally taxing the day had been, it’s a wonder he didn’t go back to his trailer immediately to crash. As if you couldn’t admire him any more.

Your eyelids are heavy by the time you finish up and arrive at Levi’s trailer. When you enter, he is slumped in a chair in front of the vanity mirror, already changed out of his costume.

Neither of you say a single word as you carefully wipe away the scars and the grime. Your traitorous hands linger for a split second too long whenever they brush against his smooth skin. In his stormy eyes are that same intense look he’d given you when you first appeared with the bouquet.

You wonder what it means.

Sooner or later, one of you will have to break this fragile silence. Levi decides to take the matter into his own hands, catching you off guard. “I guess this is it.”

The sting in your eyes returns with a fierce vengeance. You turn away for a moment, rapidly blinking your oncoming tears away. An invisible vice clamps down, mercilessly clenching your chest.

You choke on your words, but you get them out somehow. “I’ll miss you.” Not the three words you’ve been yearning to say for the last year, but it will have to do. “I’m going to miss you. So much. It’s been…” You wrack your brain, but there is no singular adjective you know of that could truly describe the past few years working on this show with him. “You know what I mean. Right?”

“I know what you mean.” Levi stands, turning to face you properly. The troubled crease between his brows return. “Look, I… I have to tell you something. Hear me out?”

Your heart thunders in your chest. You nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Remember this morning? I said I was satisfied with my work here. That I have no regrets.”

Barely able to breathe, you can only manage to nod.

“But that isn’t true. Not really. There is one thing I regret,” he says, slowly, cautiously.

Voice barely a whisper, you ask. “What is it?”

“That we never talked about what almost happened at Halloween last year.”

The world comes to a halt.

Dimmed lights. Bass reverberates through your bones. The aftertaste of a Bloody Mary lingers on your tongue. Levi is just centimetres away, his chest almost flush with yours. His eyes valiantly fight to stay focused on the intricate titan-shifter makeup on your cheeks, before he gives in and his line of sight drops to your lips. Unconsciously, he leans in slightly, seemingly gravitating towards you.

Devastating. That is the first word that comes to your mind. It is high time you realise that he will be the end of you; he could ask anything of you and you’d do it. Your heart beats for him.

Caught in his orbit, your face tilts towards his.

A drunken crew member barges past, jostling your shoulder. You yelp, stumbling to the side, before Levi’s hands—warm, steady, safe—catch you. The spell broken, he lets go the moment you are upright, averting his eyes from yours. Levi takes a step backwards—a small one, because there is barely any space in the corner of the room the two of you are tucked into. But to you, he suddenly feels so distant, that he might as well be on the other side of the universe.

“I need some air,” he says, stoic mask falling back into place. Before you can ask him what’s wrong, Levi turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd, taking all the warmth of the room with him.

No. This is dangerous territory. Since that night, the two of you had constructed an unspoken agreement to pretend nothing had ever happened. Levi had never made any impression that it was anything other than a drunken lapse in professionalism. For a while, you wondered if he even remembered that moment, or if it had all been in your head, a result of you projecting your own desires onto him.

Regardless, he had never brought it up. You’d been content to do the same. It was—and still is—impossible to fathom that Levi would ever want you.

“Tell me,” he says hoarsely, “that I wasn’t imagining things that night, and every day since. Tell me I’m not imagining that you’ve been looking at me like…”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “Like what?”

“Like that!” He snaps. His hands tremble in a way you’ve never seen before as he gestures towards you, voice tinged with desperation. “Like how you’re looking at me right now. I-I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. Because if I had… maybe I would’ve…”

The staggering realisation of what he’s trying to say sinks in.

Choking back a sob of relief, you reach out for his hands, and he offers them to you with no resistance. A light blush sweeps across his face as he stares at your interlocking fingers with something akin to wonder.

Breathlessly, you dare to ask. “Do you mean it? That if you had known how I felt, you… you would’ve kissed me?”

“Yes. I would’ve. I wanted to, more than anything.” With that, Levi finally looks up from your joined hands. The burning look he’s been giving you all throughout today—you recognise it, now, plain and simple.

His earlier words ring in your mind. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner.

“Oh, Levi,” you whisper.

He continues on. “And if I had known how you felt, I wouldn’t have upped and left you like that. I was being a shitty coward, for running away and pretending it never happened, and never giving you an explanation when you deserved one. I was scared, I think, of ruining what we already had. You didn’t imagine anything on my part, it happened, and you didn’t do anything wrong that night… I’m sorry.”

Smiling, you squeeze his hands; warm, steady, safe. “You aren’t imagining things on my end either. I’m in love with you, and have been for a while now.” You don’t need him to say those precious words back for now—Levi’s endearingly clumsy attempt at confessing means more to you than he’ll ever know. “And I forgive you for running out on me that night. We both thought it didn’t mean anything to the other person. For so long, I thought that even if you did, things would never work out, that today would be goodbye, because I have a new contract on the other side of the country, and you’ll be going back to stunt work, a-and…” Your voice trembles, so you force yourself to stop, and breathe.

“It will work. I swear it, I’m not saying goodbye to you. I don’t care what’s coming next, we can make it work.” He seems to muster his resolve, tugging you closer. “No more dancing around this like idiots. We have enough lost time to make up for.”

Smiling so widely your cheeks ache, you playfully poke his cheek. “Well, you can always begin with the kiss you owe me, yeah?”

“You smart-arse.” Levi chuckles, before gently cupping the back of your head with his hand. In a swift movement, he leans in and captures your lips with his.

It’s nothing short of divine.

Levi kisses you with years worth of yearning behind it. His other hand moves to cradle your face, thumb brushing against the curve of your cheek, wiping away a stray tear of happiness.

Eyes fluttering shut, you deepen the kiss. Tongues move in tandem, and it isn’t long before hands begin to roam, exploring the terrains of each other’s bodies with an almost innocent curiosity. Heat simmers underneath your skin, a carnal flame yearning to be stoked, to devour.

For now, though, you’ll have to temper it.

Coming up for air, you close your eyes, resting your forehead against his. As much as you desperately want him, you don’t want your first time having sex with Levi to be in a trailer on set, with multiple crew members still milling around outside and packing up for the day. You tell him as such, and he murmurs his agreement after kissing you once more.

“Glad we’re on the same page about that, so…” Realising what you’re about to say next, you choke back a grin at your own cheesiness. “You wanna go back to your place or mine?”

Levi rests his forehead on your shoulder and chokes back a laugh. “Fuck, that’s such a cliché line.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, but the question still stands.”

He looks up at you, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Yours, then.”

The time spent packing up and driving back to your home crawls by agonisingly slowly. The moment the two of you cross the threshold onto your home, he’s closing the gap between the two of you, kissing you breathless, thoughtless, until only your longing for him remains. So much so that you almost forget to stop and get a condom out from your drawer—in fact, Levi has to remind you.

The rare few times you had allowed yourself to think about it, you’d pictured Levi as a tender lover, gentle despite his coarseness. He is all this and more. At his fingertips, you come alive. As he makes love to you, laughs and sweet nothings fill the air between the deep kisses you share. You should’ve expected just how generous he can be in bed, but it still takes you by surprise, the way he worships your body with a deep-rooted reverence, determined to pleasure you over and over. In turn, you reciprocate eagerly, honoured that Levi trusts you to take care of him in return, that he is so readily vulnerable with you.

Once the two of you are finally, utterly spent, Levi nudges you awake before you can fully slip into a deep doze, cosy and comfortable in his embrace. “Hey. Gotta clean ourselves up, sleepyhead.”

You chuckle drowsily, and miraculously muster up the strength to crawl out of his arms, out of the warm sheets. “The bathroom is just down the hall,” you yawn, trudging towards a cupboard not the other side of your room. “You can shower first whilst I change the sheets and find you a towel and some spare clothes, ‘kay?”

“Or,” Levi says, voice hoarse with the same kind of contented exhaustion that makes you yearn to curl up beneath the sheets in his arms, “you could come with me.” He pulls you back in, peppering gentle kisses along your neck and shoulder, which tickle slightly.

Euphoric, you close your eyes and laugh. “Okay.”

Showering together is an incredibly sweet, domestic affair. Long after you’ve rinsed off all the lather, you’re both hesitant to leave the warmth of the running water, content to cling onto each other and relish in the feeling of skin against skin.

After the two of you dry off and change the sheets, you climb into bed. Half awake and basking in each other’s presence, you pull him close, nestling your head on his chest. When was the last time you had felt so cherished, so happy?

Sleep claims you swiftly, but not before Levi kisses the top of your head and tells you what you already know:

“I’m in love with you, too.”

———

Several weeks later

The wrap party is well underway by the time you and Levi arrive.

The lights are dim, and the music reverberates through your bones. Levi’s hand finds a home in the curve of your waist as he guides you through the crowd of drunken cast and crew members. His touch anchors you, and you find yourself smiling giddily.

After helping yourself to a cocktail, the hours fly by. Apparently, the entire cast plus half of the crew (including all of the makeup assistants under your command) had been rooting for you and Levi to get together. Tonight when you finally revealed you were in a relationship with him to your juniors, you were subjected to an intense barrage of questions. This, however, paled in comparison to Hange’s reaction when Levi held your hand in front of their very eyes—they’d launched an interrogation so brutal you wonder why they didn’t enter law enforcement instead.

Soon after escaping Hange’s interrogation, you two both get another drink. “Everybody seems far too invested in this development than they should be,” you sigh, still frazzled. “How long do you reckon they’ve been shipping us?”

A look of exasperation flits across Levi’s face. “I don’t know, and I hate that I even know what ‘shipping’ means in this context. Also, I saw Zeke give Erwin money when Hange was drilling us. Fuckers had some kind of bet running on us. Don’t even wanna know how long that had gone on for.”

You tip your head back and laugh. “Colour me unsurprised. That sounds very on-brand for Zeke and Erwin. You know, I think I saw Armin and Connie do the same. Guess Armin’s not as angelic as he looks.”

“That’s been known, sweetheart. The kid’s a menace in disguise.” He kisses your cheek. “Just like you, actually, now that I think about it.”

Playfully, you swat him away. “Hey, who are you calling a menace?”

Eventually, the two of you find yourselves catching some air outside, needing a moment to sober up and recalibrate after a whirlwind of social interaction. Levi’s hand returns to your waist and tugs you closer to him, seeking out your warmth. Melting into his touch, you do you best to commit the feeling of his embrace to memory. Soon, you’ll move away for a few months for your next contract, but you no longer fear it. Levi had sworn to you that this would work out, and there is nobody’s word you trust more than his.

Your love for each other has endured for years in the past. A handful more months is nothing.

Levi shifts slightly to get a better look at you, and cups your cheek. Meeting his gaze, your heart stops; his eyes are a breathtaking silver in the moonlight. Easily the most expressive feature he has, you could get lost in them for hours.

Caught in his orbit, your face tilts towards his.

This time, Levi meets you halfway.

Do not repost, modify or claim as your own work.

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