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captain-hawks · 1 year ago

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waking reverie

levi ackerman x f!reader

summary: sick and tired of overhearing the sounds of you fooling around with a fellow squad leader, Levi decides to confront you afterward at a particularly inopportune moment.

or, Levi catches you getting yourself off and has a thing or two to say (and do) about it.

word count: 4.3k

content: NSFW, 18+, smut, masturbation, fingering, oral sex, squirting, unprotected sex, rough sex, squirting, dom!levi, possessive!levi, creampie, choking, spit kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasms

Hange is going to kill him if he keeps stealing their pencils.

It’s the first thought that crosses Levi’s mind when a loud cracking noise is followed by something sharp jabbing into his palm, and he glances down to see the writing utensil crumble into a sad clump of shards over his page of notes. But he doesn’t mull over it long, not when he’s distracted by something he’s heard far too much of over the past few days—the sound of you giggling, followed by the door to Squad Leader Daniel Flore’s office slamming shut.

Tonight’s pencil met its earliest grave yet, the wood starting to splinter an hour ago when the mess hall cleared out, at which point Levi had begun unconsciously squeezing it in irritated anticipation of…this.

There’s a scuffling of boots and the squeak of a chair scooting across the floor next door. But then things are relatively silent for a few moments after, and Levi looks up at the ceiling pleadingly, wondering if maybe he’ll finally get some peace tonight. But no, his hopes are quickly dashed when he hears the muffled yet unmistakable sound of you fucking moaning.

Levi wishes he had another pencil to snap in half.

Maybe the chair legs will have to do.

It’s not that Levi gives a shit about his fellow Survey Corps members getting laid. In fact, if it means they’re less high strung on the field, he’ll gladly set up a goddamn matchmaking booth outside of the building, if only to save himself the headache of trying to maintain order over a group of sexually frustrated idiots. Whatever it takes to make his life a little less miserable.

He’s perhaps a bit more judgemental when it comes to Squad Leaders pairing off, often shamelessly barking at them the next day not to let their “messy shit” get in the way of doing their damn jobs. Yet he generally waves it off all the same, rolling his eyes when the lovesick idiots start to realize what a bad idea it is to grapple with feelings when you’re supposed to be saving the world from man-eating Titans.

Anyway, you and Flore are both Squad Leaders. Fine. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

Whatever.

But the real fucking issue here is the fact that Flore keeps his desk up against the wall that he shares with Levi’s office. And he’s been fucking you up against—or on top of, maybe—that stupid, shitty piece of furniture for the past three nights in a row.

Loudly.

So loudly that Levi’s not sure if Flore’s got something to prove or if he’s just downright stupid. Probably the latter, if Levi’s being honest. Either way, he’s well and truly on the verge of losing his mind at this point.

And if a tiny part of it is because he’s downright fucking baffled that you’d go barking up Flore’s tree of all people?

Levi Ackerman is not jealous.

…he just assumed you’d have better taste.

—

Perhaps fucking Daniel Flore a mere wall away from Captain Levi’s office wasn’t quite your best decision as of late.

And not just because of the fact that he can more than likely hear the two of you going at it like foolish teenagers, which is just asking to draw more ire from the already irritable man.

Not just because, despite your tendency to bicker with one another like it’s your job, you actually have quite a solid working relationship with the Captain. Something you’d tentatively call friendship—and he might even be inclined to agree, on his less moody days.

The most conflicting part of your tipsy decision that has since turned into a multi-day affair is something else entirely. Something that, in reality, shouldn’t even matter.

…because it’s not like he’s even interested.

At one point or another, you found yourself developing feelings for Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

—but the idea of Captain Levi fucking Ackerman deigning to get down and dirty with you of all people is laughable, at best. He can hardly step out of his office without turning heads, let alone when he makes his way through town. With the reputation that he’s built for himself over the years, he could have anyone he wanted.

Flore’s nice enough. And he’s a decent kisser, you’ll give him that. But as you glance back at the brown-haired man leaning against the chair and panting, a smug grin on his face as you slip your pants back on to conclude your activities, you internally cringe at the feeling of your underwear brushing against your sad, throbbing clit.

A throbbing clit that you’ll have to sneak off to your own office down the hall to take care of yourself for the second night in a row, because while you ended your first encounter somewhat satisfied, Flore hasn’t been able to get you off since. You’ve put on enough of a show each time to leave him thinking otherwise, half convinced that maybe there’s just something wrong with you, but after tonight, you may have to rethink your arrangement.

There’s a small, well-worn couch situated in the corner of your office, which you make a beeline for after closing the door and shucking your pants off once more. The material drops onto the wooden floor in a careless heap as you slump back onto the cushions, letting your thighs fall open as you lean your head back and slowly swipe a finger over the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.

Your folds are frustratingly dry, your fleeting thoughts of Flore doing absolutely nothing to help dampen your situation. So, also for the second night in a row…your thoughts betray you as they drift to a place you know will leave you slick and whimpering.

A vision of soft, black hair, steel gray eyes, and a familiar commanding, low voice is all it takes to encourage the sticky arousal now dripping at the apex of your thighs, a shameless little moan falling from your lips as you slide two fingers into your aching cunt.

“Have you ever considered that there are other people in the barra—”

The door to your office flies open as Levi storms in without knocking, though his barked out words are immediately cut off the moment his eyes stray to the sofa. He freezes in place, not even bothering to turn around as he slowly kicks the door shut behind him.

And it would be comical, just how many emotions are fighting their way across Levi’s normally composed face, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s now staring at you while you finger yourself because you were so desperate to get yourself off that you forgot to lock the fucking door.

He blinks, crossing his arms. “You’re joking.”

Fingers still lodged inside of your wet heat because you can’t decide whether or not that’s less awkward than pulling them out and wiping them on the couch, you realize that you have no idea what to say. “I—”

“Was fucking like animals for forty-five minutes up against the wall beside my office not enough for you?” he deadpans.

Your face heats up in embarrassment, and you pull your eyes away from his heavy gaze, looking off to the side of the room as you subtly shift your fingers to your thigh. “That’s not exactly…I just didn’t…” you mutter, trailing off.

Levi scoffs as he swiftly ascertains what you’re alluding to, “Don’t tell me Flore doesn’t even know how to get a woman off.”

You bristle with embarrassment over his forwardness, finally snapping your legs closed and hastily tugging a pillow over your lap. “That’s none of your business.”

“If two Squad Leaders are fucking on my watch, it’s my business to make sure your messy little relationship doesn’t end up getting us all killed in the field,” he sneers.

“There’s no relationship. We’re not dating. It was a one time thing”

Levi doesn’t respond.

“Okay, a few-times thing,” you amend with a huff, shifting uncomfortably.

He continues to stare at you, waiting.

“I was lonely and tired of taking care of things myself. Happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

His boots hardly make a sound as he takes a step closer to you and observes, “It looks like you’re still taking care of things yourself, anyway.”

You sigh heavily, “It’s slim pickings around here, Captain.”

Another step.

“So Flore was your top choice?”

Despite the fact that you’re nearly naked in front of the man who’s currently raising an eyebrow as he nudges your discarded underwear with the toe of his boot, you manage to school your features into a mask of cool indifference as you shrug, “My preferred taste is a bit more…unattainable.”

“Let me guess, Commander Erwin?” he drawls.

You can’t help the choked out laugh that escapes you at that—just how very off base his assumptions are. If nothing else, perhaps it means you’ve done a somewhat decent job at not making your crush on the Captain wholly apparent.

“I mean, he sure does look like he’s fantastic in bed—”

“Spare me,” Levi groans.

“...but he’s just not quite short-tempered and difficult enough for my tastes,” you finish, letting your mouth quirk upward in the ghost of a smile.

Levi’s knees bump into yours as he reaches the couch, looking down at you with his hands resting casually in his pockets. “And someone is?”

“Someone unattainable,” you concede.

Your breath hitches in your throat when Levi leans down, making a noncommittal noise as he swipes a layer of dust off of the couch’s wooden frame. Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he asks, “So…you’d rather do this,” he gently thumps a fist over the pillow in your lap, “than try and approach this someone?”

Refusing to back down from his stare, you flippantly reply, “Sometimes the fantasy ends up being better than the real thing, anyway.”

Levi’s jaw ticks, and he asks you carefully in a low tone, “And just how often do you entertain this little fantasy?”

“Every night,” you breathe out, not missing a beat.

This time, when Levi leans in, his breath is hot against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “I can assure you the fantasy pales in comparison.”

With that, he stands up straight and heads for the door without so much as a goodbye.

Gaping, you call out, “Captain Levi?”

His hand pauses on the doorknob, and without turning to look at you, he says cooly, “My office. Now.”

“I—”

“It’s cleaner.”

—

It’s ridiculous, the way your fingers tremble as you slip your pants back on—forgoing the underwear completely this time. On the field, you wield the dual blades at your sides with a steady, focused grip and instinctual precision that once upon a time granted you a top spot in your Training Corps class.

And yet here you are now, caught in a battle between the stubborn button of your pants and your shaking hands, your entire goddamn axis thrown off kilter by the devastatingly handsome Captain currently waiting for you a few doors down. With a sigh, you give up, tugging your shirt down and hoping for the sake of the last charred bits of your ego that you didn’t misunderstand his invitation.

Are you really about to go and fuck Captain Levi Ackerman?

You don’t have to ponder the question long, because you’re hardly two steps inside of Levi’s office, having slipped inside the door that he left open just a crack, when you find yourself firmly pressed up against it.

Levi’s body is warm as he cages you in, eyes boring into your own while he reaches behind you and flicks the lock shut with an abrupt click that seems to echo throughout the room. You’re both silent for a moment, and he takes half a step back.

“Are you certain you want to do this?”

The question catches you off guard, but you nod.

Levi inhales sharply through his nose and adds, “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you exhale quickly, already feeling more than a little breathless.

He leans in, letting his fingers ghost over your chin, his breath mingling in the vicinity of yours as he warns you softly, “I’m not a gentle lover.”

“I don’t want you to be gentle,” you assure him, taking no small delight in the way his eyes briefly close at your affirmation.

“...and I don’t share,” he whispers, thumb skating over your lower lip.

“Neither do I,” you challenge, though you’re well aware you’re getting far too ahead of yourself with your implied request.

“I would hope not,” Levi chuckles lowly. “From now on, you come to me and only me.”

Searing heat drips through your veins, your lips parting slightly as the full weight of his words hits you.

Levi’s lips hover over yours, so close you can nearly taste the promise on them as he murmurs, “...and you come for me. Only. Me.”

Oh.

Toes curling, it takes every ounce of restraint inside of your body to hold back the pathetically desperate whimper vibrating through you in response. The quiet, shaky “yes” that leaves you is hardly audible over the rapid beating of your heart.

But it’s all Levi needs to hear, that last exhale, before he cups your face in both hands and slots his lips against yours.

There’s a focused, measured precision in the way Levi kisses, a push and pull in the way his mouth both guides and chases your own. With a tease of teeth along your bottom lip and a sensual dance of his tongue along the seam of your mouth, you’re caught up in a hungry, electrifying undercurrent that leaves you dizzy on the spot.

You’ve spent more time than you’d like to admit thinking about Levi’s mouth. The delicate curve of his cupid’s bow. That restless tongue that’s always clicking against his teeth, as if it’s just waiting to be put to use elsewhere. The prominent taste of tea you could guarantee would be lingering on his lips.

But there’s one thing you hadn’t accounted for, one thing that knocks the air from your lungs.

—it’s the way Levi murmurs your name into the kiss, the curve of each letter so sensual, his voice so rough that you know the memory of it is already irrevocably seared into your mind.

You let yourself tangle your fingers in the silken, black strands of his hair, earning a pleased, rumbling groan in his throat in response. Pushing your luck, you tug on the locks, and the hot trail of kisses Levi’s blazing along your exposed neck is interrupted by the soft growl that leaves his throat as he bites down on your sensitive skin and begins to suck.

The firm, solid pressure of his body against yours as you arch into him leaves you keening, and his hands drift down to grasp your hips while he presses hungry, open-mouthed kisses to your chest, as low as your partially-unbuttoned shirt will allow. You rock your hips into him, already drunk on his scalding, attentive touch, and a small moan escapes your lips when you feel the rock hard evidence of his own arousal drag against the apex of your thighs.

“Levi,” you pant out, rolling your hips once more.

He groans languidly, bringing his lips back up to yours for a chaste kiss. Fingertips skating beneath your chin, gray eyes bore into your own as he asks, “Safe word?”

Mind blanking for a moment, every single word you’ve ever known ceases to exist in the heady, addictive presence of the man before you. Your eyes land on something sitting on his desk; it’s broken to pieces but still unmistakable.

“Pencil.”

Levi huffs out a low laugh, staring at you a little incredulously before he intones, “Tch. Fine.”

At that, he lets his hand trail down between your legs, another amused sound leaving him when he realizes you didn’t bother buttoning your pants back up before slinking into his office.

“Eager?” he questions, only to let out a near feral noise when he notices your underwear also didn’t come along for the trip.

All you can do is whine as he slides his hand into your pants, no small amount of satisfaction gracing his features when he feels the damp pool of arousal that’s since soaked through the material.

“I hope this was all for me,” he observes, sliding two fingers through your slick, sensitive folds.

You shiver, pushing into his touch, afraid that you might collapse if he doesn’t start sliding those thin, dexterous digits into your aching cunt soon.

“You know it is,” you pant.

Your legs quake when he brushes his thumb over your swollen clit, fingertips teasing at your fluttering entrance.

“I wonder if that’s why you couldn’t come for him,” he muses, bringing his hand up to eye level and watching the way your sticky arousal hangs between the digits. You’d whine at the loss of contact, if it weren’t for the way he sticks his fingers in his mouth and licks them clean.

His hand trails back down to your wet heat as you try to remember how to breathe, his gaze heavy as plunges two fingers into your cunt and rasps, “Because you wished it was my cock inside of you, fucking you stupid.”

Levi doesn’t wait for an answer as he begins to pump his fingers in and out of your needy hole, each thrust punctuated by the wet squelch of your gratuitous arousal. Heat spreads under your skin under his thorough exploration of your narrow, saturated channel, digits curling to meticulously stroke a spot that has you gasping his name. Your fingertips dig into his collarbone, and Levi surges forward, lips crashing into yours as he swallows your pleading moans. And for what may very well be the first time in your life, your climax takes you entirely by surprise, liquid fire whipping through your insides with the force of a raging gale.

He nips at your bottom lip while you come down from your shuddering wave of pleasure, but your fingers have barely begun to reach for his stiff length when Levi suddenly drops down to his knees in front of you. Nails dragging along your hip bones, he swiftly tugs down your pants and tosses them aside before pushing your legs further apart and burying his face between them.

Prickles of overstimulation crawl up your spine, and you let out a small sound of protest, but your core immediately turns molten again at Levi’s ragged tone as he breathes out, “One more. One more before I fuck you.”

There’s nothing calculated about the messy, hungry way he goes down on you, parting your folds to sink his tongue into your cunt, nose pressed firmly against your clit, a moan reverberating through him as he laps up every last drop of the cum that’s leaking out of you. His fingertips dig into your thighs, saliva running down his chin, and he moves to slide two fingers back inside of you while he begins to mouth at your sensitive bundle of nerves

At this point, even if Levi hadn’t made it explicitly clear that whatever this is between the two of you is very much exclusive—

…you’re not sure if anyone else could even come close.

Reality trumps the fantasy, indeed, Captain.

And with a firm crook of his fingers, the steaming pressure building up inside of you bursts, clear liquid spraying from your pussy and soaking Levi’s face and hand as you ride out your second orgasm.

If you thought Levi looked feral before, it’s nothing compared to the look that crosses his face as you squirt for him. “Oh fuck.”

He all but drags you over to his desk, unceremoniously swiping everything off of the surface and letting it all clatter to the floor before lifting you up—with strength that honestly shouldn’t surprise you—and placing you on its surface. Fingers aching to touch him, you grapple with his shirt, pulling it over his head while he trails his way down the remaining buttons on yours. You hardly have time to enjoy the planes of his bare chest before you, because he makes quick work of your bra, cursing under his breath at the sight and wasting no time in leaning in to taste your supple breasts.

A small part of you almost wants to make a comment about dirtying Levi’s clean desk with the arousal you know is dripping out of you once more—you’re so fucking wet for him it’s boredline ridiculous—but all thoughts go fizzling from your mind when he latches onto your nipple and begins to suck.

“Fucking perfect,” he grunts, teeth grazing the sensitive bud.

Unable to wait any longer to finally see what’s straining for release between his legs, you unbutton his pants, humming in satisfaction at the feeling of his deceivingly thick cock throbbing in your palm. Saliva coats your tits as he sucks more fervently in response to the way you’ve begun to stroke his length, your other hand tangling in his hair.

“Stop.”

You freeze at the command in his tone, waiting as he pushes down his pants and underwear, kicking them out of the way before stepping closer between your legs.

“Next time,” he amends gently, leaning in to graze his teeth along the shell of your ear, lips and tongue pressing into the tender skin behind your earlobe. “Because I might very well lose my mind if I don’t fuck you right now.”

You exhale, muscles aching with anticipation. “Please, Levi.”

He pushes your thighs apart, swiping his fingers through your arousal and using it to coat his shaft before notching its reddened, leaking head at your entrance. And remembering your earlier words about just how you like it, there’s no warning when Levi plunges his throbbing cock into your slick, wet cunt, plastering his mouth onto yours to swallow down each delicious moan that echoes out of you as he splits you open.

There’s nothing gentle about the way Levi fucks you, sweaty hair plastered against his forehead as he revels in the warmth of your tight cunt with each snap of his hips, every thrust deeper than the last. The push and drag of his fat cock has you whining and moaning so loud your throat begins to burn, satisfaction curling in your gut at the mirroring sound that leaves him when you roughly pull on his hair.

Belatedly—too distracted by your lust-fuelled frenzy—you realize that smacking flesh and needy, desperate noises aren’t the only sounds echoing throughout the room. With each punishing snap of his hips, as Levi stuffs you full of his cock over and over, his desk violently smacks into the wall.

The wall that Flore is very likely currently sitting on the other side of at his own desk.

You tell Levi as much, and he makes no effort to slow down as he growls, “I don’t fucking care.”

And well, maybe it’s a little fucked up.

But given that the object of years worth of your wet dreams is currently balls deep inside of you and groaning your name repeatedly, you can’t bring yourself to give a shit, either.

So instead, you whimper, “Harder, Levi. Please.”

Hands trail along your throat, and Levi meets your gaze. You nod, and he tightens his grip, your dwindling airflow setting your nerves alight with pleasure. Your legs wrap around his waist, the balls of your feet pressing into the small of his back, and as he continues to choke you, your tight cunt chokes the width of his cock in equal measure.

It feels so fucking good that tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and your chest aches from the heaving, panting breaths you repeatedly continue to demand of it. The pressure on your throat lessens, and you feel Levi’s hand come up to cup your chin, his thumb pulling down on your bottom lip.

Though it’s only one word, you know he feels just as wrecked as you by his low, rough tone as rasps, “Open.”

You part your lips, and Levi leans in, spitting in your mouth. He feels the way your cunt clenches down on him in response, so after you swallow, unconsciously letting your lips fall back open, he spits again.

In turn, you grab him by the hair and pull him in for a filthy kiss. Levi’s mouth devours yours as he grabs you by the throat again, moaning against your lips, “Good girl.”

The ache between your thighs blooms red hot, the coil of pleasure twisting in your gut unfurling so rapidly your vision goes white as you come hard, gushing around the stretch of Levi’s cock. He chases your lips as you throw your head back in pleasure, kissing you hard while he drives his length deep into you one last time to the hilt, hips jerking as he empties himself inside of you.

You let your body fall against his as you both come down from your climaxes, breathing heavily. Levi begins to rub soothing circles against your back, callused fingertips skating across your smooth skin, the gesture an amusingly stark contrast to how brazenly he just fucked you. When he pulls out of you, thick cum leaks from between your thighs, making a mess of his desk.

And for once, it’s a mess that Levi Ackerman doesn’t mind.

Instead, he cups your cheek in one hand, a glint in his eyes as he murmurs, “I think I can get four out of you next time.”

Your eyes widen, laughter bubbling up in your chest as you lean in, lips ghosting over his as you retort, “Cocky bastard.”

Tongue clicking against his teeth, he rolls his eyes and mutters, “Brat,” kissing you again.

— likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

#levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan smut #dee writes

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demonsslayersstuff · 1 month ago

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When You’re Sick (AOT Men x Reader)

A/N: Drabble/ head canons of how some of men from Attack on Titan would take care of reader when they are sick. Did this for JJK, stay tuned for the Demon Slayer one. No warnings, mostly just fluff Enjoy!

Characters: Erwin, Levi, Jean, Eren, Armin

Erwin Smith: *I just finished season 3 and I'm so gutted, I won't give spoilers away but I legit cried.

This blond haired blue eyed king is the commander for the Scouts so he is busy with a capital B. However if you were sick he would make the effort to take what little breaks he has throughout the day to stop by and check on you

I could see him bringing you hot tea or water when he stops by, placing it on your night stand as he leans down to give you a light kiss on the forehead

As the commander he doesn't want to get sick so he'll keep his distance if your super sick, but he would still come by to check on you and making sure your getting the best medical care

Once your on the mend I could see him making more of an effort to end his day earlier than normal so he can come cuddle you in order to make up for his slight distance whilst you were sick

You hear the bedroom door creak open as the last rays of the sun dip down below the wall. You sit up slightly in bed as your partner comes into view. "Hey darling, how do you feel?", Erwin asks as he comes a bit closer to your bed, placing down the tea he'd brought with him. "Better, still a headache, but no longer coughing, so I think I'll be good to back to work tomorrow", you tell him with a light smile. "I'm glad to hear that", he says coming to sit on the edge of you bed. Erwin reaches out to softly touch your forehead, noting the lack of fever before he leans to give your forehead a light peck. "Will you stay?", you ask him with pleading eyes. "You don't have a fever anymore, so I think I can if that's what you want", he replies. "Then please stay", you tell him. "Ok", Erwin responds before standing up to remove his his jacket and gear before climbing into bed to join you. "Thank you", you whisper as he pulls you to his chest. He hums in response, content with stroking your hair softly as the two of you enjoy a quiet night together.

Levi Ackerman:

Similar to Erwin, he is a busy guy, but that doesn't mean he won't take the time to take care of you. Before he starts his day he is making sure your taking meds, drinking plenty of water, and eating a little bit of food before he feels comfortable with leaving you

100% stopping by during meals to check on you and if you were really sick I could see him taking you to a doctor or getting you the help you need

We all know our short king is a bit of a clean freak so I could see him going out of his way to make sure your room stays fresh and clean, even though your sick, he'll mask and glove up to clean up your dirty tissues and such

If your super sick he'll keep his distance because he needs to stay healthy, but would want updates and such as your recovering. If you aren't to sick I could see him making an effort to just spend a little bit extra of time with you. Levi is a very caring person, so he would make sure you felt cared for during your illness.

"Goddam you look like shit", Hange says as you walk into the kitchen. Levi looks at you with a concerned expression as you hobble in the room. "Feel like it too", you mutter as you move to make some tea. "Maybe you should go lie down, I'll bring you some tea", Hange says with a bit of concern in their face. Before you have chance to respond, Levi cuts in. "Go back to bed, I'll bring you some food and water", he stays in an authoritative tone. You don't even argue, you just nod your head as you turn to head back towards your room. It's not long before Levi enters, gently placing a try of what looks like soup and tea on your night stand. "Eat", he says as he comes to sit on the edge of your bed. "M'not hungry", you say looking at him tiredly. Levi's eyes soften. "Eat a few bites, for me", he says softly, a tone reserved just for you. You take a few bites before you shake your head, signaling you've had enough Levi sighs, but doesn't push you further. "Sleep, if you don't feel better by dinner I'll take you to the doctor", Levi says pulling the blankets up to your chest. You nod your head slightly, "Thanks", you whisper. "Anything for you", he replies as he heads for the door.

Jean Kirstein:

He would do anything and everything for you when your sick. I feel like his partner would be his number one priority, so you'll be taken care of by him

I could see him taking you to the doctor right away, he doesn't want you to get any sicker. If your not sick enough to be resting, Jean would definitely take on some of your work to help lighten your load

He's making sure your eating, getting the necessary fluids down, and making sure you get rest if you need it. Even though your sick that doesn't bother him, he'll cuddle you and what not in order to make you feel better

If he can't be around you when your sick, you best believe that any chance he gets, he's stopping by to check in on you.

"Here", Jean says as he hands you a cup of hot tea. "Thanks love", you whisper, throat too sore to talk at a normal volume. "Of course, I do wish you'd rest though", he replies, a worrying look in his eyes. "It's just a cold, it'll pass after a few days", you tell him before sipping the warm drink. "Ok, but after dinner no staying up late, straight to bed", Jean tells you, giving you a serious look. "Fine", you mutter, though deep down you were happy to follow his command. Jean smiles lightly before kissing your cheek. The two of you spend the rest of your lunch break in comfortable silence.

Eren Jeager:

Eren might not seem very worried on the outside, but on the inside he's a bit anxious when your sick. Does not want you to do any sort of work, even if all you have a simple cold. Could see the two of you having a little argument over you working

Get's what you need without you even needing to ask. Want some tea, already in your hand, head sore from a headache, he's massaging it for you before you go to bed

No shame in sticking close to you if you sick, he's holding your hand/ cuddling you even if it puts him at risk. He wants to make sure that you are cared for in anyway shape or form

If he's unable to be around when your ill, Eren is totally asking Mikasa or Armin to keep an extra eye on you and to update him if anything changes

"You need to stay in bed, you have a fever", Eren huffs as you make your third attempt to crawl out of bed. "I don't care, we have work to do", you tell him angrily. "Hey, even the captain said to take a day of rest, so stop arguing with me" Eren replies with equal anger in his tone. You stop fighting at his words, "Really?", you question. "Really, a sick solider is more of a burden than an un-sick one, so please lay back down" Eren tells you. You sigh, but listen to him. "Fine, but only because the captain said too", you mutter as Eren softly drapes a blanket over you. "Do you need anything?", he questions softly as he gently rubs your cheek with his thumb. You shake your head no, before turning your head to kiss his palm. "Then I'll see you at lunch, please just rest", Eren says before standing up to put on his jacket. "Thank you", you tell him and you mean it. "Of course, sleep", are his last words before he slips out the door, leaving you to get some much needed rest.

Armin Arlet:

One of the sweetest boys out of the whole group. If your sick, he's there for you, even it means putting himself at risk. I could see him going personally out of his way to make you tea or even make you food himself if he has the time

Even if your not sick sick, Armin is already getting you permission to take a sick day, he's not letting his partner get more sick. If your really sick, Armin is taking you to the doctor

Tries to be with you as much as possible, but similar to Eren if he can't be with you he would ask one of his friends to keep an eye on you.

I could see him reading a book you or talking to you in his free time if you felt bored. He's going to do everything in his power to make you feel better

A light touch to your forehead is what wakes you up. "Armin?", you mutter, sleep still heavy in your voice. "Shhh, go back to sleep, I was just checking on you", he responds quietly. "What time is it?", you ask, rubbing sleep from your eyes. "After dinner, you slept most of the day", Armin replies a bit sheepishly. "Damn", you say, moving to sit up. "Don't worry, I brought some food if you feel up for it, but if you want to sleep, I save it", he tells you with a small smile. "I'll eat now, thank you", you tell him you heart swelling at his thoughtfulness. Armin sits on your bed, conversing with you while you eat and once the food is gone and your ready for more sleep, he gives you light peck on the forehead with the promise he'll be back soon to cuddle with you.

#attack on titan x reader #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot headcanons #erwin smith x reader #levi ackerman x reader #jean kirstein x reader #eren jeager x reader #armin arlert x reader #aot erwin #aot levi #aot jean #aot eren #aot armin #snk x reader #aot drabbles

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sixpennydame · 3 months ago

Text

Part One: The Feint

Pairing: Boxer!Choso Kamo x Fem!Reader [Jujutsu Kaisen]

Word count: 4.5k

Summary:

Choso's life is simple: eat, sleep, train, fight. But everything changes when a mysterious doctor comes into his life.

Author's notes: This is me, branching out and writing for something other than Attack on Titan! But I just love me a dark-haired, misunderstood man. Thank you to my beloved @littlerequiem for beta reading.

Series content/warnings: No curses AU, bare knuckle boxing, violence (in the boxing ring and out), mentions of blood and broken bones, eventual smut

Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

AO3 | Playlist

Line dividers: @saradika-graphics

The first time you meet Choso, he’s covered in blood.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You’re a doctor.

Or rather, you used to be. It was all taken away from you. Now you’re forced to treat fighters in an underground fighting ring, patching up broken bones and open wounds.

This was your life now, and you’d resigned yourself to that.

You hear your door slide open. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” you say, your back turned.

“Ok...” you hear a low voice respond, “but can I sit down? I’m feeling a little dizzy.”

You look over your shoulder to see a tall man, blood oozing from a wound to his head, the rag he has pressed against it drenched.

“Oh - yes, of course! Let me just...”

You grab sterile gauze and your other instruments from the cabinet and run over to him as he sits down. He looks lethargic, and a little disoriented. You remove the soaked rag, assessing the large gash along his eyebrow.

“That’s deep,” you remark, “you must have been hit pretty hard.”

“Wasn’t too bad. I just bleed a lot,” he answers nonchalantly.

The blood from his head runs down and mingles with blood on his chest.

He notices your downward glance. “That isn’t all my blood.”

“Ah,” is all you can think to say.

You’d hate to see what the other guy looks like.

“Well, let’s get you stitched up then.”

He follows you to your examination table and sits down. You start by cleaning off the blood around the wound, gently dabbing the area while keeping pressure on it. His eyelid is already starting to swell, the deep purple bruising spreading under his eye and to his cheekbone. As you clean his face, you notice that he has a long, dark scar that goes across the bridge of his nose.

“Have you had any blurred vision? Vomiting?” you ask, going through the checklist of a concussion.

He shakes his head. “Nope. I just need you to stitch me up and then I’ll be out of here.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that. I need to check that you’re ok.” You turn on your examination light and he squints, then you prepare a needle with local anesthesia.

“This might sting a bit,” you warn, and when the needle goes in, he winces for a moment, but his stoic expression soon returns.

You get right to work on the wound, silently putting in one stitch, then two, then another, concentrating on mending the skin together.

“I haven’t seen you before. You new?” His voice breaks the silence and your concentration.

“Yeah…I’m just here for a little while.”

He hums a response, and you can feel his eyes glance up at you.

“That’s good. Nobody should stay around here for too long.”

“And how long have you been fighting here?”

He sighs. “Too damn long. But fighting is all I’ve ever known….I can’t really do anything else.”

There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice. You know what it feels like to be trapped, to not have any other recourse. It’s what got you here, afterall.

You make the final stitch, tie the knot, and cut the thread.

He makes to stand up, but your hand on his shoulder stops him.

“I need to check for any signs of a concussion,” you say.

He sighs, but with a nod, he settles himself back down. You put your hands on each side of his head, turning it from side to side gently.

“Any pain?”

“N-no..” His dark brown eyes are looking everywhere but at you.

You go through the rest of the list, checking his vision, coordination, and balance—-he passes it all without a hitch.

This guy can really take a punch, you think to yourself.

“Am I good, Doc?”

“It would seem so, but you need to let that wound heal for a week or two before you fight again.”

“Nope, can’t do. I don’t get paid if I don’t fight.”

He jumps down off the exam table and walks towards the door.

But you grab his arm, pulling the man towards you.

“Hey. You might not care what happens to your body, but I do. And if you’re going to be under my care then you’re going to follow my instructions. No fighting until you get the all-clear from me.” Your voice is forceful and authoritative, and the surprise in his eyes shows that it was not what he was expecting from you.

“Yes…ma’am…er, doctor…” His phrasing is suddenly polite. “I understand. No fighting.”

At that, you let go of his arm. “Good. Come by next week and I’ll see if I can take out those stitches.”

“Next week. Will do, Doc,” he says before walking out the door.

But the following evening, he’s back in your office, straddling one of your chairs and leaning on its back.

“I’m bored...” his low voice whines.

“And so you decided to come here,” you reply dryly while wiping down your examination area.

He doesn’t take the hint, merely watching you as you do your work. Last night, his hair was up in two pigtails that spiked at the top of his head; today, his black hair flows down, almost touching his shoulders. Cleaned up, he’s handsome, even with the swelling from the black eye.

You walk over to him with a small bag of ice. “Here. If you're gonna just hang around here, we might as well take care of that swelling.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He takes the bag, putting it on his still tender bruise.

“I’m not a doctor.”

He furrows his brow at your statement.

“Not fully, anyway. I’m a doctor in residence.”

Was a doctor in residence, but you leave that part out. It’s better not to tell him too much.

Your words seem to be an acceptable explanation. He leans his arms on the back of the chair, then his head. “Well then…what’s your name?”

You tell him. There’s an awkward silence.

“And what’s yours?”

“Choso. Choso Kamo.”

Normally, you don’t bother learning the fighters’ names, or even asking. What would be the point? They’re either too punch drunk to answer you, or they’re in and out of your office without a backwards glance.

But it wouldn’t hurt to get to know this guy a little more, right? The night’s been slow, and it doesn’t seem like he means to leave any time soon.

“And you said you’ve been fighting for a while?” you ask while attempting to grab a jar of cotton balls on a high shelf.

“Yeah. A couple years. I’m paying for my brothers to go to a boarding school outside the city. The public schools are shit here, and I want them to have better opportunities than I did.” He suddenly becomes quiet, contemplative. “I don’t want them to end up like me.”

That was not the answer you were expecting from him. You’d assumed all the fighters here were adrenaline junkies or extreme pain addicts, with overinflated egos to match. But Choso didn’t seem to fit any of your preconceived notions. He’s fighting for his family because he feels he has to.

So you’re not the only one who feels trapped in their circumstances.

He walks over to you, looking down and smiling. “Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I chose this life.”

There’s a silent energy between the both of you as you meet his gaze, but it’s gone in an instant when he looks away, reaching up and getting the jar.

“Did you need this?” he asks, his voice suddenly low and sweet.

“Yeah.... thanks.”

Your fingers graze his as you take the jar and there’s a flutter in your stomach. For someone so beat up and bruised, there’s a gentleness about him; you can see it in his eyes.

The moment between the two of you, however, is cut short when the door is kicked open and a bloodied and bruised fighter is rushed into the room.

By the time you get them bandaged and stitched, and your workspace clean, Choso is gone.

Ah well, you think, better not to get too attached anyway.

But the next evening, he’s back in your office, just like clockwork, leaning in a chair or sitting on a counter, just ever so slightly in your personal space. You use it as an opportunity to check his wound, reprimanding him for not regularly putting on antiseptic ointment.

Your leg brushes his as you dab the ointment on, attempting to ignore that he’s once again watching you silently.

You clear your throat. “You need to take better care of your wounds, Choso, or the scar isn’t going to heal properly. Or worse, it’ll get infected.”

”I don’t really care about scars. I’ve always had them, it seems.”

You look into his eyes, then down at the scar across his nose.

”How’d you get that one?”

“That?” He points to his nose. “That was an unfortunate incident with my father and a metal baton.”

He then tells you about his life, about having an abusive father and an absent mother, and about raising his younger brothers practically on his own. As a teenager he’d given up on school but had found an aptitude for fighting, first in back alleys and parks, and now, in his early twenties, in the underground bare knuckle boxing matches run by various shady gambling organizations.

The gambling here was somewhat legal, but the matches were anything but, pitting fighter against fighter in a bloody free-for-all where the only rule was don’t hit them hard enough to kill them. The fact that Choso was still alive and fighting after all these years was impressive.

Slightly masochistic, but impressive.

From here on, every evening, Choso would come like clockwork. He’d find his way to your office, where you’d assess his wound, put on more ointment (he would always forget), give him some ice for his bruising and just listen to him talk. The man was an open book to you, and after a few days, you felt you had a good idea of who Choso was and what made him tick.

Like how he hates confined spaces but has no problem with heights; that if he’d gone to college, he would have been a preschool teacher because he loves kids; how he likes board games but gets too competitive.

He was odd but sweet, carrying himself in an unassuming way that contrasted vastly from the other fighters that passed through your door. Even though he was part of such a cruel world, he seemed so… innocent, as if he was experiencing life for the first time.

You, on the other hand, kept information about yourself general and brief during your talks with Choso. To tell him about yourself and your life would mean that you trusted him; that he was more than just another fighter coming through your door.

Even moreso, you were afraid of what he’d think if you told him what got you here in the first place.

And so every question Choso asked was met with a quick answer or total silence; that didn’t seem to stop him from asking questions, however; the man was as relentless with curiosity as he was with fighting stamina.

And when seven evenings had passed, you could tell the man was aching to get back into the ring.

“It’s itchy,” he said, gently patting the healing wound with his fingers, just like you’d taught him to do when he felt the urge to scratch it.

The bruising and swelling around his eye and the side of his face had gone down considerably in the past week, faster than you were even expecting.

Something else you didn’t expect was the fact that you really enjoyed his presence in your office every night, so much so that you felt a small pang of longing every time he left.

“Come here, then. Let’s have a look at it.”

He walks toward you, reaching up to pull his hair back into a ponytail, his shirt raising just enough to show his toned stomach. You quickly turn away to reach for your glasses.

There’s a crinkling sound behind you as he sits on the tissue paper covering the examination table. You can feel his eyes on you and you take a few breaths before turning around, avoiding his gaze.

You’ve been this close to him countless times, but why does it suddenly feel different now?

There’s cheers coming from the arena down the hall, and that usually brings commentary from Choso about the fighters, but right now, he’s quiet. You wonder what he’s thinking about.

“You look cute in your glasses,” he says in a low voice that sends vibrations to your core.

“Stop it. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“But it’s true.”

”Shhh...” you command, but his comment has you visibly flustered. You clear your throat as you assess Choso’s wound.

“I’m going to take out the sutures now. It shouldn’t hurt.”

Your examination light clicks on above the two of you and you tilt his head up slightly. He smiles boyishly before looking away.

Realizing it’s pointless to ignore whatever is happening between the two of you, you prod, “Was that your way of flirting?”

”I’ve never been very good at that,” he confesses. “Just stating the facts. One of my many observations of you this week.”

”Oh yeah? And what else have you observed?”

”You purse your lips when you concentrate.”

You suddenly relax your lips as you start cutting the threads of his suture. “I don’t do that.”

He smiles. “And you do this little throat clearing sound when you’re nervous.”

As if on cue, you clear your throat. He smirks triumphantly.

”See?”

”So you’ve discovered every one of my physical ticks. You have them too, you know.”

His eyes glance up to you. “And they are?”

”Well…you...” you snip a few sutures, pausing to pull them out and put on a tray, “...sigh loudly.”

”I… sigh loudly?”

”Yeah…as if you’re bored or tired or something.” Snip goes another suture. “And you have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen. I don’t think you’re physically capable of hiding any of your emotions.”

”Unlike you. You’re like a stone wall. You get defensive and distant every time I ask a personal question.”

“I do -” your words come out clipped and harsh, and he gives you a knowing look, “-not..”

Snip.

Silence.

“Ok, fine. What do you want to know?”

“You’re not wearing a ring, so you’re not married. Boyfriend?”

“No.” You want to leave it at that, but that would just prove him right. “I don’t really have time for…relationships.”

Desperately wanting to deflect, you ask, “What about you? I’m sure you have a hoard of fangirls.”

“Me? Fangirls?” He laughs at that and you give him a reprimanding look to keep still before you continue your work. “You clearly haven’t been to any of the matches. It’s mainly old men drunk off their asses. And I don’t really talk to…girls.”

You take out the last suture and dab at the slight bleeding.

“I’m a girl.”

“Yeah, but you’re different.”

Your brow furrows at that, and so he adds, “I want to talk to you. And it’s a challenge.”

“A challenge? In what way?”

“No matter what I ask, you’ve barely told me a thing about you. But there’s some things I can tell.”

His hand reaches out and pauses for a moment, before his fingertips caress your face.

“You seem sad,” he says gently, “and alone.”

“What does that mean, alone?” You back away from him. “I’m perfectly fine, and I don’t need you to pity me.”

“That’s not what I meant -”

He walks toward you, but you turn away.

“Your wound is healed and your bruising has gone down. You should be fine to fight now, so there’s no more reason to come here.”

You can feel his presence right behind you. He says your name but you don’t turn around.

It’s time to stop this. There’s no use in letting someone into your life.

There’s a loud sigh, and then you hear the door to your office open and close.

——

“Goddammit, Choso, why are your hands not taped? Where’s your head been lately?”

Choso stays silent. Was he really gonna tell his trainer that he’s been sidetracked all week because he was thinking about you every moment?

That would get him a slap across the face, and he’d like to avoid that.

This is the first time he’s been back to the arena since that last night he saw you. And every day he’s thought about whether he’ll catch a glimpse of you walking to your office, or in the hallway. After things fell apart so terribly, he wonders if he’d even have the nerve to talk to you again.

Choso’s trainer pushes him out the door. ”Go to the doctor and ask to borrow their tape. Surely she has some.”

Shit.

The cheers and boos of another fight echo against the brick and metal of the hallway as Choso makes his way to your office, each step making his heart beat just a little bit faster.

Would you even want to talk to him? Maybe you’ll turn him away.

(Of course, if he got injured tonight, you’d have no choice but to treat him, that thought had crossed his mind.)

Just as he makes it to your door, it flings open, nearly hitting him in the face. He stops it right as a man with long blue hair slinks out.

”Oh! Sorrrry man!” His voice is innocent, child-like. “You almost got knocked out before you could even fight.” He smirks while holding open the door ceremoniously. “The doctor will see you now.”

Confused, Choso watches as the man practically skips down the hall but his concern quickly changes when he sees you slumped over your counter.

”Doc…”

He cautiously walks towards you.

”Go away.” The words are harsh but your voice is weak and defeated.

Choso gently puts a hand on your shoulder to turn you towards him, but you refuse to look him in the eyes. He lifts your chin up to look at him.”What happened?”

That’s when he sees it. Your bottom lip is split and bleeding.

Choso’s eye squint, studying the wound. “Who did this to you?”

You say nothing, but with the freshness of the wound, he puts it together. And suddenly, he’s seeing red.

He turns on his heels, ready to burst out the door and catch that blue haired bastard who hit you, but you grab his arm, pulling him back to your side.

”Don’t, Choso!” You plead. “Please...”

Your eyes well up with tears and Choso’s hand instantly cups your face.

“What happened?”

You hesitate, as usual, but then, “…I’m in trouble...”

”What kind of trouble?”

You look down, grabbing some gauze on the counter to put on your lip. Once again, Choso is met with silence to his questions.

”Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?”

”Why do you keep coming here, Choso? No matter what I do…you just keep coming back. I don’t get it.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I like you.” The words come out of his mouth so naturally, words he’s wanted to tell you for days. “You are one of the only people here who is kind to me. I could tell that you really cared. I don’t get that often, if ever.”

He moves closer, placing his hand on top of yours. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Outside the doors of the office, the voices of the gamblers in the arena raise to a crescendo. A muffled sound announces the next fighters.

But here, it feels as if time has stopped. Choso can’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart in his ears getting louder and louder. His focus becomes completely on you, as if the rest of the world has melted away. It’s the same feeling he gets right before a fight, but this time he’s not looking to conquer anything.

Or maybe he is.

He brings your hand off your face and leans down, his lips mere millimeters from yours.

“Let me in.”

Your breath is ragged and uneven and if he closed his eyes, he swears he’d be able to hear your heart beating as well. But after a few seconds, when neither of you move, he begins to doubt himself.

Then your voice - your sad, soft voice - breaks the silence.

”Choso...”

That’s all he needs to hear to have his lips crashing into yours. It’s a desperate kiss, a hunger arising in him that he’s never felt before. Your arms wrap around his neck and he lifts you up and onto the counter, pressing himself between your legs. He can taste the blood from your lip and it seems to spur a deeper want of you inside of him. His hands roam under your shirt and you moan into his mouth. He wants to touch you, taste you, know everything about you -

“Choso!” A loud voice resonates outside the office.

Both of you break away from the kiss, breathless.

“Shit. I’ve gotta go.” He looks at the door, expecting his coach to barge in any second; when he doesn’t, he looks back at you. You look so vulnerable right now, he doesn’t want to leave you. He wants to see how much further this can go, how much more you’ll open up to him, but he knows he can’t miss a fight.

“Wait for me. It’s not safe for you to leave by yourself tonight. I’ve just gotta.…go do this real quick.”

This. As if his livelihood doesn’t depend on it.

“Alright,” is your answer.

And with that, it feels like Choso has been hit with a shot of adrenaline. He kisses you again, maybe a little bit too enthusiastically, because he hears you suck in a breath.

“I’ll be right back.” He looks down and sees some medical tape on the counter. “And I’ll return this.”

He runs out the door and down the hall, the tape in his mouth as he winds it around his palms and knuckles.

You’re gonna wait for him.

He’s never wanted a fight to finish so fast.

”Choso! Where the hell have you been? You’re up!”

He ignores his coach and starts warming up, jumping a bit and then throwing a few punches. Just outside the door beyond are the lights, the cheers, and his opponent.

But right now, all he wants is you.

”And weighing in at 187 pounds….the man who always brings a bloodbath…CHOOOOSOOOOO!!”

——

You hear the announcer scream Choso’s name and the cheers that follow.

Let me in… he’d said.

You’re not sure if you’re shaking from being hit in the face or from the intense kisses that you shared with Choso just moments before. Maybe it’s a little of both.

You wring your hands and pace the floor, your mind racing, trying to understand everything that just happened. Sooner or later, you knew the people you agreed to work for would come to collect - but no matter what you did, it never seemed to be enough. They take and take and take…

And that man with the blue hair - it seemed like he’d taken such joy in hitting you, seeing the fear in your eyes when he made his threats.

Maybe you should just leave, right now. Pack up your stuff and get out of the city, leave everything behind.

But it would be no use, you knew they’d eventually find you.

And Choso…he told you to wait for him. It felt so good to be in his arms, touching you, kissing you. He made you feel wanted and safe, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You’ve never been interested in watching the matches before, but now you find yourself walking down the hall and into the dark and crowded arena. The crowd is lively, throwing out words of praise and curses at both the fighters. You stay in the back, and through the clouds of cigarette smoke, you see him.

It’s only been a few minutes since the fight started, but Choso’s body is already coated in a layer of sweat. There’s a wild look in his eyes but his face is serious, almost calm. He weaves and bobs in between his opponent’s punches, getting his own punch across his cheek, then one to his chin. Choso takes a few steps back as the man ambles forward, shaking his head a few times while his trainer yells something to him from the ropes.

The opponent lunges toward Choso but he puts him in a headlock and starts punching his face repeatedly. In an ordinary fight, a referee would break them up, but there are no referees that you can see. The man eventually works himself free from Choso’s grasp, his nose bloody and more than likely broken. He attempts a jab but Choso counters; he hits him hard across the cheek and the man falls to the ground.

”Finish him off!” “Beat him to a pulp!”

”Choso! Choso! Choso!”

The voices raise higher and higher, egging the victor on. But Choso merely walks to his corner, drinks some water, spits it out, and leaves the ring.

In a matter of minutes, it’s all over, the loser in a pool of blood.

You rush back to your office, knowing you’re going to have to set that man’s nose.

——

True to his word, Choso comes to your office at the end of the night.

You’ve just finished treating his opponent and stitching up a cut on his right cheek before sending him away with his trainer and crew. You’d also noticed that the bruising on the man’s knuckles was deep purple and swelling fast; no broken bones, but it looked as if he’d hit something hard and immovable, not another human body.

When you look at Choso, who’s freshly showered and wearing a grey hoodie over a white t-shirt, leaning against your office door, he looks as if he’s just had a walk in the park.

You put on your jacket and grab your things before making your way toward him.

”Let’s go. I’ll take you home.”

His hand, that just moments before had beaten someone to a bloody pulp, was now outstretched toward you.

An offering. And a surrender.

You decide to accept.

Part 2 / Part 3 / Series Masterlist

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skzdarlings · 3 months ago

Text

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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shikiii-skadi · 4 months ago

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Hey can do yandere levi ackerman and hang Zoe and Erwin please

INCLUDES: levi ackermann, erwin smith, hanji zoe WARNINGS: Yandere content, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, abuse, possessiveness, obsessiveness, stalking, clinginess, delusion, paranoia, overprotectiveness, mentions of kidnapping, death, manipulation, gas-lighting, murder, suicide, cannibalism, mutilation NAVIGATION: Attack on Titan Masterlist | part 1 (eren, mikasa, christa, armin)

Levi Ackermann:

Typ of Yandere:

Overprotective: More than anything, he wants you to survive. More than anyone, he knows how brutal the world is out there. Man-eating titans or people who are as disgusting as animals, he has seen it all. And Levi also knows how weak you are in comparison. You could never get through this, not without him protecting you. That is why he has made it his mission to prevent you from being on the list of the dead as well. And he will do it as long as he is able to.

Rude: The biggest tsundere-yandere out there. He still calls you an idiot and is not above criticizing you harshly for doing something stupid in his eyes. Honestly, sometimes you really wonder if it's true when he says he loves you. But given the fact that he is a yandere, that is a question you ask yourself only briefly lol.

Dependence: Honestly, this man is just miserable. he lost everything so many times that he stopped counting. Is it an excuse for the way he treats you? No. But you can understand why. He clings to the little bit of luck he still has in his life. You are like the air he needs to breathe. Without you, he'd be like a fish trapped on dry land.

How and when started the obsession:

It takes a long time for Levi to let you get close to him, but once that hurdle is crossed, it doesn't take long for him to snap given the world you both live in.

Do they know that their feelings are unhealthy/not normal?

To a certain degree, yes. But he would consider it natural that he wants to protect you with every fiber of his being.

How far are they willing to go?

Murder: Levi is definitely capable of killing someone without much difficulty. And when it comes to your safety and well-being, he wouldn't hesitate for a second. However, Levi would not kill any potential rivals.

Hurting you: No, Levi would never hurt you physically. However, his blunt words are another story.

Blackmail: If something were to arise, then yes, but Levi wouldn't go out of his way to dig things up. But he would definitely use his position to make sure you are in his squad or don't participate in certain missions.

Kidnapping: It wouldn't be his first choice to kidnap you, because generally, Levi wants you to be happy and do the things you like (as long as you don't put yourself in danger that is). But if you two reach a point where Levi feels that you simply can't learn from your mistakes and continue to act recklessly over and over again, then he will see no other option than to physically restrain you. So that you are no longer a danger to yourself.

Final stage: Honestly the person who is responsible for your death, should just kill themselves before Levi has the chance to get them himself. He will not let them get away. It could take years and Levi would still be as adamant to make the person, who killed you suffer. He would never forget and in the end, he would get to them, no matter where they might try to flee to. The world is too small to hide from Levi Ackermann.

What is it overall like to have them as a Yandere?

As mentioned earlier, Levi is just miserable. He is so out of touch with his feelings that he would probably never confess his feelings to you on his own and you would have to make the first move. Which is why a scenario of rejection is unlikely. If you were to correctly interpret his behavior and tell him that you don't love him, it would hurt him a lot inside, but he wouldn't do anything to you. He wouldn't kidnap you or pressure you into a relationship. Levi doesn't have a high opinion of himself in that regard and probably doesn't think he's worthy of your companionship anyway. He would still stay by your side and protect you, but he doesn't expect anything in return. Knowing that you're safe is good enough for him.

Levi is probably one of the better Yanderes to have. Apart from his overprotectiveness he is pretty reasonable and will actually listen to you if you have complaints.

Erwin Smith:

Typ of Yandere:

Manipulative: This man has a way with words. He could bring someone to jump willingly off a cliff if he wanted to. The key word here is "if he wanted to". I have a hard time imagining that he would ever manipulate you. He is too controlled and aware of himself for that.

Stalker: Because of his position as the Commander of the Survey Corps, he doesn't have a lot of time to stalk you. But it is his favorite free time activity. Just watching you do your daily tasks fills him with more joy than you could ever imagine.

Disappearance: Every day anew he sends soldiers to their death. He is convinced that he does not deserve you and that you will be better off with someone else. Which is why he will eventually leave you. It is even more likely that he has never approached at all.

How and when started the obsession:

Erwin feels lonely deep down. And sometimes he finds himself wishing he had someone by his side. But because of his opinion of himself, he never brought himself to change your relationship as comrades into something deeper. It was only a matter of time before all these suppressed emotions grew into something unhealthy.

Do they know that their feelings are unhealthy/not normal?

Yes and no. He was already conflicted enough with his normal feelings, so he didn't notice the change in the beginning.

How far are they willing to go?

Murder: No, never. It would never even cross his mind.

Hurting you: He would never do that either.

Blackmail: Even if he doesn't like to admit it, there have been situations where he has taken advantage of his position and made sure that this one person, who obviously was interested in you, suddenly stays miles away from you.

Kidnapping: If he wanted, he would be able to make you disappear without anyone finding even a trace of you ever again. But before it would ever come to that, he would have already distanced himself from you.

Final stage: Not even a single hair on your head would be harmed during the whole time of his obsession. Even in the end, he would never think of killing you. Maybe he thought about ending his own life in desperate hours, but he never went through with it. After all, he still had a dream.

What is it overall like to have them as a Yandere?

Honestly, you probably never really noticed his intense feelings. The worst thing that can happen to you with him is that someone from your circle of acquaintances suddenly turns away from you for reasons unknown to you.

Hanji Zoe:

Typ of Yandere:

Manipulative: Hanji is a master of gaslighting and other manipulative tactics, due to their high intelligence. As soon as you have the slightest idea about their real intentions, they immediately make you doubt yourself. They twist stories, deny things, and immediately accuse you of those actions yourself. Hanji can predict your every move. They are always one step ahead of you. Not in a million years could you ever outsmart them. It's a game for them, honestly.

Bizarre-Seeking: Of course, someone like Hanji, who is already considered strange by many for her nature anyway, must have strange preferences. When it comes to things like strands of hair, you might be able to overlook it, but she definitely collects gross things too, like your fingernails or blood. Hanji has a whole shrine filled with your things. It is their most precious possession, next to you, of course.

Restraints: The amount of time you spend with Hanji is never enough for them. It was only a matter of time before Hanji decided that the best thing for you would be to never leave their side again. Preferably, they tie you directly to them, but if that's not possible, then a chair or the like is fine for a short time.

How and when started the obsession:

I mean, Hanji has always been a little…. strange. You probably never know them any other way. But their obsession with you started when you listened to them talk for hours about Titan experiments.

Do they know that their feelings are unhealthy/not normal?

No, they don't. Hanji thinks it's completely normal to feel this way about their significant other. They don't even think it's weird that they collect your fingernails and such. If you judge them for it, then they rather think that you are the weird one. After all, why should Hanji waste such precious things or not pay any attention to them at all?

How far are they willing to go?

Murder: Hanji would definitely kill people who stand in their way. And God have mercy on anyone they chose to kill. Hanji shows no mercy and no one will ever see the mutilated remains of their victims again. Unless they choose for their own amusement to send the victim's relatives the head.

Hurting you: Should you repeatedly try to leave their side, then Hanji is not above breaking your ankles, or legs, should she see it as more fitting. Just because you've won their love and affection doesn't mean you're saved from their more violent traits. In fact, it is quite the opposite - it just makes you more interesting. There are times when Hanji tortures you or acts out their strange tendencies and cuts off your fingers to add them to their shrine. If you cry the whole time and mess up your beautiful eyes with tears, then it's better if Hanji cuts them out for you to preserve their beauty, right?

Blackmail: In case of minor incidents or at the beginning of your relationship, Hanji usually manipulated you, not infrequently with blackmail. In the later stage, however, they rather choose physical violence. So they usually only blackmail you for fun.

Kidnapping: Hanji will definitely kidnap you and bind you to them forever. There is no other outcome.

Final stage: Hanji can accidentally kill you if she tries to cut anything off of you to be able to keep it. But if you keep rejecting them or even start hating them, they will see no other way than to kill you. Now she can shape you the way she wants. Your body will remain with her forever, as the most beautiful part of her shrine. Should you die due to natural causes, then she will eat your dead body so that you can finally be one again.

What is it overall like to have them as a Yandere?

Hanji is definitely the worst and most dangerous yandere of them all. Every one of your friends and family members runs the risk of being brutally murdered by them. And even you are not spared. The possibility that you die as her darling is incredibly high. And should you not be dead, then you are highly mutilated and disfigured. With them you always walk on eggshells, afraid of what they might do. In addition, you never have a free minute from them, because they always have you near them, if not directly tied to them.

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sundrop-writes · 6 months ago

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One Moment Per Episode With Dick Grayson

Season One, Episode One: "Titans"

Summary:

You and Dick haven't spoken since the Titans parted ways in San Francisco five years ago.

Even though you used to be as close as two people can be, both of you are doing just fine leading your own separate lives - until your psychic powers cause you to have a vision of the end of the world, and you have to turn to him for help. As much as Dick doesn't want to get involved, you know that him leading The Raven on the path she needs to travel is the only way to stop the terrible fate you saw.

He wants to deny it, and stay as far away from you as possible - but he can't avoid you or the truth that you have told him when he runs into that very Raven you speak of in an interrogation room later that night. He has to face a simple truth he has always known: you're always right.

Dick Grayson x Fem!Powered!Reader. Childhood Friends/Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Bantering/Humor. Set during Season 1, Episode 1.

Word Count: 2,300

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns (some people might accuse the reader character in this story of being more of an OC and I am okay with that - I try to make all the reader characters in my other stories as blank and open as possible and every now and then I let myself have a little bit of a treat) - but as usual with my stories, the majority of pronouns used in the fic are you/yours; other than clothing style and a scar that informs her backstory, the reader's looks are not described and are left vague (as far as race, body type, hair colour, etc. - those things are not described); the reader character does have powers - I might make a separate post detailing the reader's entire backstory and power set (or I might just let it be spelled out slowly through the chapters) - but for now, I will tell you that the reader character is psychic and can see glimpses of the future in dream-like visions; the reader and Dick are 'exes' - their relationship was never official (they never explicitly called each other boyfriend/girlfriend), but they used to have sex often (and they both have feelings for each other that they never openly spoke about), and they are childhood friends, so there is a lot of emotional history there; mentions of canon-typical violence; this fic does use Y/N; mentions of the reader being shot during a past undescribed incident; there is references to sex and discussions of sex, but no explicit smut (but there might be some later in the story? idk yet); emotionally constipated Dick Grayson; idk what else ? - pining, emotional angst, using humor to deflect emotional tension, banter. I just really like the vibes of this. there is not a lot of big content warnings for this fic (yet).

A/N: Honestly, I am really excited about this one. I have a lot of ideas for future episodes (especially the episode where Dick loses it emotionally and just gets followed around by a hallucination of Bruce for the entire episode - but that's not until Season 2, oop). Titans is one of my favourite series ever - if you couldn't tell - so getting to examine each episode closer and appreciate each individual episode as a unique piece of art while writing this instead of binging a whole season gives me a whole new appreciation for the show. I hope you guys enjoy these as they come out - especially because I do have an idea of where this fic is going, but I don't know where I want these characters to go in Season 4. (I kind of want to do a secret surprise reveal of two of the characters being related and being siblings, but... idk. Sometimes people don't like that.) But this is definitely a good opportunity to send me ideas of where you want this story to go/how you want it to end up. Anyway - please enjoy!!!

....

Dick needed some fucking air.

He could barely fucking handle today. He had to compose himself before he lost it and started breaking things. It was all such a shitshow - the department pushing a new partner on him, footage of Robin all over the news, every other half-cocked beat cop making comments about how Robin was just another masked psychopath who wasn’t that different from The Joker.

Fuck them.

If they only knew what Gotham was like - if only they had to deal with a department full of asshole’s on the Joker’s payroll. If only they had to watch criminals walk away because they made bail on the decision of a corrupt judge. If only they had to sit behind a desk and listen to a mother’s sobs as she begged for him to find her missing child - knowing how many people elbow to elbow with him would laugh at her tears rather than start looking.

If they only spent one night tending to civilians while the smell of burning flesh permeated the air, with the Joker’s screaming laugh stuck in their ears because he thought that bombing a low-income housing complex was just that funny.

Fuck all of them.

Dick clenched his fist tight - his knuckles aching as he resisted the urge to drive his arm right through the glass at the front of the precinct. He just - he really needed some air.

Dick walked out the front doors (rather than smashing the glass), and took a deep breath of the cool night air, trying his best to calm down. It was getting late, and things were relatively slow, even for it being a Tuesday. No influx of late-night chaos yet. He had some time to collect himself before-

“So - Robin’s in Detroit now, huh?”

That voice.

Dick felt the sting of familiarity pluck at his spine, and he whipped his head around at lightning speed, looking in the direction of the voice. Surely enough - you were the one standing there. It hadn’t been some kind of auditory hallucination on his part.

So much for time to calm himself down.

He was immediately met with a confliction - lust and annoyance bubbling up inside of him. He didn’t want to see you again, he didn’t want you to be here, especially not without warning. But you looked so damn good - it was a distraction from that fact.

That was always the thing about exes, wasn’t it?

(If Dick could even call you his ‘ex’ - the two of you had slept together more times than he could count, both metaphorically and literally, but the two of you had never put an official label on the relationship like he had with Dawn or Barbara. He cared for you like a friend, and like a lover in a way that he was never willing to admit - but did that make you his ex? Especially if he never stopped caring about you?)

That thing about exes being: they always look so fucking good when you see them after a long time of being apart. The universe dangling something in front of you that you’re not allowed to have and technically, should no longer want.

But oh - Dick found himself wanting so very badly. (And he tried his hardest to hide that fact as he continued to carefully stare you down.)

Because you looked so good.

You were wearing something of your usual style - an outfit of many confusing layers that somehow showed off the natural curves of your body and hid you all at the same time.

A long skirt with a ruffled hemline and bold, colorful pattern. A pair of boots that you had probably gotten from some vintage store that were likely older than both you and Dick, leathery and well worn in. Your jacket was much the same - a supple brown leather with a soft fur lining that made you look very warm and cozy.

Topped off with a pair of the largest, gaudiest dangling earrings that Dick had ever seen - the kind that would have gotten snagged on one of his nice shirts and gotten the two of you tangled up during one of your hook-ups. A pair of earrings that he would have scolded you for wearing - but he would have delighted in finding them on his bedroom floor after you left because it meant having a piece of you still with him. And it would mean having an excuse to visit you later because he had something of yours to return.

Those earrings glistened in the light of the street lamps, just as your eyes did while you stared him down with those inquisitive, knowing eyes. Looking at him with that same expression you always wore - the one that seemed to say you knew everything that he never would. It equally fascinated him and infuriated him.

He hated the fact that you had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, causing his heart to race - had you snuck up on him on purpose? Did you find it funny?

“Y/N,” Dick said your name curtly, still feeling a slight twinge of shock that you were standing in front of him at all. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

You let out a dry chuckle, and stepped closer to him, making his whole body stiff. His first instinct was to step backward - to gain more distance from you. But he didn’t want to seem like he was afraid of you - afraid of that closeness. So he forcefully locked his legs and stayed in place as you drifted closer, and you idly conversed back.

“Oh, Dickie.” You sighed in return, using his childhood nickname. “A warm welcome as always.”

Dick rolled his eyes at this. Did he really need to bother with manners and formalities? The two of you had known each other for so long, he guessed that you were both well over stuff like that.

“Do I need a reason to be here? Can’t I just visit an old friend?” You posed, a humorous tone still running through your voice.

He shoved his hands into his pockets as he took a more defensive stance. He quickly went from shock then to annoyance.

The two of you were old friends - you had known each other since you were in diapers together. The two of you had grown up together, raised by a unique circus family. And that meant that Dick knew you well enough to know that if you were here, you had a good reason to be.

(If you had wanted to chase him when he first left Gotham, you likely would have camped out in the trunk of his car, or you would have shown up at his new apartment the day after he moved in. You wouldn’t have waited this long to contact him.)

“Do us both a favor and cut the bullshit, please.” Dick replied sternly. “Why are you here?”

“Grumpy.” You sighed, sounding defeated.

He waited for a moment, and surely enough - you folded, now willing to directly explain your reason for showing up in Detroit so suddenly.

“I had a vision.” You explained. “A girl. The Raven. A lot of others consider her to be the eater of worlds, but she is the one who is going to save us all, Dick.”

He let out a harsh puff of air, reaching up and running fingers roughly over his temple. Yup, there it was - the headache had fully set in now. He really didn’t need this. Not tonight.

He had known about your visions for a long time. When he was younger, he had been shocked to find out that you had inherited your mother’s ‘gift’. He previously had no clue that her set-up as a sideshow fortune teller with Tarot cards and a large crystal ball wasn’t all psychology tricks and half-guesses she put on for tourists - but in fact, it was actually something informed by larger supernatural forces at play. And it was something you could do as well.

So he was inclined to believe you when you told him about this vague vision, but he also didn’t want to be involved. He had a lot on his plate right now - he didn’t need this.

“Look, I’m sure that whatever you saw was important, but-” He began.

You sighed and shook your head harshly at this ‘but’.

“Why don’t you just take it to New York instead? This kind of thing is way more Donna’s speed, anyway. I’m sure she can help you find this girl, and-”

“That won’t help.” You told him. “The girl is already on her way here.”

You spoke the words with such utter certainty, and it sent shivers up Dick’s spine. The calm, tranquil look on your face - the ominous wiseness you held: it reminded Dick so much of your mother. The other-worldly authority she held that had ultimately gotten her killed. It was strangely creepy.

“Just so you know, I hate it when you say ominous shit like that.” Dick told you, gesturing to your person with stiff offense in his body. “Just because your mother played the creepy voodoo witch for tourists doesn’t mean you have to.”

“I’m not playing.” You replied, exasperated.

You knew that Dick could be frightened of your powers at times. He was someone very logic-based - he built his beliefs around facts. So having you follow your visions and your ‘gut feelings’ when they were never concrete, changing on a dime - he hated the uncertainty and chaos that came with it all. But you had learned to trust yourself and your feelings over time, even if he didn’t.

“And you know, you’re involved in this whether you want to be or not.” You told him, trying to get the conversation back on track. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Robin made his first appearance in months last night.”

Dick became stiff at this, and quickly glanced around - as though waiting for someone to appear out of nowhere and point an accusing finger at him, screaming out that he was Robin and he had been caught.

“You can’t help it, Dick Grasyon.” You declared with intense certainty. “You need to save people, you need to feel like you’re making a difference, you-”

“So what, now you expect me to save the whole fucking world?” Dick snapped back.

“She does.” You corrected.

“Who?” He replied - confused and once again annoyed at your mysticism and bold confidence in your visions.

“The Raven.” You told him. “She needs you. And whether you like it or not, you need her.”

You shifted your stance then, waiting for him to tell you that you were right - which was how most of your arguments ended.

But then, as a sick reminder, the lapel of your jacket opened enough for Dick to get a glance at your chest. The neckline of your blouse was wide open, but his eyes weren’t drawn to your cleavage - instead, he became focused on a large scar that you had sitting over your heart. A place where a bullet had ripped through you, leaving you barely alive.

He still remembered the feeling of your blood warm under his hands while you looked up at him with tears in your eyes, begging him to save you. He remembered sitting at your bedside, believing that you would never wake up again.

He couldn’t help but to reach up and gently skim his thumb across the roughness of the scarred skin as he glared at it with a stiff jaw. The touch sent shivers through you - it was the first time he had touched you since that last night in Gotham, when you had woken up to an empty bed and absolutely no explanation as to where he had gone.

Dick felt rage boil inside of him.

How could you ask him to save the world when he had been responsible for this?

This - this was why he was no fucking savior.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He said, choking on the words slightly as he took his hand down, shoving it back into his pocket once again. He had to avoid the temptation of touching you any further.

If you weren’t safe around him, why would some little girl from your visions be?

“This isn’t about me.” You scoffed. “Or-”

‘Or us.’

You held back, knowing how dangerous it was to mention the royal Us around flighty Dick Grayson. For a bird without wings, he was absolutely capable of taking off in a quick moment when he wanted to.

“This is about something so much bigger.” You pressed. “She’ll be here soon.”

Dick let out another strained sigh at you using such ominous words again.

“Well, next time you’re gonna come here and be all ominous and creepy, you should at least bring some coffee.” He told you, sarcasm tight on his lips.

You made a mocking face in return.

“Well, you could be more polite.” You scoffed.

Before Dick could recommend that the two of you go and get a coffee in order to truly catch up, someone called out his name, drawing his attention away from you for a moment.

“Hey, Grayson!” Someone called, sticking their head out the front door. “Prentiss is looking for you!”

When he turned back, you were gone. He tried not to linger on it too much - how creepy it was. You were silent and quick like a ghost - he thought that your ominous jewelry might jingle like a house cat’s bell.

But - he would call you later. Hopefully you still had the same number.

…

Dick walked into the interrogation room, trying to clear his mind of the interaction with you. When he saw a small, scared girl, he thought it best to lighten the mood with a joke.

“Hi, I’m Detective Grayson.” He said, introducing himself. “I hear you like to play baseball with bricks and cop cars. You wanna tell me what happened?”

“You’re him.” She said, whimpering and tearful. “You’re the boy from the Circus.”

At first, Dick thought that everyone was simply being ominous and creepy today. But then he realized:

‘Oh fuck. You were right.’

...

A/N: Please do not ask me when this fic will be updated - this fic does not have a schedule.

While this is technically the first chapter in a 'series', each chapter is meant to be enjoyed on its own. The overarching plot of the series is still that of the original Titans show, and I won't be making any major changes to the canon of the show - I just intend to showcase smaller emotional moments between the reader character and the canon characters. This is something I want to work on casually in the background between working on other things. This fic is not my main focus, and I will not be rushing to update it or complete it.

Comments and reblogs are encouraged, and I am thankful for them - but please keep those comments focused on the actual content of the series (it's plot, the characters, their dynamics, etc.). Please do not spam me asking me to update this or asking me when I will update this - because I am not in a rush to do so. I have a lot of ideas for this series that I am excited about, but I want to work on it slowly and casually because I don't want to lose my enthusiasm for it and I know that rushing will take that enthusiasm away.

If you enjoyed this - great, thanks. But if you expect this to be updated weekly like a factory pumping out stuff on a clearly outlined schedule - then you are in the wrong place. If you are expecting constant updates of this fic and you will be disappointed if it doesn't get updated regularly - you should just block me now and pretend you didn't read it. But if you are a patient person - feel free to read and enjoy my other Titans works while I am working on updates for this (and working on other exciting things), and feel free to send me a message telling me what you thought of this fic or other fics in general.

Also - if you can't get Dick Grayson off your mind - my requests are open.

#sundrop writes #dc titans #titans fanfiction #dc titans fanfiction #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x female!reader #titans x you #titans x reader #bat boys x reader

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paperstorm · 4 days ago

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Feels a little like playing a kazoo as the Titanic sinks to share some silly fanfic today but maybe love is actually the most important weapon we have idk. Tags are below a cut, please tag me in your work if you post it, I want to see it 💛 This is a bit from @strandnreyes' and I's upcoming chapter of our Season 5 fic.

Carlos hooks a finger under TK’s chin, gently urging him back up so he can place the softest kiss to TK’s lips before guiding them carefully into the shower.

“Shit,” he says, the moment they’re in the stall, and TK follows his gaze southward and bursts into laughter a moment later as he notices they’re both still in their socks, soaking instantly in the spray.

“Ew,” TK giggles, holding Carlos’s forearm for balance as he leans down to peel the wet socks off his feet and toss them through the still-open shower door. They land with a nasty splat on the floor and Carlos laughs with him as he does the same.

Carlos slides the glass door shut. “It’s almost 1am, I think we can be forgiven for forgetting.”

“My head doesn’t have a lot of blood left in it,” TK points out, and Carlos’ eyes glint as he pulls TK back into an embrace under the warm cascade of water. It soaks through TK’s tired muscles as he’s kissed sweetly, and their quickly-hardened cocks bush together in the space between their bodies.

Carlos hums into the kiss, hands sliding down TK’s back and hands cupping his ass, nudging him in closer so their cocks slide upwards, sandwiched between their stomachs and nestled next to each other.

“Love you,” TK whispers, feeling so close to his husband in more ways than physical.

“I love you so much, babe,” Carlos whispers back, foreheads pressed together and sharing moist air in the miniscule space between them.

Arousal pulses slow and warm through TK, feeling every inch of Carlos against him. They sway almost unconsciously, foregoing actually getting clean for the moment in favor of just holding each other. TK meant it, when he’d said Carlos didn’t have to promise him to completely put away his work and his pain and his responsibilities when he comes home, but Carlos has kept the promise anyway and selfishly, TK can’t say he hasn’t enjoyed it. Carlos comes home and his phone goes into the box even as TK reminds him every time that he doesn’t have to, and they’ve spent a fantastic few nights feeling like they’re getting to know each other all over again. TK’s loved every minute of it.

Carlos breaks the embrace only to reach for the shampoo bottle. He lathers a small amount between his palms and then slides his fingers into TK’s hair, strong fingertips massaging his scalp and sending tremors of pleasure all the way down TK’s body. TK holds his husband’s hips, heart beating a little too quick in his chest while Carlos rinses his hair, soapy water sliding down his back and disappearing down the drain.

TK’s cock throbs, a heartbeat in his pelvis, as he takes the bottle from the shelf and treats his husband to the same care. He strokes his fingers through Carlos’ short curls once they’re soapy, turning them so Carlos is closer to the spray and can stand under it while TK stays close to him. Carlos’ content exhale has butterflies in TK’s stomach, as if this is the very first time they’ve bathed each other instead of a number TK’s sure must be in triple digits by now.

Carlos smiles at him, pulling TK back in for another kiss as soon as he’s free of suds. One of them hums; TK can’t be sure who it was but it reverberates between their chests.

“Hey, um,” he begins.

“Yeah?”

TK drags the tip of his nose along Carlos’ cheek. “I know it’s late. But.”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow,” Carlos reminds him, palms pressing to the small of TK’s back. Just the tip of one finger plays along the crease of his ass and the touch, miniscule as it may be, has TK’s pulse jumping. “And you’re working nights.”

“Right.”

“Tell me what you want,” Carlos murmurs.

“‘Member what we talked about the morning of our anniversary?” TK asks. “You just … staying in me? For a while?”

Carlos breathes out between them. He rubs their noses back and forth. “Yeah.”

“I love the feeling of you,” TK says softly. He knows he likely doesn’t need to convince Carlos to give this to him, but he wants to say it anyway. Carlos deserves to know how loved he is. “When you’re right up against me and pressing on all the good spots inside and I can feel your heartbeat. And we’re not two separate people anymore.”

“Baby,” Carlos whispers, sounding overwhelmed.

“Please?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Anything you want. Everything you want.”

“I want you. Always, every bit of you.”

“M’gonna start crying if you don’t stop being so mushy,” Carlos teases, sounding very much like he doesn’t really mean it.

Tagging @theghostofashton @birdclowns @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@carlos-in-glasses @actual-sleeping-beauty @thisbuildinghasfeelings @herefortarlos @heartstringduet

@goodways @alrightbuckaroo @lightningboltreader @freneticfloetry

@liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @whatsintheboxmh @bonheur-cafe

@reasonandfaithinharmony @thebumblecee @never-blooms @lemonlyman-dotcom

@sanjuwrites @orchidscript @jesuisici33 @kiwichaeng @honeybee-taskforce

@fifthrideroftheapocalypse @butchreyes @just-inside-her @firstprince-history-huh @captain-gillian

@tellmegoodbye @anactualcaseofthetruth @ironheartwriter @eclectic-sassycoweyes @ditheringmind

@emsprovisions @irispurpurea @nisbanisba @corsage @chicgeekgirl89

@carlossreaders @ladytessa74

Want to be added or removed from the list? Lmk

#911ls fanfic #911 lone star #wip wednesday

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cutecinnamon · 8 months ago

Text

"A Broken Teacup" { Postwar Levi x Reader Oneshot }

CW: ⊹₊ Angst and Eventual Comfort ⊹₊ Pregnancy ⊹₊ Mention of Intimate Moments ⊹₊ Mention of a Character Death ⊹₊ Writing this made me cry a bit ⊹₊ ( I need a hug ) ໒꒰ྀི��˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

• 3,096 word count •

:gif from pinterest

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Synopsis:

(y/n) was Levi's caretaker, close friend and former squadmate. After the rumbling and the death of Hange,

Hange has left a void at Levi's heart that (y/n) can't fill.

After seeking warmth and comfort from each other, (y/n) ends up carrying Levi's baby.

Due to their complicated and unclear relationship mixed with the fact that they are both hurting, Another incident occurs, (y/n) accidentally knocked off Hange's favorite teacup from the kitchen counter, leading to a further strain in their relationship.

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After the rumbling that occured that wiped out eighty-percent of humanity, Levi ended up in a not so good state, he lost one of his eye and two of his fingers from the thunderspear explosion with Zeke. During the final war with Eren's titan form, Levi's leg was also damaged making him unable to move as efficiently as he did during his prime.

At a small little cozy house in Marley near the sea in a nearby small but warm village, Levi resided there, with his former squadmate (y/n).

Levi and (y/n) were both pretty close honestly, When Erwin and Hange were both still alive, they were the closest friends, Their bond with each other was more than just comrades and friends, They were like family.

Levi wasn't the expressive type, but (y/n) knew that Levi had strong emotions that he conveyed for the former Commander Hange, They were always close, Hange had this warmth in her that Levi needed, that Levi seeks for, They once even talked about living at a small cottage at the forest after everything was over when Levi was injured and Hange tended to his wounds. But everything shattered for Levi when she passed away due to a honorable sacrifice she made in order to save the squad and to save Humanity.

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The room was filled with the sounds of panting, (y/n) and Levi just finished an intimate activity in their sofa at their small dim living room. (y/n) knew that a void was left in Levi's heart, it was a huge void that even her love itself can't fill.

"Captain..." (y/n) burries herself into Levi's chest, sinking into his warmth.

Levi returns the warmth but his gaze falter,

"I'm sorry (y/n)..." He said in a somewhat monotone voice that conveyed sorrow,

(y/n) knew what it meant, she can never fill the void Hange had left the former Captain, She was the person Levi would always run to, the person Levi would seek comfort to, the person that will hold Levi's heart for the longest time.

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Two months had past prior to the intimate activity that Levi and (y/n) did, Levi noticed the change in her appetite, how she would always run to the sink as she threw up the contents from her stomach every morning, how she was more sensitive and emotional compared to the reserved and calm demanor she usually had.

Levi approached (y/n) as her head was at the sink again as she went through her new routine of retching and heaving every morning.

"Are you ok (y/n)?" Levi asked her, with concern evident in his tone of voice, he spoke to her in a gentle and calming tone, which was different from his usual monotone and stern demanor and way of communicating.

"I'm alright..." (y/n) replied as she wiped her mouth and opened the sink letting the water gush cleaning any remains of the component she just discarded.

Levi looked at her, his gaze held a mixture of concern and doubt as (y/n) tried to shrug off his question with the usual "I'm alright" line she uses.

"You're clearly not alright, I'm not blind (y/n) and I'm certainly not dumb." Levi said his voice still held the same concern but with a bit of sterness this time as he made sure to dig deeper into this matter.

"Captain... I..." (y/n) tried to speak but to no avail as she knew she was cornered at this rate and that eventually he'll find out sooner or later, heck she won't be able to hide this for the next few weeks once she starts to show.

Levi scanned her expressions, she was easy to read, Levi knew (y/n) well, she was an open book to him.

"You're carrying, are you not?" Levi asked her, his voice held a bit of hesitation but with certain firmness lacing it as he tried to delve deeper in this matter.

(y/n) just stared at him, her eyes were still a bit puffy due to the tears she shed earlier while threwing up. She did not mutter a single word which was already a dead giveway to Levi's lingering question.

Levi sighs, he knew the situation was not even close to ideal, hell it was very complicated at this rate since the life inside her was a result of him seeking for Hange's warmth and trying to find any bit of what he can recieve from (y/n).

(y/n) just stares at the floor her thoughts still spiraling from the endless loop of thoughts about the baby she was carrying, about her relationship with Levi and about Levi's love for Hange.

Levi's orbs also reflected the same, it carried a lot of emotions, mostly confusion on how to feel about this.

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A few more weeks had passed, Levi decided to do his best in terms of looking after (y/n) although they haven't discussed her pregnancy as much as an ideal expecting loving couple would do, he did try his best to keep his eye on her to make sure she was doing alright.

(y/n)'s heart was also at the verge of drowning from the weight its carrying. She felt lost, alone, and despite not wanting to admit it, she did crave for Levi's affection, support, and Love.

Both (y/n) and Levi grew up with no proper father and mother figure after their parents passed. Levi grew up at the underground and his mother Kuchel died when he was younger, leaving him with his uncle Kenny who also left him after teaching Levi how to fend for himself. (y/n) on the other hand was also left to fend for herself eversince she was young, as she had lost her parents at a young age. All she ever wanted was to give the baby she was carrying the life they truly deserved, a life better than what she and Levi had when they were younger.

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One Afternoon, (y/n) was washing the porcelain teacups and teapot after she prepared tea for her and Levi just like their usual routine, even though she was pregnant with their little one, she still kept his word to take care of Levi until he fully recovered, not wanting to leave his side despite knowing that his heart belongs to someone else.

After washing two porcelain teacups (y/n) stared at a specific one, a pearly white with blueish hue teacup that had a dainty pattern of small pink flowers, a teacup that held a lot of memory for the former Captain, It was Hange's favorite cup that she would always borrow from Levi when the squad or the superiors had their meetings, it was a cup that held a lot of memories and meanings to him, thats why until now, he made it clear that he wants to use that teacup despite the almost dozen of different pearly colored ones at their kitchen cabinet.

(y/n) gently placed the teacups and teapot at their kitchen counter, though what she didn't notice was their sink was somewhat broken as a small puddle of water from the calming flow from the faucet had already made its way at their kitchen floor making it wet and slippery.

(y/n) almost slipped at the floor, fortunately she managed to hold onto the kitchen counter but it had its price, as Hange's favorite pearly white teacup with blueish hue hit their cold kitchen floor.

Levi immediately came down the stairs from their shared bedroom, after hearing the loud thud, Levi stood there, his gaze not leaving the large chunks of porcelain at the floor that held the memories of the woman he holds in his heart dearly.

(y/n)'s orbs met Levi's gray orbs that also had a blueish hue to it, It held a lot of emotions that she was unable to read, if she was being honest she saw hate, anger, disappointement and sorrow.

"Le-Levi it was an accident... I..." (y/n) tried to explain but Levi cuts her off.

"Save it, I don't want to hear it (y/n)." Levi responds, trying to keep his tone in monotone, despite his anger visibly flaring up.

"Levi... I... I'm sorry... I almost slipped and I reached onto the counter and I... I didn't realize that I accidentally knocked off Hange's favorite cup..." (y/n) tried to explain, her voice was shaking as she was at the verge of tearing up in front of him, she knew the importance of the cup, Hange was a dear friend to her, Erwin and Levi.

(y/n) also knew how much she meant to Levi and how he always tries to find the reminders of her in the small little things that she left behind just like the now shattered pieces of porcelain at kitchen floor.

Levi looked at her, although he was hard to read (y/n) knew he despises her for what happened.

"Levi... please... please listen to me..." (y/n) said softly as she gently tugged the sleeves of Levi's white polo shirt.

"Do you even know how much that teacup means to me (y/n)?" Levi responded to her, his tone laced with anger which he hardly tried to supress.

(y/n) maintained eye contact with Levi, she prepared herself for the words that he might bombard at her, she knew she messed up badly and it was something she cannot fully mend.

"You know what (y/n), I don't know if you're just incompetent or stupid but, how can you expect someone like you who can't even take care of a fragile little teacup to take care of a damn little baby?" Levi asked her, his gaze piercing her.

It hurt, hearing Levi said that made (y/n) feel that she was not qualified, she was not enough to fill the void that Hange left and she accepted it, she was the one looking after Levi and giving him the care and attention he needed, but at the end of the day those words would slip from his mouth.

Levi's words impacted (y/n) a lot, which he never really intended. He was at the verge of anger and his mind was clouding his judgement and choice of words.

After glancing at (y/n) one final time he went back upstairs to their shared bedroom with his cane.

Immediately, (y/n) kneeled down the floor picking up the big chunks of shard, despite her hands getting small cuts and bruises from the former teacup, she did her best to pick up each and every piece delicately, she then placed it on top of the table as she searched their house for a hot glue gun, she knew it was dumb to try and fix something that was already shattered, but for all that mattered to (y/n) was Levi's happiness, even if it meant his forgiveness was uncertain.

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Levi's mind started to go back to his memories with Hange,

"Oi, four eyes, don't you dare touch my teacup again. You have your own." Levi said with his usual tone.

"Levi, stop being such a hot tempered Captain, if you continue to be like that you might scare all the cadets away." Hange responded with her usual cheery tone.

Hange was a contrast to Levi's cold attitude, and Levi admired that about her.

Levi remembered that Hange loves that teacup thats why he really did cherish it.

His mind then went back to the sight of (y/n) earlier, the way she was shaking and at the verge of tears from what happened. Levi knew that (y/n) would never do that on purpose, he knew (y/n) for a long time now, as she was also a close friend of his for a long time already and one of the most skilled scout in his former squad, she proved herself to him a lot of times already, especially now that she decided to stay behind and to look after him while he was recovering. Levi believes her when she told him she almost slipped at the floor and she accidentally knocked off the teacup, but his anger got the best of him.

Levi sighed as he made his way to the door grabbing his cane to check up on (y/n) he knew that she was in a fragile state due to her pregnancy, and he knew he had gone to far from the hurtful words he said to her.

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Quiet sobs were heard at the living room as (y/n) placed the last chunk of porcelain shard at the broken teacup, she managed to put everything back in place, it was back to how it is supposed to look like despite the cracks which were marks that it was already damaged, that it was already broken.

Levi's words from earlier continued to linger in (y/n)'s mind making her question if she was really capable of taking care of their little one which further added to her overwhelming emotions and anxiety.

(y/n) was still crying silently, trying to silence the quiet sobs she was unable to hold back, she really did care about Levi, she really did love him, even though his heart belonged to another.

(y/n) stared at the cup, her thoughts overwhelming her with emotions. She tried her best to make Levi happy, from cleaning their tiny house the way he wants it to be spotless, the way she tried to learn and cook the dishes that Levi loved, To dedicating her life into staying at Marley to tend to him while he recovers, and the way she tried to push her own happiness aside, she always tried her best to understand him. She was always there for him when he wanted to talk about Hange, when he was lost after the war.

She even came as far as making love with him to give him the comfort and warmth he needed, which resulted to their now growing baby in her womb.

Even if it did hurt her knowing that Levi will never see her the same way he did with Hange.

(y/n) heard foosteps from the stairs, breaking her from her thoughts, she then turned to see Levi, who was walking slowly with the help of his cane as he approaches her.

Levi saw the teacup, he then glances at (y/n)'s hands noticing the scratches, some are even covered with a bit of crimson colored blood, he also glanced at her face, her eyes were red and puffy from crying for a few hours now.

Levi made his way to their cabinet at the living room to grab a small box, it was a first aid kit, he then settles it at the table as he takes a sit next to (y/n).

Levi gently grabs (y/n)'s hands as he gently applied an ointment to it, disinfecting it, he then made sure to delicately wrap her hands with a clean bandage.

Levi saw how (y/n) didn't mind getting hurt, and that she disregarded the wounds at her hands for the sake of putting the teacup back in place, and this had an impact on him, he then started to look back to everything, her sacrifices to take care of him, and her willingness to carry their little one despite their unclear and complicated relationship.

(y/n) was still avoiding Levi's gaze but she managed to speak out a few words before being unable to control her tears again.

"I'm really sorry Levi... I really didn't mean to..." (y/n) said as tears started to fall down her cheeks.

"Shhh..." Levi gently wraps his arms around her small frame.

"I'm sorry (y/n) I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, instead of getting mad about the teacup breaking, I should've checked on you... to make sure you and our little one aren't hurt." Levi said to her with a soothing and comforting voice as he gently strokes her hair trying to calm her down from crying, which was honestly quite foreign, it was a softer side of him, (y/n) knew Levi had this side, but it was her first time to actually feel and experience it, this side of him was more understanding, caring and affectionate.

"I should've been more emotionally and physically available for you, I should be the one supporting you throughout your pregnancy. You have always taken care of me (y/n), and I hope this time maybe I can still make it up to you." Levi said his voice still laced with the softness and affection his eyes also glistening a bit from the tears he is holding back.

"Levi..." (y/n) called out to him as she continued to embrace him, not wanting to let go of his warmth.

"I give you my word (y/n) from now on we will both try to make this work, alright?"

Levi asked her, it was honestly more of like a statement since even if she did say no, he will forbid it.

"I want to give our little one a happy and loving family they deserve... I also want you to recieve the love you deserve (y/n)."

Levi slightly pulled away his orbs locking to

(y/n)'s glistening once.

They both gave each other a nod, it was like a pact to do their best for their baby to have the family they deserve, and to also open their hearts for love since after everything they've been through, they still have each other and maybe one day the void in Levi's heart will slowly be filled.

Levi glanced at the teacup although it was shattered, it was broken, it was still standing, it was still stable. Its pearly white color mixed with its blueish hue illuminating from the reflection of the moonlight through their window.

The teacup that once reminded him of Hange, now also reminded him of (y/n) in terms of how she did her best to pull herself together despite being hurt, despite being broken, despite everything they've been through. She was a strong woman and a capable mother for their little one.

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Eversince that day, Levi opened his heart for

(y/n) although Hange still had a piece of his heart, he was slowly starting to get better in accepting the love his pregnant partner was now giving him.

As time went on Levi continued to feel his once shattered heart and its once unfixable void, swell with love from his new family, (y/n) and their little one.

"I love you (y/n)..." Levi whispered to her ear while tucking a few strands of hair falling at her face, as she fell asleep leaning on his shoulder.

(y/n) slowly opened her already tired and heavy eyelids meeting Levi's gray orbs glancing at her with genuine love and affection as both their hands were now resting at her swollen belly as they feel their little baby girl kicking inside her womb.

"I Love you too Levi... thank you for loving me and our Little one." (y/n) said gently as Levi leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss at her forehead.

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Writing this honestly made me tear up, but I hope you all enjoyed this fic ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১♡

Edited: I just proofread this morning since I published it late midnight a few hours ago, I fixed a few errors and edited a few words used,

Let me know if you are interested in a mini sequel incase, thank you again for your time, ♡

- Cinna

#levi x y/n #levi x reader #aot levi #aot #hange zoe #levi ackerman #snk levi #captain levi #attack on titan #fanfic #I want to cry why did I write this

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