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starfinss · 1 year ago

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ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴀᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇᴅᴅʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇʟᴜꜱɪɴᴇꜱ — ᴡʀɪᴏᴛʜᴇꜱʟᴇʏ

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Genshin Impact

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Wriothesley + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 12,925

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: After beginning work as a doctor at the Fortress of Meropide, Siegwinne decides you and the Duke are a good match, and will do anything in her power to get you to together, even if she has to take drastic measures.

Or, alternatively, Siegwinne adds a little something extra to the Duke's tea. Chaos ensues.

As soon as the suture needle so much as touched the man sitting before you, he was already flinching away.

“That hurts!” He cried, “please, doctor, be gentle with me.”

It was almost laughable, really. Monsieur Phillip was a hardened criminal, or so you’d been told. He was a career criminal, you remembered the Duke remarking, and he’d been sentenced to serve time in the Fortress of Meropide for a myriad of things, such as assault, and even attempted murder, but here he was, a hulking mass of a man, whimpering in pain at the slightest prick of a needle.

“Hush,” you said, tutting gently, “the quicker I start, the quicker it’s over. Now hold still.”

He flinched back again, eyeing the needle like it was out to get him. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Please try and relax. I can assure you, I did go to medical school.”

Before he could say anything else, you made the first stitch, carefully, but quickly enough so as not to cause him too much pain. Even with the numbing gel you’d applied, it seemed that the patient’s pain threshold was quite low. It usually removed enough sensation that any leftover pain would be no more than a pinch, but even with that, you could see tears beading at his lash line.

A hardened criminal, indeed.

You finished the sutures quickly before bandaging the injured shoulder and giving Phillip some care instructions.

“And,” you said, “no more getting into altercations about work times, okay?”

Phillip sighed, casting his eyes away from you.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smiled, kindly. “That’s doctor to you.”

It wasn’t wholly unexpected. Men tended to have lower pain tolerances than women did. You’d given stitches to many people before, and when it came to whining, the men tended to be the most common offenders.

After Phillip left, you checked up on a woman who was resting in one of the infirmary beds, and after taking her temperature and walking away with your clipboard, you nearly tripped over Siegwinne, who had somehow snuck into your path without you noticing.

“Archons,” you exclaimed, a hand flying over your heart, “I need to put a bell on you.”

Siegwinne ignored your remark. “May I see the patient’s chart?”

You handed it to her. “The patient shows signs of improvement. Her fever has broken, and her delirium has started to clear up. She should make a full recovery.”

Siegwinne hummed meaningfully. “Very good. I was worried about that one. I am glad to hear she is healing well.”

You nodded, then turned, starting towards your desk, but before you could make it, Siegwinne called your name, making you pause.

“Yes?”

Her expression remained impassive, eyes curious, unsuspecting, and she tucked the clipboard under her arm as she closed the distance between you.

“Have you seen the Duke today?”

There it was. You didn’t know what you’d been expecting aside from this. Ever since Siegwinne had caught onto the fact that you’d developed a crush on the Duke, she’d tried to do everything in her power to set you up with him. In the beginning, that was all it was. A crush. It was a crush in the same way one would develop an infatuation with a colleague or schoolmate, based on their appearance or the limited positive interactions they had with them. It was no secret that Wriothesley was an attractive man. He was tall, and handsome, anyone with eyes could see that. You’d heard the whispers among female inmates and guards alike. You were not unique in feeling some form of attraction to him.

But to Siegwinne, your silly crush was an opportunity.

“You’re a good woman,” she told you, “and His Grace is always stressed. I fear for his health. I think you would be the right person to keep him company. You are a good match. Your influence and affection would do him much good.”

Siegwinne came to you with this a few months after you’d started work at the Fortress, completely out of nowhere, stunning you to silence. You had no idea how she’d caught on to your feelings, and when you expressed as much, she went into a rambling tangent about human behavior, something about the dilation of pupils, and how she’d been taking notes, and that was when you cut her off.

“Absolutely not.”

But nevertheless, she persisted.

Siegweinne’s matchmaking attempts rarely ended conclusively, since she tended to see things as a logical cause and effect, and did not at all fit the way any normal human would attempt to court another. They mostly involved putting you and Wriothesley into situations that forced you to speak or interact with one another, with little to no regard to how much said situations were an inconvenience to you. Her first attempt, as such, embarrassingly enough, involved telling the Duke you’d had some kind of accident with an inmate, and when he came to the infirmary to check in, finding you unharmed and working at your desk, all that ensued was a lot of confusion. You wondered why he’d come all that way to see you, and he was surprised to find you not laying on one of the infirmary beds.

But, what her attempts did do, was make the way you felt about Wriothesley, which was no more than a passing fancy at first, grow into something more.

And despite your best efforts, that only made Siegwinne latch on even harder.

“Hello?” Siegwinne said, shaking you from your thoughts, “I believe it is polite to answer a question when asked one, or have human customs changed?”

You brushed off her unintentional rudeness, instead answering what she’d asked you.

“No,” you said, “I have not seen His Grace today. He’s a busy man, Siegwinne. You know that.”

“Well, you should go see him.”

You sighed, leaning down to take your clipboard from under her arm, then crossing to your desk.

“I don’t have a reason to go see him,” you said, sitting down, “and like I said, His Grace is a busy man.”

She didn’t push after that, simply going back to work as you did yours, and you tried to put it out of your mind. You and Wriothesley were friends, you’d say. Even though you usually found yourselves meeting in less than normal circumstances, you were still fond of him. You enjoyed his frank, matter-of-fact personality, and dry sense of humor, and he seemed to enjoy your company as well. Your relationship was as casual as it could be between you and a man who was technically your boss, and friendly enough that you had conversations outside of work related matters. You’d never let Siegwinne know this, but her repeated and clumsy attempts at setting you up were not without some benefits.

That was fine, you supposed. You’d bonded over Siegwinne and her antics, and built a friendship over a shared love of tea, as well as an author you both enjoyed, among other common interests. But that was it. As much as Siegwinne, and, begrudgingly, you, would like to say otherwise, you and The Duke were only friends.

And, it seemed, as you settled into that fact quite comfortably, Siegwinne only grew more brazen in her attempts at Melusine style matchmaking.

Her latest attempt involved trying to shut you in a locked room with The Duke, which failed when Wriothesley produced the master key in order to open the door. It happened a little over a week ago, which made you nervous, because Siegwinne didn’t like letting too much time pass between her less than gentle shoves. You were almost completely certain that Wriothesley knew what was happening, he’d have to be stupid not to, though he hadn’t said anything about it. This was probably to spare you from any further embarrassment, which you appreciated.

The situation was hopeless. You knew that well. But Siegwinne didn’t, and that was beginning to become a problem. You didn’t know why you’d let her get away with this for the handful of months that you had, but maybe, deep down, you hoped that something would actually come from all her meddling.

And apart from that, you had a certain degree of professionalism to uphold. Wriothesley was your boss, and you were both his employee and his doctor. As much as you found yourself wishing otherwise, pursuing your feelings, even if that was an option, just wasn’t ethical.

But still, you could dream, you supposed. Dreaming was harmless.

“I need you to run an errand for me.”

You turned in your chair, raising an eyebrow at Siegwinne, who was staring over at you innocently, a thermos in her hands. You looked at it, then back at her, puzzled.

“Siegwinne, I’m not in the mood.”

She frowned. “To do your job? How unbecoming. I’m simply asking you to deliver this tea to the Duke. His Grace is suffering from a headache. I delivered some to him this morning, but the problem still persists.”

You glanced at the thermos again. “Tea? What’s in it?”

She immediately became defensive, and for a moment, you almost felt guilty for doubting her.

“Medicine!” She cried, “what do you take me for? I’ve brewed a painkiller into the tea. It should help with His Grace’s headache. If you don’t trust me, you can take a sip yourself.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why can’t you do it?”

Her brows pinched together in annoyance, and maybe a little indignance. “I have to go see a patient, thank you. A young man is complaining of nausea, and finds it hard to stand because of it, so I am going to see him in his cell. Now, will you bring His Grace the tea, or not?”

You sighed. In your own mind, your hesitance was completely justified. Siegwinne had tried to trick you into being alone with Wriothesley many times before this, but then again, if the Duke was actually feeling unwell, and you refused to bring him medicine, what kind of doctor would you be?

And so, you relented. With another sigh, you stood, snatching the thermos from Siegwinne’s outstretched hand.

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll be back as soon as I drop it off.”

If Siegwinne was disappointed by this, she hid it well. She simply nodded, then crossed over to her desk to busy herself with her medical bag. You glanced over a few more things at your own desk before scooping up the thermos and leaving the infirmary after calling a quick few words of parting to Siegwinne, who only nodded.

You shivered a little as you left the infirmary. Siegwinne tended to keep it warmer there, with a space heater sitting in the corner to combat the cold dampness of the rest of the Fortress of Meropide. It was better for the patients, she said, if they had somewhere nice and warm to rest and recover. You were fairly certain she also said something about humans and their preference for warmth, but that wasn’t important at present.

The clang of your boots against the metal floors rang out as you walked, head held high, thermos in your grip. The air smelled of iron and brine, a scent you’d grown used to in the time you’d been working in the Fortress. Artificial light cast everything in a sort of ominous hue, and the low strength of it left everything in partial shadow. It used to make you nervous, not knowing what hid behind them, using them like masks. Now you knew that whatever was waiting for you was something you could handle.

You glanced down at the thermos in your hands. It was warm, likely just brewed. There was no way Siegwinne would have you serve the Duke cold tea. The thermos was plain; unassuming. It was slate gray, probably stainless steel. You turned it over in your hands, studying it. It was just tea. You had no reason to think it was anything other than that. But with Siegwinne, you’d learned to expect the unexpected.

Absently, you stepped into the elevator to take you down to the administrative floor. The car jerked, and with a mechanical clank, began to move. You turned the thermos over in your hands again. It’s just tea. For the Duke. Your poor, ailing boss. You twisted your mouth. It was fine. There was no way Siegwinne would ever do anything to actually harm Wriothesley. You tapped your nails against the surface of the thermos, almost jumping from your skin when the elevator came to an abrupt stop as it reached its destination, jostling you where you stood and ejecting you from your tangled thoughts.

You sighed as you left the elevator, tucking the thermos into your arms and against your chest. Everything was fine. If Siegwinne took anything seriously, it was health. You’d caught her staring intently at you on many occasions, and when you asked her about it, she told you she was making sure you were healthy, in a very matter-of-fact tone, like it was obvious. She may be odd, but she wasn’t going to try and harm anyone.

As you reached the doors to the Duke’s office, you reached into the pocket of your skirt, digging out the key to the lock. Because of the Fortress’s status as a prison, it was only natural that important areas such as the office of the warden would remain locked. The only way to get in was if you had a key or if you were invited by Wriothesley himself. There was also the off chance that the Duke left the doors unlocked, but that was uncommon. Regardless, before you put the key in the lock, you raised your hand, knocking on the door with a great clang.

“Your Grace?” you called, though it was unlikely he heard you through the thick steel, “I’ll be coming in now. I have some tea for you.”

And with that, you pushed the key into place, twisting. With a grunt of effort, you pushed the doors open.

It was as you were opening the door that you heard him, calling to you. It was muffled under the mechanical clank of the doors, making you only vaguely aware of his call of your name, and you hurried to close the door to answer him. The lock clicked as you did, signifying that the mechanism had reset to its previous locked state.

You expected Wriothesley to call out to you again after your lack of response, or even possibly to come see you. It was unlikely that Siegwinne would send you on an errand without previously announcing your arrival. But instead, you were met with silence. You gripped the thermos more tightly, hesitating.

“Your Grace?”

You heard something else then. A soft intake of breath, only able to be heard because of the complete lack of noise, save for the quiet hum of machinery from beyond the doors. Then, you could hear him clearing his throat.

“Yes,” you heard Wriothsley say, from up the stairs, “up here.”

You sighed, relieved, as you made your way up the curving staircase and into the main office.

And as for things you expected to see, this was not among them.

Wriothesley was sitting at his desk, but he looked more than a little disheveled. His coat had been discarded, draped over the back of his chair, and his tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck. His waistcoat was also unbuttoned, as were the top two buttons of the dress shirt he wore underneath the garment. His gloves had also been removed, laying out on his desk beside an empty teacup. His hair was tousled, more than usual, and his face…

You furrowed your brows, suddenly concerned. His face was flushed, a deep pink settled in the apples of his cheeks, very evident against his usually pale skin. Breath, feather soft, expelled itself through parted lips, almost too quickly, as he looked over at you, brows pinching together, as if pained or troubled before the expression calmed. Wriothesley straightened, clearing his throat again, and he was hurriedly fixing his clothing, deft fingers doing up the buttons of his shirt, smoothing back over his hair.

His eyes fell to the thermos in your hands, lingering, before sliding up to your face.

You stared at him, your concern growing more by the second, and after a beat, you crossed to the desk, setting the thermos down.

“Your Grace,” you said, “I’ve brought you painkillers for your headache, but you look… May I examine you? You do not look like you’re feeling well.”

“Examine me,” he repeated, then took a slow breath, squeezing his eyes shut before shaking his head, as if clearing away a fog. He swallowed, raking a hand through his hair, and it was then that you spotted sweat beading on his forehead.

“Yes,” you said, gently, already in doctor mode, “please, let me help.”

He cleared his throat, for what was probably the third time, and you narrowed your eyes. You were rapidly beginning to get suspicious in addition to concerned. There was something he wasn’t telling you. Absently, you found yourself mentally scolding yourself for neglecting to bring your medical bag.

“I’m fine,” he said, though he certainly didn’t look fine, “please, don’t trouble yourself. You’ve come all this way for me, so would you at least sit with me for a cup of tea?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. It was fine, though, you supposed. Staying around wasn’t a terrible idea. It would give you a chance to more closely study the Duke’s behavior, and try and figure out what the problem might be. And so, you stepped to the table off to the side, picking a clean tea cup from the collection displayed there.

“I don’t need any, really,” you said as you leaned over to take the thermos from the desk, “Siegwinne made this for you, for your head. I am happy to sit and talk with you, though, if you want me to.”

Wriothesley smiled easily. “If you like, I can brew you a cup from my personal collection of teas. What do you like?”

You flushed, feeling special, and you turned to busy yourself with arranging his cup of tea to hide the pink in your cheeks.

“You already know my preferences, Your Grace,” you said, over your shoulder, “just a cup of earl gray is fine.”

You heard shuffling, then the sound of a drawer being pulled open, and you knew the Duke was rifling through the collection of teas he kept stored in his desk. Shifting your focus, you removed the small travel cup attached to the top of the thermos, then unscrewed the lid. Immediately, you were hit with the scent of the tea. It was unexpectedly sweet, and sort of floral. It certainly wasn’t the Duke’s usual style, that was for sure. You took another lungful of it, and could make out notes of various medicinal herbs, including rosemary and feverfew, both known to help with headaches. You could also smell a hint of lavender. But there was still that floral, sort of rosy scent, undercut by the bitter, citrus aroma of the feverfew. It smelled a bit like rainbow roses; of petrichor and morning dew and sweet fresh petals. It certainly had herbs in it, some of which were known to help with what the Duke needed, but the combination of them that you were able to discern was puzzling to say the least.

You put it out of your mind, chalking up the roses to being there to help with the bitterness of the feverfew. With a sigh, you poured the steaming liquid into the teacup. It was sort of a deep rouge color, bordering on purple. A nice color, you decided, and not entirely unexpected with what was contained in the tea. You placed the cup on a saucer, then carried it, alongside the still half filled thermos over to the desk, setting them before the Duke. In exchange, he handed you the tea bag you’d requested, which you accepted gladly.

After you’d filled a cup with boiling water, which the Duke always seemed to have on hand in any nearby kettle, ready for a quick cup. You added the tea bag, as well as a few spoonfuls of sugar, then took your seat on the couch by the tea table.

Wriothesley’s face twisted as he took the first sip from his cup, seemingly troubled.

“It’s very sweet.”

You tilted your head. “Is it not to your liking? I’ll be sure to tell Siegwinne to tweak the recipe.”

Wriothesley waved a dismissive hand. “No,” he said, “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s not my usual style, but I don’t dislike it.”

You nodded meaningfully, blowing over your tea once more.

“How are things over in the infirmary?” He asked, and you sat up straighter, engaged.

“Fine. The usual. I had a man who was scared of needles just before I came over,” you said, “I’d barely touched him before he was telling me to stop.”

Wriothesley laughed, amused. He took another swallow of tea.

“Oh, really?” He said, “Monsieur Phillip, I suspect? That man always gets into brawls, but is terrified of medical treatment. And he never wins those brawls. The gardes always have to pull the other guy off of him.”

You hid your smile behind your teacup. “I know,” you said, “Siegwinne is always scolding him when he comes in for being reckless.”

Wriothesley rested his head on a closed fist, thoughtful, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Maybe a few rounds in the Pankration Ring would do him some good,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t go putting any ideas in his head,” you said, “he might become a permanent resident of the infirmary if he starts entering into any matches.”

Wriothesley made a face, pale blue eyes moving to rest somewhere in the depths of his teacup. “Maybe he’d pick up a few things about proper combat, though.”

It was your turn to laugh. “Maybe, but at the cost of his health.”

You enjoyed this. It was hardly the first time you’d been invited to stay for tea, in addition to being personally invited to tea a handful of times before. Wriothesley’s presence was pleasant and inviting, despite his intimidating stature and appearance. His height dwarfed many other people, and you’d seen few as tall as he was, save for the Iudex, who was far more slim than the Duke was. Where Monsieur Neuvillette was tall and lithe, Wriothesley was broad and powerfully built. His sheer size alone, made only more prominent by the bulky coat he wore around his shoulders, was enough to intimidate anyone.

But despite that, he was an amicable and good-humored man, earnest and straightforward. He made you feel at ease, and your growing affection for him settled low and warm in the spot behind your heart.

His face was getting more pink, you noticed, with a start. You took another sip of tea, watching him closely. His brow furrowed, just briefly, and he was fiddling with the bands of leather around his throat, as if they were suddenly too tight. He shifted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable.

“Your Grace?” You said, and he seemed to snap out of whatever had overtaken him, regarding you with raised eyebrows and an expectant expression.

“Sorry,” he said, “what were you saying?”

You studied him, eyes narrowed, and he laughed, a little awkwardly.

“You’re doing that thing Siegwinne does,” he said, “the thing she does with her eyes. I don’t know how you replicated it so perfectly. There’s nothing wrong, I promise. It’s just suddenly kind of hot in here. Do you feel that?”

You shook your head. In fact, to you, the room was cold. Just as cold as the rest of the Fortress, save for the infirmary. It was the reason for the thermal lining in the pale blue overcoat of your uniform, the color that marked you as medical staff, as well as the reason for the thicker uniform fabric worn by the majority of the other general staff.

“No,” you said, and Wriothesley looked puzzled.

“Oh,” he muttered, puzzled, “I was warm earlier, but I’m starting to get… hot now. I don’t suppose that’s normal?”

You cracked a smile at that. “No, I don’t think so.”

A spell of silence passed before your mind snapped back to what he’d just said.

“You were feeling overly warm earlier? When did that start?”

Wriothesley furrowed his brows, considering your question before answering. He took another sip from his cup, then poured more of the contents of the thermos into it.

“This morning,” he said, “I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but it was maybe shortly after I had a cup of tea.”

You snorted, amused. “You realize how little that narrows it down, don’t you? You drink more tea than anyone I know, Your Grace. I need a measure of time, not cups of tea.”

He chuckled at that. “I apologize. I believe it was after Siegwinne delivered the tea she made for my head. Which is feeling much better, by the way. I think what I’ve been drinking while we’ve been chatting has helped kick the rest of it. I’m almost finished with the thermos.”

Suddenly, you made the connection.

Almost robotically, and with learned efficiency, you went over the contents that you’d smelled in the tea, along with their uses. Feverfew, maybe some lavender, and rosemary. All of those had various uses, though they all had one thing in common, which was pain relief. Finally, there was the rainbow rose. The petals and buds were used for medicinal purposes, and could be used as such, similarly to common red roses, for anything ranging from headaches to a sore throat.

Something was missing. Something was wrong. The scent itself had been off.

“The tea,” you said, “from before. Was it sweet?”

Wriothesley nodded, taking another gulp, and finally, pouring the last of the contents of the thermos into the cup. “This brew is sweeter, though.”

You stood, then reached for his teacup, bringing it to your nose and inhaling. You caught the same things as before, but as you mulled them over, something else clicked.

Siegwinne wouldn’t. Would she?

“It’s really hot,” Wriothesley said, and you could see the sweat beaded at his hairline, sticking the hair at his temples to his skin, cresting down his cheekbone.

You reached out, and when the back of your hand made contact with his burning forehead, he flinched, making a soft sound in surprise and alarm.

“Why is your skin so much colder than mine?”

Your skin wasn’t cold. In fact, your body was at an average temperature, kept warm by the layers of clothing you were wearing. By your own assessment, your hands were probably relatively warm. You frowned, reaching into your pocket and withdrawing your penlight, circling the desk to situate yourself closer to the Duke.

The way he was looking at you when you drew closer was strange. Almost hungry. Famished, ice blue hues swept over your form, and you watched as his hands, previously resting on the desk, folded in front of him, over his lap.

You moved closer, leaning halfway over to him, hand making contact with his face to tilt it towards you. He flinched at your touch, breath shuddering, and you studied his eyes closely before muttering a warning and shining your light into his face, instructing him to follow the light with his gaze.

“This isn’t… necessary,” he protested, weakly, and you ignored him. His pupils were blown wide, dark pits in the center of the sky blue of his irises.

“Mydriasis,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him as you switched off your light and pocketed it.

Your hand dropped from his face to just under where his jaw met his throat. You pushed aside the leather straps, just enough to access his pulse point, pressing two fingers to the spot. His heart was racing, quick and erratic, and you felt him shudder, breath heavy, his jaw setting tightly as your hands drifted across his skin, probing and searching. His skin was burning with heat, feverishly so, and coupled with the elevated heart rate, the blown pupils, and the way he seemed to flinch whenever you made contact with his skin directly, you could only make one conclusion.

“So,” you said, backing up to stand up straight, “this started after you had the first brew Siegwinne dropped off, yes?”

Wriothesley nodded. “It did.”

His voice. It had dropped several octaves in the time you’d been examining him, and you cursed the effect it had on you, coursing hot through your bloodstream. It felt so deeply unprofessional for a doctor to even think of her patient in the way the brief thoughts that fluttered through your mind suggested you do.

“Is it worse after this second batch?” You forced yourself to say.

He huffed a laugh. “You could say that.”

And it was then when you noticed, from where you were standing, that Wriothesley’s belt was undone. Rosy hues colored your cheeks as you yanked your gaze away.

“You need to tell me all of your symptoms,” you said, “spare no detail.”

Panic briefly flashed across his face as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.

“Hot,” he said, “I feel far too warm. Do I have a fever?”

You narrowed your eyes. He was purposely hiding the truth, but nonetheless, you answered.

“Yes,” you said, “but I believe it’s because your body is overheated and not because you're fighting an infection. I just said not to leave anything out, Your Grace, please tell me everything. As your doctor, I–”

“I’m… Archons, I don’t want to say it,” he paused, searching, almost frantically for something else to focus on. “What was in that tea?”

You swallowed, leaning back to rest against the desk.

“Herbs,” you said, “rosemary, feverfew, and lavender. All meant to help with pain and headaches. But I could also smell rainbow roses.”

Wriothesley brightened. “Yes, I thought that was what I tasted. It brings such a unique flavor to the table, don’t you agree?”

You fought a smile, endeared by him, but now was hardly the time. You needed to figure out what was wrong with him, not to discuss tea.

“Yes,” you said, “but it was strange. Too sweet. It only gets to that level when the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose are included alongside the powdered roots of a rainbow rose, in which case the combination can make–”

Oh. Oh.

As you were talking, it clicked into place. The scent, which you’d thought was much too sweet before, suddenly made sense. Sumeru rose must have been the final ingredient. It was flavorless when consumed, but smelled quite sweet. When combined with rainbow roses, the scent of the two grew overpoweringly saccharine. Unless diluted, it would almost resemble a syrup. If the rainbow rose petals were boiled alongside the powdered roots of the Sumeru rose, it could become a powerful medicine able to soothe a bad cough. But if the roots of both plants were powdered, the results were…

You cursed yourself for being so stupid. Of course, Siegwinne would see nothing wrong with this. Medicine was medicine, regardless of what the outcome of its ingestion spelled, so long as it got the desired result. To her, the suggestion of something unbecoming would be taken with great offense.

“‘Can make?’” Wriothesley supplied, and were already imagining the ways in which you were going to rip Siegwinne a new one.

“I need your symptoms. Now. I am a doctor, Your Grace, I promise I will be as non judgemental as possible, just please–”

“Damn it,” he interjected, face hidden in his hands, “I’m aroused.”

Anything you’d just been about to say left your mind, swept away by dread, because you knew what was happening.

Siegwinne was evil. You could already picture her expectant, innocent face, asking just how her little ‘experiment’ had gone, and it filled you with boiling rage.

Though, there was also the fact that she could simply be misinformed. Melusines had different reactions to some medicines than humans did, and it was equally possible that she simply thought that, if dosed with the tea, the Duke’s feelings for you, if he had any, would just be made more prominent. For her sake, you hoped it was the latter.

“Aroused,” you parroted, trying hard to stay professional and failing miserably, because this was unethical on so many levels, “tell me more about that.”

He made a strangled, startled sound. “You want to know more?”

You wanted to melt into the floor. “I need to know how strong the dose you’ve been given is.”

“Dose?!” He said, “of what?”

You refused to look at him. “When mixed together, the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose and a rainbow rose create a powerful aphrodisiac. I believe the first dose you received was a weaker version, and this one is much stronger.”

Silence followed as Wriothesley took in the information, then cleared his throat.

“Do you have an antidote?”

You raised your head to look at him properly. He looked almost haggard, the flush from his face creeping down his neck.

“There… kind of isn’t one.”

Wriothesley made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat, hands raising to card through his hand, and it was then that you noticed it. Now that his hands were no longer hiding it, you could see it, there, outlined against the dark fabric of his slacks.

He was hard.

A wave of suffocating, shameful arousal washed over you, and you forced yourself to look away, to ignore it.

You could only begin to imagine how he was feeling. The way you were feeling was nothing compared to him, his condition undoubtedly much more intense than your own physical reaction in response to his arousal, and you could feel his eyes on you as you scrambled to find a solution.

“What am I going to do then?” He asked, “it’s getting… I’m sorry, It’s getting rather unbearable. I tried everything. It’s impossible to ignore, and I know I can’t use my hands.”

You spared him a glance. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, “I was already trying that. It wasn’t enough.”

Oh. The unbuckled belt. His disheveled state when you’d walked in. He’d already been dealing with the effects of the first dose, or at least attempting to. The call of your name, as you were entering the office. The silence before he summoned you up to the second floor.

Fuck. He’d been thinking of you.

That had to be one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, professionalism be damned. Arousal rolled over you like a breaking wave, making you bite into your lower lip.

You knew what needed to happen. You knew the effects of this particular drug would take, and you knew that the only way to relieve his symptoms was either to very painfully wait it out or to… find relief. In this case, that entailed another person.

“You need to have sexual intercourse,” you said, “or you can wait it out.”

Wriothesley cleared his throat. “Wait it out,” he said, “right, I can do that. How long will that take?”

You twisted your hands together. “It… depends. You were likely given a pretty strong dose, even for someone your size. By my estimate, it would probably take several hours for it to work its way out of your system.”

He chuckled dryly, humorlessly. “Great.”

You cleared your throat. “Do you have someone I could… call? A girlfriend?”

He snorted, as if amused by the idea. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

That would make sense, you supposed, if he was calling out your name, and not the name of another woman.

“We both know what Siegwinne is doing,” Wriothesley said, “not just with this, but for the past few months. I can’t pretend I’m not fond of you, and neither of us can pretend there isn’t something between us.”

It was like the ground dropped out from under you at the sheer brazenness of his admission. You stared at him, thunderstruck.

“You… what?”

A cavalcade of thoughts crashed together as you rapidly attempted to process what he meant by that, but he barely gave you any time before he started speaking again.

“Look,” he said, “if you don’t feel the same, I can accept that. I’ll wait it out, and we can pretend this never even happened. But if you do, are you even… slightly interested in um… helping me? Because honestly, I feel like I’m about to explode.”

Heat coiled low in your stomach, threatening to overtake you as the lovely rasp of his voice made any of your logical thoughts close to meaningless. This was so vastly unprofessional. He was your boss, and you were his doctor. But something dangerously close to want was settling neatly over that space you usually reserved, that you looked to for reassurance about your professional standing with the Duke, to tell you that your feelings for him, ever growing, were improper.

And when you turned, watching his face, the way his hungry gaze traced your body through your uniform, something in you snapped, and you threw caution to the wind.

Head lowered, face flushed, you swallowed your rationality and any remaining hesitance you had left.

“I suppose,” you said, “I could use my hands.”

Wriothesley’s body jolted in anticipation, and his eyes betrayed his hesitance, darkened to steel blue with lust as he nodded once, then once more.

“Hands,” he repeated, “yes, hands are good. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

You found it touching that he was at least trying to take your comfort into account, even when he was drowning in desire, and you took a slow step forward as he shifted, pulling his chair out enough to allow you room to situate yourself on the floor in front of him. As you took another step, he took his coat from the back of his chair and laid it at his feet, another gesture you appreciated.

Once you reached him, you knelt down between his thighs, and he watched you with burning eyes, flinching when your palms smoothed over his clothed thighs, jaw tightening. Medical curiosity echoed briefly in the back of your mind, taking note of just how sensitive the drug had made him to the simplest of touches, how he shivered as your nails grazed against the insides of his strong thighs.

Fuck, he was radiating heat. So much so that it was beginning to affect you, and you shifted back on your knees to remove the overcoat layer of your uniform, leaving you in the blouse and underskirt beneath it. Wriothesley’s eyes followed your motions with rapt attention, and when you moved forward again, settling, you felt him jolt when your palm met his leg once again.

This close up, you could see it, just how much he was straining against his trousers, his erection pressed against his zipper, and hesitantly, you cupped it in your hand.

The Duke gasped at your touch, fingers twitching where he’d curled them around the armrests of his chair, then tightening in a white-knuckled grip as you ever-so-gently squeezed. He twitched against your palm, and you removed his belt entirely, dropping it to the floor with a clatter before you were unfastening his button and zipper.

You palmed him through the fabric of his underwear, and you could already feel how big he was just from that. A sort of eagerness threaded its way into the burn of your arousal as you pushed away any remaining layers, pulling him free.

Fuck. He was so thick, and when you slowly wrapped your hand around him, your fingers just barely met. He was long, too, though you supposed it made sense for a man of his size. He was flushed red, painfully hard, and when you squeezed, you felt him twitch once more, his body tightening like a coiled spring. His hands tightened their grip on the armrests, flexing, and you felt his hips shift forward, unconsciously.

The first stroke made his head roll back, the sound he let out one of relief, just from that simple touch alone. It made you squirm in place, the sound of his voice and the stricken hitch of his breath causing the desperation of his arousal to bleed into your own building need. Precum was beaded at his tip, and you almost wanted to lean forward to lap it up, especially as more leaked out in response to the way you were stroking him in slow, even movements.

Heavy breath expelled through clenched teeth, followed by a low, low groan as your thumb found his tip, rubbing in slow circles, and it was then that you leaned forward, giving into temptation as your tongue pressed to the underside of the head of his cock in a slow lick.

“Oh,” he gasped, “oh, you don’t have to– oh, fuck.”

He cut himself off as you lapped at his slit, groaning through his teeth. He was already completely lost to pleasure as you pumped the base of him, and when you took him into your mouth, sucking on the tip, you heard him curse, a sound drawn out with a low, decadent groan.

“You said your hands– oh!”

Arousal was settling low and smoldering hot in the pit of your stomach, pooling between your thighs, and you whined as he whispered your name. You released him from your mouth, hands moving to rest on his thighs, and you dragged your tongue up and along the underside of his dick, gathering up any precum that had dribbled down. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his slacks, lips grazing the side of his shaft, and he repeated your name, louder, voice twisted with an urgency that made your blood sing.

It was embarrassing, just how quick you’d gotten like this, punch drunk on the reactions he gave you, the way his body reacted to your touch. It filled you with an addicting sort of power, one that threatened to overtake you if you weren’t careful. But right then, all you wanted was to add fuel to the ever growing fire. And, with the way he was breathing, rough and ragged and broken, you doubted he’d be opposed to that.

Your tongue flicked out, against the fold of skin just below his tip, and he tensed, crying out helplessly. When you finally took him in your mouth, fully, his head fell back against his chair, a feral groan tearing itself from his throat as your tongue pressed firm against him. Your hand moved from his leg to encircle the base of him again, squeezing and stroking in tandem with the slow bob of your head, and making the Duke gasp at the sensations.

When you sucked, just a little, Wriothesley babbled a string of curses, hips twitching up towards your mouth, and when you ducked down, bobbing your head, one of his hands flew from the armrest to the back of your head. You thought he’d push, or maybe take control, but all he did was lace his fingers into your hair, unmoving. His body shuddered under the roll of your tongue, under the press of your free hand to his stomach, creeping under the layers of clothing covering him, his skin fever hot against your own.

You took him deeper, and he twitched, hips jumping as you hollowed out your cheeks, drawing back before surging forward once again. You relaxed your jaw further as his hips bucked, and he muttered an apology, breathless and feverish. His head pitched back as you rubbed your thumb against his base, and he twitched again, sharply. When you looked up at him, through your lashes, he was gazing down at you with hooded, burning eyes. There was desperation in his cool blue hues, a wordless plea for anything, everything you could give him.

And with everything you had, you delivered.

You dropped your jaw, swallowing as much of him as you can, drinking in the sound of his breath shuddering, tapering off into a low moan. You sped up, gradually, and the sounds he made were so madly erotic that you found yourself aching to reach between your thighs and take care of your own growing need, but you could hardly focus on anything apart from taking him as deep as possible without choking. The sheer girth of him was enough to make your jaw sore, and when you moved forward again, he hit the back of your throat, making tears catch in your lashes.

“Fuck,” he groaned, drawing the word out with the sound, long and low and you kneened around him, making him curse and buck.

The hand not tangled in your hair raised to his face, balling tight, and he bit down on his fist, stifling his uncontrolled cries of ecstasy, eyes squeezing shut, brows pinching in concentration. He was trembling beneath your touches, twitching against your tongue, and when you moved back to suck on the tip, slow and indolent, the noise that left his mouth was nothing short of pornographic.

“Yeah,” he seethed, voice breathy, needy, “fuck, yeah, don’t stop.”

Not a chance in hell you were doing that. You clamped your thighs together, squeezing around nothing, and you knew you were soaked, evident in the way your panties were sticking to your skin, your thighs tacky with sweat and the soak of your own arousal. Your hand curled into a fist where it rested on his stomach, then flattening once more and flexing, searching for anything to anchor yourself. When you took him into your mouth once more, fully, he bucked his hips, groaning with no regard for volume. He was close, teetering on that edge, evident from the way his grip on your hair grew tighter, the way you could feel the muscles in his stomach tensing, and when you took him deep and sucked, he moaned, long and low, the sound almost forced from his fraying lungs. The sensitivity had to be maddening, you decided, and you’d use that to your full advantage.

Slowly, you pulled back, lapping at the leaking tip, hand working tirelessly at the base of him, and you barely had any warning before he tipped over the edge, back arching, breath all but leaving him. You shifted back in surprise, reflexively, and cum painted itself across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the seam of your lips. You closed your eyes in an attempt to keep anything from getting into them before you were hurrying to take him in your mouth, sealing your lips around him. His hand was fisting in your hair, and the sound he made, a low, breathless groan, was one of sheer, debauched relief.

You sucked, and he let out an obscene moan as you swallowed down his cum, hips jerking, the hand previously fisted between his teeth flattening against the desk, palm slamming down, just once, and you heard the rasp of wood under fingernails as he moved to grip the edge.

You slowed, working him through the intensity of his orgasm, as he twitched and throbbed under your touch, the sheer volume of cum surprising you. It leaked from your mouth, down your chin, and you did your best to swallow as much of it as you could. He slumped, boneless, against his chair, and when you moved to clean him with your tongue, you got to listen to the delightful sound of him gasping from oversensitivity.

“Fuck,” you heard him say, dazed and utterly breathless, “fuck.”

Slowly, you drew back, and his eyes followed you, breath hitching and gaze darkening as he took in your appearance. The sight of you, knelt before him, covered in his cum, was enough to make him groan aloud, cheeks flaring pink.

“Archons,” he said, “that has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You let out a short, breathless chuckle.

“Do you have a rag or something?”

He nodded, once, and you stood on shaking legs before leaning sideways against the desk, and he pulled you closer, gently wiping your face clean with a tissue before depositing it in the trash situated under his desk.

“How do you feel?” You asked, and he huffed what may have been a laugh, nearly disbelieving.

“That was… Incredible. But I’m still, um…”

You crooked an eyebrow, watching him, expectantly.

He looked almost guilty. “I’m still hard.”

Oh. Oh.

You weren’t completely surprised. You didn’t know if a blowjob alone would be enough to work the drug from his system, and clearly, it wasn’t. Not that you minded. Your own arousal was a steady pulse below your skin, working like a second heartbeat. Desire coursed through you, and you pressed your thighs together once more. You wanted it. You already knew that. You wanted him.

“Alright,” you said, and what was left of any phantom of resolve, or the shreds of your until recently professional relationship with him all but vaporized, “sit back.”

“You don’t have to,” he started, the protest as fragile as glass, but you cut him off.

“I want to. I’ve… wanted this– you– for a while. So please, Your Grace– Wriothesley. I want it all. If you’ll have me.”

That was all it took. With a low, shuddering breath, a signal of his rapidly fraying restraint, he was yanking you forward and into his lap, his fingers working the buttons of your blouse open, hurriedly shucking it down your shoulders once undone. He made quick work of the ties fastening your skirt to your body, and you briefly shuffled off of him to drop it to the floor, along with your stockings, before resituating yourself on his lap.

“If I’ll have you?” He rumbled, the low, rough ombre of his voice sending prongs of lightning down your spine, and he yanked you closer, mouth dragging along the curve of your jaw.

“How could I possibly refuse?”

And then, for the first time, he was kissing you.

His lips were burning hot against yours, and your fingers found his hair, threading into messy locks, nails dragging against his scalp. He huffed a sigh into your lips as he nudged his tongue between them, tilting his head to slot his mouth more firmly against yours, and when his tongue dragged against yours, you moaned, low and soft, into his mouth. He kissed you slow and deep, almost a juxtaposition to the way he was feverishly running his hands, large and calloused, down your body, and when his fingers grazed over the patch of nerves just where your lowest rib met the curve of your waist, you shuddered in his hold.

You could taste the tea he’d been drinking on his tongue, cloyingly sweet, and it was almost too much when mixed with the heady, spiced smell of his cologne. Everything about him was overwhelming you in the best way possible, rendering you pliable and soft in his hands. Fuck, Wriothesley needed his own warning label. It was almost funny, really, just how riled up you were when he was the one who had been drugged with an aphrodisiac.

His teeth caught your lower lip as he drew back, tugging, before he was diving back in, hands planted firmly on your hips, and you let out a stuttering gasp as he pulled you forward, his bare cock pressing against your stomach.

The way he shuddered at the contact was enough to make your head spin with arousal, and when you shifted forward once more, just to see what he’d do, the grip on your hips grew to nearly bruising.

“You have no idea,” he husked, low and rough, the very threads of his sanity slipping from between his fingers, “how hard you’re making it to hold back.”

His words shot straight between your thighs, and you rolled your hips again, loving the way he stiffened. You felt his palm, dragging slowly up your body, then finally moving to cup your breast through the fabric of your bra, squeezing. You arched your chest into his touch, his name whisper soft on your lips.

He unfastened your bra after some fumbling, his coordination clearly beginning to become impacted by the drug. Once the garment was discarded, he barely gave you time to breathe, and you gasped when his head dipped down, mouth dragging across the valley of your breasts, skating along the side of one before his lips found one of your nipples, drawing it into the heat of his mouth.

He groaned at the taste of you, indulgent, as he laved his tongue over your flesh, hands sliding up to grip your waist, holding you in place, allowing him to explore the newly exposed skin with his mouth as much as he pleased. He was strong, his grip like iron, but it didn’t prevent you from slowly rocking your hips, rubbing your clothed cunt against his bare cock, and the way he groaned into your skin was a sound of delirious pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, almost disbelieving, “fuck, I’m a lucky man.”

His tender words made your heartbeat quicken, and you squeezed him closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers catching on the buttons of his shirt, and you quickly unfastened them, pushing the cloth away to smooth your palms over his bare skin. Gently, you pushed him back against the chair you were both situated in to look at him, and the sight before you was almost too much.

You already knew he was muscular, that much was obvious by just looking at him. But beneath his clothing, among thickly corded muscle was a patchwork of scarred flesh. You’d known about some scars; three of them crept up over the collar of his shirt, partially hidden by the straps he wore around his throat. There was also a collection of them on his arms, and of course, the one under his right eye. The ones that were hidden wove their way across his chest like a roadmap, some of them faint, and others more prominent, pale threads across his already pale skin. You laid your palm against him, tracing the one closest, and he shuddered, leaning into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers skimmed down his chest, to his trim waist, and when your thumb caught in the deep v at his waist, he let out a soft grunt.

One of his hands moved from your waist to your hip, squeezing the plush flesh, then migrated to the apex of your thighs, and when his middle finger rubbed you through the sodden fabric of your panties, a high, breathy whine tore itself from your throat. He pressed harder, and your back arched, eyes falling half-lidded when he circled your clit through the fabric.

Then, without warning, he was pushing the cloth aside, and the feel of his calloused finger dragging across your entrance was enough to make you jerk in his hold.

He dipped his head, forehead making contact with your shoulder, and it took you a moment to realize he was watching himself, observing the sight of his hand between your legs. When your hips twitched, he used his opposite hand to hold you steady, effectively forcing you to stay in place as he did what he pleased with your body.

“Please,” you whispered, and that was all it took for him to tire of his teasing, sinking his finger inside you with a slow, indulgent movement.

You gasped, the sound bleeding into a moan when his finger curled inside of you, and he pushed you down, forcing you to take him to the knuckle. You whispered his name as he curled his finger again, and when he added a second finger, you squeezed your eyes shut. He groaned at the sound it made when he thrust his fingers into you, the lewd, embarrassing schlick of you around him, and you had to take a moment for your jumbled thoughts to catch up with you. His fingers were so much thicker than your own, not to mention longer, and he was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. He thrust again, and you cried out, hips twitching, causing him to tighten his grip.

The curl of his fingers hit a spot inside of you that made you see stars, and when he felt the way it made you tighten around him, he began to abuse it with everything he had.

“Oh, Gods,” he groaned, “you’re so wet.”

You could do no more than gasp as his palm ground against your clit, and he held you there, forcing you to take it as he pressed in slow, maddening twists of his wrist before replacing his palm with his thumb.

It was arousing how easily he could manhandle you, and you had absolutely no desire to fight against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were getting close, embarrassingly quickly, and you could do nothing to stop yourself from hurtling towards that end, walls throbbing and contracting around his fingers.

One of your hands shot between you, encircling his thick wrist, and you weren’t sure what the purpose of that was, either to push him deeper or simply to find purchase, but you did know that your desperation made his dick twitch where it was pressed between you, forcing him to stifle a groan.

You convulsed in his hold, hips jerking in his iron grip, his name on your lips, and with a final press of his thumb against your clit, you came hard around his fingers, biting down into his shoulder, and he worked you through it with slow thrusts that made stars and celestial bodies dance across your closed eyelids. You called his name, urgent and drawn out, yet high and needy, and he replied with a groan of his own, his free hand flying from where he was holding you in place to wrap around his own cock, palming it, thumbing the head, forcing a moan from between his teeth.

You slumped heavily against him as you fell from your high, and when he withdrew his fingers, you let out a shuddering breath, the sensitivity sending your thoughts into nonsense. Your head was spinning, thoughts in a daze, and all you could feel was him as he panted for breath.

Seconds of silence, only interrupted by heavy breathing, passed before you rose on unsteady legs to discard your panties before you were settling over him once more, and he watched with hazy eyes as you shifted forward, pressing your bare cunt against the underside of his shaft in a slow grind. His mouth fell open in a silent cry, brows pinching upwards, the sensitivity clearly unbearable. Suffocating, maddening lust worked its way through your bloodstream like a toxin, and you knew he needed more, from the way his hips rutted up in halfway thrusts as you rubbed against him.

“Fuck,” he choked, head falling back as the tip of his cock caught against you, “I wanna–”

You rocked forward, and his entire body jolted, tearing a groan from deep in his chest.

“What do you want?” You asked, breathless, and he lifted his head to look at you, the fog of desire in his eyes downright sinful.

He yanked you close, trapping his cock between your bodies, and into a frenzied kiss, his restraint all but gone as he unabashedly moaned at the feel of your skin.

“I want,” he husked, mouth pressing open kisses against your jaw, and he stopped, breath hot against your ear, “to be inside you.”

Your breath left you in a rush, and you drew him into a deep kiss, one he returned with vigor, hands smoothing down your body to grab at your hips, pressing you forward and against him once more, and when you pulled back, his eyes were wild with desperation and maddening lust.

“I don’t have protection,” he said, and you shook your head, dismissing him.

“I’m on birth control,” you said. Siegwinne made the tonic you took, something she supplied even to female inmates to help with lightening periods. But right now, it would be used for its intended purpose. Wriothesley nodded as he took this information in, seemingly relaxing a little.

“Please,” he mumbled, and you blinked, surprised to hear him beg for anything, but you were hardly going to deny him, “I’m going insane. I need you.”

You took a shuddering breath as you shifted up, using one hand to brace yourself as you took his cock in your hand, pressing him against you. You both cried out in unison at the feeling, even the slightest whisper of much needed friction enough to make you feel lightheaded, and you felt his hands grasp your hips, urging you downwards.

You sank down, slowly, and even the tip of him was a stretch, a dull ache blossoming as you pressed closer. Both hands landed on his shoulders, breath heavy, and he groaned lowly at the sensation.

“Slow,” he said, fighting for control, “c’mon, you can take me. Relax, deep breaths.”

You nodded, once, as you did as he instructed. Your knees shuffled as you pressed yourself down, met with more resistance, and forcing you to stop, gasping for air. He was only halfway in and you already felt full, stretched to accommodate him. It was unfamiliar and new, and you weren’t used to this, but his grip was tightening, and with a deep breath, you thrust down, taking the rest of him in one quick motion.

The sting of the stretch danced across your frayed nerves like a livewire, and you grit your teeth, head slumping forward as Wriothesley let out a long, low groan, both of his hands rushing to your hips, squeezing, keeping you in place.

A string of curses left his lips as his head fell back, and you could feel him throb inside of you, so deep you could hardly believe it, stuffed full to the brim.

“Just– oh, or you could just take it all. Fuck,” he quieted, breathing heavily, before speaking again, “are you– did that hurt you? Are you okay?”

The pain wasn’t horrible, and you hesitated to even call it pain. It was just an ache, dull and unpleasant, but you’d been wet enough that taking him hadn’t caused you any actual damage. You sat still as you adjusted, the aching burn of the stretch rapidly fading into something maddening, replaced by a desperate need.

“I’m fine,” you said, voice strained, “I’m okay.”

He nodded, once, before drawing you close, linking your mouth to his in a kiss far more gentle than you’d expected. You felt him throb, and when you squeezed, you got the pleasure of hearing him groan your name.

“You’re so tight. Please, please– yeah–”

His head fell back as you rocked your hips, lifting yourself up, only to sink back down, and when you repeated the action, he groaned helplessly, a string of almost nonsensical praises spilling past his lips, only serving to make you want to wreck him even further.

Sheer, uncontained relief was tangled inextricably with every sound he made, his hands squeezing your hips as you took him again, and again, and again, and oh fuck, you felt like you were being split open, impaling yourself repeatedly on his fat cock. The burn from before turned into pure ecstasy, the stretch of him inside of you intoxicating, and you buried your face into the crook of his neck as you moaned out his name. He wasn’t even bothering to stay quiet, not that it mattered, nobody could hear from outside the heavy office doors, which was an advantage right then.

You keened as his hips rose to meet you, the base of his dick rubbing against your clit. You sank down, taking him fully, ejecting any rational or sensical thought from your head, grinding in deep, easy circles, and you could feel blunt nails digging into your hips as he held you in place, totally drunk on pleasure.

His grip eased as you slid back up before taking him again, and he was kissing you frantically, one of his hands flattening against your breast, rolling the nipple under the rough pad of his thumb, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Faster,” he hissed, pulling back to meet your eyes, “faster, ride me faster.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, using them as leverage to move yourself faster, arching your back as the new speed made you see stars, and you whined, burning pleasure shooting through you at the grind of his cock against your clit.

“Good girl,” he groaned, dizzy with pleasure, “yeah, just like that.”

You could feel yourself getting close again, and you groaned his name as you swiveled your hips. Your thighs were beginning to burn with the exertion, even with just the short time you’d been moving at this pace, and when he felt you shudder, his hands found your waist, helping you along.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Wriothesley panted, “that’s it, fuck me just like that.”

He was moving you with his own hands, easily, and you tried your best to move along with him, swiveling your hips whenever he bottomed out, and his head fell back in rapture, gasping for air.

Your orgasm was approaching fast, and you were helpless to its pull as you sped up, chasing after it frantically, the sound that filtered through your clenched teeth one of desperation. You felt like you were losing yourself, and when you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his throat, an unrestrained groan fell past his lips, his hips bucking up with enough force to make you see stars. When his thumb pressed against your clit, you tipped over the edge hard, stilling as you clung to him, sobbing his name into the curve of his shoulder.

You tightened to a vice grip around him, throbbing as your climax crashed over you, and you heard him growl at the sensation, hips bucking, still working his cock up into your messy cunt. Before you could even start to come down from your high, you were moving, and the frigid steel of the floor met your back, rapidly heating from contact with your skin. One of his hands gripped at your leg, tucking beneath your knee and holding it up, and then he was driving forwards, hips slapping against yours as he filled you once more.

He paused, shaken by the intensity of the sensation, before his head pitched forward, breath heavy, and he was thrusting again with a renewed vigor, nails digging into your flesh.

His name was the only thing on your tongue as he fucked you, so good it made you feel like your head was emptying itself out. His mouth found yours as he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his forearm, laid beside your head, giving him more freedom to do what he pleased with his hips. The base of his dick was rubbing against your clit once again, and you whined, squirming beneath him, but he wasn’t letting up.

“Wriothesley,” you gasped, head fuzzy, completely cock drunk as he broke the kiss to mouth at your neck, “deeper.”

He groaned, low and indulgent, and when his hips snapped forward, filling you completely, your back arched against his chest.

“Deeper?” he repeated, the baritone timbre of his voice lowered to an uneven bass, “you want it deeper? That what you want, gorgeous?”

“Please,” you sobbed, “please, give it to me.”

A low, rough chuckle was the only warning you got before he was thrusting forward, hips flush against yours, and he repeated the action, again, and again, and again, making you bite your lip to keep from wailing at the intensity of it all.

“Oh, fuck,” you heard him gasp, stricken, indulgent, “fuck, yeah, that’s it.”

It felt so good you could hardly think, and when you babbled his name, lust drunk and fucked dumb, he pressed soft kisses along the column of your throat, almost like a reward, a thank you for letting him do this to you.

His pace was growing sloppy, but he showed no signs of letting up, and in the back of your mind, you figured was probably just going to keep on going, even if he came. It was rapidly beginning to become far too much for you, and you moaned, high and breathy, when he rammed himself all the way in, grinding his hips before pulling out less than a quarter of the way, then thrusting back in. He was so deep, and you writhed under him, fingernails scraping against the floor before you were clinging to him. He was moaning, low and breathless, the way he was moving causing you to helplessly spasm around him, forcing you violently over the edge when the base of him rubbed just right against your aching clit.

You could feel tears, beading at your lashline as the sensitivity became maddening, but he wasn’t letting up, even as you arched and bucked and wailed beneath him, the intensity of your climax rendering you incoherent. He knew exactly what he was doing, just how to push every button he needed to, and you were halfway between deliriously begging for more or sobbing at the sensitivity.

A string of curses left his lips as he came, gushing hot and thick inside of you, but he wasn’t even pausing, even as his groans tapered into breathy moans from the way he was overstimulating himself. You could feel him, throbbing, pulsing inside of you as he filled you, uncaring of the way his cum dripped out of you. The sound of it, combined with the slap of skin against skin, was unbelievably lewd, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even think, let alone be any kind of embarrassed. If anything, it only drove you higher.

“Fuck,” Wrothesley cursed, low and broken, “I need it again, please, again– fuck!”

He shifted back, grabbing at your legs and pressing them down beside you, and you thanked the Archons you were flexible as he continued, leaning forward once he had you in the position he liked and taking your body with abandon. He was hardly bothering to hold back his strength as he hammered into you, and your head fell back against the floor with a soft thud, eyes rolling back.

You’d never felt like this before in your life. Your legs were growing sore, and your back was going to be stiff from the way he was fucking you into the floor, but you didn’t care, not as you got to listen to the way he was saying your name like a prayer, how he was caressing and kissing your body like it was sacred. Exhaustion was a heavy weight against the blurred edges of your mind, and all you could do was lay there and take it as he chased after what he so desperately needed.

It didn’t take long for him to grow close again, and he whispered your name as his end quickly approached. You yanked him into a kiss, which he returned with a groan of ecstasy, and then, with a final, deep, shuddering thrust, he was cumming. The force of it made his entire body tremble, and the sound he made was one of satiated, relieved bliss as he emptied himself out inside of you, the heat of him almost suffocating, burning you from the inside out.

His hips jerked with unconscious movements and spasms as he drifted down from the staggering height of his climax, his breath heavy, and he slumped, weakened, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His mouth pressed lazy kisses against your skin, and you lifted a hand to run it through his hair as he finally, finally began to grow soft inside of you.

The two of you lay there, still joined, for what felt like hours, bathing in each other’s warmth and the afterglow of it all. His breath fanned across your skin, feather soft as he lifted his head to join your lips together, before he slowly pulled out, rolling off of you, dazed.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice hoarse, and you arched your back, flexing your body. You winced at the soreness. You were undoubtedly going to have bruises from how hard he had been gripping you.

“I’m fine,” you said, “are you–”

He snorted.

“Yeah,” he said, “that uh… that did the trick.”

You laughed, a little breathlessly. You didn’t know how you’d be able to stand after that, genuinely. Your legs felt like jelly, and a deep, all consuming exhaustion was settling over your senses.

“You think it’s gone?” You asked, “the drug, I mean.”

He looked at you sidelong. “I don’t feel uncontrollably horny anymore, so I’d say so.”

Wriothesley sat up, flexing his shoulders. He tucked himself back into his pants, and then he was gathering you into his arms, rising to his feet.

“What are you doing?” You asked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Taking you to the bath,” he said, “I have a bathtub, in my living quarters.”

You relaxed, settling into his arms. “Oh.”

His living quarters were attached to the office, through a door you’d somehow never noticed before. You were far too tired to take in any of the details of it, instead opting to close your eyes and rest your head on the nearest comfortable spot on Wriothesley’s chest, which he didn’t seem to mind at all.

He set you in the tub, and after the water was run, you were surprised to see him climbing in along with you. It wasn’t unwelcome, and seeing him completely bare was hardly a bad thing, and you were pleasantly happy when he began to gently wash you, and once he was finished, he tugged you back, settling you against his chest.

The bathroom was silent, save for the musical sound of running water, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes, settling into the comfortable atmosphere.

“I meant what I said, you know,” Wriothesley said, and you opened your eyes to look up at him.

“What?” You asked.

“About being fond of you,” he said, “you’re… an amazing woman. I want–”

You leaned up, kissing him, and effectively giving him an answer to his thoughts. He sighed into the kiss, content, one large hand rising to cup your face, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.

“I guess Siegwinne succeeded,” you said, and Wriothesley smiled, amused.

“I guess she did.”

You stayed in the bath much longer than you expected, until the water became cold, and once that happened, Wriothesley whisked you off to the bed, tucking you under the covers after supplying you with one of his shirts to wear. You smiled when he joined you, now dressed in a pair of sweats, chest left bare, and curled up beside you, tucking you close to his chest.

Sleep came quickly after the lights were switched off, the exhaustion from before spreading over you like wildfire.

And, when he thought you were asleep, you felt him, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his body relaxing against yours.

BONUS:

You were agonizingly sore. Your stiff muscles had stiff muscles, and while Wriothesley was sheepish, and apologetic, and promised he’d treat you to dinner to make it up (which you would be taking him up on), it made walking back to the infirmary the next morning a little difficult.

What was even worse was the look on Siegwinne’s face when you entered, ruby red eyes knowing as she watched you approach.

“How’s the duke?” She asked, and you handed her the accursed thermos without saying anything.

“Fine,” you said, slumping down into your chair with a sigh.

She smiled. “Good. Are you seeing him again tonight?”

You turned, brows furrowed. “How did you know about that?”

She shrugged, unbothered. “Someone saw you leaving his office this morning. I suppose what I put in the tea worked a little too well.”

You stared at her. “Siegwinne, you put an aphrodisiac in his tea.”

She paused, concerned. “No I didn’t. I put a supplement to further enhance his desire for you. If we’re being frank, it’s closer to a love potion. Just to get rid of any inhibitions. It’s medicine. But it isn’t meant to cause anything like–”

You rolled back your sore shoulders. “Yeah, well, it did.”

Her face went pale, but she briefly covered it up. “I… suppose I miscalculated.”

You laughed, then. Really laughed. It startled Siegwinne, who stared at you with growing concern.

“It’s fine,” you said, “whatever, Siegwinne. At least you don’t have to keep going with trying to set us up. Focus your energy on making ‘love potions’ that aren’t aphrodisiacs in humans, okay?”

She flushed, quiet, then nodded, once, her eyes taking on a determined look. You were beginning to regret saying anything.

With a smile, and a good natured nod, she put her hands on her hips, ever the dutiful nurse.

“I’ll get right on that.”

Fin.

1K notes · View notes

littlerequiem · 24 days ago

Text

LEVI/F!READER/ERWIN | ROYALTY AU | P. 1 OF 2

Having had enough of your father pushing suitor after suitor on you, you make a vow: before the night is over, you will experience pleasure on your own terms. But as the saying goes, forbidden fruit is the sweetest—and no fruit is more tempting than the one your two knights have to offer.

> Crossposted on AO3

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader / Erwin Smith (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+) - Royalty AU, Inspired by HOTD, Attempted Assault (not by Erwin/Levi!), Period-Typical Sexism, Swearing, Hurt/Comfort, Drinking, Pining, Eventual Smut, Threesome, First Time (WC: 5.5k)

( Next part )

"Princess Reiss, her Royal Highness, First of her Name, and Heir to the Throne of Paradis!"

The attendant bellows out your many titles, the sound of which echoes in the great halls of your forefathers.

In the distance, a crowd has amassed where your father sits on the throne. All eyes turn as you step in, and you realize there was a reason behind your lady's maid fretting over your hair this morning.

Your eye twitches.

Another day, another suitor.

"This is Floch Forster, your Highness," the Hand of the King declares. He bows, gesturing towards your father's latest pick. "Lord of Utopia."

The man—Floch—runs a hand through his hair as you set your gaze on him.

He's tall, you suppose, and handsome enough, with a serious face and a firm posture. But he looks at you like some trifling prize to be won, and that makes your jaw tight. You will be Queen of the Realm one day—someone he owes allegiance to, not the other way around.

He won't do.

The meeting does not go well, and you send this Floch character on his way. You can tell he's displeased, what with the way he bristles and huffs like a peacock, glares at the floor like it had personally insulted him. You don’t care; you can't imagine a union with a man like him—someone who'd never see you as his equal, but try to undermine your influence and power every step of the way.

In truth, the prospect of marriage has never appealed to you. If it were up to you, you’d ascend the throne by yourself, and rule without the presence of some man who'd expect you to push babe after babe from your womb. But, of course, as a woman, you have royal duties to uphold.

"I will not tolerate you not marrying, daughter," the King warns later on.

You're now dining with your father in the main halls—alone, aside from the presence of knights and servants. You pay neither your father nor them any mind, digging into your vegetables solemnly.

"Do you have nothing to say?" your father grumbles. "Nothing to apologize for? This is the third match you send away! Soon, the realm will run out of suitors."

You lift your cool gaze at him. You know your father means well by introducing you to suitors, that he loves you in his own way. But the way he keeps on pushing man after man on you is simply suffocating. If you were to ever marry, you would much prefer for it to be with someone you actually cared about. You'd want for things to happen naturally.

But the future of the realm, of securing a bloodline, waits for no one, least of all for you.

"I don’t see the issue here," you say all the same. “I will marry when I find the right candidate.”

"Yes, and when will that be? When I am dead and buried underground?"

You roll your eyes. "Really, must you be so dramatic, father?"

“You are the reason your father is so dramatic!” Now he stands. No longer is the look he sends one a father gives his daughter—no, this is the look that a king gives his subject. “My advisors tell me I am too lenient with you, but long have I ignored their plights. Now, I see that I have been blind.”

“And what of my plights, Father?" you hiss. "Do I have no say in my future? What if I wished to rule alone?”

“Your plights are of no consequence to the realm, foolish girl. A woman cannot rule alone.” Your father’s jaw locks, tight as a bowstring. “You will marry before this year is over. Is that understood?”

You scoff. "You cannot possibly—"

“Oh, but I can because I am your king and when I speak, my word is law,” he snarls, slamming a fist on the table. A jug of water tips over—neither of you pay attention to it. A servant scurries to handle the mess. “You either listen to me now, or I will force you down the aisle myself until you produce heirs of your own.”

His threat hang in the air. You feel its weight on you, like physical chains summoned around your wrists. It makes you grit your teeth, setting your glare onto your curled fists laid out on your laps.

The tension could be cut open.

You push your chair back, the feet rattling against the stone ground, and stand up. “Fine,” you sneer as you turn away, “breed me like a brooding mare, if that’s all you care about.”

Your father grates out your first name. "And where do you think you're going? We aren't done."

"But we are!" You swerve your attention back on him, shooting him a look of absolute vitriol. You don't remember the last time you had such an argument with him. "I'm going back to my books, while I still have the liberty to read freely."

"Daughter—"

“—or will you take that right away now, too?"

At your words, your father's eyes gleam furiously; his voice is cold as ice. "This is not the end of this. You will marry, and if you don't make a choice soon, I will make it for you."

You say nothing in return, letting the echo of your scattered footsteps be the answer to your father’s penance.

As you exit the halls that night, you don't see the worried looks your two guards exchange as they follow you out.

You’ve already got a plan brewing.

You do not go back to your books.

As soon as you’re inside your chambers, you lock the door shut, only to hurl a nearby vase across the room. It shatters in a hundred pieces, but it gives you none of the relief you thought it might. With blood pumping through your veins; you heave like you just escaped an apex predator’s claws.

You grit your teeth.

It’s all so unfair. That your father expects you to fall back into line, to do as he says, simply because he commands it. Has he forgotten the child you once were, or does he simply refuse to see the real you?

Damn him. Damn this whole system that cursed you the moment you were born. Another princess might have wept or accepted her fate, but not you.

Tonight, you’ll break free.

“Princess?” a concerned voice comes from the other side of the thick wooden door.

It is soon followed by two knocks, slow and firm. The voice belongs to one man, the knocks to another. Your guards.

"Leave me,” you tell them. “I do not wish to be disturbed,"

The two men, Erwin Smith and Levi Ackerman, have known you since childhood . They understand you well enough to recognize that you're not actually fine, but thankfully, they seem to respect your need for privacy. Erwin lets you know they’re just outside the door if you need anything. You already know you won’t call for them.

Not tonight.

No, tonight, they can’t follow you down this path. Despite being lifelong friends, this journey is one you must make alone.

You eye the corner of your chambers.

There is a secret passage just behind the bookcase of your bedroom. It is not known by many—just you and your guards. It is the same passageway you would often take to meet Levi and Erwin in secret, to watch them spar on the training field, to talk about books and dreams when all still seemed within your grasp.

It seems you must grasp one more dream for yourself.

The streets of Mitras are lively in the evenings.

Filled with jesters and children, dancers and sell-swords, merchants and entertainers, there is much that is happening tonight. The thick stench of sweat and mud, the taste of tart pie and mead, the sound of songs and gossip. It paints a study in the everyday lives of common folks.

On any other day, you might have stopped to observe your future subjects, but not tonight. As you make your way further down the web of the city, you feel equal parts thrilled and anxious. This is the first time you’re out without your guards, after all; you can’t help but feel bare without them. It makes you glance over your shoulders. Clad in a cloak with a dagger and bag strapped to your hip, you know to remain prudent.

You’re on a mission, after all, one that is personal, and you do not wish to be stopped.

Sex.

The concept isn’t foreign to you. You know what coupling is; you’ve seen peaks of it in stories, behind closed doors. You know that sex isn’t simply something that people do to procreate, but that it is immense pleasure. Men and women do it, but also men and men, women and women, and all genders that come in between.

You think that this is what pushed you to step out of the comfort of your room tonight. Pleasure, with someone who would be willing to do it for you—not because you must, but because you both want to.

Only now that you’re here, you falter. The Perfumed Quarters, where you now stand, carry the finest brothels. You’re certain that with the coin you carry, you might find one that would be discreet enough to give you the pleasures you desire. Man or woman, you would have your pick.

But are you really daring enough to do this?

You close your eyes, fidgeting with your hands as you eye the entrance door. You had a glass of whiskey before leaving—some liquid courage for the road—but now, you suddenly wish you’d taken the entire bottle with you.

"Hullo there, pretty thin’," slurs a voice close to your ears. The stench of alcohol that permeates makes your stomach wrench. You glance up, meeting the face of a man gazing at you with clear interest. "My, y'ar quite the sight. Skin like velvet..."

He reaches out to touch your face, but you flinch back.

"Dressed so prettily too, under that cloak... Are ya one of the whores working here, hm? An escaped rabbit from her cage?"

Your brows knit together. "You misunderstand, sire. I'm not a working woman. I simply—"

The man does not listen, seizing one of your wrists. Your brows scrunch low, and with your free hand, you grab the dagger, showing him you're no helpless thing.

A callous bark rumbles out of him. “Is’tis part of the act, hah? The little rabbit has fangs, and I get to eat ya whole?”

Before you have a chance to show him just how real your fangs are, your peripheral catches a flash of silver. Before you realize it, a long blade, cutting the space between the two of you, brands a path dangerously close to the man’s throat.

"Get your filthy hands off of her."

Your body freezes; you recognize that baritone tone.

Sure enough, no later than a second after, your peripheral catches sight of Levi and his golden cloak. He’s the one delivering the threat, though you soon realize he’s not alone: Erwin, to his right, assesses the situation with a sharp gaze.

Your lips part, eyes rounding at the sight of them. How they found you, you know not, but you know that you're in for one a hell of a talk.

"Golden cloaked guards from the palace." The stranger's eyes are wide with fear as he stares back at you. "But that means, you must be..."

"No one you need to concern yourself with," Levi says dryly, stepping in between you and the man, "now, I won't repeat myself, if you wanna live—scram."

The knot in the man's throat bobs uncertainly, but he seizes his chance while he still can—he scurries away. You scowl, watching his retreating form. You know Levi only let him go to avoid stirring attention, but that criminal deserved a lot worse than what he got. Under your rule, you'll make sure the people working these streets receive better protection from people like him.

You do not get time to consider this matter for very long, however, because you’re soon reminded of your guards' presences. You turn towards them, face devoid of emotions.

Levi's eyes narrow. "Explain."

“Not here.” Erwin steps closer to you as well, looking over his shoulder. “We’re drawing unwanted attention.”

Levi sheathes back his sword, his glare still directed at you. “Fine. Let’s go then.”

Despite their words, you stay rooted to your spot.

“It wasn’t a request.” Levi turns, clearly exasperated. He grabs your wrist.

You grit your teeth, glaring at him. You know better than to argue with either of them right now, but you don't appreciate him manhandling you like a piece of meat.

“I will once you unhand me,” you hiss.

Levi’s gaze levels with you, looking at you like you were glass. He finally releases you, but not without his own flair; he crosses his arms over his chest, staring at you like he expects you to make a run for it, to fight him on this.

You roll your eyes; how dramatic. Even if you could somehow outrun them, your bravado for tonight has all but vanished.

And so, you diligently follow them, with Erwin leading, while Levi walks behind you. Both of them are quiet on the walk back, the sound of their armors clinking through the cobblestone streets of the city. Neither wish to attract attention to the fact that they were escorting the future queen of the realm, heading straight into the castle's back way passage.

It is the calm before the storm.

"What the hell were you thinking, Princess?" is the first thing Levi says the moment he ceremoniously drags you into your chambers, hand firmly attached to your elbow.

Levi forces the cloak and weapon off of you, a glint in his eyes that makes it clear he's pissed.

You glare at him, ripping your arm away from him.

Out of your two guards, Levi Ackerman is always the one quickest to rile up. You think he has a bad temper and a mouth that ought to be washed with soap. For this reason, you often bicker with him, partly because you're often too prideful to admit defeat, but also because you secretly enjoy the banter.

Tonight, however, you do not have the will to fight.

"I do not know, Levi." You sigh, heading towards your vanity to place down your bag. "I just wished to wander by myself, I suppose."

"Into the Perfumed Quarters? Don't you know what business goes on in that part of town?"

You whip your head around. "Of course I know. I'm not an idiot."

"Really?" Levi sneers. "Could've fooled me, Princess."

He pops the p in your title, just the way he knows you hate it. Your eyes narrow.

"Let her regain her breath, Levi," Erwin interrupts, effectively breaking apart this building feud. He's made sure to close every door, every window, shut. He sidesteps the broken vase, the pieces of which are still scattered by the entrance. "I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for all of this."

Erwin observes you, seeking to understand. He's different from Levi in that way. He's more patient, more calm than his counterpart. Still, under that mask of stillness lurks a cleverness that you've learned not to take lightly.

You hate this—hate that you've ended up caught red-handed by these two men, by your friends. How did they even notice you were missing? You thought you were being discreet.

Knowing them, they probably defied your orders and checked on you, only to discover your treachery. You sigh, cursing yourself inwardly. Out of everyone who might have caught you, why did it have to be them? This feels like a cruel joke from the Gods.

The three of you grew up together. First as a girl and two young squires, later as a princess and her two knights. Yours is a relationship forged in friendship, in trust, in loyalty. Where the princess goes, so does her two guards. There is no one she trusts more.

You've heard the whispers over the years. The words that rivals in court like to spin—those who'd rather slit their throats than see a woman like you sit on the throne. A whore, the little birds whisper. A princess that dared to lower herself by opening her legs not to one, but to both her guards.

None of it is true, of course.

But perhaps it is the spirit from earlier that emboldens you, but you find yourself wishing it were, to at least have this part of yourself that would be yours.

"Earth to the princess of the realm," Levi's chastising voice echoes in your ears. One of your eye twitches. "What the hell were you doing tonight? Don't you know what those places offer?"

“Of course I know, Levi. Did you ever consider that I sought such an establishment for that exact purpose?”

“...What?”

It is no secret that Levi’s mother was a prostitute. You know he doesn’t see the job of a working woman or man as lesser, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t look down on people who take advantage of workers and enable establishments from profiting off their labor.

It must bother him, your words.

You try to soften the blow, because you don't want to lose his good opinion of you, whatever it may be. "I did my research, Levi. I picked one run by a woman, one that treats its workers fairly, with good compensations and living conditions."

"But, why the hell are you looking to... to go to a brothel? You've never… your chasteness—"

"Fuck my chasteness."

Levi’s brows knit together, though the rest of his face looks more in a stupor than anything else. You, on the other hand, are now filled with explosive emotions.

"Why did you seek such a place, your Highness?" Erwin finally speaks up, his smooth voice easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "Why not talk to us about it first?"

Your eyes flicker towards him. There's Erwin. Level-headed, calm, clever Erwin. Always asking just the question you most wished he didn't.

"Because…” you hesitate, “because I wish to know what it is like. I wish for things to be my decision for once, to decide how and where I..."

You close your mouth, feeling yourself growing hot. You know you shouldn't say these words to them. A princess shouldn't want pleasure. A princess shouldn't sneak off to seek a brothel. And a princess should especially not discuss such matters with her two male guards.

They both fall silent, which only renders the situation more awkward.

"You could have at least asked one of us to accompany you," Erwin suggests.

"Would you?" Your gaze is that of tepid coolness. "Would you have let me go?"

At that, both your guards seem a little torn. Levi's eternal frown hasn't wavered, while Erwin's eyes are intently on you, as if you were some puzzle needing to be solved.

You swallow, sitting at the edge of your bed, interlacing your fingers into a knot.

"You heard my father earlier. Soon, I will have no choice. I will marry. And I know it is my duty, I know it. But the idea of someone forcibly taking this part of myself before I am ready to give it up makes me ill. So yes, I went into town. Because I wanted to find this side of myself on my own."

Silence falls. You feel their gaze on you, heated and intense. You look at them. Their expressions tell you enough.

"You see," you say bitterly, "even if I had told you, you would have stopped me."

Steps usher towards you. In a heartbeat, Erwin is kneeling in front of you, eye-level with you. His gaze speaks of compassion, of soft understanding. "It is because we worry for you, your Highness. We've known each other since all three of us were children. We do not wish to see you harmed at the hands of a stranger."

For some reason, Erwin's words make you glance at Levi. You wish to know if Erwin's words ring true.

Levi clears his throat, a pout forming on his lips. "Princess, not every lover is created equal. You should... you deserve to know someone who pleases you."

Something heavy fills in your chest.

“And a brothel wouldn’t give that to me?” you ask in a crestfallen tone. “Aren’t they trained in the art of love-making?”

“That is not for us to say, or to judge,” Erwin answers. “But it doesn’t stop us from worrying.”

You stare at your bare hands, reeling them into a fist over your lap. This whole situation feels so deeply unfair.

“Tell me, why must my body be used for breeding grounds?” you ask, more to yourself than to anyone else. “Why must my value only be placed for what’s between my legs?”

Erwin stands back up, his presence a warm shadow on your side. To your surprise, both he and Levi take a seat next to you, with you in between them.

"Princess, it is not for us to voice what is right or wrong." Erwin places a hand over yours; it sends jitters straight to your stomach. "But we wish for you to be safe."

Next to you, Levi interlaces his fingers on his laps. You can't help but notice how clean and well-trimmed his nails are, compared to even your own. How gentle his fingers look, amidst a sea of armor. You wish he'd place one of his hands on top of yours, just to feel both his and Erwin's touch at the same time.

"You have known me since I was young,” you say. “Don't you grieve for who I used to be? Who I could have become? Why must I let some stranger do what he likes with me—”

You stop talking, feeling nausea churning in your belly. Clearly, you’re saying things you shouldn’t.

But this is Levi and Erwin. Somehow, with them, words always come out easier. With them, things have always come easier. Natural.

“Princess.” Erwin squeezes your hand. You still don’t look at him, but you admire his broad fingers, filled with scars that speak of past battles. “You know we will defend you no matter what. If your future husband forces you—”

"But what if I never want him? What if I want you both instead—"

You don't finish your sentence. Sandwiched between them, their breaths caressing your bare skin like silk, it's hard to think.

To your surprise, Levi is the first one to speak up, "Finish what you were about to say."

Your eyes flicker to him. He's close. His gray eyes are relentless and charged, defying you to speak, like a great storm gathering in the distance. And his lips—

Are moving.

"Tell us," Levi says again, grating out your name.

But you've never been one to say what you want directly—you've never been allowed to. Now that Levi is asking you to tell him, you hesitate. You raise a hand to your face, concealing your shame. "I'm sorry. I know that the two of you are, well, together. I don't know what's gotten into me. I don't know why I'm saying these things to you."

You know what the two of them are. Lovers. You know it to be true, because you see the way they look at one another, the way they talk. You’ve long felt envy in your heart—not at one of them in particular, but wishing you could be a part of it. Wishing that they would embrace you with open arms.

The truth is, you love them. You’ve loved them for a long, long time.

And you suddenly wonder: was this what you were seeking to find tonight? Did you simply search for them in others?

"Princess, we've both—" Erwin's voice beckons you back to the present. Your gaze falls on him. He tilts his head, smiling softly. "We have long known how we both feel about you. If duties and titles were shirked away, don't you know what we would have done by now?"

It is a bold thing he is saying—what a guard is saying to his princess. He could be exiled for such a statement, or worse. But Erwin has always been a bold man, one that takes gambles.

You just never thought you'd actually see the day where he would take a chance on you.

Before you can move, fingers slip between your own, filled with questions. You watch as Erwin carefully runs his thumb over your knuckles, gently turns your hand on his lap.

Instinctively, your head turns towards Levi, afraid that you'll find betrayal on his face for the way his lover is touching you.

Wrong.

Instead, Levi's eyelids are half-lidded, an intensity to his expression as he assesses your every movement. It turns the spikes in your belly to butterflies.

"I..."

"Just say it." Levi says your first name again, like it was a prayer that would bring absolution to his sins. "Just give us the command."

But you do not wish for this to be a princess' command. You wish for it to be a woman and two men, bound in pleasure and feelings.

"I wish for your touch," you hesitate, "but not because I command it, but because you wish for it. Otherwise, let us never speak of this again. We can forget and—"

You mean to stand back up.

But a warm hand—Erwin's—snakes up to the back of your neck, forcing you to turn in his direction.

And then his lips meet yours.

He kisses you.

He kisses you... and your mouth parts in surprise, feeling a buzz of energy vibrate across your body, a path of tingling sensation scattering upwards like dozens of tiny birds flapping their wings. Erwin's kiss is chaste and innocent, like a schoolboy kisses a crush. Soon enough, he leans away, vibrant blue eyes gauging your reaction, and when you stare at him, slightly disoriented, he smiles.

He should have known you’d want more. You’re a spoiled thing, after all, used to the finer things.

Which is why you grab him by the collar and demand another kiss.

Erwin's chest vibrates as he chuckles, and his hands gently fall on your waist as he reciprocates the kiss. His lips open up to you, like a flower blooming under the sun. His thumb fumbles with the thick of your dress, a gentle sigh escaping his lips as you lean away.

A lopsided grin graces his lips and you can't help but return it.

"Forgetting about me, already?" comes a drawl from behind.

You turn to Levi, amused at his impatience. He's got a brow raised, staring at both of you with a slight pout on his lips. The sight makes you stare back fondly.

"I would never," you say.

Levi’s flicker to your lips. Where Erwin was bold and self-assured, Levi is more prudent, like he thought you might catch on fire if you touch him.

And so, you make sure to set you both ablaze by pressing your lips to his.

For a moment, nothing happens, Levi just sits there, frozen.

And then, like a switch happening in his mind, Levi's hands fall to your jaw, his fingers winding into your hair, along your scalp. His restraint slips past him as he slides his tongue into your mouth, warm and alive. Your mind reels from the sensation, so different to Erwin’s softness. Levi tastes like black tea, the kind you always see him drink each morning. Levi pushes into you, making you bump against Erwin’s broad chest, and your heartbeat soars the moment you feel Erwin’s steady hands on your shoulders.

Who knew that kissing could feel so lovely, so intoxicating? Who knew what it would be like to feel the embrace of two lovers, of the two people your heart has yearned for?

Levi groans against your lips, his fingers cupping the valleys of your cheeks. Your movement pushes you further onto Erwin, forcing him to lie down as the bed creaks under your combined weight.

When Erwin chuckles, his husky voice vibrates against the back of your skull.

"Ngh —s-slow down, Levi," you huff. "I'm suffocating."

"Can you blame him?" Erwin says languidly, the back of his fingers brushing across your exposed forearms. "You're a delight."

Levi finally slides away, his blown-out pupils taking in the sight. You, all disheveled, resting against Erwin, whose eyes gleam with knowing pride, with love. The knot in Levi's throat bobs. What a sight he has in front of him, for only him.

With a swift hand, Levi undoes his cravat, neatly folding it and placing it on the nightstand. When he comes back at the end of the edge of your bed, he stands there, assessing you with hawk-like seriousness.

Shyly, you offer him your hand.

He takes it.

Without saying a word, you guide him back to his seat, nudging Erwin upright with your other hand. Slowly, you intertwine their fingers together, overlapping them on your lap. You watch with evident admiration at the marvel of golden, calloused skin blending with slender pale fingers, the expanse of their knuckles filled with scars that's a testament to their pledges as your knights.

A smile creeps on your face. Both your lovers watch as you lean back, propping yourself on your elbows while they stay seated upright at the edge of your bed.

"Now it's your turn," you tell them, “… if you want."

Understanding flashes on their faces, though it manifests differently for each of them. On Levi, it comes across as perplexed hesitation, looking from you to Erwin, like he didn’t think you'd want to witness this. Erwin, however, seems to have seen this coming, because his mouth twitches as he bends down to capture Levi's lips with complete confidence.

Levi outright melts into Erwin's touch.

You'd long imagined the two of them like this, kissing. Hands exploring one and another, lips moving in perfect accordion, eyes fluttering shut.

But seeing it now , shared with you… it’s something else.

You love them. You love them so very much.

Because there’s so much adoration, respect, and mutual understanding to be seen here. Erwin’s patience, taking and enjoying, contrasted with Levi’s desire to be filled and devoured, all in the span of this little shared space that now belongs to the three of you.

When they break apart, you are certain your eyes are hazy with desire.

"We got a bit carried away," Levi mutters.

You hum. "I liked it."

You swear a hint of pink kisses his cheeks.

"So we're really doing this?" Levi grumbles. His eyes gleam on you, dark and heady. "It is a sacrilege, what you are doing, Princess. You are debasing yourselves with two people who are far beneath your station. We are not worthy to defile you."

You frown, looking from him to Erwin, searching for an answer on how to make it right. Erwin’s face is blank, and you understand it is up to you to convince Levi, not him.

You reach out for his hand.

"Levi," you say softly, sliding up next to him. Behind, Erwin's fingers brush the nape of your neck, as if to praise you for this step. You look into Levi’s eyes, earnest and true. "In this life, there are not many things that will be mine to pick. So, please... would you be mine?"

Levi melts at your platitude, He takes in the rest of you. You, with swollen lips and hearts in your eyes, must look like quite the delight.

“The two of you are the same,” Levi says, leaning closer with vibrant eyes. “So damn corny.”

You let out a chortle that sounds more disbelief than it does laughter. Levi and his wild mouth. You still think it ought to be washed by soap, though you suppose that it’s got its charms.

Levi leans back, removing his shoes. Next to him, Erwin chuckles, reaching to unclasp his own armor. Like a giddy young girl, you help them, picking up each piece of worn leather and laying it at the base of the bed, making sure it is all neatly ordered for them to easily dress afterward. Once finished, the two men then take their turns disrobing the outer layer of your dress, with Levi grumbling, “how do you even breathe in this thing?” until you are clad in nothing but your chemise.

You shiver. This is the barest you've ever been in their presence, a vulnerability that feels both thrilling and intimate.

For safe measure, you lock the doors—this time, you know no one will interrupt. Only you, Erwin, and Levi have a set of keys.

When you turn back around, Erwin and Levi are both gazing at you, their eyes charged with an intensity that makes your chest lock. They inspect you like you inspect them, their eyes sweeping over your form. A lifetime of knowledge, of love, of duty, and honor, hangs behind this moment, this relationship. It pulses in the air, a recognition that this, right now, is a turning point for all three of you.

Because tonight changes everything.

And you’re prepared to let it.

— Next part / Fic Playlist

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yunjitsu · 1 year ago

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ass. just... ass. nothing more, nothing less. ✨️

#jitsu's art #n.sfw #levi ackerman #levi art #levi fanart #hot levi #attack on titan #attack on titan fanart #shingeki no kyoujin #aot #aot fanart #snk fanart

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humanitys-strongest-bamf · 11 months ago

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"such a good girl, taking me so well," levi murmured into your ear, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he slowly thrusted back into you, his cock digging deep into your core.

you were currently bent over the bathroom counter, your legs pressed together as levi pumped in and out of you from behind at an achingly slow pace. the position made you feel tighter than usual, so it was taking every ounce of discipline within him to not give in and drill into you to chase his own high.

still, he was building you towards your own despite the lack of speed and rigor, his cock rubbing up against your sweet spot every time his hips came into contact with yours again.

"open your eyes," he commanded, ceasing to move entirely, causing you to whine in protest as you felt your building orgasm begin to fade.

you slowly peeled your eyes open and your face flushed up in embarrassment as you saw your own reflection in the mirror, your pupils blown wide and jaw slack from how much he had been teasing you throughout the entire night.

"that's a good girl," he mumbled as he began to move again, running his fingers through your hair gently, before gripping at your roots to hold you still. "keep those eyes open for me, yeah? want you to watch yourself become undone when i finally let you cum on my cock."

#i'm usually a degradation girly but i've been CRAVING that praise recently #thirsting for levi #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi smut #n.sfw #levi #levi ackerman #levi heichou x reader #captain levi x reader #levi heichou #captain levi

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catullus16th · 7 months ago

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Glaring lack of Louis in frilly loungewear on my dash. Had to rectify this immediately.

Also a bit of human au where Lestat is Louis’ on again off again fuckboy boyfriend. Daniel’s just there to be the roommate and the voice of reason (most of the time. Unless it’s about taking copious amounts of drugs.)

#loustat #louis de pointe du lac #louis du lac #louis x lestat #lestat de lioncourt #iwtv louis #iwtv lestat #n.sfw #my art #digital art #iwtv amc #iwtv s2 #iwtv fanart

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melliemell · 7 months ago

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Pairing: Fyodor x f!reader

Contents: NSFW, implied first time for reader, fingering (reader receiving), gentleness and comforting with fyodor 101, implied vaginismus for reader if you squint, sprinkled fluff as well, Approx 1.5k words.

“Come on, don’t forget to breathe now.”

You blinked, feeling your breath hitch again. Fyodor’s voice was like a distant thought even though his body was flush against yours. Nothing really registered, except the steady rhythm of his hand, fingers slick with your liquids as they brushed against your inner walls.

You searched for Fyodor’s gaze, finding him concentrated, eyebrows drawn as he hovered slightly over your lying form. He was being careful with you, you knew that, but it still left a sense of not good enough even as you spread your legs wider, tried to ease your muscles into the mattress– yet you still felt the unyielding clench of your pussy, completely not relaxed.

It felt good. It really did. But it was taking so long and it wasn’t supposed to be like that, right? Fists clenched into the sheets, you hid your face into Fyodor’s chest.

“Easier said than done… I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“Hmm?” Fyodor glanced at you. “Come now, you’re overthinking again.”

He leaned down, resting his chin on your head. His fingers slowed, curving into your sweet spot as he worked on massaging it. It helped, the pleasure building even more as you struggled to blank out your brain. It wasn’t fair. You should be showing him how you felt, but instead, all you could manage was to huddle up deeper against him, seeking out as much skin contact as possible.

You trusted him.

But you never expected it to be this overwhelming.

Fyodor’s lips brushed your temple. “You’re doing good. I’m in no hurry.”

“Yeah, but I am. This sucks.”

Fyodor smiled softly, his hot breath grazing your ear. “So harsh. Am I that disappointing?”

You bit back a groan of pleasure, back arching as the bastard curved his fingers again. The slight pain was still there, yes, but duller with every slow thrust, every gentle kiss against your cheek, eyelid, nose, lips. You were melting, breathing hard as the pressure in your belly increased, building up closer and closer to your release.

You’ve never been this wet in your life, the sound of it so lewd you could practically feel the blush spread on your face and chest. At some point, Fyodor had added another finger in; you don’t remember when that happened.

Fyodor’s fingers spread your slick with every stroke, giving attention to your clit ever so often, making you bite into your lower lip hard, sounds muffled in your struggle.

“Do you want me to keep going?” Fyodor’s voice was even, composed.

It irked you how at ease he sounded, a complete contrast to your current state. But that thought all but dispersed as you focused on him, eyes going wide with the sight. Fyodor raised a questioning brow, smile still in place as you locked gazes. The lightest of flushes coated his skin, clear white tinted by soft pink all the way down his neck. You knew he found you attractive, but– his pupils were blown wide, taking all of you in with such detail you could only blink back in surprise.

And arousal.

Fyodor was almost always reserved in his affections, preferring to express himself in actions that had nothing to do with romance when he wanted to show his adoration for you. A gentleman through and through, and that’s why the thought of having him completely losing it clutched onto you so fiercely you could barely contain yourself.

You had to see him like that.

You clasped his wrist with your hand, stopping his movement. “That’s enough.”

You winced as Fyodor pulled his fingers. He leaned for a quick kiss on your brow. “I apologize for that. Well?”

You felt his hand rest on your inner thigh, waiting. For permission? You weren’t sure. There was no way you’d let it stop here, and it seemed Fyodor knew that too. Your hand reached, grabbing a handful of soft black hair, and you pulled him over you. Fyodor’s breath hitched just as your other hand reached down to wrap firmly around his base, the tip smudging against your wetness as you positioned his body exactly where you wanted him.

He was so close. Body against body. Skin to skin. He looked at you as if unsure, if only for a second, before a soft chuckle escaped his lips. “I see. Whatever you desire then.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck, biting playfully at the exposed skin. “I’ll make sure to deliver.”

“Hah,” you said, trying to keep calm. “Don’t you go overthinking now. it’s good. We’re good. We got this.”

“My, you sound worried?” There it was, the teasing in his voice again.

You smacked him on the shoulder, gently...this time. “Who’s that, don’t know her.”

The banter was calming, and so were the peppered kisses he left on your neck and jaw. It almost served to distract you as he moved his hips, positioning himself before the firm sensation of slowly being stretched caught your breath in your throat. You pulled at Fyodor, hands digging into his back and shoulder as his cock entered you.

For a moment, it was too much; the sensation overwhelming all of your senses. Fyodor was saying something but you could only nod, not really registering anything. Not until he started moving, you clenching instinctively before gradually easing off to Fyodor’s steady rhythm.

It felt like wanting more and wanting to get away at the same time. But your hands wouldn’t let go of him, and in turn Fyodor only cupped your face, the kiss far less refined than you’d expect. He was warm, warmer. His flush spreading, his quiet huffs of pleasure reaching your ears as he kissed you there too.

It was soon you let go in earnest, Fyodor’s presence engulfing you completely. He wasn’t the overwhelming type of lover; instead letting you slowly drown in his careful touches, the movement of his hips at a steady, almost leisurely pace. Like he wanted you to feel everything; the stretch of your inner walls as he bottomed out inside you, the slight brush of his hairs against your clit sending shocks of pleasure down your toes, and your head arching– exposing even more places for him to torment. A hand held your leg in place, raised almost up to his shoulder, Fyodor’s fingers digging into your under-thigh.

It was too much. Too good. You wondered why you waited so long; what an idiot. You could have been doing this since ages.

You could have… and it wasn’t just the sex. The sounds–

“Hey… are you close?” you asked in between kisses.

Only a breathy, “mmhm…” escaped Fyodor’s lips, and you laughed soundlessly.

Fyodor was becoming less and less talkative, it seemed. It brought a smile to your face and you pulled him back against you, tasting him. You trailed your fingers up and down his back, feeling him shiver against your touch. Fyodor groaned weakly into your kiss.

You loved the sounds he made.

“Come on,” you whispered against his ear, feeling his cock twitch inside you. He was close, just a bit more… “Come on, Fyodor… for me.”

A breathless chuckle. ��Who else for?”

Your heart swelled. Oh…

He pulled at your hand, raising it to his lips– maybe he intended a kiss, but what ended up happening was him burying his face against your palm instead, breath hot and heavy. His pace increased, almost erratic as he held you in place. Or you held him. It was hard to tell. Your legs were trembling from the strain, but you barely noticed. Your insides were burning, the sensation almost overflowing. Almost…

“Oh God, oh my god–” You reached down, fingers swiftly finding your clit as you bit into your lower lip.

Your orgasm hit you, sudden and shattering. Breathing heavily, you rode on the feeling of bliss as hands pulled your face suddenly, feeling Fyodor’s temple rest against yours as he completely lost it. Hips hitting your sweet spot mercilessly, expanding your pleasure even more.

You held him, hands wrapped around his shoulder as you whispered a string of, “I’m here, I’m here, come on, yes–”

Fyodor’s body jolted, breath heavy against your lips as you felt him finish inside you. You had but a second to grab onto him firmly, keeping him in place as he ceremoniously collapsed on top of you.

“I apologize,” Fyodor said, after a second. “I might have overexerted myself.”

You laughed. “You think? Damn.”

For an anaemic he sure exceeded expectations. You couldn’t keep your grin from spreading.

After a few moments of peaceful resting, Fyodor raised himself on an elbow, wincing. He looked down at the mess you both made, and sighed.“I’ll get us some towels. Wait for me here, yes?”

You hummed, reaching to cup his cheek instead, drawing his attention back to you. “Or… we could just take a shower together?” You blinked innocently at him.

He raised a brow, unimpressed. “I feel that’s not the only thing on your mind.”

“Pshh. Of course it is.”

“Hm. Indeed.” And he smiled.

Gosh, you could melt into that smile.

#bsd #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevski bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #fyodor x y/n #fyodor x reader #fyodor x you #bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd x you #bsd fanfic #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut #n.sfw #fyodor smut

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daisynik7 · 2 years ago

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attention fellow horny bitches, bros, and non-binary hoes:

there is a nsfw VA that I am deeply, DEEPLY obsessed with at the moment: DeepChoiceVA on r/gonewildaudio.

I just listened to this today: [M4F] Creampies and Donuts (reddit link, +18). I kid you not, it's a little over 15 minutes and I swear I [redacted] at least three times.

He's got a deep voice, but not too deep; it's slow, lazy, and just plain sexy. His dirty talk is so so good, he's out here saying things like, "your [redacted] looks so good split open around my [redacted]" like SHEESH I'm sweating, I'm taking notes for future use because my god it's so good. Credit to the script writer u/qmalice because they are a genius writing this god-tier script.

honorable mentions: [MMM4F] A Pool Party Turns Into a Fucking Competition (reddit link, 18+) - this is how I first discovered him, and honestly, I couldn't get my mind off of his voice specifically. also, threesome, of course it's good.

#I'm censoring certain words because I'm shy LOL #n.sfw #n.sfw links #soundgasm #n.sfw audio #anyways that's my psa for today have a good one y'all

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happybird16 · 1 year ago

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Hoshina loves to bite, leaving little red and purple marks along the column of your neck and along the rounded fat of your breast. He enjoys watching your skin flush under his touch, reveling in the way your body reacts to each nip and suck. The sharp press of his teeth leaves you gasping, hands scrambling along his shoulders for support. The soothing warmth of his tongue follows, making you squirm in his grip and resulting in an excited snort from the man diligently lapping at your skin.

"Hold still for me darlin'," he breathes. His hips churning into yours, the evidence of his excitement throbbing hot and hard into the crease of your thigh. "'M almost done." His rough hands trail posessively over your curves, caressing the places he's claimed with his mouth. Each bite is a promise, a declaration of his desire and adoration.

He takes particular pleasure in leaving marks that will remain beneath the collar of your shirt, but only barely so. He likes the edges to be just barely visible, hinting to the intimacy you share. The thought of people seeing them makes your face flood with heat. Hoshina's breath is warm against your ear as he whispers softly, his voice a mix of teasing and affection, "You're mine."

The words send an excited shiver down your spine. Leaning back, Hoshina's sharp eyes trail over your bare form, lingering on each and every mark. His hand comes up to caress the curve of your breast, his rough fingers tweaking a nipple, making you gasp. "Beautiful," he says softly. It's strange- he almost sounds breathless, something rare even on the battlefield.

His gaze remains intense, filled with a mixture of pride and affection as he admires the evidence of his touch on your skin. The sight of his handiwork, coupled with the soft sounds of your pleasure seems to enrapture him. His fingers continue their exploration, drawing soft circles around your sensitive flesh, each touch sending an electric pulse of pleasure through your body.

As he leans in, his lips find yours in a kiss that is both tender and possessive. The warmth of his mouth is a stark contrast to the cool air around you, grounding you in the present, in his embrace. Suddenly, you realize how soaked you are, how much you ache for more of his touch. "-Soshiro-" you whimper, rolling your hips up into his.

His name on your lips ignites a spark in his eyes. He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of desire and adoration. "Tell me what you need," he murmurs, his voice husky with longing. His hands roam your body, exploring familiar terrain with renewed intensity. "Say it."

Your breath hitches as you feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you. "More," you manage to say, your voice trembling with anticipation. "I need more of you."

Hoshina's smile is both reassuring and predatory. "I can give you that," he promises, his tone laced with certainty. His fingers quickly wander between your thighs, calloused fingertips gathering the slickness there and working quick circles into your clit. The intensity of his touch makes you arch into him, a desperate moan escaping your lips. Teeth bared, his eyes look almost red with a salacious hunger, "You'll be dripping my cum for days."

#n.sfw #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #fem!reader

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moo-blogging · 1 year ago

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Some NSFW thoughts I have been having since work:

Levi has this thing that he loves to do when he's making love to you. He knows when you're about to cum. The way you tilt your head back, fingers digging into the sheets, lips part as inaudible noise escaped with shallow breaths. Your legs spasm as you cum, knees shaking as the pleasure washes over you.

Levi would lift himself up, slowing down his thrust. Your walls throbs and warm cum envelopes his dick. He exhales in satisfaction. He loves watching you dumbstruck after he made you cum. The way your eyes roll to the back of your head and you breathing from your mouth with moans slipping from your lips as your mind is blank with pleasure, it turns Levi on. It makes him feel superior.

Pushing himself slow but deep into you, feeling your warm cum staining his lower parts with every pull, Levi feels proud. He would press his face onto your neck, sucking your skin.

"Cummed, baby?" He'll ask the obvious question.

Swallowing, you nod. Levi pushes himself deeper into you, folding you up. You whimper in overboard pleasure, squeezing your inside. The friction of your walls catches Levi's dick, sucking him in as your cum gushes out. You could feel the wetness increasing with every slam, Levi groaning in pleasure as he forces himself into your slippery and tight hole.

"Fuck, y/n!" Levi groans into your ear, "you're so fucking good!" Levi pushes himself deeper into you, his balls gently hitting your buttcheeks.

Your fingers find their ways into his hair, grabbing into his scalp with every slam. Your knees are weak between his body.

"Buckle up, my princess." Levi kisses your sweat stained face, "I'm going to make myself cum in you now."

And he pulls himself away from you, grabbing your ankles and pulling your legs open, Levi fucks you fast and hard. You could do nothing but arch your back and scream.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi heichou #levi x y/n #midnight thoughts #levi x you #aot x y/n #levi ackerman x you #levi smut #levi ackerman smut #n.sfw

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lychniis · 10 months ago

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⚘ — YOUR FATE : BOUND IN KNOTS // ZHONGLI.

i. SYNOPSIS : shibari was an artform in your hands, and zhongli your willing model. but hemp ropes, you learn, could barely tie down a dragon provoked. ( aka, my first pwp attempt someone help meee. )

ii. WARNINGS : 5.5k wc. reposted from my alt account. afab ! reader, shibari / rope tying, bondage, dom ! zhongli, sub ! reader, reader and zhongli downbad for each other ( help ), no assigned pronouns but the reader has a vagina, edging, some slight brat taming if you squint, slow sex because zhongli is old and likes taking his time, doggy style / prone bone. reader i tied guys and frustrated and a bit of a gremlin.

this work has been marked mature. readers below the age of 18 / ageless blogs, do not interact. any individual who is not a legal adult or has an age indicator on their page will be blocked without further notice.

# masterlist

THERE IS AN INTIMACY IN THE WAY Zhongli acts around you — between the delicate touches he shares to the comfortable silences spent at home.

There is an intimacy in the way he whispers your name, in how he looks at you ( and his eyes, they light up and they’re the most beautiful thing ), in how he smiles that small smile.

There is an intimacy in Zhongli you knew, locked away in jars as keepsakes to remember.

You liken him to art, in that sense. There were those small similarities, to the deeper nuances within every stroke and the little bursts of imperfections — a smudged spot, a shaky line — you could see if you squint a little closer. And you do, staring at him when you could, taking him in, taking everything in.

Sometimes you wonder if you could ever emulate all that on paper. The way his nose slopes, or the way his lips curl. You wonder if you could write it down with the justice it deserves, or paint out the heaviness in his gaze and the contours on his face ( six thousand years worth of it ).

You doubt it; not when mortal hands could hardly scrape the surface. Zhongli says the minds of humans were fascinating things, zipping and bouncing and thinking things too fast, too quick and people could only struggle to keep up with them.

You find yourself feeling the same way.

It wasn’t sexual, your initial request. You liked trying out new things, and rope tying found its way to be one of them. The Inazuman who provided the classes called it kinbaku and he taught you and a few interested onlookers the basics over a workshop tucked away in the quieter streets by the harbor — knots, ties, how to tighten and loosen rope and how to undo it all. He taught basic safety and the best materials to use, and hygiene and treatment. It took a week, maybe two, perhaps a few days more.

Then you return home, and bask in your newfound knowledge in the lonesome times of the day, where your thoughts are a little louder. You itch to show it off and it gnaws at the back of your mind with reckless insistence. The rope you impulsively bought was tucked away at the back of the closet with everything else that best stays from unwanted eyes. Even Zhongli didn’t know of it till you mustered up a bit of courage and pulled the bag out.

“Can I try it on you?” you ask Zhongli as he takes the rope and tests it between his hands. His gaze is thoughtful, curious and he tilts his head at the question. “I just want to try out some of the techniques I learned.” you add quickly in a moment of fluster. You do not understand why your cheeks felt so hot. But Zhongli was beautiful, and as a canvas — well you would rather not let your thoughts head there.

( Breathe. This is fine, breathe.

Something deep inside you screams viscerally. You smack it away and cover it up with a metaphorical carpet. There, all gone. )

“I’ve heard of shibari in passing through the centuries. Considering you have a little more knowledge on it than I…why not?” He hands you the rope with a hint of a smile. There is expectancy there, and a flash of something else. You falter just a little ( you know what you saw, you did ).

Oh.

Oh so you really were doing this.

It’s just for aesthetics. You slap yourself internally and take the rope, watching Zhongli glide the bed with an effortless sort of grace. It’s mesmerizing to look at sometimes, how he feels akin to something ungraspable, immaterial like cloudy whisps or the mountain mist in the break of dawn. But there was solidity too. There was the tremor, the sound of footfalls, the way the mattress sinks beneath him; real, there, present.

Zhongli beckons you to come close. He rests his chin on his hand and there is amusement set awash. “Is something wrong?” Yes, you feel hot all over.

“Love, I do not doubt your capabilities one bit. But I doubt you could tie me up from all the way there.”

You blink. “Right! Right.” you mumble and shuffle forth, watching him unbutton his coat, his waistcoat, his gloves. With the layers being stripped down to his bare torso and pants, and his eyes lidded in a languid — almost imperious — stare, you begin.

A diamond harness first, something that can tie his arms as well. It’s a simpler one for the struggling novice that is you and the mistakes were easier to unmake ( you do not want to think of the potential catastrophes of trapping him in shibari hell. The humiliation would be horrific ). “You’ll let me know if it gets uncomfortable, right?”

“I highly doubt anything could deter me.” he quotes solemnly in turn.

“Now you’re just joking.” you kiss his cheek and he has the audacity to chuckle, nose brushing up against yours with fond nuzzling in store. You feel your chest fill with far too much at once ( it’s warm and exasperating and you love every bit of it ).

“It’s you.” he says instead, and there is a sincere weight to it. “And I fail to see why I shouldn’t trust you, dear heart.”

He kisses your wrist and stays still, letting you weave the rope around him. A column tie, a few tugs, a mistake, undoing it all and starting over. You furrow your brows as you work and you let yourself slip into the task with every bit of thought pouring into it like a vat of water. You shift around Zhongli, lean in close and fail to notice how he stiffens beneath your touch. Maybe if your head wasn’t so far into the clouds, you might have.

Zhongli is watching you while you work. This, you notice, for his rapt attention holds an intensity that burns holes in most. You feel a little mousy and slow your movements. You realize taking your time was a wiser choice. Ah, you learn something every day.

Your fingers press up against his palm as you bind his arms down, carefully tugging his hair out of the way lest it get caught. Your knuckles graze the column of his neck — the contact fleeting, a wingbeat. You glance at him. He was steadily getting warmer to the touch and you could see his ears flush scarlet. “Are you okay?” you, concern settling fast. You maneuver in front of him with a position a little too awkward for you to be comfortable.

There was hunger in his gaze. The first glimpse of a dragon prodded and poked too much. The bells in your mind let out their tolls ( it’s resonant, loud ) and you almost speak up. Then it is gone and he looks upon you with placid reassurance. A slate wiped clean. A beast laid to rest.

“I am fine. You may continue.” Your fingers tighten around his arm for a nervous moment. You search his face, the marks beneath his eyes for scales or flashes of fang beneath his lips. None. Your shoulders sag.

“Alright.” you almost sound disappointed; but really, what did you expect? Your boundaries were drawn and Zhongli would stand by them as he always done. He is a darling for that, so you let it be. The frustration sparking inside your chest aches like a flash burn. A painful moment before it dissolves.

The final band was knotted in place and you step back with a sigh, proud of your new accomplishments. It took well over half an hour to finish with, and a bit more rope than you expected. Two whole pieces, with the rest

“Is it too tight?”

“No.” he sounds breathless. “It’s fine.”

You tug at the rope, testing the tautness and reason that he is fine. Then you tilt his chin up, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Thank you for being patient.” you add gratefully, adjusting a few wonky binds by hand. You take him in — really take him in this time.

The trembling beneath your chest is a deluge of many things at once. The more fleeting fancies as you rove his form. The more palpable ones, like the awe that surfaces. The forbidden little scraps of smugness, for fettering a god like this is hardly a sight oft witnessed ( and yet you did it, despite that ).

He is beautiful.

It makes your heart squeeze. Your touches are innocent, explorative, tracing the indents of flesh, how muscle sinks beneath tight knots. The struggle, the errors, the silly slip ups seemed a far away annoyance with the results at hand. It was worth the wait, and the classes and the sinking embarrassment and that first damning step asking him for his time. A greedy part of you wants to drink him in forever, keep this moment trapped in time for your own guilty pleasures.

You touch and touch and touch, a vessel of curiosity and admiration. He shudders. His eyes squeeze shut and he looks wound up, like a bowstring, like something was gripping too hard at the edges.

“Zhongli…Zhongli are you certain you’re all right?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t seem like it.” You lean closer and check. Perhaps through the feverish daze you lost yourself in, you missed something. Maybe there was an uncomfortable knot. Maybe the wrists were tied too tight. There are many things you could think of and the heat of Zhongli’s breath on your neck is what draws you back immediately with a widened gaze.

There were a rare few who could tug at Zhongli’s stringed patience and suffer little consequence, partly due to the seemingly endless reserves of it he holds much like the gold he bleeds. The other end of the matter was simple closeness; Hu Tao with her youthful impishness and eccentricities, Cloud Retainer who’d nag him as an old, old friend and you, who holds his heart with mortal hands and him, your own.

And in his eyes, you see those threads snap.

“Untie me.”

You nip down on your lips. You know that look. You know where this is going and hot blooded excitement stirs inside.

“What will you do to me if I listen?”

If he were free, you’d like to think he’d have grabbed you then, given your hips a rough squeeze, let out a tense growl. “You know well, dear heart. Now, untie me.”

The order leaves no room for argument. You nod your most obedient nod and undo your work. You wish you could have witnessed it a little longer; but when the ropes finally fall away, Zhongli pulls you closer, and you feel heat beneath your fingertips when you steady yourself. It’s like a forge fire, fed with an intent to fold iron and melt steel.

He’s touching you everywhere, stealing kisses that you think could swallow you whole. Your clothes are tugged away one by one. You have no time or need to bask in shame. Zhongli made sure to tear that down a long time ago.

“Stay still now,” he whispers.

He starts tying you up. There is a lump of excitement that grows in your throat. You give him tips, pointers and he’s quick to learn from instruction and observation alone. As the moments tick by and your bare skin kisses the cool sheets below you, Zhongli takes his time, like he’s partaking in the finest of indulgences.

You try not to focus too much on the growing heat between your legs or Zhongli’s heated stare. The bustle on the street draws your attention — the clamor, the stalls, the distant opera performance. You recognize that dulcet tune and the flush to your cheeks ebbs away.

Then his fingers dip down and stroke your cunt.

“Eyes on me.” he demands. You yelp, feeling a jolt streak through. The final knot is tightened and he turns you over like a man starved. Zhongli favored many dishes in his feasts, delicacies that ranged between eloquent tastes and visual delights. He regards you with that same gleam. You part your lips. “Hm…how enticing.”

Your eyes flutter shut, resisting the urge to dig into the sheets with a bratty scowl. “Zhongli.” you breathe. “Will you touch me?”

He tilts his head, his smile teasing. “Where?” he asks, grazing your stomach, your thighs, your calves. You cannot muffle out the mewl you let out, arms bound fast. You tug at the ropes. They burn a bit, barring any movement. It’s frustrating and it’s arousing and you want to taste more.

“You know where.” you snap back, legs coming to part.

He touches the inside of your thigh, sun catching gold and his glamored markings. “Here?” He tests, needle point attentiveness drinking in how you squirm, how you pant and shake your head with a vexed bite to your lips.

“No. higher. A little higher.” you can feel the dampness pool down. You know he can sense it too, his cheeks dyed a soft pink. Still, he grazes away from where you want him, and you scratch at the hemp fibers with little success as he only just traces over your outer labia and settles just below your navel.

Your toes curl inwards and you give him a playful, antagonizing kick to his knee. “I think you’re trying to tear me apart.” you declare, till your voice catches and shifts to a subdued squeak as he grabs the intruding foot and hauls your lower half onto his lap ( and you’re taken easily, heart set aflutter ). The exposed vulnerability, the way he spreads your legs apart, it jars you.

“Indulge me.” he purrs his assurance, pressing up to the soft flesh of your thigh. You feel his arousal graze your back, clothes yet impossibly hard.

A twitch, a shuddering gasp; you grind up into his stomach in a demand to proceed.

Indulgence, in Zhongli’s words, is a slow process of perceiving, savoring and reacting. He tells you so as he pours expensive teas in cups of clay, steel or porcelain and has you smell the aromas and still your nerves to a slowed tempo. Indulgence, it’s a word that feels like saccharine honey, like something rich and syrupy that messes your tongue and weighs it down.

Perhaps, his favorite part of it was savoring the bite. Feasts are feasts, tea is tea and pleasure is pleasure — every moment of enjoying it is deserving of its own pace.

It is madness.

He’s moved you once more, resting your back against his chest where his heartbeat is a deafening rumble to your ears. It speeds up every time you let out a moan, rabbiting through with unbridled excitement and strained patience. Yet…yet he keeps himself together. It’s unfair, how he plays his cards and tilts them away when you beg for a view.

“Zhongli.” you mumble, heavy beneath the haze. You gave up trying to fight your bonds. The rope is of good quality and is stronger than it seems. You curse yourself for that choice, after the swift regression of your initial intention. Breaking free felt like such a far off dream. Zhongli replies with a curious hum and a tilt to his head. His hands cup at your breasts, tweaking at your nipples, pinching, prodding in silent demand.

It flares up, that annoyance. You want to touch him, to drag your nails across his pectorals and feel that heartbeat beneath your palm. You want to claw at his back as he fucks you into the bed. You want so, so much and it’s building inside in numbers and need. It;s spilling over the edges. You want to cry ( it feels so good ).

A gasp. He presses his teeth to your shoulder, leaving deep indents into your collar. It will bruise in the future, but you care little, whimpering as veins rupture and pain steeps into the pleasure. Your mind sinks into a hazy delight, all cotton and clouds and tartness — and the safety of Zhongli’s arms around you while he touches all he could.

“I think you’re being — AH — petty…” you could hardly articulate. But you’re greedy. You want more. It’s a neediness that slowly creeps up and tangles into your chest like a network of vines. He could have you however he pleased, in whatever position he wishes. You just want him to cease his teasing. You want to feel the burn of his skin, to bite, to mark him yourself.

“Am I?” he asks, feigning innocence, grinding his hips up into your heat. Your mouth falls open but the sound that escapes is strained. “I suppose I am in need of some introspection, yes? Would you like to aid me, little love?”

You headbutt his jaw gently with a garbled ‘no’, your breaths outpaced. You have a thousand trapped butterflies battering in your ribs. Zhongli lets out a sharp breath, a muffled laugh ( you catch sight of his face. The amused crinkle in his eyes. The smile that threatens to show ).

He sates your offense with a kiss, deep, slow, soft till tongue laves away at the seam of your lips and you let him in. Your debauched whine is cut short; he pulls you closer with a hunger patience cannot hide, close, so close till your chest is flush against him. He pulls away, wet lips leaving a damp trail of kisses down your neck, your chest, nipping at your nipples with a pleased huff.

“Is this alright?” he asks, stopping to look at you.

“If you’re not going to tease me anymore.” you mumble. “Then yes.”

“Noted.” he has the audacity to look cheeky as he pulls at a knot and snaps it back in place. You yip, dragging against his shaft and the hiss Zhongli slips out is music in the midst of cacophony. That bit of control is reined back quickly, however. Zhongli knows how to tune out the best noises and play your notes into a sifting melody. He learns fast and he learns diligently and he knows where to drag those knots and have you fold into him with pathetic little moans.

He lays you back, fingers splayed along your knees as he parts your legs and slots himself between them with a thoughtful sigh, taking you in once more. “You’re beautiful.” he tells you, with all the sweet sincerity in the world. You’d be a fool to call him a liar when he looks so smitten. “I should buy a kamera one day. I’d like photos of you.”

Your cheeks heat. “You would?” you ask, feeling warm, fuzzy and your core clenches around emptiness.

He casts you a puzzled glance. “Why wouldn’tI?” he asks, as if the idea was not a compromising slip, rather an innocent request. “Wouldn’t you want some of me?” he dips down, kissing your thighs and he’s smirking against skin. You jolt, cry out ( “Zhongli!” ) and turn your face into the soft pillows in anticipation.

A kiss. “I know you loved seeing me tied up.'' His taunts are effective. Your mind claws into that fantasy like a feral beast. It pleasures in it, delight lining its panting. You did like seeing him tied up. “And I'm certain you wouldn’t object to a few photos of me.” Another kiss. He was close. So close. You feel sensitive, so sensitive and you want, want, want.

Silence.

His pause goads you to finally meet gilded amber. “It could be a dirty secret…a private contract if you will.”

You scream.

His tongue was hot, hot against you and you didn’t quite expect the rawness you felt or how wet you were for him. You couldn’t move much and his hold on your hips is an unfaltering thing. He doesn’t wish to be disturbed while he feasts, licking away at your slick till you fumble beneath him.

“MmmMH, m-more.” you groan. You’d have liked to grab at his hair, tug at it a little while you try to catch your breath, every bit of you frazzled and coming apart at the seams. Zhongli huffs, pulls you closer and kisses your clit, then your entrance, drunk in his own way. You see control come away. He’s close to snapping and you shift and press your cunt into his mouth, a craving to watch it shatter.

“How impatient. How impertinent.”

Zhongli’s coo stills any misbehavior. He eats at you, sucking, nibbling, licking away at all the spots that unravel your being. You mold into his hands like soft clay, and he shapes you, lets you set, pulling away for a few teasing moments before returning to a mix of slick and saliva and a mess that he ( for all his poise and elegance ) revels in.

There is lust there, a need, a contentment over this. Indulgence, indulgence in its finest form and Zhongli savors the feast with intent and little shame. Some may call him a fool, for a god to fall so far. But he was a god no longer and what were mortals, really, with no desires of theirs to chase?

A finger slips in. You curl up, lifting a leg over his shoulder with a needy, desperate keen. He is careful, delicate, languid and maybe a little cruel in his slow pace. In the far reaches of your lost thoughts, you’re reminded of your first time, where the sting was a little more painful and a little less easy. It’s one of Zhongli’s quiet prides, how the two of you learned to take each other so well, like magnets to metal. His digit sinks into you easily and he passes a pleased lift to his lips.

“N-no more teasing, right?” you ask, voice muffled by the pillows.

“No more teasing.” he promises. “At least, not for tonight.”

You roll your eyes and turn to strain your neck. Zhongli understands, moving up to seal it with a kiss and returns below, beginning his slow thrusts in and out and in. You moan unobstructed, just for him, him to remember. It’s too little yet too much at the same time, a paradox in a paradox of pleasure. You want more. You gasp into the air when he curls into that spot, dragging himself lazily through the motions.

He bends down, takes your clit in his tongue and one finger becomes two.

The restrictive bonds around you, the ones he tugs from time to time dig down hard. You hope they leave marks, reminders. You hope Zhongli looks at them as he bathes you and asks for more. His pace is still slow, but he thrusts hard, taking care to keep his strength tempered through want. It batters you. You love it. You love it so much.

Good. good, you want more.

“Yes…” you sob. “Ah…yes…love, my love…”

He shudders, flicking your clit with his tongue, keeping his fingers at pace, slick and saliva coating his lips. Zhongli spreads your legs just a little more, pulling you up at an angle with far better reach. Your nerves are abuzz. Everything is and your release is achingly close. He promised he wouldn’t tease you, that you know and you wait, you chase, you cry out with no hands to mute yourself.

His fingers stretch you out and strokes at your sweet spot with a persistent passion. Your hips jolt and twitch and shudder then you release and Zhongli takes it in, continuing to slide in and out of you. Your trembling as that rope snaps and he pulls out, licking at his fingers and rubbing at your sides soothingly.

“Mh. good.” he praises. “You did well. So well.”

“I want more.” you choke out between the garbled tears and your lightheadedness.

Zhongli kisses your cheek. “I know.” he assures you. “Comfort first. You’re exhausted. Would you like me to untie you?” You shake your head. You want to keep the helplessness close. You like the flavor of it. Zhongli hums. “Alright. And you remember our safe word?” He kisses your nape as he carefully turns you over, belly down.

He loosens some of the knots and pushes some pillows below you for your ease. The fabric is cool beneath your touch, a medley of silks and cottons that you take in. They all smell like him, like sandalwood and tea. He presses against you flush, free hand unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants. He doesn’t remove them all the way. You think his control has slipped too far for that.

And that draws a tired, smug smile from you. Zhongli nips the shell of your ear in teasing response. Don’t get too cocky, he seems to say. You won’t, you assure him.

“Spread your legs.” he instructs. You obey, twitching and shaking. He shifts a thigh in and chuckles. “Wider.”

“Wider?” you repeat.

“Wider.” he nods and you do so. He settles between you easier and you stay open and exposed, fists clenching uselessly behind you. Zhongli places a hand there, lacing your fingers with his own. You feel him against your leg. He’s hard, so hard and your mouth waters for it as you hungrily hold his hand for dear life, hoping to be grounded lest your bones give way and you float out of this body while in wait.

A moment, then another. His comfort eases your muscles into relaxation. You feel his tip slide past your outer lips. It nudges your clit ( and there it was, that pressure slowly building in the bit of your stomach like a rope near snapping ). You pant, bury your face into the sheets and wait, wait for him to move. The tiny sparks were enough to send you reeling. It was liquid want that boils your veins now.

“You said you won’t tease me.” you accuse. Your voice pitches to something hysterical. You want to tug at his hair, his ponytail, anything, but you settle with his fingers and try not to think about gently gnawing at them if it means he ceases whatever…this is. You’re going to crumble to dust if he keeps this up — you’re sure of it.

“I’m not.” he states, blinking and he’s smiling, this bastard.

“I’ll bite you.” you swear. “I’ll fucking bite you if you keep this up.”

“Bite me then.” He seems distracted till he lowers his head by your ear. It tickles, the proximity and you instinctively flinch away. “Do that and I'll see to a fitting punishment.”

You could do it now. But punishments mean scraping away the nicer things in favor of twisting pleasure into torture. You loved your share of masochism on days when your mind was abuzz and too jittery. Now, you want him inside you. You want to rest. You want Zhongli.

He knows. He moves a bit of hair away from your forehead. “Are you relaxed?” he asks, beginning his gradual push into you. Your lips part into a wordless keen. He kisses your cheek. “Alright.” A whisper. You can hear the shudder, the softest tremble in his voice.

Zhongli is diligent when it comes to preparing you. Maybe that is why he isn’t too fond of quicker sessions behind the scenes, where the strain from taking his cock was a little harsher than he’d have liked. He holds you close now, slipping through the cracks and you think he might bleed into you with how close you’re borne to him. “Easy now…” he soothes a sting. He rubs your arm and kisses your neck. “You take me so well, see?”

You wonder what you look like, beneath him, to bring forth that flush to his cheeks. To watch him tremble, reel with lust.

( You look like art.

To Zhongli, he likens you to wine, to pleasant summer nights, and the comforting things that make his old heart squeeze. He likens you to home, to the human moments, the tinier flashes that remind him of love and loss and chip away at the stone that ages him.

You’re beneath him now. He’s seen this sight before. But oh, to watch you fall apart and tremble with lust and adoration, into a beautiful sort of mess stirs something primal deep inside. It always wins, even by a hair’s breadth or a long margin. Zhongli knows the dangers of it but he could never truly control himself around you. You’ve ensnared him that way, wholly, completely.

Zhongli finds solace in it. He lets it constrict his heart. For you are you and he loves you. )

He bottoms out. He’s deep so deep and the sheets fall prey to your teeth and block away the desperation and the whimpers. He buries your nose into your neck. “Qīn ài de.” he mumbles. “Call me that again.”

You tilt your head. Your cheeks burn but there is tenderness in your eyes. “My love.” you whisper.

Zhongli grits his teeth, following it by rolling his hips into you. The sudden thrust nearly knocks the wind out of your lungs. You buck back into him in turn, mumbling out keening, unintelligible nonsense. “Again.” he mumbles. He sounds drunk. You shut your eyes between the tears and the moans.

“L-love. Zhongli, m-my love — ” it’s an echo. You could barely manage stringing it together. Zhongli’s lips part. He shuts his eyes in bliss, his movements slow, careful but hard in ways that make your teeth rattle and your limbs feel boneless. He mouths open kisses at your neck, your back.

You press up into the mattress, fucked into it with little mercy yet so much raw affection in how he holds you. There are so many things you want to say. The words could not form. You keep them to yourself. His hands grope down, fingers slotting between your legs. The mess you leave behind is pooling, dripping into the sheets. You feel shame sting at your ears. Zhongli does not care.

“You’ve been good.” he utters into your neck as he cants his hips. You let out a broken sound the moment he drags it against your sweet spot, and he takes it onto himself to gently peel you apart and let pleasure still your senses and every pore inside you. You’re pinned down, you let him use you as he pleases. He devours that chance and he devours you. “Mine, my qingxin.”

“Yours.” you sob. “Yours.” you’re full. Full of him, full of cock, and you let it consume every bit of you, down to flesh, down to bone. He touches your clit, sensitive, sore and you scream into the sheets, sob, beg — for what, you have no clue of it. You jerk at the binds and his free hand curls round the rope, tugging you up into him, raking across indented skin with a famished groan.

Zhongli thrusts. He thrusts into you, and his tempo stays steady and his face stays flushed. That peak however, it approaches fast and easy, with how you’re being worn down by his sweet words. His hand finds yours again. You give it a squeeze and glance at him through the tears. “Z-Zhongli.” you sob. “Zhongli.”

“I know.” Zhongli does not slow. You’re going to crumble. Your foundations will weather. You’ll be air perhaps, or dust. It feels that way. “Come. Come for me, love.”

You don’t immediately. Not yet and he strokes your clit harder, faster, aiding where he can till that pressure comes loose and you slump into the pillows and sheets with a garbled moan, twitching, writhing. One of his hands rests at your side and the other steadies your form. He continues to thrust, quicker, sloppier, the noises he makes are messy and obscene and wet and you’re left so so sensitive and it feels so good —

“I love you.” You slip out.

He kisses you. Hungry. Tender. Everything at once. His weight is a comfort against it all. You shut your eyes. He continues to fuck you, well into overstimulation till your mind is foggy with little thought. At some odd point, as the fuzziness clears, you think you feel him groan and twitch, then something hot and wet spilling onto your back.

The ropes fall undone. The harness constricting your chest, your arms. He rubs down the burns and massages any sore spots. “Was it too much?”

You shake your head.

He coos. Zhongli loves taking care of you and you let him, feeling his weight shift and a cool cloth wipe you down. Water is next, as is the routine, sipped as you seat yourself on his lap and he kisses your shoulders and the bruises. You feed him a slice of sunsettia before having one for yourself. Then some of the apples. It’s sweet. It’s comfort.

He leans his head into your neck. “We need more rope.” he mumbles.

“More rope?” you gawk.

“I could choose colors that suit you better.” a pause. “And we need a kamera.” he adds. Now you’re gaping.

“Zhongli, Zhongli I adore you but the mora — ”

“I’ll have Northland Bank foot the bill. They have plenty.” cheeky bastard. He kisses you. “Let this old man enjoy the little things, love. Or would you consider adding it to my list of birthday presents?”

Oh, this man. You sink down and finish your sunsettia slice. You take one more, pressing it to his lips. He takes a bite. Chews thoughtfully.

“I’ll consider it.” you sniff. ( “How haughty.” he croons into your neck. You shake your head. ) “Maybe I might just buy one for you.”

❪⠀🎬⠀❫ AINE SPEAKS ;;

*screams* after the upheaval of my smut alt...yeah i thought of reposting here for the sake of comprehension XD. so don;t panic guys. it's right here. *praying that i don't get nuked*.

many thanks to the sweet comments i received in the old post and all the reblogs. really, you guys are igfghjk.

taglist — @silentmoths @crystalflygeo @moraxsthrone @silkjade @meimeimeirin @euniveve @sheepmc @chiyoso @timeofsilversstuff @francisnyx @laughterofthetombs @ollieink @localplaguenurse

AINE | lychniis. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

#&&. my writing !!#n.sfw #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #zhongli #zhongli x you #genshin zhongli #genshin impact x reader #x reader #shibari #zhongli smut

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starfinss · 4 months ago

Text

𝘉𝘢𝘥 𝘐𝘥𝘦𝘢 — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 "𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵" 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Call of Duty

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Simon "Ghost" Riley + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2,789

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: It's a bad idea to want him like you do, and it's even worse when he wants you just as bad.

This is a bad idea.

The collision of mouths, shared breaths, and grasping hands fills the gaps between you like a spill of ink. His mask is bunched up over his nose, headset discarded as he crowds you against the wall, mouth crushed to yours.

Teeth knock together, the taste of his tongue is heady on your lips, in your mouth, past your teeth, in your blood. Your hands grasp at the back of his head, nails digging into the fabric of his balaclava, and he growls into your mouth.

This is such a bad idea, but neither of you care. Now that the line you’ve both been so carefully avoiding has been crossed, neither of you have any interest in going back. Desire, lust, and love blend together into a heady concoction that scrambles any of your rational thought, scrambled further by those rough, almost gritty breaths he gives every time he breaks away, only to rejoin your mouths in another devouring kiss.

He’s using the difference in your sizes to his advantage here, one large hand on the curve of your waist, iron firm, his opposite arm braced above your head. Ghost has never been a small man, and it’s as arousing as it is evident as you lose any remaining inhibitions you may have had in the taste of his mouth.

This has been a long time coming. Tension taught as a bowstring, brought from a rivalry turned friendship, one that the others loved to poke fun at, even as the flower bulbs of feelings took root, their vines coiling thick and thorny around your heart. Ensnared, entangled. Fuck. Soap and Gaz were going to have a field day, because from the way Simon’s mouth was moving against your own with an almost breathless need, nothing could prove them more right.

His knee slips between your thighs, and you gasp into his mouth at the friction. You feel his lips curl into a whisper of a smile as he flexes the muscle, making your hips jerk, hands scrambling for grip at the back of his neck. This is going somewhere very fast, but neither of you care to even attempt to slow it down, let alone stop it.

“Last chance,” he rasps, and the low sound of his voice makes aching heat gather between your thighs.

“Huh?” You breathe, and the way he forces out a short laugh makes your head spin.

“Last chance to back out.”

You lift your head, eyes meeting his. Long lashes, the color of gold, frame his dark eyes, the coffee brown irises swallowed by the dark of his pupils. His mouth, kiss bruised, and his jaw, lightly dusted with stubble, are the only things visible, apart from those eyes, revealed by his carelessly rucked up mask. He looks as disheveled as you feel, and for some reason, that only makes it hotter.

“I’m not backing out,” you say, voice coming out much breathier than you thought it would, but you hardly have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about that.

That’s all it takes. All bets are off as he kisses you again, his tongue pushing past your lips as his hands find your ass, squeezing, before he’s boosting your legs up around his hips, long legs eating up the distance as he walks to his bed, away from the door you’d been crowded up against.

Your clothes don’t last long, your uniform top quickly removed, sports bra shoved above your tits as his mouth encloses a nipple, making you gasp, hands grasping at his shirt.

Then, without so much as a second thought, when the fabric falls and gets in the way of his mouth, he growls in annoyance and pulls off his mask. You’ve never seen his face without it, only Price has, you think, but apart from your captain, Ghost’s face has remained a mystery to the rest of the company. To you, that mystery isn’t so mysterious anymore.

“Your mask–” you gasp, unable to squirrel away your shock to process later, but he merely grunts in response.

“Forget it,” he says dismissively, “it was getting in the way.”

Your hands card through newly revealed honey blonde hair, still messy from being covered by the balaclava, his face still smudged with eye black as he gazes down at you with dark, hooded eyes. You take a brief moment to admire him, because aside from a scar at the corner of his mouth, his face is unblemished and handsome, a far cry from the horrible disfigurement Soap has previously joked that Simon must be hiding under the skull patterned fabric.

His mouth returns to your breast, unhindered by the fabric of the mask, and you can’t help the soft little keen that leaves you, both at the caress of his tongue and the feel of his stubble against your tender flesh. He mouths at your body, only separating to yank his shirt over his head, his hand covering your breast as he kisses you again.

Grasping hands find your hips, sliding down to your thighs, and you moan openly as he slots his hips between your parted legs, the hard ridge of his cock rubbing so perfectly against your clothed cunt. Your noise of pleasure matches his, and he repeats the action with a roll of his hips that has your eyes squeezing shut in bliss.

“Simon,” you whisper as he draws back from the kiss, though his mouth remains a whisper away, “Simon, please.”

“Fuck,” he curses, lust drunk, mouthing at your throat, “you’re gonna look so pretty on my cock.”

Those words alone make your insides twist into pleasant knots, and you squirm under him. His hand slides down your stomach, unfastening your pants and pushing them down your legs, your boots kicked off along with them. The compression shorts you wear under your pants come next, and you barely register that he’s clearly impatient to get you naked as he pulls your bra the rest of the way off.

He sits back on his knees above you, looming over you, looking down through pale lashes. The sight of him, hard muscle and heated gaze, it makes you ache. You sit up on your elbows to press kisses against his chest, his abs, making him tense and shudder, one of his hands lifting to cup the back of your head. Your tongue traces patterns against his pale flesh, and you can feel him through his slacks, hard against your stomach, twitching as your tongue swipes across one of his nipples.

That’s about all the control he’ll allow you, clearly, as he pushes you down, caging you in with his arms. His mouth is on your throat again, your collarbone, down your body, and you’re helpless as he makes a path towards where he wants to be. His hands find the underside of your thighs, pushing them apart to accommodate himself as he lays them over his shoulders. His eyes flick up to yours, and when you don’t protest or try to stop him (not that you wanted to), he keeps that eye contact as his tongue drags across your pussy.

His eyes flutter closed, brows pinching a little as he gives another pass of his tongue, blunt nails digging into the plush of your thighs as he groans. The vibrations of the noise make your hips jump, but he stills you with a tug as he wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you flush against his mouth.

Your head feels empty as he begins eating, the sounds his mouth is making utterly obscene, wet and messy but so fucking perfect that you can’t help but arch. Your ability to even so much as squirm is inhibited by his iron grip around your body, his fingers digging into your flesh to hold you where he wants you.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he breathes, and when his lips close around your clit, you cry out his name in an almost pathetic whine.

This is such a bad idea, but fuck if it doesn’t feel incredible.

Your lieutenant is eating you out, and from the way he’s holding you there as his tongue plunges into you, making you quake against him, all you can do is lay there and take it. Price can’t know, but he isn’t stupid, and this is definitely not the last time you’ll be doing this.

“Simon,” you gasp, and he gives a harsh suck to your clit in response, making you choke on air.

One of his arms moves, releasing your leg, but he doesn’t waste any time in using that free hand to spread you open even further for him, palm against your tender inner thigh, then he’s pushing two fingers into you. Stars burst across your vision as he crooks them up, and fuck, your orgasm is coming way too fast. You sob with bliss, back lifting from the sheets as he works his fingers into you, hitting all the places that your own can’t reach, and you can barely make out the way he’s whispering hushed praise into your skin as he keeps working his tongue over your throbbing clit.

You can barely warn him as he all but pulls your orgasm out of you, the only sound you’re able to give him a strangled sob as your climax slams into you, making you buck and squirm against his mouth, vision hazy as he keeps going, working you through your climax without slowing down.

You curse, babbling his name, and he groans as you pulse around his fingers, body arching and spasming. All you can say is that it’s too sensitive, and you’re halfway to another orgasm before he finally slows, pulling back with uneven breaths.

No time is wasted as he crawls up your body, mouth on yours, and the taste of yourself on his lips makes your head spin. You’re so achingly empty, and when you reach down to palm Simon through the pants he’s still wearing, the sound he makes is one you commit to memory.

“Fuck me,” you breathe against his mouth, “Simon, fuck me.”

He grasps one of your breasts, squeezing gently, and you squirm again.

“Gladly.”

He sits back, and you get to watch as he unfastens his pants, pushing them down just far enough to free his erection, and fuck, you understand why he’d been fingering you because there’s no way you’d be able to take that without any prep. He’s big, but that goes without saying. He’s thick. Your head is too scrambled to estimate just how big he is, but your head is spinning just thinking about the stretch.

He wraps his hand around himself, fisting his cock before he’s moving over you. He rubs the drooling tip against your cunt.

“Don’t have a condom,” he breathes, and you shake your head.

“I have the implant.”

That’s all he needs. He pushes fingers into you, stretching you with manual motions before he’s breathing out a warning.

“Tell me if it hurts. I know I’m…”

“Big?” You supply, and he breathes out what may be a laugh.

“I was going to say above average. We’ll go slow.”

Then, his hips rock forward, and you feel him start to enter you.

You grit your teeth. Even the tip is a stretch, and you feel the burn of it as he murmurs comforts, kissing your jaw, your throat.

“Alright?”

You force yourself to nod, and he pushes in further.

Oh, the sound he makes. A low, debauched groan, drawn out between gritted teeth. It makes you whimper in response, and his teeth sink into your shoulder as his hips push forward again.

“Almost there,” he murmurs, “good girl, almost takin’ it all.”

You whimper, your legs lifting to wind around his hips, urging him forward, and you watch as his teeth grit, followed by a sharp jerk of his hips, burying himself the rest of the way inside of you.

He curses, and you feel him twitch inside of you, feel the flex of his hips, the tense of his muscles in the press of his body to yours.

“Fuck,” he growls, “like a fuckin’ dream. Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

The rasp of his words against your ear makes you tremble. The way his accent has grown thicker is so needlessly sexy, the mancunian drawl you’ve only ever observed when he’s angry or tired showing itself in his strained voice.

He draws back, just a fraction of an inch, testing the waters, before he’s pushing back in, and the stretch of him is making your head spin. You claw at the sheets as he repeats the motion, again and again and again. He gradually picks up speed, finding a pace that has both of you gasping for air.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groans, “takin’ my cock so well.”

His hand flattens against the mattress above your head, supporting his weight as he works his hips against yours in firm, deep thrusts. His other hand grasps your hip, holding you in place for him.

“That’s it, take it,” he pants, voice rough with pleasure, and you can’t stop moaning, your body rolling and bucking under his.

He whispers praise against your throat as his hand goes from your hip to rub at your clit with his thumb, making you squeeze around him with a helpless whimper, something that makes him curse, hips thrusting forward more roughly. It’s so good, so fucking perfect, and if you’d known how good this would be, you’d have considered acting on bad ideas far earlier.

Your climax is approaching embarrassingly quickly, and you pull him down into a kiss, one he returns without hesitation. The pressure on your clit increases, making you squeeze around him harder.

“Fuck, I ain’t gonna last,” he rumbles, and you feel his pace pick up, the hand above your head curling into the sheets, and the way he’s groaning into your ear in blissed out ecstacy is what finally does it.

Your orgasm hits hard, and he slows, working you through it with deep, rolling thrusts of his hips. He’s delaying his own orgasm, you can tell from the way his jaw tenses, the way his muscles tighten.

You whimper as he keeps pressing your clit, rubbing in firm circles under his thumb, and you can only whimper in overstimulation as he revels in the way it makes you squeeze around him.

“Like fuckin’ velvet,” he breathes, and then he’s moving again.

Your mouth falls open in bliss as he bottoms out inside you and grinds, and the fullness combined with the way the base of his dick is rubbing against your clit is almost too much for your already fried brain to handle. You can only lay there and take it as he hikes your legs up, over his hips, pinning you in place as he chases after his own orgasm.

You kiss him, and he groans, hand knotting in your hair. He thrusts hard, once, twice, and then he’s gone, groaning raggedly as he spills into you. His hips jerk as he rides out his climax, and you shudder against him, hands sliding from the back of his head to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He goes slack, and you gather him into your arms, a gesture he doesn’t even hesitate to return. The room is quiet, save for uneven breaths as he holds you against him. Finally, he pulls back, pulling out of you, then he’s standing and disappearing into the small bathroom connected to the room. He returns with a warm washcloth, which he uses to wipe your inner thighs clean, and then he’s crawling into the bed beside you, gathering your body into his arms.

You never took him to be a cuddler, and you open your mouth to make a note of this, but the way he looks at you shuts you up.

“Sleep here or don’t,” he says, but from the way he’s holding you, you don’t think the latter is an option.

Few words are exchanged as you let him pull the blankets up, tucking you against him. There’s something so perfectly lovely about the feel of bare skin on skin, and you revel in it, heart heavy with adoration as you kiss his shoulder, and he rests his chin atop your head.

“Next time,” he says, and you hum in response, “you can be on top.”

It’s a bad idea. Such a bad idea. But when he kisses your forehead, so tender it makes your heartbeat flutter like butterfly wings, you really can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyes close.

“Okay,” you say, “next time.”

Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.

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littlerequiem · 17 days ago

Text

LEVI/F!READER/ERWIN | ROYALTY AU | P. 2 OF 2

> Crossposted on AO3

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader / Erwin Smith (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+) - Royalty AU, Inspired by HOTD, Threesome, First Time, Oral (f.receiving), Fingering, Smut and Fluff, Vaginal Sex, Aftercare, Swearing, Hurt/Comfort (WC: 6.6k)

( Previous part )

You stand there, looking at them.

Or is it them looking at you?

Awash in tender light, on the precipice of something rare and uncharted, it's hard to think. Because you are here, but not as you once before. Your lips still taste Erwin’s lips; your waist still bears Levi's grip. The air vibrates with what was shared, a charged current that sees you not as princess or guard, but as equal conspirators in this evening.

You’re the first to break this estranged silence. It starts with a step forward, then another. You reach for Levi's shirt first, knowing that Erwin is next in your little game.

Levi's hand stops you short.

"Princess."

An intensity falls across Levi's features then; a scowl forms on yours. Without saying a word, he tilts his head sideways, cocking it like he was assessing you. His hands fall on your waist. Before you know it, you're being whirled around, and the air is taken out of your lungs as you fall onto your bed.

"What the devil are you—" you protest.

But Levi interrupts you with a grunt. He bends down and grabs your chin, leveling your gaze with his own.

"That isn't how this works, Princess. Tonight is about you. Tonight, your pleasure is ours." You gape a little. His eyes darken, making your insides twist with teetering excitement. "You wished for that, didn't you? To know what sodding pleasure is?"

The reminder of your confession makes you feel warm all over. You gulp, the knot bobbing against Levi's thumb, and your eyes stray to Erwin.

"Typical, looking at him for reassurance." Levi slides away, kneeling on one knee. He begins to unlace your boots. "What did I tell you, Erwin?"

The mattress shifts; Erwin has found his spot close to you. His calloused fingers stroke the valley of your cheek, an offer of tenderness in the midst of all this tension. "Oh, I don't know, Levi. You didn't see the way she was looking at you just now. Properly besotted, I think." He leans closer, his breath fanning over the ridge of your nose. "Aren't you besotted, beloved?"

Erwin's newfound nickname for you, beloved, turns your insides to mush. You manage a nod well enough, but your brain blanks.

"You'll let us treat you right, won't you?" Erwin asks. His cologne—musky and vibrant—are all you can smell. "To show you the meaning of pleasure?"

Your eyes flutter, breath caught in the middle of your chest. "I..."

"And if there's something that displeases you, you need only say the word."

"Yes."

You know your response comes out overeager, giddy, like a schoolgirl on the precipice of receiving sweets. Erwin pays it no mind. He takes to nuzzling your neck, murmuring against your skin, "Precious girl. What a precious girl you are."

This time, you do whine a little, your core blooming with heat. Intoxicating, the kind of warmth that makes you squeeze your tights together in fear of it escaping. It only deepens as Erwin's large hands drag over your belly, stabilizing you into a half-seated position that allows him full jurisdiction over your neck. There, he lays out kisses that spark embers in their wake.

"Erwin," you choke, fingers fiddling with the fabric of your nightgown.

In response, Erwin hums, the sound of which buzzes into your brain, as if telling you that yes, we want you and you push further against him, yes, please, I want you both.

Levi, done removing your shoes, moves to stroking your calves. You're wearing stockings that reach your knees, but Levi doesn't remove them; you feel his fingertips gently explore past them, making you gasp.

"You're so sensitive," you hear him tease, his touches circling upwards. A shudder wracks through your spine. "Figures.”

For once, you don’t come up with a clever reply.

Levi bunches your skirt, hitching it up to reveal bare skin. You feel blood rush across your body, all too aware just how exposed you are, how he’s this close to seeing all of you. Even Erwin's mouth on your neck—neither lacking in vigor or curiosity—isn't enough to distract you.

What if you can't do this after all?

Levi presses pecks across your inner thighs, his index hooking with your waistband and tugging it down. Your cunt is exposed, and your nerves wind tight. Instinctively, your free leg wraps around Levi's skull, twisting and squeezing to hide from him.

"Ssh, beloved," Erwin's voice soothes your ear. He's paused in his exploration, massaging your nape with his broad touch instead. "Do you want us to stop?"

"N-no. Just... jus nervous. Ignore me."

"You need to relax."

Erwin's right, of course. You're rigid as a tree, squeamish from all the new sensations and everything that lies ahead. You're surprised Levi hasn't told you off for squeezing his face.

"Just lean into me and let Levi show you just how much he's dreamed of this," Erwin ushers. Your thighs instinctively relax. You feel Levi press a scorching kiss on your inner thigh, as if praising you. "He's going to be gentle with you, I promise. You can do that for us, can't you?"

Still wound up, you manage a nod. Erwin hums, clearly content to see you so responsive to his words. He briefly breaks away as he grabs a pillow, tucking your head gently beneath it. He then finds his spot next to you again, his broad hand dragging over the expanse of your nightgown, his warm breath fluttering against your cheek.

By now, Levi's finger pads are almost on your cunt. He doesn't say anything, but you think you hear him inhale sharply, just as his eyes briefly flickers to meet yours. His pupils are blown black. Without saying a word, he bunches your nightgown further up, and when you tilt your head up to watch with bated breaths, the look in his eyes is that of a man in a trance.

You're bare for him—for them.

"I... I do not know if it is adequate," you confess, throwing your head back and staring at the ceiling. "I didn't... I didn't think—"

"Shh." Erwin presses a kiss to your temple. "Don't even think about that. You're perfect."

Erwin's words still aren't enough to completely appease you. You press your palms into your eyes, shifting nervously. What if Levi hates what he sees? What if he dislikes the hair and the sensation and—

Levi’s mouth falls on your sex.

You gasp—a sharp hiccup that tangles with Erwin’s ragged breath in your ear.

This is... not what expected.

No, when Levi got on his knees, you expected fingers, similarly to the way you touch yourself at night when all you dreamed of was absolution in this. Instead, Levi has given you something more, something you never thought would be yours to experience.

And it makes your heart race.

Before you know it, Levi parts you with his tongue, warm and deft, and your calves are thrown over his shoulders, where he steadies you for the onslaught of pleasure he gives unabated.

Erwin's hands, too, have wandered, removing your garment far enough to expose your collarbone. His large fingers subtly draw shapes over your skin, like he was using your flesh as a canvas. He starts from your shoulder blades, and draws ever closer to your right breast, while his mouth remains sewn to the tendon on her neck, devotion on his tongue. You feel your nipples harden, watching as Erwin briefly retracts and his gaze flickers towards you.

His fingers stop short. "May I touch you?"

You can only nod, a buildup blooming at your core that's making it hard to think, both because of Levi's delicious licks and the way Erwin is staring at you right now. You squirm, your insides aching. Erwin's giant hand carefully slides under your chemise, tracing a path over the swell of your breast, then cupping it. A soft moan slips out of you, undeterred, and your fingers tangle with whatever fabric you find within reach until you find yourself pulling the fitted sheets loose.

"You like that, beloved?" Erwin purrs.

"Y-yes."

As if fuelled by your sweetness, Levi's tongue changes rhythm, a teasing motion that lights you up. Your whine comes out desperate, in a series of hiccups.

"Feel that, beloved? How much Levi aims to please you?" Erwin murmurs. "How long he's waited?"

The thought sends a new wave of pleasure over you, like sparks igniting beneath your skin. Against Levi, you arch back, surprised by the magnitude of your reaction, your breath catching in your throat like a bird in a cage. With delirium in your veins, your next movements are mechanical: you roll your hips, attempting to follow Levi's tongue and chase the spot you most crave. It only seems to ignite something in Levi, who licks and explores with a maddening sweep of his tongue, and grabs your thighs with a bruising grip. Long fingers on bare, flaming skin are all you can feel.

"Er-w-win, I'm not sure how to-," you confess, the knot in your core growing tighter. There’s butterflies swimming at the front of your brain, and your hands feel clammy. "I've never, not in front of anyone..."

With his free hand, Erwin brushes back your sweaty forehead, pressing a kiss on your cheek. "Just let it go, beloved. Focus on the sensation."

"B-but, I don't... I don't know that I... what if—"

Before you know it, the pleasure stops. You snap your attention to the edge of the bed. Levi has slipped away, his gray eyes boring straight into you. There's a layer of shine dripping down his lips and chin—remnants of you.

The world stops moving right at that moment. You want to grab Levi into a searing kiss; you want to get lost in this forever.

Instead, you’re beckoned by Levi’s curt voice. "Princess, breathe." Prowling like a cat, Levi comes close, his slender fingers cupping your too-warm cheeks. "Between these walls, nothing else matters. Just us."

You clings to his hand, mulling those words over. The truth behind your short existence.

For so long, life has felt like an ever-ending fight. A princess of the realm, destined to never be enough. Always running, always trying to catch up and meet the impossible standards placed on your shoulders. Proving to yourself—to your father and to all his subjects— that you deserved your position. That you were just as deserving as a man, that you deserved a seat at the table. Doing all of that... and somehow always failing.

But this, right now... it is no failure. You are enough. Erwin and Levi have given you wings of your own, willing you to the sun, and you feel like you're all soaring through the sky together. Tasting the clouds, the air, the freedom.

"Just us," you repeat, squeezing his hand tighter.

Just you and Levi and Erwin. Your two loyal knights, your friends.

Your lovers.

Satisfied by your reassuring grip, Levi's stare flickers towards Erwin, whose fingers are laid on the bud of your breast like it was a flower amongst a field of green.

"Levi," Erwin's voice is sweet like honey, "come here."

In response, Levi's brows knit together, but he does as he is bid. With Erwin’s fingers still massaging your breast, Levi and Erwin exchange a brief kiss, quick and messy and wet. Your eyes flutter at the sight, warmth spreading through your torso.

When Levi pulls away, it is to roll his eyes. "You're so obvious, you dolt."

Erwin's voice is husky, almost needy. "She does taste wonderful, doesn't she? Just as we always dreamed she would."

"Yeah."

Levi doesn’t look at you as he kneels back down at the edge of your world. Your eyes search for an answer in Erwin, but the latter only flashes you an easy smile that makes it quite clear you heard them correctly.

Just as they always dreamed?

"Erwin—"

But already, you're silenced as Levi's mouth descends between your legs again, this time with added pressure, with increased reverence. He starts with the same circling motion with his tongue, only to move down.

Oh.

Instead of lavishing your vulva as he had done before, Levi's tongue has plunged into you, precise and deadly. Your mouth parts, and he shifts, edging in further in. A flash of white builds through your vision.

Oh, indeed.

"There, do you feel how desperate Levi is to please you?" Erwin murmurs, the smell of his cologne enveloping you again. It makes your mouth water, makes your tongue pant in breathy huffs to taste it. "He loves nothing more than to show you."

In response, you stifle a whimper, biting down on your knuckles, self-conscious on the lewd noises coming out of you. Your hips continue to chase gratification all the same, rolling with clumsy movements, one desire stringing you along: more, more, more. Pleasure is guided by Levi's vice grip of your thighs, rocking his movements back and forth—between this and Erwin kissing your neck, you know you won't last long.

"Don't silence yourself," Erwin says, no—pleads. "Not here, not with us."

And then, Erwin pinches your nipple, hard, while his mouth sucks on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. At once, a shudder wracks down your spine, and you moan—long, hard, and loud.

You think you call out to them then.

You're abstractly aware of Erwin saying your name, but before you can say a thing, Levi's fingers slip into you, pumping into you and stretching you. The coil begins to tighten. Heat blooms everywhere—scorching white, erupting beneath every cell in your body, making you feel like the sun itself. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. You need more. More, more, more. Your blood seems to sing for those words— wanting them both closer, wanting them to consume you.

You never want to leave this room.

Levi slips a second finger inside. Curls it.

You gasp.

“Are you close?” Erwin murmurs.

“Y-yes, hah... I... just, I—“

“Need that last push?”

Toes curling behind Levi’s neck, you bite your lower lip, managing to puff out, “Uh-huh.”

“Levi, you heard our princess.”

Levi responds with a muffled groan. Your body trembles as his mouth falls to your cunt again, this time focusing on sucking the sensitive nub at the top. All the while, his fingers continue to slide in and out, rubbing against your pelvis. Your throat is dry like sand, the coil in your belly pressing against the edges of your mind. Levi’s ministrations are feverish and you are reduced to a babbling mess, rutting against him with desperation.

Erwin is there to guide you through it all. “Let it go, beloved.”

Just as Erwin gives his command, Levi's tongue flicks your clit in just the way you'd needed most right now, and the flames take you.

Your vision blurs.

At once, pleasure surges and claims its place between your bones. Your entire body shakes, your head flung back against the pillows, your fingers digging into the mattress, body writhing in the sheets. Levi’s grip tightens on you, his tongue soothing as your body spasms.

Holy Rose, Maria, Sina.

As you navigate this newfound high, you're vaguely aware of Levi licking and tasting and devouring. He tugs at the hems of your dress, groaning against you, like he was licking every inch of you, making out with your sex. Meanwhile, Erwin... Erwin is palming himself through his breaches, transfixed on the painting in front of him—on Levi, on you. His two lovers.

You gasp, knowing this moment will be scorched into your brain for all the ages to come.

When at last, Levi rises to his feet, the first thing you notice is that his cheeks are dusted pink. His lips are swollen and puffy…

Dark as a storm.

Levi wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sitting on your opposite side. “How was that?”

“I think I saw our Gods.”

"Which ones?"

“All of them.”

“Dramatic.”

“It’s a compliment to you.” You consider throwing a pillow at Levi, just to score some petty points, but ultimately abstain from it. You turn to Erwin instead. “Tell me, is it… is it truly always so wonderful?”

You don't care how much of an ingenue you come across saying those words; the hearts in your eyes must give away just what this means to you.

“Sex is what you make it.” Erwin chuckles, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “It is not always about reaching your own end, or your partner’s. Ultimately, healthy communication is key, as is trust and enjoyment.”

“I see.” Your head slopes to the side, admiring Erwin’s aquiline nose, dotted with a constellation of freckles. His hand caresses below your belly button, making you shiver. “I suppose this is what you were both so busy with during your training as squires, huh?"

Erwin laughs. Levi clicks his tongue.

With renewed enthusiasm, you push yourself up by your elbows, glancing between them. How long had you wanted them like this? Years. Now, both of their gazes are on you, and the night has only begun.

“I know tonight is about me…” Your eyes briefly flicker to their groin areas, noticing the tent-like shape that has formed against the fabric of their clothes. Your mouth drools before you can help it; you quickly it down swallow and look back at them. “But what if I wish to please you too?”

They exchange a look, but it Levi who speaks up first. "Princess, we understand your want, but once you do this—"

"Virginity is a made-up construct, Levi. It is not real," you say, dismissing the notion altogether. "When I am queen, I will make sure to change that. In the meantime, I will decide what I do with my body." A pause, one where you tilt your head uncertainly. "Of course, if you do not wish to do this, that is another matter entirely. I would understand.”

"That's not what I meant," Levi says with clipped irritation.

"Your Highness, are you certain about this?" Erwin attempts to soften the blow. “Levi has a point—”

"I am perfectly certain of my own desires, yes."

Your conviction, or perhaps something in your stare, seems to convince them on your feelings on the matter. They go silent, look at each other one last time, and then Erwin chuckles softly. "Levi, why don't you lie next to her?"

"Yeah," Levi mutters. "She's gonna need me to guide her through it."

"Hey! I'm not some helpless damsel."

"Never said you were." Levi shoots you a look, sitting next to you. “Just put your stupid pride aside and take my help.”

Behind him, Erwin is unbuckling his belt, the sound of leather drawn tight. You wish it would all go faster.

You eye Levi. "But what are you going to do while he...?"

Levi answers by shifting closer to you. With a ragged breath, his slender finger reach for the buttons of your chemise. As he coaxes the last one to open, his eyes flicker to you. A silent question.

Heart stuttering, you nod. With his help, the garments come off. Now fully exposed to them, the reprieve you get of Levi briefly drawing back to fold your nightgown away is temporary; soon, you sense both their heated gazes on you. You cross your arms over your breasts, but Levi gently intertwines his hand with your own, moving to kiss your knuckles with added reassurance.

"I'll watch," Levi finally states.

You place a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat soaring away. Like fine marble, Levi's muscles would be worthy to be displayed in a museum. "Then... can I see you, too?"

Levi's eyes flutter. Silently, he does as you ask, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, though he omits to remove his undergarment.

Still, he's...

"Beautiful," you whisper, tentatively placing a hand over his chest bone.

Old scars criss-cross, forming paths of sinewy prowess. Feeling your probing, curious stare, the knot on Levi’s throat bobs. You place a kiss on his right cheek.

"You are beautiful, you know that?" you say, saccharine sweet.

Levi's lips curl. Pink graces his skin, flushing all the way to his neck. He folds his clothes to place them on the wardrobe nearby. It is only after he is back next to you, facial expression composed once more, that he speaks up, "What did I say? Corny."

The sound of Erwin’s laughter soothes your ears and beckons you both to stare at your second lover.

It is only then that you notice that Erwin is also entirely disrobed, save from his undergarment. His golden skin, a living tapestry of chiseled muscles and taut tendons, glows with a fierce vitality. A trail of golden hair that blazes a path from his navel downwards…

"So are you," you say to Erwin with a breathy tone, "beautiful."

"I'm glad you like what you see.” Erwin runs a hand to the back of his head, grinning sweetly. “You are, well—"

From across the room, Levi's gaze locks onto you.

"Divine," Erwin finishes.

You feel yourself grow hot, feeling their eyes admire your every curve, your every facet.

“Fuck, I can’t take this,” comes Levi’s voice, stomping back towards the bed. “You guys are nauseating to be around.”

You snort. “Then why are you red as a lobster?”

“Shut up.”

You and Erwin both burst into different fits of laughter, the feeling of which serves to soothe the nerves at pit of your stomach.

"What about you?" you ask Levi. "Don't you want him inside of you? Or the other way around?"

"No.” Levi's lips draw thin. “We're not doing that today."

"Why not?"

"I told you already, didn't I? Tonight's about you, Princess."

The way Levi says the word Princess has always meant something to you, something more than when that title indicates. Now, it elicits delicious frissons all across your skin. How things have changed...

Before you can say just as much, your peripheral catches a shift. Erwin has removed his underwear, and you turn.

Your throat instantly goes dry.

He’s… big.

Lacking these specific parts yourself, you lack a comparison. You've seen statues, of course, and caught accidental glances from salacious books left around by servant. Still, you're certain that Erwin is definitely above average.

No trifling matter, indeed.

“Hey, lie down,” Levi’s breath tickles your right ear. You can smell him—cotton and black tea, a scent that instantly grounds you. His eyes are heady and glazed when you look at him. “We’re gonna use your prayer oils to get you ready.”

"The oils?" You raise a brow. "Sure the Royal Sage would be thrilled to hear that."

"Yeah, well. What that old geezer doesn't know won't hurt him.'"

The oils do end up being put to good use. You watch as Erwin slides it along the contraceptive sheath he’s unravelled on his length, something he carries around ("You never know when... erm, the opportunity will arise." You laugh. Levi calls him a pervert, blushing from head to toe.). His broad hand strokes himself up and down, the sight of his muscles rendering him into some timeliness statue.

Meanwhile, Levi’s dipped two fingers into you, oil and all. The sensation of his fingers, cold and slender, makes you gasp again. Now that they're separated from the feeling of his tongue, you realize that his strokes are different from your own. Definitely addictive.

Levi’s baritone is like a cello on your skin. "He's big, you see. So you need to ease into it."

"That so?" you ask, lids twitching as you concentrate on the friction Levi is so generously bestowing onto you. Your hips twitch as he alternates between rubbing against your labia and slipping inside. “Does he… does he do that to you?”

"Mm. Takes forever to prep."

Before you can say a thing, Levi’s fingers curl, wedged deep inside of you. Your moan slips out before you can control it. “Gods.”

“Don’t call out to them,” Levi mutters. “They're not the ones touching you.”

“Hah, you call us corny? That was the cheesiest line in the books.”

In response, Levi slips in a third finger, making you whine. By the time you try to protest, Levi simply curls his fingers, increasing the speed of his ministrations, and you’re reduced to nonsensical words and breathless groans.

“Thought as much,” Levi’s satisfied tone bleeds in your ears.

You huff. Smug bastard.

“Look at you two,” Erwin says, tone oozing with tenderness. "What a sight."

When your gaze slides to Erwin once more, you feel your breath catch. He's still stroking himself, though his movements are more languid, slowed in urgency. His eyes are locked on you and Levi with an intensity that makes heat pool in your belly.

"What do you think?" Levi asks, his fingers still working inside you, stretching you with careful precision. The pool of warmth wracks through your body, all the way to your feet. "Think you're ready for him?"

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Levi withdraws his fingers, and you silently grieve the sudden emptiness.

You don't need to wait for too long, however, as Erwin soon approaches the bed, his powerful frame looming over you. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he positions himself between your legs. His hand cups your cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Erwin asks you, voice feather-like.

“I am.”

“I’m going to go slow, but it might hurt in the beginning.”

“I'm ready.”

He's kneeling between your legs now, his broad shoulders taking up so much space you feel almost overwhelmed by his presence. His blue eyes, usually so commanding in public, now look at you with such tenderness you feel like your heart might burst.

"May I?" Erwin asks, ever the gentleman even as his arousal stands proud between his legs.

"Yes," you breathe, reaching for him. "Please."

Levi shifts beside you, his hand finding yours and squeezing. "Breathe," he reminds you, voice uncharacteristically soft. "And remember, we stop whenever you say."

Erwin positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of him pressing against you. The oil makes everything slick, and you feel a momentary flutter of nervousness. But then Levi's lips are on your neck, and Erwin slowly enters you.

The stretch is immediate, a full sensation that edges on discomfort but never quite tips over. Erwin’s careful, painfully so, advancing the slightest then drawing back. You gasp at each new increment as he pushes further, feeling a kind of pressure that’s startling and strange yet strangely satisfying.

"You're doing so well," Erwin murmurs, pausing to let you adjust. His chest rises and falls with deep, controlled breaths.

Levi's thumb circles your palm, grounding you. "Halfway there," he whispers against your skin.

It doesn't hurt, not like you thought it might. There’s a moment where it pinches, but it’s brief. What you feel instead is an intense fullness—Erwin’s girth stretching you, filling you with more than you ever thought possible.

You turn towards your second companion, whose hard limb brushes against your hip as he kisses your collarbone.

"Levi, at least let me touch you," you mutter.

“Why?”

“I just really want to do that to you. Please.”

Levi shifts back, his eyes glinting. At first, you're certain he will refuse you, but finally, he acquiesces. His underwear comes off, and you watch him with parted lips.

Levi's cock is different from Erwin's. It's not as big, but still thick. And in your hands now, he’s so... hard.

With patience, Levi takes your hand and guides you along his length, showing you how to move up and down, how much pressure to apply. The first time you manage to do it right, following a thick vein with your thumb, his body twitches. With fascination, you watch him squeeze his eyes shut, his cheeks aflame. It makes you smile, makes you feel powerful.

“So, this was the secret all along,” you observe, movements going clumsy as you struggle to keep speech and action aligned. "All it took to shut you up was this?"

Levi groans. “You’re ruining the moment.”

Erwin laughs, the sound of it vibrating all the way to your core. Weird. “How are you feeling?”

With impatience now getting the better hold of you, you turn to him. “You can move now, ‘Win.”

"As you wish."

And indeed, Erwin does as his princess says. He finally begins to slowly drag his cock along your walls, pushing further in. You gasp, feeling yourself being stretched, feeling the way his length reaches in.

“It’s all about rhythm, you see,” Erwin explains as he pulls back, not enough to drag out completely, but enough to make you feel him. You whine, still adamant in maintaining a steady stroke on Levi, who shudders under your touch. “You want to start slow, then gradually build up. It takes a bit of practice, but”—he pushes back into you in one fluid motion, your body arches forward—“you catch on fast.”

Erwin's thrusts are addictive. This new position allowing him even deeper, even closer. Levi gasps as your hand matches Erwin's rhythm.

"Fuck," Levi says, sounding winded. "You’re so f-fucking... tight around him."

Another thrust and your eyes roll back. Levi grips your hand with his own, guiding you up and down his shaft, showing you how to increase the pressure. Before you can say a think, he seals his desire with a kiss.

Levi's tongue, Erwin's thrusts, are all you can feel. It feels incredible, feeling them like this, all the wet noises and groans and skin on skin. You feel triumphant surrounded by their bodies, knowing they are yours like you are theirs. The pleasure builds with each thrust, each stroke, until you think you might come apart at the seams.

“Look at you, Princess.” Levi’s words are ragged, his voice a blend of reverence and astonishment. “Taking him so well.” Your eyes flutter as Levi’s praise sends a rush of heat through you. "Fucking perfect."

"Gods."

As if caught in a delirium of his own, wanting to match his own vices, Levi places his free hand down, massaging your swollen clit. You gasp, scrabbling for desperation, the tight coil burning and bright.

"Levi," you whine. "S'too much, I can't, I-"

"You can take this." Levi's forehead is now pressed against yours, while he helps you stroke him, all the while revering your clit with his digits. "C'mon, Princess, I know you can."

And maybe it's Levi's needy tone hidden behind praises, maybe it's Erwin's unforgiving thrusts, but you want to believe them.

“There,” Erwin gasps, sweat glistening on his brow. Erwin has sped up, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. His muscles tense above you, veins pronounced against his skin. “Yes. Just like that—there you go, beloved. You're so perfect.”

“Ah—‘Win—Levi—I—”

"Let it go," Levi rasps.

And then, you shudder around Erwin, the heat of your climax making you go boneless. Levi’s name tumbles from your lips as his head dips against your shoulder, your joined hands still working him, and when you hear him let out a delicate, lovely moan, you realize he’s the first to come undone.

But then, with Erwin still moving inside of you, that wave pleasure crashes over you, and you feel your walls clamp down on him as you find your release again. Erwin thrusts into you one last time, breath ragged, and you feel the warmth of his own desire as he spills into you—his entire body shuddering beneath him.

You’re barely lucid, but you feel Levi collapsing on your right side, Erwin eventually doing the same on your left. You think you hear their voices, but everything is too bright and too blurry simultaneously, too many stars of white and gold dancing around you. Are you lucid right now?

When you finally blink your way back to reality, you find them on your bed, tending to you.

Levi wipes your forehead with a damp cloth while Erwin cleans your thighs.

"Drink this," Levi instructs, holding out a wooden cup.

You oblige, though not before catching another kiss from him. Levi seems surprised, but kisses you back, one hand on your waist. When you turn towards Erwin, there's fondness in his gaze as he slides his tongue in your mouth, pressing a comforting touch on Levi's neck. Together, the three of you say huddled together, up until Levi breaks apart and forces you to drink the water, followed by his orders to wash and get ready for bed.

When all is said and done, you find yourself in bed with them. The aftermath of your lovemaking has long since subsided, and your body aches from the pleasure and new sensation you just experienced. You're in the middle of them, all tangled limbs and sheet, and it is glorious. They're glowing from the afterglow, and you suspect that you are as well. The only light comes from a candle lit next to Erwin's side, but it is enough to dust them in specks of gold that makes you feel like you're in a dream.

"Is this what dying feels like?" you ask in the quiet of the night.

"More like living," Erwin smiles, brushing his hand through your hair. His touch is soft like butter. "How are you, beloved?"

"Perfect."

Levi clicks his tongue. "Too tired to be clever, I see."

You jab his side with an elbow, but it's without any real force. He raises a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Erwin chuckles. "Looks like we did a good job, Levi."

"Yeah," Levi agrees, his tone losing its edge. He pressing himself in the pillow next to you. "Guess we did.”

As Erwin brushes safety into your scalp and you hug Levi from behind, curiosity gets the better of you.

"Are you all going to manage to fall asleep with me?"

"Obviously not," Levi mutters. "You're practically choking me here."

"Pff." You roll your eyes, but soften your grip all the same.

Levi's hand snakes to grip yours, pulling you back. "Who said you were allowed to stop?"

You snort, burying yourself into his back. "You're impossible."

Behind you, Erwin chuckles, but his soft massage on your scalp doesn't stop. Blindly, you reach for the hand that's free, pulling him closer so that it encapsulates both you and Levi. You happily sigh, basked in their scents, in their warmth.

"I wish we'd done this sooner," you confess, not knowing if you're overstepping with your words.

"So do we, beloved," Erwin says.

"Is it selfish that I never want this to end?"

For a moment, neither of them say anything. There's a shift in movements, but neither of them move positions.

"It's always been the three of us, hasn't it?" Erwin points out. "Ever since we were all young, dreaming and looking at the sun."

"Yeah."

"I can't speak on Levi's behalf but... when it comes to you and him, I for one want to be selfish."

The confession makes your heart race. Through it all, Levi is strikingly silent. Nervous he doesn't feel the same, you shift, heart thudding in the middle of your chest.

"Levi, you're not cross with me? If that's not how you feel, I don't want-"

"No." Levi cuts off. "What Erwin said is... right. Just... just didn't know to say it."

"Are you sure?"

There's another silence, where you feel the steady rise and fall of their chest against your body. You wait.

"We're yours, Princess," Levi says at last. Strikingly quiet. "Always."

Erwin squeezes Levi's hand. "Always."

"Always..." you sigh, eyes fluttering shut, "Sounds like a tale for the ages."

Erwin laughs, pressing a kiss to your back of your head. "Maybe it will be. Be sure to tell us how it should go."

And with that, Erwin shifts back, blowing out the last candle.

That night, you sleep soundly. Entangled in the warmth and protection of their bodies, you feel safe. You feel loved. You feel free.

It’s a wonderful place to be.

“Must you really go?”

With a pout on your face, you watch as Erwin and Levi gets dressed. Morning is in full bloom by now, and you can hear the sounds of the castle that signals servants are out and about. Soon, the rest of the royals and nobles will follow. Despite this, you sit up with no real urgency, clutching the sheets of your bed to your chest.

The dewy light filters into your chambers, painting the walls in soft, golden hues. For a moment, you simply watch as your guards move with quiet efficiency, Erwin fastening his cufflinks, Levi buckling his belt.

“We shouldn’t have stayed in the first place,” Levi quips. “If anyone noticed we were missing from our stations, it'd be trouble.”

“Levi’s right, beloved," Erwin concurs, "we don’t want to draw unwanted attention.”

“I understand that, but…” You frown. "But couldn't you simply say I called you in for something? I don't want to see you go."

“Hey.” By now, Levi’s walked to you, looking at you. “Don’t overthink things. We meant what we said last night; we're not going anywhere. We just need to keep up appearances."

You look down, looking dejected.

"Princess." Erwin calls out to you. You look up; he's walked up to you as well and all you can see are his beautiful eyes. Cerulean blue. "What you said to your father, about ruling alone, being the Queen of the Realm..."

A knot forms in the middle of your chest.

"If that is what you wish, we will do everything in our power to make it a reality."

"But what about you?"

Levi squeezes your hand.

“We’re your sworn swords, Princess," Levi says. "We’ll be there by your side, now and forever."

You smile, fondness prickling beneath your skin. If history might have anything to say about the woman you become, you know you might not be looked at in the kindest light. Let them do as they please; you'd set your own path and modernize the monarchy once and for all.

"I have decided on the first words of our joined story, by the way." Your two knights look back at you, gleaming. You make your way to stand close to them, kissing their cheeks before stepping back. "Once upon a time, three friends fell in love."

Levi scowls at your platitudes, muttering a bashful, "Corny," while Erwin just grins. "I like the sound of that," he says, adding his own twist to it, "The Once and Future Queen and Her Two Knights, a Tale for the Ages."

You smile sweetly. "Seems we have our title."

They both give their own versions of a smile, more valuable than all the gold in the world.

As they exit the confines of your bedroom that day, you don't tell them the ending to your story—the ending you're determined to bring to life.

And the three of them lived happily ever after.

I hope you enjoyed this little piece of saccharine indulgence. What do you all think happens next - does our trio get their happily ever after? Do they flee? Does our princess modernize the realm or abolish monarchy? I'd love to hear your theories in the comments.

Thanks for reading <3

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