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Summary
Cynthia was one of the best soldiers of King Fritz's. She served her King well, the only woman within his army. The King's admiration for her did not go unmissed, and neither did the Queen's distaste. Ymir's jealousy caused her to curse Cynthia with Immortality.
She spent two thousand years building lives and each time watching her loved ones die, always wondering who's next?
If you're here for the smut open Chapter Index and find the Chapters with the red block emoji (🟥)
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You are a member of the 102nd Garrison, graduating top of your class and entering the Survey Corps. Your mastery of ODM gear and steeliness in the face of titans causes you to quickly rise through the ranks, even though you detest the attention. Finally, you find yourself in part of the most elite squad. The undertones of disdain and grudging respect between you is mutual. They think you don't deserve to be there, you don't really care. You haven't cared about anything for a long time. You didn't think there could be anyone colder than you, until you meet your new captain. Can the two of you remember how to be human again?
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Two porn companies with questionable ethics are merging and require some of their best actors to come together in a new film. The two biggest names can't agree on a suitable co-star. Solution: you. Problem: you're not a willing participant. Well, it's a problem for you. Not so much for them.
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The pay was unreasonable, the child was famously difficult, and the Supreme Commander of the Holy Knights was, unfortunately, exactly as advertised.
You came to the interview in the wrong coat, said the wrong things, and got the job anyway. You were going to do good work, save your money, and leave.
The position was temporary.
The child had other ideas.
So, it turns out, did his father. -
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“Why not?” And it’s only half asked to be difficult, the other half is because you want to know why it’s bothering him— why it’s made him twitch.
The response you get is the furrow of a brow— one you don’t understand but react to all the same. Your head tilts and it's now that urges of fight leave you and discards behind simple curiosity; you don’t really get it, no, not even when it’s yours, but Luffy does. He’s good at that, at knowing. He doesn’t know much, but he understands how the synapses work, where the sinew and the bone connect, he knows where the blood sits, how it gets to the heart— he knows where to look to catch every tick, vellication, tremble; in hypotheticals, of course, because Luffy doesn’t know it in himself, but on you, on his crew it’s easy. Luffy knows exactly where to touch so that your skin opens up to invite him closer in. You’d given him a hint earlier.
“Feels weird,” he responds, nose scrunching and, because restraint is unfamiliar to him, he continues, “makes me w’nna kiss you.”
or,
Luffy and the promise of being his.