#and who made orders after hearing about what happened

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Hungry For More

Summary: Joel Miller x fe!Reader -> After being forced to share one kiss, you and Joel can't seem to escape each other.

Disclaimer: MDNI 18+. This contains Smut. Use of swearing, hot make out session, mutual pining, a 'fuck it' kiss, nicknames, random character called Doris who is obsessed with Joel and his ass, kinda a three times this - one time that. Fluff, flirting, longing looks, kinda slow burn. Again, 18+. Not Proof Read.

It had all started one December afternoon as you were helping people set the Bar up for a night of Festive Fun. 

You, along with a dozen other party-prep committee members, had been hauling boxes in and out of the bar for the last three hours. Tommy’s brother, Joel, was running most of the new construction builds inside. You’d passed him by at least half a dozen times until you were both made to stop in the doorway. 

“Ah, stay where you are.” Maria had called out to, apparently, both of you. “Look up.”

You and Joel looked at one another confused before tracing your eyes to what was hanging between you. Who the hell put the mistletoe in the doorway?

“Maria, I’ve got things to do-”

“Yeah, and this box,” you had to adjust it with your knee. The wood from the crate hadn’t been sanded down and was starting to cut into your skin. “It’s heavy.”

Maria shook her head from where she was unfurling string lights. “Nu-uh, bad luck if you don’t.”

“Maria-”

“I’d listen to her if I were you two.” Tommy’s voice said as he rounded the corner. 

People needed to be able to get through the door. There were still sets to be built and things to be prepared. Somewhere in the confusing and frustrated silence, you and Joel seemed to come to an agreement. He’d kiss you on the cheek and you’d both leave it at that in order to get on with the day. 

But Tommy seemed to hear that conversation. 

“And none of that cheek kissing, either. It’s gotta be real.” That was when he came and took the crate out of your hands. “It’ll take that.”

You were thankful for a moment, to be free of the heavy ridges in your hands. But being faced with Joel Miller without a buffer? You started to miss the box. At least it put something between you and Joel. 

“Com- Tommy.”

“No, go on. Kiss my brother and you can move on with your day.”

Joel grumbled. “Tommy, stop giving us shit. We’ve both got work to do.”

Maria shrugged. “If you did less talking and more-”

You grumbled. The longer you stood there, the more awkward it would get. So, quickly, you reached up and pulled Joel into you. 

It was meant to be your first and only kiss with Joel Miller. But something happened when you kissed. Something you couldn’t put words to because, quite frankly, it had never happened before. 

And something in Joel’s eyes told you he felt the wordless feeling, too. 

But you didn’t stall for too long. Letting go of his jacket, you turned to his younger brother. “There. Happy now? Give me that-” You took the crate back from him before rushing down the stairs of the bar. You called behind you. “Tell Doris to move that mistletoe! If people start your shit tonight, no-one’s gonna get inside.”

Tommy slapped his brother on the arm, bringing him out of his unnoticed trace. “You heard the lady.”

Joel’s eyes followed you as you scurried off down the road, clearly going to trade whatever was in your crate for something else in town. But as Tommy stepped past him, Joel grumbled. “She said Doris.”

Tommy shrugged. “You know she’s got a crush on you. She’d only ask you to do it, anyway.”

His brother had a point. Doris wasn’t exactly a woman that hid her feelings from people. Or her hands. 

A few hours, and three near misses of Doris’ wandering hands on the dancefloor, Joel was sitting at one of the tables – alone. With his beer bottle in hand, his gaze somehow found you in the crowd. 

He hadn’t been looking for you. But once he saw you…all he could think about was the kiss. The feel of your lips against his, the clench of your fists against his jacket when he kissed you back, the want in him to drop his tools and reach out for you. 

But it couldn’t happen again. It was just his brother and his wife giving you both shit – it wasn’t meant to mean anything other than an escape to be able to get on with the day. 

Right?

You’d sworn to yourself; that no matter how many times you thought about it, or it replayed in your head without permission, or you dreamt of him – nothing. Absolutely nothing could happen between you and Joel Miller…again. 

That kiss by the door had been nothing more than a show. Something for shits and giggles between Tommy and Maria. And it wasn’t like you and Joel saw each other that much. At most, you worked together a few times out of the year. 

That was it. 

You saw more of Maria and Tommy than you did of Joel. 

But that all changed in the week from Christmas Day to New Years. 

Somehow, within the space of seven days, you’d seen Joel Miller more times than you had ever seen him. After an inspection was done on the empty house beside you, wood rot was found. Joel was sent over first thing in the morning to fix the porch. 

He’d finished within two days. 

But then, with left-over party stuff from the Festive Fun night, the town decided it was time to start setting up for New Years. So, along with Joel, you were pulled in to help set everything up. And with Doris out with a cold, you were left in charge. 

Which meant talking with Joel over smaller construction plans on where the stage should be set, what needed hanging and nailing back in, and what needed taking down. 

Joel had rolled out the blueprints onto the table in front of you before pointing out the different sections that could be done that day. And for the most part, you managed to remain professional. Save for the part where you had to maintain eye-contact with him. 

Because every time you did, only one thing flashed through your mind. 

That kiss. 

The feel of his lips kissing yours, the thought of what else he’d be able to do with them…

You had to look away and clear your throat. “You decide. If it’s a danger, fix it now. If it can wait till Summer…leave it till then.”

Joel smiled as he rolled the prints back up. “You know, you’re a lot more efficient than Doris. A lot less handsy, too.”

For a moment, your gaze locked with Joel’s. You looked away, trying your best to laugh away the heat from your face. Don’t count your luck just yet, Miller. You don’t know the kinds of dreams a girl can have after you kiss her once.

“She just likes you.”

“Likes me or likes my ass?” Joel mumbled just loud enough for you to hear.

“It is a nice ass,” You agreed and he just looked at you, a glint in his eyes and a curve against his mouth. 

“You tryna’ flirt with me, Y/n?” 

The way. He said. Your name. 

You managed to roll your eyes and pushed the second roll of blueprints into his chest. “Just get to work, Miller.”

Joel caught the prints before you walked away. “If you really need someone to watch you while you work, I’m sure Doris will be more than happy to know you miss her!”

Joel caught himself more than once watching you from across the room. The way you moved, the way you talked, the way you laughed and the way you smiled. He could have watched you all day. But at one point, he considered he was bordering on ‘The Doris Line’ so he forced himself to focus on the hammer and nail in his hand before he wrapped the string lights around it and moved onto the next one. 

By the time New Years was in full swing, however, he found himself looking for you constantly. 

Your eyes landed on Joel the minute you walked through the door. How could they not? He was standing at the bar, leaning against the wooden top, smiling as he listened to Tommy tell him a story like he was unaware of how tight his  jeans hugged his ass enough for you to know Doris had definitely reached out more than once to grab him. 

However, just before you stepped in his direction, Jesse’s voice sounded behind you. 

“Dance with me,” he sounded desperate. “Please. Before I get ambushed into another square dance.”

You and Jesse worked on patrol together every now and again. He was a good guy. He and Dina were back on again, but since she and Ellie were off to the side of the dancefloor, you put two and two together why he was asking you. 

His hand was on your back, two stepping you both across the wooden floor. “I swear, if I get asked to teach another person to dance in here, I’m gonna lose my feet.”

“Luckily for you, I know a few people in this town who can sew.”

Jesse gave a mocking laugh. “Very funny.”

You smiled. “Why not ask Dina to dance?”

Jesse smiled and looked over at his girlfriend. “She’s having more fun with Ellie right now. Know who you’re kissing at midnight?”

You shrugged. “Figured I’d be in bed by then.”

“What? Oh, come on. You helped put most of this together. You have to stay.”

Your gaze narrowed. “Is this your way of asking me to be on the clean up crew instead of you?”

You knew him too well. He was a good guy, but he and Dina were also very much in the ‘honeymoon’ stage despite being on their second make-up of the year. 

“No,” Jesse tried to lie. 

You sighed. “Go and be with your girlfriend then.”

Jesse leaned down and kissed your cheek. “Thank you. And thank you for saving my feet for ten minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

A few hours later, you were sitting at the bar, nursing a single of whatever strong New Years theme smoky drink Tommy had whipped up for the evening. 

“Sure you’re gonna make it to midnight?” Joel’s voice asked you as he came up behind you. 

You shrugged. “Gotta find a way. I’m cleaning up.”

“I thought Jesse and them were on it.”

“They are, Jesse isn’t.” You smiled. “Him and Dina have plans.”

Joel clicked his tongue. “Kids.” And then, “You know, this place is probably still gonna be busy come morning. You should be able to get a decent night’s sleep.”

You nodded, taking a gulp of your drink. “Maybe. What the hell did he put in this?” 

Joel took the glass from you and took a whiff of the alcohol as you handed it over. It was burning your throat more than the moonshine he’d served you a few years ago. 

It had to be at least six spirits and three different liquors. 

Taking the glass out of your hand, Joel laid his own in replace of it. “Here, this is more normal.”

Joel stood for a moment and dipped under the folding top of the bar. You watched over the rim of his glass as he took a sip of your drink before making a face. “Jesus.”

Tipping it away, he pulled the cork from an unlabeled bottle and poured himself a normal drink. Eventually, you clinked glasses and Joel leaned against the bar top again, this time facing you. 

“How is it?”

“Better. Thank you.”

Joel covered his smile as he took a sip of his drink. And, for a while at least, you both remained there in silence. Watching the room until the other wasn’t looking. 

Before you knew it, it was approaching midnight. 

“You guys ready?” Tommy asked as he walked into the bar, grabbing his terrible concoction. “Twenty seconds away.”

“Tommy-” Joel warned. 

“Oh, come on, brother. You’ve gotta kiss someone at midnight. You too, Y/n.”

“Like who?” You asked before you had time to think about regretting the answer. 

“Each other? You’ve kissed before. Come on, it’s bad luck if you don’t.”

Neither you or Joel had time to argue since the entire town started to count down from ten. 

“Honey!” Tommy called out before making his way over to his wife. 

The air started to feel electric. Hearing Tommy shout at you both once more that it was for luck, you looked at Joel. 

Six. 

Five. 

Four.

“What do we-”

Your eyes became fixed onto Joel’s as he stood tall. Part of you wanted to down the rest of your drink and run, but a bigger part of you wanted to gather the front of his shirt into your fist and pull him closer to you like you’d done by the entrance that day. 

Three. 

Two. 

One. 

Joel beat you to it. 

Reaching out for you, Joel’s calloused hand cupped your jaw and his lips crashed into yours. As your feet balanced on the footrest of the bar, you kissed him back. 

It was another kiss for the history books. And for your dreams. The feeling of his stubble and mustache against your skin, his hand gentle against your face but his lips roughly kissing you. 

This wasn’t just a quick midnight kiss. This was wanting. This was needed. 

Your mind had been conjuring up a thousand different scenarios and feelings in order to let that first kiss play out. And now you have more to add to the story. 

Joel didn’t want to breathe. Breathing would mean he’d have to stop kissing you, and that was the last thing he wanted to do at that moment. He’d been dying for weeks to reach out and touch you, to feel your skin under his fingertips. He never wanted to let you go. 

But he had to. 

As people started whooping and cheering over the New Year, your kiss with Joel broke apart. 

And by the time you got back home and into bed, you couldn’t help but want more. 

However, that want started to get more and more frustrating as the months went by. And it was happening to Joel, too. 

As you started to see him more and more, his eyes constantly found you in a crowd – even when he wasn’t looking for you. As he was starting to be able to tell the difference between you being in the room, and having just left, you were noticing the difference between touch. 

A lot of the construction guys tended to lead you by the arm or your back when manoeuvring around you. But you could tell when it was Joel. His hand by the small of your back, or his voice by your ear whenever he touched your arm to excuse himself around you. 

You wanted his touch to last forever. And it was maddening. It was like he was everywhere but the one place you wanted him. Not that he could be there. There might have been a lot of people in Jackson, but it was also a small town. Gossip and rumours spread quicker than the plague. 

However, that want had to burst at some point. 

And it chose Valentine's Day to do so. 

Joel, once again, had been helping build different items for the dance being put on in the barn. You were helping prep and set the place for people in the town to come and enjoy themselves. And somewhere between trying to ignore each other, only made worse by the fact you could do anything but that, and the constant questions of dates, you found yourself locked in the storage room. 

There were stacks of different equipment around you. Barrels of alcohol, crates of homemade wine and oil, along with other scattered items like text books, library books, magazines, stationary, banners and kindergarten paintings from when the parent-teacher meetings had been held only a few days ago. 

It was just as you were starting to calm yourself from the sight of Joel with a nail between his teeth straddling the top of the ladder, his shirt sleeves rolled and the kisses replaying in your head – someone walked inside, clearly frustrated themselves. 

“What are you doing here?”

Joel turned around quickly. “Jesus. I thought you were-” Joel sighed. “Nevermind. What are you doing here?”

“I asked first.”

“Needed a breather. Your turn.”

“Something similar.”

Neither of you said anything else. You couldn’t. The air was getting too dense as your eyes floated over him. But, as hard as you tried, you couldn’t look away. 

And neither could Joel. 

Surging forward, Joel caught you as you leaned into him and roughly pulled him in to kiss you again. You could feel his hand at the back of your head, holding you closer as his back hit the door. A small groan left him as he did so, but it also grew as he pushed against you. You crashed into one of the fixed storage stations, but Joel still caught you. 

For a moment, you felt his tongue lick at your lips and you easily granted him access to taste you. You hand raked through his hair, gripping it as you reached the base of his skull. 

As Joel’s lips were torn from yours, you looked up through your lashes at him. 

He was drunk on you. The kind of drunk he would never get a hangover with. And he only wanted more. 

But as he leaned in to kiss you again, you both heard footsteps and the turning of the door handle. As quick as lightning, you and Joel removed yourselves from each other and remained behind opposite storage holders. 

“Hey, Joel. We’ve got a slight situation out front-” Ernie. One of the construction men that worked with Joel. 

Joel cleared his throat as he fixed his hair. “What is it?”

“I don’t think there’s a word for it.”

Joel sighed. If Ernie had left, he would have made sure your lips were back on his within seconds. “Alright, I’m coming.”

Ernie hadn’t noticed you, but Joel could still see you. Through the small gap between wine crates, he could see your eyes following him. As he held the door open and Ernie led the way, Joel’s hands traced his lips. 

He could still feel your kiss. 

And within a click of the door, he was gone and you were standing alone; breathless and hungry for more.

Each time you saw Joel after that, the hunger only seemed to grow. No matter how hard you tried, it never subsided. He was on your mind, and if he wasn’t, he was standing barely ten feet from you looking like your last meal.

When you closed your eyes at night, it was like he was still in the room with you. His hands roaming over you, his body dipping into the sheets as he slowly crawled up, his lips softly gracing your skin as he did so. 

Some nights you’d wake and for a split second, you believed it was all real. That he was lay beside you; that your clothes had been bundled somewhere across the room and his sleeping, freshly-fucked frame was trapping you from moving. 

You weren’t alone in your hunger. 

No matter how hard he tried, Joel always seemed to find you. And everytime he did, he could only think of one thing. 

The touch of you. 

Your fingers grasping at his shirt to kiss him, your soft cheek under his calloused palm, your singers in his hair and your lips against his. The things he could have done to you if Ernie hadn’t interrupted. 

Everywhere he seemed to turn, he found you. But as much as he wanted more, he couldn’t. 

Jackson might house more people than a QZ nearby, but it was still a small town. Everyone was in everyone’s business. Being Tommy’s brother, with the past that he had, already made Joel a liability for town gossip. But you and him? Potentially being caught in a less than respectful way in a storage closet? That wasn’t exactly the best idea. For either of you. 

“Mommy says you need to take these to Y/n.” Benji tugged on Joel’s shirt at the bar. 

Joel took the swaddled packets in his hand. “What for?” 

Maria rounded the bar top as Joel helped his nephew onto one of the stools. 

“For trading. This place is gonna be busy in less than ten minutes and it’s gonna take double that to get to her’s.”

“Well,” As much as Joel wanted- needed to see you. He couldn’t. “I could always watch this place-”

Maria shook her head. “Nope. You’re doing it.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so. Oh, and drop these-” She placed two bottles of homemade wine onto the counter. “Off to the teachers at the school. It’s now, technically, Spring Break and they deserve it.”

Joel sighed. “Wish me luck, kid.”

Benji laughed as he watched his uncle pick up the two bottles. “Good luck, uncle Joel!”

The luck wasn’t for him facing you. It was for him facing the school. Although Doris worked on the party planning committee, she also happened to work part-time at the local school. 

“Y/n?”

“Joel?” You called back. 

You’d been digging, planting and redistributing your green garden most of the day. So, hearing Joel call out for you was the last thing you’d been expecting. For a second, you thought you’d imagined it until he came walking down the side path and into your back garden. 

You sat back on your heels in the dirt. “Hey.”

Joel smiled. “Hey. Maria, she told me to give you these.”

You stood up quickly. “Oh, thanks.”

Taking them from Joel, you opened them up in front of him. 

“Bulbs?”

You nodded. “For the garden. She told me she found some on patrol, I thought she was kidding.”

“Sure they’re safe?”

You looked at him, but only for a second. You looked away. “Yeah. See here,” you pointed at the roots. “No rot. No rot equals no infected, too.”

Walking away, Joel eventually followed you. Something felt…off. 

“Are you okay?”

Joel sighed and nodded. “She had me go to the school before here. I would have gotten here thirty minutes ago but Doris locked me in her office.”

You felt yourself laugh. “That sounds fun.”

“If you call tripping over a desk chair four times fun, then sure. It was fun.”

You shook your head with a chuckle. “She’s not so bad. Hand me that?”

Joel looked to where you were pointing. Joining you on the ground, he handed you the trowel and you started to prepare the ground for the burial of the bulbs. 

“Not so bad? I don’t even remember walking into her office.”

“Maybe you need a bodyguard.”

Joel raised his brow as you took one of the bulbs from the package in his hands. “Is that an offer, darlin’?”

Darlin’. 

The nickname had just slipped out. And as much as Joel felt the need to take it back, he didn’t want to. 

Nicknames didn’t usually work on you when it came to men flirting with you, but there was just something about the way he said it; the way it rolled off his tongue, washed over you and settled so deep into your bones it was almost like it had always been there. 

“And if it was?” You asked, feeling the air around you get heavy. 

Your eyes locked on Joel’s. And it hit you just how close you were kneeling. One simple shift to the right and your thigh would be touching his. Another shift and you’d be able to straddle him where he sat. Something in his eyes told you that, just maybe, he wanted you to do it. 

Before you could move, the egg timer rang out from the kitchen window. 

Joel watched as you practically jumped out of your skin before you lifted yourself from the ground. He knew he should have excused himself, he should have left and kept the damn nickname to himself. But something made him follow you into your kitchen. 

“Everything okay in here?”

“Yeah,” your voice felt foreign to you as you pulled the pie from the oven. You closed the door. “Just the pie I made.”

Joel appeared beside you. 

“I had extra-” you made the mistake of looking at him. You were breathless. “Fruit and thought…” Your eyes searched Joel’s. 

You were starving. 

And it wasn’t for the pie. 

Your hands were on him within seconds and his fingers gripped at your hips. His kiss, again, was rough against yours. And you only wanted more. 

The first squeeze of your hips was slow. But reality came crashing over Joel for a split second. 

“Wait-” He kissed you again. “Wait-”

You slowed down, but he didn’t want to. He was fighting a losing battle. 

“We shouldn’t…” Another kiss. “We shouldn’t be doing-” Another kiss. “This.”

Pulling your lips from his, you shook your head. “Just shut the fuck up and kiss me, Miller.”

He did more than that. 

Pushing a hand past your cheek and through your hair, he tilted your head. Like in the storage room, he licked at your lip and you granted him access. A groan rippled through his chest as he tasted you again. 

Slowly, he moved you back until you hit your dining table. 

As your fingers popped open a few of the buttons on his shirt, running your nails around his side and down his back, Joel angled your head to allow him access to your soft skin. Your breathing grew heavier as he nipped at your jaw and slowly moved down the column of your neck. 

Finally finding your pulse point, his teeth grazed at your skin before he dampened the sting with his tongue. You moaned, moving yourself to the edge of the table. 

Joel noticed, however. His knee pushed your legs apart just enough for him to slot one between them. 

Leaning back as Joel’s mouth got lower on your body, you were thankful for wearing a dress. It meant less fabric between you and Joel. And more skin for him to brand as his own. 

Pulling him to kiss you again, Joel’s hands floated down your body, pulling you closer to him by your ribcage. Then his knee shifted. 

You moaned. 

Joel flashed you a wicked grin as he tore his kiss from you. Then he looked down to the hem of your dress. He took his time, caressing your thigh, watching the fabric slowly move further up, only exposing more of you. 

“Tell me you want this?”

Joel’s gaze fell on yours and you nodded. “I want this.”

The kiss that followed was…softer. More vulnerable. But only for a few moments. As the vulnerability disappeared, confidence seemed to grow in its place. 

You could feel his palm sliding up your inner thigh, until finally his fingers traced the seam of your panties. 

You sat up, feeling Joel’s voice by the shell of your ear. You held onto his arm for balance. 

“So fucking wet already,” his voice rumbled before you felt his fingers begin to tease you through the cotton fabric. 

A breathy moan escaped you as he swiped his thumb across your clit, the fabric adding extra friction. 

He was teasing you. Slowly, careful, deliberately. 

Your hips bucked and you heard Joel’s cocky laugher beside you. “You like that, darlin’?”

There was that fucking nickname again. 

You’d never be able to dream again without hearing him ask you that. 

“Do you want more?”

You moaned before swallowing, your breathing picking up pace. Joel’s lips kissed your ear before he slowly moved down, his teeth nipping at your semi-bare shoulder. “Words, darlin’. Use your words.”

You would if you could. 

It came out quiet at first. “Yes.” You swallowed again, “God, yes.”

“Good girl,” Joel smiled before you felt him move your panties to the side. 

Finally, he slipped one finger, then two, inside of you. Pumping tantalisingly slow before curling up inside of you, you gripped his arm tighter. 

“Fuck- fuck.”

Joel’s breathing grew heavier as he felt you slowly pulse around him. He’d dreamt of this – more than once. But, fuck- 

The reality was so much better. 

“You feel so good. So fucking good.”

Joel had to close his eyes before he came in his pants. He planned on lasting a lot longer than a dream sequence. 

Feeling you pulse around him, your moan was swallowed by his kiss as he tasted you again. And just as he had you on the edge, he pulled away. 

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him, feeling him pull away from you. You were so close. Before you could question why, you watched Joel lower himself onto his knees. A wicked glint in his eyes, you watched as he licked his lips and pulled you closer to the edge of the table. 

You felt his nose rub against your clit. Your hips bucked and barely a second later, you heard his deep chuckle that vibrated against your pussy. 

“Fucking tease.”

You could hear the smirk on his face. “Only for you, baby.”

You didn’t have time to think about the second nickname because his tongue started to lick at your opening. Between the feeling of his nose rubbing against your clit, his facial hair applying a delicious friction against your sensitive skin and his tongue; you were losing your mind. 

But you weren’t going to let him stop. Not this time. 

Joel felt your fingers push through his hair as he lapped up the taste of you. And you were heavenly. 

Your hips bucked against him as your moans became more frequent and your breathing became rushed. You gasped, “Joel- I’m-” A pleasured moan escaped you once more. 

And just as his dick was straining hard against his jeans, he tasted you as you came on his tongue. 

“Fuck. Yes. Yes, baby. Fuck…”

You could feel his warm breath against your pussy before his mouth slowly trailed up your body. First under your dress, before over, Joel’s kiss landed against the bow of your breast where he gently pulled the fabric down, exposing you to him. 

He was slow, circling his tongue over your raised nipple. Nipping and biting at the soft flesh around it, you tried to catch your breath long enough for you to register the feeling of his cock pushing against your stomach through his jeans. 

“Are you going to let me take care of that?”

Joel looked down between you both. His breathing was laboured as he looked back at you. “Later. Right now, I wanna feel you cum on cock. Think you’re ready for that, darlin?”

Despite your sensitive clit, you swallowed thickly and nodded. You were hungry for more. More orgasms and More Joel. 

“Remember, darlin. Words.”

“Yes.” 

As you leaned up and kissed Joel, your hand grazed down his stomach before reaching the belt buckle of his jeans. Palming him through the fabric of his underwear, you gave him a taste of his own medicine before slipping your hand under his waistband. 

Joel bucked into you. “Shit, baby.”

You smirked, kissing his neck. “Like that?”

A soft chuckle left Joel before he closed his eyes, feeling you run your nails down his length before pumping him slowly. 

But you couldn’t last as long as Joel once he nodded. 

“I need to feel you, Joel.” Your voice was soft, and low, as you spoke to him. You sounded desperate, but you didn’t care. You were aching for him and the only cure was him. 

Positioning yourself on the edge once more, you felt Joel stretch you out as he dipped his tip in. You took him inch, by inch, by inch, until you were stuffed full of him. 

“Too fucking good.” Joel sounded drunk on you. 

And he was. 

The feeling of you tightening around him, pulling him in, was getting to be too much. Slowly, he inched himself out before pumping back into you. You lifted your hips, gripping onto his shoulder and the tabletop as he held you securely in place. 

You gasped, “Joel-” A moan left you once more. 

Joel groaned as he watched your juices coat his cock, slipping in and out of you. He swore before leaning closer to you, his kiss rough against your mouth. His lips trailed down the length of your neck before he sucked at your neck again, his pace picking up. 

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” you were chanting his name as you started to pulse around him. 

There was no other feeling like it. 

Laying you down, he fucked you into the table as his tongue swirled around your exposed breasts. Your nails scraped down his back, mostly likely leaving a mark. But he didn’t care. He’d been drunk on you long before he’d fucked you. 

“That’s it, baby. Keep going.” Joel’s voice was beginning to slur. “Taking me so well.”

Another moan, your hips bucked into his as he pushed his dick further inside of you. His tongue was driving you wild. 

“Joel, Joel. Fuck,” You hips moved with his. “I’m…I’m gonna- ahh.” 

Feeling you cum on his cock was enough to break his own dam. For a few minutes after, Joel watched as your juices swirled with his and slowly dripped out of your pussy and back onto his cock. 

But the sight of you beneath him, freshly-fucked and so fucking beautiful. That was the sight that would never leave him. 

He could be full, but he’d always be hungry; For the sight right in front of him. For the feeling of you around his cock. For the feeling of your fingers against his skin. For your lips against his. 

He’d always be hungry for you. 

[moluvies]

crawl home ꔛ reiner braun x reader

a/n: spent way too long writing this bc i love reiner

words: 9.3k

cw: lowkey bff!jean, she/her pronouns and fem anatomy reader, soldier!reader, pre-timeskip friends/lovers, betrayal, forgiveness, reiner is pathetic, angsty, kinda serving friends to enemies to lovers, SMUT!!, oral (f!reader recieving), pinv sex, breeding, MDNI !!

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Reiner was taller now, even if it was hard to believe. Maybe not as tall as Bertholdt was, but taller. Not only that, but while he maintained some of the more prominent muscles in his figure, it was noticeable how much weight he had lost. His hair was slightly longer - maybe he didn't keep up with cutting it as much as before. But to be fair, the change wasn't necessarily drastic. Not like the amount of facial hair he let grow out, which was completely ridiculous but so on brand for him.

But what did you care?

Your gaze lingered on him a moment longer, practically having to force yourself to look away from the man you swore was dead to you. But he wasn't, was he? He was standing right there, talking to Connie and Jean like nothing happened. As if the night prior Jean didn't literally punch him. Did they all just forgive him suddenly? Traitors.

You sighed. Maybe you were being dramatic.

The only thing you wanted to hear now was the sound of the water swishing beneath the boat, maybe even a seagull. But it was like you couldn't drown out his voice. It hadn't changed. It was exactly as you'd remembered it being about four years ago. Though, back then you swore you'd found it charming.

Odiha. That's where you were going, what you were focusing on, in order to service the flying boat that would help you and your fellow scouts reach the Rumbling, you needed to reach Odiha. To stop Eren. So why was Reiner's presence bothering you so much?

Reiner was your best friend at one point. When you first joined the cadet corps, it was obvious you were nervous to anyone who took a second to look. And for that, most people didn't see you as a potential reliable comrade.

Most people.

Reiner liked you. He had once playfully claimed you made funny faces during sparring exercises and took you under his wing, seeing your potential. Back then, Reiner had a talent for making anyone feel seen. Even stubborn cadets like Annie seemed to at least tolerate him, maybe even respect him.

So how could you not fall in love with him?

It was ridiculous how quick it happened. You were sure there were other girls vying for his attention just like you were, but you swore Reiner gave you special treatment. It was stupid.

Reiner would see you entering the mess hall and instantly make sure there was a spot open at his table for you. Bertholdt had typically sat across from him, but most of the time there was a spot directly next to Reiner conveniently available just for you. He'd call you by your last name over to their table, always a smile on his face, always so damn sure of himself.

"Bread?" He had offered, causing you to shake your head with a nervous smile on your face. Nervous. Not nervous enough, apparently. But that didn't matter—not when Reiner was offering you bread, or to train after hours with you, or take you into Stohess one weekend when you mentioned wanting a change of scenery.

"I know you wanted that muffin," Reiner said regretfully as you walked away from the bakery stall at the food market. "Sorry I couldn't get it for you."

You shook your head, mouth full from the cookie he'd already got for you just ten minutes prior. "It's fine, really," you assured him, words slightly muffled from the pastry.

Reiner simply smiled at you, taking a bite of his own cookie.

When you returned to Trost that evening as the sun was just beginning to set, the teasing from your comrades was relentless.

"Woah!" Connie had exclaimed, realization dawning on his face as he looked at you and Reiner entering the mess hall together. "Where've you been all day?" He asked, nosy as ever even if the answer was plain as day.

"A date. Is that really such a foreign concept to you?" Reiner had teased, making Connie grin mischievously.

A date. You had your suspicions that that's what it was, but Reiner hadn't explicitly said it. Not until Connie asked. The straightforward explanation made your heart race, gaze dropping instantly to your shoes as Connie's laughter filled the space.

"So that's why you've been polishing your boots and actually combing your hair. I was wondering what the special occasion was," Jean had said to you, his brow raised and arms crossed in a way that was so distinctly Jean. Despite the words, you were sure it was his own way of approving.

"Oh, my God, is that a hickey?" Sasha suddenly butt in, moving into your personal space. Her hands held your head in place as she stared at the scrape from training on your forehead.

"Hickey—what—Sasha, that's on my forehead!" You had defended, but it was too late. Multiple other cadets heard the word hickey and ran with it, causing a flurry of gossip surrounding you and Reiner. And Reiner didn't deny it. He just smiled at you, and somehow that made you feel better.

There were plenty of times he'd made you feel better. An embarrassing amount of times. A pathetic amount of times, considering what he might've been comforting you about.

You sniffled, attempting to straighten yourself out before dinner was served in the mess hall as you sat on a log on the outskirts of the training grounds, taking in the yellow and orange blend of sunset before you. Even with the view, your mind was elsewhere.

It hit you every now and then at random. Despite it happening almost five years ago, you had pushed the grief down as far as you could bury it when your family was killed during the breach of Wall Maria. You were so young when it happened, but suddenly you were alone. When the Armored had broken through the inner gate of the wall, your childhood home had been crushed by a stray boulder.

You were lucky. You came to terms with that at a young age. Far too lucky. It chipped away at you everyday since, even without you realizing. What made you so fortunate to have escaped? Avoided certain death like your family couldn't? What made that soldier step in and save you but not them?

The wondering was pointless, though. They died and you didn't. For some reason fate had kept you alive until now. And for that, you had to live with a purpose. Even if now that purpose was wiping your snotty nose and trying to compose yourself enough to go eat with your friends.

"Bread?"

You had looked up to see none other than Reiner holding out a small loaf, a second one for himself in his right hand. Hesitantly, you had taken it, using the moment Reiner sat down beside you to attempt to discreetly wipe at the tears on your cheeks.

He didn't ask. You supposed it wasn't his style, or maybe he just assumed you didn't want to talk about it.

Reiner simply took a bite of his bread next to you, leaning forward as he chewed. After moments of silence, Reiner looked at you for a second and then towards the sunset. The corner of his mouth tugged upwards into a soft, almost wistful smile, but he said nothing.

"What?" You finally asked.

He almost replied with "nothing," you could tell, but he sighed and leaned back, either hands at his sides resting on the log. "You know what I miss most about home?" Reiner asked, his gaze locked with the sky. "The way the sun would rise over the hills," he stated.

You realized you'd never talked about it—why you were crying that day. To be honest, you didn't want to. Something about his presence had just put you at ease back then, to the point you forgot all of your troubles.

When graduation drew near, you weren't even sure what Reiner's plan was. Everyone knew his perfect scores got him into the top ten, eligible to enlist as a military police officer in the interior. That would've been great for him, but you weren't sure where that left you.

You weren't with Reiner when the Collosal titan had appeared and breached the wall into Trost. But you were there when Eren was discovered to be a titan himself.

From there, something in Reiner had shifted.

Back then, you figured it was realization of some sort. Realization that things were complicated, things were scary, things were real...

Things got even more real when Marco died. Marco wasn't someone you were close with, but he was always there, always kind. If someone as capable as Marco, as determined, as strong, as kind as Marco could die, what would that mean for you and your friends?

Many cadets dropped out that day, despite graduation being so close. You almost did as well. Especially upon seeing Jean's reaction to Marco's death, you didn't know if you had the guts to continue.

But Reiner always had to step in.

"You're stronger than you give yourself credit for," he said, his strong hand on your shoulder. "Look at me," he commanded softly. You hesitated but met his eyes. They were serious, and almost cold now. Different from how they used to look at you. "I know you've got what it takes."

And that was that. Along with Jean, who was sure he'd join the military police, you joined the Survey Corps, falling under the wing of the Commander Erwin Smith.

You were terrified, but you had Reiner.

Things in your lives seemed to come to a halt when Annie was revealed to be a titan. And then Ymir, along with Krista being some kind of royalty and living with a completely different name—Historia.

It was all confusing and overwhelming, and you really wished Reiner was there for you. And he was, physically, always there. But then he was distant. Even when sitting directly beside you during meals like he did before, his focus was obviously elsewhere.

And then it happened.

You revisited that day often. When Reiner and Bertholdt transformed, and everything you thought you knew came crashing down.

You couldn't even cry, or scream, or do much of anything. You'd learned a long time ago to accept these things, but God did it hurt.

Then he was gone. He and Bertholdt, back to wherever they came from—their "hometown" as they so often called it. You didn't know back then, and you'd honestly stopped caring.

When Eren was rescued from them, he tried telling you on the way back what Reiner had said in response to him screaming at them. Eren had brought you up, telling Reiner about all the pain and trauma you endured years ago when the inner gate of Wall Maria was broken and your family was killed.

Sorry. Sorry was what he said, according to Eren.

What a coward.

The next time you saw Reiner was a few months later. But it wasn't really him. It was the Armored titan, the same one you remember from childhood who had breached the wall. And now here you were, back in Shiganshina with your fellow scouts.

The bloodshed was monumental in Shiganshina. Bertholdt had died, but Reiner lived—barely. You weren't there when Hange and Jean had captured him. And you were grateful you weren't. Just three months after discovering his true self, you knew you'd do something stupid like let him go if you had been there. But that part wasn't really up to you, and he got away regardless.

That's when you discovered the truth of everything. The titans, the walls, Paradis, Eldians.

You wished you could hate him. But everyday you'd hoped for the day you could speak to him again, just once.

Those feelings seemed to have formed into anger as the years passed. And by the time you and your fellow soldiers raided Liberio, you basically lived in a shell. You promised your comrades you weren't going to allow feelings to get in the way, and you delivered.

So much happened in such a short amount of time it was difficult to even remember it properly.

You remembered seeing him—really him—for the first time again on Paradis. He was almost pathetic looking now, but a part of your heart still yearned for him.

Were the feelings even the same, though?

You and the rest of the scouts had to compromise and join forces with the Warriors in order to put a stop to Eren's plan to go through with the Rumbling. It was the first night that Jean brutally punched Reiner at the campfire. Years ago, you might've blindly taken the side of Reiner. Hell, if he said a word to you since being back on the island maybe you would've defended him. But he didn't. So you let it happen.

When the kids, Gabi and Falco, rushed to Reiner's side after the altercation, you felt as though you needed to physically drag yourself away to avoid saying anything to him.

Instead, you found Jean, cooling off in the outskirts of the woods. His head was in his hands, leaning against a tree as he shook.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm, causing him to jump. You made eye contact, but he was quick to look away. Though, your small touch grounded him.

"Sorry about that," Jean apologized. "I got carried away." His voice was breaking, you'd noticed, but you shook your head.

"Don't apologize," you replied.

You made a choice that evening. The choice to stay loyal to your comrades instead of blindly following Reiner like you did when you were a dumb kid. But it didn't make it any less difficult when he stood there on the boat looking almost like he had years ago.

The expression on his face was that of determination. And the people at his side were none other than Jean and Connie.

You scoffed, pulling your gaze away from the men and staring off into the vast ocean—the ocean you didn't even knew existed years ago; the ocean Reiner didn't bother mentioning to you those nights you sat together for hours.

You'd gone over every emotion the past four years. You saw his side as best you could. Even so, it was hard to forgive. Especially when Reiner himself hadn't made an effort to speak to you.

"Hey." You didn't look up, you knew it was Jean.

"You gonna talk to loverboy or what?" He asked after a beat of silence. You finally lifted your head to shoot him a glare. Jean simply smiled, looking back at where Reiner and Connie were still talking and then back to you, sitting beside you on the bench.

You remained quiet for a moment after Jean sat beside you, your fingers absently picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. The gentle rock of the boat beneath you seemed to match the churning in your stomach.

"I'm not talking to him," you finally said, keeping your voice low despite the distance between you and the others.

Jean snorted. "Right. Because ignoring him is working so well for you."

You shot him another glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You've been staring at him every chance you get since yesterday." Jean's knowing smile widened as your cheeks flushed with heat. "Don't worry, he's been doing the same thing."

Something fluttered in your chest at his words, but you quickly tamped it down. "Has he... said anything?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice smaller than you intended.

Jean chuckled, that same knowing look in his eyes that made you want to shove him off the bench and into the sea. But then his expression softened.

"No," he admitted. "But it's getting annoying watching you two dance around each other like this. You look at him when he's not looking, he looks at you when you turn away. It's really embarassing for both of you."

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the endless blue horizon. The vastness of the ocean still amazed you, even now. "Well, if he wanted to talk, he would've said something by now."

"Maybe he's thinking the same thing about you," Jean pointed out.

"That's different," you protested weakly.

"How?"

You opened your mouth to respond but found you didn't have an answer that wouldn't sound childish. Jean was right, and you both knew it.

"Look," Jean said, his voice gentler now, "I'm not exactly Reiner's biggest fan. You were there when I..." He flexed his hand, the same one he'd used to punch Reiner the night before, his knuckles reddened now. "But we're all stuck here together now. And whatever was between you two—"

"There was nothing between us," you interrupted, the lie bitter on your tongue.

Jean gave you a flat look. "You're a terrible liar. Always have been."

You looked down at your hands, suddenly finding your fingernails fascinating. "It doesn't matter now anyway."

"Maybe not," Jean agreed. "But you're never going to stop wondering if you don't at least talk to him once. Really talk to him."

The silence between you stretched for several long moments as you considered his words. The rational part of you knew he was right. This tension, this unspoken thing hanging in the air between you and Reiner, it would only continue to distract you. And with what lay ahead—with Eren and the Rumbling—you couldn't afford distractions. And more importantly, you didn't want to die with regrets.

"Fine," you muttered, standing up with a resigned sigh.

Without waiting for some type of reaction from Jean, you turned and made your way across the deck toward where Reiner and Connie stood. Your heart hammered against your ribs with each step, and you briefly considered turning back. But Jean's words echoed in your mind—you would never stop wondering if you didn't at least try.

Connie noticed you first, his animated conversation with Reiner faltering as you approached. Reiner turned, and for a moment, you were transported back to those days in the mess hall—him turning to call your name, saving you a seat beside him.

But his eyes weren't the same. They carried a weight now, dark shadows beneath them speaking of sleepless nights and unshakable guilt.

"Um, I'll just..." Connie mumbled, already backing away, but you barely registered his departure.

You stopped a few feet from Reiner, suddenly unsure what to say. All the anger, all the hurt, all the things you'd rehearsed in your head over the years—none of it seemed right now that he was standing in front of you.

"Can we talk?" The words came out steadier than you felt.

Reiner looked surprised, as if that was the last thing he expected to hear from you. He nodded once, hesitantly. "Yeah. Of course."

You nodded, and without another word, turned to lead the way to the stairs. You could feel his presence behind you as you descended into the dimly lit interior of the ship, the wooden steps creaking beneath your weight. The air was cooler here, tinged with the scent of salt and damp wood.

The sleeping cabins were arranged in a narrow corridor, small compartments with barely enough room for the bunks they contained. Most were empty now, with everyone gathered on the upper deck to watch the endless expanse of ocean passing by. You chose one at random, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

The room was tight, with just enough space for two narrow bunks built into the walls and a small porthole that cast a circle of fading evening light across the wooden floor. You sat on one of the bunks, the thin mattress sinking beneath your weight. Reiner hesitated at the doorway for a moment before entering and sitting on the opposite bunk, the space between you barely more than an arm's length but feeling like an unbridgeable chasm.

Reiner's shoulders hunched slightly, his large frame somehow seeming smaller in the confined space. His eyes darted around the cabin before finally settling on his hands, which were clasped tightly in his lap.

You found yourself remembering another small space you'd shared once, years ago during a thunderstorm. The supply shed had been the closest shelter when the rain had caught you both during evening training. You'd sat side by side on crates of gear, listening to the rain hammer against the roof, shoulders touching as Reiner told stories about his hometown to distract you from the thunder. And you remembered how you felt when he held your hand, the way his touch was so gentle, his fingers lacing with yours. Back then, his voice had been warm, his smile easy, his eyes bright with something that made your heart race.

Now, he sat across from you, silent and tense, his gaze fixed on the floor between your feet. The only sound was the creaking of the ship around you and the distant, muffled voices from above.

The silence between you stretched until it became unbearable. Your fingers dug into the thin mattress beneath you, knuckles turning white with the pressure.

"My family is dead because of you," you finally said, your voice quiet but sharp enough to cut through the heavy air. The words hung there, raw and unavoidable. "Every time I look at you, I see that day. The Armored Titan breaking through the gate. The boulder that crushed our home."

Reiner didn't flinch, didn't look away. He just nodded slowly, his eyes hollow. "I know."

"You know?" A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "That's all you have to say? You know?"

"What do you want me to say?" His voice was flat, resigned. The voice of a man who had already condemned himself a thousand times over.

"I want you to say something—anything—other than 'I know,'" you snapped, the anger you'd been holding back finally beginning to surface. "I want you to explain how you could sit with me that day by the training grounds, offering me bread while I cried about my family, knowing it was you who killed them."

Reiner's gaze dropped to the floor again. "I don't have an explanation that would make any sense to you."

"Try me," you challenged, leaning forward. "I've had four years to think about this, Reiner. Four years to try to understand."

He looked up then, and the defeated emptiness in his eyes almost made you recoil. This wasn't the Reiner you remembered—the strong, confident soldier who always seemed to know what to say, what to do. This was a shell of that man, worn down by guilt and grief.

"I compartmentalized," he said after a long moment. "The Warrior and the Soldier. Sometimes, I... I forgot which one was real."

"And which one was it?" you asked. "Which version of you was real, Reiner?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't know anymore. Maybe neither."

You stood up abruptly, unable to sit still with the storm of emotions churning inside you. The cabin was too small to pace properly, but you moved to the porthole, looking out at the darkening sky without really seeing it.

"Do you have any idea what your betrayal did to me?" Your voice was quieter now, but no less intense. "It wasn't just that you were the Armored Titan. It was that you were you. Someone I..." You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Someone I cared about. A lot."

You heard the bunk creak as Reiner shifted his weight but didn't turn to look at him.

"I nearly quit the Scouts after you left," you continued, watching your breath fog the glass of the porthole. "I couldn't understand how I could have been so wrong about someone. How I could have trusted you so completely."

Your fingertips pressed against the cool glass as memories flooded back—training together in the rain, his hands adjusting your grip on the ODM gear controls, his laughter at your terrible jokes, the way his eyes would find yours across the mess hall.

"And it wasn't just you," you said, your voice growing thick with unshed tears. "I haven't been able to truly trust anyone since. Not completely. There's always this voice in the back of my mind asking if they're hiding something too. If they'll betray me just like you did."

"I'm sorry," Reiner said, his voice barely audible.

You whirled around to face him, anger flaring hot and bright. "Sorry doesn't bring my family back! Sorry doesn't erase the fact that you lied to me for years! Sorry doesn't change the fact that every memory I have of us is tainted now because I don't even know if any of it was real!"

"It was real," Reiner said, standing up now, something finally sparking in his eyes. "That's what you don't understand. It was all real for me too."

"How could it be real when it was all built on a lie?" Your voice rose, echoing in the small space.

"Because I didn't know how to separate the lie from the truth anymore!" He took a step toward you, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Do you think this has been easy for me? Do you think I just walked away and forgot about all of you—forgot about you?"

You stared at him, momentarily stunned by the sudden emotion in his voice.

"I've thought about you every single day since then," he continued, his voice breaking. "I see your face in my dreams. I hear your voice when it's quiet. You've been haunting me for four years, and I deserve it."

The raw pain in his voice knocked the breath from your lungs. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stared at him, really seeing him for perhaps the first time since you'd learned the truth—not as the Armored Titan, not as the Warrior, not even as the Soldier, but as Reiner. Just Reiner, broken and haunted and so very human.

"I know you hate me," he said, quieter now, his own eyes shining with unshed tears. "You should hate me. If I could go back and change what I did..."

"But you can't," you whispered.

"No," he agreed. "I can't."

The admission hung between you, simple and devastating in its truth. You couldn't change the past. Your family was still gone. The walls were still broken. And Reiner—your Reiner—had still been the one to do it.

But the man standing before you now, shoulders slumped under the weight of his actions, eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own—he wasn't the Armored Titan anymore. He was just as broken as you were.

Then suddenly you moved, your arms wrapping around his waist, your face pressed against his chest as sobs wracked your body. You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against your cheek, so at odds with the broken man it belonged to.

For a terrible second, he remained frozen, and you thought you'd made a mistake. Then his arms came around you, tight and desperate, one hand cradling the back of your head as he buried his face in your hair. His body trembled against yours, and you realized he was crying too—silent, shuddering sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him.

The stubborn shame that had kept you both at arm's length dissolved in the salt of your mingled tears. There, in the dim light of the cabin, with the gentle rocking of the ship beneath you and the uncertain future ahead, you held each other like the last two survivors of a shipwreck—broken, exhausted, but somehow still alive.

You weren't sure how long you stayed like that, holding each other in the dim light of the cabin, your tears gradually subsiding into uneven breaths. His arms around you felt both familiar and foreign—the shape of him changed, but the way he held you still the same.

When you finally pulled back, just enough to look up at him, your faces were inches apart. Your hands had somehow moved to his shoulders, feeling the unfamiliar angles where muscle had once been. His eyes, red-rimmed from crying, searched yours with a question he didn't dare voice.

"I still hate what you did," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "I don't know if I can ever forgive that."

Reiner nodded slightly, accepting your words without defense. One of his hands had found its way to your face, his thumb gently brushing away a tear from your cheek.

"But I don't know how to hate you," you admitted, the confession tearing itself from somewhere deep inside you. "I've tried for four years, and I just... can't."

Something flickered in his eyes—a spark of something you hadn't seen since before everything fell apart. Hope, maybe. Or longing.

You weren't sure who closed the distance. Maybe both of you, drawn together like the inevitable pull of gravity. His lips found yours in a kiss that was hesitant at first, as if he expected you to push him away. When you didn't—when instead you pressed closer, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt—the hesitation gave way to a desperate need that matched your own.

Reiner's arms tightened around you, backing you against the wall beside the porthole. The cool glass pressed against your shoulder, a stark contrast to the heat of his body against yours. His kiss deepened, years of unspoken feelings pouring into it as his tongue met yours.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, longer now than you remembered. The scrape of his beard against your skin was new, and your heart skipped a beat at the way his breath hitched when you tugged gently at his hair.

When you pulled away again, breathless, his eyes were dark with a mixture of desire and pain. "I shouldn't be doing this," he whispered, even as his thumb traced circles on your hip. "After everything I've done..."

"Shut up," you murmured, pulling him back to you. "Just shut up, Reiner."

He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob against your lips. "Still stubborn," he breathed.

Your hands tangled in his hair, eyes squeezed shut as you took in the feel of him. You were desperate, you knew. You felt pathetic, but you wanted him. Needed to be close to him.

"It's embarrassing how long I've wanted to do this," you murmured against his lips, your voice barely audible over the sound of your racing hearts.

His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes closed as he took an unsteady breath. "When we were back in training, that day in Stohess..." His voice was rough, trailing off as your lips found the curve of his jaw.

"Why didn't you kiss me then?" you asked, the question muffled against his skin.

Reiner's laugh was soft and broken. "I wanted to. Every second we were together." His hands slid down to your waist, anchoring you against him as if afraid you might disappear. "I told myself it was because of the mission. That I couldn't get distracted."

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hand coming up to touch his face, feeling the unfamiliar texture of his beard beneath your fingertips. "And the real reason?"

He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting yours again. "I was afraid that if I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. That I'd tell you everything." The admission seemed to cost him, his voice barely above a whisper. "And then you'd hate me."

"I did hate you," you said quietly. "When I found out."

His eyes clouded with pain, but he nodded. "I know."

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his again, more gently this time. "But I hated myself more for still wanting this. For still wanting you."

Reiner's response was to kiss you again, deeper this time, his body pressing yours more firmly against the wall. One hand tangled in your hair while the other gripped your hip, his touch both gentle and desperate. You could taste the salt of tears—whose, you weren't sure anymore—and something else, something uniquely him that you had tried so hard to forget.

The ship rocked with a stronger wave, causing you both to sway. Reiner's arm tightened around your waist, steadying you, and for a brief moment, you were back in the training grounds, his arms around you as he corrected your stance, his breath warm against your ear.

"I missed you," he breathed against your mouth, the words so quiet they might have been imagined. "Every day."

You didn't answer with words. You couldn't. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, alongside grief and betrayal and a hundred other emotions you couldn't name. But for now, in the dim light of the cabin with the sea stretching endlessly around you, you let yourself remember what it felt like to be in his arms.

Your lips found his again, harder this time, your teeth catching his lower lip in a way that made him groan. His hands tightened on you in response, lifting you slightly as he pressed you more firmly against the wall. The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, years of longing and hurt and need pouring into it.

The world outside—Eren, the Rumbling, the fate that awaited all of you—seemed distant and unreal compared to the solid warmth of Reiner against you, the familiar-yet-different taste of his mouth, the sound of his ragged breathing mingling with your own.

This wasn't forgiveness. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But as his lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, tracing a path that made your breath catch, you realized it might be something like a beginning. A chance to finally confront all the things left unsaid between you, all the hurt and the betrayal, but also all the moments that had been real.

Reiner’s hands slid down your sides, fingers digging into your hips as he kissed you with a desperation that made your knees weak. The rough scrape of his beard against your skin sent shivers down your spine, and when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you gasped—only for him to swallow the sound with another searing kiss.

This isn't at all how you expected your "talk" to go. Years of rehearsing different scripts in your head about how you'd tell him you hate him when you saw him, how you'd show him how it felt to feel betrayed and alone... All of those came crumbling down when he touched you like this, so gently but also so needy.

Not that the idea in general hadn't crossed your mind an embarrassing and pathetic amount of times. That, you couldn't deny. Since your cadet days you'd wondered what it would feel like with him, hoping he'd make a move. But he never did. Your heart skipped a beat when you felt the sadness well up inside you again, but that feeling quickly went away when he tilted his head to better kiss you.

His body pressed you harder against the wall, the heat of him searing through your clothes. You could feel the evidence of his arousal against your thigh, and the knowledge of how badly he wanted you—after all this time—sent a thrill through you.

Then, without warning, he broke the kiss, his breath ragged. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice rough.

You didn’t.

A low sound escaped him, something between a groan and a growl, before his hands tightened on your waist—and then he was lifting you, turning, and depositing you onto the narrow bunk behind you in one swift motion. The thin mattress barely cushioned the impact, but you barely had time to register it before Reiner was on his knees between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs with a reverence that made your breath hitch.

His gaze flicked up to yours, searching, hesitant—like he still couldn’t believe you were letting him touch you.

"Please," he breathed, fingers curling into the fabric of your pants. "Let me taste you."

The raw need in his voice sent a jolt straight to your core. He was begging. Reiner—the man who had once been so confident, so sure of himself—was now on his knees for you, looking up at you like you were the only thing that could save him.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your throat. You also didn't expect it to go like this. The Reiner that you knew back then presented himself to be some kind of big leader, something you admired because of how he never seemed to let it go to his head. He was one of the strongest, but he was humble.

So seeing him like this, desperate between your legs, felt almost like culture shock.

But even so, being with him, feeling him, talking to him all felt so good. So good you could cry. "Okay," you breathed, nodding.

His fingers trembled slightly as he undid the fastenings of your pants, tugging them down your legs along with your underwear. Your cunt was already pathetically wet just from making out, and suddenly you just wanted to close your legs so he wouldn't see how much you affected him. Stubborn pride still warred inside you even now. The cool air of the cabin ghosted over your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of Reiner’s breath as he leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, making your heart swell.

Reiner’s hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing over the damp curls between them. His breath stuttered when he saw how wet you were, his fingers tracing your folds with agonizing slowness.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

He kissed at your inner thighs some more, almost like he just couldn't get enough of the simple action. He'd lick at them, suck them, anything. Reiner was willing to drag this out, it seemed.

"Has anyone ever done this for you before?" Reiner asked, his tone carrying a mix of emotions, staring up at you with his pretty hazel eyes as he kissed at the soft skin of your thighs. Deep down, he selfishly hoped no one else had gotten to see you like this—feel you like this.

Your breath hitched at the sight, unable to pull your gaze away and similarly unable to stop your arousal and need as you felt yourself wet the sheets beneath you even further. "I don't see how that's any of your business," you replied stubbornly, wanting to keep the small amount of control you still held.

That gave Reiner all the answer he needed. "Hm," he responded, careful not to anger you, careful not to upset you. but also understanding and seeing just how much you wanted this—wanted him. And equally he was exceptionally aware of the way his cock twitched in his pants, desperate to make you feel good, desperate to feel your thighs around his head and your fingers against his scalp, desperate to hear you in these moments he's imagined you in so many times.

Reiner didn’t wait for another teasing remark from you—his mouth was on you in an instant, his tongue dragging a slow, filthy stripe up your soaked cunt, groaning against you like he’d been starving for this. The sound alone made your back arch off the bunk, a sharp gasp tearing from your lips as his hands clamped down on your thighs, holding you open for him.

He was messy—no finesse, no practiced rhythm, just pure, desperate hunger. His tongue lapped at you like he was trying to memorize your taste, his nose pressing against your clit as he buried his face between your legs. Every flick of his tongue was sloppy, wet, loud, the obscene sounds of his mouth working you filling the tiny cabin. You could feel his stubble scraping against your sensitive skin, the rough drag only making the pleasure sharper, more overwhelming.

“Fuck—Reiner—” Your fingers tangled in his blonde hair, gripping hard as his tongue circled your clit before sucking it between his lips. His groan vibrated through you, his hands sliding under your ass to tilt your hips up, giving him better access as he devoured you.

He was relentless, like he’d been waiting years for this—because he had. Every muffled sound he made against your cunt, every time his tongue plunged inside you only to drag back up, every time his lips sealed around your clit to suck—it was all too much, and yet you never wanted it to stop.

His enthusiasm was almost embarrassing, the way he moaned into you like he was the one being pleasured, his hips moving against his hand as he rubbed his cock through his pants. You could feel the wetness of your own arousal smeared across his chin, and the sight alone had your thighs trembling around his head.

Drool mixed with your arousal, dripping down his chin as he ate you out like a man possessed. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you open for him as his tongue plunged inside you, fucking into you with rough, eager strokes before retreating to suck your clit again.

"Taste so good," he panted against you, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, fuck, I knew you would—"

His words cut off into a groan as he redoubled his efforts, his tongue flicking rapidly over your clit before he sealed his lips around it again, sucking hard. The wet, filthy sounds of his mouth on you filled the cabin, obscene and perfect, and you could feel the way his hips rocked slightly against the bunk, rutting into nothing as he got off on just tasting you.

"Been thinking about this—" he rasped, pulling back just enough to speak before diving back in, his tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless circles. "—every night—"

His fingers dug into your thighs, leaving marks as he held you down, refusing to let you squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure.

"Close," you choked out, your hips jerking against his mouth. "I’m so close—"

Reiner growled, the sound vibrating through you as he sucked your clit into his mouth one last time, his tongue flicking over it rapidly—

And then you were coming, your back bowing off the bunk as pleasure crashed through you in waves. He didn’t let up, licking you through it, swallowing every drop of you as you shuddered and gasped above him.

When you finally went limp, panting, he pulled back just enough to look up at you.

His chest heaved, his eyes dark with need. But above that, it was like he needed some confirmation he did good.

"Fuck," he breathed. "Are you okay?"

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him up your body until his weight settled over you, pressing you deeper into the thin mattress. His skin was fever-hot, his muscles taut with restraint, but his eyes—those damn hazel eyes—were soft, almost reverent, as he looked down at you.

You didn't answer, not verbally at least.

Your hand slid into his hair, gripping tight as you dragged his mouth to yours, kissing him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue. A rough groan tore from his throat, his hips jerking forward instinctively, the hard length of his cock grinding against your still-sensitive clit through his pants.

His groan was muffled against your mouth as you licked into him, your fingers tightening in his hair. You could feel the way his body shuddered when you nipped at his bottom lip, the way his hips jerked forward instinctively, grinding his cock—so fucking hard against your thigh.

“God, you’re—” His voice broke as you kissed him again, rougher this time, your teeth dragging over his lip. His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “Fuck, I need—please—”

"Reiner," you breathed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Please fuck me."

You could feel it—the way his entire body trembled with the effort of holding back, the way his breath came in ragged bursts against your mouth. His hands fumbled with his belt, his fingers shaking as he undid the buckle, his cock springing free, thick and flushed and aching for you.

Reiner didn’t waste another second.

He hooked his hands under your knees, spreading you wider, his gaze locked on where your slick glistened between your thighs. His breath hitched, his cock twitching against your stomach as he lined himself up, the blunt head pressing against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough.

You did.

His eyes burned into yours as he pushed inside, slow, so agonizingly slow, his jaw clenched tight as he fought to keep control. The stretch was delicious, the way your walls fluttered around him making his hips stutter.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You feel—Christ—you feel even better than I imagined.”

And then he was seated fully inside you, his hips flush against yours, his cock buried to the hilt. For a moment, neither of you moved—just breathed, just felt, the weight of years of longing crashing over you both.

Then—because he needed to see it, needed to know this was real—he leaned back on his heels, pulling out almost all the way just to watch the way your cunt clung to him, glistening and desperate, before slamming back in. His cock disappeared inside you, your wetness coating his dick as your body stretched to take him.

The sound you made was sinful.

Reiner’s hips snapped forward again, harder this time, his cock dragging against your walls in a way that made your toes curl. His grip shifted from your wrist to your hip, holding you in place as he fucked into you with slow, deep strokes—like he was savoring every second, like he wanted to memorize the way your body took him.

His dick glistened with your arousal, disappearing inside you with each thrust, your cunt gripping him like it was made for him. He couldn’t look away—couldn’t stop the way his breath hitched as he watched himself fuck into you, over and over, your body taking him so perfectly.

Reiner’s rhythm was relentless, each deep stroke dragging a gasp from your lips. His broad palm slid down your stomach, fingers gliding through your slick until his thumb found your clit, rubbing tight, rough circles that made your toes curl.

"There you go," he murmured, voice thick with praise as he watched your face twist in pleasure. "So fucking pretty when you take me like this. Can’t believe you’re real—can’t believe I get to have you."

You whimpered, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, for everything. Reiner moaned at the way your body clenched around him, his thumb pressing harder against your clit.

"Love the way you take me," he panted, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "Like you were made for me, huh? Made to take my cock just like this—shit—"

Then, without warning, he leaned forward, his chest pressing flush against yours, his weight pinning you completely beneath him. The new angle made him sink deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that had your vision whiting out for a second.

"There," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. "That’s it, sweetheart. Let me have you just like this—fuck—"

His thrusts turned slower but impossibly harder, each one dragging a broken moan from your lips. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you again, swallowing your gasps like he needed them to survive.

He braced himself above you, muscles taut, sweat glistening on his skin as he watched your face—every flutter of your lashes, every bitten-off moan—like he was memorizing you all over again.

His hips rolled into yours with a deep, almost reverent grind, pressing so deep you could feel him in your ribs. Your breath hitched as he lingered there, his tip nudging that perfect, aching spot inside you before pulling back with a slow, torturous drag that made your toes curl.

"Feel how deep I am?" he breathed, his fingers tightening on your hip as he rocked into you again, slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. "Fuck, you’re perfect."

His voice was wrecked, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. But he didn’t rush—just kept moving inside you with that same maddening pace, every thrust a sweet torment.

"Could stay like this forever," he admitted, his lips brushing your jaw. "Just like this—buried inside you, feeling you clench around me like you never wanna let me go."

"Reiner," you whined.

"I've got you," he responded, hips never stopping.

And when your back arched, your body tightening around him, he didn’t speed up—just kept fucking you through it, his lips pressed to your neck, whispering praise as pleasure washed over you in waves.

Reiner’s thrusts grew more erratic, his control slipping as your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper with each desperate clench. His breath came in ragged gasps, his forehead pressed against yours as he fought to hold on just a little longer.

“I—fuck—I’m close,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. His fingers dug into your hips, his rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled tight in his gut.

You arched beneath him, nails scraping down his back as you panted, “Inside… please, Reiner—I want you to cum inside me.”

His entire body tensed at your words, a shudder running through him. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark with lust and something dangerously close to worship.

“Are you—fuck—are you sure?” he rasped, hips stuttering as he struggled to keep his pace steady.

You nodded, biting your lip as you clenched around him deliberately, drawing a broken groan from his lips.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Want to feel you—all of you.”

That was all it took.

Reiner’s restraint shattered.

"Fuck—gonna fill you up so good," he panted, his forehead dropping against yours. "Gonna make sure you feel it—"

You clenched around him, your own climax building again, and he cursed, his rhythm faltering.

"Come with me," he demanded, his voice wrecked. "Wanna feel you cum on my cock while I’m deep inside you—fuck—please—"

His words tipped you over the edge. Pleasure crashed through you, your body tightening around him in waves, and Reiner lost it.

With a growl that was almost feral, he slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his cock pulsed inside you, hot and thick. His body shuddered violently, his fingers gripping you like a lifeline as he spilled deep, his release filling you in waves.

You could feel him pulsing inside you, his cock twitching as he rode out his orgasm, his forehead pressed to yours. When he finally stilled, he didn’t pull away—just stayed there, his body heavy and warm against yours, his breath slowly steadying.

After a long moment, he lifted his head, his gaze soft as he brushed a sweaty strand of hair from your face.

"Okay?" he murmured, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

You nodded, your fingers lazily tracing the muscles of his back.

Reiner exhaled, something like relief—or maybe wonder—flickering in his eyes before he leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

"Good," he murmured against your mouth.

You lay in comfortable silence for what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, Reiner's weight pressing you into the thin mattress, his breath warm against your neck. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, as though memorizing the feel of you. Neither of you wanted to break the spell, to acknowledge the world waiting outside this small cabin.

"I love you," you whispered finally, the words escaping before you could think better of them. They hung in the air between you, raw and honest.

Reiner stilled, his breath catching. Slowly, he raised himself up on his elbows to look at you, his hazel eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. For a terrible moment, you thought you'd said too much, revealed too much of yourself to someone who had once betrayed you.

But then his expression softened, a genuine smile—one you hadn't seen in years—spreading across his face. "I love you too," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I always have."

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. "I know it doesn't change anything," he murmured. "I know it doesn't make up for what I did. But it's true."

His eyes grew serious again. "Whatever happens with Eren, with the Rumbling… I'm going to protect you. I promise."

Before you could respond, a sharp knock at the door made you both jump.

"Hey, you two done?" Connie's voice called through the thin wood. "There's food up on the deck if you're interested. Kinda limited, but better than nothing."

You and Reiner exchanged wide-eyed looks before scrambling to get dressed, movements frantic and clumsy in the small space. Your fingers fumbled with buttons and clasps as you tried to make yourselves presentable.

"Uh, yeah," Reiner called back, his voice remarkably steady considering his panicked expression. "We'll be right there."

You could hear the smirk in Connie's voice as he replied, "Take your time. Not like we can hear everything through these paper-thin walls or anything."

Your face burned as you hurriedly tucked in your shirt. Reiner looked equally mortified, though a small, almost boyish grin played at the corners of his mouth when your eyes met.

"Ready?" he asked softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Connie was waiting in the narrow corridor, a knowing grin splitting his face. Without a word, he turned and headed up the stairs, gesturing for you both to follow.

Reiner went first, and you couldn't help but notice the way Connie immediately engaged him in animated conversation as they climbed, acting as though nothing unusual had happened at all. Their voices faded slightly as they reached the deck above.

Jean appeared at your side as you finished climbing the stairs.

"So," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I take it the talk went well?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "Yeah, really well," you replied, hoping that Connie was just teasing and no one else heard a thing.

"I just mean," he continued, a stupid and annoying grin on your face, "when I suggested you two clear the air, I didn't necessarily mean you should bring down the whole ship with your—"

Your face burned with embarrassment and fury. "I will literally throw you overboard, Jean," you hissed, shoving his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble back. "I swear to God—"

Jean laughed, ducking away from your next swing. "Hey, I'm happy for you guys! Honestly!" He held up his hands in surrender, still grinning as he backed up the stairs. "Just doing my part as your friend to give you shit about it."

[cottonlemonade]

Fake Dating [part 1]

word count: 1957 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Asahi x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, slice of life, pining

warning: spoilers

request: fluffy-spicy, fake dating with crush

Asahi was barely listening to what his dad was talking about. In between bites of pork cutlet, he threw glances across the room to you, his eyes following almost in a trance as you weaved through the many tables without spilling a single crumb or drop from the plates and bowls balanced on your arms. With a perfectly practiced customer service smile, you engaged in polite small talk with the regulars of Miyagi before you were called back to the kitchen to pick up the next order.

Asahi pursed his lips in thought at the Tokyo Curry Bun shirt that bulged a little over the waistband of your jeans, wondering if this was simply a pick-up at a thrift store or if you could possibly live in the capital as well. From the way the locals bombarded you with questions, it didn’t seem like you were the usual waitress.

“Your food’s getting cold.”, his dad noted with a knowing smile, and lightning fast reflexes secured him an end piece of his son’s tonkatsu. Mrs Azumane, to their right, clicked her tongue in loving disapproval and placed half an egg in Asahi’s bowl in turn, joking, “Honey, don’t steal his food, he’s still growing.”

His dad jumped at the opportunity, “Any more and he’ll need a two-story home just to stand up straight.”

Both parents laughed. Asahi had heard that line a million times, so he just ignored it, choosing instead to carefully chew a piece of pickled radish while his gaze kept pulling in your direction.

“Why don’t you just ask her out, son?”

“What?”

“That waitress. It’s easy, I’ll show you.”

“Dad, what are you doing?”, Asahi asked, panic rising in his voice as his father lifted his hand and called, “Over here!”

You turned your head to scan the small room for who had tried to get your attention and put on a fresh smile when you made your way to them.

This wasn’t happening. Asahi saw his life flash before his eyes.

“Excuse me, Miss.”, Mr Azumane began good-naturedly, “My son had a question.”

He gestured to him with an expectant grin, and Asahi hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Another glass of water, please.”, he said.

Looking a little perplexed, you nodded and were about to go back to the kitchen for his order when his father interjected.

“Wait, please.”, and under his breath, still plenty loud enough for you to hear, he said to his son, “Asahi. Come on. Just ask her out.”

“Quick and easy like taking off a bandaid.”, his mom added.

While the horror that both of his parents were actively pushing their fully grown adult son to ask out a girl in front of them made it impossible for him to speak, a middle-aged man came up behind you.

“Is everything alright here?”, he asked and looked from the patrons to you. He wiped his hands on the black apron wrapped around his middle, seemingly having just come out of the kitchen.

“More than alright.”, Mr Azumane boasted, “My son was just about to ask your waitress for her number.”

“Is that so?” The newcomer looked Asahi up and down as much as he could while he was sitting in front of him - although, even then, he was almost as tall as the chef.

“Well, sweetie, don’t be shy. Give it to him.”

“Dad.”, you sighed.

“What? He’s grown up handsome. And you know the Azumanes! They lent us their wheelbarrow when we redid the garden shed for your fifth birthday, remember?”

You bit back the remark on your tongue (you mean, two whole decades ago?).

“You know where he should take you?”, Mrs Azumane said excitedly, leaning over the table and tapping a finger on the plastic water bottle in the center, “There is this uhm - argh, what was it, honey? Like a- a Chinese-fusion restaurant that opened in Sendai.”

“Ah, good idea!”, Mr Azumane agreed, “And I think there is a park with a fountain nearby where you can take a walk after. And no need to hurry back, you two.”

At this point, you wore a blank expression, listening to the unbridled enthusiasm of the parents, searching for some kind of hidden camera that would explain this absurd exchange.

“If you’re still unsure,”, Mr Azumane said and turned his body to his son, but keeping eye contact with you, “look at this!” His hand went to grab Asahi’s upper arm, “Look how strong he is.”

“Give him your number.”, your father pushed gently as if you were a toddler too scared to ask a shop owner for ice cream, “If you don’t remember it, I can give it to him.”, then he muttered to himself while patting his pockets for his phone, “I think there were two fives in there.”

Luckily, saving you from any further comment on the helpfulness of that info, the next round of guests arrived, and you bowed to the Azumane family before hurrying over to greet the new customers.

You stepped outside into the cool evening breeze and took a deep breath. The small restaurant always became so stuffy after a while, the air thick with the smell of spilled beer and smoke clinging to people’s jackets from a quick cigarette break.

A couple of moths fluttered around the warm lightbulb above the entrance, and besides the occasional laughter or call for another drink, nothing disturbed the peacefulness of the countryside. Coming back after spending years in Tokyo, the silence of Miyagi was almost eerie. There was always noise in Tokyo, morning, noon, and night, all hours of the day. Hectic, loud, urgent noise, but here time seemed at a standstill. Since the restaurant was at the edge of town, you could look out into complete darkness that was sparsely dotted with occasionally flickering street lamps. Crickets chirped nearby, a cat sauntered down the sidewalk, quiet as a shadow, and after a while, a lonely truck traveled along the dirt road on the other side of the rice paddies. The sweet smell of wild wisteria that wafted over mixed with the residual smoke from the overfilled ashtray by the door and spelled nostalgia. It reminded you of the many afternoons helping your parents after school and during time off from university.

You closed your eyes for a moment.

Only a few more days before you had to go back to the city, and, while you couldn't wait to see your friends again, the quick Miyagi detox always did wonders for your creativity. It was amazing how many panels you got done this week.

“Hey.”, a calm voice said behind you, but it made you jump a little nonetheless, “Sorry!”

When you turned around, it was the guy from before, the one your parents were practically planning a wedding for already.

“Nono, all good.”

He had his jacket bundled in his hand and his long brown hair, previously falling quite majestically over his shoulders, was now tied to a neat bun.

You felt his eyes studying you before he said, “Sorry about earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it.”, you said genuinely and then gave a low sigh before shrugging, “Parents.”

You figured his mother and father were still finishing up inside, probably falling into the typical small-town small talk that could last anywhere between five minutes and three hours.

To fill the silence that followed, you asked, “Hey, you went to Karasuno, right? And played Volleyball?”

He nodded, surprised.

“I saw your game where you crushed Oikawa’s team.”

“Oh, you went to Aoba Johsai?”

This time it was on you to nod, “I went with a friend to cheer on her little brother. Takahiro?”

“Ahh, Hanamaki. The second ace, right?”

You raised your hands in defense and grinned apologetically, “If you say that, I’ll believe you. I have no idea about Volleyball.”

He smiled and turned to look at the night sky as he said, “Man, that game was what - six years ago?”

His wistful expression led to your next question, “Do you still play?”

“Oh, no. That was my last year, actually. Volleyball is great and all, and I love it, but I was never as passionate about it as the other players.”

“Then- what do you do now?”

You had meant it in terms of hobbies, but he replied, with a hint of pride, “I’m a fashion designer.”

“Oh wow! - And here I am still trying to figure things out.”

“What do you do?”

“Nothing nearly as cool as fashion design. After uni, I took a job at a publishing company to help me get a leg up in the industry and, well, I’m still there.”

“What do you want to do?”

You folded your hands behind your back and leaned against the railing separating the sidewalk from the road, facing the entrance of the restaurant where he stood. The metal with the chipped paint was still a little warm for the day’s earlier sunshine.

As you looked at the guy, wondering if you should really just tell your life’s dream to a total stranger, your mouth was already way ahead of you.

“I’d love to have a little bookstore. Somewhere people can come after work or studies to relax. A manga café would be ideal, honestly. I’d have ramen and snacks and cakes on the menu, and cozy reading nooks you can crawl into with a whole bunch of pillows. I could even sell my own comics, and maybe once a month I could have a movie night there for the customers.”, you met his eyes again and straightened, slightly concerned about yourself just spilling the beans to anyone who’d ask. To save what little was left of your mystique, you added, “Or something like that. I haven’t really thought about it that much.”

“Clearly.”, he said as a small smirk came to his lips.

With a lazy kick, you sent a pebble rolling into the small gap between two planters next to the door.

He really did seem like a sweet guy.

“Hey, so… did my dad ever give you my number?”

“Oh, yeah, uhm.”, he put a hand in his pocket to produce a neatly folded napkin.

“But I was gonna throw it out.”

You grinned teasingly, “Why? You don't want my number anymore? We could grab some coffee once we’re back in Tokyo.”

His eyes widened, and his lips parted in shock, and he was apparently at a loss for words. You waited, but he didn’t say anything. A quick pull of disappointment you hadn’t expected yanked at something in your stomach.

You must have misunderstood, you thought, and swerved, “As friends, I mean. And if you want, we can just tell our parents that we’re dating so they stop trying to set us up with random strangers.” You laughed kind of awkwardly, while he still just gaped like an admittedly adorable fish.

To downplay your nerves at having so spectacularly failed at flirting, you said brightly, “Text me, okay?”

Even in the dim light, you saw his cheeks blushing - probably in secondhand embarrassment - as he nodded and then, before he could say anything else, he was pushed out of the way by the opening door behind him.

“Ah, there you are! You ready to- oh! Did we interrupt something?” It took his dad exactly 3 seconds to get back to his matchmaking ways.

“Nope, nothing at all. Let’s go.” The guy ushered his parents down the sidewalk towards their car.

You watched as he opened the doors for his tipsy mom and even tipsier dad before getting into the driver’s seat himself - not before he paused for a moment and gave you a small dorky wave that had you giggle to yourself.

a/n: request for @sillytoya

the biggest thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for lending her brain to figure this one out

[karaaeilish]

23 and 32 + billie!!

౨ৎ prompts; b. eilish 01

౨ৎ 23 — “i’m bored, let’s play”

౨ৎ 32 — “this is a one time thing”

alcohol was evil, especially when it entered billie's system, and you always knew it. knew better, but you still let her finish the bottle of wine because she was too upset after breaking up with some random guy.

you sat still, just looking at her with a disappoint the whole time, listening to her talk about how he was an asshole, how he was a dick, how she hated him, and then how she missed him. your heart ached. you could treat her better. but she was just blind.

"bil, you should go to bed, you're drunk." you get up to offer her your hand, but she just smiles mischievously, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to straddle her lap. "billie—"

she doesn't want to hear anything, covering your mouth with her hand to finally make you shut up. your eyes open wide, pupils dilating. your chest tightens painfully for some reason.

"i'm bored, let's play" she giggles, removing her hand to replace it with her lips. fiercely and passionately, making you taste white wine on her tongue. you want to pull away, you should, but you just can't. not when something happens that you've been waiting so patiently and reverently for years. but the oxygen in your lungs doesn't last forever. and then reason takes over.

"oh god, billie, you're drunk" you immediately jump up from her lap, walking away and running your hands through your hair, trying to get your thoughts in order. but billie doesn't seem to see the problem at all. she calmly stands up, swaying slightly, and walks towards you until your bodies stop near the wall she had you pinned against.

"c’mon baby. i still know exactly what i'm doing." her face buries itself in your neck, leaving wet kisses on your soft skin. you press your lips together to keep from letting out a moan and letting billie continue, but she doesn't care. "this is a one time thing."

the words sting, but you swallow the feeling, giving her silent consent to do whatever she wants. "that’s my good girl."

fuck.

dropping to her knees, billie bites her bottom lip, slowly pushing your skirt and panties down your legs. the cool air makes you shake slightly, or maybe it's not just the change in your body temperature.

there's a hunger in billie's eyes, real hunger, like this is something she's been waiting for for years. her hand comes up to rest one of your legs on her shoulder as her face dives between your thighs, without waiting a second to taste you. sweet, she moans.

the feeling is electrifying. so much better than you ever imagined. her warm tongue explores your wet folds so skillfully and talentedly that you can't help but bury your hand in her long hair, letting melodic moans fly from your lips, in unison with hers.

your eyes close tightly, her fingers squeeze your hips so hard that you think there’ll be bruises the next morning. who knows, maybe that's what she wanted.

"so sweet, ma, could eat this pretty pussy forever" she moans between your legs, sending a wave of vibrations that make you grab the dresser standing next to you, just to keep your balance.

"fuck—bils, i'm gonna cum..!" your back arches, pushing your pussy further into her face. she doesn't dare deny you, only continuing to eat you out like a starving woman until you're slumped over her face with a throaty moan, trying to process the sensation but your head has been completely emptied by her tongue.

"so beautiful" she pulls away with a smile on her face, sitting back on her heels and looking up at you to study every reaction in your body.

as your orgasm subsides, you instantly remember what happened five minutes earlier and realize that you've made the biggest mistake of your life.

"we shouldn't have done this" ignoring your shaking legs, you pick up your clothes to put them on and frantically start pacing around the room to gather your things.

billie stands up, looking at you with an unreadable expression, but her eyes betray her concern.

"where are you going?" she takes a step forward, trying to somehow stop you.

"i'm leaving, billie. i can't do this." you turn to her, eyes filled with tears. "i'm not gonna be your girl, the one you can fuck to get over your exes, while ignoring my own feelings"

the words spill out of your throat, and you do nothing to stop them, finally telling billie the truth. her eyes are wide, like she has no idea what you're talking about.

gathering all your strength into a fist, you finally turn to leave the apartment, but a pair of strong hands grab you by the waist, pressing you against her warm body.

"let me go!" you try to break free from her grip, until she grabs your arms, trapping you in a cage.

"shut up already. i love you."

prompts

[transformers-spike]

Aaa I love your take on SG Optimus. Perhaps I could ask, what would your take be on an equivalent of the Orion pax episodes (first 3 eps of s2)? I Imagine SG megatron taking Optimus’s place in that chunk of episodes. And perhaps the reader (unwittingly) gets some more insight into what happened between the two.

goshhh thank you! I'm so happy you like my SG stuff! I try to stir away from most SG interpretations of the characters (I try to keep their core intact while turning this into a "What if the choices they made turned them into horribly broken people?" situation, with the opposite for the Decepticons)

Anyway, this may get a sequel:

“What are you doing here, little one?” Megatron asks, voice rumbling with gentleness you could have never expected from the vicious leader of the Decepticons. “I…” you begin, frozen in the doorway, permafrost spreading up your legs as you struggle to keep your composure in front of the tyrant.

What comes out is an accusation. “You’re here to kill Optimus,” you say with finality.

The monster’s eyes grow wide; blue pits like glistening ocean water hiding the jaws of a bloodthirsty shark.

“What? How dare you accuse me of such a thing!” he demands, hideously scarred face twisting to reveal rows of razor sharp fangs. “Orion-” he cuts himself off, gritting his teeth. “I would rather lay my life down for Optimus than watch any harm come to him!”

Your eyes fall onto the Autobot insignia on his chest. “So what? You think you can paint their symbol on your chassis and act like you’re part of them after all the crimes you’ve committed?”

“Crimes?” he snarls, footsteps ringing in your ears like an earthquake, heart jumping out of your chest, yet unable to run from your incoming murderer.

You do not struggle or call for help when he grabs you.

Eyes squeezed shut, you hear nothing but your heartbeat as you prepare for the worst.

Yet, your bones and organs remain uncrushed.

“I’ve fought for the freedom of enslaved Cybertronians for eight-fragging-vorns before being captured and tortured by my very own supporters! Only to wake up millennia later to discover those very same traitors had decimated our planet!” He huffs, volcanic air blowing in your face. He pauses as though concentrating to regain his composure. “Now prey tell, human,” he continues, slightly less murderous, “what gives you the right to insult me for simply existing in your perimeters?”

That’s not… that’s not right. He’s lying to you, loud and clear. Pretending to be something he’s not in order to lull you into a false sense of security just as he’s done with everyone else. What Optimus is, Megatron is thousands of times worse; a vile dictator hellbent on bleeding each and every planet dry of its resources in a bid to exterminate all Autobots.

Optimus isn’t stupid, he must know what Megatron is trying to do. Or… or maybe he’s seeing through rose-tinted glasses? Maybe he wants to believe it’s Megatronus. But you know it’s not. It can’t be him. It’s a lie. It has to be.

“Go ahead, crush me!” you shout in a sudden burst of confidence. “Crush me and they’ll know all about your lies, Megatron! Your little charade doesn’t work on me! Especially after you’ve slaughtered us like cattle for your twisted little game!”

You expect aggression, you expect him to swelter with rage. Instead, confusion twists his face.

“I did no such thing. Who… who is this Megatron you speak of? 

Your throat closes up in shock. “Is… is this part of your sick game?”

Frustration draws a snarl, which quickly recedes as he seems to realize you are just as confused as he is.

“What… what do you remember before ending up here?”

He contemplates your question carefully, debating whether or not to answer you. He makes a gambit.

“Standing before the Council of Elders,” he says in a strangely wistful tone. “Then Orion with his blasters drawn. I could hardly recognize him… he’s changed… so much since his cycles as an archivist. He explained what happened… the war… the lives lost… everything.” Whatever relief the confession brings quickly dissipates, replaced with anger and pain. “Explain yourself, human – or whatever creature you may be. Why did you call me Megatron? And why do you speak as though I am your enemy?”

You brace yourself against his hand, throat dry with dread as you struggle to form an answer.

Eventually, something slips out. Something you wish had never left your mouth. “Optimus lied to you.”

[butlervibesonly]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | PART ONE | Hank Thompson | Austin Butler

Summary: You found yourself in absolutely shitty position. Dumped, broke and... homeless? You decide to waste that last cents on wine to maybe drown in it. Until Hank notices you. And he doesn't hesitate but help you.

Pairing: Hank Thompson x female reader

Warnings: cursing, alcohol, toxic ex relationship, mentions of ex boyfriend

Proofreader: my darling @eternal-love 💗💗

Note: HEY GUYS! First, I am incredibly sorry for being so inactive, I had to get offline for some personal reasons. Okay and now - let's say I know that the movie didn't come out yet and we don't know how Hank might be like, and this story is totally out for the canon! I just wanted to write this so badly after getting the idea, so it's bit made up! Enjoy!

How in the world could you end up like this? In the bar, sipping the wine, big bag full of your clothes beside you while thinking about everything that happened. You just got dumped today. Kicked out of the apartment you lived in with your, now, ex boyfriend Mark.

When you first met Mark, he was… different. Or at least you thought he was. He had that easy smile, always knew the right thing to say, made you feel like you were the only girl in the world. That’s probably what makes it hurt more — he knew how to be good. He just chose not to be.

The first few months were great, not going to lie. He’d bring you coffee without asking, remember the tiniest details about your day, hold your hand like he meant it. But then, somewhere along the way, everything changed. Or maybe he just stopped pretending.

You two started fighting. A lot. Over stupid things, big things, everything. He’d snap at you, talk down to you, twist your words until you couldn’t even remember what you were arguing about in the first place. You always felt like you were walking on eggshells — trying to keep the peace, trying not to set him off. He made you feel small. Like you were always the problem.

And still, you stayed. For a year. You kept hoping the version of him you fell for would come back. Spoiler: he didn’t. He got colder, meaner, and you got tired. And then you found out he was cheating. With Sandra. Of course. She was his assistant in his office.

So yeah, Mark wasn’t the guy you thought he was. He was the storm you kept hoping would clear, but all he ever did was leave you soaking and broken.

You sit there, swirling the last half-glass of wine like it holds the answers to your life. Of course the fuck it doesn’t. It just tastes like regret and too many nights wasted on someone who didn’t deserve you. The bar’s mostly empty, low lights humming softly, a few regulars hunched over their drinks like they’re trying to disappear.

You’re sort of trying to disappear too. Or at least not think about the fact that you’ve got nowhere to go tonight. No plan. No backup. Just a phone full of ignored texts from people you don’t want to explain things to and a heart that feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry.

That’s when you feel someone watching you — not in a creepy way, but like they see something you’re not even sure you’re showing. You glance up and meet eyes with the bartender. Big guy, with shoulders that say he used to be someone important and eyes that say he’s seen more than he wants to. Hank, as you hear his colleague calling out his name. You’ve heard other people say it, too, something about him used to be on TV, maybe baseball or something?

Before Hank can even answer his colleagues question, he walks from behind the bar, approaching you. “You good?” he asks, voice rough like gravel but not unkind. You open your mouth to lie, but it gets stuck in your throat. So you just shrug.

“You look like you’ve been through some shit. You hungry?”

“I didn’t order food.”

“I didn’t say it’d cost you.”

You stare at him a second. Something about his voice, the no-bullshit tone, makes you soften just a little. You nod. “Yeah. I guess I could eat.” He gives a half-smile, more with his eyes than his mouth, and disappears into the back. You exhale, like maybe just for a second, the world isn't closing in on you.

He comes back ten minutes later with a plate that smells like real food, grilled cheese, thick fries, the kind of thing that feels like a hug when you haven’t had one in a while. He sets it down in front of you without a word and sits beside you.

You stare at the plate for a second before picking up a fry. It’s hot. Salty. Perfect. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until now. “Looks like you haven’t eaten all day,” Hank says, looking at you while taking a sip from his Corona bottle. His tone’s easy, like he’s not pushing.

You swallow and nod, unsure if you’re supposed to say more. You don't owe this man your life story. But something about the way he’s sitting there makes it feel like maybe it’s okay if you say just a little. Especially after he noticed that you’re definitely not okay.

“Got dumped,” you mutter. “Well… cheated on. Then dumped.” Hank nods slowly. Doesn’t flinch. “That’ll do it.” You sigh, nodding, knowing how naive it sounds. “Yeah, and now I’ve got nowhere to sleep. So… that’s fun.”

He looks at you. Really looks. His eyes aren’t pitying, just steady. “That guy throw you out?”

“Basically, yes.” you confirm. “We got into a fight and then he couldn’t stand me. Neither could I.” Hank leans against the seat, crossing his arms. “You got any friends you can call? Family?” You shake your head, taking another fry. “Not tonight. Not like this.”

Hank doesn’t answer right away. Just lets the silence settle between you like dust. Then, quietly, he says, “Look, it’s getting late. The bar is closing soon. My apartment’s just down the street. You can crash on the couch tonight, then we can figure everything else out in the morning, okay?”

Your eyes widen by the fact that gut you just met offers you this. “Oh, that’s really nice, but I don’t want to bother or anything.” you sigh, feeling guilt spreading in your mind. He’s a bit surprised by your reaction. Most people he knows would jump at the opportunity to save money.

“Not a bother. It beats some crappy hotel room — I’d be doing you a favor, believe me.” His eyes meet yours, trying to gauge what you’re thinking. He’s not typically the charitable type, but there’s something about your situation that’s sparked something in him.

You think about it… He seems to be nice and kind. But you barely know him, tho. But thinking about crappy hotel room and loss of money… “You would do that for me…?”

“No strings,” he adds. “Just don’t like the idea of you sleeping outside when I’ve got an empty couch and leftover blankets.” Your throat tightens a little, and for a second you forget how to breathe. You nod, barely. “Thanks,” you say.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Hank mutters, turning back to the register. He smiles, glad that you accepted his offer. He pays for you, for the food and for the wine you had. “Thank you,” you said again. “No problem. But consider it an IOU. You owe me lunch tomorrow.”

He says it almost playfully, but there’s an underlying seriousness. He’s not the kind of guy who normally offers up his couch to a total stranger, but there’s something about you that has him feeling chivalrous.

The bar smells like old beer and lemon cleaner when the lights finally go out. You help him stack a couple chairs, more out of instinct than energy, your body already aching from everything it’s carried today. He tosses you a jacket, his, probably, too big, but warm, and gestures toward the back exit.

“I live just up the block,” he says. “We’ll cut through the alley.” You nod, your breath puffing little clouds in the cold night air. The streets are quiet. Just the hum of a vending machine, a flickering streetlamp, the distant sound of some guy yelling at a cab that’s already gone. The world is still moving, somehow, even when yours has slowed to a crawl.

His apartment is up two flights of creaky stairs over a convenience store. The hallway smells like old wood and old halls, the walls scraped and half broken. He unlocks the door and steps aside, like he’s afraid his apartment will spook you.

“Definitely not like Plaza, but it’s clean. Better than some crappy motel.” he says, flipping on a light. He’s right. It’s small. Lived-in. A couch with one too many pillows, a bookshelf crammed with old paperbacks and dusty baseball trophies. A plant near the window that’s somehow still alive.

The furniture doesn’t match, definitely evidence of being thrifted. You don’t know what you expected. Something messier, maybe. Something sadder. But this feels… fine enough.

He points to the couch. “You can crash there. Bathroom’s down the hall. If you’re hungry later, there’s stuff in the fridge. Beer, leftover lasagna, possibly a yogurt, but I don’t promise it’s not expired or something.” You chuckle and then smile — really smile — for the first time in days. “Thanks, Hank.” He just shrugs, walks toward the kitchen. “You want tea? Or whiskey? Or both?”

“Whiskey,” you say, without missing a beat. He chuckles, pulls two glasses off the shelf, and hands you one. You sip. It burns, but in the right way. For a while, you both stay in a quiet that feels like permission. No pressure to talk. Just two people, tired in different ways, sharing a small space in the middle of the mess.

You lean back on the couch, let your eyes close for a second. “So you don’t have family or friends around?” Opening your eyes again, you look at him. You shake your head. “No… My family is from Massachusetts, Boston specifically. I came here to New York to chase my dreams but… damn I got into this situation.”

Hank leans forward, sitting in armchair by the couch. He looks interested and gives you free speech. “I got together with Mark, my ex boyfriend, the one who dumped me today. He was everything I ever wanted, what I needed. My big dream was and is to open a flower shop, and I worked so hard to earn money for buying a building where I could make this all happen… And now? He took my money and kicked me out. Just because he got mad at me that I found out he was cheating on me.”

Hank’s eyes widen. You stare straight ahead, at some fixed point on the wall. You don’t want to see Hank’s face right now. You’re scared of what might be there, judgment, pity, or worse, disbelief. But all you hear is the soft thunk of his glass landing on the coffee table.

“Jesus,” he mutters. Not loud. Not shocked. Just tired, like someone who’s seen this kind of cruelty before and never got used to it. “He stole from you?” You nod. “Every cent I’d saved. Said it was ‘ours,’ and that I was crazy for wanting it back. Then he said if I pushed it, he’d make sure I never saw a dollar of it again.”

You wait for him to react. You expect questions, anger, maybe some righteous indignation on your behalf. But what you get is something quieter.“People like that don’t build anything,” Hank says. “They just take. And take. Until there’s nothing left.”

You finally look at him. His face is calm, but there's a steel edge in his voice now. “You worked for that dream,” he adds. “That money, that shop? That wasn’t him. That was you. Don’t let his theft make you forget that.”

You exhale, shakier than you mean to. “I don’t know how to start over, Hank. I feel like I’m back at zero.” He leans back, studies you. “Then zero’s where we start.” You blink. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he begins slowly, “if you still want that flower shop, we’ll figure it out. I’ll help you. Loan, investment, whatever you want to call it.”

You shake your head immediately. He is a stranger who you just met and started to trust him with letting you sleep in his apartment. “Hank, no, I can’t let you—”

“Sure you can. You’re just scared. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed.”

You go quiet. The idea feels too big, too unreal. But somehow, sitting on this worn-out couch in a stranger’s apartment with whiskey in your hand and last night’s mascara under your eyes… it feels so… odd.

“Hank, no. You can’t just throw money at me. I’m not some charity case. I didn’t tell you that story so you’d feel bad. I just needed to say it out loud.” you reply, feeling guilt in your heart. Hanks shakes his head, setting the whiskey glass in the table again. “I know you’re not charity case. I’m not telling ya you are. But you have dream. And you worked for it and are left with nothing to make it happen.”

You feel blood boiling in your cheeks and you know he’s right. “What if I take it and fail? Then what? I’ll owe you and have nothing to show for it.” you say, voice shaky. You can’t take his money. You can’t just borrow money from someone you met just tonight. “Why are you even doing this? You barely know me.”

“You’re right—I don’t know you. But I know what it’s like to lose everything you worked for. And I know what it’s like when no one helps.” Hanks says and makes you feel… soft all of sudden. He really looks like he wants to help you. To make your dream happen… Should you take it? Should you just trust some man who decided to take you to his apartment just to survive a night?

You take a deep breath, thinking about his words all over again and again. Then you straighten your position. “Okay. But if I say yes, you have to let me pay you back. Every cent.” Hank’s face lightens up in the way you haven’t seen yet. He looks almost happy that you agreed.

“Then it’s a deal.” he smiles, leaning back in the armchair. You look at him for a while, seeing the seriousness in his gaze. Then, you look back at the glass of whiskey, only last drops left. You lean your head back, the burning liquid falling down tour throat. Maybe things aren’t that bad as you thought.

“Mind if I take a shower here?” you ask, feeling like the grossest person on earth. Hank nods and go somewhere before coming back. The moment, Hank points down the hall and says, “Bathroom’s on the right,” you nod and make your way there. You’re already halfway there, clutching a borrowed towel and a baggy old t-shirt he handed you without a word.

You don’t look back, because your throat feels tight again, over something as simple as clean clothes and hot water. Something you shouldn’t have had to earn with pain. The shower creaks when you turn the knob, and it takes a second for the water to warm. But when it does, it’s heaven. For the first time today, the tension in your shoulders loosens. You lean into the tile wall, eyes closed, letting the water run over you like it’s washing the day off. Like it might erase Mark’s voice, his lies, his hands. Like maybe it can soak into your bones and remind you that you're still yours. You stay under longer than you mean to.

Out in the living room, Hank’s still on the couch, staring at the TV without really watching. Some old baseball game plays on mute, one of the ones from his heyday, maybe, though he doesn’t tell anyone which years were his. Not anymore. He hears the water shut off and glances toward the hallway.

He barely knows you. And yet, something about you pulls at him in a way he can’t name. Maybe it’s the passion in your voice when you talk about that flower shop. Maybe it’s the way he found you sitting in the bar, looking like you didn’t want to be seen needing help, but you still accepted it. That kind of vulnerability doesn’t come easy.

Hank’s been around people long enough to know the difference between a mess and a survivor. You’re not some wounded thing waiting to be rescued. You’re fire under ashes. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, offering you help, space, money. It’s not like him. But it doesn’t feel like a mistake either.

The bathroom door opens, steam curling into the hallway, and you step out, hair wet in messy bun, face clean, dressed in the oversized shirt that falls nearly to your knees. Hank stares at you, watching the way your hips swing under the baggy t-shirt as you walk. You catch him watching and pause.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He shrugs and looks away, smirking a little. “Just making sure you didn’t drown.” You laugh quietly, but it’s a real laugh that surprises both of you. You approach the couch, looking at him. “Thanks again,” you say, sitting carefully on the edge of the couch. “For the shower. The couch. All of it.”

He gives a small nod. “Don’t mention it.” You glance around the room. It’s late, and you’re still in a stranger’s home, technically. But weirdly, for the first time in days, maybe weeks… you feel safe. “You ever think about what your life would’ve looked like if one thing had gone different?” you ask quietly.

Hank doesn’t answer right away. He watches the screen a moment longer before saying, “Yeah. Every fucking day.” And the silence that follows isn’t heavy — it’s shared. You sigh deeply, sinking into the couch. Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe, just maybe, this might be something… new. New beginning.

[lilacstarryskies]

Stranger Things Steddie Oneshot :)

2.7k, Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Dustin Henderson, exes-to-lovers, canon-minus-vecna, dated post s2-to-starcourt-fire.

ao3 link here :)))

discord server to yap about stranger things here :)

link to my ST writing event: ST besties month xo

It was him. There he was.

He wasn’t even looking, but it hurt Eddie all the same.

Acting as if there wasn’t anything that ever happened; as if the months of stolen kisses, the secret rendezvousing in the backseat of the car his asshole dad bought him, all the whispered murmurs of ‘I love you’ back and forth—while music softly played in the background in the bedroom they spent all their time in, marijuana stench emanating all throughout the tiny place—had never even occurred.

There was Steve Harrington, no longer in his so-called prime, but still beautiful—still perfect.

Annoyingly so.

Hair quiffed up with Farrah Fawcett’s now out-of-stock spray and his oak-green sweater on display while he grumbled half-heartedly welcoming Dustin into his car. The same car—the same backseat—that was a witness to their love, their heartbreak, and all the moments in between.

The bastard couldn’t even deign to look at him.

He was always a coward but this was something Eddie had expected he’d at least grow out of it a little, but then he supposed that some cowards, some people just never changed, and that’s how you get the myriad of highschool jocks who never evolve from their days of stardom and worship, ending up chasing the skirts of their secretaries to reclaim the sexual adrenaline from their days as teenage loverboys even after many decades pass.

He may be judging the guy too hard, but there was nothing to show to the contrary.

Well, other than the rambles of Henderson, preaching on and on about the guy as if he was a disciple of Jesus preaching for the man himself, but the man in this regard was simply ‘The Hair’ Harrington, a dime-a-dozen small-town jock who couldn’t handle transferring from school cliques to the real world.

“Harrington.” He decided to be the bigger guy, the only case it could be said against him and the man beside him, be the first to speak and temper the fumes of hatred and derision that spread so far between them that the kid’s they seemed to share custody of were beginning to notice.

Steve looked at him with his obnoxiously beautiful hazel eyes, wide like the deer they once crossed past, almost hitting it with his dad’s BMW—on the day he’d sweetly planned a sweet, but hidden, picnic date for them both at the best spot by Lovers’ Lake, right beside the bundle of boulders that made Skull Rock and at the perfect angle to see the sun rise and reveal a kaleidoscope of orange and yellow blurring into one and overlaid with a haze of lilac.

“Munson.”

Nothing else was said.

All that was present was silence, except for the rustling noises of their curly-haired freshmen locking himself into a seat that Eddie could only hope and pray had been cleaned, vivid memories of causing a stain with a certain fluid on the leather upholstery fresh in his mind.

He was just about to reply and break this stalemate only to be interrupted by the whiny dulcet tones erupting out of the now-opened window of Steve’s BMW.

“—Hey! Quit it with this weirdness,” Dustin turned to the man meant to be driving him, “Mom wants me back soon, okay, and I gotta get up early to talk to Suzie!”

Eddie didn’t even know if Dustin’s infamous Suzie was real, but he could relate to the wanting—the yearning. The intensity of young love that could control your actions, making you succumb to desire, painfully waiting for the phone calls to arrive, to hear finally the voice of your lover, no matter what things they may ramble about.

Steve followed Dustin’s orders.

Eddie watched with alert eyes, he got up and left. Nothing less, nothing more.

And Eddie was alone again.

Abandoned by Steve once again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This was stupid. So goddamn stupid.

That was all Eddie could think as he followed along to his mind’s idiotic decision. He dragged himself almost mindlessly—or instinctively—to Skull Rock. It was a place he grew fond of during his time with Steve. The time that abruptly ended.

He remembered the picnics there, the times smoking blunts together and laughing, pointing at the sky with giggles as they picked out shapes in the stars and clouds, naming them after stupid things like D&D characters and musicians like Jon Anderson from Steve—no Harrington’s favourite band, Yes, one he remembered as it was forced to linger in his memory every time he gazed upon the glove box of his van, specifically the mixtape Steve made for him that had many many Yes and Tears For Fears singles etched into it.

It felt different being here alone.

The cloudy skies were all the same, the greenery exactly alike to how it was before, it was only Eddie that was making it different. Or more precisely, his mind.

The lighting felt duller than it was before, it simply wasn’t right. Maybe he was remembering the times spent here together with rose-tinted glasses, or maybe something had changed, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he was on his own this time.

Eddie got out his trusty lunchbox filled with all the basics a drug dealer like himself would need, except tonight was not for selling but rather some extracurricular fun.

He laid down beneath his Chevrolet van, opening up the doors and propping up some pillows and blankets to burrow himself into as he stared out to the purpling sky.

“Eddie?”

He was zoned out but that voice was too distinct for him to not recognise. He knew for certain who was beside him and his stomach tingled with a feeling he could not discern.

“Harrington.” He waited with bated breath for a response.

Steve sheepishly lifted his hand and rubbed his head in a casual response, “You can just call me Steve y’know.”

“No I don’t know.” Eddie sounded calm but he knew it’d be noticeable to anyone that his tone sounded as if he would snap. “We aren’t exactly friends, Harrington.”

Steve looked as though he was slapped in the face, paling with embarrassment, “Listen man, I’m sorry about—”

“That’s not important now,” Eddie said, blatantly lying, “Just, just why are you even here right now?”

Eddie was awaiting a response but all he got was Steve staring at him, as if he should already know why.

“It’s—it—” he cut off, failing at explaining. “Look.”

He pointed towards nothing, making Eddie even more perplexed than he already was.

“Look.”

Steve’s hand grasped his own in a hurried manner, muscles pressing onto Eddie’s calloused hands—something he took pride in since it came from his guitar skills—tying them both together in an intimate hold, ”What exactly do I need to look at, Harrington?”

Eddie’s angry. He’s snappish. Being held so tight felt like it was mocking him. Here they were. The very same place that their relationship was fully formed. Steve was making a mockery of Eddie—their love and anything to do with what they had. Body parts touching under the light of Hawkins’ sunset just as had occurred many other times, but in a very different circumstance.

“The sky,” Steve responded, but Eddie was only looking at him.

Gazing at the splatter of freckles caressing his features. He’s staring them down. Remembering the sleepy nights that he held tight to Steve’s jaw, faces’ nearly pressed together, as Eddie would count each and every single little freckle on the man’s handsome face. It was all the same. Just like the sky.

The only difference was between Eddie and Steve.

They were all that was different between the beautiful skyline, they were exactly the same too—same hair, preppy shirts and battle jackets—except for the notable look in their eyes no longer holding the love it once carried, only derision now seeping through Eddie’s stare.

“It’s beautiful,” Steve said softly.

Eddie looked towards the lights and knew Steve was telling the truth. He didn’t want to admit that; out of spite, he didn’t want Steve to know he was right. Because he broke him, so therefore didn’t deserve any words of kindness and respect anymore, in Eddie’s eyes, at least.

“It is.”

He wasn’t looking at the sunset as he said that. Wide eyes staring at not the sun—but his sun; or well, who used to be the sun in his life, that he’d orbit pathetically around, watching to see everyone else entranced by ‘King Steve’ who didn’t only care for his earth’s gaze.

“Right?” Steve replied with an unaware smile, “I missed seeing it like this.”

So did Eddie.

The view was beautiful. It always had been.

But it wouldn’t fool him anymore like it did before. “Cut the crap, Harrington,” Eddie said, “No—wait, Steve,” A facsimile of a smirk was on his features. “What do you want? What’s your business here?”

Steve’s stupid face was looking right at him, embarrassment and regret shining through his eyes.

“I missed this.” A pause.

Eddie had no clue how to respond.

His eyes were all over Eddie, wandering all across his face but filled with an emotion Eddie couldn’t discern.

“I missed you.”

Steve’s eyes were now drilling into him; he seemed hopeful—of what, Eddie didn’t know. He racked his brain over it for a couple seconds, trying to process what was said.

Oh.

Fuck.

“What?” Steve’s voice broke Eddie out of his funk.

Eddie listened again as Steve repeated the word once more.

“Did—did I say that out loud?” This wasn’t good. Fuck, indeed.

“You,” Steve began to say, hands dropping from Eddie’s own.“You really are done with me, huh?” He looked as though he turned hollow, perhaps that was how his heart felt.

“Hey, I—”

“No, no,” Steve ran his hand through his hair, shining a clearly fake smile that was not as reassuring as he attempted it to be. “I get it man.”

“Steve, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Don’t worry, I understand,” Steve cut in, “You don’t have to explain. I’m just the same ‘King’ I was back in highschool, right? I bet that’s what you’re thinking, huh?”

Eddie was at a loss for words. He didn’t even mean to say anything, and now what he had accidentally spoken was being wildly misinterpreted. It seemed like he and Steve would always be doomed to be imperfect and make mistakes with each other.

Steve shook his head dismissively, as though he was tutting at himself, beginning to turn away from Eddie.

He couldn’t let him go again. They may have broken up as a result of miscommunications and fights led as a result of Steve’s coldness to him, suddenly dropping him and ceasing all interactions just one random summer day in ‘85, but Eddie knew he had to reach out this time and not give up on the chance he was given.

He lunged into Steve’s air, hand cluttered with rings now gripping onto Steve’s sweater, brown eyes staring right into Steve’s hazel, almost daring him to do something. “Steve!”

Steve was unresponsive, simply looking back at Eddie with wide-eyed confusion.

“I’m still into you, you idiot!” Eddie blurted out, immediately regretting how blunt he’d been.

Steve didn’t say anything, though his face changed expression and brought hope into Eddie’s heart.

His lips crashed into Eddie’s, a sudden—but welcomed—action. Eddie looked to the periphery of his sight, and saw the sky shift; bringing with it an implosion of vibrance cast upon its once dull shades. Everything had grown lighter now that he accepted Steve back into his hold.

His hands gripped onto Steve's green sweater, head turning aside as he made his way deeper into Steve’s mouth. A simple coy kiss turned into something more, something with tongue.

Eddie’s mind stopped, he was controlled only by instinct, or rather desire. He craved this desperately. The warmth of Steve’s closeness akin to a feast wanted by a starving man, except Eddie was starving no longer. Steve’s lips were sufficient to fulfill him.

He could breathe. Steve broke apart.

Eddie was confused but all he got in response was a smile that resembled more of a smirk.

“I think you’re the idiot here, Eddie,” Steve crossed his arms, speaking in a mocking tone yet his cadence was joyful-sounding, “Because I’ve wanted you back ever since the moment you left my arms.”

He didn’t know how to respond. Instinct did it for him.

Lips pressing back onto another set of lips, passion fuelling his need for this physical connection—for Steve.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dustin was confused.

Eddie wasn’t exactly in a bad mood previously, but tonight it looked as if he was a whole different man.

Theatrical as usual, but with a flare of something new. His joy was contagious and led the club of players throughout their current game session with an infectious energy, even throughout the moments filled with near-deaths and negative outcomes.

The game had finally paused, with their time coming to an end, and Dustin was eagerly awaiting the next session, prepared to finish it off and kill the antagonist with his D20 in hand.

But as of now, he had to go back home and rest, spending the next few days with Tews knocking over hks action figures and wait for calls from Suzie to arrive—at least when her awful father and obnoxiously loud siblings weren’t preventing her from talking.

First, he had to wait for Steve. His brother-in-arms, perfect regarding all things ladies-wise, with his fatal flaw being his hatred for all things nerdy and his inability to throw a punch.

He said goodbye to the others, who hopped into Jeff’s car as all their houses were in the same direction, unlike Dustin’s, who was closest to the Byers’ old place and Steve’s house.

Eddie was waiting outside with him, never one to let ‘one of his sheep’ be stuck waiting alone in the dark. God knows that’d be bad for anyone in Hawkins, knowing how things went yearly.

“Dustin, it’s getting a bit late now, you sure you don’t wanna get a ride home from me?” Eddie questioned.

“No, Steve’s on his way, I can’t make him drive here only to see nobody!” Dustin said, “He’d be angry that I ditched him for you.

Eddie chuckled at that. Dustin knew he hated Steve, but he didn’t think that he’d be so happy to hear about hypothetical situations that would make Steve so moody.

Their conversation was cut short by the sound of tires sliding across the concrete of Hawkins High School’s parking lot.

“Henderson!” Steve’s car drew to a stop, with the man popping his door open and beckoning Dustin closer with his hand.

Eddie and Dustin both drew closer towards the car, reaching it with ease.

“Sorry, I’m late this time, I—”

“What?” Eddie was mocking Steve. Dustin thought they’d stop with the tension and hatred towards each other, but it seemed life had other plans, “Took too long puffing your precious locks of hair up with Farrah Fawcett and picking the perfect polo to wear tonight?”

Steve went red and Dustin immediately knew he must be embarrassed.

After all, Eddie mentioning his special hairspray, the one he made Dustin vow to keep secret, meant that somebody had spilled a secret of his to embarrass him.

“Well?” Steve’s hand instinctively reached his aforementioned hair, shaking off the cold conversation with a confident smirk, “How’s it look to you, Eddie?”

Eddie looked him up and down with emotion in his eyes, he hadn’t cooled down with his hatred at all.

Dustin flickered between looking at Steve’s posturing and Eddie’s still face which still hadn’t responded.

“Looking good, Big Boy,” Eddie said, smirking back.

Steve went red.

So did Dustin.

“Then that extra time was worth it, huh?” Steve asked with a cheeky grin.

And now, Eddie was also red.

Dustin’s eyes were bulging in awe, flicking back and forth between the two older men and attempting to discern meaning from their actions.

His mind went into overdrive. Seriously.

Dustin did not expect this at all. He wanted his two favourite older-male friends to get along, but this wasn’t how he imagined that happening.

Well, it seemed that Steve did like nerdy things after all, with Eddie holding all the attributes of a stereotypical nerd.

He still couldn’t win a fight though.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : A Broken Reign

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Story Summary: As queen, your duty was to be a proper wife for your king. Unfortunately, your king is a selfish adulterer who grows more short-tempered as time passes. Your lonely existence within the castle walls changes when two Feys stumble into the hands of your guards. One skilled in battle, one skilled in mischief. Two new knights for your kingdom. Two heart silently yielding to love over duty, but how long can these hearts be kept silent?

Notes: Yikes. Realized this idea has been in my wips since december last year.

Warnings: Hurt. Pining. Fluff. Soft and sweet. Violence. Strong Language. Romance. Infidelity. Angst. Forbidden Love.

Word count of this fic: 9k+

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Since birth you had lived with the knights in the castle. Some of the guards had even served your parents and grandparents. So it was not hard to tell when they began to act out of the ordinary. Something was amiss, they were whispering amongst each other too much. Whilst passing two of them by discreetly in the hallway, you overhead them speak about two newly imprisoned people down in the dungeons. The word ‘execution’ fell. It was uncommon for prisoners to be executed so soon after being imprisoned and it was suspicious that you had not been informed of it either. Why did they want to handle the matter discreetly? What was there to hide?

You headed to the dungeons to see for yourself if these prisoners deserved to be executed, to learn about what crimes they had committed that could be grave enough to warrant for this punishment.

Ser Finnian, one of your knights walked out the door to the dungeons and saw you nearing him. “We will handle the matter, Your Highness. No need to worry.”

“Step aside.”

“My lady-”

“Step aside, Ser Finnian! Do not make me repeat myself again.”

He stepped aside and let you walk passed him to the door that led into the dungeons. The place was still a maze to you, you disliked spending even a moment there and would avoid it completely if possible. The sudden frightened shouting of what sounded like a child made you hurry. When you turned another corner and ended up in the deepest part of the dungeons, you understood what was happening. Your guards were dragging a young boy out of the cell they must have kept him in.

You shouted your command at them, “Let go of the boy! NOW!”

And then to your great horror everything escalated. There was no time for them to respond to the command.

One of your guards had tried to warn the others. “He’s loose! The ropes are-”

You heard a gurgling sound and felt your stomach drop. One guard tried to hold on to the boy while the other five tried to defend themselves against the other prisoner who broke out of the cell and had stolen the sword of the guard he had just killed. This man cut through your guards as if they had not spend years practicing the sword.

You feared for the boy’s safety and ran towards the guard with the boy, you grabbed the child’s arm and commanded him in the same way you’d order your guards. “Come with me, hurry!”

The boy and you were almost in the midst of the fight and he knew it was a wise idea to find a safer place to stand around then this. You did not await his answer and pulled him along just as the man decided to launch an attack on the guard who had held on to the boy not a moment ago. You ran with the child, hearing the fight grow eerily quiet mere moments later. The boy had noticed too and came to a sudden halt, digging his heels into the floor to resist how you tugged at his arm.

“Who are you?” The boy demanded to know.

“Not important. Just know I came here to help you.”

“Lancelot!” The child suddenly shouted out into the dungeons.

You frowned. Did the boy know the man? “You know who is attacking my guards?”

The boy was highly alarmed. “He is my friend!”

He managed to pull himself free from your hold but you quickly got hold of his arm again, firmer this time.

“Don’t run off!” you told him.

There was no time to question him further. The boy had called upon this stranger and the stranger had listened to his call. You realized this when you were pulled away from the child and your firm hold on the boy broke. You were thrown with your back against the wall, a hand wrapped around your throat and threatened to take your air away. The bloodied sword was lifted and ready to take your life.

“No, stop!” The boy shouted at the man.

The man halted at the boy’s command and looked down at the child to seek the reason why.

The boy quickly explained, “She said she came here to help me.”

In the light of the torches you could see the face of the stranger and were struck by his appearance. Dark marks ran over his cheeks like tears. You had heard the news of the Weeping Monk’s betrayal to the Church, but never expected to meet him and certainly not like this. He did not give you much time to look at his face, he changed his hold on you, forcing your cheek to the cold stone wall.

One look at you and he knew you were a noblewoman. The clothes, the jewels, it was blatantly clear. You could be very useful in aiding this escape.

His voice was hoarse, a certain deathly sharpness to it, “Who are you?”

The answer to his question was soon to follow. Another lot of your guards had followed Ser Finnian into the dungeons and you held up your hand to make them halt before the situation escalated further.

Ser Finnian saw the sword threatening you. “Unhand the queen!”

And with that information the Monk pulled you away from the wall and held you with your back against his chest, the sword was at your throat.

“No,” was his firm answer. “You will let me and the boy leave this place, or I will cut her throat.”

Ser Finnian tried to console you, “All will be well, Your Highness.” He turned to the guards. “Let them through, sheath your weapons!”

The Monk used you as a shield and had the boy follow him, you were scared for your life. Hallway through hallway he walked, making you tell him the fastest way out of the castle. And that way was through the courtyard.

“I was trying to help you and the boy!” you seethed at him.

“‘Help?’” he scoffed bitterly. “Your guards planned to execute us.”

“And I went into the dungeons to forbid it!”

He was quiet for a moment. The boy was looking up at him, judging him for what he was doing.

“Why would I allow an execution of a child?!? Or any execution without knowing the crime!”

He stopped walking for a moment and gave a tug. “You claim you would help a Fey?”

You tilted your head back when he put the flat of the sword against your throat. “Kill me for it all you want, Weeping Monk. Yes, I help Fey-kind.”

The sound of running guards came from all around, both knights and guards came into sight and surrounded you on the courtyard at a small distance. The Monk knew how dire the situation had become now.

“Tell them to stand down,” he commanded.

“They will not listen.”

“You are their queen.”

“They are following my king’s command now.”

“He would let his queen be killed?” he scoffed, not believing it.

“Put down the sword and I can shield you and the child from bloodshed.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You were a man of faith, were you not? Have a moment of faith in me and watch as I keep my promise. I cannot protect the boy if you do not let me.”

He yielded due to the dire situation. “Do not let them harm him. He’s just a boy. Swear it.”

You made the vow, “I swear I will do all I can to keep the boy safe.”

The sword was moved away from your throat, his hold on you was gone. You knew you had to act fast or risked one of the guards sending an arrow through them.

First you grabbed the boy and pulled him close, telling the Weeping Monk, “Kneel.”

You were trying to shield him from the guards’ eager bows, even he could tell. He dropped the sword and knelt down, understanding that the skirt of your gown fell wide enough to make it harder for the guards to aim at him.

“Lower your weapons!” you commanded them. “He surrenders!”

Ser Finnian approached with some guards, you halted him by holding a hand up. “Your Highness?”

“I do not want them harmed. He was protecting the boy.”

The knight still had his sword ready. “It’s the Weeping Monk, my lady.”

You remained firm on the matter. “I am aware. As I am aware of his skill. He killed seven of my guards, seven, on his own. My king will want to see if he is useful.”

It was no secret that your husband, Elroy, was constantly looking for new guards and knights. He loved to build an army many would fear.

“Take him to the dungeons.” You glanced down at the Monk. “He will wait there until I have spoken to the king.”

“And the boy?” Ser Finnian asked.

You put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’ll keep me company.”

The Monk looked at you, fear for the boy’s life rested in his eyes. Never had you thought you would feel sympathy for a man notorious for his crimes against the Fey. But now he was willing to risk his life to protect one.

“Lancelot-” The boy tried to step towards him.

You were aware of the danger an unexpected movement could pose and kept the boy at your side, the Monk seemed to appreciate the effort made to keep the boy safe.

You whispered to the Monk, “Behave yourself and this may be the opportunity you seek to start anew.”

There was just the slightest tilt of his head, an acknowledgment, a silent agreement.

The boy was worried. “Lance-”

“It’s alright,” the Monk told him. Then he looked at you. “His name is ‘Percival’. Protect him and I will find a way to repay you.”

The guards were closing in, ready to drag him back to the dungeons. You slowly stepped back so they could do their duty.

You hated to see how the boy, Percival, watched how they bound and dragged him away under the threat of their swords. But you assured Percival that if the Monk kept his word, you would keep yours as well. The boy would be safe in the castle, but the fate of the Monk was yet to be decided.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  Your husband, the King, was indeed interested in the skill of battle and war the former Weeping Monk possessed. Once he knew Lancelot could be trusted, Lancelot became one of his knights and was offered a place to stay.

It took time for him to adjust to life in a castle. But Lancelot’s desire to ensure a good future for Percival was what made him choose to stay and become a knight. And he was an excellent one, his experience from his earlier life shined through. You were glad he had found his place in the castle, he became respected amongst the guards and most of the knights. In a matter of months he walked the castle grounds as if he had never lived another life.

A past as a monk, yet the more time you spend in his presence the more that past was truly left in the past. Often he accompanied you on your travels to some of the villages, you shared the love of horse riding, something Elroy often mocked you for doing. Elroy considered it unladylike to ride a horse, another ridiculous opinion he had. Months in, you realized you had spend more time with Lancelot than you had spend with Elroy during your whole time wed to him. And Elroy saw no issue, he knew Lancelot was raised as a monk and saw no threat. Perhaps he should have seen one…

It was so simple to converse with Lancelot, so easy to forget the time and talk for hours during those rides. He actually listened and was not afraid to share his opinions, unlike the other knights and guards who would ride along. So easy, so simple… you should have known what could grow from such a connection and the danger that would become part of it.

This day was no different, your mood was elated when finally arriving back at the castle after another ride to a nearby village to see for yourself how the people were doing. Lancelot was quick to dismount Goliath and helped you safely down from your own horse. You thanked him as always and headed for the entrance of the castle.

Lancelot rushed after you suddenly, your cloak in his hands. “Your Highness.”

“Oh.” You reached out for the cloak, but he proceeded to come closer, stopped behind you and gently placed the cloak over your shoulders.

You felt him look over your shoulder to close the cords of the cloak that sat just below your neck. He was in such close proximity that his breath went over your skin just below your jaw. Did your ears betray you, or did you hear him inhale deeper? You knew of his heightened sense of smell, but why would he use it on you? It felt oddly intimate and you tilted your head down to hide your reaction when seeing Ser Finnian approach. The knight held the door open for you to walk inside.

Ser Finnian eyes darted between you and him. “Your Highness. Welcome back.”

“Ser Finnian,” you greeted him politely.

“There are some matters Ser Magnus wishes to discuss with you,” Finnian said. “He has been awaiting your arrival in the war room.”

You moved past him. “I shall go and see him now.”

        Ser Finnian waited until you were inside the fort to confront his fellow knight, “Did I just see you sniff the queen, Ser Lancelot?”

It was impossible not to notice the hint of disapproval in his tone. Ser Finnian was right to question him, to be suspicious, it was his duty. Still, he did not know how to answer in a way that would not cost him his head.

Ser Finnian did not await his answer. “Have you lost your mind, knight?” He turned his head to look at him, hissing lowly, “She is the queen! You serve the king! You do not lust after his queen!”

He kept looking straight ahead, trying not to let any truth show on his face. “I do not lust for-”

“Don’t you dare!” Ser Finnian warned. “If I witness any more evidence of your disloyalty I will inform the king. Is that understood?”

Knight or not, there were matters no title could protect him from facing the punishment for, becoming too familiar with a queen was one of them.

“Yes.” Was all he answered, not granting Ser Finnian a single look.

“Do not behave like some sort of hound around her. Smelling our queen… she is not one of your kind you can breed with.”

He tried to block out what was being said, or else he would lose his head for killing a fellow knight.

This time he looked at Ser Finnian slowly. The knight must have seen the silent danger building in his eyes, he said nothing anymore and left him alone.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  After speaking to Ser Magnus , you headed to your chambers. Well… you tried. The door was in your sight when a sound came from underneath your feet. The wooden floorboard cracked in warning too late, your foot sank through it and the splintered edges cut into your ankle. A scream had fled your lungs. You had to kneel and feared more of the floor would give in. Trying to pull free only made the floor creak more.

“Your Highness!!” Lancelot’s voice rang through the hallway as he hurried towards you.

You were relieved to see help come your way. “I’m stuck. Be careful! The floorboards are creaking under me.”

He carefully got closer, testing the floor with his boots to feel and hear his way to you. “It may just be where you are.” Fortunately he managed to get close. “Are you hurt?”

You gave a nod. “My ankle. The wood is cutting into it when I try to move.”

He made you put your arm around his shoulder and began to move the skirt of your gown aside just enough to see the problem. Even just a glimpse of your ankle had the poor former monk’s cheeks flushing, the pinkish hue to his cheeks suited him well.

The back of his hand was between the sharp edges of the broken wood and your skin, protecting you from further harm as he helped free your foot from the hole in the floorboard. You yelped when standing on your feet again, feeling the cuts the splintered wood had caused.

He looked around for a moment, then brought you to your chambers. He had you sit down on the soft leather covered bench near the fireplace. Speechless you stared as he went around the room, collecting what he’d need to help. You were still trying to find the right way to say it when he knelt down beside you and reached out to move the hem of the gown again. Quickly you grabbed his wrist to stop him.

He glanced up at you, eyes inquisitive, your touch had distracted him from the task. “I only wish to help you.”

You believed his word. “I know. But you of all people should know well how inappropriate this is.”

He was brave enough to question why you thought that, “Because of the vow I once took?”

It was hard not to smile when he sounded amused by it. “Yes. Or are monks allowed to touch a woman now?”

He clicked his tongue and smiled. “It is still strongly forbidden. But as a knight I find it more inappropriate to not aid my queen. I will not speak of this to anyone and it will spare you a walk to the infirmary across the castle.”

He had a point. You were never eager to visit a healer or the infirmary and walking all the way across the castle with a sore ankle would not be pleasant at all.

He watched as you let go of his wrist. “Allow me to help you. And I will go to the infirmary after this to fetch something for the pain. Agreed?”

To answer that, you moved the skirt of your gown up so he could use that damp cloth he had ready. You saw his neck flush. Eye-contact seized to happen until he was done dabbing the little blood away from your ankle and part of your lower leg.

With a piece of linen, that he had cut off of one of the bed linen, he bandaged your ankle to keep the cuts clean. Not one second had went by when you could ignore how gentle he was handling this, how warm his hands were. He had been fully focused on this, on helping you, any other knight or guard would have dragged you to the infirmary and let a healer handle it. But not him…

It slipped from your thoughts before you could prevent it, “You are so different from them.”

He had been inspecting the knot in the bandage to ensure it sat secure but not too tight, now his gaze lifted to yours.

He would have asked what it meant, but when his eyes met yours he could have sworn he saw in them what he so longed for. Could it be?

A silence fell between you, the unspoken lingered in the air once more. This had not been the first time such silence had fallen, it had always occurred when the truth threatened to free itself. You could not allow the truth to be free and still… part of you wanted to believe he knew the truth already. You reached down and smoothed out the skirt of your gown again, seeing him swallow hard and looking uncertain.

He cleared his throat and got up from the floor. “I hope I have not made you uncomfortable?”

“No. I fear I soon may grow too comfortable with you, my king will not approve of it.”

“Why is it that a king can grow far too comfortable with another, while his queen is not even allowed to let a knight help her ankle?”

You knew he was alluding to your husband’s chain of mistresses. How freely Elroy behaved so shamefully without consequences.

“Because he is king.”

“And therefor his queen should suffer in silence?”

“I do not want to speak of this.”

“I have one question I wish to ask, if you allow it?”

You gave a nod.

“If you could choose another life, would you?”

“Depends on what kind of life we are speaking of.”

“One where you are free of this golden cage you have been trapped in.”

You stood up. “I am not in a cage!”

“Then why are you not free to do as you please? You are a queen, you of all people should have the power to do anything you wish for.”

“Why are you saying this to me?…”

“I was trapped once. I see the same hopelessness in your eyes that once could be seen in mine.”

“Sympathy…” you scoffed. “I do not need pity, Ser Lancelot.”

“I do not pity you.” He frowned. “I fear for your life if the king continues his behavior. Kings tiring of their wives is not uncommon. I do not wish to see you be replaced if he dares to choose another queen for himself.”

You were quiet for a moment, unable to meet his eyes out of fear that it would cause your tears to break free. By taking a step back and gesturing to the door, you let it be known that this conversation was over.

He knew when he was being dismissed. But unlike your other knights and guards he did not always listen to a command, it seemed that this was one of those times.

You sighed a little, knowing how stubborn he could be. “Ser Lancelot-”

He kept his voice on a low volume, “If he ever shows such intent, come to me. Warn me of it.”

You looked down at the floor at his blatant protectiveness. For a moment neither of you moved.

It was him who broke the building tension and headed for the door. “I will arrange for the floor to be repaired and have a guard bring you a vial for the pain.”

“Thank you.”

Of course your voice had to waver on those two words. Hoping that he had not noticed was futile, you saw it in his eyes as he had halted by the open door. Hidden truth was spoken through the silence of a shared gaze, a look which lasted too long to be innocent, a softening in his eyes that made you forget how to breath normally. You forced yourself to turn away and breathed in deeply when hearing the door fall shut again.

What were you doing? A married queen growing enamored with her knight… if Elroy knew he’d have him executed for it. You could not allow it, would not… there was no hope.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  You had not expected dinner to go the way it went. Elroy had been sitting beside you until his newest mistress had walked into the dinning hall. Elroy had beckoned her over and to your shock he told her right in front of all to see, and those close enough to hear, that he wanted her to come along to his bedchamber in that very moment. Frozen you sat on the chair, forced to watch your unfaithful husband walk with his mistress on his arm through the dinning hall and take her to his bedchamber.

The eyes of the room were on you and taking a sip of water did nothing to hide how the cruel humiliation was affecting you. Your hand trembled around the tankard, putting it down on the table again was the only way to hide it.

Lancelot had been sitting only a few chairs away from Elroy and wiped his hands clean on one of the linen provided for it, which he then threw down on the table, it was the first thing that betrayed how irritated he was by the situation. He came and took place on the empty chair beside you, politely dismissing the ladies-in-waiting who had been chatting at the table to allow for more discretion. One look from him around the room was enough for the stares to stop, his eyes held a warning for those who would think it proper to disrespect you. He touched your arm, so light and gentle and it still startled you. You quickly looked at him and shook your head discreetly.

Ah yes, the king could run off with his mistress in front all, but his queen was not allowed to have a comforting touch to her arm. It was no wonder many noblewomen were unhappy.

The risk of it costing his title or head did little to deter him, he withdrew his hand and pointed at your tankard. “Shall I fetch you more water?”

“No, thank you.”

“Something else to eat?”

“I lost my appetite.”

“He is a fool.”

You gasped quietly at his statement, eyes wide. “Ser Lancelot! You cannot say these things-”

He sat back more in his chair, eyes still on you. “Many here think it.”

Your eyes fixed on the plate under your eyes. “I believe they see me as the fool.”

He leaned forward, dropping his voice to a low volume, “Not all here prefer the king, Your Highness. They see you, they see a queen much wiser than her king.”

With a deep breath, you forced the question out, “Why does he treat me so?”

Why were you not enough? Why did he enjoy causing this humiliation to you? Had he ever even loved you?

Lancelot had not expected the question. “Your Highness-”

Not shedding a tear in the face of so much pain was difficult. “What do I do wrong? Why am I not enough for him?”

He reacted impulsive and fast, putting a hand over the one you had on the table to take hold. “Stop. You are not at blame for his idiocy. He is selfish and never sated, not by power, women or gold. Greed is in his blood.”

You sat frozen, looking at the hand resting on yours. Hit by the realization how much you craved a warm touch such as this. He blinked, suddenly becoming fully aware of what he had done. There was a change in his eyes when you did not rush to pull your hand away to scold him for it. The look shared between you told a secret not meant to exist, one that would cost you your lives if the king learned of it. Slowly you pulled your hand back, knowing deep down that a bond beyond duty had formed, that it was too late to guard your heart against someone who was already inside it.

“Ser Lancelot-”

He was quick to respond, “Yes, my queen?”

Taken aback by the way he had addressed you, you nearly forgot what you were about to say. ‘My queen’? Your heart took a leap of joy at the small sign of affection, oh how depraved it felt of it. “Will you accompany me on a walk through the gardens?”

For a second all he did was stare, then cleared his throat. “Of course.”

You stood up from the table and waited for him. Together you headed to the gardens, the sky was darkening but the weather still felt comfortable. For minutes there was only silence, his arm brushing against yours a few times by accident as he walked beside you.

You were the one to break the silence. “You spoke of another life to me. I wish to let you know that I would respect your decision if you chose to pursue another kind of life. I know the duties that knights have can prevent them from seeking a companion to share life with. But I want my knights to have the freedom to have a life outside of duty.”

His eyes narrowed ever so little as he plucked apart what you had told him. “Thank you, Your Highness. But my life here has allowed me to ensure Percival will have a brighter future. We are content.”

It slipped out, “Do you never feel lonely?”

He stole a glance. “Does that worry you?”

“Yes,” you dared to admit.

“I shall answer that question if you answer it as well.” There was a slight arch to his brow. Always digging for the truth you kept buried under a smile.

A speck of truth is what you could give. “I have felt less lonely these past months.”

He folded his hands behind his back. Quietly admitting, “I share the sentiment.”

His eyes were enthralling, captivating a part of your soul you had believed to be lost long ago. If only you had not been forced to wed a man you did not love, perhaps matters would have been different.

He let his eyes fall to the grass. “How is your ankle?”

“Better, thanks to you. And I see you have survived the sin of helping me.”

“Barely,” he jested.

It made you wonder. “Do you still pray?”

After a short silence, he gave a nod. “It has become a force of habit I believe.”

You feared he’d consider you too nosy. “And do you feel relieved after?”

He averted his eyes, the question more personal than you could have known. “No. It still feels as if I pray to a void where only darkness is my answer in return.”

Without thinking, you touched his arm. “You can always come to me when you seek a listening ear, you must know that. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to spend your whole life in the clergy and then break away from it.”

His gaze fell to the hand you had on his arm and he put his own over it to keep it there a little longer. “It is difficult, but I find comfort in knowing that I fled before nothing of me was left.”

You couldn’t resist feeling his bicep just a little, disguising it under a comforting squeeze. “And so began your path to your truest self.”

“A path you helped me find and walk on.”

“You’re the one taking the steps, Lancelot.”

“Because your faith in me encourages me.”

You drew your hand back, already missing his warmth. “I am glad to hear that.”

He was impulsive, catching your hand in his before it could get far. It was so easy to forget this was crossing a line. Was there even a line if you wanted this? His touch should not have made you want to smile but it did, you tried to hide it by looking down at the grass.

It was when he took a step closer that your eyes snapped up to his to read the intention from them. He was looking around carefully, scanning the garden for curious eyes. He turned your hand, palm facing up, and lightly brushed the tips of his index and middle finger over it. A touch so light and yet it traveled all through your body, your chest heaved as it tried to control your breathing.

He was studying your reaction, reading you like an open book. “I know.”

Your eyes widened, questioning his own. He couldn’t possibly have meant… “What do you mean?”

Again his fingers brushed up and down over your palm, feeling well how your hand trembled in his own. He repeated it quieter, voice filled with the unspoken truth that threatened to be voiced once more, “I know.”

You drew your hand back, feeling more vulnerable than ever before. This was not good, him alluding to being aware of your affection for him was too close to the truth reaching the light. It was too dangerous. From afar you could see Ser Finnian beckon for you and you were grateful for the distraction. Without a word to Lancelot, you headed to Ser Finnian, guessing correctly that he would follow.

        As you headed to your room for the evening, Ser Finnian was speaking of some important matters regarding the villages whilst Lancelot followed a few steps behind him in silence. Elroy had grown hated by many in the kingdom, he was having roads guarded and prevented some villages from importing the needed flour and other necessities by wagon. This was to force the villages into agreeing to pay more of their income to him. You hated his tactics, his antics. The people were starving and you doubted they would not retaliate soon if Elroy did not end the roads blockages.

As if he knew people were speaking about him, Elroy turned the corner of the hallway and spotted you. You sighed quietly at the sight of him, he must have grown tired of his mistress for the night again. He acknowledged Lancelot and Finnian first, then set his eyes on you.

Elroy was mistrusting. “In important conversation with our knights, my queen?”

“Ser Finnian has brought to my attention that you are still having the roads guarded.”

He saw no fault. “Indeed.”

You confronted him, “We cannot let this continue. They must be able to bring in the wagons with their harvest.”

“We?” He sounded reprimanding, “I decide when they deserve their freedom back.”

It was infuriating. “They are starving!”

Elroy showed not an ounce of empathy for them. “Good. Let them starve, it will set an example.”

He turned away, tiring of the conversation that was not going the way he wanted it to go. You walked after him, grabbing him by the sleeve to make him stop ignoring your opinion on the matter.

You could tell that he did not like it at all when you ‘stepped out of line’. “The only thing it will do is cause them to hate you even more than they already do. You ask too much of them-”

Elroy struck your cheek, the force of it sending you stumbling and hitting the wall hard with your arm. It had not been the first time but never before had he dared to do it in front of others to see.

Ser Finnian had to physically step in front of Lancelot to stop him getting closer to the king.

“Don’t.” Ser Finnian whispered to him. He still saw the focus of the his fellow knight on the king and grabbed hold of his arm.

Elroy spoke viciously to you, “I did not ask your opinion. You would do best to keep silent.”

Your cheek felt like it had been burned and you forced yourself not to let the tears of the shock show. “Ignoring my advice will not spare you from the anger of our people!”

Elroy looked towards the knights present. “See my wife to her chambers. Ensure she does not leave them again tonight.”

Elroy walked past you as if you were nothing more than air to him and once again you were left to handle the wreckage he left behind in his wake.

“Your Highness.” Ser Finnian remained formal, obeying the command of his king as he gestured to the direction of your chambers. Lancelot stepped to your direction but he stopped him. “I will guide the queen to her quarters. Head to your own, I believe you need a moment to clear your head before you make a mistake.”

There was no ignoring the warning under the ‘advice’ Lancelot was being given. And perhaps it was wise, all could see the fury burning in his eyes. With dented pride you started walking towards your quarters, not willing to get the knights into trouble for failing to execute the order they were given.

Lancelot turned to Finnian. “We are commanded to protect her, yet we have to stand aside and watch as the king strikes her?” It came out sharp.

Ser Finnian half-turned to him. “We obey his command. Our queen can withstand him.”

In other words, you were left to undergo the king’s wrath alone. Was the duty of a knight not to protect and fight for the good of all?

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~

  It was deep in the night when soft knocking on the door startled you awake. First you grabbed the candle holder from the nightstand, then went to open the door, ready for anything behind the door. A pair of concerned blue eyes met your inquisitive glance upon opening the door.

You became very aware that you were in your chemise and hid a little behind the door whilst blindly putting the candle holder down on the dresser beside it. “Lancelot? Goodness, it’s the midst of the night.”

His confession fell, “I had to see if you were alright.”

Such concern, the worry in his voice, the true face of empathy he often tried to hide. Your heart felt like it was fluttering and it spread a pleasant feeling all throughout your chest and up your neck.

You gave a quick nod to put his mind at ease. “I will be fine.”

He had build up the courage within him. “May I step inside for a moment? I wish to speak with you, in private.”

The door felt like the only thing still standing between the unspoken and you, it would have been so much simpler to hide behind it, to use it as the last shield to protect your heart and future. But when he put his hand lightly on the door and brought it closer to where yours held the edge of it, your resolution broke.

You stepped back from the door, leaving it open, letting him choose to cross this line together. He quietly opened it more and stepped into the room, aware of how inappropriate this visit was he closed the door as quietly as he could. You quickly went to grab your warm robe to cover yourself up more. He was mere steps behind you when you turned around again after haphazardly putting on the robe.

You swallowed down the nerves. “What was it that you wished to speak to me about?”

He startled you by reaching out and touching your cheek that had received the hit not long ago. “That bastard…”

Some of the fury still simmered in his eyes, embers ready and willing to burn those at blame for it’s cause.

The tender touch made your heart ache. “It had been a while since he last struck me.”

“Has he done it since I am here?” His thoughts forced him to ask it.

Had you been in danger right under his nose before? He had his suspicions that the king had violent tendencies from the way he had seen you flinch once weeks ago, but this? The king hitting his queen for all to witness proved he feared no consequences for it.

You forgot how to think, the warmth of his touch was a welcome one. “No.”

He saw you take a step back, saw how you timidly cast your gaze to the floor. “You do not deserve the humiliation he forces on you. You are a queen by birthright, your power is equal.”

“What do you suggest I do? He is my husband-”

He did not hold back, his tone was sharp, “Annul the marriage. Leave him to rot in the misery he will create.”

You nearly gasped at hearing it. He was a knight and to serve the king, not convince the queen to leave him. “Do not speak of such a thing. If he hears of it he’ll have you executed, he’ll have us both executed…”

“Would you tell him?”

Slowly you shook your head. “I will not lose my most skilled knight.”

It was a grave risk he took when he set a step closer again, he folded his hands together behind his back as if to resist what he wished for. “My queen, King Elroy’s spells of anger will worsen. I beg you, do not make me have to watch how he will rain his fury upon you.”

You feared the future, feared to hear the truth be spoken aloud. In your mind you pushed it away, “Your duty is to serve as a knight-”

He was stern, refusing to be silenced on this matter. “I was appointed to protect you, and I will, even if it be from the King himself.”

“Lancelot…” You shook your head, falling silent.

There was no waver in his voice now that he let his true thoughts free, “My loyalty lies with you, my queen. It has been with you since the day you welcomed me here. Without you, Percival and I would have been cast out at best and be left to survive in the woods. But you… you gave us shelter. You gave me a chance.”

You could not look away from him, he spoke with such conviction and strength.

He knelt down before you, tilting his head down in obedience. “I swore my sword to your kingdom but I cannot stand aside as it’s queen is left dishonored. I can no longer serve the king. I cannot betray my heart that beats not only to serve but to love the queen faithfully.”

You stepped back fast. “You must leave, Ser Lancelot. This cannot happen.”

He lifted his gaze up from the floor, pieces of his shattered soul were to be found in his eyes. “Then you must call for the guards, my queen. Because I will not leave you in the hands of the king. I swear I will not hesitate to turn my blade against him if he lays a hand on you again.”

If he would not leave, then you would, you had to. Your gaze went to the door mere seconds before your feet began to hurriedly travel to it. Your hand was on the door handle, Lancelot’s hand fell flat on the door and held it shut. His sudden close proximity made your blood start to rush, you did not dare look at him as he stood beside you. Sometimes you forgot how quickly he could react in situations like this when he was truly alert.

His voice was a whisper meant to persuade, “I can protect you.”

It felt hard to breath normally. “I am a queen. My king will never let me go.”

His hand slid down over the wood of the door, until it was just above your own. “Do not concern yourself over what he would do. Say you wish to leave his side and leave the rest to me.”

Your eyes remained on the wood, never before had your body felt so unstable. Every fiber in your being was attuned to him now, you felt his breath on the side of your face, his warmth was radiating off of him, his whole presence left you shaking in your bones.

You sensed his intentions but feared what would happen if they were spoken out loud. “What are you asking of me?”

His other hand landed lightly on your back and you jolted a little, your eyes still did not leave the wood. “I have lived a life in the clergy, I know that makes me a less than desirable match for one born a queen but I would do all within my power to give you the love and happiness you deserve.”

You couldn’t believe this was happening, that he would truly speak this out loud. If anyone heard it would cost him his life. And it would cost you yours if Elroy ever knew just how many times you had dreamed of this happening.

“Lancelot, please.” You pressed your eyes shut, feeling the tears brim in them. “I do not want to see you hurt because of me.”

Silence overtook the room, all you heard were your and his breathing. The atmosphere was loaded and the tension increased with each passing second. Something was about to happen if you would not seize control and command him to obey you. But you could not bring yourself to voice a command, he thrilled you in ways he should not have.

“I will love you, my queen,” he whispered against your hair. “Not as a knight, but as just a man.”

You swiftly turned, grabbed hold of his collar and tugged firmly, your lips pressed to his. Soft, a slight prickle of his mustache, hot breath that came in the form of a quiet gasp from him.

What were you doing… what had you done? It had shocked yourself and you quickly let go and tilted your head down.

He stood motionless, just like you. Seconds passed before he very slowly touched his fingers to your chin, tilting it to make you look at him. Your gaze locked on his eyes, seeing how they filled with the dangerous mixture of want and hesitation, only one could change everything.

Such soft lips. His queen had kissed him and now you looked so frightful of his response. He would hang for this if caught, but he had accepted death long before coming here.

His lips descended on yours, sealing your faiths. He did not expect you to reciprocate with the passion you showed. You held him close, arms wrapping around his neck, entrapping him. If you were to suffer the punishment, you would do the crime well.

“My queen…” his chest vibrated against yours. The touch of his hand grazed over your waist. His hot breath was near your ear, “My beautiful queen…”

“Lancelot… I…” your voice was a trembling mess. “I…”

“I know.”

He spoke your name, not your title, soft and full of undeniable longing. You were entwined with him, feeling loved for the first time since long.

The sound of guards walking by the door brought your mind back to reality. You broke away to compose yourself and calm your racing heart. He was as rattled as you were, breathing just as heavily. You hugged the robe around you, a boyish smile curved his lips as he looked at the floor.

“Uhm…” You didn’t know what to say. But you did know that him remaining there longer would only heighten the risk of getting caught.

His gaze glided to the door, then back to you. “You want me to leave?”

“If they found you here…”

He was understanding of it, well aware that what was done was punishable by torture, death or most likely both. His hand landed on the door handle, yours landed on top of his a second later.

“How did you know?” you quietly inquired.

With a gentle smile he looked at you. “You look at me differently. And you smile when our eyes meet. You stare. And I have been in enough fights to know when one is not staring at me with ill-intent.”

Flustered, you evaded your gaze. Had you truly been so obvious to him? Had others noticed it too?

He touched his fingers to your chin again and stole another sweet kiss. “I hope you will sleep well, Your Highness. Know that I am only a few doors away from here if you should need me.”

You gave a slow nod and caught yourself wishing he did not have to leave. But you let him walk out of the room before someone could find him there. If Elroy learned of this betrayal, the consequences would be truly dire.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  The next two days it was hard to keep up appearances, to pretend the moment shared between you and Lancelot had not happened. But his stolen glances and your secret smiles filled your days. Nothing more had happened, no kiss or touch, as if both of you did not know how to maneuver the situation. It was perhaps wise, the risk was great and the temptation even greater.

All had been calm, until tonight. Elroy had taken some of the knights and guards, including Lancelot, with him when he had traveled to one of the villages to see for himself if his tyranny was successful in demolishing the people’s moral. Hours passed and there was no sign of their return yet. The weather had taken a turn for the worse. Rain was pouring down over the lands, thunder and lightning filled the sky. You stood at a window, growing more concerned by the hour. The concern was not for Elroy, it was for your Fey knight. This was abnormal and you had send a group of guards out hours before to search for them. It was that group that you saw return and you hurried down all the stairs to the entrance hall to see what information they might have.

One guard approached you, his attire soaked by the rain. “We did not find them, Your Highness. They must have taken another road. We went to the village where they claim they saw them leave hours before our arrival.”

You tried to stay composed but inside you feared the worst. “Those who have searched for them now will remain at the castle and rest. Send two more search parties to find them.”

He tilted his head down in submission, accepting the command.

The fear in your eyes could so easily be seen as a sign you were worried for your husband instead of the man your heart had promised itself to. The looks of sympathy from the knights and guards present were aimed at you.

The doors suddenly swung open, the wind outside making them more stubborn to allow entrance. The guards and some of the knights who had left with Elroy hours ago walked into the entrance hall. Their clothes drenched in mud, rain and blood. Lancelot and Ser Finnian were two of the last who walked in. Lancelot was supporting a wounded Finnian and let him sit down on one of the benches that stood against the wall. You frowned at the doors, wondering why Elroy had not entered the castle yet.

One of the younger knights came to bring you the news, he knelt with a sorrowful expression. “The king is dead, Your Highness.”

You stared at him as his head tilted down, he feared looking at you now, feared the reaction to come. You looked at the others for an explanation, for one of them to come and tell you that the young knight was mistaken or confused, but they all just awaited your reaction. Was this truly happening? If Elroy was truly dead, you were immediately the one ruling over the kingdom, on your own… Their eyes sought guidance, instructions, anything.

You were trying to make sense of the situation that felt so surreal. “He is dead? How can he be dead? What on earth happened out there?”

“Lancelot-” Ser Finnian started coughing. “Tell her.”

Lancelot stepped forward, his clothes soaked by rain and blood much like the others. “We were ambushed on our return to the castle. The rain and darkness made it difficult to know everyone’s location. The king must have lost sight of us. We found him after the battle.”

You stepped closer to him, it had sounded too practiced, too calm for how unexpected this must have been. “Ambushed… by who?”

His eyes told a truth he would not speak aloud. “One of the groups terrorizing the villages had made their liar near the path we were riding on. They were dealt with.”

You were no fool, Elroy was a talented sword fighter, he would not have met his demise so easily. “You failed to protect the king?”

Something flashed in his eyes mere seconds before he knelt down in front of you, submitting himself to your mercy. You looked at the others, counting only a few surviving guards and realized all of them had always favored Elroy. And two days ago Ser Finnian had stood aside and not even tried to help you when Elroy struck you. Could it be that Lancelot… surely not… The puzzle was falling into place and told you of how far your Fey knight was willing to go for you.

You stepped away from him, commanding the others, “Bring the wounded to the infirmary. Have the body of the king retrieved, the people must be assured that their king has passed.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” some of them answered in choir.

“I do not want to be disturbed tonight,” you told them.

They were quiet for such a large group, all were trying to process the events in their own way and they respected your wish to be left alone. They must have assumed you were in mourning. Instead you tried to think of how to confront Lancelot with what you believed had truly happened in the forest.

    ~~~♡~~~♡~~~◇~~~♡~~~♡~~~

  It did not take long for him to find you, there was one place in the castle you liked retreating to when you were troubled. He set foot into the library and made certain to close the door behind him, it proved there were secrets in the air that he did not want to share with those outside the library.

You sat at the table, the words finally spilling from your lips, “By who’s sword did Elroy really perish?”

He stopped in his tracks, tensing up. His mouth opened to speak then decided against it. The look in his eyes said it all.

Deep down you knew the truth of the matter. He had not picked those guards to come along on the trip to the village at random. You knew that Lancelot knew well what areas were safe and which ones were not. Elroy was led right into their hands by him. The only thing you were uncertain about was who had truly been the one to kill Elroy. One of the attackers, or one of his own knights.

You confronted him, “You led him right into their hands.”

He did not deny it, eyes locked on yours to read your response to knowing the truth.

It was not even a shock. Maybe it should have been, but you had seen the fury in his eyes after Elroy had struck you again. “Have you gone mad? If anyone learns of this-”

“No one will know unless you wish to tell them.”

“What if I did? Would you kill your queen as well?”

He came closer, kneeling just next to the chair you were sat on. “You know I would never harm you. Tell everyone. It does not matter what happens to me as long as you are safe.” He let out a small sigh. “He would have worsened in time, I have seen enough men like him. With him gone, you rule this kingdom. Now I can be certain that Percival will not be raised under the command of a tyrant.”

You were quiet for a while, fidgeting with a book on the table. “Was it quick?”

He was drawn to the emphatic side of you. “I cut his throat. It was over quickly.”

“No one else can ever know of this. He was killed by the attackers in the ambush.” You locked eyes on him. “Perhaps, after some time has passed, we will not be met by stares or suspicion if we…”

He guessed the rest you were too shy to speak. “I shall be here at your side, hoping that in time you will allow me to be more than a knight to you.”

“You want to be king then?” you jested.

“No.” He shook his head, took hold of your hand and placed it where his heart rested in his chest. “I want you. Not a title or crown.”

It was impossible to pull your eyes away from him. You rose to stand. “I’m afraid that will be difficult.”

There was an instant flash of hurt in his eyes, it vanished when he saw the smile curve your lips and knew you were teasing him. He stood up from the floor.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his aketon, gripping a light hold. “It will be difficult for us to be together without you receiving a title, you are courting a queen, Ser Lancelot.”

His gaze fell on your hand and how it was gently tugging him closer.

“I could name you my consort.” Purposely you fixed your eyes on his lips. “But I’d prefer to call you my king.”

He dared to carefully jest about it, “We have yet to bury the last one.”

You knew he was making a lighthearted comment, but others could easily have the same reaction to it. “He did not even wait for my death to flaunt with other women. He struck and humiliated me. I should feel ashamed for betraying my husband, but I do not. Once I had believed there was hope for my marriage, until I heard the guards speak of what was happening behind my back. I was denied love and I had accepted that. What I could not accept was his disloyalty and lies. If a queen cannot trust her king, then what point is there?”

He cupped your face in his hands, cradling your head. “Not many will weep for his death. You owe no one an explanation for not mourning him.”

You slowly nodded. “I fear they will consider me cold.”

His thumb brushed over your chin. “I have heard enough villagers speak to know that that fear should have no ground to exist on. He might have been king, but they bow to the queen.”

He could silence your fears so effortlessly, even now with his cloak soaked in a mixture of blood and rain. You broke away and pulled him along to a more secluded part of the library, stacks of books on shelves cast their shadows and provided the needed discretion. He was no fool and read your intentions right from your eyes, willingly letting himself be tugged against you, gladly obeying his queen’s wishes.

“Hmm,” You hummed and took hold of his hands to place them on your waist, your own glided up his chest. “What shall I call you when the weeks of obligated mourning pass? "

He let himself be pulled in closer, eyes falling shut when he felt your lips touch the side of his neck. “I… It does not matter what you call me, as long as I may call you my queen.”

“I will make you a king, Lancelot.” You breathed teasingly against his skin, whispering, “My king.”

That very breathy whisper made him claim what he had wanted more than any title. Your lips were at his mercy when he kissed you with a fiery eagerness that send shivers all through your veins.

You had given up on love, sacrificed it for the sake of duty. And now it was here, all consuming and everything your heart had longed for.

A new reign had begun.

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[cozylittleartblog]

Saw you on twitter through your post about alixpress and wanted to support you. Super happy with the stuff. Im in love with all these freaks so I'm definitely a happy customer ❤️ (Sorry for the crummy pics my phone is 7 years old lol)

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[maskedbyghost]

Part 2 of fuck buddies with Simon (now with extra emotional damage)

You didn’t text him, you didn’t call, you didn’t chase.

But you did send one final message.

“This is the last time, Simon. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to be someone you only need when you’re lonely or angry or tired. I wanted you, not just your time or your hands or your body. You don’t have to say anything—I’m just letting you know I’m done. Please don’t come back. I won’t open the door.”

Then you blocked him.

Phone, socials, everything. And not in some dramatic, screaming, flinging-plates kind of way.

And for the first few days, nothing happened. No messages, no banging on the door, and no surprise visits in the middle of the night. Just silence.

But on Simon’s end?

Hell broke loose.

He didn’t even notice the message right away. He was halfway through watching a game when he opened his phone and saw it sitting there, timestamped four hours ago. He read it once, then again, and then stared at it like maybe if he glared hard enough, the words would disappear.

But they didn’t.

He tried to reply, of course. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for longer than he’d admit. But when he hit send, the message didn’t go through.

His jaw clicked tight. Something cold and ugly twisted low in his chest. He tossed his phone onto the couch and paced. He thought about showing up at your place but didn’t. Not yet. Not when he didn’t even know what he was going to say.

It hit him, slowly. That you weren’t bluffing. That you meant it this time.

That he fucked it. Bad...

A month later

You’re sitting across from a guy who actually listens when you talk. He laughs at your jokes, asks you questions. He looks at you like he’s interested—not just in your body, but in your thoughts, opinions, and favorite takeout order.

It’s... weird. Not bad weird. Just different. Good, even.

You're at a quiet restaurant, corner booth, tucked into a little space with candlelight and soft jazz playing overhead. You’re just reaching for your drink when you hear it.

The click of a safety being flipped off, before your date goes still.

“Don’t move,” a voice says, low and dark behind him.

You know that voice.

Your blood runs cold before you even look at him.

Simon stands there, one hand is braced on the back of your date’s chair. The other? Holding a gun pointed directly at the side of the poor guy’s head.

“Simon—what the fuck are you doing?” you hiss, scrambling out of the booth.

“I just wanna talk,” he says, voice way too calm for someone with a loaded weapon in hand.

Your date is sweating, hands raised. “Hey, man, I don’t want any trouble—”

“Did I ask you what you wanted?” Simon snaps. Then he smiles. Smiles. “You’re gonna get up and leave. Right now. No questions. Go.”

The guy doesn’t argue. He bolts so fast he almost trips over a chair.

You stand there, staring at Simon like you’re seeing him for the first time. And in a way, you are.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you ask, shoving him back. “Are you insane?”

“I said I just wanted to talk,” he mutters, sliding into the booth like he didn’t just commit a felony in front of three tables.

“Jesus, Simon. You scared the hell out of him. You scared me. You don’t just pull a gun on someone because you’re feeling jealous!”

“I’m not jealous,” he says, lying through his teeth.

“Get out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t get to show up here like this. You don’t get to throw a tantrum just because I moved on. You made it clear how you felt—or didn’t feel. Remember that?”

Simon’s hands are curled into fists on the table. He looks like he’s about to explode. But instead of yelling, he just leans forward, jaw clenched so hard.

“I fucked up,” he says. “I know I did.”

“Yeah,” you say coldly. “You really did.”

-

Aftar that, he doesn’t text you. After all, he is still blocked, so he can't.

So he writes notes. Slips them under your door, even though you never respond.

"I miss you." "I keep thinking about what you said. You're right. I treated you like shit. I don’t know how to fix it, but I want to try." "Still can’t sleep. I keep rolling over expecting you to be there. You're not."

You don’t write back.

Then the gifts start showing up. A bouquet of roses, your favorite. A playlist on a USB drive. A book you mentioned once, two years ago, that he somehow remembered.

He shows up to your building sometimes. Just sits on the steps, waiting, but not in a creepy way—he knows to keep his distance. But he’s there. Rain, cold, whatever. He waits.

One night, you come home late, and he stands when he sees you. “I’ll go if you want,” he says quietly. “Just... let me know you’re okay.”

You don’t say anything. Just unlock the door and go inside.

He doesn’t leave for another hour.

Two months in.

He catches you on your way to work.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he says, walking beside you like he belongs there. “Just... give me a chance to make it right. Let me earn it.”

You stop walking. Look at him.

He looks rough. The beard’s thicker, the eyes are darker, and the weight of regret sits heavy on his shoulders.

“You can’t fix this with flowers and sad eyes,” you say. “I needed you. And you made me feel like a mistake.”

“I know,” he says, voice cracking. “I know I don’t deserve another shot. But I’m still gonna try. Every day. Until you tell me to stop.”

“And what if I never change my mind?”

“Then I’ll still keep showing up.”

He means it.

You can see it in the way he looks at you now—not hungry, not possessive. Just wrecked. Like he lost something irreplaceable and knows it.

You don’t let him follow you to work.

But for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel as angry. Not because he’s forgiven. Not even close. But because he finally looks like he’s suffering the way you did.

Three months.

You’re out with friends when he shows up again. This time, unarmed thankfully.

You’re tipsy, laughing, leaning into someone else’s shoulder—some other guy’s—and Simon sees it before you do. You turn and there he is, standing just far enough to not make a scene, but close enough to make your heart drop.

You think he’s going to come over. Ruin the night. Scare the guy off again.

He doesn’t.

He just nods at you. One short, respectful tilt of his head. Then he walks away.

No words, nor begging, trying to guilt you into anything.

And that gets to you more than the thousand apologies he could’ve offered.

Four months.

It’s your birthday.

You don’t tell anyone. You keep it lowkey on purpose, like if no one says anything, you can just pretend it’s any other day. You don’t want the reminders. You don’t want the well-meaning texts from people who don’t know what you’ve been dealing with. You definitely don’t want to wonder whether or not Simon remembers.

But he does.

You find out when you get home and there’s a small package sitting at your door. No note. No name. Just your initials written on the wrapping in the handwriting you know better than your own.

You think about throwing it away. You almost do, but curiosity wins, and inside the plain brown paper is a little black box.

You open it and your breath catches.

It’s that necklace you once pointed at in a store window downtown—months ago, maybe even a year. A tiny silver ghost on a chain. You made some stupid joke about how it looked like him: “emotionally unavailable, disappears without warning, weirdly endearing.”

He didn’t laugh at the time. Just rolled his eyes and muttered something like “you’re annoying” under his breath.

You never mentioned it again, but he remembered.

You stare at it for a long time. You don’t cry, don’t smile either. You just sit there on your hallway floor, turning the necklace over in your hands until your legs go numb.

Then you put it back in the box and tuck it in the drawer by your bed.

You don’t wear it, but you decided to keep it.

And the next day, for the first time in months, you catch yourself wondering how he’s doing. Like maybe he’s not just doing this to win, maybe he means it.

Still, you don’t reach out.

Not yet...

Five months.

He finally knocks.

It’s late. Not obscenely so, but enough that you’re in sweats and no bra, and part of you is tempted to pretend you’re not home.

But something in you says open the door.

So you do.

Simon looks like hell. Wet from rain, hair flat to his skull, hands shoved into his jacket like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching for you.

“I wrote it down,” he says, holding out a thick envelope. “Everything I wanted to say. Everything I should’ve said before.”

You stare at it like it might burn you. “Why now?”

His throat bobs. “Because I thought giving you space would be enough. But space doesn’t mean silence. It doesn’t mean I stop showing you I care. I just... I didn’t know how to love you the way you deserved.”

“And now you do?” you ask, arching a brow.

“No,” he says. “But I’m learning. And I’ll keep learning, with or without a second chance.”

You take the envelope. You don’t invite him in. But you do say, “Good night, Simon,” soft and tired.

And he smiles, just barely.

You read the letter that night. You weren’t going to, but you do.

It’s messy. Honest. Full of crossed-out lines and little notes scribbled in the margins. He writes like he talks—short sentences, straight to the point—but you can feel how badly he wants you to understand.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel disposable. That’s not what you are. That’s not what you ever were.”

“I never knew how to show you I gave a fuck. That’s on me.”

“I kept thinking if I didn’t say anything, you wouldn’t expect anything. But you did. And I should’ve met you there.”

“I think about your laugh. I hear it sometimes when I’m dead tired. It makes me hate myself.”

“I’m not asking you to come back. But if you ever do, I swear I’ll never leave you wondering again.”

You fall asleep with the letter in your hands, crumpled a little at the edges.

You don’t message him the next day.

But the next week?

You text one word.

“Coffee?”

PART 3

-----------------------------------------------

do we still hate him guys??

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay

[lilacgaby]

6:21 a.m

husband!bakugo experiences one moment of what you deal with everyday with your kids.

you were currently cuddled into katsuki's chest, fast asleep.

in between taking care of your newborn son and your toddler daughter, he knew you were exhausted out of your mind. he already had to return to hero work since he took a month off for your last few weeks pregnant, but he wasn't home all day besides the weekends. like today.

speaking her into existence, his toddler daughter slowly waddled over to your side of the bed, about to pat you on the back and awaken you.

"tsk. hey, no." he whispered, making her pout. "i wanna play." she said, crossing her arms. she rubbed her eyes, obviously still a bit sleepy herself.

"mommy is sleeping, she can't play it's bedtime. go back to bed." he said, hoping to every single deity that'd hear him that she wouldn't start crying.

she pouted even more now, before stomping her feet over to his side of the bed and pulling on him. "nooo, i dont wanna sleep!" she said, her voice getting loud.

"don't yell at me missy, use your inside voice." he rolled his eyes, paying attention to your body that seemed to always be on high alert stirring slightly. he soothed you back to sleep, before untangling himself from you and sitting on the corner of your shared bed, now face to face with your daughter.

"we're going to your room and you're going to sleep, unless you want to be put in time out." her eyes widened, her crossed arms dropping as she decided to start negotiating.

"two bedtime stories, go fish, and uno."

"one bedtime story, one go fish game, and i won't tell your mom this happened."

"and pancakes for breakfast." she ordered.

she nodded to herself, seeming happy with the arrangement. she grabbed onto his sweatpants, trying to pull him off to her room already.

"i'm going, im going."

he was heading out, until he heard the whines of his son start sounding out from the baby monitor, making both him and his daughter freeze.

she tugged on his pants, "the baby's crying."

he sighed. "i know." he was squinting his eyes in the dark environment trying to see if you had woken up. after he saw no movement, he ran to go get your son.

he picked him up in his arm and then followed his daughter to her room across the hallway. he proceeded to play go fish one handed, occasionally asking his son, who was drinking a bottle of formula, for 'help', which made his daughter say "you're cheating!"

he read them 'goldilocks and the three bears', which he kept having to reread pages because he 'wasn't doing the voices good enough' in his daughter's opinion.

his voice, still husky because he was half-asleep, soothed his son to sleep in his arms, and his daughter back to sleep.

he layed his son down in the cot in your shared room, too lazy to go back to the nursery.

like puzzle pieces, you fit back into one another, your head back in his chest and his laid on top of yours. he was glad you got to sleep the entire time, even though he knew you had woken up because of your daughter's loud nature, you managed to go back to sleep.

a win was a win, he thought as he went back to sleep.

and woke up with his daughter hugging your back, sticking her toungue out at him when he asked why she was even there again. making you laugh when you woke up to his scrunched up face of annoyance.

as he made the chocolate chip pancakes, your daughter clung to your side as your son laid in your chest, he thought about how having kids was one of the best decisions he'd ever made.

"hurry up and give me more! you always give mommy the better pancakes!"

most of the time.

[yukioos]

katsuki bakugo and the double standard

you, mina, and kyoka were talking in your bedroom before the two of you invited denki and eijiro over. you and the girls made matching bracelets together, incorporating each other's eye colors into them, with your first initial in the middle. as all of you laughed together and talked about drama, then a show that was creating a new season, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of emptiness.

the only one that was missing was your boyfriend, katsuki.

you sighed as you stared at the red beads, rolling one in between your fingers, reminding you of the color of his crimson eyes. you spaced out, mind focused on your boyfriend, and you didn’t even realize what the topic of the conversation shifted to until denki tapped your shoulder.

“hey, are you okay? i think you zoned out.”

mina smirked, “i know. she’s thinking of bakugo! you love him so much, don’t you?” she bumped your shoulder with hers and smiled at you with her eyes squinted.

you rolled your eyes and shyly smiled, averting your eyes. eijiro then brought up with a grin, “hey, you know how bakugo always seems so angry around us but not around you?” he stared at you, but you grinned, unaware of what was to happen, “we were thinking of testing that theory out. i’ll ask him if he can get me something from the record shop near campus, we’ll see how he reacts, then you can ask him to get you something from that cafe nearby!”

sounded good to you! maybe it would be funny to see his reaction change from eijiro’s request to yours.

you nodded, and the whole group cheered. the redhead then took out his phone and you all huddled around him, curious as to what was to happen. he called katsuki four times before the blonde finally picked up.

katsuki sighed, “what.” eijiro frowned with his eyes widened, and looked around at all of you. you tried to stifle your giggles at his reaction by covering your mouth.

eijiro asked, “hey man, do you mind getting me some stuff from the record shop nearby? i already ordered everything, you’d just need to pick it up—“

“no! get off your ass and get it yourself!” he yelled, causing his best friend to nearly drop the device in shock. katsuki then hung up.

all of the group was silent for a couple of seconds before you all burst into laughter. denki was tearing up and mina could hardly breathe even as she held onto her stomach for dear life.

about half an hour later, you decided to call katsuki, and he picked up within a few seconds. eijiro’s jaw dropped. he was astonished by how much he had to wait for a response, but how quickly his best friend answered you, his girl.

“hey,” katsuki greeted. he sounded not displeased nor pleased, so you were confused. little did you know, he paused everything just to lay on his bed and listen to your voice.

“hey kats! could you get me some sweets from the cafe i like? please?”

he paused, “fine. do you want the usual?” he tried to sound irritated but failed miserably.

you giggled and nodded, forgetting he couldn’t hear you. you replied, “yes, please, kats! thank you!”

he mumbled, “shut up,” and blushed. ruffling sounds were audible from his side of the call, and you could tell he was standing up from his bed to walk out of his dorm.

you exclaimed, “when you have all the sweets, come to my dorm! love you, blondie!”

he softly mumbled it back to the point where it was nearly inaudible, and you were the only one who could hear it. after half an hour passed, a knock was heard on your door, and the chatter stopped. you hurriedly rushed to open the door with a smile on your face.

the blonde carried a large bag with multiple containers of sweets, even some that you didn’t recognize. he bought you extras? god, he was all you could ever ask for. the perfect man.

“oh, yay! you’re the best, kats!” you propped your hands on his wide shoulders and kissed his cheek, earning a smile from him.

when you invited your boyfriend in and he saw the group you were hanging out with, denki gasped, “hey! why did you get her stuff but not—”

“shut up!” katsuki immediately retorted, not letting him finish.

he took your favorite cake out of the bag and handed it to you, along with a fork and a napkin. you squealed, jumped, and spun around in a circle. you pulled him down to sit with you on the ground, in the circle with your friends.

as you ate the cake, you scooted closer to your boyfriend. suddenly, you heard stifled, deep chuckles from someone next to you. you tilted your head at katsuki, whose eyes were finally squinted due to giving you a real smile.

he brought his finger up to your cheek and wiped something off your cheek, supposedly frosting.

kyoko quickly reacted, “never would’ve expected you to be the sap, bakugo.”

katsuki grumbled again and rolled his eyes, “shut up—“

“you’ve said that like, four times already.” eijiro replied, wanting to frustrate his best friend more.

katsuki continued to mutter curses under his breath, and the conversation continued without the both of you two. you smiled at his rather hard expression, then suddenly rubbed his bicep with your hand. his eyes turned towards yours, and as soon as they did, you were about to kiss his cheek, when he turned his head at the right time so you would finally kiss him on the lips.

you giggled. since when was katsuki so proud of being so flirty in public? you knew he didn’t care much for physical touch in front of others, so you were fairly confused. however, you weren’t complaining.

“aww, you just love your girl so much, don’t you?” eijiro ruined the moment.

“yeah, i do, so shut the hell up!”

not proofread, hope u guys like this one!

[malum-forev]

More Than Casual?

Summary: After breaking up with Bucky, you thought you'd never see him again. That is, until you're required to make an appearance at one of the future congressman's events.

Part 1: Casual

CAABNW!Bucky x Agent!ExWidow!Reader

“You ready for the event?” Joaquin asks you as he throws a punch. 

“What event?” You huff, dodging the right hook. 

“Everyone on Cap’s team gets an invite to the White House.” He covers his guard. 

“Less talking, more punching!” Isaiah yells from the other side of his training room. 

You’d heard about the event being held at the White House but you decided to turn off the TV the second those familiar blue eyes were displayed. It was too early to see the man who still made you shiver. 

“Not going.” Is all you say, throwing him a rogue kick with more force than necessary. 

“You’re missing out on the event of the year for what? Ordering in pizza?” He laughs, but you take the opportunity to kick the center of his chest, making Joaquin fly across the room. 

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Isaiah hollers. 

You help your partner up. “What if I have plans?”

“Plans?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Are you finally opening your heart to love?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart sinks a little. You’d successfully gone weeks without thinking of him and now, with just a couple of words, he’s back in your mind. Pulling at your heartstrings so tightly it makes your chest cave in.

It wasn’t Joaquin’s fault, he had no idea that the man who’s being honored at the event is the same person who tore your heart to shreds. 

“I just don’t feel like going,” you manage to get out. “I much prefer to fight and protect, rather than prance and drink.”

——

“What’s this I hear about you not going to the gala?” Sam casually says a few days later. 

You choke on the water you’re drinking. 

“That serious, huh?” Sam jokes. 

You shake your head. “Doesn’t sound like something that I’d be interested in.”

Your words are careful and strategic. But trying to think of the perfect excuse while your team leader looks at you so inquisitively is almost impossible. 

“I’d be nice,” he shrugs. “To go out and support Buck.”

The nickname sends a chill down your spine. 

You called him that same name for years, especially when you wanted to tease him. In front of others you’d always referred to him as Sergeant. But in close encounters, especially when you wanted him to plead for something, you’d call him just that. Buck. 

It never failed to make you think back to when he was a kid. You’d beg him to see pictures, you knew he had a couple printed out after the rediscovery of the Howling Commandos files. 

“You’re looking at the best version of me there is, doll.” He’d always say. “No need to dwell on the past.”

But you knew it was because part of him was always scared to look back. It made him remember he had a life before all of this happened. 

“I’m busy that day.” You mutter, picking up the report on the desk. 

Sam crosses his arms. “I haven’t even told you when it is.”

You stop in your tracks. 

“Is there something else that’s bothering you?” Sam asks carefully. He knows perfectly how to deal with guarded agents. “You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

You hum.

“So, I hope to see you there, Agent.” Sam narrows his eyes. He doesn’t need to use the words for you to know it’s an order. 

You nod your head without another word, leaving the conference room before your anxiety rises more through your body.

——

“You’re pretty amped up for someone who didn’t even want to come!” Sam yells over the loud music playing inside the limo sent for you. 

You don’t look back at him as you tip the vodka bottle, letting the clear liquid coat your throat.

On any other day, vodka wouldn’t be your liquor or choice but today, you need all the courage I can get. And in terms of fucking you up the fastest, vodka is the way to go. 

You can barely feel your heel poking your foot by the time you step out. 

Your eyes inadvertently scan every square inch of the room, not looking for anything suspicious but looking for the man who you’ve been dreading seeing. 

It’s bad enough his posters are up on every lamp post.

You make a beeline towards the free bar cart, Joaquin hot on your heels. 

“Sam sent me over to babysit you,” he leans on the edge of the cart. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“Oh, yeah,” you say sarcastically, sipping on the martini the bartender set for you. “I’m having a blast.”

Both your eyes travel down to the napkin the bartender passes you, his ten-digit phone number neatly scribbled on the paper. 

You turn it over without looking at him.

“What happened to opening up your heart to love?” Joaquin whispers, looking back at the bartender. 

“I don’t have time for love.” You mutter, swirling the olives in your drink. 

He twists the cap on a water bottle before passing it to you. “You’ll never have time for love, if you don’t make time for love.”

“Who died and made you the team’s hopeless romantic?” You eye him. 

“Steve.” He shrugs. 

Joaquin goes on and on about love but you can’t hear him anymore. Because the second you look over to the other side of the room, there he is. 

Time stands still, and your legs threaten to give out.

Bucky’s changed so much since the day you said goodbye forever. His eyes have dulled, turning into a muted blue like the sky on a rainy day. His hair looks polished, but you know better than anyone else he hates how it feels. “I love it when you run your hands through it,” he used to murmur against your lips. “Makes me feel free.” But most importantly, his expression lacks that liveliness it used to have. The wrinkles near his eyes would deepen the second his lips would stretch into a smile. And it almost always came with a: “You have no idea how much I missed you, Doll.” 

Unsaid words stretch between you two. Your eyes say all the talking needed. 

Bucky’s eyes travel from yours, down to your left hand, where you’d always wear a vibranium bracelet that he’d gifted you. It had pieces of his old arm in it. Bucky used to say that after The Winter Soldier, he wanted nothing to do with him. Until he met you. He liked when you wore it because it reminded him that even with his past, he could still deserve someone as loving as you. 

You rub the spot where the bracelet used to lay. 

“You don’t deserve me anymore,” you whisper. 

“D’you say something?” Joaquin looks up at you.

You shake your head, ripping your eyes away from the man who caused you unspeakable hurt. But not before noticing how his expression hardened as he looked at the man standing next to you. 

You recognized it immediately. It’s Bucky’s signature: I want to rip your head off look.

And it had everything to do with the way Joaquin was rubbing your shoulder. 

“Torres, we’re friends, right?” Your eyes bounce from Bucky’s azure to your partner’s brown. 

“Yeah,” he eyes you suspiciously. 

“Could you pretend to be my boyfriend?” You get out before you can regret the words. 

Was it immature? Yes. 

Did you want Bucky to feel at least one ounce of the hurt you felt? Also yes. 

“Why?” Joaquin’s eyebrows furrow. 

“I hate these events because, as you can see,” you flip over the napkin with the bartender’s number on it. “Men always get the wrong idea. So, can you just act like you’re my boyfriend?”

“Is this some kind of test Sam put you up to?”

You pinch your lips together. “Sure.”

“Man! I’ve been waiting for an undercover mission,” he shimmies happily. 

“But you have to pretend with everyone, okay?” You look back at the future congressman who’s making his way towards the two of you. “And make it believable.”

Joaquin smooths down his lapels. “You got it.”

Not even ten seconds later, Bucky stands between you and Joaquin with a scowl on his face.

"Agents." He looks at both of you like he's done so many times. But now, his gaze holds Joaquin's for a second longer.

"Congratulations." You raise your glass to him.

"I haven't won, yet." He doesn't look away from the brunet to your side.

"By the looks of it, you're going to sweep the floor with all the other old bozos around here." Joaquin smiles, playfully shoving the super soldier's shoulder but he doesn't budge. Not one bit.

"Could I take her away from you, it'll only be a second." Bucky asks like you're Joaquin's property.

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to ask him."

"As your boyfriend," Joaquin not-so-subtly raises his eyebrows at you. "I approve of your parting."

"We're not in the regency era you doofus." You whisper as Bucky leads the way.

"I haven't been anyone's boyfriend in a long time! I don't know how to act!" He whispers back, throwing his hands up.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asks the second you're away from everybody else.

"Trust me, I didn't want to be here." You let out a dry laugh, pulling a cigarette from your bag and lighting it up.

"I mean, what are you doing here with him?" Bucky narrows his eyes toward your partner. "What's this? A debutant ball for your new relationship?"

"Why would you care, anyways?" You take a drag, liking the way the smoke coats your mouth.

"I don't care-I-I just-" Bucky runs a hand down his face.

"Look James," You watch as his PR guy paces around the ballroom, looking for the man who is standing in front of you. "It's best if you go back inside."

"I can't." He looks down at the floor. "I can't just leave you out here smoking alone."

A genuine laugh rips through you.

"That's the promise you're keeping up?" You raise your brows, laughing harder as his expression tightens. "Out of all the promises you made me, that's the one you're going with."

"This isn't-" He tries but you interrupt him.

"Tell me what this is?" You push for him to spill what you know is on the tip of his tongue. "What? Was this summon a friendly one? Or did you want to bring me out here just so you could see if you still had it? That power you had over me."

"N-no." He stutters over his words.

"I'm happy now, James." You let out more smoke. "And it's killing you to know that."

"I just don't know how you did it!" He finally snaps. "You come here, looking amazing like always, with another man next to you. Acting like what we had was-"

"What we had was casual." You repeat the words he said. "Nothing more."

"Was it?" His blue eyes lock into yours, tumultuous like the sea.

"Yes." You lie.

"Then why do I feel like this?" He runs a hand through his hair, messing up his perfectly combed hair.

"I don't care, Barnes." You drop the end of your cigarette on the floor. Bucky lifts his foot to step on it, just like he'd done a million times before, only for you to do it first.

You turn on your heel but Bucky stops you.

"Whatever we had is in the past, and I intend on keeping it that way." You look at him over your shoulder, hating the way his gaze still makes your heart squeeze and his touch makes your skin heat.

"I should leave, Congressman." You say through gritted teeth. "Wouldn't want to give the wrong impression to all the voters around here. "

Authors Note: Hiiiihi! Thank you so much for the love on pt. 1! As always make sure to like and comment. Alsoooo I posted the first chapter of my book, it's on my page. I'd love it if you guys could give it a read. And if you'd like to support me, make sure to give me a follow on my ig and tiktok: @sophiabazar_author, I'll be posting all book related content on there! I'll be posting chapter 2 soon! If you'd like a part 3 to casual make sure to comment!

PART 3: NEVER CASUAL

Tagged: @erinallene @the-bucky-one @unaxv @kodzukenie333 @g1g1l @hanacheryl @ironwinnerwonderland

[thekinslayed]

I Come To You A Sinner

summary | Aemond's wife has been made aware of his whereabouts by Aegon.

pairing | aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | spoilers to s2e3 ahead! miscommunication, angst, infidelity, aemond can't open up, aegon is the worst, thoughts of fratricide

wordcount | 2.3k

note | sorry to rub salt into the already gaping wound that is ep3 aemond 💔 but that whole scene was unbelievable omfg it is over for aegond i fear

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Where have you been?”

She was staring into the hearth when he returned. It was evident she had already been asleep, but had awoken by a disturbance of some kind. It was unlike her to be awake so late, though Aemond could guess what brought her out of bed to fasten on her robe, to wait for him.

He could still hear his cackle, Aegon’s, as the curtain that shielded him from prying eyes was swatted away unceremoniously, revealing his whereabouts. He remembered how his little entourage stared at him, how their stunned gazes brought about prickles of humiliation in the back of Aemond’s spine. They threatened to laugh. He saw it in the twinkle of their eyes, in the subtle lift in the corners of their lips. 

“It is late, dear wife, why have you not rested?” he said. His steps towards her were small, careful. Perhaps she doesn’t know. That would be preferable. He had already been found out once tonight, and if he could save her from the knowledge of his shame, there was naught he would not do. 

“Aegon was here,” she responded, and it was then she finally turned to him. Her eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them was puffed from the tears she had evidently shed. The prickle in Aemond’s spine returned, only now it was coupled by a hammering pang in his chest. He had done this to her.

“At least he had the decency to tell me where you were, after many nights of being left in the dark by mine own husband. Though his delivery of the message was a bit cruel, I’ll admit.” 

The dark chuckle that left her lips held no sort of amusement, but a clear sputter of disbelief and betrayal. Aemond was stuck in his place, unsure of how to speak to her, unknowing of what would happen to them now that his sin was laid out in the open.

“It is not what it seemed–”

“What is it, then? When your brother catches you in a brothel with a whore, what else am I to think, Aemond?” she burst, rising to her feet to look at him. Her chest heaved as she regarded him with a look so different than what he was used to. There used to be such warmth in her gaze, reserved only for him, not the fracturing hurt she bestowed on him now. He couldn’t look at her, and so he settled his eye elsewhere. A futile attempt to escape what had already caught up to him.

“You’ve told me of what had happened to you there, what she made you do, and yet you’ve crawled back to her? After everything that’s happened?” she questioned, desperate. He could hear the break in her voice, and he could only imagine the quivering of her lips into a frown. A scoff left her lips, and Aemond could see her desperate attempt to wrap her around this, but her despair had gotten the best of her. 

“W-why… Why would you even want to go back there? What is it in her that you can’t find in me?”

Aemond couldn’t say it. His mind refused to let him say it. In truth, he couldn’t recall how his feet had led him back there, all he knew was it brought a temporary soothing to an ache that had sprouted in the days after Lucerys’ death. He wouldn’t dare speak his sin into words, to solidify his betrayal of the love for his wife. How ever could he tell her the truth of it? How ever could he admit that the only way for him to find a sense of order in his life, however misconstrued, was to return to the woman who had been a figure of his torment? 

“Do you want me to lie to you?” he asked. 

A fool’s answer. A true coward, he is. Many people would consider him otherwise, but in front of his wife, he was no warrior. Utter shame coupled with his ego prevented him from coming clean. How could he? He had gone too far. He expressed no remorse when he had come home to her, drenched, after Storm’s End, no, he even acted proud. In his heart of hearts, Aemond knew that the one person who could see him as he was was his wife, yet he refused to let it be. He had gone through his whole life a rigid soldier, a scholar, the image of the fearsome dragon of Valyria. He didn’t know how to dismantle the shackles that held him upright.

Yet he had seen his fault now in the face of his wife, his love, who visibly crumbled before him.

“Was I not good enough?” she asked, quietly, as a lone tear streaked down her cheek. He couldn’t bear to see her like this, to have him so far from his grasp as the ever-growing space between them turned the air cold. Aemond approached her, arms lifted open to take her into his grasp, but she flinched away. A shatter in his chest brought about a thick lump in his throat, one he couldn’t swallow. 

“My love,” he whispered, a solemn plea for her to see him. She hugged her arms to her chest, looking away as she blinked away the fat, traitorous tears that beaded down her cheeks. Aemond took hold of her elbow, his grip desperate as she fought to wiggle her way out of his grasp. He couldn’t let her, he cannot. This hellish war, this irreconcilable damage would all be futile if he lost her, he couldn’t let that happen. But she wouldn’t even spare a glance at him. 

“Can’t you even look at me?” he beseeched in despair. 

A sob was her only response. She had slapped a hand to muffle her cries, but it had broken through the barriers that kept him away from her. Aemond descended to his knees, hugging her legs to his chest. His good eye stung with something hot, something wet. He clung to her skirts like a beggar, a sinner praying for retribution.

“Please… please…” he grieved. Her robe was growing spotted with his tears, and her grip on his shoulder was punishing as she pushed and pushed to get him away from her. She slapped him, had pulled on his hair to get him to release his hold, but he never relented. “You have to understand,” he muttered. 

“I cannot even try to begin to do so, Aemond! How can I?” she wept. “How could you even think we could recover from this?”

“My love… my light… I beg of you.” It was pathetic to whoever would witness him like this. The Kinslayer, on his knees, pleading for forgiveness to the wife he had wronged. There was much he had done that was far worse, far more cruel, but to have hurt her was his greatest crime of all.

A shrill cry had pierced through the night air. Her head snapped to her babe. Their babe. With a firmer push on his shoulder, his wife freed himself from his grasp to where their son wailed for his mother. She took him into her arms, soothing the child with her gentle caress and shushes. Aemond could only watch. He watched the babe nestled into the crook of her neck, how she wiped his tears away while hers continued to fall. She pressed her nose into his scalp, the milky scent of his flesh a welcome comfort to her otherwise crumbling sanity. 

Aemond waited in agony, keeping his space lest he aggravated her any further. Every cry of their babe was another sword pierced through his heart, leaving him to bleed out while his family floated away from his grasp.

He had settled after a few minutes, descending back into slumber as his mother returned him to his cradle with a kiss on his forehead. The silence was deafening. The dying hearth was unable to break the cold that sent shivers under Aemond’s skin. He called out to her once more. Another full beat of silence passed through the room before she spoke.

“What did I do wrong, Aemond?” she whispered, turning to him. Her eyes were a painful red from how much she had been crying, but she wanted to know. “Tell me, you owe me that much.”

“I owe you everything, darling,” he responded, moving closer to her. Aemond closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her back into his chest. He pressed kisses onto her shoulder, reverent… repentant. “You have done nothing wrong,” he said into her skin, his voice low. “It is my fault and my fault alone. You have done nothing wrong.”

He turned her around to face him, and she allowed him to do so. Albeit, unwillingly, but his wife was tired. It was evident in the way her eyes had run out of tears to weep, yet she remained broken all the same.

“I have wronged you. Allow me to pay for my sin. Let me make things right. I promise you, I will make it all right,” he pleaded. Perhaps he could make her see, convince her to forgive him. It was a fool’s wish, but the prince could hardly consider himself a wise man now. A flicker of hope thumped excitingly in his chest when her fingertips caressed his jaw, but the furrowing of her brows dampened whatever fire he thought he had stoked.

“I can’t,” she responded, shaking her head. She pulled herself away from his grasp once more, leaving them both cold and alone. Aemond hung his head low in shame. He felt sick to his stomach. The full weight of his doing had dragged him straight into the mud, while the love he could only ever carry for his wife throbbed painfully in his chest. “I can’t stay here. I can’t live with this.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. You are my wife, you cannot leave me.”

She was starting to step away from his grip, but he couldn’t let her. Aemond tried to cage her in his arms, but she fought back with strong pushes against his chest. There was a desperation in the one-eyed prince no one had ever known, until now. His pleas echoed through their apartments, cut off by a resounding slap on his cheek. The sting on his flesh was warm, keeping him awake in this reality. He could’ve prevented this, had cut off the poison from its roots if only he had the will to do so, but he had not. The stubbornness in his dragonblood and his refusal to acknowledge the rot in him had let it happen. He had let it grow and fester, spoiling everything he had until it took away the one most precious to him.

She regarded him with coldness, detached like a stranger. His wife looked away, sniffling.

“You are no husband of mine.”

Aegon slept like a boar when he was drunk.

The fucker had gotten back before he did, slithering his way back to the Keep with what Aemond was sure was a maniacal look on his face to tattle to his wife what he had found out.

The king’s chambers almost resembled a pigsty. Cups scattered about, along with some phallic wooden figurines that Aemond’s mind refused to imagine what he even used them for. Their father’s model was gone. At least the twat did one thing right.

But the smell. It was almost like Viserys’ rotting stench remained, haunting them all forever. It was enough to have Aemond scrunch his nose in disgust, but it didn’t repel him completely. No, he had come for something.

His brother laid out like a starfish on his bed, pasty flesh bright against the shadows of his apartments. His snores echoed through the vast chamber. Aemond’s presence did not alert the king at all, his sense of danger dampened by liquor. 

The second son watched him, sneering, before turning around in search of something. It glinted like a beacon under the moonlight, beckoning him closer. The Conqueror’s catspaw dagger stood tall, its sharp tip pierced into the wood of Aegon’s side table. Aemond tested its weight in his hand, getting familiar with the feel of its handle. It was heavy, burdened with its importance to them and their legacy. An imbecile like Aegon had no right to wield it. It belonged to someone worthy of power, of glory. 

Putting his brother on the throne had cost Aemond too much, yet he had been rewarded so little. It cost him his control, his sanity. It cost him his wife. His own brother had played a major hand in his torment, and it was high time the second son was granted his retribution.

It was all too easy to kill him now. One plunge into his slumbering form, and this would all end. It would save everyone much trouble and with a better king on the throne. Save the realm from much horror and bloodshed, that was the power Aemond currently held. No, he wanted him to suffer. He wanted to gaze into the elder’s eyes as he pleaded for mercy. The younger longed to feel his brother’s flesh under his boot, just before he crushed him to pieces. There was no honor in killing a sleeping man, yet again, there was no honor in killing one’s own kin either. There was no honor in any of this, and the one-eyed prince found himself uncaring. The gods had already shunned him, right under the thunderous clouds of Storm’s End. Honor will not save him now, nor any of them. That is why they allowed him to lose his wife. 

Perhaps he was too harsh on the gods, they have to deal with this headache of a war as it is. This was no other’s fault but his after all.

But he is owed by his brother. For many, many things.

The second son set the dagger back in its place. He will be patient. He will have his chance soon enough. Aegon will pay for his sins; Aemond will make sure of it. 

[paetalks]

megumi fushiguro is the kind of guy who gets set up on dates by his friends all the time, just for them to be unsuccessful. is not that he isn’t a good looking guy (and he knows that at this point), it's just his aura that comes off as off-putting. he hangs out with the girls, brings them to places like the arcade or random parks, and the date ends up being pretty boring. the girls usually look pretty bummed that he isn't really a taker, or in general that his vibe isn't overall welcoming and at the end of the day he never gets a call back. he actually isn't all that interested in 'finding love', he mostly says yes to his friends so that they will get off his back about it.

"just this time, fushiguro. it won't happen again." yuji itadori is saying, after asking him to go out with one of his girlfriend's friends. megumi isn't even looking at him, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. "yeah, sure."

he doesn't even mind all that much at this point, he knows already how its going to be. he's just going to have to sit through the night with a plain face, knowing that the person on the other side of the table is never going to want to speak to him again.

that's what he thinks until he meets you. he is blinded at first by your beautiful smile, that pops up as soon as he introduces himself. yuji and his girlfriend picked a place this time, sending you to a chinese restaurant that opened up somewhere downtown. he looks at you carefully, as if he his scared to ruin you by staring too much, while you order something to drink. you're all smiles and kindness he almost feels out of place.

it is silence at first, after a first shaky conversation about how the day is going or something like that. fushiguro almost blames himself for his dryness in answering, because you actually are a cute girl and he wouldn't mind striking a conversation, he just doesn't know how to. gladly, you do.

at first, it feels like an interrogation. you keep asking questions and he keeps answering briefly. then he starts saying stuff back and the conversation blooms. you guys talk about school, friends, food, bands you like to listen to. he is a good listener, you are a good talker. he makes you feel heard, always nodding to whatever you are saying and adding something here and there, and you make him feel seen, never looking away from his eyes while you speak.

at some point - mind you, he doesn't even know how or what he did say - he makes you laugh. the conversation was about the gyoza y'all were eating, it wasn't even all that interesting, but your laugh sweeps him almost off his feet. right there and then he swears its the best thing he has ever heard.

delicate yet full of emotions, your laugh fills the room. the sound is haunting even when it's over and other people in the restaurant look at you fondly while your face relaxes and your cheeks still hurt. he was staring at you the whole time, almost carving a hole in your face. "you have a beautiful laugh" he blurts out, while his face blushes like crazy and his mind yells why did you say it like that you weirdo.

you flutter your eyes a little bit, surprised by the heartfelt comment, but quickly thank him. "thank you, fushiguro. i kind of can't wait to hear yours." you wink at him playfully, but your answer made his heart sink. his ears get violently red while he quickly looks away, flustered.

he never actually got to this point with any girl before, and he feels weird, really. it's like he doesn't even know what to do, but at the same time he doesn't have to know. its easy, it's natural.

at the end of the night you give him your number, writing it on the back of his hand with a pen you asked the waiter for. you are not scared of anything, he thinks, while he walks you to the bus stop and watches you walk beside him. for the first time in his life, megumi fushiguro feels the need to have more. more of you, more of this. he feels like wanting it all.

back to his dorm, before going to sleep, itadori knocks on his door. "how did it go?" he asks, eyes lighting up in excitement. fushiguro doesn't say anything at first, but then, looking away from his friend, he sticks out his hand. blue ink shines on his palm, almost reflecting the dim light in his room, and yuji cheers out loud.

"I knew you could do it, fushiguro! I'm so proud of you!" and he pretends to wipe away a tear, meanwhile megumi thinks that actually he didn't even do much, he was just himself. and this time, it worked.

[divinedelusional]

rafe being grumpy when he's sick

rafe cameron x female reader

word count: 678

warnings: none

rafe never got sick anymore like ever

ever since he hit puberty he wasn't catching cold anymore, no health problems (expect for being fucked in the head)

so to say you were surprised when you saw him lying in bed under a thick duvet in the middle of summer would be an understatement

"yo topper what happened to rafe? i leave for three days and my boyfriend's completely wiped out??"

"is he asleep?"

"yeah! that's what's weird!"

"weird? girl you're lucky he's asleep, he's been a complete diva last two days"

rafe woke up after an hour and told you that he must have got sick when they were out at the beach and suddenly it started pouring cold rain and he was soaked before he got in the car

"yeah they brought me some syrup so cough is gone, but who gives a shit, this fuckin fever is too much anyways"

turns out rafe barely ate the last two days since he couldn't get out of bed and he was sick of the food topper and kelce were ordering for him

"wendy's not a type of food you eat when you want to get better rafe"

"hell i know, but what, is it my fault i have to have idiots as friends?"

you rolled your eyes and told him to lay down with cold compress for the fever

in the meantime you drove to get grosseries and made him chicken soup

you could see he really liked it but when he ate he mumbled a quiet "thanks" and went upstairs

that's the last you saw him that day and you were kinda mad at him

next day it didn't got better since he noticed you didn't come to bed last night

"i went to guest bedroom, im not catching whatever you got"

you didn't see him much for another day, only when he was coming to the kitchen for next bottle of water

so at least he took your advice to stay hydrated

not like you could hear him saying: hydration this, hydration that, who tf would want to pee that much

topper was right, you lived with a diva under one roof

grumpy, 6'2, hoodie clad diva

but on the third day you were finally about to reach a truce

rafe came for breakfast and you could see he felt better, as he was almost smiling and wasn't shivering

you ate breakfast in silence but he followed you like a lost puppy to the couch where you sprawled out to watch tv

you were watching real housewives of atlanta and rafe sat down with you for 3 episodes fourth now staring

he was quiet but all of the sudden he started to complain how awful it is to be sick in the summer

he tried to grab your attention, he knew you were testing him, you never binged rhoa for that long

you also knew exactly what he was doing, he was trying to make up with you but you weren't having his ways, so you informed him that you're going to take a swim

rafe was upset that his plan didn't work out, apparently not only sitting through four episodes of rhoa wasn't enough sacrifice for you but it also made him hungry

so he decided to win you back with very simple and little bit goofy solution

you came back after hour and a half, also hungry

you found rafe sitting at the table

there was a faint delicious smell in the kitchen

"you made soup?" you asked rafe after taking a peek to his plate

rafe didn't respond and held out a spoon to you, letter pasta forming words: im sorry bby

you couldn't be mad at him anymore

you ladled yourself a bowl of soup and formed a response on your spoon as quickly as you could

rafe smilled at words ur cute and let out a chuckle

"i missed this smile" you said and kissed him lightly, happy when you felt him smiling into the kiss

"and i missed those lips"

a/n: my first work for rafe, hope it was okay and feedback is really appreciated ♡

bottom divider by: @astralnymphh