#the me of the past reminded me of this song

[rmview]

they try to win you back, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of how the stray kids boys try to win you back after a fight/break up! ( can be read as part 2 of this )

contents — mentions of past fights, reconciliation and fluff.

bang ღ chan

bang chan wasn’t the type to let things slide, especially when it came to you. after the breakup — a fallout caused by his relentless work schedule and lack of communication — he knew he’d messed up. but when you finally agreed to give him another chance, he vowed not to let you go.

bangchan started small. one morning, you woke up to a playlist he had sent you titled “for my love,” filled with songs that reminded him of you. the accompanying message read: “just a little something to start your day. i’m still learning how to do better, but i’ll make it worth it. – chan.”

later that week, he surprised you with a handwritten letter. the envelope smelled faintly of his cologne, and inside, his neatly written words laid bare his heart. he wrote about how he’d never stopped loving you, how the breakup had forced him to reflect on his mistakes, and how he wanted to be the kind of partner you deserved.

“have you been sleeping better?” he asked one evening when he showed up at your door with a basket of your favorite snacks and a plush blanket. “i remember you saying the nights feel colder now. thought this might help.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, despite trying to keep your guard up. “thanks, chan,” you said, accepting the basket.

his smile was soft but tinged with nervousness. “i know actions speak louder than words,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “so i’m going to keep showing you how much you mean to me.”

one night, he invited you over to the studio where he spent countless hours. the space felt intimate, with dim lighting and a cozy setup. “i wrote something for you,” he said shyly, gesturing to the microphone.

as the music filled the room, his voice poured out lyrics that spoke of regret, hope, and an unwavering love. when the song ended, he turned to you, his eyes filled with vulnerability. “that’s how i feel,” he said softly. “i hope i can keep showing you, every day, just how much you mean to me.”

felix ღ

felix had always been the sunshine in your life, but after the breakup, you noticed his light dimmed. when you finally agreed to give him another chance, felix made sure he poured his heart into showing how much you meant to him, determined not to make the same mistakes again.

the first sign of his efforts came in the form of baked goods. one evening, after a long day, you came home to a neatly wrapped box on your doorstep. inside were cookies shaped like little hearts, each one perfectly frosted. a note attached to the box read: “i know i hurt you, but i’m not giving up on us. let me make things right. – felix.”

the following weekend, he invited you over to his place. the moment you walked in, you were greeted by the warm aroma of vanilla and butter. felix stood in the kitchen, wearing an apron dusted with flour, a sheepish grin on his face. “i thought we could bake together,” he said, holding up a whisk.

you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “you’re really trying, huh?”

“i have to,” he admitted, his voice soft but earnest. “you’re everything to me, and i won’t lose you again.”

as the two of you mixed dough and laughed over his attempts to juggle eggs (which ended in a sticky mess), felix stole small glances at you, his heart swelling at every smile he managed to coax from you and how easily your guard managed to lower.

later that evening, as you sat on the couch sharing a plate of freshly baked cookies, he turned to you, his deep voice filled with sincerity. “i’m not perfect, but i promise to keep trying for you — for us. you’ve always believed in me, and now it’s my turn to prove that i’m worth it.”

the most touching gesture came one rainy afternoon. felix surprised you with a scrapbook he had been working on — a collection of photos, handwritten notes, and little mementos from your time together. on the last page, he had written: “our story isn’t perfect, but it’s ours. i want to keep writing it with you.”

tears welled in your eyes as he took your hand. “i know i hurt you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “but i love you more than anything, and i’ll spend every day proving that to you.”

lee ღ know

lee know had never been one for grand gestures, but when it came to making things right with you, he found himself stepping outside his comfort zone. the breakup had been his fault — his blunt words and tendency to shut down during arguments had driven a wedge between you. when you agreed to give him another chance, he knew he had to approach things differently.

the first sign of his efforts came subtly. one morning, you found a neatly packed lunch waiting for you at work, complete with a note that read: “eat well. i know i didn’t always take care of you like i should have, but i want to do better. – minho.”

later that week, he surprised you by showing up at your favorite café. “thought you might like some company,” he said casually, sliding into the seat across from you. but the way his eyes lingered on you betrayed the nonchalance in his tone.

over time, his gestures grew more personal. one evening, he invited you over to his apartment. when you arrived, you found the place meticulously decorated with fairy lights and a small spread of your favorite dishes on the table.

“you cooked?” you asked, surprised by the spread as the warm scent made you smile.

“i wanted to do something for you,” he said simply, pulling out a chair for you. “i know i’m not the best at saying how i feel, but i hope this shows you.”

as the two of you ate, minho watched you closely, his usual sharp demeanor softened considerably. “i’ve been thinking a lot about us,” he said suddenly. “about how i didn’t handle things the way i should have. i’m not good with words, but i need you to know that i’m trying.”

the dinner together was amazing and true to his words, he brought you to the dance studio where he spent most of his time one day, a glint in his eyes. “i have something to show you,” he said, his tone almost shy.

he played a track and began to dance, every movement purposeful and filled with emotion. it was a side of him you hadn’t seen before; raw, vulnerable, and completely open. when the music stopped, he stood before you, slightly out of breath.

“this is how i express myself best,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “i don’t want to lose you again. i’ll keep trying to be better, for both of us.”

hyun ღ jin

hyunjin had always been passionate, wearing his heart on his sleeve. but that same intensity had been the cause of your breakup. so when you decided to give him another chance, hyunjin knew he couldn’t rely on words alone to win you back.

the first time he saw you again after the breakup, he showed up with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. but these weren’t just ordinary flowers — they were intricately painted on a canvas he had spent hours creating. “i wanted to give you something that lasts,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “like how i hope we will.”

hyunjin’s gestures were deeply personal. one evening, he invited you to his art studio, where a single easel stood in the center of the room. “i’ve been working on something,” he said, motioning for you to sit.

you watched as he unveiled a portrait of you, painted in soft, dreamy hues that captured the way he saw you — radiant and full of warmth. “this is how i see you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “even when we were apart, you were always in my heart.”

you were touched to nearly the point of tears, as his sincerety was making it harder to keep your guard up. another night, hyunjin surprised you with a private dance performance. he led you into a dimly lit studio, where soft music played in the background. “this is for you,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours before the music swelled.

every movement of his dance told a story — of regret, love, and a desperate desire to make things right. as he finished, his chest heaved from exertion, but his gaze never wavered. “i’ve made mistakes,” he admitted, stepping closer to you. “but i’m learning. you’re the one i want to share my life with, and i’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust again.”

hyunjin also made an effort to handle conflict differently. one evening, when a small disagreement arose, he surprised you by calmly sitting down and saying, “let’s talk about this. i don’t want us to go back to how things were before.”

his growth, combined with his heartfelt gestures, slowly chipped away at the walls you had built around your heart. hyunjin knew it would take time, but he was willing to be patient. after all, loving you was worth every effort.

i.n ღ

i.n had always been mature for his age, but the breakup — caused by his occasional aloofness and failure to recognize how much you needed reassurance — had shaken him to his core. though when you agreed to give him another chance, he knew he couldn’t take it for granted.

the first sign of his determination came when he surprised you with something simple yet meaningful: a framed photo of the two of you from happier times. he handed it to you one evening, his expression both nervous and hopeful. “i wanted to remind you of what we’re working towards,” he said softly. “this is the version of us i want to get back to.”

from that moment on, i.n’s actions spoke louder than any apology he could offer. he started paying closer attention to the little things that made you happy. one afternoon, he showed up at your place with a playlist he had carefully curated. “these songs remind me of you,” he explained, plugging in his headphones to share the music with you. as you listened together, he held your hand, a quiet promise in the way his thumb traced gentle circles on your skin.

his gestures extended to your everyday life. knowing how stressful your days could be, i.n would occasionally leave you handwritten notes in your bag or on your desk, each one filled with words of encouragement and love. “you’re doing amazing, and i’m so lucky to have you in my life,” one note read.

but i.n’s biggest gesture came one weekend when he surprised you with a small picnic at a secluded park. the spread included all your favorite foods, and he had even learned how to make one dish from scratch. “it’s not perfect,” he admitted with a shy laugh as you tasted it, “but i figured you deserved the effort.”

as the evening wore on and the sun set, he turned to you, his eyes earnest. “i know i’ve hurt you,” he said, his voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “but i’m learning to be better, and i’ll never stop trying. you mean too much to me.”

his sincerity and consistent efforts slowly began to rebuild the trust between you, showing you that he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right.

han ღ

han wasn’t one to do things halfway, whether it was his music, his humor, or his love for you. the breakup had left him heartbroken, but when you gave him a second chance, he threw himself into proving that he was worthy of your trust.

his first move was to apologize in a way that only han could: through music. late one evening, he sent you a voice note. the melody was soft and heartfelt, and the lyrics spoke of regret, love, and the hope of a new beginning. at the end of the recording, his voice came through, unpolished and raw. “i wrote this for you. it’s not perfect, but neither am i. i just… i want to make you smile again.”

from then on, han made a point to be present in your life in ways that mattered. he started showing up to your favorite café during your lunch breaks, bringing little treats he knew you loved. “thought you might need a pick-me-up,” he’d say with a cheeky grin, placing a pastry and your favorite drink in front of you.

one evening, he invited you to the studio where he worked. “i want to show you something,” he said, leading you inside. on the wall was a collection of sticky notes, each one with a memory, a thought, or something he loved about you. “this is my reminder,” he explained, “of why i can’t mess this up again.”

despite his playful nature, han wasn’t afraid to get serious when it came to making amends. during a quiet moment one night, he looked at you, his usual mischievous expression replaced with a rare vulnerability. “i know i joke around a lot,” he said, his voice soft, “but you’re the most important person in my life. i’ll spend every day proving that i’m worth this second chance.”

han also worked hard to communicate better, often catching himself when he started to get defensive or overwhelmed. “wait,” he’d say during a disagreement, taking a deep breath. “let’s figure this out. i don’t want us to fall apart again.”

with every sweet gesture and heartfelt conversation, han slowly reminded you of why you had fallen for him in the first place, proving that even the most impulsive hearts could learn to love with patience and care.

seung ღ min

seungmin wasn’t the type to let emotions cloud his logic, but the breakup had been a wake-up call. when you decided to give him another chance, seungmin didn’t take it lightly. he knew he couldn’t rely on his usual reserved nature; he had to show you how much you meant to him.

the first sign of his effort came subtly. he started paying attention to the smallest details about you, things you thought he might not have noticed. one morning, you found your favorite drink waiting for you on your desk, a neat note attached: “thought you could use a boost. have a good day. – seungmin.” it was practical, understated, and so very him.

a few days later, he surprised you with something more personal. “i know i’m not great at saying how i feel,” he said one evening, handing you a leather-bound journal. inside were pages filled with his handwriting — entries where he reflected on your time together, what he had learned, and the moments he cherished most. “this is me trying to do better,” he admitted, his voice steady but his eyes vulnerable. “you deserve to know how much i care.”

seungmin also worked on being more emotionally available. during quiet evenings together, he would ask how you were feeling, genuinely listening and responding with thoughtful insight. “i want to understand you better,” he’d say, his tone sincere. “i don’t want to make the same mistakes.”

his biggest gesture came one chilly evening when he invited you to a quiet spot by the river, where a small portable speaker played a playlist he’d curated just for you.

as the two of you sat wrapped in a blanket he’d brought, seungmin turned to you, his expression uncharacteristically tender. “i know i’ve been distant before,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “but i’m here now, and i’ll keep being here — for as long as you’ll let me.”

chang ღ bin

changbin had always been passionate — sometimes to a fault. the breakup, caused by his tendency to act out of frustration and say things he didn’t mean, had left him devastated. when you gave him another chance, he threw himself into showing you how much you meant to him, channeling his fiery energy into thoughtful gestures.

the first thing he did was apologize, not just with words but with actions. one day, you came home to find a handwritten letter on your table, accompanied by a small box of your favorite snacks. the letter read: “i know i’ve hurt you, and i’ll never stop trying to make it up to you. thank you for giving me another chance. – binnie.”

changbin also started showing up for you in ways he hadn’t before. if you mentioned being stressed at work, he’d surprise you with a quick visit, bringing something small to cheer you up. “i figured you might need a break,” he’d say, his boyish grin disarming any tension.

one evening, he invited you to his studio. “i’ve been working on something,” he said, gesturing toward the equipment. as the music played, you realized he had written a song for you — its lyrics raw and honest, capturing both his regret and his deep love for you. “this is how i feel,” he said when the track ended, his voice soft yet firm. “i want to be better, for you and for us.”

despite his big gestures, changbin also made an effort to be more patient and open. during one of your conversations, when emotions ran high, he surprised you by taking a deep breath and saying, “i don’t want to argue. let’s talk about this. i want to understand how you feel.”

his most heartfelt effort came during a casual evening together. as you walked through a park, he suddenly stopped, pulling you close. “i know i’ve been intense at times,” he said, his tone unusually gentle. “but that’s because i love you so much. i’ll keep working on myself because i don’t ever want to lose you again.”

with every gesture, big or small, changbin showed you that his love for you was as unwavering as his determination to make things right.

notes: i’ve never really been in a relationship so i mentioned a lot of things i’d personally want a guy to do for me (T^T) i hope yall enjoyed either way!

[writing-mlm]

Will you love me again?

Summary: Simon’s returned home after 20 years but the suitors have finally grown restless of waiting for you to pick a new King of Ithaca. Pairing: King!Simon Riley x King!Ftm!reader Wc: 6.1k Tags/Warning: Canon-level violence, talks/planning of S/A, Epic the Musical Ithaca Saga spoilers! Most of the words are literally lyrics so ig song fic, oral (r!receiving), fingering, stomach bulge, reader has a vagina, no protection, creampie

His skin remembers the touch of your lips, the way they’d press against his tense muscles, the way they’d kiss his scars and carry soft whispers and songs. How your hands would touch him, run up his arms, cradle his face, and remove his helmet. He remembers the sound of your voice, how you’d talk to him while weaving against the window, your kingdom standing below your castle. 

The castle he’d built all those years ago as a declaration of his love for you. A castle that grew colder as the years stretched on since he’s been there; taken away for a war. 

A war, born from a greedy man kidnapping your cousin. A war Simon hadn’t wanted to participate in because, despite his oath to your cousin's husband, the Trojans have never helped Ithaca in their times of need. And even more so, he had you, his husband, and your newborn to watch over. To protect. He’d only agreed to help after he’d been tricked. 

A war that was supposed to be no more than five years had turned into a twenty-year journey. He’d left a twenty-year-old, rising to power in Ithaca with a newborn son. Now he’s forty, his home just out of sight, and his son would be twenty. He imagines how you must look now. How your hair must’ve greyed, how you picked the hyacinths and bluebells from the garden. 

He wonders how his son is doing, what he likes, and what he’s accomplished. How he’s missed his whole life. 

Simon strains as he pushes the raft from the island, the goddess he left on the sandy shores crying for him. Begging him to stay; she loves him. He loathes her. He loathes the years he’s stayed trapped on that island, how she’d been persistent on loving him. Gods, provided she wasn’t a goddess, he would’ve killed her the first time she even hinted at such. 

His head hurts when he remembers his fallen friends; Gaz, Price— and Johnny. He’d gotten his brother killed, he let all of them, all six hundred men die under his watch. The cyclops, Scylla, Circe— Zeus, Poseidon. He recognizes the pain turning into red-hot anger as he pushes past Charybdis. These past years cannot have been in vain. The souls that haunt his dreams won’t have died in vain. 

He’ll make it home, he’s sure of that. 

—

You stare at the suitors gathered at the palace gates, angry men eager to become the next king one way or another. All the while your son, Johnny, stands in front of them with a spear and your old armor. You know that look in his eyes, that Athena's determination he has because Simon had it, too. 

You sigh, undoing the threads you’d made the day before. For the funeral shroud you’ve been making for ten years with the promise that once it’s done, you’ll pick from the suitors and give Ithaca a new king. You almost laugh when you remember how many years ago that had been now. How foolish the suitors had been to agree to your demand. How you fear you’ll have to finish it one of these days. 

You look at your sword hung in the corner of the room. You remember your newly made armor, tucked in your closet, the new bow and arrow next to it. You remember the feeling of warm blood on your hands. 

Even if you must finish the shroud they’ll never get their wishes. No one will rule alongside you and if you must, you’ll take a queen. Perhaps some common woman with nothing better to do; drown her with all the things a queen would desire all the while you continue your duties as king. 

Standing, you close the curtains to the window and grab your sword. It feels like home in your hands, reminders of your time as a warrior of Sparta and then Ithaca. You’ve never forgotten your lessons, the teachings so ingrained in your very being they feel like second nature when you swipe the air. 

It’ll need to be sharpened before tomorrow. 

That night a storm rages on the coast of Ithaca. You watch from the balcony, the wind blowing your hair and clothes as you try to see inside of the storm. Poseidon fights, you can tell that much, and gods, you know in your bones. You know it’s time to set your plan in motion. 

You call a maid to send the news; the Challenge you’d set up after five years of Simon being gone was happening. You rush to gather Simon’s old bow, carefully undoing the string while the servants gather twelve axes from the armory. 

—

“I’ll be back soon,” Johnny promises the next morning. You stand at the pier, watching as he loads onto a boat; about to head off for a mission for the kingdom. 

“I know you will,” You smile, giving him a dagger that he places on his thigh strap. You don’t pretend to notice the group of angry suitors hiding behind ships, watching as you watch your son leave. Leaving you alone for who knows how long, the mission shouldn’t take longer than a day, though. 

As the ship leaves, you look at where the storm had raged, sure that you see a small object floating towards Ithaca shores. You smile, hanging your head before thanking whatever God had allowed him home and return to the castle. The suitors follow, ready for the challenge you’d sent messengers to talk about that morning. You ride your horse back, letting them climb the mountain to the castle as you prepare for what’s to come. 

Their footsteps are heavy, echoing in the halls as a maid guides them to the throne room. You sit at your throne, the half-finished shroud draped over Simon’s throne. His crown sits under it, shining like the first day it was made. A reminder to them and yourself that your husband is out there, that they’ll never sit on that throne as long as you’re alive.

As you look around, you inhale and look over the crowd of men. There are dozens of them, some bigger, some smaller. All of them hungry for power, all of them greedy in a way that makes your stomach turn. 

You stand, shoulders back and head held high as hold back a deep, etching frown. 

“The Challenge,” You start as the murmurs die into a silence that had overtaken the castle all those years ago. You grip the bow, raising it in the air for everyone to see.  “Whoever can string my husband's old bow and shoot through twelve axes cleanly,” Your gaze travels to the axes, lined up in a straight line, the hole only just big enough to allow an arrow to slide through. “Will be the new king and rule with me.” Cheers echo through the halls and you hand the bow to the first suitor before you take your seat. Your throne.

You hope Simon knows that you’re buying him time; that you’ve bought him twenty years of time to return. That he’ll climb the mountain from the shores to the castle before they grow behind restless. Bloodthirsty with one goal on their mind. You hope your son doesn’t come back to see you in such a state if Simon doesn’t make it on time. 

They grow more frustrated as the hours tick by and they find that no one can string the bow. Eventually, the sun sets and you tell them they can try again tomorrow. They all agree, with some grumbles and you take the bow back from a suitor who bares his teeth at you. He resembles a beast, a beast that you don’t dignify with a reaction. 

—

“Screw this competition,” A man that Simon knows all too well, Graves, snarls as he tosses his old bow to the ground. “We’ve been here for hours. None of us can string this; we don’t have the power. Screw this damn challenge!” He rakes his hands through his hair, the stress clear in his actions that make Simon proud. Of course, you’d set up something only he could do, of course, you’d waited all these years for him to return.

“No more delay. Don’t you see that we’ve been played?” Grave’s eyes travel amongst the men crowded around him. Men that are so easily swayed by simple words that it makes Simon seethe. “This is how he holds us down as the throne gets colder. Hold us down as we slowly age. Hold us down while the boy gets bolder.” Grave continues, daring to even hint about Simon and your son. “Where the hell is our pride and our rage?” A couple of the men agree, egged on by each other's stupidity. 

“Here and now,” Another man says as Grave smirks; clearly his plan is working. Like a moth to a flame, they take his bait. “There’s a chance for action; we can take control. Here and now we can burn it to ashes.” Too big for his pants, Simon assumes. 

He leaves for a moment, gathering their weapons and hiding them in the armory, making sure to leave it unlocked before he returns to their conversation. By that point more men had gathered; you’d long since left the throne room so Simon didn’t worry about you hearing their voices any longer. 

“Haven’t you noticed who’s missing? Don’t you notice the prince is not around? I heard he’s on a diplomatic mission and I heard today he's coming back to town.” Grave continues, and crosses his arms over his chest. Simon’s eyes dart down from his place in the room, overlooking the shores of Ithaca as a boat slowly approaches. 

“So…?” A different man speaks from somewhere in the crowd. 

“I say we gather near the beaches. We wait till he arrives, then when he docks his ship I say we breach it. Let us leave now, today we can strike!” Grave doesn’t feel the sharp glare that hits his head as he speaks. Unaware that his words have just set his fate into motion; a fate that Simon has become oh so familiar with these past twenty years. 

“Hold him down, till the boy stops shaking.”

He counts the men; seventy in total. 

“Hold him down, while I slit his throat.”

He’s taken down worse. More. 

“Hold him down, while I slowly break his pride, his trust, his faith, and his bones!”

He can’t wait to watch them bleed. The feeling of their blood on his hands; something he hadn’t realized could feel so good until now. He wanted to chase it like they plan on chasing you and your son.

“Cut him down into tiny pieces. Throw him down in the great below that way when the crown wonders where the prince is only the ocean and I will know.” 

Watch their light leave their eyes; hear their screams. Beg him to spare them. The gurgling sound as they choke on their own blood.

“And when it’s done,” Grace smirks. “The king will have no one to stop us from breaking his bedroom door. Stop us from taking his love and more. And then we’ll…”

He’ll savor Graves the most, he quickly decides. He won’t dignify him with a fast death. He’ll hurt him, hold him down, and break his bones. He’ll drag him by his legs into town, parading him around to not only show he’s home to his throne, to his husband and his son but to show that anyone who had thought any different will face the same consequences. 

“Hold him down.”

“While the gate is open.”

“Hold him down.”

“While I get a taste and we share his spoils. I will not let any part go to waste.” 

He rises from his spot, his hand a deathly grip on his knife as the men try to leave the halls, one of them pointedly staggering behind. Drunk on wine. The perfect way to announce himself. 

He doesn’t waste a second, stabbing the man in the throat and he watches as he gurgles on his own blood as he returns to his perfectly hidden spot. He watches with glee as the light leaves his eyes, staring down at him as his body goes limp. 

The men stop at the door, having heard the noise. When they turn they only see a dead man and then nothing around him. Quicker than they can react, the torches around them snuff out one by one, and then the door behind them locks. Like rats they scramble, searching frantically on the ground for anything they can use to defend themselves. 

“Twenty years,” Simon growls. “I suffered from the wrath of Gods and monsters to the screams of my comrades. Watched my men die like cattle. I come back to my palace, desecrated and sacked like Troy. Worst of all,” He reaches into the darkness, grabbing a random man who shouts, tugging at Simon’s wrist to be let go. 

“I hear you dare to touch my husband and hurt my boy! I… have had… enough.” He snaps the man’s neck in three motions before stepping over his now limp body as he watches the men scramble in the dark. He supposes he should thank Calypso for living on such a dark island, now he can watch them as they scramble for torches. Lighting them with the nearby lighters. 

He grabs his bow, stringing it with ease while the others run in the castle. The darkness that shrouds them is emphasized by the setting sun. Simon struts after them, listening to their footsteps and breathing like a predator. 

“We have the advantage; we’ve the numbers and the might.” A man says, clearly not knowing who he’s up against.

“No!” Shouts a man who does, he wonders if they fought together before. Somehow that makes him all the more angry as he grabs an arrow from his quiver. “You don’t understand! This man plans for every fight.” An arrow flies through the air, stabbing him through the neck and the others shout, watching as he drops and the torch rolls away from his limp hand. Everyone scrambles away, fleeing down the hall. 

“Where is he? Where is he?” Someone shouts, his eyes as wide as they can go and he looks into the darkness. 

“Keep your heads down, he's aiming for the torches!” Someone else hisses and they all duck, holding the torches as high as they can manage without dropping it. 

“Our weapons! They’re missing!” Simon grins at the fear in the man’s tone, stringing another arrow. 

“We’re empty-handed,” Someone says, the realization that they’re fucked dawning on him. “Up against an archer.” He mutters, looking around the dark room. 

“Our only chance is to strike him in the darkness. We know these halls our odds can be titled.” Someone tries to comfort him before flinching at the sound of Simon’s snicker. 

“You don’t think I know my own palace? I built it!” Another arrow flies, hitting a man in the head. He walks after them as they run away. 

“It’s the old king!”

“No! Our leader is dead!” 

“Old king forgive us!”

“Let’s have open arms instead!” He stops walking, notching yet another arrow as he’s reminded of Gaz. His chest tightens when he remembers his friend, his brother. 

“No,” The arrow flies, he doesn’t care to see who it lands inside of. He knows Graves isn’t with this group and heads the other way; towards where he’d hidden their weapons. He’ll deal with the others later, for now only one person has a giant target on their back.

“Dammit,” Grave hisses as he opens the door to the armory. “He’s more cunning than I thought. While we were plotting he hid our weapons in here.” He waves the torch through the room, each weapon highlighted by the burning flame. 

“I find it hard to believe that the sharpest of kings left his armory unlocked,” A man mutters, his frantic eyes looking outside of the room because he knows what’s out there, waiting for him. 

“So what?” Grave scoffs as he grabs his sword. “Let’s make the bastard rot.”

“Behind you!” He spins, watching as Simon stabs a man through the chest with a sword, his piercing eyes glaring at Graves over the man’s shoulder. The man collapses to the floor while Simon takes the sword out, flicking the blood onto the walls. 

“Put the weapons down and I’ll spare you,” He tells the men and immediately they do but Graves doesn’t. Simon tilts his head, eyes flickering to the ten men around Graves. 

“How do you dare? Haven’t you seen what he’ll do to us?” Someone asks him, his hands held up in fear.

“The prince!” Someone shouts and Simon makes the mistake of looking behind him. The men in the armory jump on his back without hesitation, shouting to attack the prince that way he’ll have to stand down. Simon struggles against them, his sword clattering to the ground when he sees the torches illuminating his son. 

He chokes as he sees his son falling to the ground, scrambling to his dagger that had gotten thrown in the fight. 

“Stop struggling and we’ll show you mercy,” Grave whispers in Simon’s ear, holding his hair in an iron-tight grip. 

“Mercy?” A voice cuts and Simon feels blood running down his cloak. He hears the sound of someone being impaled and then another in quick succession. The weight on his back lessens and he charges forward. 

“Mercy?” Simon bellows, taking harsh steps toward the now-fallen Graves. Unable to find his footing again as more men die around him. “My mercy long since drowned. It died to bring me home. And as long as you're around my family's fate is left unknown. You plotted to kill my son.” In one motion he scoops Graves up, bringing him to his feet and then against the wall. The tip of his blade presses against the man’s neck as his eyes squeeze shut, feet trying to find purchase aside from the tips of his toes on the cold marble floors. 

“You planned to rape my husband! All of you are going to die!” He stabs Graves six times, huffing as the body slumps against him and then against the wall when Simon shoves him away. 

He stands tall, listening to the shouts of the scared, trapped men as their fates quickly find them. He knows who is fighting at his side; he knows so well but he doesn’t register it until everyone is dead. Until the torches line the walls and he sees his foes splayed on the floors. 

“Father?” The sword in his hand clatters to the ground as he spins around. Johnny stands where he was once pinned down, blood dusting his tunic and his face. None of which is his own, Simon thanks the gods for that fact.

“Son,” His voice cracks as he takes a step forward. His chest heaves as he looks at his boy, and how he’s grown into a man. Johnny rushes forward, pulling him into a hug. 

“I’ve waited my whole life for you. Twenty years,” He cries into Simon’s chest, his sobs growing as he feels his father's tight embrace. 

“Oh my son, look how much you’ve grown,” He whispers, fighting back his own tears. “Oh, my boy. My sweetest joy. I captured the wind and sky for you.”

“My son, I'm finally home.” He finally cries, looking at his son's face for the first time in twenty years. He sees you in him, he sees himself. Simon presses his forehead to Johnny’s, holding the back of his neck as he cries. He cries and he weeps, relief, something he hasn’t felt in years, floods his body as all of the suffering he’s endured has been worth it. 

“My love?” He hates to look away but he does, his chest tight when he sees you removing your helmet. Your sword stuck in some man��s chest as your feet carried you across the hall and into his arms. 

He calls you, your name falling from his lips and you cry into his neck. You’d nearly forgotten the sound of it on his tongue. 

“Is it you?” You ask, pushing away from him after the initial shock. He’d warned you all those years ago, not to trust anyone who looked like him. He knew the Gods and their tricks; you knew them, too. “Have my prayers been answered? Or am I dreaming again?” 

“I am no’ the man you fell in love with,” He admits as your eyes scan over him. You pick apart everything about him that’s changed over the years as doubt creeps in the back of your mind. “I am not the man you once adored; I am not your kind and gentle husband and I am not the love you knew before.” You frown as he takes your hands, falling to his knees before looking up at you. With a gaze, you tell Johnny to leave the two of you for now. 

“Would you fall in love with me again if you knew all I’ve done? The things I cannot change. Would you love me all the same? I know that you’ve been waiting for love.” He begs, his bleary eyes unable to look at anything but you.

You nod, holding his face before guiding him up to his feet. “What kind of things did you do?” His head dips down in shame as the two of you move to stand outside in your garden. Free of blood and bodies as you sit under the olive tree he’d planted for you all those years ago. 

“Left a trail of blood on every island. I traded friends as though they were objects. Hurt more lives than I can count. But all so I could come back to you.” He cries, holding your face, his cries growing as you lean into the touch. “Tell me, please. Would you fall in love with me again?” 

“If that’s true,” You start, moving his hand from your face and he falters, eyes darting between yours as if they’ll reveal your choice before your voice does. “Could you do me a favor?” 

“Anything,” He nods. 

“Just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace. See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far from here?” You ask, your eyes darting between his own as you wait. Wait as you’ve done for twenty long years. 

“How could you say this?” He asks, his hand moving from your face. “I built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat. Carved it into the olive tree where we first met. A symbol of our love everlasting! Do you realize what you have asked me? The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots!” He shouts, almost standing due to the anger bubbling in him. 

“Only my husband knew that!” You sob, holding his hands again. “You’re real! My Gods, you’re real!” He calls your name as you shudder. You shake your head, pulling him close as your hands search his body, holding him impossibly close. 

“I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don’t care how, where, or when. No matter how long it’s been. You’re mine. Don’t tell me you’re not the same person, you’re always my husband and I’ve been waiting for you!” He blinks, brushing your tears from your face before he kisses you. 

You crumble under his touch, your hands shaking as you cradle his face. He holds you tightly, pressing your armored chest flush against himself. You pull away first, tucking his now long blonde hair behind his ears to see his face properly. 

—

You don’t get a chance to admire the new Simon, not between the kissing and his insisting that you share the bed with Johnny for the night. You agree, of course, the two of you squishing Simon while he happily holds the two of you in his arms as the night draws on. 

Simon wakes up first, he’s gotten so used to being forced to share a bed with Calypso that he’d made his body wake up early to escape her. He looks at you and Johnny for a while, softly crying as he knows he’s home. Eventually, he gets up, hating the way the two of you whimper at the lost feeling between the two of you. 

He doesn’t venture far, just far enough to grab a bowl of water and a blade. Settling in front of a mirror, he shaves his face for the first time since he set out to Troy and then cuts his hair. He’s never seen his grey hairs before. Despite knowing that he was aging while he was out there he hadn’t realized he was aging. He wasn’t twenty anymore, he certainly didn’t look it either. 

He has scars on his face, he has grey hairs, he has the starts of wrinkles, eye bags— he could list them for hours. 

He looks back at you as you sleep. At your grey hairs, at your wrinkles and he smiles. You’re just as beautiful as the day he met you. 

Stepping towards the window he sees the castle workers dragging the bodies out of the castle and into a carriage. Tossing them unceremoniously and he makes his way down. 

“Load them and wait. Do not touch them any further,” He tells one of the maids without looking at her, his gaze locked on the men who had dared to try and defile his family. “Send word to the people of Ithaca. Meet at the pier by noon.” She nods, waiting to be dismissed by the king but he turns on his heel and returns to your room. 

You’re awake, rubbing your eyes as your sleepwear slips from your shoulder. 

“Did I wake you?” He asks, crawling into the bed and kissing the exposed skin. You roll your head at the feeling, holding the back of his head to keep him in place. 

“No,” You murmur, head against his. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you, too,” He pulls you onto his lap and you let him, too tired to fight back as he lays down again. “Trust me, ‘m not leaving ever again.”

“I like the sound of that,” You yawn, rubbing Johnny’s hair as he reaches out for the two of you. “We need to get up, though. Clean the halls,” 

“Already taken care of, love.” You hum, head resting on his bare chest, fingers tracing against his skin.

“You cut your hair,” You point out. 

“Mhmm, like it?” 

“Ask me later; ‘m too tired.” He chuckles and pets your cheek with his knuckles. 

“Rest my love, I’m not going anywhere.” 

The next time you wake up, he’s engrossed in a conversation with Johnny. He’s still holding you, but now it’s sitting up on the bed while Johnny all but bounces around the room. He talks about his own adventures with Athena, how he’d almost beat up Graves this one time, how you always kept a place for him. He talks about the stories he grew up hearing about the great King Simon of Ithaca. 

Simon listens, committing his son's voice to memory while he inhales the smell of your hair. 

A knock at the door stops their conversation and Simon calls for whoever it is to come in as he pulls the blanket over your body. 

“It is nearly noon, King Simon.” 

“Thank you,” He nods, watching the door close before he looks down at you. “How long have you been awake?” He chides upon seeing your very much awake eyes on him. 

“Long enough,” You respond but make no action to move. “What’s at noon?”

“You’ll see.” He lifts you with ease, picking himself up in the process and you laugh, holding onto his shoulders while Johnny gags and rushes out of the room. 

In the tub, Simon sits first, letting you slowly sit with him before he kisses you. His lips and teeth pull and suck at the skin of your neck while you coo, squeezing his shoulders. The cold water wakes you up more than the kisses do, but when his hand dives between your legs you swear you’re more than awake. 

“Mmm-mm,” You shake your head as you reluctantly push his hands away, he pouts but doesn’t fight it. “I want it to be in bed. To reclaim it,” His pupils dilate at the idea, you feel his pulse against his wrist and you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“I can do that,” He nods, instead moving his hands to start washing the two of you. 

The two of you dress together in your finest tunics, adorning yourselves in the royal jewelry and colors before getting Johnny from his room. Again, Simon finds himself between the two of you as you head down to your horses. Even more so when you’re all squished into a chariot. 

The wagon of dead bodies follows behind you, the smell of death present as the townspeople watch. People gasp at the sight of Simon, and whispers of the long-since departed king's return echo throughout Ithaca. 

Simon steps onto the platform, bringing you up with him and you stand next to him while Johnny stands in front of the two of you. 

He starts a speech, making a point about the dead men. He talks of the disrespect to his house– to his family. He dares someone else to try to ruin his family, to hurt his son, his husband. He declares himself back, the two kings of Ithaca ruling again. Merciful, he calls the act of bloodshed the two of you had committed the night before. He calls the men’s mothers, their fathers, their wives, their children. He tells them they can weave their funeral shroud for them. Or else he’ll burn them to keep your room warm. 

He watches as they collect their sons, their husbands, and their fathers. He holds you close, fingers a bruising grip against your waist. 

The two of you head back; Johnny stays behind to venture around the kingdom. You think it’s so the two of you can be alone for a little while. 

—

“I’ve missed you, husband,” Simon says, his head between your legs. He’s thrown them over his shoulders, his hands kneading the flesh of your stomach. He’s dreamt of this sight for two decades and yearned to dive his head between your legs again. Savoring the taste, feeling the way you’d clench around him. 

“I’ve missed you, husband,” You parrot, reaching down to hold his chin. He leans into the warm touch, eyes closing as he savors it. You trail your hand up, holding his hair as he dives down. You gasp when he presses his tongue flat against you, slowly dragging up and down while watching you. 

“I’m yours,” He murmurs, pressing sloppy kisses against your warmth while you twitch under his hold. “Only yours.” You pant, holding the cotton sheets for a reprise as his tongue makes figure eights around you, how he sucks and nips at your sensitive bud. He moves, sliding a finger into you; his eyes stuck on your face as your back arches. It’s an adjustment, just as it had been the first time you’d done this. 

Your body had almost forgotten the feeling of his fingers inside of you, how skillful they’d been during your marriage. How he knew your body inside and out, what points to press on, and how fast to go. He maintains a rhythm that makes you cry, your arm across your eyes as you try to compose yourself. Not let yourself come undone so fast. 

“Simon,” You breathe, trying to get to your elbows but he starts moving his finger. He's pushing and pulling, curling inside of you and it makes you fall back on the bed. He shudders, that tone in your voice, that feeling on his finger, the taste on his tongue. It’s all he’s ever wanted; it’s what kept him going all these years. “I need you,” You cry, eyes closed as your stomach tightens. He adds another finger, the added pressure makes your jaw drop. 

“You have me,” He swears. “Look at me, please,” You try, honestly you do, but the tightness reaches a high and your eyes screw shut. Your fingers tighten around his hair, your voice echoes in the room and Simon feels you clench around him. He almost laughs, not because it hadn’t taken much to push you to the edge but because he’d already come. It hadn’t taken anything, all it took was you saying his name and he spilled into the bedsheets. 

“You okay, moon?” He asks while crawling on top of you, his lips leaving scattered kisses across your body. You nod, face blissed out and eyes watery. “Can you take another?” 

“I can take a million more,” You breathe and he laughs, head dropping between your neck. You laugh along, legs raising as he bites your skin. He moves so he’s holding himself up with one hand, his other grabs his dick as it hardens again. 

“You sure?” He asks and you nod, kissing his shoulder. 

“I can take it,” You moan, feeling the tip move across your folds. It slips and prods before he eventually pushes inside in one fluid motion. Your back arches, pushing your chest against his as he fills you. 

“Full, ‘m so full,” You pant against him and he nods, moving your hair from your face. 

“Full ‘n’ tight f’ me, yeah?” He teases, slowly rolling his hips against yours. He relishes in watching your expressions, how your mouth drops open and you’re unable to control the sounds you make. “Waited so long f’ me, didn’t you?” As he’s speaking, he raises up from you, his right hand holding your stomach down while the left starts rubbing soft circles on your clit. “So patient, my love. Thank you.” 

His eyes dip down, looking at the bulge in your stomach as he slowly enters and exits you. He moans at the sight, eyes closing for a brief moment as he begins to pick up pace. You struggle to look at him, one hand holding the wooden headboard behind you while the other loosely holds the wrist that’s circling you. 

“Missed you s’much,” He moans. “Missed all of you.” He slurs, leaning down to kiss you. He bites your bottom lip before his lips capture yours, his hips pressing against your own with each thrust. “Gods, you’re so tight.” He grunts as he pulls away, moving your left leg to be over his shoulder while the right leg sits at his hip. He speeds up, twitching as your moans only grow louder. Your nails drag against his chest and circle to his back. 

He feels his scars under your nails, the sensitive skin prickling hot as you open his flesh. He hisses, the pain far easier to manage than anything he’s faced while away but so different. So loving. 

“Inside me,” You moan, finally able to look at him as you bite your bottom lip. It’s throbbing from the pain of him biting it but you don’t care. “Inside me, Si, please.”

“Who am I to deny you, my king?” He grins and then drops his head down to your neck, feeling your walls tighten around him. You hear him whimper and moan against you and it only eggs you on. He’d chased that feeling for years, spilling inside of you as your high starts approaching. He continues for you, continuing his bruising pace until your body stops moving, your mouth falls open and your breathing goes ragged. Tenderly, as he always used to do, Simon holds you close to him. Your head rests against his chest so you can listen and feel his heart beating against your ear. 

His hand stops circling your clit as he slowly pulls out from inside you. The sounds that come from him and you spur him on more but he contains himself. Instead, he watches as his cum leaks from you. On instinct, he pushes it back inside, loving the way your legs twitch when he does. 

“Do you need a break?” He asks, eyeing the sweat on your brow. You inhale, thinking about it before shaking your head. 

“I can take more,” You swear and he raises his eyebrow. “Please, Simon.” 

“Your wish is my command.”

[bunni-v1]

Past and Future (Happy Birthday Lighter)

🍓Finished this shit at 4:30am, if y'all don't enjoy this I will kill myself. Anyway had fun writing this, it's more of me fucking around and finding out with Lighter's character, but I think it's fluffy and cute so... enjoy lol

TW: Mentions of Death; Suicidal ideation

Info: Lighter x GN!Reader; Angst to Fluff (?) Kinda?; hurt and comfort (i think??)

Word Count: 2k

December 27th. Two days after Christmas, five days before New Year's. Oddly placed on the calendar, awkwardly smooshed between two major holidays in New Eirdu. To most, it was insignificant, just another day. To Lighter it was something he dreaded each year. Between the holiday cheer and the buzz of excitement for the new year, it was nothing more than a looming cloud dampening his mood.

December 27th, Lighter Lorenz’s birthday, one of the worst days of his life.

He didn’t hate birthdays, they were nice when they were for other people. He had to admit he enjoyed getting gifts for others and seeing their eyes light up when they opened it, and the light atmosphere when everyone sang a horrendously off-key rendition of the birthday song was hard to hate. They were celebrations of the life of that person, a hurrah to cheer them into another long year until the next came around. He just hated his own.

Gifts and cake and warm fuzzy sweet nothings acted only as reminders that he was alive. He was alive, and everyone else who deserved to be wasn’t. Another marker of another year since he lost everything. He wanted to pretend it wasn’t there, maybe sleep until the 28th or run away for a while, but the girls wouldn’t let him.

They’d managed to weasel his birthday out of him about a year into his being here, and they made a point to celebrate it each year. Nothing big, they knew he wasn’t one for huge crowds outside of his fights, but still a party where they showered him with gifts and congratulations that he did not deserve. He didn’t have it in him to tell them to stop.

So, year after year he grinned and bared it with as much grace as someone as fucked up as he could. It wasn’t hard to be grateful for all they did for him, but it was always hard to smile and accept it like he deserved it. The nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that he shouldn’t be allowed to be this happy, not when his stupidity cost the lives of good people – wonderful people, who he loved.

He usually only lasted until Burnice got out the nitro fuel, then he would quietly slip away from his own party to be alone. The quiet was easier on his mind than the distractions of colorful confetti and sweet cake made just to his taste. He liked to sit in the pain, to recede into that cocoon of hurt, as if to apologize to his friends by torturing himself. 

This year was no different, of course. Just as Burnice handed out the nitro fuel, he quietly slunk into the shadows, smiling to himself as the rest of the Sons of Calydon remained celebrating in his steed. He walked his way to his bike, sighing in the cool night air. The breeze on his skin was the only comfort from the hell in his mind.

He let the air out, hand tucking into his pocket to pull out the little thing of candy he carried around on him. The little lemon drops fall into his palm with ease, and he tosses them back with practiced ease. He rarely felt like smoking anymore, but his birthday was always a struggle. The heightened emotions made him want to take the easy route out, to fall back on his old ways and make stupid mistakes in hopes it would make him feel better. Instead of giving in, though, he sucked on those candies like a saving grace. It was the least he could do for his old friends.

As he stopped in front of his bike, he shoved the candies back into his pocket. Taking a second to himself in the quiet of the night. It was almost over, just a few more hours, and the pain would lessen back down to an ache again. A little longer and he wouldn’t have to worry about constant reminders of being alive, and he wouldn’t have to save face for everyone else’s sake.

“Lighter?” A quiet, soft, almost worried voice from behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes softening when he saw it was you. You’d been quiet about his birthday all month, not bothering him with any reminders. You knew, intrinsically, how much he hated it. You always knew everything about him, it was an infuriating quirk of yours that he would never want to go away. 

“Hey, dollface,” his voice just as quiet as he raised his arm for you to duck under, “got tired of the party?”

You press yourself into his side, enjoying the warmth of your personal heater, “I saw you leave and I wanted to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Me stupid? Never. Just needed some air.”

“Is this getting some air just for you, or could you use some company?” You offer, giving him the reins.

He liked the alone time, he wanted to wallow in self-pity more than anything in the world. His head reminded him that he deserved to be alone on a night like this. Yet, your eyes flutter a little at him, and your lashes brush away those awful thoughts like nothing. 

“I’ve always got room for you,” he hums, giving you one last squeeze before helping you on the bike.

The drive is peaceful, the breeze cooling his hot skin like an apology from the world for all he’d been put through. He doesn’t think he deserves it, but he wouldn’t deny the feeling either. Your arms wrapped firmly around his middle, head pressed against his shoulder only calmed him further. It grounded him back in the present, reminding him that the past had long passed and that he still had things to live for.

The Sons of Calydon, who took him in and cared for him despite how distant he was at the start. The Proxies, who took special care to stop by earlier and give him a gift, congratulated him for being so strong and thanked him for his constant help when they needed it. The other former members of his mercenary group who, despite how much he wanted to deny it, held no ill will to him and wished him the best for the future.

And, of course, you curled against his back. You trusted him with your life, and he would easily lay his down for you – not that you’d let him if you had any say. You kept reminding him every single day that he was someone worth loving, that he was more than his past, and that he was the one who could define what his future looked like. It was hard not to picture it without you there, not with how attached he’d become to your little displays of love for him.

Displays like this, following him out of his party to make sure he wouldn’t do anything to hurt himself more than he was already hurting. He smiles warmly back at you as he eases his bike to a stop at his favorite quiet spot. You smile back pressing a kiss to his shoulder before moving to get off the bike.

You intertwined your fingers with his like it was second nature as you walked to the fence at the cliff's edge. From here you could see the endless desert, and the edge of the hollow, the moon peaking over it in an almost beautiful display. He helps you sit on the fence, placing a protective hand around your waist to keep you from falling forward.

Your hand presses his head into your shoulder, scratching at his scalp with such care it nearly makes his knees buckle. Another reminder of what he has that he couldn’t afford to lose. No one has known him the way you know him, no one has ever had the effect you have on him. It was almost enough to make all the horror of his past dissipate in his mind, but a small part of him still clung to it. Unwilling to allow himself to fully forget.

“You okay?” You ask, interrupting the quiet bubble that had formed around you.

He nods, “Thinking.”

“About…?” You urge with a raise of a brow, unbearably cute in his mind's eye.

He smiles, genuine for the first time that night, “About how much I love you.”

You shake your head at him, but you don’t argue with him about how he’s lying, or try and force him to tell you everything. You don’t need to. You always trust that he’ll tell you when he’s ready. It’s another thing about you that he couldn’t risk losing.

You let the quiet fall over you again, leaning into his chest with a content hum. He allows himself to indulge in your affections for now, preferring having you here in his arms than staring aimlessly at the skyline by himself. It was easier to swallow the ache in his throat with you to soften the harshness of the feeling, regardless of whether you knew you did it or not. 

He wonders, hopelessly, what his old friends would think of you. They would like you, he was sure of that. You had a personality that would let you fit right in with their eclectic group. The idea of you smiling side by side with them warms his chest, his heart aching as it fades away. A dream he’d never get to see.

He’s not aware that he’s crying, he’s not sure how long he has been crying, all he knows is that you turn to him and cradle his face in your hands. They wipe at his tears without needing to be asked, another quiet reassurance that you cared for him regardless of what was going on in his head.

Lighter sniffles pathetically as his eyes lock with your worried ones. You seem to know what's wrong without him needing to say it, which he likely wouldn’t be able to do if you weren’t able to deduce it on your own. You frown at him, bringing him down to kiss his forehead.

“I’m sorry it’s so hard,” You whisper, wrapping your arms around him.

He pulls you in tightly, desperate for the skinship you offered up, “It never gets easier. Everything is a reminder.”

“I know, that’s okay,” you press a kiss to the side of his face, “I don’t think you need to forget it, Lighter. I think you need to learn how to live with it.”

He closes his eyes, the hollow where they’re buried fading from sight as if looking at it would blind him now. He holds you even closer, letting your words sink in. Learning to live with it, sounded much easier than it probably was. Maybe you were right though, he’d done so much wallowing and running, maybe it was time he found a way to live with the pain.

“Mistake, failure, accident… it doesn’t matter what you call it,” you continue, pulling him back to look him in the eyes, “It’ll always hurt, but that hurt is a reminder of how human you are. You don’t want to lose that. Remember it, feel it, and they’ll never really leave you.”

You swallow, taking him in with those pretty eyes of yours. It’s not perfect, but it’s what he needed to hear tonight. He presses you into a kiss, soft and light and nervous. He was afraid you’d disappear if he was too rough. You melt into it, indulging him like he hoped you would. This was the only way he knew how to show you his appreciation, words would never be enough to display how deeply he cared for you.

When he pulled away you were breathless, face flushed from lack of oxygen, and indescribably beautiful. He smiled subconsciously at you, and you returned the look with all the love and admiration in the world.

“Happy Birthday Lighter,” You say soft as the wind still tussling your hair, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” He repeats back, and he feels the ache in his chest lessen every second he spends looking at you. You taught him a lot since he met you. A lot about himself, a lot about those around him, a lot about you. Most importantly, tonight you taught him that despite his past, he made a future for himself that he should be more determined to remember to protect.

[two-white-butterflies]

gave you all my best me's (ii)

Description: Aemond tries to figure out if his feelings are real. A revelation sends this house of cards crumbling down.

Pairing: (past! jacaerys velaryon/reader), aemond targaryen/reader

PART ONE ||

Aemond takes a nervous bite of his mini-Oreos. It's been a week since he introduced you to his family, and all his relatives have been sending him kind messages. However, his father has refused to return all of his calls. Nothing new, he muses.

"Are you okay, hun?" You sit beside him, and the sofa slightly shifts to accommodate your shared weight. "Yeah," he responds reluctantly. He doesn't exactly know how to feel. He sometimes looks at you and thinks about turning this relationship into a real thing, but then, he remembers your conversation with Jacaerys on the balcony...

Everything has been so blurry and difficult lately.

What if Jacaerys suddenly calls, and you pick up, and everything returns to where you left it off?

"It's just been a tough couple of weeks," he reasons.

But he knows that the feelings that thump inside of his ribcage are far too complex to explain. "Do you want to talk about it?" You asked, and he shakes his head.

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nameofficial posted to her story!

caption: with mr lover lover 😎 song: Boombastic by Shaggy

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YOU are you aight you been pushing me away lately :((

AEMOND TARGARYEN I'm a little busy with work We're releasing a new phone this month

YOU does this have something to do with the jacaerys thing?

AEMOND TARGARYEN Ofc not xx I respect you It's not like we have a 'real' relationship

seen.

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Your eyebrows merged together in fury.

It's not like we have a 'real' relationship.

You continued to stare at his message. Actually, you were glaring at your phone - until it suddenly fell on your face.

"Shit," you cursed. "Fuck," you continued.

The fact that Aemond wasn't entirely lying pierced your heart. Your feelings for him have blossomed these past few months, you didn't need a verbal reminder that this was all contractual. That he only chose to be pretend married to you because it meant inheriting his father's fortune. You are not important to him.

Thanks for the reminder, Aemond.

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.

You were pleasantly surprised when Alicent invited you for a cup of tea. Aemond told you that his mother kept to herself, she only talked to people inside her small circle. You remember that the only thing that she acknowledged you with were small smiles and nods, but it's good that she's finally warming up to you.

I mean...you are going to be her pretend daughter-in-law.

"I am sure that you are not unfamiliar with the way our family conducts our business," Alicent begins the conversation, taking a leisurely sip of her tea. "- it's a new age, but some of our members are still stuck in the past." She gives you a thin-lipped smile.

What was she going to say next? She voted for Hillary Clinton in the last election. "- especially my husband. He is a traditional man. Before we got married, I was in my third year of medical school. I wanted to be a pediatrician, but he gave me an ultimatum, told me it was either him or being a pedia, and I chose him." She speaks with regret.

"Pardon?" You raised an eyebrow, unaware of where this conversation was leading. "My husband knows there are charges against you by the Spanish Government, which is easy to fix, but there is a stain on your reputation. You are not the kind of woman that he finds worthy of being a member of our family. He will not allow your wedding to pull through, and if it happens, Aemond stands to inherit nothing." Alicent explains with a deep breath.

You wanted to tell her that you were no longer here for the money, but Aemond would want the inheritance, right?

Alicent reaches for her handbag, dropping an envelope of cash to cover the bill for this tea party. She reaches for your hand, holding it with both of hers. "Please stay away from my son," she begs. "- you can find another husband, but I cannot find another him." Alicent pleads, not wanting her son to fall in his ranks in society.

Reputation means everything to people like them.

"Yes, of course." You forced yourself to agree.

It's what Aemond wants.

"Please don't mention this to him. I love him, but he doesn't love me enough to abandon you." You took a deep breath. She reaches for her handbag again, writing you a check for millions of dollars but you shake your head.

"- he'll have kids in the future with a woman that isn't me, but someone that you think is proper enough for him. You won't even remember my name by then. I don't need money, Mrs. Targaryen. I'm happy to have been here." You removed your engagement ring, placing it on the table.

"Thank you," she looks up with a sad smile.

"Thank you too," you answered, leaving without looking back.

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AEMOND TARGARYEN Where are you? I bought some pad thai

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AEMOND TARGARYEN Are you still there?

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AEMOND TARGARYEN My mom told me I'm sorry Let's talk

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YOU MISSED A CALL FROM AEMOND TARGARYEN. (39)

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(ONE YEAR LATER)

WHY DID Y/N L/N DISAPPEAR?

It has been one year since singer Y/N L/N was last seen wandering around New York City. Thirteen months ago, MTV announced that her engagement with tech-CEO Aemond Targaryen had broken off. A close friend alleges that their breakup was amicable, and the couple were just heading towards different paths in life.

A year ago, Y/N L/N deactivated her social media accounts.

Six months ago, all charges by the Spanish government against her were dropped, citing that it was a third-party accounting firm that caused the mismanagement of funds. L/N was let go with a minor fine. It has been radio silence for quite some time now, but according to a few insiders, the singer is seen roaming NYC once more...

Why did she disappear? And why is she back?

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nameofficial: i stayed there.... THANK YOU FOR INVITING ME AND @luciechurchill!! @taylorswift. i love you so much ❤️

liked by 2,128,321 others

>comments

taylorswift: I'm so glad you enjoyed the era's tour 💙💙💙💙💙 - nameofficial: twas absolute cinema 🤯

Y/NSUPPORT: SHE'S BACK !!! and she's paid her taxes 🇪🇸

BigBlueEyes6: Y/N stays the queen of the revolution 🇪🇸 bella ciao bella ciao bella ciao ciao ciao 👺

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replies:

sexybaliye: I HAVE BEEF WITH HIM BECAUSE HE TOOK HER THIRD ALBUM AWAY FROM US 😭 MY ASS WILL FOREVER MOURN LOVER - applepie59: BYE...Karma by TS is Lover in a diff font - sexybaliye: Albums that will never be released LOL

hauntedasshome8: I'm not heartbroken....also me: Y/N L/N

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nameofficial: I love the crowd in Nashville. I'm so happy to be opening the ERA'S TOUR by @taylorswift. ❤️

liked by 1,329,921 others

>comments

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"How long are you going to keep attending the concerts?" Aegon sits on one of the ottomans. He gives his brother a lazy smile before callously lighting his cigarette - knowing that he wouldn't get into trouble because his grandfather owned the hotel. "Why are you so curious about it?" Aemond rolls his eyes.

"I find it kind of weird that you leave after the opener," Aegon comments. "- don't you want to talk to her?" Aegon inquires.

"She looks fine," Aemond breathes. He doesn't want to ruin your quit life just because he dreams of being in your arms again. If you've moved on, then he has no choice but to follow in your footsteps.

"I've been analyzing her note changes," Aegon puffs.

"You pay attention to that?" Aemond raises an eyebrow.

Aegon chuckles annoyingly, as if he was your biggest fan. "When she says lay on the horn, there's a slight change in her voice, which probably means that it haunts her." He quotes your lyrics. "- in one of the surprise songs, she looked really sad when singing about the snow globe spinning round and round." Aegon continues his analysis.

He looks at Aemond again, who is looking at him with a strange stare. "Men are so stupid," Aegon stands up - he rolls his eyes before leaving the room and slamming the door loudly.

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Aemond continues to watch you from the front row, he's already memorized your routine by now. He takes a sip of the beer that Aegon smuggled inside, and everyone cheers around him - seeing your faint figure begin to march towards the front stage.

"This song is going to be a part of my third studio album, I figured that I should share it with all of you first." You smile, strumming your guitar. "The apartment we won't share. I wonder what sad wife lives there." You begin your song. "Have the windows deciphered her stares? Do the bricks in the walls know to hide the affairs?" You walked around.

Freezing once you see him.

Aemond Targaryen in the flesh.

"The dog we won't have is now one I would not choose. The daughter we won't raise still waits for you." You walked past him. You could attend a million interviews after this and swear to god that you're not over him, but you'd be lying. Because you still love him. You still love all the ways that he'd massage your scalp.

"The girl I won't be is the one that's yours. I hope you shortly find what you long for." You glanced at him again. Seeing him feels like getting electrocuted. It makes you happy but at the same time really, really sad because you know that he doesn't feel the same way. "A year and some change. Isn't it strange?" You looked at him.

One word and you'll come running back to him.

"I'm sure she's beautiful and sweet." You continued strumming your guitar. "But you're the only thing I need," you change the lyrics, your voice beginning to fade in the background.

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Aemond nervously bounces his legs, and a few security guards escort him backstage - and now he's waiting for you to finish your last song. He fidgets with the engagement ring inside his palms. It's a family heirloom, a ring that Alicent gave him that came from his grandmother, Alerie.

"Aemond," you say with a reluctant voice. "Y/N," He breathes, wrapping you in a warm embrace.

"What are you doing here?" You questioned, taking in the sight of him. "Let's get back together, please," he begged, offering you the ring that was inside of his palms. "What are you talking about? I thought that wasn't part of the deal, your dad won't leave you anything." You stared deep into his eyes.

"I love you," he confesses.

"The day that you left, I wanted to tell you." He adds.

"I only left because I thought that you didn't feel the same way," your frown deepened.

A chuckle escapes your mouth, truly in disbelief at how the tides shifted in your favor.

He drops on one knee.

"Marry me," he says.

"Of course," you agree.

Meeting his lips with fiery passion.

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nameofficial: I take this magnetic force of a man to be my LOVER.

liked by 3,812,923 others

>comments

bananalols: ok what happened to hello, how are you?

helaenatargaryen: Congratulations sis and bro!! 🧡

Nour192: UMM THIS IS SO UNEXPECTED...

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aemondtargaryensapphires: Happy wedding.

liked by 123,182 others

>comments

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nameofficial: I'm so happy to make it with you ❤️

liked by 3,239,192 others

>comments

imthatbitch2: Congrats, we didn't even know that u were engaged lols

HundredBoys82: What ever makes u happy...boo?

ColossalTitan: MRS LOVER LOVER

@glame @xcinnamonmalfoyx @winxchesters @yentroucnagol @mxxny-lupin @mxtantrights @urmomsgirlfriend1 @kravitzwhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @introverbatim @flrboyd @sumsumcooluser @rebstrg @bladestark @ninihrtss @julczimozart @narahwolfqueen16

REQUESTS FOR THE BONUS FLUFF PARTS ARE AVAILABLE just send them on my inbox!!

[hyunip]

Ex man! Armin x plus size! Black! Reader

✞IRRESISTIBLE PLEASURE✰

A/N: It's just something about running back to Armin for sex.

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

[H]e was just a cliché. Just another man with a bunch of women on his dick because he can’t stand to be in a relationship. Those charms of his work all kinds of wonders, his looks and confidence being the main thing to fuel his cocky attitude, and the women that flock to him like birds to birdseed fueling his already high ego. You couldn’t stand him. But you couldn’t fight your desires, your wants—your needs. You couldn’t fight the fact that your body wanted him in the ways that it did. The arousal that pooled between your legs once you heard that mellifluous voice mumbling from the other side of the door reminded you of how much you wanted him. But that would just mean you were also a cliché, right?

Right.

All of Armin’s exes wanted him. In the same exact way you did. And they caved to the pressure they felt when they started to throb where he always seemed to be when they needed it. The same way you did. It irked your soul and it damn sure pissed you off. Way more than he did.

The way he thrusted his fingers in and out of you slowly while twisting them drove you insane, he knew this, deciding to add to the intense pleasure, he wrapped his mouth around your clit. He loved the way your body reacted to him. That jolt and shiver of pure shock and pleasure always made him feel something that certainly wasn’t foreign to him. A feeling he always dodged with any of the women he’s been with. Your moans, pleads, and curses like a euphoric song he could hear on replay. The way you moaned his name and the way you looked at him with nothing but pure hatred while he made you feel like you were on cloud nine made him want to push your limits further. While you pulled his head deeper between your thighs by his long, messy hair, he groaned and pushed his fingers deeper inside of your pussy and began to flick his tongue quickly on the overstimulated bud above your hole “Fuck! Armin!” You screamed out his name, rolling your wide hips on his face.

Armin was truly in heaven. Barely being able to breathe between those heavy thighs and devouring every part of your fat cunt, your face messy with tears and drool while you rolled your eyes to the back of your head from how good it felt. He couldn’t help but roll his hips on the silky, baby pink sheets below the both of you, desperate for that friction, the wet feeling of your mouth. “You like that baby?” he mumbled cockily into your slippery wet folds, his soothing voice sending vibrations to your clit. You couldn’t help but let the truth fly past your lips along with a nod of your head “Yes..“ your slowly drawl out as he adds another finger inside of you.

Fuck… Why was it so hard to leave him alone? It’s not that hard, you’ve done it before, but what made him different? Was it the sex and how he could have you coming undone within a few minutes? How he put your needs way before his own? It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You know it, yet you couldn’t find not even a bit of regret for it. For how you gave into him almost too easily.

The flicks of his tongue on your clit got faster and so did the slow pace of his three thick fingers, your pussy twitching around them and your stomach twisting. This feeling. You knew this orgasm was going to be more overwhelming than the last three before this one “m’gonna cum daddy..” you whined out as you threw your head back, your hand that was once intertwined and tangled in the long golden locks of his hair now playing with those pretty brown tits, squeezing and pinching at your nipples to add to the intense feeling “then cum for me, baby. What you holdin’ out fa’?” He’d say picking up the pace and sucking on your clit. Grabbing one of your thighs and squeezing it, landing a few harsh taps to the jiggly fat. The more your thighs suffocated him and kept him between them made him hornier than words could ever come to explain. He was nose deep in that pussy, messily licking every inch of the area, his face slick with that clear fluid that ran out of you like a fountain.

That was the last straw. The last flick of his skilled tongue and the final deep thrust of his thick fingers had you trembling and screaming into the skin of your arm. “Fuck! Armiinnn..” you moaned, dragging his name on your tongue and continuing to roll your hips on his fingers, riding out your high with the help of the man you claimed you hated most.

Armin would be damned if he let a woman like you go. He knew that after this, there would be many many times he’d have you shaking on his fingers and tongue.

He slowly removed his fingers from your cunt, making you feel empty. You wanted more—you needed more—from him. You have been fighting the urges for so long. The urges of swinging your door open and smashing your lips into his and letting him fuck you crazy like he did when you were ‘together’.

He sucked on his fingers and dragged them out slowly as you watched, heavily breathing, never breaking eye contact with him. “You actually had me thinking you hated me” he chuckled, licking between his fingers. Flicking his tongue the same exact way he did inside of you, having you to roll your eyes at him and his cocky attitude. “I do.” You replied with a light snarl as you sat up in your bed. All he wanted to do was have sex. But you couldn’t say that to him, because you knew that’s what you wanted from him as well. But that wasn’t the only thing you wanted. You wanted his heart—his love and all he could give you. Tonight was just a call from lust, like the devil felt your need for relief.

You hated his cocky attitude—you hated that he was even here in your bed, looking down at you from between your legs. He raspily chuckled, tilting his head to the side. His blue orbs burning into yours with that sexy gaze you always came to hate after falling for his silent charms. His stare was chilling but it made your body feel hot and in need for him in this moment. It made you ache for him in places you knew you shouldn't want him.

The more you stared, the more that stupid fucking grin spread across his reddened cheeks "You already saying that? I didn’t even propose baby." he joked.

You scoffed, shaking your head at his words, just wishing he would shut the hell up.

He crawled between your legs, pressing his hard-on to your leaking pussy, the fabric of his jeans rubbing against the wet skin as he pressed his hips a bit harder into you.

Your mouth gaped open at the familiar hard feeling, but at the fact he was rubbing his jeans on you—between your legs at that. You weren’t one to do shit just because it felt good and risk an infection. You didn’t know what he did in them jeans before he came to you.

“Uh-uh!” You furrowed your brows and shook your head, cupping your pussy, making a barrier between you and Armin below. “Don’t be rubbing yo damn jeans on me. Ion know where yo dog ass been at.” You scowled, feeling him pull away, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He loved when you subtly insulted him. He just didn’t know why, but he loved it, only from you.

Armin hovered over you with his silver chain hanging from his neck, the tips of his silky blonde hair tickling the bridge of your nose. “You don’t know where my dog ass been at but you called me over to beat yo shit in.” He said, lifting up to tie his hair back so it wouldn’t get in the way. “What sense that make?” He scoffed, shaking his head as he snapped the hair tie on his hair.

He was right. You hated when he was right. He was always clocking whatever you said, fact checking your every sentence like it was all he could do.

You stayed silent to his truth, avoiding eye contact with him. You weren’t gonna tell him he was right. That would just be feeding his ego.

“I missed you,” he began, hovering over you again, his blue orbs staring into yours with mischief swirling in them. He slowly raised your legs to his face, kissing and massaging your freshly pedicured feet, sending a tingle up your spine. “I missed you too much baby…” he murmured, kissing the sole of your foot “I know you missed me too. Just say it ma’..” he hissed, pushing your leg up more to kiss around your calf.

Fuck it. “I missed you too daddy”

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

Part 1 FINISHED.

Finally.. Imma start part two right after this. It’s not gonna start off from the cut off of part one, but it’s gonna have all the things that happened before you called this man over for some good dick.

Now this ain’t much, I know I know, n I’m sorry for that.

[thebirdandhersong]

maybe the important part to focus on is how long it'll take for the pain to go away but to hold onto the joy that's already here

okay but does the grief ever go away. does the sadness ever fully fully go away. I know the answer to this but will it ever not hurt? asking for a friend.

[supernova41st]

Always Forever ✩‧₊˚

Tf2 x Teen!Reader

A/n: Ty to all the people that voted for that poll I did last week! This is sorta ‘recycled’ from this post I made just for Scout, I rewrote most of the stuff for his section. Was going to put ‘Skinny’ by Billie Eilish as the song here but I felt it was too angsty, that has nothing to do with anything I just wanted to share that.

Warnings: ‘Troubled’ Teen, Mentions of period, slight angst,

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

Spy

✭ Since spy is.. spy he knows nearly everything about your background, surprisingly he feels pity for you. He knew that the other mercs didn’t exactly have the best home life but here you were, barely finishing highschool and becoming a mercenary

✭ Although he does feel sorry he still seems like the same bitter spy he is to everyone else, maybe not as much but overall the team can’t sense any different emotions towards you.

✭ Missions with him are fairly awkward, you expected him to say some petty bullshit straight from the start but he mostly just seemed observant of you.

“You just gonna glare at me for the rest of this thing?”

“If it bothers you so much why don’t you crawl back to your mother”

“I can’t go back, you know how my life use to be”

✭ Oof, that kinda got to him.

✭ Like with Scout, he rarely ever calls you by your name/title. He mostly just calls you ‘girl’

✭ He tries to get use to your teenage perks, it’s been a while since he’s been a father so it took a while.

✭ once your teenage girl instinct kicked in once you realized he was snooping around your bunk room, you weren’t happy

“Who was in my room?”

“Cough what?”

“I went in my closet and my shoes were out of order because I put them from my least to most favorite and my converse were next to my combat boo-WHO THE FUCK WAS IN MY ROOM??”

✭ It’s ok, he won’t be snooping around there for a while for his sake <33

Heavy

✭ Every time he looks at you he looks like he’s about to cry. Can you blame him? You remind him of his sisters so much!!

✭ Especially after learning about your rough past.. god he wishes he can just have you move in the cabin with his sisters. It’d be so much better than what you’ve been through.

✭ Since he’s been around girls his entire life he warmed up to you real fast. Will gladly watch your back out in the battle field

“Jesus heavy!! I could’ve taken that shot Yknow? You look like Swiss cheese..”

“It’s alright, little one. Not as frail as you.”

✭ if you forget to ask for pads when goods get shipped to the base don’t worry, he always orders some in case you forget

“(Y/N), Miss Pauling told me that you forgot about Red riding hood visiting.”

“Gasp Oh god.. Thanks so much, Heavy.”

“No problem”

✭ Easily he’s the one you like the most. Not only is he chill but he’s always there for you 🫧

Sniper

✭ Divorced dad core

✭ Honestly he doesn’t really mind how young you are, as long as you can do your job he’s pretty okay with you

✭ Although (as said before) he does give divorced dad vibes. Helping mow the lawn, let’s you have a sip of his beer, spending weekends in his camper van, etc.

✭ He enjoys going on camping trips with you and teaches you how to use his rifle. Once you got injured near your eye because of the harsh recoil, he felt real sorry

“You good mate? Those frozen peas doin’ any good for ya??”

“Sniper I’m fine!! It’s just a bruise”

“Yeah, a big one! Lil’ bugger is already turnin’ yellow.. don’t tell Heavy I did this to ya”

✭ He always has to swat your feet off the dashboard of his car as if it’s not already dirty

✭ will NOT let you play music in there, he says it’s “too sappy for his taste”

✭ (Extra)

✭ Soldier doesn’t like you going out, divorced mom core.

“AH! LOOK WHOS FINALLY HOME FROM SNIPERS, ONLY 2 SECONDS LATE.”

“What?”

Scout

✭ Don’t get him started.

✭ This boy will defend you with his LIFE. (not on the battlefield)

✭ Anyone giving you a hard time? Scouts here!!

“Hey, (Y/N), perhaps before jumping straight into the enemy team you might want to wait for yours to come over??”

“Wow another mission where you blame everyone but your big ass 😐”

“That’s a little out of pocket but I mean.. thanks?”

✭ Miss Pauling and him are your parents now btw. They take you EVERYWHERE with them

“Guys I really don’t have to go, plus I don’t have any extra money to pay for myself anyways”

“We’ll just pay it for ya toots!! You can order all the food you want”

“Yeahh, under 30$ tho.”

✭ Despite how much fun he has with you, he does have a deep connection with you as well. He knows how it feels to be seen as ‘useless’, so he tries his best to make sure you have the best time you can at a place like this.

“You alright, kid? It was gettin’ pretty ugly out there, especially with all that blood splatting all over ya”

“I’m good, I just hope I don’t get any infection since I got some blood on my eye..”

“Ew.. I mean-cool!! That’s pretty sick if you ask me”

✭ Does not ask you about your past, let alone bring it up. Scout may be stupid, but he’s smart enough to know that he’ll probably say something ignorant if the life you gave up ever gets brought up.

[onlyymirknows]

When Jean Met Karina

My submission for Reijean Christmas Week, Day 1! Prompt: meeting each other's parents.

Read on AO3 (link)

Word Count: 7.1k AU: Modern, they're adults in an established relationship Genre: Angst w/ a happy ending (plus fluff and reijean banter) CWs: Reiner gets triggered, past emotional abuse, past character deaths (car accidents), past suicidal ideation, past homophobia, dropping of the f-slur

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Reiner handed Connie a small notebook, “Everything you need to know is in here but feel free to text me if you got any questions.” He leaned down and traced a small heart on the glass tank, leaving visible smudges. The small turtle near his fingertip glanced at its owner for a second before lazily paddling away to rest on some driftwood.

“I’ve watched him before, remember?” Connie reminded Reiner with a small, exasperated laugh, “He’s in good, capable hands. Don’t worry.”

Jean, noticing the way Reiner’s jaw clenched, squeezed his boyfriend’s shoulder. This was their first time leaving town for Christmas and thus the first time they had to get someone to pet sit in the winter. The scariest season for a reptile keeper.

“Babe, I know what you’re thinking but we specifically got you a native species so you don’t have to worry about the heat as much. Besides, he’s a tough little guy.” Jean forced a grin, hoping to mask his own tense mood. Reiner returned a small smile accompanied by a soft exhale. Bingo. 

Then Jean turned to Connie, “Thanks for watching Bertl for us, Con. We’ll text you when we’re on our way home.”

“No prob, guys,” Connie beamed while ushering the couple to the door, “drive safe and see you next year!”

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When Jean slid into the passenger seat of Reiner’s truck he noticed a text from Connie, “try not to lose ur mind on reiner’s crazy mom k?” He scowled.

“What’s wrong?” Reiner pulled his door closed and started buckling his seatbelt. He turned the key in the ignition, the car engine purring to life.

“It’s nothing,” Jean muttered while buckling his own seat. He fiddled with the air vents while Reiner picked out some music on his phone. When Last Christmas began playing Jean couldn’t help but shoot a glare at his boyfriend.

“What’s with that sour expression?” Reiner asked incredulously, “It’s literally the 21st of December.” After a pause he added, “There’s no Mariah Carey on this playlist, okay? Just let me have this, Jeanie.”

Sighing, Jean looked out the window at the now moving pavement. “Okay, but once we get through this I get to choose the next playlist.”

Reiner laughed. “Yeah, yeah. As if I was going to torture you with 8 straight hours of Christmas music.” He glanced at Jean for a second with a warm smile while they waited at the red light letting out of their apartment complex. “Y’know, I love you in spite of the fact that you hate fun sometimes.”

Jean cracked a genuine smile for the first time that day. Maybe he did hate what many people would consider fun but it was only because he had taste. Unlike most of these Christmas songs that felt gaudy and artificial. Yet it was hard to deny the joy they seemed to bring his boyfriend so Jean disregarded his own preferences in the second half of December. Sacrifice and all that.

Indeed, his high school friends were confused when he brought a more “lowbrow” guy back with him from college. Then they saw the way Reiner made Jean loosen up and it all made sense. Somehow Reiner could convince Jean to try something new or give another thing a second chance. As if the blond were a siren and Jean a sailor who never dreamed of diving into the ocean.

Sometimes diving into the ocean to swim with a beautiful siren meant meeting a shark. In this case her name was Karina Braun and, as far as Jean was concerned, she was his enemy. Someone to challenge and fend off and—

“We can’t keep avoiding this, Jean,” Reiner paused the Christmas playlist, “do you want to talk about it now or when we’re closer to my hometown?”

The question broke Jean out of his thoughts and he bristled once the words registered in his mind. “What’s there to talk about?”

Reiner didn’t say anything as he merged onto the interstate. Instead he looked over his shoulder to check his blind spot before roving his gaze between his mirrors.

Jean rubbed his eyes, yawning, his own gaze fixed out the passenger window. When Reiner’s silence continued after they’d settled into the flow of traffic he turned his head. He couldn’t help but frown seeing the way Reiner’s fingers gripped the steering wheel, digits clearly tensed. Knuckles turning white.

“Rei, you good?”

“I’m fine.”

“Ugh.” Jean crossed his arms with a huff. “Look, I know I’m not the best at hiding my frustration. But I also don’t see what there is to discuss when you know damn well how I feel. I would’ve rather invited your cousin to come visit us. If it weren’t for the mem—”

“Don’t,” Reiner cut in firmly, his grip on the steering wheel tightening further, “we shouldn’t talk about that. Not right now… Maybe after we swap.”

“Right,” the brunet replied hoarsely, cheeks red, shoulders aching from suddenly tensing them hard as stone. He bowed his head, ashy brown locks slipping down and obscuring his face from view.

“But I shouldn’t’ve suggested talking bout all this right now,” the blond grumbled, “I shouldn’t’ve even said anything to begin with but I’m a dumbass and… yeah.” Reiner turned the music back on, keeping his eyes glued to traffic the whole time.

The two sat unspeaking for a moment, allowing the dulcet tones of Andy Williams to fill the space. Was it really The Most Wonderful Time of the Year? It certainly didn’t feel like it and, well, Jean knew he wasn’t helping. 

Despite his genuine intentions to help, Jean recognized how his stubbornness and results driven mindset could push the envelope at times. Sometimes to the point of causing more harm than good. And selfishly, he didn’t want to alienate his favorite person, so,  as the next song began, he placed a gentle hand on Reiner’s shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze.

“You’re not a dumbass,” Jean reassured, voice regaining its warmth, “I think you’re being proactive and I’m proud of you for how well you’re handling this situation in spite of my bad attitude.”

“As if you’re usually a ball of sunshine,” Reiner muttered, though Jean saw the way the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth twitched. “I guess I want you to at least try being nice. Just try. You know?”

“I will try,” Jean murmured, “but let’s talk about all this later so you can focus on the road. I think that’s a good idea.”

Reiner nodded, his fingers still wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. Jean turned up the stereo before reclining his seat and looking out his window. The snowy landscape rushed by, filling his vision with a blurred field of white. It was oddly beautiful. Mesmerizing, even. Maybe that’s why his eyelids felt so heavy… though it was probably just last night’s insomnia finally catching up to him.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

A sudden blast of cold air rushing into the cabin jolted Jean from his slumber. He looked up to see Reiner standing outside his open door and the expression on his boyfriend’s face instantly perked him up. Unbuckling himself he turned in his seat to tightly wrap his arms around Reiner who fell into the embrace with a shudder.

“I.. I’m so s-sorry for waking you, Jean,” Reiner whispered breathlessly into his ear, “I just… traffic slowed down to a crawl and I g-got this feeling that..”

Jean hushed him while running a hand up and down his back. Looking past to the world outside he noted they were in an empty parking lot attached to what was probably an office building. Perfect. He took a deep breath before turning his attention back to his partner. 

“It’s okay, I’m glad you woke me up. You did exactly what you’re supposed to, Rei. You did good. Really, really good.”

They stayed in each other’s arms for a couple of minutes while Reiner calmed his shuddering breath. When Jean felt that his boyfriend was sufficiently recovered he insisted on taking the wheel. Originally the two planned on each driving about half of the way there but Jean assured that he didn’t mind driving extra.

“You get full music privileges,” Jean announced as he buckled himself into the driver’s seat, “hell, even Mariah.”

“Jean… it’s o-okay..” Reiner protested while wiping his eyes, “you don’t have to listen to music you hate just for me.”

“But I want to,” he grinned and gave Reiner’s shoulder a playful shove, “I know you would do the same for me.”

“I think I already do that, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean. I don’t really hate any of your music but obscure 80’s ska and Medieval French battle hymns aren’t my favorite,” Reiner hesitated, “sometimes I’m not really in the mood but… I mean…” he trailed off, his mouth forming into a thin line across his face.

“Let me guess, you don’t ask me to change it because you don’t want to be a bother?”

Reiner turned to look at Jean head on and nodded, his lips curling into a faint smile.

Jean huffed. Of course his self sacrificing boyfriend would listen to literally anything Jean wanted. It was true that Reiner was a lot less picky than him. Yet he also felt like a bit of an ass for never asking if Reiner actually enjoyed his more niche music choices.

He reached over to ruffle the hair on the back of Reiner’s head, rolling his eyes as he did so. “You gotta work on this with your therapist more, hon. I want you to tell me stuff like that. I’m here to please you as much as you’re here to please me. I expect some god damn equality in my relationship. Got it?”

The blond’s smile grew wider. “Loud and clear.”

Without another word, Jean leaned over the console while pulling Reiner towards him. Their foreheads connected with a gentle bump and a renewed smile on both of their faces. Jean tilted his head slightly, making a point to nuzzle the crook of his boyfriend’s nose. 

Reiner sighed contentedly in response. He lifted his hand to cup the side of Jean’s face before pressing a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. A silent thank you from one to the other, sweet, but also vulnerable. Like a hesitant knock on the door of Jean’s world where Reiner sometimes felt out of place. Such as now when his emotions were still dizzying and fraught.

Recognizing the call, Jean pulled Reiner in closer, and began peppering kisses all over his face. Forehead, brows, nose, cheekbones, jaw, chin. And the lips, so many flurried pecks to Reiner’s chapped lips. Every one meant to convey the same thing—I want you. I love you.

“Aghh!” Reiner exclaimed through the attack. He let out wonderfully delighted laughs that set Jean’s soul alight with elation. “Mercy, mercy!”

After one final kiss on the mouth, Jean let Reiner go to lay back against the passenger seat. The blond heaved deep breaths, latent laughs slowly dying on his lips. “I love this side of you,” he mused while buckling himself in, “I’m honored whenever you let me see it.”

“Oh shut up,” Jean chuckled, “you make me sound like some humorless dolt.” He turned the key in the ignition then threw the car into reverse.

“Humorless dolt? Not at all. In I fact think you’re very clever,” Reiner replied smoothly, “witty, droll, piquant—”

“That’s enough, Cyrano. Now where do you want to stop for lunch?”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The rest of the drive was relatively smooth. Free flowing traffic, no heated discussions, and Reiner chose a music genre both of them could agree on—80’s glam metal. Jean liked the fashion and showmanship while Reiner appreciated the cheese and catchy hooks. It wasn’t until Jani Lane started singing about secrets he just couldn’t tell that the dreaded topic returned.

“Are you sure you’re okay pretending to be roommates in front of my family?” Reiner asked after turning down the stereo. His voice cracked at the end, prompting him to busy himself with his water bottle to soothe his scratchy throat.

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Jean sighed.

“Are you positive? We don’t have to keep it a secret if you really don’t want—”

“I’m positive, Reiner. It’s seriously not a big deal.”

“And you’ll try being nice, right?”

“Oh course,” Jean insisted, albeit gently.

“…Okay,” Reiner moved to turn the volume back up when Jean covered the dial with his hand.

“Do you not trust me, Rei? To keep my cool?”

“It’s not that I distrust you, Jean. You have a cool head. I mean, I was surprised when your friends mentioned how much you fought with Eren growing up.” The thought of teens Jean and Eren fighting brought a smile to Reiner’s face. “But I know how strongly you feel about my mom. I don’t really blame you, either, it’s just that she’s not actually a villain.”

“I know that,” Jean responded tersely in spite of himself. In his periphery he noticed the way Reiner winced and he sighed again. With a softer voice he added, “I understand that she’s a person.”

“But will you keep that in mind when she says something ignorant? Or even just a little frustrating?”

“Reiner, I promise you I will do everything in my power to make this experience as stress free for you as possible. Trust me.” Jean glanced over at his boyfriend with a smile before returning his attention to the road. They were back on surface streets by now, mere minutes away from the Braun household.

The front door of the house flew open upon their arrival, before Jean finished pulling into the driveway, even. It was a teenage girl absolutely beaming from cheek to cheek, eyes scrunched closed in joy. From the passenger seat Reiner let out a quiet gasp and, without a word, hopped out of the car to meet her.

“Reiner!” She squealed excitedly, throwing her arms around his neck and letting him lift her up from the ground. “I’m so happy you came!”

“And I’m so happy to see you again, Gabi. You’ve grown so much!” He gave her a twirl before setting her back on the ground, his own smile dazzling brighter than the strings of twinkling lights surrounding the open doorway. 

Jean hadn’t seen his boyfriend this happy in weeks and he couldn’t help but stare in grateful awe at the scene. Then his eye caught another figure approaching from inside of the house and his mood immediately soured. 

It was Reiner’s mother, Karina. She was short with drabby blonde hair, deep set eyes, wrinkles, and a very familiar nose. Not exactly the face of evil but he knew how looks could be deceiving.

Reiner turned and hugged her with what looked like a beat of hesitation. Jean quickly got out of the car to join them, his protective instincts kicking into high gear. He heard the tail end of a sentence on his approach that made his jaw clench.

“…you’ve gotten so big, Reiner.”

Thankfully he caught himself before his face formed into the nastiest scowl, remembering the promise he’d made minutes earlier. Besides, Jean reminded himself, maybe Karina didn’t mean anything negative by it when she called her son big. Perhaps it was a comment on the fact that Reiner had gotten into weight training since his last visit.

“Thanks mom,” Reiner replied with an awkward chuckle, “I started going to the gym more regularly. So uh, let me know if you need me to lift anything for you while I’m here.”

Okay, so he was right to give her the benefit of the doubt. Except then Jean’s resolve almost faltered yet again when Karina greeted him, leaning past Reiner and smiling at him.

“Ahh so this is your roommate Gene, I take it? It’s nice to meet you, dear.” 

Of course she said his name wrong. Fucking Gene, as if he were a pair of denim pants. His hazel eyes narrowed dangerously, preparing the most passive aggressive response possible when Reiner suddenly jumped in with a correction.

“No, mom. It’s Jean. Kind of like fawn but with a J.”

“Oh!” She exclaimed with wide eyes, “I’m sorry, I had no idea. It’s wonderful to meet you, Jean.” Her expression softened back into a smile as her gaze moved to Reiner’s truck. “How about we get everything inside? It’s starting to get chilly.”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

“So Jean’s bags should go into the guest room, then?” Reiner asked as they carried the last few things inside with them.

“No, dear, that’s where Gabi’s staying,” Karina responded, “your aunt and uncle are out of town on a couple’s trip with the Grices. I offered to let Gabi stay here.”

“Isn’t it great, Reiner?” Gabi hopped excitedly between each foot, practically jogging in place. “Just like old times! Remember how my parents and I would stay over for Christmas Eve and we’d all wake up together the next morning?”

Reiner nodded, “I do remember. You’d kick me out of my room and I’d sleep on the couch.” Though the wording sounded bitter the smile on his face indicated he felt quite the opposite. “So I’m guessing I’m on the couch while Jean’s in my old room? I’ll take my stuff to the living r—”

“Ahh, no,” his mother interrupted, “Falco will be on the couch.”

“Falco?” Jean found himself asking, trying to place the vaguely familiar name.

“My boyfriend!!” Gabi practically shouted. Reiner looked surprised before quickly recovering into a warm smile.

“Also a family friend,” Reiner elaborated, “his parents are the ones traveling with my aunt and uncle. I’m guessing my mother agreed to let him stay over, too.”

“I did, yes. He’s currently visiting his brother out of state but he’ll be here in a couple of days. I know it’s… unusual but do you mind sharing a room?”

“I don’t mind,” Jean replied, practically holding his breath. Was this for real?

Karina lowered her voice so only the two men could hear her, “Thank you. I obviously can’t let those two share a room, even if they’re both 18. It wouldn’t be decent.”

Oh. Of course it was a concern about the teenagers having sex. Jean held in a sigh while Reiner hurriedly ushered him upstairs to his childhood room, saying something to his mom about coming back down soon for dinner.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

“Looks like we lucked out,” Reiner muttered after closing the door shut behind him, “though I’m surprised she didn’t insist on finding me a sleeping bag so we didn’t have to share the bed.”

“Maybe she’s trying not to push her luck,” Jean sat down on said bed and looked around the room. Any decorations Reiner may have put up as a teenager were long gone. Her son had been out of the house for close to a decade at this point so perhaps that was warranted but it still rubbed him the wrong way.

“Did you know your mom sanitized your room like this?”

Reiner shrugged and plopped down on the bed next to him. “No, but it doesn’t bother me, either. I don’t want to be reminded of the old days, anyway… it’s not like they were good.” As nonchalant as he probably tried to sound, the edge in his voice gave him away.

Jean frowned and wrapped an arm around Reiner’s shoulder, pulling him in for a sideways embrace. “Don’t say that, Rei,” he leaned over to whisper into his partner’s ear, “maybe you didn’t have any good days in this room but we wouldn’t be here right now if your entire life before college was exclusively miserable.”

“You’re right,” his boyfriend pressed their foreheads together gently, amber eyes closing, “I owed Porco a visit, anyways.” A single tear rolled down Reiner’s cheek as he took a shuddering breath, “Sometimes I can’t help but still feel like they’re both my—”

“Hey, hey, don’t go there,” Jean cut in, hands quickly cupping the other man’s face, “I… I understand, you know that. And I also get you can’t exactly help it sometimes but I’m also not gonna let you just say it. Because it’s not true. It was never true. Never.”

In his mind Jean thought the words he wouldn’t dare speak aloud right now. Not as Reiner began weeping quietly, tears seeping into the cracks between his own face and Jean’s supportive palms.

It’s not true, no matter what your mom told you.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Over the next couple of days Jean found himself on high alert. Despite the fact that Karina never said anything outwardly hostile, he couldn’t help but notice her frequent attempts to get her son alone. As far as he was concerned, no good could come from such an interaction.

Thus he made sure to intervene every single time, practically gluing himself to Reiner’s hip. Somehow he managed to do so without any pleading expressions from his beau. No desperate glances silently screaming for Jean to behave.

Instead Reiner thoroughly enjoyed himself, catching up with his baby cousin and introducing her to Jean. Gabi, while initially a shock to the senses with her loud voice and frequent exclamations, quickly grew on him. She was spunky, reminding Jean of a younger version of himself.

All the while Karina stood on the sidelines, watching. Occasionally she made some attempt at joining in on the conversation but often failed to connect. Gabi also made some efforts to bring her in on some topic or another but the old hag was usually too clueless to contribute. Talk about satisfying.

Jean smiled every time she made eye contact with him, imagining how much Karina probably hated him for not letting her sink her claws into his man.

Everything changed when he woke up alone on the morning of the 24th. The moment he realized Reiner wasn’t there he grabbed his phone to check the time. It was 7:18, meaning he hadn’t grossly overslept. Then Jean noticed a text message from Reiner from around an hour ago.

“Gabi begged me to pick up Falco from the airport with her. Should be back before breakfast.”

He sighed in relief, happy that Reiner was occupied by Gabi and not his mother. Speaking of, Karina usually served breakfast around 8, meaning the three should be back soon. 

Jean got up from bed and commenced his morning routine: showering, brushing his teeth, skincare, and of course haircare. By the time he wandered downstairs in some comfortable clothes it was already 7:55. Reiner and the kids were due back any minute. He sat down at the kitchen table and did a crossword on his phone while he waited.

Karina stood by the stove cooking up something for all of them to eat. If Jean had to give her credit for something, it was her cooking. Even something as simple as scrambled eggs and bacon smelled absolutely divine coming out of her kitchen. Had she been any other person he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to learn her secrets.

“Here you go, Jean. I’ll pour you some coffee, too.”

A plate with some eggs, sausage, and toast suddenly appeared on the table before him. He looked up at her, surprised that she would serve him breakfast before everyone else was present. The past couple of mornings they always waited for everyone, no matter how much Gabi insisted she was dying of starvation.

As if reading his mind Karina spoke up again, “Gabi told me they were running late and would grab breakfast on the way home. So it’s just us two this morning.” She placed a decorative mug of black coffee next to Jean’s plate. 

The mug was Christmas themed with little reindeer flying through the sky pulling Santa’s sleigh. Except instead of being cartoonish it was elegant and minimalist. White silhouettes on a black background with smooth looping script wishing him a Merry Christmas. Okay, maybe he had to give her credit for her tastes in drinkware, too. It was a wonder where Reiner got his adorable but tacky tastes.

He sipped on the drink, still piping hot from the coffee press, while Karina brought her own plate over and sat across from him. They ate in silence, Jean practically gluing his eyes to his phone screen to avoid catching her gaze. Without Reiner’s presence there to rein him in, the temptation to tear into her only grew. 

He just had to hold out until Reiner and the kids came back.

“They probably won’t get here until lunch,” Karina suddenly stated right as Jean finished the last bite of food on his plate. The way she said it sounded so certain. Probably? That was definitely a lie for appearances. She knew they wouldn’t be back for a while.

Jean swallowed hard, eyes finally snapping up to look at Karina. “Why do you say that?”

“I asked Gabi to buy me some time, and so she lied to Reiner about when Falco’s plane landed,” she replied, expression stony, “I thought, if you won’t let me talk to my son then I might as well talk to you instead.”

“Oh yeah?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, “What did you want to talk about?”

“Are you the reason my son won’t answer my calls anymore? Why he blocked me on social media? Why I haven’t seen him since my mother’s funeral several years ago?”

“You’re damn right I’m the reason,” he declared, feeling a fiery heat ignite in his soul, calling forth the fury he’d contained over the past few days. One built up by years of watching his best friend suffer from deep emotional wounds primarily inflicted upon him by this woman. Jean clenched his fists, mentally preparing himself for what felt like an ensuing battle. 

She frowned, the wrinkles in her forehead growing more pronounced. “Why did you do that?”

“Why?” Jean laughed haughtily, his almond eyes brimming with deep disdain. “Because you make him absolutely miserable. He can’t help but love you as his mom but I saw the way Reiner deflated after every phone call with you. How he’d get so anxious about every little mistake he made. And, unlike you, I got Reiner the help he needed. I supported him through that process and eventually helped him find the courage to finally cut you out.”

“Then why are you even here?” She asked, eyebrows furrowing further in what looked like frustration, “And why for so long? Why stay here until after New Years?”

Jean scoffed, “It’s not to see you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“For Gabi, then?”

“No, if it was just about Gabi then I would have invited her to come visit us for the holidays. Falco, too. He sounds like a nice kid.”

Karina pursed her lips, mouth forming a thin line across her face. To Jean’s surprise, though, she stayed silent, evidently waiting for him to continue.

He hesitated, unsure if he wanted to elaborate. None of this was any of her business, after all. Except he wanted her to feel bad. To feel guilty for all of the cruel and messed up things she did and said to Reiner over the years. And, well, he only promised to make the trip stress free for Reiner who wasn’t there to bear witness… What if Reiner just never found out?

“We’re here to pay our respects to Marcel and,” Jean gazed at her with all of the intensity he could muster, “Bertholdt. Though you might know him better as that wretched sinner or, I don’t know, that disgusting faggot?” He paused for a moment, taking in the way she winced when he repeated her words back to her.

“I could scarcely believe it the first time Reiner told me about their deaths,” Jean spat, “how you screamed at him for killing Marcel. I mean, how dare you blame him for that? And for what? Because if he hadn’t skipped his extracurricular that day then he wouldn’t have been there to cause the accident?”

She bowed her head, staring intently at her hands to avoid confronting the deadly look on Jean’s face.

“As if Reiner had any control over the driver who ran the red light when they were all crossing the street. As if he chose to have his friend push him out of danger to take the hit himself! Marcel, a dear friend, died and you had no sympathy, no compassion for your son. It’s been 15 years and he still carries that guilt with him. Still blames himself.”

Tears of indignation started welling in the corner of Jean’s eyes but he quickly blinked them away. It’d be a cold day in hell when he showed any signs of weakness to this witch.

“And you didn’t even get him help! He watched a friend get hit by a car and you couldn’t be bothered to get him in to see a therapist. And I know you had the resources. Unlike Bertholdt’s father who wanted to get his son into therapy after also witnessing the accident but just didn’t have the right insurance. You realize that Reiner and Bertholdt practically held each other together after that, right?”

Surprisingly Karina responded with a single nod of the head. Yet she continued staring at the table, her expression unreadable. He knew he could stop here, having likely gotten his point across but fuck that. It wasn’t close to enough.

“If you knew how much your son relied upon that friendship then why did you tear them apart? Huh?”

Karina hunched further forward in her seat, elbows now propped up on the table so she could hold her head. She didn’t even attempt a response, which only served to piss Jean off more.

“We both know it’s because you walked in on them sharing a kiss! A simple peck on the lips and you lost your goddamn mind! You grounded your son for the rest of the school year and forbade him from seeing his best friend! They didn’t even know how they actually felt about each other but you didn’t hesitate to demonize an innocent teenager! One you’d known for years at that point, no less!”

Jean banged his fist on the table with a frustrated grunt, causing the dishes to clatter from the force. She flinched in response but still hung her head low, refusing to face his fury. He took a moment to catch his breath before continuing his condemnation. “The night Bertholdt died he was driving here to see Reiner. Not to have some secret affair but because your son was at the end of his rope.”

Finally she raised her head, looking at him with a hollow, wide eyed expression. 

“That’s right. Reiner started talking about hurting himself and his best friend rushed here despite your warnings in order to save your son…” for the first time Jean hesitated, temporarily uncertain if he should throw the finishing blow. Then he remembered the look of devastation on Reiner’s face the first time he heard this story and he knew it had to be done.

“Did you know that they were on the phone together? Bertholdt didn’t want to leave Reiner alone for a second, afraid of what might happen if he did. As a result Reiner heard all of it. The crash, the screams of pain, and then the emergency workers frantically pulling Bertholdt from the wreckage, shouting about the blood loss and—” 

“Stop!” Karina sobbed desperately, her suddenly visible eyes pleading with Jean to grant her mercy. The look on her face, the hint of remorse he sensed in her, made him take pity and skip the rest of the gory details.

“The only reason we’re even here talking right now,” Jean growled, “the only reason your son is still alive, is because he had other people to carry him through. First he had his friends here in town and then he went to college and found me. I saw how much he was hurting and I encouraged him to finally talk to a professional. Now he’s flourishing and I’ll be damned if I let you undo any of his hard earned progress!”

What he heard her say next didn’t make any sense. Jean couldn’t help but think he’d misheard Karina through her sobs and gasps for air. But then she said it again and again. So many times that it became unmistakable.

“Thank you.”

“What? Why the hell are you thanking me?”

“Because,” Karina suddenly reached across the table to grab one of Jean’s hands. In any other situation he would immediately pull away but his instincts told him to wait. “Jean, dear, I’ve been trying to get Reiner alone to ask if he would consider going to family therapy with me.”

“Wait, what?”

“After Reiner cut me off.. I was a complete mess. At first I was so angry. How could my baby forsake me like that? After everything I sacrificed to raise him. But then the anger, it turned into despair and I could hardly function. When I went in for a medical appointment, the doctor convinced me to see a therapist for my depression. It took years but eventually I realized how much I’d let down my dear son.”

Jean stared at Karina, too stunned to even notice that now he was crying. Not from righteous anger but from utter confusion. For all of the times he had daydreamed about putting this woman in her place he never imagined such a response.

“If you hadn’t convinced Reiner to shut me out I never would’ve gotten the help I needed. I never would’ve worked on my own issues and understood how I took them out on him. I failed him as a mother. I know that now.” She let go of Jean’s hand to grab a tissue box and set it on the table between the two of them.

“Hold on,” he watched as she pulled a tissue to dab at her eyes, “if you already knew you’d done wrong by Reiner then why did you let me tell you off like that?” Jean grimaced now as he thought back on the comments he’d just made. The fierce condemnations. The unapologetic jabs.

Karina smiled weakly, “Well… I guess I wanted to understand how you saw the situation as my son’s life partner.”

“That’s reasona— WHAT,” Jean bolted up from his seat, “what did you just call me!?”

“Reiner’s life partner,” she repeated gently, her smile widening.

“You knew this whole time!?”

Karina nodded.

“How?!” Jean slammed his palms down on the table, rattling the tableware yet again. 

This time, instead of flinching, Karina couldn’t stop herself from laughing. A goofy, genuine laugh that rumbled from her stomach and up through her chest. A laugh that sounded exactly like Reiner’s when he felt light and carefree. When he was happy.

“Gabi and Reiner are friends on social media, dear,” she finally explained after containing her amusement. “He isn’t shy about your relationship. And Gabi isn’t shy about, well, anything. I don’t think she realized that I wasn’t supposed to know when she told me.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well,” Karina sighed, her smile quickly fading, “I… I didn’t want to stress Reiner. Or you, for that matter. With how bigoted I used to be, I wasn’t sure if either of you would believe me if I said I was okay with it, either.”

Jean nodded, finally allowing himself to smile. He sat back down at the table and leaned back in the seat. Without saying anything, Karina grabbed Jean’s nearly empty cup of coffee and brought back a fresh pour.

“We have a few hours still,” she reminded him, “If you’re up to it, I think it would be nice to start over.”

He considered her offer for a second, a smug smile crossing his face. “Sure but on one condition.”

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The last thing Reiner expected to hear when he threw open the door of his mother’s house after hours of waiting around at the airport was raucous laughter. Especially not Jean’s laughter, at that. He kicked off his shoes and hastily ran into the kitchen where he discovered Jean gleefully laughing at a photo album.

“Oh, that picture of him dressed as a yam?” Karina asked with a chuckle. She was back at the stove, putting the finishing touches on their lunch.

“Is that what that is?” Jean questioned with a wide, mischievous smile. His eyes were glued to a polaroid of a young Reiner wearing a lumpy reddish-brown blob of a costume. “Was this for some Thanksgiving play or something?”

Reiner froze in place, mouth hanging open. Wide eyed, he glanced back and forth between the duo, too shocked to speak.

“No, no” she replied cheerfully, “that was for Halloween. Reiner really, and I mean really, loved sweet potatoes back then. I borrowed his aunt’s sewing machine and tried throwing something together for him. It admittedly wasn’t very good.”

Jean cackled. He flipped to the next page, grinning at more pictures of the yam costume while sipping on some water.

“Hello Ms. Braun, thank you for hosting me,” a gentle voice suddenly came from Reiner’s side and drew everyone’s attention. Falco stood in the doorway of the kitchen holding a small tin. “Colt baked these cookies for us to enjoy.”

Without skipping a beat Jean got up from the table to shake Falco’s hand and introduce himself. Then he gestured for the young man to follow him to the stove where Karina once stood.

Reiner looked down to see his mother gazing up at him, a nervous smile adorning her face. She gently grabbed his arm and led him to the next room while Gabi passed them to join the others.

“Mom, what’s going on?” He asked quietly, eyebrows still stuck high on his forehead.

“I asked Gabi to keep you busy for a while so I could talk to Jean,” Karina let go of her son’s arm to rest her hands at her sides. That alone was unusual to him, having grown accustomed to his mother clinging to him when they were in such close proximity. She continued, “I’m sorry for the tricks but I realized I needed to get your boyfriend on my side if I wanted to talk to you. And yes, I’ve known this whole time. Gabi told me a while ago.”

“Gabi told you I had a boyfriend? But then why—” Reiner cut himself off and shook his head, realizing that it really didn’t matter why his mother played along with the roommate story. Not when she referred to Jean as his boyfriend without a shred of contempt in her tone.

“Reiner, I’m so sorry,” Karina looked away for a moment to wipe her watering eyes, “I know I hurt you so much.”

He blinked back tears of his own. Was this real? “It’s… it’s okay, mom, r-really…” Reiner stammered, suddenly overcome with an indescribable feeling of guilt. One that he often felt when thinking about his mother but never understood.

“My dear boy, it’s not okay. I am your mother and I failed you. After talking to Jean I realized that I failed you even more than I thought. I wouldn’t blame you if you never forgave me.”

“Wait,” he protested, “that man, my dad, took advantage of you when you were still just a teenager and then abandoned you with his child. And then.. grandma and grandpa, I didn’t see it back then but I see it now. I see how disappointed they were. You hardly knew peace a-and they treated m-me like an extension of you. I… I can’t b-blame you for wanting me to meet their expectations.”

Karina shook her head, choking back tears. Reiner could see the way she fought against her own desire to pull him into a hug and it broke his heart. As often as Jean had encouraged him to be angry at his mother, he rarely ever could. 

That guilt, he suddenly realized where it came from. And that was from the knowledge that his very existence made Karina’s life infinitely harder. How every little mistake he made was weaponized against her by his grandparents. The only ones he ever knew and also the ones who silently saw Reiner as a mistake. 

It’s not like they were wrong, either.

Yet Karina didn’t stop shaking her head in disagreement, fighting against her own emotions to find her voice. “None of what you said, about your father or my parents or my age,” she croaked, barely understandable, “none of that was your fault.” She muffled a sob with her hands. 

“You didn’t choose to be born, Reiner. And maybe… maybe I didn’t choose to give birth, but it’s not an excuse for how I treated you. Or how I treated poor Bertholdt. You were just kids and I… I had n-no idea th-that you… or that h-he… it’s all m-my f-fault…”

Reiner sucked in a sharp breath, immediately understanding his mother now knew about that awful night. Without hesitation he pulled her into a strong embrace, unable to contain his own sobs. Karina whimpered innumerable apologies and for once he let her without protest. 

Deep down Reiner somehow knew that both of them needed this. His mom needed to apologize for her wrongdoings. He needed to forgive himself for every one of those wrongs for which he had ever accepted the blame. This was them, finally healing. The first step of countless many in a journey that already felt infinitely easier.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

That night five of them sat around the kitchen table, laughing and playing some of their favorite board games. Karina sat out of some of the rounds but, unlike the previous days, she was very much part of the conversation. Jean still struggled at times to hold his tongue after she said something questionable but he cut himself some slack. He knew this was a process for him, too.

When he and Reiner finally retired to their room his heart felt much lighter. As did his boyfriend’s for that matter, (though he was a little tipsy, too.) It didn’t take long before Jean felt Reiner lightly snoring into the back of his neck, the latter insisting on being the big spoon that night. He smiled to himself as sleep gradually came to claim him, too.

Never in Jean’s dreams did he ever imagine liking Karina Braun. Perhaps it was a Christmas miracle. Or perhaps, as was sometimes the case, he assumed the worst of someone he never met in the process of fighting for someone he loved. He didn’t question it, however, just happy that he agreed to give her the chance.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

A/N: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! If there is enough interest I might write a second part where reijean go on a double date with pokupiku and pay their respects to Marcel and Bertholdt.

[freckleslikestars]

Mistletoe Kisses

Christmas MSR smut, what more could you want

3303 Words, read here on AO3

She’d been pissy with him all day, agitated and grumpy, snapping at the mildest of questions, and checking her watch constantly. Of course, he understood. Her brother was coming into town, bringing the family, for Christmas at her mother’s. Just another painful reminder of Christmas’s past. And so it didn’t really bother him so much when at ten to five she gave a sharp sigh and stood from her side of the desk, abruptly pushing her chair away and muttering as she jammed papers into her briefcase.

‘I’m heading out.’

‘Okay. What time do you want me at your Mom’s tomorrow?’ her brow furrowed. ‘Christmas Eve? At your Mom’s. That’s- that’s if you still want me to come. I mean, I don’t want to impose, and you’re not...’

‘Tomorrow. Yeah. No, um, I’ll swing by at around two and pick you up?’

‘Okay. Sounds good.’ They hadn’t been...doing whatever it was that they were doing – some undefined, unnameable...thing – for long. A couple months – slightly longer if you counted the time four months ago when they tumbled into bed together after an intense case. And the night after his mother’s death when he sought comfort in her in the only way he could. And, really, if you considered the week after the New Year, where they barely left her bed and then refused to talk about it, both swearing it wouldn’t happen again, it was fast approaching a year that they’d been doing...well, whatever it was they were doing.

But it wasn’t serious. Unless you took into account all the unspoken things between them. The fact he’d silently hoped and silently mourned alongside her throughout round after round of IVF. The way he’d felt about her since...as long as he could remember. The lengths he’d gone to to save her and keep her by his side. And, of course, the fact that she was it for him, no matter how little they’d ever discussed any future together.

But it wasn’t serious. They were just having fun, screwing around behind the government’s back. Only, he’d started spending multiple nights in a row at her place, and she at his in turn. It seemed tonight was going to be the first night in a long, long time now that he wasn’t to be going home with her. And, of course, he was going to be spending Christmas with her family. Staying at her mother’s house. Meeting the extended family.

So... maybe not as casual as they were telling themselves.

He sighed, cracking his neck and reclining back in his chair, picking up the next file from the haphazard pile on his desk and flicking through it with little interest. He was worried that she wasn’t ready for him to meet her family, that going along tomorrow was a bad idea, that there was too much pressure on it. Because whilst this was it for him, whilst there was nothing and no one he wanted more than her, he still wasn’t certain that she was on the same page, and he really didn’t want to push it so far that he lost her.

Having absorbed nothing of the file he was reading, he decided that he’d try and read it through one more time before packing it in and heading home for the night. Ten minutes later and he was giving up, deciding that a night of leftover Chinese and Star Trek reruns was mildly more appealing than staring at barely convincing reports of sea monsters and Yetis. Mildly.

Traffic was hellish, a city of people leaving for the holidays and doing last-minute shopping, clogging the roads and making his drive impossibly slow. Tinny Christmas songs crackled over his car stereo as downy flakes of snow started tumbling down, catching in the taillights of the cars ahead and melting on the tarmac. As he inched closer to home, he let his mind wander and allowed himself to fantasise about tomorrow and about future Christmases to come. They hadn’t exactly discussed in what capacity he’d be attending the Scully family Christmas, and whilst he was fairly certain that Maggie at least suspected that they were together, he was also pretty sure that Scully hadn’t disclosed the nature of their relationship to any of her family. But that didn’t stop him from daydreaming of dropping sweet, chaste kisses on her cheek as they helped lay the table and wrapping his arms around her waist as she stood chatting with her aunt by the fireplace, finding a hidden corner to murmur sweet nothings into her ear and kiss her until her cheeks flushed.

The crawl home took twice as long as usual, and by the time he’d pulled into his parking space, the desire to go over to her place, crawl into bed next to her and forget the swirling snow and holiday traffic until the new year, was only dampened by the thought of spending even more time on the road and the idea that maybe she wouldn’t be so welcoming of his uninvited appearance after the day she’d had.

His building was quiet as he traipsed his way up the stairs, not before sending a glare towards the elevator that had been out of service for the past week, and he only passed one neighbour on his way up to the fourth floor, bobbing his head in a slight nod, a murmured ‘merry Christmas’ as they passed one another.

He sensed it as soon as he stepped into his apartment, the presence of another soul. He wasn’t sure what set his senses off, but there was something...not quite right. Everything was still, untouched, silent; everything perfectly in its place. But there was a hint of cinnamon in the air, a fresh breath of familiar musky perfume hidden under it.

Shedding his coat and toeing off his shoes, he placed his briefcase by the door with measured precision, biding his time and waiting to see if she’d come out of hiding. Assuming she’d fallen asleep when she didn’t come out to find him, he tiptoed his way into the bedroom, swallowing thickly when he saw her.

She was a fantasy, all diaphanous red and white lace, sat primly on the centre of his bed, a coy, inviting smile tugging at her lips. A fuzzy Santa hat was perched crookedly atop her head and she dangled a sprig of mistletoe between her fingertips, the spray of white berries drooping down above her cinnamon lips.

‘Hi.’

She gave a delicate wiggle of her fingers before twisting her hand and beckoning him with a come-hither crook. A low grown rumbled through his chest as he staggered towards the bed, his knees hitting the frame with a thunk. 'Merry Christmas, Mulder.'

'Bit early for Christmas presents, isn't it?'

'Are you complaining?'

'Certainly not,' he shook his head, clambering onto his bed and shuffling up to her, 'you look…incredible.'

She smiled up at him softly, 'I thought you'd like it.'

'Like it? This is my favourite item of clothing now,' he pinched red chiffon between his fingers, rubbed the white lace trim with reverence.

'I bet you'd like what's under it even more,' she leant forwards, catching his lips with her own in a soft, tender kiss - almost chaste in it's comforting familiarity - the arm holding the mistletoe dropping down to rest against his head, holding him to her.

'Oh, without a doubt,' he murmured against her. His hands had started wandering, cupping her breasts through the lace, ghosting across her stomach, toying with the straps and disappearing beneath the hem of the babydoll. 'But I enjoy unwrapping my presents just as much as the present itself.'

'Some presents are fun to play with in their wrapping,' with the mistletoe in hand, she guided his lips down her chest, gave a sinful moan as he laved his tongue over a pebbled nipple, closed his teeth gently around it. With a shift of the mistletoe, he turned his attentions to the other breast, leaving his hand to finish his work. He peeled away the cup of the babydoll, pressing his face into her warm flesh, humming at the familiar scent of her; apricot shower gel and the perfume she gets from the department store, and the slightly musky spike of her that he can always detect after a day's work. She mewled, her free hand twisting into his hair and anchoring him to her, a soft plea falling from her lips.

Without needing her to guide him, he worked his way down her chest as she reclined back into the pillows, pressing wet kisses to her stomach through the diaphanous material, drawing it up to reveal a matching red thong. He nudged her legs apart, groaning at the sight, 'you're so naughty, Scully. So damn naughty. And I am one lucky sonofabitch,' his humid breath pressed in on her cunt, his nose barely ghosting across the soft, pale flesh of her inner thigh.

'I'll remind you of that next time you ditch me in favour of chasing after Bigfoot,' her voice caught as his tongue darted out to lick along the elastic of her panties.

'I'll make it my new year's resolution, how about that?'

'Won't stick,' she muttered, groaning when he placed a wet, open kiss over her slit, sucking on the flesh either side of her thong with a blissful moan.

He pushed up from her slightly and rested his chin on her pubic bone, gazing up at her with eyes full of mirth, 'well then, next year I'll be on Santa's naughty list, and you can punish me in whatever way you see fit.'

'Is that a promise?'

'Pinky promise. Cross my heart and hope to die. No more ditching you,' he pressed a chaste kiss to the jut of her hipbone, leaning into her palm when she cupped his cheek. 'I think this needs to come off, you know,' he lightly snapped the elastic of her thong, grinning when she squirmed. He hooked two fingers into each side and helped her shimmy them off, following their path with his mouth, kissing and licking and sucking at her legs, all the way down and all the way back up again as he settled before her, prostrate at her alter. She jolted at the first full lick of his tongue up her weeping opening, a whimper escaping her lips when he lapped at her clit.

He was good at this, good at winding her up and undoing her, driving her crazy with his lips and teeth and tongue, his own sounds of pleasure egging her on. He knew how much suction she liked, where on her clit too much was painful, and where the lightest touch could set her off like Times Square on New Years Eve. He knew just when to slip a finger or two into her tight heat, and the perfect way to curl them to have her begging him for more. In just the few months that they'd been doing this regularly, he'd become somewhat of an expert in what made Dana Scully tick, and what made her come. He could write dissertations on in, do a PhD in his partner's oral preferences.

Her back arched and her fingers tightened in his hair, the mistletoe long forgotten. With a hand on the back of her thigh, he guided her leg over his shoulder, moaning when it opened her up further and she used the leverage to draw her closer to him with her foot on his back, her toes curling into the fabric of his shirt. She was so very wet, a core of molten lava in a liquid body, eagerly gasping for more, more, as her hips writhed and thrust against his mouth. One of his hands reached up to join her own on her breast, fondling and massaging and pinching and soothing. His other hand braced around the leg he'd slung over his shoulder, pressed his palm against her lower stomach to stop her from squirming so much. His thumb gently pulled the hood of her clit up to allow it to peek out further, softening his tongue around it to lap gently. She mewled, her grip in his hair tightening when he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked.

'Mulder, please?'

'What do you need, Baby?'

'You. I just need you.'

His cock was straining uncomfortably against his slacks, and other than grinding himself into his mattress, there wasn't a thing he could do in his current position to relieve some of the pressure. He knew, without a doubt, that if he didn't pull her over the edge first, he'd never manage to last when he pressed himself into her tight heat. He flicked his pointed tongue against the left side of her clit, traced it up and down her slit before laving across her with the flat of it. 'You have me.'

She whined, straining against him, 'Mulder?'

'Yes.'

'Make me come.'

He'd do anything for her, of course, and after delving his tongue into her pussy, cleaving her open and lapping at her juices, he pressed two fingers into her, crooking them just so to rub against her front wall. She cried out, releasing the grasp on her breast to tangle her hand into the sheet beside her, gripping and pulling at it. Her muscles clenched and quivered around his digits, rippling with each rhythmic curl, until he gave a hard suck to her clit and she came with a whimper, trembling apart in his arms. He continued to suckle gently at her labia whilst she came down, her gasps calming to the occasional audible breath. She hummed, affectionately combing her fingers through his hair when he placed a delicate kiss to her mons and dropped his head down to rest on her thigh.

'You're overdressed,' she murmured, dragging a limp foot up his still-clothed back.

'I think we can do something about that,' he pushed himself to stand at the foot of the bed, efficiently shedding his work clothes and tossing them vaguely in the direction of his laundry basket.

She beckoned him over, a sly, satiated smile on her lips as she reached for him. Her kiss was ravenous as she tasted herself off his face, desperate as he tugged her down to lie flat on her back and settled himself into the cradle of her thighs. His shaft lay against her still-quivering pussy and he rocked his hips, coating himself in her slick. They both groaned as he pressed into her, their tension from the day melting away as she adjusted to him, his weight settling over her as he pulled out and thrust back in at a glacial pace.

'Christ, you're tight,' he grunted out, gritting his teeth as she clenched around him with a grin. Despite how big he felt within her, she was dripping with arousal, and it didn't take much effort to slip in and out of her.

'Roll over,' she whispered, two fingers tapping on his flank to encourage him. With his grip on her hips, he flipped them so she was atop him, pressing herself up with his palms on his chest. The change in angle had her dropping her head back and shifting her hips in a grinding roll, keeping him nestled inside her.

The room was thick with their gasps as she picked up her pace, lifting herself up and dropping back down onto him, her lingerie fluttering around her with each movement. He couldn't take his eyes from her, beautiful as she was, with her cheeks flushed, one tit falling out of the bra cup he'd pulled down, riding his cock like it was the only way to save her life. The Santa hat on her head had slipped down to the side, and the fuzzy ball swung to-and-fro with her frantic movements, and the sight was charmingly sexy. His fingers dug into her hips, helping her along as the muscles in her thighs quivered and faltered, and she leaned forward to capture his lips in a searing kiss. Her name, a mantra gasped into her mouth as she shattered around him, dragging him over the ledge with her into the trembling depths.

She slumped down onto him, her muscles continuing to milk him for all he was worth, as she trailed kisses down his throat and across his neck, showering him in grateful affection. With a pat to his stomach and a whimper, she pulled herself off of him, disappearing into the bathroom. He could hear her use the toilet, the taps running as she cleaned herself and washed her hands, and the familiar, domestic sounds of her existing in his space made him smile as he rested his eyes, trying to summon the energy to strip and re-dress the bed. She returned before he had the chance to move, flinging the thong he'd pulled off of her into the laundry hamper before crawling over to curl into his side.  

‘Feeling better?’ he asked, trailing his fingertips up her bare arm as she settled her head on his chest.

‘A little,’ she nodded, but he could hear the tightness that still laced her voice. The cooling room around them chilled the sweat on their bodies and she shivered, Mulder pulling the blanket from the foot of his bed up and over them.

‘Wanna talk about it?’

She shrugged against him but nodded, ‘it’s just...Christmas. Mom’s tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ve got the mental energy to deal with it all. It’s already a difficult time, and I just...with Tara being pregnant again and Mom constantly checking that I’m okay and Bill being...Bill. And that’s not even thinking about all the cousins and the aunts and all the “and what about you, Dana?”’

‘Well, I’ll be there to distract you when it all gets too much. And – I might be being a bit presumptive here – but I’d say I’m somewhat of an answer to that question.’

‘You’re the answer that will prompt Cousin Mona to make a joke about sleeping my way to the top and Aunt Eileen to ask you about your shoe size, so...as much as I love that you’re coming, you’re not exactly the saviour of the day. We could just stay in bed all weekend, tell Mom we’ve got food poisoning.’

‘She’d be disappointed.’

‘Yeah...’ she sighed, shaking her head. ‘Besides, I ought to see Matty. Mom says he’s started talking.’

‘How about- how about we call your mom tomorrow morning and tell her that I have the sudden urge to drive down to Raleigh and visit my mother’s grave? She’s not going to question that. We say we’ll try to make it to midnight mass, but it depends on how we feel after the drive, and then we make sure we’re over there for roll call at O’ five hundred sharp Christmas morning. That way, you don’t have to deal with the extended family, Bill will have no ammunition for any of his arguments because you were supporting your partner through the loss of a parent, and if he tried to contest it, he’d come across as the asshole, and you still get to see your mom and Matty on Christmas day.’

She craned her neck up to stare, disbelieving, at him, ‘Mulder, I can’t use your dead mom as an excuse not to see my family.’

‘Call it an early Christmas present. Besides, lying about visiting her grave is the closest I’ve come to spending time with her over the holidays for many, many years.’

She gave a tender smile, ‘I love you so much.’

‘Yeah?’

Swallowing thickly, she nodded and reached up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, ‘yeah.’

Tagging @today-in-fic

[slaymitchabernathy]

Golden Boy

| “Oh, golden boy, don't act like you were kind, you were mine, but you were awful every time. So don't tell them what you told me, don't hold me like you know me. I would rather burn forever, but you should know that I died slow. Running through the halls of your haunted home, and the toughest part is that we both know what to happened to you, why you're out on your own. Merry Christmas, please don't call.” |

Coriolanus Snow is haunted by the past, present, and future.

Much like a well-known Christmas tale, he is constantly visited by ghosts who remind him of what once was, and more painfully, what could have been.

He walks through the massive halls of the President’s Mansion, echos of laughter and happiness bounce off the walls, slapping him in the face, mocking and taunting him.

He’s learned to avoid it for the most part, to forget and refuse to acknowledge what happened but the holidays bring out a more vulnerable side of him.

She always loved the holidays.

Always loved the twinkling lights and the music that came with decorating a pine tree. She was always so sweet, spreading joy wherever she went like fresh snowfall on a winter night.

She brought a certain light into his dark life and now the winds of time have permanently blown out her candle.

Not even the strongest light can outstand the bitter winds that come with a man like Coriolanus Snow.

He pauses by one of the large windows overlooking the grounds. A white blanket of snow has covered everything in sight aside from the greenhouse, a safe haven for his precious roses. He feels bile rising up in his throat when he sets his sights on the greenhouse, remembering what happened in there so many years ago.

He turns, forcing himself to look away and that’s when he sees her.

Her ghost.

Dressed in a simple white silk nightgown, like the ones she was so fond of, with her hair falling down her shoulders, she looks so kind, and yet, she flickers.

He swallows, for so long he’s avoided this, avoided her. Coriolanus didn’t believe in ghosts until his wife died and then she began to haunt him. She’s a quiet thing though, never making a mess, never bothering him.

For the longest time, he brushed it off, told himself that it was the lights playing tricks on him. He took pills, spoke to doctors, yet she persisted.

He takes a cautious step towards her, not trusting himself to be in her presence again, not after what happened last time, that night.

She glows so beautifully in the moonlight.

“Soarynn,” he breathes, nearly choking on his guilt and grief.

Even in death, she’s kind. So when he crumples to the ground, he feels her soft touch, her deft fingers rubbing his scalp like she did so often when she was alive. She hums his favorite song while he lies there, head in her lap, feeling sorry for himself and everything he ever did to her.

“Coryo,” she says softly, “Coryo, look at me.”

He’s scared. Scared to see what she’ll look like, how she’ll look at him. Will she be angry?

He slowly lifts his head, prepared to look into her stormy blue eyes one last time but they’re gray, like the rest of her. Gray and gone.

He notices the cuts on her face, her arms, from the rose bushes she fell into all those years ago. It seems that not even death or time can heal all wounds.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, choking on his guilt, “I’m so sorry.”

Soarynn smiles, he’s forgotten how beautiful she is when she smiles. “My golden boy,” she hums, resting a hand on his cheek and he leans into the touch, telling himself that he must remember this touch for the rest of his miserable life.

“What’re you sorry for Coryo? What could you have possibly done?”

She’s being cruel to be kind.

But he’s never been kind. That was always her thing.

“I killed you,” he gasps, tears burning in his eyes, “I was…I was too late, too cruel to you. You, you didn’t deserve any of that.”

Soarynn uses her other hand to hold his chin, lifting his head up so he doesn’t drop it in shame, “You were never kind,” she tells him, “you were mine and you were awful every time.”

Coriolanus nods, sniffling but Soarynn is all too familiar with tears, “I know,” he mumbles, “I know and I’m sorry for how things ended. I never meant to let you get that bad.”

“I died slow,” she says and she’s looking out the window now, letting the moonlight shine right through her translucent figure, “I died alone. I thought you’d come for me but you didn’t. Why didn’t you come for me?”

His hands shake as he grabs at her nightgown, it feels so soft, so smooth like her skin. How long has it been since he’s felt her soft skin?

“I couldn’t,” he gets out, “couldn’t follow you or stop you. It was too late and, and you’d already made up your mind.”

Soarynn drops her gaze, they both hurt each other but they both know that he was the worst. She was the best of him. “I’d do it again,” she tells him, rubbing her thumb back and forth over his cheek, “I couldn’t live in this house anymore.”

He makes a desperate grab for her face, crying out when his fingers go right through her and at the pained look she gives him. “It doesn’t work that way Coryo,” she explains, “it doesn’t always work the way you want it to.”

But he’s so past caring by now. He sobs, his entire body shakes from how hard he’s crying. He misses her. Misses their showers together. Misses eating in the dining room together.

He’s pushed everyone away and has no one to blame but himself for what he’s done.

“I want you to come back,” he gasps, “come back to me and we can be together again.”

“I never left.”

She’s right. She’s never left this house although he can imagine how terrible it must be for her. To choose to stay when she has a better life on the other side.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Soarynn.”

“I know Coryo.”

“I’m so lonely.”

“I know Coryo.”

“I don’t want you to leave again.”

“I have to. You know that.”

Coriolanus shakes his head, determined to make her stay and he tries to touch her again, crying out when his fingers go through her once more.

“Why can’t I touch you but you can touch me?”

Soarynn purses her lips, “You can only touch me if I want you to. And I don’t want you to.”

He wishes she never came.

He pulls his face away, ignoring how her face falls, “Then we’re done here,” he decides, “no point in haunting me and hurting me for the fun of it. Or is this who you’ve become Soarynn? Someone who haunts my hallways to drive me mad while I’m all alone?”

He stands up, shaky with his footing but he finds it, stumbling away from her ghost.

“We both know why you’re on your own.”

He wipes away his tears, he has better things to do with his time than to be talking to ghosts of little girls who can’t seem to move on from the past.

He’s sorry, he is, but he can’t go back and change things no matter how much he wants to.

Coriolanus wants to look back at her flickering image but he doesn’t. He won’t give her the satisfaction.

“Merry Christmas Soarynn,” he calls from over his shoulder, “please don’t come back.”

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

| taglist: @strawberriicakes @wonderlandbound111 @kickmybark @thevoicesinmyprettylittlehead @melodyoflovee @erensrealgf @recreationalhazard-blog |

[maybe-im-dark]

Claws

Victor Creed sat at the edge of his camp bed, the dim light of the lantern hanging from the tent ceiling flickered. They were in some place called Madripoor, somewhere in South East Asia. Stryker hadn’t told them yet what they were here for and Jimmy was on edge but he didn’t care. He would wait for his order and then he would give them hell. Whoever they were.

His hands rested in his laps, his fingers intertwined. His claws, now fully extended, gleamed dully in the yellow light. He watched them carefully, his sharp eyes tracking the tiny splits along the nail beds, where crimson flesh peaked through the thin, ragged slits in his skin.

The pain was sharp, immediate and grounding. It wasn’t the kind of pain that made you cry out—it was deeper than that, ancient and familiar. It lived in his marrow, a reminder of every fight he’d clawed his way through to survive. Victor embraced it, welcomed it. Pain to him, was proof he was still there. Still stronger. Still standing.

As his claws retracted with a faint, wet schluck, Victor ran his thumb over the ridged surface of his nails, feeling the rough edges, where they had burst free moments before. His lips curled into a quiet snarl. Memories came unbidden, surging up from the black depths of his past.

---

His father’s voice was a whipcrack in the small, dingy house they called home.

"You little freak! You think you’re better than me?" The man’s face was red, his eyes bloodshot with whiskey and rage. "I’ll teach you what you are!"

Victor had been eight. Maybe nine. He wasn’t sure anymore. The years blurred together into one long, endless stretch of fear and pain. But that night stood out. That night, something had changed.

His father’s fists had found him, as they always did. Driving into his ribs, his stomach, his face. Victor had curled into a ball, his body instinctively trying to shield himself from the worst of the blows. But then—then something inside him snapped.

It wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t just fear. It was something primal. Something feral.

The first claw had ripped free of his fingertip with a searing pain that stole his breath. He’d thought for a moment he was dying. But then the second claw followed. And the third. And with each burst of pain, a new weapon emerged.

His father hadn’t noticed at first. Not until Victor lashed out.

The sound of claws raking across flesh was something Victor would never forget. It was wet, tearing and visceral. Thomas stumbled back, clutching his arm, where three deep gouges now oozed blood. For the first time in Victor’s short, miserable life he had power. He had teeth.

The look on his father’s face—shock, fear, rage—was seared into Victor’s memory. His response was swift and brutal. He’d beaten Victor bloody, his fists relentless, as he screamed at him to "put away those damn claws." When Victor couldn’t retract them, his father had grabbed a kitchen knife, holding Victor’s hand down against the table and screaming how he’d cut them off if he had to.

Victor didn’t cry. Not then. Not after. Even as the blade pressed against his skin, he stared his father down with defiance burning in his blue eyes. He was too young to understand what the feeling was at the time, but now, years later, he recognized it.

Satisfaction.

Even as his father hurt him, even as the blows rained down, Victor couldn’t stop the quiet, triumphant thought that echoed in his mind: I fought back. You can't take that away from me.

---

Back in the tent, Victor flexed his fingers, watching as the claws extended once more, the familiar sting lighting up his nerves. The memories of his father’s screams, his stammering curses, was like an old song now—faded, but never forgotten.

"You thought you could beat it outta me", Victor muttered into the space, his voice low and rough. He curled his claws into fists, the tips pressing into his palms. "But it’s mine. Always was."

The pain of his claws splitting through his skin was a gift. A reminder. It told him that no matter what had been done to him, no matter what he’d endured, he’d survived. And every time he unsheathed those claws, every time he felt that sting, it was proof that the little boy his father had tried to break was long gone.

Victor leaned back on the bed, his claws retracting again. He smirked, a sharp, predatory expression that didn’t reach his eyes. "Put 'em away? Never."

The pain was his. The claws were his. And no one—not his father, not anyone—would ever take that from him.

[lissomelace]

The song 'heirloom' by sleeping at last suddenly found it's way to my ears and OMG WHY AM I HAVING ALL THESE CELEBRIMBOR AND CURUFIN FEELS AT EIGHT IN THE FUCKING MORNING?!

I mean it's EVERY SINGLE LINE! How am I only now discovering this?

highlights include:

The very first line (You try your hardest to leave the past alone)

All the LIGHT IMAGERY (Long before you were born there was light/Hidden deep in these young, unfamiliar eyes)

The ANGUISH (You remind me of who I could have been/Had I been stronger and braver way back then)

The CHORUS (You are so much more than your father's son/You are so much more than what I've become)

And EVERY SINGLE OTHER LINE!

I mean, WHAT? Where has this been all my life?

[fatewoven]

Threads of wariness curl in his chest, weaving together into wonderment as he parses the given information, features further relaxing as his gaze bores into Valrys, the dark of his eyes traversing the pathway of memories the same way his fingers drifts. Softly and with growing familiarity. The earnest truth pulses steadily alongside the heartbeat, not at all heightened by his touch, and it's far too easy to picture a boy, trembling anxious while the knife's heft proves unwieldy in a hand far too small for such weapons. Did Valrys close his eyes when he cut himself? Was he taught to train himself out of such childish, weak reflexes by continued exposure to the many facets of pain? Accompanying these silent musings, his index finger trails over the other's palm as if to find any trace of the old scar that's most likely decades faded by now, or magically erased — to remain unblemished as any maker's statue.

As the wind is invisible, a force felt but not seen, a voiceless song that flies by its own volition, so is Valrys' nostalgia simmering in his veins. It weaves with joy to create a tangible tapestry; acknowledgement from a father and the reminder a progeny is more than their intended use. A sentiment Lucanis could understand with far too much empathy as he remains curled against the other's form, warmed to the marrow by such an inane (luxurious) method of passing the time. And akin to a scaled beast sunbathing on a slab, a slothful eye parting to reveal a predatory slit, Spite's attention pulls to the forefront as if the other's memory is a critter scampering by its idle claws. [ Twilight insomnia. Torn between stargazing and a devoted lover. All this vibrant pain. A paper-cut romance that's never. Stopped bleeding even as the. Heart died. ]

The night continues to pour itself into a fractured cup, too soon to end, and yet Lucanis indulges in it all the same. "Twelve... Your father was right to be proud of your survival. Fledglings rarely reach that summer, and out of those that do, even less of them have the talent to be noticed by a master for personal training." His eyes drift shut as the past shifts to the surface, unearthing bones by the hundred. "When we were younger, we were tasked with handling the bodies of any we bested in spars ourselves. Illario and I used to take them out to sea since digging graves was far more work," he says, somber while his gaze shifts to the far wall where the aquarium's light shifts from the myriad shadows within. "I never quite enjoyed swimming due to that. The first boy I killed was when I was ten. At twelve, Catarina tasked me with an official mission. I sprained an ankle and nearly lost an eye, but the target broke her neck." Sloppy work when one considers his heritage. Pointedly, he says nothing of his grandmother's reaction, and shifts ever closer, limb practically draped across the other's form as his head adjusts, resting near the heart.

"She made us this sweet rice dish for our namedays. Always too spiced for Illario, but I didn't mind it." Showed that she cared.

He smiles back, but that too is jagged with sadness on both points. Yes, depending on the memories... what do his of Lusacan now consist of, but mirrored reflections of his desperation? Distortions of devotions, to a god he never truly knew, but whom he would he would have given everything for. Everything for, but not giving everything up: not his vengeance. He was as poor a priest as the dragon might have been a deity, he supposes. He doesn't rewrite history to pretend he'd been so clever as to have noticed a strand of something off then. Lucanis soothes him as he touches him, this deadly lullaby done at the pressure points, as he listens to the other recount what had kept alive. "Yes, it is." It had been the same for himself, this same cycle of thoughts which had seen him through mortality and beyond. He looks to the other with understanding, letting sincerity bleed into it; not merely approval, but personal experience tainting it. Their bodies might seem to nearly meld, melt together, like two snakes intertwined; where did each of them end and begin. Lucanis asks for a happy memory. It is not strictly what he said, but that is what he meant. He feels... generous. He curls conspiratorially closer and begin with a soft smile: "I woke up in my father's room, and he was holding my hand. One of the few times he ever did." The memory blooms with love and devotion greater than to any god. But this is a story to be told in reverse: "The day before, we had been practicing blood magic. Not the first time, but it was to be a significant advancement. He thought... I was ready for more." His palms idly flatten out, open and accepting for a blade, recreating the flesh offering. "I used to be frightened of knives. Of hurting... and hurting others," he whispers; what a poor mage he was then, but a better man. "It was meant to get me over that fear." He considers Lucanis and his training, if he ever went through something similar. Obviously not blood magic, but having to turn a blade on oneself, to get over fear? But then, he finds it hard to imagine Lucanis being afraid of anything. A technical description follows: "The symptoms of excessive blood loss are lightheadedness, near euphoria. I thought I had been doing so well... up until the moment I blacked out." He is smiling still, as after all, this a fond memory, one of his happiest. To another, he imagines, it would sound like a tragedy. "Later, I'd learned that my father had been at my bedside all night, because I had almost died. I was twelve years old, then. Even though I had failed... he still said he was proud of me." Childhood pride burns in his chest, as fragile as a candle, but enough of a flame to burn down a forest, to light a life. Rare were the times his father had said he was proud, and never when he'd disappointed. That day had been different. "My father wasn't afraid of anything but... I saw the relief when I woke up." The guilt that carried throughout the year, and he remembers his birthday: he got me you; you, meant to be mine alone, and you were.

[beatrice1979a]

Steve Conte - Living Inside the Shell

Ghost in the Shell Stand alone Complex OST

Wake up

I hear a voice, hear a voice calling out to me

Lyrics:

Roaming in between the worlds of sleep and awake Seems so far away from where I've been and unsure but not afraid Intrusting my soul I know I must be taken to see the world that is Not so far from now

Imaginations come and sweep the shores of my mind Letting it be, visions pass, and emotions arise Letting them go, and beyond are doors I've never seen, opening one by one

I hear a voice, hear a voice calling out to me Look inside, see the light now ever holding you All the truth is all you need to make of your reality, it's right here Look deep within your shell

Finding out a galaxy of planets and stars within me Listening to each of them singing the same silent melody I've never seen such beauty in possibility no speck of doubt or fear

I hear a voice, hear a voice calling out to me I see inside, see the light now ever holding me All the truth, all I need to make of this reality it's beauty within the shell

I hear a voice, hear a voice calling out to me I see inside, see the light now ever holding me All the truth, all I need to make of this reality, it's inside Right here within this shell

The sandglass starts for another time's beginning from within Cotton fields, mama's arms are gently unfolding me into the new...

Here from behind my sight, my thoughts, my mind Show the light The time is right And from the depth within show the balance Of outer and inner harmony Mind and heart, soul and spirit undivided Here's where true strength and beauty lies We'll see this before us with our own eyes We'll see, with our own eyes... LOVE

I hear a voice, hear a voice calling out to me I see inside, see the light now ever holding me All the truth, all I need to make of this reality it's beauty within the shell

I hear a voice, hear a voice calling out to me I see inside, see the light now ever holding me All the truth, all I need to make of this reality it's beauty within the shell

[laithraihan]

My piece for the Girl Psycho 100 fanzine. You can download & read the full zine here for free!

(small bonus under the cut)

Playlist link

[qwakque]

Say Goodbye To Yesterday my Friend