Rey

I Hate That You’re Hot

You spotted him across the room the moment you kicked in the bar door.

Scarred. Tall. Storm-eyed. Leaning against the counter like the brooding final boss in a bounty board poster. Albus fucking York.

You hated that man.

Worse? You hated how hot he was.

“I’ll take a whisky,” you said coolly as you sat two stools down from him. “And a bullet for the brooding bastard to my left.”

Albus didn’t even glance at you. “Someone jealous I caught the bounty last week?”

You turned slowly, letting your smirk drip with venom. “Jealous? Please. You couldn’t catch a cold without a Hipswitch and a miracle.”

He finally turned to look at you, dark eyes sweeping you up and down once in that slow, infuriating way. “Yet somehow, here you are. Again. Shadowing me like a sad little groupie.”

You nearly choked on your drink.

“I’d rather kiss a knife.”

“I’ve got a few,” he said, deadpan, patting the holsters on his chest. “Pick one.”

Your glare could’ve cut glass.

He sipped his drink without flinching.

Ugh. You loathed how composed he always was. Every inch of him looked like he’d been carved out of battlefield steel. Broad shoulders. Sharp jaw. The kind of mouth that looked permanently annoyed. The kind of mouth you maybe imagined kissing once in a fever dream—and promptly shoved that memory down a mental garbage chute.

“You’re so smug,” you muttered, pushing off the bar.

“And you’re so loud,” he countered. “Must be hard to sneak up on your bounties with all that whining.”

You wheeled around. “At least I don’t break three ribs every time I try to show off. Heard about what happened on the K’ven job. Bet that was real graceful.”

He shrugged. “Still got paid.”

You stepped closer. “Still got a limp.”

He looked down at you, close now, eyes dark and unreadable. The bar had gotten quieter.

“…Why do you hate me so much?” he asked finally, voice low.

You blinked. Then scowled. “Because you walk around like a tragic war god, all tall and grim and broody, and then you smirk when I miss a shot like it’s foreplay—!”

“…Foreplay?” His voice dropped a little lower. “That what we’re calling this now?”

You shoved him back—just slightly.

“Don’t flatter yourself, York.”

“Too late,” he said, and god help you, there was the ghost of a smile.

Your breath hitched. Just slightly. Damn it.

“You really wanna fight right now?” you bit out.

“Only if I get to pin you.”

“Try it.”

You didn’t kiss him.

Not yet.

But gods, you wanted to. And judging by the way he looked at your mouth—and then forced himself to look away?

He did too.

You spun on your heel and stalked out of the bar, slamming the door behind you.

His voice called after you:

“Same time tomorrow, sweetheart?”

You didn’t answer.

Try Me Again, Sweetheart

(A hint of spice. I’m barely learning how to write smut. Don’t bring up the faithalbus mess, I hated it!!!!. AND ITS HARD OKAY? Try putting into words to people doing it!)

The argument started over something small. They always did.

“You didn’t have to throw the entire damn crate at the guy, Albus,” you snapped, striding beside him down the dusty alley.

“He had a knife to your ribs,” Albus growled, not even looking at you. “I call that adequate provocation.”

“He missed, and you shattered three walls doing it!”

“I warned him to pick a god before I picked him up.”

You stopped walking. “That’s not how normal people de-escalate.”

He turned to you slowly, that scarred, half-scowling face catching the low sun in just the right way to make your stomach flutter. Bastard.

“I’m not normal,” he said flatly. “And you didn’t sign up for normal. You signed up for me.”

You crossed your arms. “Maybe I signed up for the tall, quiet guy who grumbles and feeds stray cats behind the outpost. Not the war machine who breaks ribs with cargo boxes.”

Albus let out a breath, sharp and humorless. “You really think those two are different people?”

Silence settled like dust between you. Thick. Hot. Charged.

You stepped closer.

He didn’t back away. He never did.

Your fingers poked his chest—hard, right where you knew his heart beat under all that muscle and scar tissue. “I think you don’t know the difference. You still act like you’re not allowed to be gentle. Like every good thing in your life is borrowed.”

Albus didn’t say anything at first.

But his jaw clenched. His hands were fists at his sides.

You saw it—the flicker of pain he was too good at hiding. Like your words struck somewhere he didn’t want to admit existed.

You softened. A little.

“…Albus,” you said, voice quieter now. “You know I’m not gonna leave you, right?”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. And it was like he was waiting—like he’d trained his whole life to expect the people he loved to vanish.

And that? That made your chest ache.

“…I know you say that,” he murmured.

You reached up and tugged his collar down slightly, thumb brushing over the old scar near his throat. “Then let me mean it.”

Something shifted.

His hand shot out and gripped your wrist, but not hard. Not angry. Like he didn’t want to lose the contact.

“…You drive me insane,” he muttered. “With your mouth and your guts and your dumb pretty face.”

You smiled, slow and crooked. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all week.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he growled, but his voice had dropped a little.

You leaned in. “Too late.”

He kissed you like he was trying to shut you up—but also like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough. It was hot, a little desperate, a little too much—because that’s how Albus felt things. All or nothing.

When you pulled back for breath, your forehead stayed against his.

“You’re allowed to have something good, Albus,” you whispered.

His voice was so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

“…I don’t know how.”

You kissed him again.

“Then let me teach you.”

They’ve bound him, not because he would’ve fought you but because the spectacle demands helplessness.

Albus kneels in the center of the stone floor. Pale skin, bruises like handprints from a cruel god, dark hair matted to his face. The light catches on the iron collar still locked around his throat.

He looks at you like the world’s already ended. Quiet. Steady. No fear. Just recognition.

You step forward, blade in hand. You don’t want to look at him, but you do. You always do. He offers no resistance.

Your fingers tremble, not from cowardice—but from knowing he’ll let you.

That’s the worst part.

“They said it had to be me,” you whisper.

His eyes don’t flinch. “Of course they did.”

You don’t know if it’s anger or understanding in his voice. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe he left all that behind when they made you choose.

You tried to fight them. Of course you did. But they were always good at breaking people.

“You—” Your voice cracks. You swallow it. “You shouldn’t have trusted me.”

He shakes his head, slowly. “You were the only thing I did right.”

That splinters something in your chest.

You drop to your knees in front of him, unable to stand above. You want to scream, to claw at the walls until the gods see how wrong this is. But there is no one watching. Only the Paladins behind the door. And him.

The man who once touched your face like it was sacred. Who once kissed you like salvation might come if you just held on long enough.

He leans forward, forehead resting gently against yours.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he murmurs. “I’m only sorry you’ll have to remember this.”

Tears stream silently down your cheeks. You don’t close your eyes. He deserves more than that.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” you breathe.

“If there is one.”

His breath hitches. Fingers curl against your wrist, not in pain but in comfort. He holds on for as long as he can.

And then he's gone.

The blade clatters from your hand. And the silence afterward is the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

asks are open!

main masterlist || gba masterlist

Snapshots & Shenanigans

___________ ___________ ___________ ___________

A. Faithful x Reader (Kit) @kitsprivatelair

Market stalls glittered in the afternoon light. Kit walked beside Faithful, listening as she explained which herbs worked best with stew and which were just weeds with good PR

Every time Kit made her laugh, it felt like a holy thing.

She stole a flower from a vendor when Faithful wasn’t looking and tucked it behind her ear.

Faithful turned, confused—then smiled.

“You’re dangerous,” she teased.

Kit winked. “You’re worth the risk.”

⸻

B. Albus x Reader (sassy bounty fight) @reyousen

“You were supposed to go left!” you shouted, ducking behind a crate.

“I did go left. You said my other left!” Albus snapped, gun in hand, grinning like a bastard.

Blaster fire sizzled past.

You rolled your eyes and threw a rock at his back.

“Next time, I’m bringing Faith!”

“She don’t throw rocks at me!”

“She should!”

⸻

C. Devlin x Reader (bounty hunter flirtation) @solzticesoulz

You waited, arms crossed, boots on the dusty railing, as Devlin shuffled out of his workshop with your new gun.

“I made the handle fit your hand better,” he said, sheepishly

“Cute,” you purred, stepping close. “Did you miss me, nerd?”

Devlin turned crimson. “I—uh—maybe?”

You kissed his cheek and snatched the weapon. “You always make the best toys.”

⸻

D. Kerano + Reader (babysitting chaos)

“I CALL UPON THE PLUSH ARMY!”

You blinked.

Kerano stood on the couch, Fluffle in one hand and a colander on her head. You were tied to a chair with licorice.

“I surrender,” you said.

“Too late.” She stuck a sticker to your forehead. “You’re mine now.”

Wildfire walked in and sighed.

“You wanted to babysit,” she said.