What about “You don’t have to pretend with me” for Melizabeth? Preferably something angsty–you know how I feed off of their t e a r s–but feel free to do whatever you want! Congrats!
Meliodas stood in the closet door of his bedroom, staring down at the sword he held in his hand. It had been years since he last saw it—sixteen years, in fact—and the memories that came with the simple yet elegant weapon were like weights on his shoulders. He could barely believe he was holding it again.
He jumped, startled at the voice that invaded his thoughts. Quickly he shoved the sword onto a shelf in the closet, turning with a grin to face the princess. “Hey, Elizabeth! Getting ready for bed?”
She smiled and nodded, but walked over to him, stepping around him to peer into the closet. “Is that… are you putting away the sword?”
Meliodas shifted a bit nervously. “Just for tonight. No need to have a weapon lying around if there’s nothing to fight.”
“Are you…” He was surprised to see her fidget. “Are you upset I brought it to you?”
He opened his mouth to make a joke but her face was so serious it gave him pause. “You don’t have to pretend with me. You can tell me the truth.”
“It’s fine, Elizabeth,” Meliodas assured her. “I’m glad to see it again.” He squeezed by her, squeezing her backside as he pretended to grab her hips, grinning to himself when she gave a squeak. But when he looked over his shoulder, he caught her peering inside, her long legs stretching a bit as she reached for the shelf.
Elizabeth turned and looked at him curiously, the sword now in her hands. “Do you mind if I take a look?” she asked sweetly. “I really didn’t get a chance to see this earlier.”
Her eyes were bright and sincere, her smile soft, so Meliodas felt as though he could not deny her. With a quick nod her smile widened, and then she hurried to the bed to sit and have a proper look.
But Meliodas did not join her, watching from where he stood in the center of the room.
Carefully Elizabeth pulled the blade from its sheath. His muscles tensed for a split second—Elizabeth Liones was not the most graceful being that had ever stumbled through Britannia—but her hands were surprisingly sure as she examined it. Meliodas did not speak as he watched her, barely breathing, his chest squeezing tighter and tighter as he tried not to move or make a sound.
Her blue eyes traced over the outline of the blade before Elizabeth carefully balanced it in her palm. Next, she studied the geometric pattern on the handle, using a finger to gently trace the outline of the shapes that decorated the wood. She smiled softly, a very light dusting of pink rising on her cheeks, and the way her hair fell over her eyes and the tilt of her head as her tongue ran over her bottom lip brought him nearly to his knees.
Because it was her, back again in the flesh. Liz, Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, who had sat on the edge of their bed in Danafor and examined the blade that he had refused to take from her. “I don’t know why you don’t like it,” she had pouted, and Meliodas had assured her he loved the gift, it just wasn’t for him.