#-so i started to think about what his own burning horse lamp could be like. the life flashing before his eyes at the final moment

[crystallakec]

HI CRIS....cried a little while drawing this and cried a little more while reading your tags. thank you for leaving these it means so so much to me and I wanted to talk about him a little more😭

even if I want to believe, it's already too late.

[tiny-minecraft-rabbit]

a new kind of warmth

Grian lept off of Monopoly Mountain, unsure what or where his next life would be, but knowing he couldn't stay here any longer. Not when the sand was red with blood. He ended up somewhere in the artic.

Part of the @extremetimedchallengeexchange which I had so much fun with!

Words: 1703

AO3 here

Grian is cold.

He hasn’t been cold in weeks. He’s used to the heat of the sun, the burn of the sand, the sweat dripping from his brows and the constant red tint to his skin. 

Now he’s cold. Now there’s a bone deep chill. Now he’s freezing and his muscles are stiff and sore from it. There’s wind ruffling his feathers and the sharp pain of ice against his cheek. He flexes his hand and grimaces as his fingers dig into snow, the burn familiar and yet so very different from sand. 

He lifts his head, attempting to open his eyes and meeting only the blinding reflection of snow for miles. He shut them again as he forced himself to his knees, shaking the frost from his wings. 

This must be death then. Some purgatory– or Hell. He’d think Hell would be the fire and brimstone, but that would have been too familiar. A wasteland of snow and ice and constant wind felt like Hell enough, would be a fitting punishment for the life he had lived. 

When he finally opened his eyes again, blinked away the brightness and let himself focus, he became a little less sure it was Hell. Not definite, but the landscape was less barren than at first glance. Most of it was ice– but behind him, when he finally stood to properly look around, was a spruce forest. Through the trees, if he squinted, he could see the warm light of torches and lamps. 

He started walking. 

Soon a cabin appeared in his view, with a large fenced yard that had wolves galloping about, foxes nicking the wolves’ toys out from under them, horses watching it all from a small stable, a big slumbering polar bear sitting at the steps of the door, and over a dozen crows sitting on the roof of the cabin. It was surrounded by a mountain range and he could just barely spot another home a couple meters away built into the stone. 

If this was life after death (and what else could be when his very last action was falling from the top of Monopoly Mountain, too grief stricken to open his wings with the blood staining his hands), then perhaps this was the home of Death itself– or an angel or a demon or someone that could explain to him what afterlife he had wound up in. At the very least it would be warmer than out here (if this afterlife was even a little kind and had insulated walls).

He stumbled past into the yard, closing the gate behind him. He flinched when the first wolf came galloping up, but it merely licked at his frozen fingers. A few of the wolves barked and howled and then several crows joined in with squawks and calls of their own, probably alerting whatever being inside the home that he was out here. The polar bear poked his head up, blinking sleepily at him. He had a golden name tag hanging from his neck and he didn’t move from his nap spot as Grian approached. 

There was movement in the window and then the door swung open– “What the fuck has gotten you so riled, chat?” The man standing at the door looked… surprisingly normal. For just a moment Grian thought he was a human, his blonde hair was pulled back by his hat and he was wearing dark green and black robes. The wings, he didn't see until they shifted and spread slightly behind him, big black things that stole all the light and almost looked like voids in space. He didn't have any other feathers on his face, or clawed hands, or taloned feet– Not like Grian. 

He was an Angel then, like Skizz was, or something like it. Skizz's wings were white; the inky black of this stranger was much more intimidating. Was this like– his Guardian Angel? He didn't think his Guardian Angel would have a potty mouth. Also he was a terrible guardian given the whole– everything he just went through. 

“Oh, hello there!” He called from the steps, waving at Grian, “Wasn’t expecting visitors. Would have cleaned up for you.” 

Grian numbly waved back, stopping in the middle of the yard as he watched the Angel come down the steps, easily sidestepping the polar bear and effortlessly ignoring the dogs that followed in his heels. A few crows swooped on him and he laughed and shouted at them. 

“Hiya, mate. You doing alright there?” He asked, stopping just sort of grabbing Grian's arm. His hand was outstretched as he looked Grian up and down, “I don't think we’ve met before. I haven't seen you around the server pretty sure. I’m Philza.” 

“Grian,” he replied, staring at Philza’s wings– one of them was messed up, the skin and tissue had so much scarring that feathers, his flight feathers, no longer grew. It was something a respawn or a few potions should have fixed, not something you let heal on its own. “Are you, like, my Guardian Angel?”

Philza laughed, “The fuck? No, mate, I’m not anyone's Guardian Angel. Especially not yours. I’ve never seen you in my life.”

“That's good, cause my Guardian Angel must suck at their job,” Grian grumbled. 

“I feel that, bud,” Philza agreed readily, stepping to the side, “Want to come inside, where it’s warm?” 

“Yes, please,” he whined, taking the biggest steps he could manage with his numb legs towards the house. 

Philza was quick to show him around. The place was small and quaint, even smaller than their sandcastle. It was crowded with sentimental items and cozy furniture. Grian was quick to sink into a plush chair and bundle his wings around himself. Philza bustled about, making tea and talking about his housemate, Techno, who was out at the moment, and his neighbor, Ranboo, who was also gone. It was just the two of them, and that was fine with Grian for now. He still wasn't sure what type of afterlife he’d wound up in and having more people in his afterlife sounded like too much right now. 

A hot mug was placed in his hand. He glared at it for a moment, the steam and heat not quite welcome despite him still warming up from the cold outside. It almost made him want to drop the mug as his fingers started to burn. 

He watched as Philza sat down across from him, a few birds perching on the back of the chair. They squawked a few times, Philza’s nose wrinkling in disgust.

“So, I don’t suppose you’re used to the cold yet, huh?” Philza remarked, lightly batting away a bird that nudged his cheek.

Grian hesitated at that, especially when the birds stopped moving to stare at him. It was unnerving with how they all looked at him, watching with an unblinking stare. “I– no not really. I’m used to warmer climates.”

“Oh, warmer climates… like deserts?”

Grian tensed at that, his wings folding up closer to his body. He glanced up at the birds, who’d started to disperse, moving to perch on other objects in the room, observing him from all angles. “I-yeah, like deserts I guess. How did you–”

“The sand,” Philza gestured to the grains that were slightly dusting the ground now, “It’s all in your wings mate. That can’t be comfortable.” 

“I’m used to it,” He replied slowly, ducking his head.

“I fucking bet,” Philza rolled his eyes. He slipped out of the chair and onto the carpet, patting the space in front of him, “Come on, up! Let’s get those fixed.” 

Grian blinked down at him, “What?” 

“You’re getting sand in my chair, mate. It’s a bitch to clean up when it gets into furniture. So, come sit, I can clean them for you.”

He stared at Philza for a long moment, not sure he was actually hearing him right. It had to be a misunderstanding on his part. Preening was intimate. At least, it was supposed to be. Sure he’s had a few hermits he was less than close to brush a feather back into place or pull a pinhead, but Mumbo was the only person he’d let sit down and run his fingers through them in ages. Him and, of course, Scar these last few weeks. The only other person he evenly remotely trusted in the games once the blood started spilling (and spilling and spilling until all that was left was Scar’s blood to spill). 

“It’s just getting the sand out, come on,” Phil waved him over again.

Slowly– ever so slowly– Grian slipped onto the floor with Philza. He had to set his mug down a second to stop it from spilling on the carpet as he turned his back to the other.

A part of him expected to feel the punch of a sword between his shoulder blades. He was tense as a bowstring, waiting for the impact. 

When the fingers slipped between primaries he flinched. 

Immediately the hands were gone. Neither of them said a thing for a second, then Philza went back to it. Grian was still tense, but he tried to stay still, hoping to make the process a bit quicker. 

Philza worked deftly and diligently. “My son was an avian too,” he muttered softly after a moment, “He had his mother’s eyes.” 

Grian hummed in response, not sure how to answer that and not sure if he was supposed to. Instead the quiet lingered, but the tension was loosening. He ruffled a few feathers, shaking out a bit of sand himself. Philza chuckled behind him before grabbing the crest of a wing to still it and returning to his work. 

After that, Philza would make idle chatter, commenting on his adventures and his sons. Grian slowly relaxed under it all. The hands in his wings, the comforting warmth of the cabin and the hot tea in a pretty red terracotta mug. 

It would be morning by the time Grian woke up again, a red wool blanket thrown over him. He’d have a million things to figure out and people to find, but until then he would fall asleep to the gentle help of a new friend. 

[books-bythe-bay]

I'm unsure if this will help anybody...

But I just wanted to share some of my favorite literary devices to pick apart in books!

Also!! Hello, I'm Alex! I'm 20 and I'm the owner of this little blog. My blog is a safe space for anybody and everybody who needs and/or wants one. I love to read, and I've been doing so voraciously since I could understand what exactly was going on!

In this post (and it is a longer post), I'll be going over different ways that authors/writers/poets/wordsmiths present the imagery and symbolism within their works; as well as a few examples!!

--------Start--------

Literary devices of:

Imagery and symbolism;

Metaphor:

A metaphor is a symbol used to tell a story where it’s a picture that really describes something else. For example:

“And the ships went out into the High Sea and passed into the West, until at last on a night of rain Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water. And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the gray rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.” —J.R.R Tolklen, The Return of the King.

In literature, the sea is quite often used as a symbol of death, and with Frodo passing to another shore could be used as a symbol of him passing out of the world. So, this is very much a metaphor for death.

Simile:

A simile is similar to a metaphor, the only difference is that it uses the words “like,” or “as.” For example:

“O my Luve is like a red, red rose

That’s newly sprung in June;

O my Luve is like the melody

That’s sweetly played in tune.” —Robert Burns, A Red, Red Rose

It is making a deliberate comparison between two things.

Pathetic Fallacy:

This is another use of imagery. It can be slightly like a metaphor, but it is something much more specific. For example:

“By th’clock ‘tis day, / And yet dark night strangles the traveling lamp; is’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame / That darkness does the face of the earth entomb / When living light should kiss it?” —William Shakespeare, Macbeth

“A cold wind was blowing from the North, and it made the trees rustle like living things.” — George R.R Martin, A Game of Thrones

Pathetic Fallacy is when the writer uses the natural world, as in the weather, the landscape to reflect the inner state of the characters in the story.

Allegory:

“The animals were happy as they had never conceived it possible to be. Every mouthful of food was an acute positive pleasure, now that it was truly their own food, produced by themselves and for themselves, not to be doled out to them by a grudging master.” — George Orwell, Animal Farm, chapter 3.

This is the use of symbols and undertones to convey an idea and/or opinion of the writer.

Imagery:

Imagery is another literary device that sets the tone of what we’re reading. For example:

“But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of the bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?” J.R.R Tolkien, The Return of the King.

The image that is depicted here not only describes the character/situation; but also sets the stage for an atmosphere of darkness, and the feeling of being without a choice, the feeling of being trapped, etc.

“I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats high o’er vales and hills,

When at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.” — William Wordsworth, Daffodils.

This is another example of imagery, one that has us think of bright and sunny; maybe even relaxing scenery. This sets a very different tone from the previous quote.

Foreshadowing:

A literary device that is not only limited to books, as it can be in TV shows and movies as well. For example (in the literary context):

The horse brooch from Sommerville and Ross’ The Real Charlotte.

****SPOILER**** In this novel, one of the principal characters, Francy, is eventually killed in a riding accident at the end of the novel. But, throughout the novel there are symbols of horses doing her harm. For example, at one point in the novel she is pricked by a horseshoe brooch which causes her some pain—and so, these little incidents throughout the novel point to her eventual fit.

Also, George R.R Martin’s Game of Thrones is famous for the use of foreshadowing throughout the novels. A great example of the foreshadowing used in this book is the dead stag, which is being dismembered by Taiwan Lannister. Now a stag in the book A Song of Ice and Fire represents the Baratheon family and it is the sigil of the house of Baratheon. So, when we see Taiwan cutting up the stag, that foreshadows the fact that Taiwan’s house, the house of Lannister, will eventually destroy the house of Baratheon.

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Post Script: I'm very thankful that you've read this far, and if you have any questions at all please ask me!! I love answering questions, and I'll do my best to be as thorough as I can in my answer. Also, it has been a hot minute since I've read George R.R Martin’s Game of Thrones, so I apologize if I misspelled anyone's name/house!

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Kicho's Main Story Chapter 10 Pt. 1

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support cybird by buying their stories. SPOILERS under the cut. Expect mistakes.

When I followed Kennyo down the mountain, the town was in a worse state than before.

Kennyo: "It looks like the rioters are no longer in the area."

Mai: "Yes. But most of the people are still confused."

Mai: "I wish we could take them somewhere safe for shelter."

Kennyo: “Then gather them on the northern outskirts of town. Luckily, the fire hasn’t spread to that area.”

Mai: "Got it. What about you, Kennyo?"

Kennyo: "I'll stop the rioters."

Mai: "I see. Take care of yourself."

Kennyo: "Yeah."

I watched Kennyo's back as he rode away on his horse and then looked around again, spotting the roaring flames, transformed like a monster and engulfing the town.

It was a scene that made me want to plug up my ears, eyes, nose, and everything else.

(I want to find Kicho, but I should focus on what's before me first.)

(I hope I can help as many people as possible.)

I slapped both my cheeks lightly.

(I'm here of my own free will, so I better move.)

Mai: "Everyone! Calm down and head to the northern street!"

Together with the few remaining monks, I shouted out to be heard by as many people as possible.

Townsman 1: "What!? The rioters are coming from the north!?"

Townsman 2: "No, I told you to run that way."

Townsman 3: "Is it safe there? Then let's get out of here!"

(Thank God. They're starting to arrive.)

(I'll leave this place to the monks and go somewhere else.)

Mai: "Whoa!"

As I moved to the edge to avoid being swept away by a wave of running people, I bumped into a woman.

(She's carrying a baby.)

Mai: "Sorry for bumping into you. Are you okay?"

Woman: "Yes, thank you. How about you?"

Mai: "I'm fine. Well, then. See you."

Woman: "W-Wait!"

Woman: "Where are you going by yourself? You need to get out of here. It's not safe."

Mai: "But there are still confused people out there, so I have to guide them first."

Woman: "It's too dangerous. Let's run away together."

Woman: "I just saw someone injured."

Woman: "He walked away, but his shoulder was bleeding profusely."

Mai: "Injured?"

(Right. Some people can't move on their own because of their injuries.)

(I need to ask for help from the people around me.)

Mai: "Thank you!"

Woman: "What? Hey!"

I tirelessly ran around town, guiding confused people to safety while cooperating with the others to help evacuate the injured.

Soon, the day quickly turned to night.

Mai: "Is anyone there?"

Holding an unreliable lamp in my hand, I listened attentively as I made my way through the streets, where everything was in shambles.

(I think I'll search for Kicho tomorrow.)

(I don't know where he is, but if I give up, nothing is gonna happen.)

Mai: "Well, I guess everything's all right around here now."

(I should go back and help treat the wounded.)

Just as I was about to return一

(Huh?)

An elegant and distinctive sweet scent mixed with the burning smell wafted through the air.

(I know this scent.)

The next thing I knew, I was running.

(This is where it starts. The smell is getting stronger.)

As I frowned at the intoxicating smell, I heard a cracking sound under my feet.

(Huh? Did I step on something?)

When I looked, I saw a slightly broken glass with a murky color and a trail of blood coming from it.

Mai: "This..."

【I just saw someone injured.】

【He walked away, but his shoulder was bleeding profusely.】

(Maybe this is what that woman was talking about.)

My hand trembled, causing the lamp I was holding to fall to the ground.

I followed the bloodstains and saw Kicho sitting there, leaning against the wall, looking very pale.

Mai: "Kicho!"

I ran up to him and looked into his downcast face.

(He's unconscious, and his haori is red with blood.)

(I need to go back and get someone to carry him.)

Kicho: "Ugh..."

Mai: "Are you okay!?"

Kicho: "Mai?"

Mai: "Yup, it's me. I'll go get help right now. Just wait a bit."

Kicho: "It's fine. Don't call anyone."

Mai: "Nope. You're in such a bad state that you've fainted."

Kicho: "I was just anemic and dizzy. I've already received first aid."

Kicho: "More importantly..."

Mai: "Oh."

He tugged my sleeve, making me fall toward him.

Mai: "The wound will open up."

Kicho: "Don't worry about it."

I panicked and tried to move away from him, but he wrapped his arms around my back and hugged me tightly.

(Kicho...)

(I should be worried, but I'm so happy to see him again.)

(I want to stay like this forever.)

Mai: "Are you sure about this?"

Kicho: "Yeah."

Mai: "Please don't lie to me."

Kicho: "I'm not. I told you I received first aid."

Mai: "Okay. I believe you."

Unable to hold back, I put my arms around him as well.

(He looked like a mess, and his haori was stained with blood.)

(What the hell happened to him before I got here?)

(But...)

Kicho: "I'm glad you're alive like this."

Mai: "----!"

His words coincided with the voice in my mind, and when I looked up, I saw his wavering eyes staring at me.

Mai: "I was thinking the same thing."

Mai: "I'm glad you're alive like this."

Mai: "We met again, thanks to that."

(This time, I can tell him properly.)

With my legs, heart, and everything, I finally got to him.

Mai: "I have something I want to tell you."

Kicho nodded when I looked him in the eye and told him this.

Kicho: “Me too.”

Mai: “You too?”

Kicho: “Yeah.”

Kicho: “I’ve regretted it ever since I left you in that shed and didn’t listen to you.”

Kicho: “After I left, a wormhole probably appeared to you.”

Mai: “You knew about that!?”

Kicho: “I’ve been studying wormholes before.”

Kicho: “I saw the strange traces left in the shed and immediately knew you’d been erased by it.”

Mai: “Eh? No. You’re overreacting.”

(Sure, I went back in time, but I came back.)

(And even if my destination turned out to be the future, I would’ve definitely come back to him.)

Kicho: “I’m overreacting, huh? If that’s all it takes, then fine.”

Kicho: “All that matters is you’re here now.”

Mai: “Yup.”

Kicho: “..........”

Mai: "Kicho?"

Kicho: "Ever since I came back to this era, all I wanted was to continue this turbulent world."

Kicho: "I was sure that this cause of mine would never waver."

Like a candle flickering in the slightest breeze, his eyes were shimmering, almost as if he were puzzled.

(These must be his own words.)

His true feelings, which he'd been pushing down to escape contradiction, were desperately reaching out to me.

It was so tender that it scared me that I could easily hurt it if I made one wrong move.

(But I won't make any more mistakes.)

(I've made up my mind that I'm going to tell him everything.)

Mai: "Please don't let them dictate how you live."

Kicho: "-----!"

Mai: "Your life is yours."

Mai: "It's not just your life. Your heart, your body, it's all yours."

Mai: "And I think that's true for everyone alive."

(I know it's not easy to face life. That's why we have differences, conflicts, and sometimes even hurt ourselves.)

(But as long as we face it, we can start over again and again.)

Mai: "Let's stop fooling ourselves by calling it a cause."

Mai: "There must be some other way to live that will make you happy, so can't you just choose that path?"

Kicho: "But if I do that一"

Mai: "It's okay. I'm on your side."

Kicho: "Why?"

Mai: "Isn't it obvious?"

Mai: "You're more important to me than anything or anyone else."

Kicho: "..........."

(I always wanted to say it, but I couldn't.)

My heart started beating wildly as intense emotions welled up inside me.

Mai: "I love you."

Kicho: "Mai."

The feelings that finally escaped my lips were so fragile and pitiful that I wondered if I had conveyed the message properly as he widened his eyes.

Kicho: "Are you sure you want to say that to me?"

Mai: "Why are you asking me that?"

Kicho: "Because I've done a lot of terrible things to you."

Mai: "I can't think of any."

Mai: "I still love you even if you doubt and shun me."

Kicho: ".........."

Kicho: "I see. You got your answer long ago."

Looking impatient, he released his arms around my back and gently cupped my cheeks.

He was so close that I could almost feel his lips against mine.

Mai: "Um一mnn..."

Before I could even finish, I felt something warm touch my lips, but it quickly disappeared.

Mai: "Kicho..."

Kicho: "I've always wanted to touch you like this."

Kicho: "I pretended to ignore this feeling many times, but to no avail."

Kicho: "I lost, but it's refreshing because I'm giving this heart to you."

Mai: "Is that...!"

Kicho: "Mai. I love you."

(He loves me, too...)

Mai: "R-Really?"

Kicho: "Why should I lie?"

Kicho: "Or do you also kiss people you don't like?"

Mai: "No, I don't!"

Kicho: "Then believe me."

Kicho: "This is my true feelings I've been suppressing this whole time."

Mai: "Okay."

I could feel the strength of his hand as it went around the back of my head.

I closed my eyes as I realized that we were slowly closing the distance between us, and soon, the most irreplaceable warmth touched my lips again.

Kicho: "Wait."

Mai: "Nope, I won't wait."

Kicho: "Oi, Mai."

Mai: "Ah!"

He grabbed me by the hand and pulled me right into him.

Mai: "What are you doing? We need to do it right."

Mai: "We need to treat it properly."

After that reunion, we went to a house some distance away.

I twisted and slipped out of his arms to put a hand towel on the water I had drawn from a nearby river.

Mai: "First, let’s wipe the wound so no bacteria won’t get into it. I’ll face the other way, so take your clothes off."

Kicho: "Sorry, but can you give me a hand?"

Mai: "What?" 

(That would mean I'd have to undress him. But I can't just leave him alone.)

Mai: "O-Okay."

I gently put my hand on his collar, but even though I shouldn't be conscious of it, my fingertips trembled nervously.

Mai: "Excuse me!"

(This is too embarrassing!)

I firmly gripped the fabric and slowly undressed him, keeping my eyes shut.

(I think this is his neck, and this is his collarbone.)

(Oh, there's a cloth wrapped around this side.)

I reached for his shoulder, feeling his bare skin with my fingertips.

(Alright, I just need to get the towel I prepared earlier. Huh?)

I searched for the bucket of water with my other hand but couldn't find it.

(Weird. I thought I put it somewhere around here.)

Kicho's voice: "Mai."

Mai: "Kyaah!"

I opened my eyes when he suddenly took my hand and intertwined it with his hand.

Kicho: "I told you to wait."

Mai: "But I'm worried."

Kicho: "I know. But I can't stand it when you touch me, looking like that."

Kicho: "I'm having a hard time enduring it."

He pulled my hand straight to his lips and kissed it.

Mai: "Nn..."

I could feel the heat slowly gathering from there as he kissed it again and again and touched it with his fingertips, tickling it.

Mai: "I'm still not done treating you."

Kicho: "True."

Mai: "If you understand, please let go of my hand."

Kicho: "If I let go, you’ll do the same thing, then it’s gonna be even hard for me to remain rational."

Kicho: "I just told you that I love you."

He pulled his face close to mine and fixed his sexy eyes on me.

The air around him also had a sexy feel to it, making it hard for me to think straight.

(If I let myself get swept away, I'll never be able to treat him.)

(Even though I know it's useless, I...)

Kicho: "Mai."

Mai: "Kicho..."

His low voice shook my ears seductively, and the greed that had been curling around in my stomach showed itself.

(No, don't get carried away, Mai.)

(But I want to touch him already!)

Kicho: "When someone you finally love touches you like that, you will want to drown in your lust no matter how stupid you look."

Mai: "You don't look stupid."

Mai: "If you look stupid, I'm even worse."

Mai: "Someone I care about is hurting, and I'm looking for an excuse to make love right now."

Kicho: "That's an excuse?"

Kicho: "Aren't the words we just said to each other enough?"

Mai: "-----!"

Kicho: "I love you."

Kicho: "If you need more, I will give you as much as you want."

Mai: "No. I don't need it. It's more than enough."

(There's no better reason than this.)

Kicho: "I see. Then..."

Kicho: "Don't shut your eyes anymore. Think only of me."

Previous Part╏Masterlist╏Premium

[atamascolily]

princess tutu re-watch, episode 20

Fakir: Because we are all participants in a story, if I randomly select books, one of them will be the right one, because that's how stories work, right?

Fakir: … except all the endings are missing. What on earth could this possibly mean?

Me: I dunno, maybe you should WRITE YOUR OWN or something.

Then a new girl shows up (!!) and kisses Fakir on the cheek (!!!!) and suddenly he has bigger problems to deal with.

Fakir: Damn it, the childhood best friend romantic subplot is kicking in at the worst possible time!

Lilie yelling "Ahiru, you musn't look!" then twisting her head in that direction of Fakir and the new girl is hilarious.

Pike: Ahhh, he's hideous when he smiles, who knew?!

Due to circumstances outside her control, Duck ends up third-wheeling along back to Charon's place.

The new girl (whose name is Raetsel) asking Charon if Uzurua is his kid and Fakir and Charon both shaking their heads is delightful. But we cut to Uzura sitting on Charon's lap probably to keep her from mischief, so he does care about his weird puppet-child-creature.

Fakir: Raetsel is my older sister. My surrogate mother. I cannot emphasize this enough.

it turns out Raetsel is crushing on Charon, but he (correctly in my opinion) thinks she's too young for him

Raetsel: Oh, yeah, where Mytho? A family reunion wouldn't be complete without him.

Fakir (with a completely straight face): He's got dancing fever. Absolutely obsessed.

Raetsel asks Ahiru if Fakir is writing stories with the same attitude that most people reserve for drugs.

Ahiru: He can write stories that come true? That sounds like it might be useful, actually! THANKS FOR THE EXPOSITION, LADY!

Fakir (going to his trust horse for comfort): I just want to solve my problems by punching things, why does that no longer work anymore?

Horse: ....

Fakir then has a panic attack when Ahiru brings up the possibility he could save Mytho by writing

Fakir: NO! NO WRITING! ONLY VIOLENCE!

meanwhile, Mytho has swapped out the delicate "Waltz of the Sugarplum Fairy" for "Night on Bald Mountain" and scary crow choreography (croweography?), lololol

Raetsel arrives and Mytho, sensing weakness, immediately starts creepily flirting with her.

Rue, watching from the bushes: I have to let him seduce with other women so he'll be all mine someday. That makes sense… right?

love the shots of Fakir and Ahiru both hunched up with their knees to their chest, utterly miserable, and for the exact same reason

Ahiru asks Raetsel for advice, on the grounds that adults have their shit together, not realizing this woman is an emotional train wreck herself.

WHY IS RAETSEL STAYING IN THE MILLHOUSE OF ALL PLACES, I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS. Does Kinkan Town not have inns or something?

Fakir's tragic backstory unlocked! Ahiru regrets everything! Although the framing is ambiguous as to whether Fakir's stories do come true, or if he merely believed that they did.

Mytho shows up and corners Raetsel because he is a creepy stalker

Mytho: You have two loves, and you can't choose between them, so PICK A THIRD OPTION - ME!

Raetsel: Yeah, okay, that checks out. Good thing I brought my wedding dress with me!

Princess Tutu discovers the ugly truth: not only is Raetsel an emotional mess, she also came to town hoping Fakir would write a happy ending for her.

Tutu: Your feelings are valid, but also there's a lot to unpack there.

Fakir: Mytho! Time to resolve this like MEN--by beating the everlasting shit out of each other!

Mytho: Sounds great, let's do it, even though you suck at not dying!

Fakir: You know, actually I'm going to count "not dying" as a success instead of a failure from now on.

The real Mytho emerges long enough to seize control and run away. Fakir stalks off and heroically returns to his desk to write a story--the hardest part, in my opinion.

Burning (heh) question here: do you think Ahiru gave the lamp spirit to Fakir for inspiration or do you think it's a completely different lamp on his desk?

Raetsel decides to marry Hans, which is probably for the best, as I have zero investment in this character or her relationship with Charon and cannot wait to see her GTFO of town.

Fakir: You know what, Ahiru? You were right. I think I'll give this writing business a try. How hard could it be?

Drosselmeyer: Oooh, those are fighting words! I'll believe it when I see it, hahahaha.

(bold words from someone who still hasn't finished their WIP, am I right?)

[paperbunny]

S2, E1: The Arrival, Pt. 2

Not a meta, just a tribute.

[Starting at 22:22] Ep 1, Pt. 1

('Allo 'Allo 'Allo) Muriel is perfect and I am so happy that everyone instantly loved her.

(General Omens) The matchbox says "Out of his mouth go burning lamps and sparks of fire leap out." Job 41:19 This is interesting because it doesn't seem like it applies to Gabe or Jim, unless the sparks are the prophesies that he says, which seems redundant since those were pretty clearly prophetic and don't need any extra hints. Crowley as Aziraphale did shoot flames from his mouth, though. The extended passage is all about the Leviathan which could be a reference to Crowley the Serpent but I hope it's a more interesting forewarning of Guardian!Aziraphale when he gets to work upstairs. It could just as easily be a warning about the power of God as wielded by the Metatron though. Important but not clear to me where to point it.

(General Omens) The coffee cup on the wall of the shop outside (above the outdoor seats, near the "or") has orange flame-like whisps instead of white or light grey that one would expect to signify steam. Ominous coffee business. The coffee shop is blue whilst the record shop is orange. Opposing colors.

(Nina the Mirror) Interesting that the coffee shop is called Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death, considering the lack of liberty Nina clearly has in her personal life. Nina and Aziraphale both taking up for others whilst trapped themselves. Sure, Az is technically unemployed, but he's certainly not free.

(General Omens) Not sure if there will be more to the story about the coffee shop being essentially USA-themed, such as a Greasy Johnson tie-in, but for now it just seems like another little UK joke about things getting set in the US or otherwise America-coded for the sake of mass marketing.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) He wants Crowley to be calm, he wants himself to be calm. He's also not familiar with the effects of espresso. And neither he nor Crowley are acting like it's at all unusual to be hanging out together, though they've not been together in this shop it seems. Eccles cakes? *pointed look at Crowley* Some eccles cakes please. He's just as nervous to show Crowley as he is about the problem itself, but not telling Crowley isn't even on the table. Because Crowley is there allll the timmmeeee and is an integral part of his world, too, of course.

(Nina The Shit Stirrer) How's your naked man friend? NINA. You know that this little book man has never brought this slinky goth fellow into your shop and you have no idea what their business is. But you just HAD to mention the naked man in front of Aziraphale's man-shaped friend. And she was so happy to do it. Has she seen the Bentley and Crowley coming and going? How much does she suspect? Is she poking that situation because of the volatility of her own?

(General Omens) "You're a dark horse Mr. Fell" First Dark Horse mentioned, of at least three.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) Immediate embarassment! Where was that embarrassment when it was the WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD? But no, in front of Crowley suddenly you're shy.

(Domestic Moments) The tone of "go back a long time" is so sweet. They really aren't trying to hide much at this point, despite aggressively refusing to Address The Situation. And how nice that Crowley gets to be introduced. No "friends" no obfuscation. No labels, either, but there's a real tide change even so. And Nina does a cute little curtsy-ish move in response. Maybe she has a sense about how long "a long time" could be.

(Crowley With A Purpose) He's so happy that he has actual news. Is he happy that there's something to do, or that something bad might be happening to Gabriel? Both? The IMMEDIATE interest in getting into the bookshop. I can't imagine that he thinks Aziraphale would be harboring a recreational naked man for sexy reasons, but he certainly isn't laughing about it either. He asks Aziraphale if he can help, and poor Az seems to have had whatever his plan for a soft launch of the problem was completely obliterated by Nina's bomb dropping. Also that coffee cup was SO EMPTY.

(Domestic Moments) Despite Az clearly getting his plan for easing Crowley into the problem messed up, they are off to the shop. Whole plate of eccles cakes in hand, and no "after you" needed at the door. This is a well oiled partnership opening doors and holding things as needed. Nina watches them steal her plate. Why is the closed sign stuck on with tape? It's like he's not even trying to pretend he is ever open.

(Maggie the Strange) She stops Mr. Fell to thank him, while he's clearly in a rush, and he tries to give her eccles cakes. No intro for Crowley this time. Was her purpose just to make sure we noticed the Eccles Cakes? Because we did. Everyone is upset that he just stole the whole plate. People need to slow down on the "not going to parties" and "not being that kind of teenager" meaning that she's some inhuman being, because some of us were also not that teenager. More talk of names. Maggie gives her a record because it's the same name, Nina hasn't accepted Maggie giving her name yet. She's still Skinny Latte.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) (Domestic Moments) Why are you closing all the blinds, sir? Jim!Gabe has been in here for awhile with the blinds open, so maybe it's more about the reaction of Crowley that's concerning? Crowley who has his own place for his glasses, who seems entirely at ease in the shop, and who says "Do we know a Jim?" we! I love that we. And the casual conversation. Go on and guess. I know a storm comes later, but we really did get so many soft, romantic moments.

(Heavenly Scandal) (Domestic Moments) So much of the Jim!Gabe is scandal but also tied up in the sweet domesticity. Crowley is pissed and scared but neither lashes out at the other in a real way. Aziraphale isn't scared of him, just worried about the whole mess. Jim!Gabe already trusts Az enough that he looks to make sure there's nothing wrong when Crowley first confronts him.

(Domestic Moments) The warm yellow-ochre walls. I thought people were exaggerating the yellow thread through the story but no. That's pretty intentional looking. I don't know if it's Az's favorite colour, but it certainly seems to be a color that makes him feel at home. Is there more than one room up here? Is this the room that Jim!Gabe ends up staying in? No bed up here it seems, though I don't know if our collective hearts could have handled A&C standing alone in a room near a bed. Az doesn't seem against the idea of getting rid of Jim!Gabe at first, just unsure of what to do. Crowley immediately is ready to dump him in Dartmoor. Az can't bring himself to not help. Would he go to Gabe to help him? Likely not. But once the person-shaped-being is in your care, is it your fault if harm comes to them?

(Husbands at War) This fight is well-trod soil. Neither seems legitimately angry at the other, but rather they fall immediately into defending their side in well-worn territory. Az wants to stay and help/fight/fix, Crowley wants to not make themselves a target/save their peace/refuse to get involved. There's strong arguments for both sides and we have our seeds of future conflict. Az tells him if he wants to leave he can, and that reaction from Crowley, "Is this how you want to do this?" as though this is one of a few versions that the argument takes.

(Bookshop Omens) The eccles cakes. Four of them. Next to a horse. Four horsemen? What are the cakes about!?

(Existential Crisis Crowley) His peaceful existence is at risk. He's so mad he's recognizing his own lack of control and tries to self-regulate. Did you learn that from a Richard Curtis film, Crowley? Or does Az have a self-help section?

(Nina the Observant) She sees Crowley smoking before the people on the street seem to. Everyone stops and watches though. There's no way that there isn't some kind of low grade miracle on this street that prevents these strange events from sticking in the brains of the passersby. Man smokes and yells and then is hit by lightning. Everyone watches and no one seems to retain it except Maggie and Nina. Also Nina I'm pretty sure those aren't auto locks. There's no sign of anything auto about the regular looking deadbolt.

(Heavenly Scandal) Why do I like Uriel so much? Michael does have the best claim to be Supreme Archangel Pro Tempore, as Duty Officer. I love the bureaucracy. It's great. Micheal is basically pulling a Dwight Schrute move. Saraquel is the one Muriel went to. Is Saraquel not an Archangel? Or are they just a more approachable one? It doesn't seem like they have a dog in the fight over who is the next SAAPT.

('Allo 'Allo 'Allo) Muriel is a scrivener, which immediately makes me think of Bartleby the Scrivener. I've been told that the job of scrivener comes up in games and stuff enough that it might not be a direct reference but it seems pretty pointed to me? Maybe it's just English Nerd Brain. The story tracks though, potentially, for where Muriel could be headed. From google, about the meaning of Bartleby: "...as the narrator is forced to admit, “Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a passive resistance.” Refusing to kow-tow to the demands of his employer, and working to his own individual rule, Bartleby represents a challenge to capitalist, corporatist ideologies." Part of Bartleby's problem, from what I remember, is living in a place with no joy or interaction, and realizing that he can actually say no. Isn't that eerily similar to Muriel?

(Heavenly Scandal) Uriel looks at Micheal like, you want to be in charge so you get to touch the Material Object. Michael is not thrilled.

(Existential Crisis Crowley) He's sitting in that street, in his car, looking like the Saddest Boy-Shaped Husband. He's not having a good time, and now his little corner of peace is in high danger. He looks SO SAD. I didn't notice how sad he looked on previous watches. It's interesting to me that C always uses the honorific for Beeze. Lord Beelzebub. He also slides riiiiight into being cool and collected as soon as he realizes he's not actively in trouble. It's not a kidnapping, it's an offer. Watching him squirm immediately when he realizes this is about Gabriel is pretty fun. Crowley the suave, chill snake is just a flimsy cover for Crowley the clingy movie dork who uses affected disinterest as a defense mechanism. He's still one of Hell's best (ex)employees though. He's not suprised that Beeze wants to use his talents, but he is surprised that it's coming with an offer of a reward. "Doesn't seem like the kind of thing you're likely to say". Neither of them actually say anything solid. Hell is clearly better with contractual language.

(General Omens) Crowley says Extreme Sanctions don't exist. Beeze says they do. This remains to be seen.

(Nina The Mirror) More being mean to Maggie for no reason, then trying to make it up.

(Maggie The Strange) Maggie doesn't drink. That isn't weird. The "No Judgement" that feels awkward is a little strange. Especially since she waits til Nina is in the middle of a sip to say it.

(Maggie/Nina) They have a *moment*. It's a nice little conversation but doesn't seem very weighty. Not what you'd expect from a meet-cute.

(Husbands at War) I liked the use of Loverboy here. I seem to be in the minority. I hope it comes back again in S3, but I thought it was sweet. He's hauling ass to get back to his Angel. When it comes down to it, he's a good old fashioned loverboy. He always comes back.

(Eldritch Tendancies) I know things were a bit different in S1 but there seems to be NO concern about hiding from the human folk. Just explode on the street and then magically power-on the whole cafe. No big.

(Maggie The Strange) (Nina The Observant) Why doesn't Maggie seem to have the same level of awareness that Nina has? Also, one of Lindsay's texts says "I'm a real person. I Matter. Why don't you care about me?" Is someone not real? When the text is on the screen, the camera is on Maggie. [38:53]

(Domestic Moments) Aziraphale you petty bitch. He is just sitting in the chair waiting. Crowley sails in (does he have a key or did Az leave it unlocked for him?) and then suddenly Az puts on his glasses and starts pretending to look at his random papers. Our stage is set for the Dance of the Repressed and Afraid. This scene is so much funnier now that I've noticed that Az is clearly being a bitch on purpose. And that he is possibly delighted to have the chance to make Crowley do the dance, since Az clearly has done all the Dances lately.

(Husbands at War) The dance erases the tension and lets them move on without actually resolving the fight, but that's not really an issue here because Crowley has new intel. They immediately shift into planning and figuring things out. When it comes down to it they are both always on eachother's side. Az is nervous about doing a miracle, and it does sound like they've never done one together. Why they do it together this time isn't totally clear upfront but I guess it keeps the power used smaller on each side and shielding him from the other side helps prevent red flags being raised.

(Jim!Gabriel) He and Crowley don't like eachother, in this moment. Crowley is being "nice"-ish. But they make great faces at eachother.

(Husbands at War) Az suggests splitting the miracle and Crowley listens. Later we see Crowley not listen and steamroll Az. Unfortunately this isn't a great argument for listening to Az, since the teeny tiny miracle does NOT fly under the radar. There's a lot of wide angle or fisheye lens used here. And the chair Jim!Gabe is sitting in is on top of the portal. That might be a red herring, might not. Portal isn't active, but it could explain why alarms went off in heaven but not hell.

(Good For Me) I noticed the portal being under the chair. Also note that the rug is currently a general faded beige-y rug. Also Jim!Gabriel offers his hands crossed, left offered to Az and right to Crowley. They look distasteful (?) about it and awkwardly reach across to take the "correct" hand.

(Husbands At War) Crowley tests the waters, so to speak, and pokes at the air to feel the miracle. Az is happy that things seem to have worked. He reassures Jim!Gabriel and Crowley is still only in the fight to protect the Oasis, not Jim!Gabe.

(Heavenly Scandal) Michael seems to be ignoring the klaxon alarm on purpose? And Uriel is like, if you want to be Assistant To The Regional Manager, then you need to fix this. The miracle shows up as pink, and Saraquel is the one operating the globe thing. They refer to Aziraphale as a former angel, and there's no reference to Crowley. I really don't think that heaven or hell knows or understands much about the Az-Crowley situation. They clearly know there's something odd there, but I don't know what their impression of it is.

End Ep 1.

Ep 1, Pt. 1

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Impossible things, part 2

NSFW 🔥. This fic is set about 9 years after Mockingjay. Part 1 is here. My Hayffie masterpost is here. — Reconnecting with what I imagine of Haymitch and Effie’s voices has been an imperfect and enjoyable experience for me after 19 months away from writing. The channel for creation in/through me feels very rusty... What once felt like my natural breath, like being breathed by the universe, at this point requires effort. That said, crafting this fic, surreal and awkward as it may be, offered me something good, and I’m paying that something forward. I needed this, therefore this is here. — The geese antics are a bit of playfulness for the incredible @hayffiebird 🌸… an amazing human, masterful creator, and beautiful friend. — Gratitude to Taylor and Lana for offering one more song for my Hayffie soundtrack. — I could edit this fic forever, but I’ll stop in order to receive the imperfections. It’s “just fanfiction” after all. And I’m “just human.” At least those are the stories I tell myself in moments when I forget what else I know.

She twirls in silk printed with budding yellow flowers. Her cheeks flush in anticipation as she follows the old familiar script.

“For the honor of representing District 12... Ladies first...” She reaches into the ball, pulls out a slip of paper, unfolds it, and reads her own name. “…Effie Trinket!”

She offers no resistance, no stubborn insistence that there’s been a mistake.

Haymitch tries to speak, and his tongue turns to cotton. He starts to move forward, and his boots tangle in tree roots and tiny bones. A well opens, flowing upward through his body, filling, filling, filling every fiber of his being with silent screams.

“Surrender,” she tells him, “It’s not what you think.”

He shakes his head. ‘Stay alive’ is what he knows.

“Is that enough?” she asks, “Or do you want to live?”

He wonders what’s the difference.

In the wonder, his head splits open and spills the sea. All the waters that have ever been and will ever be fall at his feet and become the tides.

Effie embraces him in the magic. His tongue returns to flesh, and his flesh burns.

“What’s happening?” he asks.

“The oldest game. …Come with me,” she beckons, “Like this…”

She kicks her shoes off in the sand and runs barefoot along the water to a carousel of painted horses. The flowers she wears come to life and bloom golden. Their petals take flight and swirl around him like warm flakes of snow.

🎶 …It’s coming down, it’s coming down, it’s coming down, it’s coming down... 🎶

The carousel plays as it turns. Effie goes by, and she goes by, and she goes by, and she goes by. The wind spins her hair into cotton candy.

At every turn she asks him, “What are you waiting for?”

***

Haymitch woke with the memory of her voice ringing in his ears. He was slumped over in a chair, like the mid afternoon sun dipping below the treetops. His head throbbed, and his mouth felt like cotton. He touched his tongue to make sure it was there. He recalled the dream but little about the days before. Just a dark haze, then a bright haze, then a dark haze, and so on. That was becoming his life again. Alcohol blurred the fine details of night and day. It’s not the life he wanted, but it’s the one he had. He knew there had been bourbon, a lot of it, but he saw no empty bottles. The room was clean. Cleaner than it had been since— “Effie?”

He stood up too quickly and fell down again onto the arm of the chair. Trying to catch his balance, he reached out and caught the pole of a floor lamp, toppling it through a windowpane. He ended up on the floor, without a scratch except for the cut on the palm of his hand that he didn’t want to remember. But the memories were staring at him nonetheless — a goddamn reporter, a phone call, unbloomed flowers, and loneliness.

The chill of winter blew in through the cracked window. Snow had fallen during the night or the day before, or possibly even earlier. He lost track of time. The geese were oddly silent, and he shuddered at the possibility that they were dead from his neglect. Things were falling apart again, including the dregs of himself, and he was letting it happen. If he let Effie’s goose freeze, she wouldn’t forgive him. Not that she was going to forgive any of his shit anyway. She was better off leaving him alone.

He stood up slower this time and peered into the kitchen. That room was clean too, and there was a fresh loaf of bread on the counter. Peeta. The kid had not lost his tendency to try to keep people alive who didn’t really want to be living.

Haymitch’s stomach rumbled in response to the aroma of the bread, but past experience along with the dried vomit on his shirt suggested that his gut wouldn’t be ready yet to keep down anything solid. He fumbled with scooping out coffee grounds and putting on a pot to brew. Then he dragged himself upstairs to sober up in the shower so he could track down the geese, wherever they were, before another night fell. Winter was the one season when they really depended on his attention. Their wild cousins were flying south. But his geese were long-domesticated, and they were stuck with him.

Without taking off his clothes, he stepped into the shower. It was more immediate than doing laundry and more logical than burning the clothes with the garbage. He took a wide stance to keep from falling down as warm water spilled over him and turned the muscles of his legs to jelly. He tilted his head up to the nozzle and opened his mouth to collect water for rinsing his teeth. This approach was quicker than using a toothbrush. The shower had become his answer to nearly everything that he couldn’t get in a bottle of liquor. Hell, if he woke up with an erection, he could even jerk off in here and pretend he didn’t need anyone for anything. But today there was no need for pretending, only flaccid emptiness.

He peeled off each article of clothing until he was naked and the shower ran cold. Then he stayed a moment longer to clear away the fog left in his head after yesterday’s binge. Goosebumps spread across his body, and the planet of fear that he drank to shove down crept into his chest, threatening to explode the world. He mollified it by telling himself he’d restock his alcohol while out looking for the geese, and he’d drink again later.

He turned off the water and pulled a clean towel from the cabinet. It was one of Effie’s, pink and soft. It held the scent of her which was gone now from the set of sheets that he’d been sleeping on for the month since she left him. He just stood there, dripping on the bathroom floor and holding her towel — not wrapping it around his shoulders or warming up his body, not going to a place of indulgence in what was. If he did that, it would be too hard to keep going. He put her towel back on the shelf, and dried off with one of his own that smelled of moth balls and stale reality.

He draped his wet clothes over the shower door then dressed for winter. He needed to check on the kids too. They had asked him for help repairing storm shutters. It was a project that wouldn’t require as much sobriety as, say, climbing up on the roof to clear the rain gutters or sweeping the chimney. When had they asked him? Last week? The week before? The first storm already hit before he got around to helping them. He wondered if it could ever be possible for him to not let everyone down and if there could come a time again when his small world would feel less like hell.

***

Effie stepped off the train onto the icy platform. A gust of wind chilled her neck, so she buttoned her ankle length coat to the top and pulled up the hood. She adjusted her purse over her shoulder and pulled a large rolling suitcase filled with all of the possessions she had taken away with her last month.

The storm she’d been watching through the windows on the train had arrived in 12 before her, and it laid on the ground a thick blanket of snow. The town was still dressed up with remnants of Yuletide. Buildings had been decorated with boughs of evergreen, symbolizing life, rebirth, and renewal. Doors, windows, and fireplaces were brightened with holly, signifying hope and potency.

Oh, mistletoe… and ribbons! She touched a gloved hand to her chest, admiring the simple splendor. The plant had been collected from trees and hung over doorways for protection and fertility. These were old customs resurrected from from ancient times, long before the Dark Days — from simpler times, almost forgotten and brought to life again.

During the past couple of years, Effie had taken to joining the seasonal festival committees, and she felt displaced now seeing that this holiday had come and gone without her participation. The aging decorations tugged at her heartstrings, and she felt sentimental about how it all might have been.

She did not know how this day would unfold, but she felt freshly determined to make this work, to continue to forge a life here, despite the pangs of doubt that kept coming back no matter how certain she felt at times that they were gone for good. She set her heels in the snow and made her way along the road.

I’m afraid… I’m afraid… I’m afraid… A voice from within repeated over and over. She didn’t know which part of her was afraid to be returning home or why. How would she be received? What emotionality would she encounter? Would she be forgiven for having left? Was she making a big big big mistake? Would she fail to fully grasp whatever it was that she was wanting so desperately?

She needed his heart with her heart, his hands with her hands, his body with her body. Screw the heartache from forever; she needed him now. And she was as terrified as she was thrilled to be heading again toward that possibility.

She hadn’t gotten far when she heard a commotion coming the Hob. From a distance, she saw Greasy Sae banging a frying pan with a large steel ladle and chasing a flock of geese out of the building.

“You birds come after my food again, and I’ll be cookin’ each and every one o’ ya in a stew!”

The hooligan geese were unmistakably Haymitch’s. Effie’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. What in the world!

“Effie Trinket! I am glad to see YOU.” The mayor waved from a couple of blocks away and walked toward her. Effie wished a snow bank would open up and swallow her. Today she wanted to pass through town unnoticed, and she was not succeeding.

“Mayor,” she greeted him with a version of her old plaster smile.

“I trust that you are here to collect those geese! Haymitch has been informed in the past that district ordinances require livestock to be kept in agricultural and residential zones only. We simply cannot tolerate them around the businesses. No exceptions!”

Pulling her bag through the snow was challenging enough. She did not want to deal with the geese too, but she was uncomfortable thinking about how cold and hungry they probably were to have ventured into the Hob of all places!

Recovering geese who wandered off when fences went down or gates were left open was Haymitch’s work. Effie generally took little interest in them beyond gathering their eggs in support of Peeta’s baking or hollering at them to shut up in moments when she could not tolerate their noise.

“I will do what I can about the geese,” she told the mayor, “Regardless, they will be relocated to their coop within the hour, and they will NOT be returning to town under my watch.”

“I knew we could depend on you to remedy this nuisance. It is good to have you back.”

Effie reached into her purse and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in parchment. She purchased it from the dining car, but since she had no appetite on the train, now it would be a bribe. She made a clucking sound in the direction of the geese who were foraging at the foot of a dumpster. A large white goose with brown speckles on her neck waddled in Effie’s direction. The rest of the flock followed on her heels.

Haymitch had referred to that one as “Effie’s goose” since the day last summer when the bird injured her foot, and Effie wrapped her in a towel and spent the afternoon holding her on the porch. That day Haymitch was willing to name what he was feeling as love. That declaration was a long time coming.

Sometimes a thing gets so big inside us that we need to either come out with it or die. She knew that if love had been the only thing growing in them, then they wouldn’t be struggling. More was needing to be expressed here. She couldn’t work with what she didn’t know or couldn’t see clearly. It was like trying to juggle invisible balls.

The speckled goose looked up from Effie’s feet, glancing between her and the sandwich with rapt interest. The other geese eyed the food too. The birds started chatting and nipping at each other over which one of them had the biggest claim to it.

Effie stood up straight and held the sandwich in the air. “That is ENOUGH ruckus! NONE of you will be getting anything until you are back home where you belong. Come along now.” She set off again down the snow covered road, pulling her bag behind her with one hand and holding the sandwich toward the sky with the other. She was half-hoping the geese would follow her, and half-hoping Sae would come back out of the Hob and haul the lot of them into her soup pot! Except for the speckled one. Effie wouldn’t be letting that one go.

***

Haymitch held a steaming mug of coffee in both hands as he crossed the frozen yard. A large tree branch had gone down, blockading the door to the goose coop. Setting his mug on a fence post, he yanked at the branch until it pulled away. Then he opened the door and peered inside. Aside from soiled nesting material, the coop was empty. The birds were gone.

He unlatched the shed, and pulled out a bag of feed, hoping that the sound of grains and seeds clinking in their bowls would bring them in as usual. Then he wiped his dusty hands onto his jeans, picked up his mug from the fence, and resumed sipping coffee. Drinking anything was better than drinking nothing. Snow crunched under his boots as he turned his gaze up to the sky. “If I were locked outside during a snowstorm, where would I go?”

A flock of Canada geese passed high overhead, migrating to far off places with blue water, warm sand, and bottles of rum... Would he go with them? He’d be turning 50 soon, and he felt more alone than ever before. What was keeping him here in a town built on a graveyard of his people, in woods haunted by their ghosts, in a house filled with memories that he couldn’t stand to remember and was terrified to forget?

“Where would you go?” He whispered across the lawn to the sharpest memory, the tiniest ghost. The wind blew through leafless branches, and the wild geese flew beyond the horizon.

The graveyard was inside him. There was no escaping it.

He reached the bottom of his mug and went back into the kitchen for a refill before heading out to search for his geese in their usual hiding spots. As he poured the coffee, he heard more of them in the distance. Then their honking grew louder, much louder.

Through the front window he saw her, parading his geese up the road like a scene out of a bizarre fairytale. She rattled off a string of swear words punctuated by “Manners!!” and “Stop fighting!” and “This behavior is precisely why your kind is referred to as ‘fowl’!”

Adrenaline surged through his body. He felt the rush in his arms and legs, in each finger and every toe. What is she doing here? Was she showing up to collect more of her belongings, or…? A wheel of her suitcase caught on a chunk of ice, and the bag toppled over. It looked heavy, not empty. …Or she’s coming home.

Effie added to her litany of curses as she inadvertently dropped the sandwich she had been carrying. The geese swarmed at her feet and devoured the thing.

“I am DONE with this project! Now, shoo!” She waved them off toward the yard. The birds were already heading that way, interested perhaps in their wide open coop and the possibility of more sustenance.

Haymitch’s heart beat into his throat as he watched her right the suitcase and free the wheel from the ice. The hood of her coat fell back, and the wind caught her hair, setting it loose from its clip and blowing out her curls into something wild. Her lips, her cheeks, and the tip of her nose were all pink from the cold, and he thought about making promises that he couldn’t keep, just to have her. To have her right there in the snow on that fur coat.

What the hell is she trying to do to me? Anger was coming up to protect the wounded one within who had barely started to accept that he was living a life without her again.

Effie tucked her hair behind her ears and added wind to the list of all the nature she was cursing: geese, cold, snow, ice, wind, and the curious fear that nagged louder as she moved toward the house. This homecoming was not happening in any of the possible ways that she had envisioned. She was not looking how she intended to look or feeling the way she had imagined she would feel. Standing on the porch, she agonized a long time over whether she should knock on the door, or just open it with her key and step inside, or run back to the train station and avoid facing the fear entirely. The decision was ultimately made for her when the door opened.

“So are you coming in or what?” His voice was rough and shaky. He hoped she’d assume the shakiness was from drinking. And his bloodshot eyes could be explained by the liquor too, come to think of it. He preferred for her to know him now as the drunk he’d always been rather than as the man who’d spent the night before last crying himself to sleep, like an abandoned kid, and then spent last night drinking and trying to forget. The last thing he wanted from her was pity.

She took in the details of his appearance. His boots and coat, thick grey sweater and blue jeans, and woolen cap weren’t what she had been expecting. He seemed sturdy and solid. He’d let his beard grow in fully. He smelled of coffee and the woods and peppermint soap.

He’s going out. …Is he meeting someone? It was late in the day on a Saturday. …Is he dating someone?! She hadn’t considered that possibility. The thought of him being intimate with someone else made her sick. She pressed a palm to her empty churning stomach.

The pain on her face tempered his anger. “Effie, what’s going on?” His concern for her was too marked not to notice.

“Are you going out?” She asked, taking off her sunglasses so she could look him in the eyes.

Hers were swollen. Dark circles underneath were barely concealed by makeup. It looked like she was showing up here because she had lost some sort of battle with herself. “I was going outside to search for the geese, but I see you’ve already done that.”

The geese… “So you’re not seeing anyone?”

“Seeing anyone? What the hell kind of question is that? Is THAT why you’re here — to find out if I’m seeing someone?”

“Of course not.” But now she needed to know. “…Are you?”

He stormed off to the kitchen, leaving her standing in the doorway.

Typical. She wheeled her bag inside and closed the door behind her. For the second time that day, Effie felt out of place in dearly familiar surroundings. She took three deep breaths, hung her purse and coat on the rack in the entryway and set her boots on the doormat. She opened the curtains on the south facing window to let in the late afternoon sunshine. She unfolded a handkerchief from her pocket and dusted off the mahogany coffee table. “Hello, you,” she whispered to it like an old friend.

Haymitch gazed out the kitchen window looking over the yard. He pretended to watch the geese to avoid seeing her, but he was keenly aware of her presence. He heard her footsteps cross the kitchen. The hinges creaked as she opened a cabinet. She poured herself a cup of coffee as if she had never left, as if it was a regular day of them sharing their lives. Except they weren’t.

Effie noticed the bread on the counter. The dear boy. “How are the children?” she asked. It was a safer place to begin.

She persisted in referring to them as ‘the children,’ no matter how many years passed. Haymitch had been so absorbed recently in his own drama that he genuinely had no idea how they were. “They’re fixing storm shutters.” It was the best answer he could give.

“I’ve missed them. …I told them I’d be arriving today.”

Well, that explained the boy cleaning this house while Haymitch was passed out this morning. He knew the kids wanted Effie here.

“Thoughtful,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. If she had told him that she was coming, he would have thrown what she said to that reporter in her face and hollered at her to stay in the goddamn Capitol or wherever this relationship wouldn’t hurt her. But his truth was that he wanted her here. Every cell in his body wanted her here, and he didn’t know how to reconcile what he wanted with what she needed. So for the time being he kept looking out the window and said nothing more about it.

“Sae nearly cooked your geese today.”

Haymitch finally looked at her. She was wearing a red dress with long sleeves and pearl buttons up the front. When she moved, the hem brushed the seams that ran up the backs of her stockings. She looked prettier than all the ribbons folks put up in town for Yuletide. He cleared his throat.

She continued. “Apparently, they were brazenly eating out of her soup pot.”

He suppressed a grin. “Resourceful. They can be a pain in the ass. Thanks for bringing them home.”

“They were a handful indeed. I did not see another option. You know how the mayor loves to talk about zoning violations. And I was expecting Sae to come back out at any moment with a—”

“I’m not seeing anyone,” he interrupted her to say it.

“Neither am I.”

“I didn’t ask if you were.”

“Nevertheless, I want you to know. …I do not want to be with anyone else.”

What the hell? He was as frustrated about her showing up like this, all beautiful and shit, as he was about her leaving. She ran so hot and cold that she was either burning him or freezing his ass off. “You said you needed to stay away from me, and now you’re making yourself at home here as if it’s any old Wednesday.” He glanced at her cup of coffee.

“Today is Saturday, Haymitch, and this time apart has offered me some clarity.” She was still unclear about how much clarity she actually had but she said it anyway.

“What do you want, Effie?”

She took another deep breath. “I want us to name the baby.”

“The baby?” His gaze dropped to her stomach. He hadn’t seen her in a month. That was the way it happened when she was pregnant the first time and she came here to tell him. He recalled the discomfort on her face just a moment ago at the doorway and her hand on her belly. Effie…

Oh, the way he looked at her... She recognized his misunderstanding. “I’m not…” she didn’t say the word. Her tone held a tinge of sorrow. “I’m referring to the one I lost. I have been thinking about her often, and the therapist suggested I might want to give her a name.”

His stomach rolled in a mixture of relief, disappointment, and acrid emptiness. He didn’t know what to do with those feelings. He swallowed the urge to throw up.

She glanced out the window to the snow below the maple tree, naked now in winter. Tiny buds lined the branches, waiting for enough warmth to open and leaf out green.

Sadness bubbled up in Haymitch at the thought of naming a baby long-dead. Names were things written on slips of paper and thrown into reaping balls, not a way out of grief. But what harm could come from naming somebody who never got to live?

“I don’t know much about naming babies.” He didn’t want to be having this conversation, especially not with his head feeling like it was splitting open. But Effie never mentioned the miscarriage anymore. She just looked at that tree and sat in its shade during the summer. He figured it was on her mind sometimes, but she didn’t talk about it, despite her tendency to drone on and on about most subjects.

“In my lineage, girls traditionally receive a feminine version of their father’s second name.”

Talking about this felt like sand moving under his skin, but something in him kept going. “No baby needs any more of my name than is necessary. Her getting my genes was burden enough.”

Effie sighed, “She was perfect. I would not have wanted her to have anyone else’s genes but yours and mine.”

He said nothing more about giving her his name, and Effie didn’t push it. She offered something else instead. “‘Carissimi Unum’ means ‘Our dear one.’”

“No Capitol names.” The translation touched him though. “This is hard enough without bringing that place into this.”

“We conceived her in the Capitol. It was my home then.”

“Well, she was born here. Her home is here.”

He spoke about the baby in the present tense, even though she had been just a glimmer and then gone.

“There are less elaborate names that convey a similar meaning. ‘Cara Amare’ means ‘Dear love.’ It has old origins, but it’s more modest.”

“‘Cara…’” he nodded, “She’s been under that tree since the day she...” What he was thinking had him feeling so vulnerable that he almost couldn’t say it. But it felt too big not to say it. “…When I think about her, she’s ‘Maple’.”

Tears welled up in Effie’s eyes and threatened to spill onto her cheeks. “You think about her?”

He didn’t want to see those tears. Not now. He was already doing all he could to avoid scooping her up and crushing her to him and trying to give her the things he didn’t know how to give her and was afraid to give her.

“A person doesn’t forget a thing like that.”

“I would not have imagined that you’ve been holding a name for her in your mind. …‘Cara Maple’ fits her; doesn’t it?”

He didn’t know how anything could fit a dead baby, yet somehow it did.

She reached for his hand. She was asking him to meet her part way. He wanted to touch her and everything else, but he was haunted by what she’d said to that reporter, ‘It was hurting more to be in than out.’

“Effie, I don’t want to be hurting you.”

Then don’t. She slid a finger into his palm, and drew a circle around the cut from her hairpin. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”

Then stop leaving me. He curled his fingers around the one she offered.

“After escorting all of those children to their deaths, it was my karma to lose her.”

He clasped her shoulders. “Karma is made up nonsense. It’s bullshit! You couldn’t have controlled any of that. All of those kids would have died regardless. …Even Cara.”

She softened to hear him call the baby by name. She slipped her arms around his waist and melted into the cracks of him, like butter on toasted bread. “This is the third winter since I lost her, and I’ve been losing myself all along. I thought I’d know myself again in my old routines and places. But in the Capitol there is nothing to hold onto. Nothing in that life seems to matter to me anymore.”

In the embrace, Haymitch felt her thinness. This month away had made her fragile, like an empty champagne flute. She sighed against his chest, and the vibration moved though his body, coaxing it back to life. It had been weeks since they held each other. Without her, there had been no release and so little feeling — just the old demons bashing around his skull and kicking relentlessly.

“What kind of baby would I give you? Another dead one? It’s no good, Effie. It’s impossible.” His feelings didn’t match his thoughts. He recalled the roiling flash of disappointment when she said she was not pregnant.

He enfolded her in his arms, fitting her against him. The fragrance of crushed leaves wafted in through the crack in the window, and the thought of a baby born full term and alive felt possible. Terrifying, yet possible.

He shut out the emotions and leaned into the feeling of her. The room was spinning lightly for him, like the carrousel in his dream. She centered everything somehow and kept his feet on the floor. Her hair smelled like orange popsicles with vanilla ice cream. He breathed her in and softened. His guard was coming down. His body was responding to her in the ways it always did.

“What if it could be impossibly good?” she murmured in that dangerous consciousness of hope.

For a split second he believed her. With his guard down, he let in her thread of hope, until age-old fear commanded, ‘Don’t. Don’t you dare hope.’

“You’re dreaming, honey. You’re imagining the same way you do about those curtains. Those flowers are never gonna open. You said it yourself, you’re lost in something that isn’t real.”

She moved her hands over his back, feeling his solidity. “This is real. Your body. My body. They decided the first time. What if we just let them decide again?”

His hand stilled its caress. “You said you were done with having sex to try to ‘fix’ us. I drink, and you feel alone. …A baby is not going to ‘fix’ that.”

She pulled back far enough to see the pain behind his eyes. She didn’t know how to reconcile what she wanted with what he needed. She could only guess about what he needed, about what would stop him from retreating into himself. “I don’t expect a baby to fix anything. I just long for her. …And I want you. I want our family.”

“Effie—”

“I need us to be talking about this, but I’m not trying to push you into another baby that you do not want.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the only one who didn’t want her until after she was gone. I’m not saying I don’t want her now. I’m not saying I don’t picture how it would be to have a kid with you. I just don’t see how I’m ever gonna not be mixed up about it.”

“What if we just love each other and see what happens?”

“The way I love you isn’t enough for you.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t need to. You left.”

“I would never THINK that. You KNOW what you are to me. When you’re with me like this, I feel like I’m swimming in the core of the sun.”

She was the sun for him too. But basking in a sunbeam is a hell of a lot different than swimming in plasma.

“Sounds painful.”

“It is NOT painful when we’re like this. The feeling of this is more than enough for me. It’s nearly everything for me.”

“Nearly? What more do you want?! I can’t be like THIS all the time. I am who I am.”

“I WANT who you are.”

“You don’t want me drinking.”

Effie hesitated in order to tread carefully around this subject, “You know how I have always felt about you, regardless.”

“What you’re feeling is not the same as what you’re thinking. You don’t want me drinking anymore.”

“Do not put that on me! You do not get to decide what I’m thinking or what I want. Perhaps YOU are the one who does not want you drinking anymore.”

“You’re being evasive.”

“Haymitch, I want you HERE! When you’re intoxicated, you’re someplace inside you where I cannot be, where I do not exist. I want what’s inside you that I only glimpse or never get to see.”

“There you go again, wanting impossible things. Even if I knew how to give you all of that shit, if you had it then you wouldn’t want it.”

“There YOU go again, deciding what I want and do not want. Those are NOT your decisions to make. I want all of you, and I want you to want all of me too!”

“You think I don’t?”

“Half the time you don’t even see me.”

“Maybe you aren’t seeing yourself, sweetheart. And if you were, then maybe you wouldn’t be asking me to do it for you.”

She huffed, “What am I not seeing?”

“I can’t know that. I can’t even know all the shit in me that you want me to give you!”

She had no retort to offer. In the silence, he heard her teeth chattering. She was shivering.

How long had she been shivering? He knew he wasn’t seeing her in all the ways he should, even in moments like this when he was basically sober. “You’re cold. The window’s busted. Some things have been falling apart around here.”

“I don’t know why I’m shaking. This conversation… I don’t want to give up on us. Haymitch, I refuse to give up on us! I will NOT allow this to be the end. There is so much here between us. Do you feel it?”

She touched his chest, and he couldn’t hide the things his heart was doing. If there were places in him where she didn’t exist, it was because he was keeping her out for her protection or because something in him was keeping his awareness out for the same reason.

He could have stepped away from her touch. Maybe he should have, but he shifted toward her. “It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“I do NOT need to convince myself of what I already know! I left you because I was despairing. I was wrong to despair. …I’m sorry.”

He felt responsible for that despair, and here she was apologizing for it. He sighed, not knowing how to change things between them so that she wouldn’t keep feeling it. “You’re not wrong. You’re just feeling what you feel…”

When he looked closely, he could see more layers of the Effie he’d known falling away. It scared the hell out of him. He didn’t know how to stop it. He cradled her face in his hands and caressed her. “…These cheeks are so hollow, honey.”

She released a breath she’d been holding. “Your eyes are too. Have you been sleeping?”

“Probably about as much as you’ve been eating. Do you want dinner? Peeta’s been dropping off a loaf of something most days.”

She shook her head no. She slid her hands up his chest and noticed new flecks of grey in his beard. She wanted all the details she missed, all the stories his body could tell her. “I want what’s happening now.”

His thumbs brushed the corners of her mouth. “You said if you came back our clothes would be off, and we wouldn’t be fixing anything at all. You said it like that’s the problem.”

His calluses were rough against her chapped lips. She felt the flying in her body, the certainty that she could make this work. The therapist said the high was a red flag. It unfurled in her awareness, wrapped around her like silk, and drew her in.

“There is nothing to fix tonight,” she told him, “I’m offering anything that you want from me, and I’m allowing everything that you want to give.”

Tonight. “Then what happens tomorrow? What happens the next time you’re hurting?”

She shook her head. “What is the point in not hurting if there is no joy either? I felt no joy without you.” After awhile, I was not even sure why I was living.

He echoed her feelings in his own confession. “Since you left, it’s been hard to keep staying alive.”

It’s what she wanted to hear — the pain he rarely spoke of and his need for her. Tears filled her throat. “Can I come home?”

“This is your place too. It’s no good without y—“

Their kiss was slow and full of memories. He felt her tears on his face, and he tasted them. He welcomed them now that he was no longer resisting. He needed this, not just for now. He needed this forever, even though nothing lasted and no one stayed. Needing people was a dangerous game, and he was playing it. He’d been playing it with her all along. He didn’t trust her with his heart. He didn’t trust himself. And yet, he was playing.

“I don’t want us to fuck this up.”

“I’ve worked too hard for this to let us.”

The red flag tightened as desire.

Their winter layers were coming off, as expected, as it happened hundreds of times before. Just enough to feel each other’s skin.

“Where?” he asked.

“You said that our first time. So long ago. Do you remember?”

“Yeah. You were indecisive then too.”

“Haymitch!” She slapped his chest, and he caught her wrist.

The room spun slowly for him, like a harvest time waltz. Around and around and around. “Tell me where, sweetheart, or it’s gonna be the floor.”

“In our bed for heaven’s sake!”

“It’s always the hard way with you,” he chuckled.

She lifted his arm over her shoulder, and they eased into the familiar… The third step of the staircase creaked on the way up, and the seventh was marred by a gouge where Haymitch had dropped his knife… The headboard jostled against the wall as they slipped between worn out sheets… They leaned into one another’s touch and felt a fleeting comfort in the ache of longing... Her legs were cool as she wrapped around him... “Let’s warm you up, sweetheart.”

He moved inside her. Soft moans emerged from her throat in concert with the motion. She met him with all that she was, even the parts of her that were lost to her awareness.

“Like this,” she murmured, “Fuck me like this.”

She lit him up. In that moment of incandescence, he’d do anything she wanted for as long as he could last, though she was feeling too good and he was too hungover to last long.

She was a bird in his arms, singing. A mourning dove on a lamppost, witnessing the loneliness of the world. I see you, the feathery creature croons, I’m here. — She was a goddess, holding his life in her hands. She could crush him.

This physical aspect of loving was simple. Nothing in his life felt more uncomplicated than being inside her, sensing her arousal build as it was happening in him. It crossed his mind to slow the pace in order to draw this out, but his body would have none of that.

And neither would hers. He was in deep with her — she knew he was — yet she didn’t quite have him, even after all these years, even in their most naked moments. The reaching was fire. Heat stung her cheeks as if he had slapped her. “Oh, god…” She wanted the sting.

He watched the flush of pleasure play over her face, and he said what he’d been wanting to since he saw her coming up the road with the geese, since he saw her in his dream with bare feet in the stirrups of a painted horse asking him what he was waiting for. Fear held his tongue, but he muttered through it.

“I love you — so hard.”

Her breath caught in her throat. With those grey eyes on hers, she was certain. About everything. She cried out as waves of delight moved through her, like the tide coming in and snow falling on the beach. Resplendence.

The sensations drew him to the edge. He felt it coming for him too, all powerful and alive and shit.

Holy fuck. He wanted it like this.

After all this time, he would have thought that pulling out of her would be as simple as being inside her. He’d perfected the art of it. Hell, he’d done it half-drunk dozens of times.

This time he was alert to everything, and leaving her body wasn’t instinctual at all. One more second. Just one more. Just… MORE. Hope seeped into the cracks, and, for a crushing instant, he wanted it all.

“Eff— I’m coming—” He said it as if she should run.

“YES.” Her heart pounded as if she were running. She held his hips lightly as his body claimed what his mind couldn’t wrap itself around.

In that instant, he stayed inside her as he found release.

🎶 …Coming down… coming down… coming down… coming down… 🎶 Like glistening petals and surrender.

She traced the length of his spine through beads of sweat. Her lips brushed his neck as she whispered protestations of love and something about him needing a haircut.

“Hmm…” was all he could muster.

The month had been so long without her. He clung to her as her voice faded from his awareness. He slipped into the unconscious world of sleep without thinking about what just happened between them, without thinking about his empty flask, without thinking about anything except the feeling of her hands in his hair.

Under the familiar weight of him, she experienced a flash of uncertainty. A vision of ten tiny fingernails shaped like perfect crescent moons, reaching for her — alone. After a year of wanting exactly this moment, the uncertainty showing up in it was as unexpected as it was predictable.

A question rooted in their tangled limbs and took hold in her awareness.

What have I done?

She couldn’t shake it loose.

[novaiya]

Diamonds and Rust - Arthur x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: It’s been six years since you left it all behind; the Van Der Linde gang, the outlaw life and Arthur Morgan. Since then you’ve gone straight, becoming a rancher and a wife. What will happen to all of it when Arthur comes bursting back into your life, bringing with him all the feelings and desires the two of you once shared?

Words: 3,274

Warnings: smut, female reader, pregnancy.

A/N: I’m very, very proud of this fic and I really hope you guys like it as much as I do. I wrote the entire thing in basically one sitting (blame it on excitement and inspiration). The idea came to me after listening to Joan Baez’s song Diamonds and Rust (and that is of course where the title comes from). Give it a listen, it’s a beautiful song! If you prefer, you can read it on AO3 here.

Well, I'll be damned, here comes your ghost again - Diamonds and Rust

You knew he was around as soon as you heard about a big group of people, men, women and children, passing on wagons through your town. The shopkeeper in the general store said that the group looked like bad news, the look with which they eyed everything and everyone belonging only to people who were running from something. On another day, you were at the train station, posting a letter, when you heard one of the postal workers say the name “Tacitus Kilgore” while rummaging through a bin. That sealed the deal for you, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he found you.

For the next few days you couldn't do anything but wait, expecting him to barge back into your life at any moment. Your husband noticed your absent-mindness, and tried to inquire, but you waved him away, blaming your mood on overworking.

Your husband didn’t know your past. You told him that you ran away from home when a group of outlaws attacked your house, killing your parents and stealing anything worth selling. That wasn’t entirely a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. What you omitted to mention was that later when you had nowhere to go, another group of outlaws found you, took you in and became your new family. You spent the next few years with them, moving from place to place, robbing, killing, and stealing. It was there that you fell in love for the first time.

Shortly after you joined the gang, you and Arthur became a great team, and later on, a strong couple. As the time went on though, you realized that you couldn’t live on the run forever; you wanted a family, a stable life, a house with a kitchen and a bath. You shared your feelings with Arthur, and he promised you that everything would change, that the two of you would run away, to Mexico, or maybe California, and start a new life. The new life was always at the end of “one last score,” which never seemed to come.

After yet another similar conversation, you realized that if you didn’t leave at that moment, you never would. The moonlight casted its light on Arthur’s sleeping face as you looked at him one last time, burning the image of him into your memory. Without turning back, you mounted your horse and left.

Although seeming asleep, Arthur was awake the entire time. He felt you leave the cot, stand next to it for a few minutes and then leave. He heard the hoofbeats in the quiet night, becoming softer and softer until they completely disappeared. He wanted to go after you, bring you back, but he realized it would be selfish. What you wanted, what you deserved, he couldn’t give.

.

It's been a week since you heard the name “Tacitus Kilgore” in the post office,   and Arthur still hasn't shown. You let yourself relax, thinking that maybe it wasn’t him in the first place, or maybe he has forgotten about you. It’s been six years after all.

Few days later, your husband had to go take care of his mother couple of towns over. He asked if you wanted to go with him, but you declined; someone had to stay and take care of the ranch, protect it from cattle rustlers and wild animals.

You helped him load up the wagon, making sure to pack extra clothes and food for the trip. You kissed him, the kiss being longer than what was necessary for a trip that would probably take only three days at most.

The wagon disappeared in the tall trees as you stood at the entrance of your ranch, waving your hand until there was no one to wave to. The cold, fresh morning air filled your lungs as you took a big gulp of it. You turned on your heels, heading back inside and preparing for a day of work.

Your day was mostly spent tending to the cattle and cleaning up. When the sun started to set, painting the sky a mix of purple and red, you went into the main house and prepared dinner. You pushed the food around on the plate. The suffocating emptiness of the house made you once again think about expanding your family. The time was perfect; the ranch was making money and the house was the right size with two extra rooms sitting unoccupied and being used for storage. But, it seemed that it wasn’t for you to decide; you and your husband have been trying for months now, yet nothing was happening.

Trying to muffle the thoughts in your head, you got up from the table and took your plate to the sink, leaving it there to be cleaned tomorrow.

.

The cotton nightgown felt cool on your skin as you changed into it. The oil lamp on your bedside table was just bright enough to illuminate the clock on the wall, indicating that it was far past your bedtime, and if you wanted to get anything done tomorrow, you should go to bed right away. You sighted, getting ready to go under the covers when you heard a knock on the front door, as sudden as thunder on a sunny day. You froze, your body trying to decide whether to fight or flee. You carefully left your bedroom, mentally cursing when the floorboard creaked under your feet as you inched closer to the front door. Another knock came. Your eyes flew to the shotgun by the door. Your breath came out shaky as you were preparing to grab it, open the door and shoot straight through whoever it was.

And then you heard it, his voice saying your name. You felt like you were drenched in cold water, six years worth of bottled up emotions and feelings flooding straight through you. Without thinking, you opened the door, meeting face to face with his blue eyes.

"Arthur."

.

The only thing illuminating the living room and the two of you was the fire from the fireplace. You could feel the heat from it kissing your bare arms. You went into the kitchen, bringing back one shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. You poured a glass for Arthur, placed the bottle on the table, and sat down on the couch next to him.

He downed it in one go before silence fell over, nothing but the occasional sound of wind howling outside.

"Beautiful ranch you got."

"Thank you," you said, keeping your answer short and not looking at him.

You could feel the weight of his stare on you; it’s been six years since he last saw you. You've changed so much, and at the same time, haven't changed at all. You still kept your hair the same length, still had the same longing gaze in your eyes, yearning for more in life. He saw that you still had a scar on your hand, the one you got when an O'Driscoll pierced it with his knife. Arthur said it would fade with time when he was bandaging it. Looking at it now, he realized that things don’t fade away so easily.

His eyes lingered on your hand for a moment, noticing a ring on your finger, the gold band shining brightly in the dimly lit room, taunting him.

"So, you got married?" he said, his voice laced with venom as he spoke the last word.

"I have," you replied, casting your eyes down to the golden band. "Couldn't wait for you forever." Your words pierced right through him, leaving yet another wound he would need to tend to later. For the past six years, he held a naive, wishful hope that when the time would come, you’d be there, waiting for him. The idea, as absurd and foolish as it was, kept him hopeful for the past six years.

"What's his name?"

"Don't," you said, turning around to Arthur for the first time since you sat down. "Don't do this."

The two of you fell silent once again, and you used that moment to look over Arthur. You could see the traces of the person you loved six years ago; he still had the same scars scattered across his face. His eyes, although sadder now, still had the same color to them. His arms, the ones that held you on many nights, still had the same muscular shape.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, catching your eyes. "It was my fault the things ended up the way they did."

You didn’t say anything, casting your eyes downwards, so he continued.

“I was awake, you know, the night you left.”

You gulped down, the memories of your departure from the camp filling your mind.

“I should’ve never let you go.”

"I should’ve never left." The words left your mouth before you could process them. You have promised yourself to never vocalize these thoughts, the thoughts that a part of you that never left him, that have been longing for him for the past six years, felt.

The atmosphere in the air shifted. You could feel the change in Arthur's eyes and his demeanor. He reached out and took your hands in his, running his thumb over your knuckles and your golden band. His other hand reached up to you, cradling your head and bringing the two of you closer. You could feel his breath on your lips, smelling of the whiskey you poured him a few minutes ago. Your mind was on fire. For a moment, you felt that you were six years in the past, sitting on a bed in a crummy hotel room in some beatdown town. The law was on your tail, but you didn't care. Nothing mattered when you were with Arthur.

He pressed his lips against yours and in an instant, you forgot where you were. Your hands moved on their own, reaching and waving your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss. He groaned against your mouth, his hand leaving yours and moving up the curve of your body, over your hips and your waist, stopping around your chest. You felt him palm you over your chemise, and for a second, you felt your mind clear. The guilt came in flooding. You felt his tongue lick over your bottom lip and you winced, breaking the kiss and trying to get away from him, pushing yourself deeper into the couch.

"I can't do this," you said, more to yourself than to Arthur.

You felt his hand on your knee, hot against the cool skin. You wanted to move, wanted to slap his hand away, but you didn't. His hand inched higher up your leg, reaching the end of your chemise.

Arthur looked at you, his hand still on your thigh. "You tell me to stop and I will. I will leave and never bother you again."

You hesitated for a moment, battling with yourself till you finally said, “Stay.”

.

He covered your body with his, pinning you against the couch. His lips moved against yours in a dance that the two of you knew well, having rehearsed it for years and years before. One of his hands was back on your thigh, massaging the skin as he moved dangerously close to your heat. You felt his fingers run over your clothed slit, pressing against your clit and making you push your hips towards him.

His lips left your mouth, moving to your neck, kissing down your throat and to the crook of your neck. You could feel yourself getting wet as he kept kissing you all over, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your clothed clit. He removed himself from you and pulled off his suspenders. You sat up, your fingers reaching out and working on the buttons of his shirt before throwing it on the floor. You ran your hand up his body, through his chest hair and stopping over his heart. You could feel it beat wildly against his rib cage.

You felt hazy as he kissed you once again. In a minute, your chemise was on the floor, joining his shirt in a pile and leaving your top half naked to him. He laid you back down on the couch, sitting on his hinges between your spread legs. He made sure to burn this moment in his memory, the image of you spread under him for what was probably the last time.

He pulled your drawers down, revealing you completely to himself. You felt like you should cover yourself, not let a man that wasn't your husband see you like this, but this wasn't just another man, it was Arthur. Being like this with him felt natural.

He paved his way down your stomach with kisses, finally reaching your glistering cunt. The first touch of his tongue against your slit made you moan, and you instinctively reached out with your hand, waving your fingers into Arthur's hair. He kept going, lapping at you and pushing all the buttons he knew would have you coming apart in minutes. You threw your head back, moaning his name when you feel him push a finger in you, his tongue turning its attention to your clit. You could feel your release approaching when he added a second finger, picking up the pace. The movements of his fingers were deliberate, working in tandem with his tongue. You started to move your hips in time with his fingers, your body giving in to your carnal desires.

Your toes curled and your whole body shuddered as you came. Arthur kept going, heightening your pleasures until it all became too much and he retreated. The sight of his lips, wet with your juices, made a fire ignite in your belly once again. You pulled him down, crashing your lips against his, moaning at the taste of you.

He was grinding his hips against you, the bulge in his pants hard and heavy. You broke the kiss, reaching down with shaking hands towards his pants, popping the button open and taking out his cock. He moaned your name, closing his eyes as you wrapped your fingers around him. You ran your hand up and down, relishing in the sound of his debauched voice moaning your name. After a while, he took your hand away from his length and kissed over your knuckles. Letting it go, he pulled down his pants, the last article of clothing joining the others on the floor.

He sat in his naked glory between your legs. He was just as you remembered him; big, strong and muscular. The air around him was filled with virility. Your primal urges filled your mind as you wanted nothing but to be filled by him. He sensed your longing, seeing it in your eyes, and smiled.

His lips found yours once again, kissing you so much that you couldn't think about anothing but him. You felt the tip at him at your entrance, slowly pushing in. Your hands found his biceps, holding on to him as he pushed deeper, stretching you around his shaft. He stilled when he was all the way in, trying to compose himself. For a moment, all that could be heard where the sounds of your combined breaths, haggard in the quiet living room. The light from the fireplace illuminated your naked bodies.

Finally, he moved, pulling halfway out of you before slamming back in. You clung to each other, your bodies molding into one. Your legs wrapped around his waist, letting him deeper into you as your hands clawed at his back, leaving red marks behind. The feeling of him inside you was intoxicating; he was made for you, hitting all the right spots, the sheer girth and length of him filling you perfectly. His lips were on your neck as he thrusted in and out of you, taking in your scent and the taste of your skin under his lips.

Arthur couldn't get enough of you; his eyes raked over every part of your body, taking it all in. You could feel his hands everywhere, holding on to your hips, massaging your sides, cupping your breasts. He wanted to feel every part of you. His touch was inebriating, heightening your pleasure to an unimaginable level.

You could feel yourself nearing the edge, and so did Arthur. His movements became sloppier and out of rhythm, his desire for peak overwhelming.

He moaned your name, bringing your attention to him.

"I'm gonna cum," he said breathlessly, "where-"

You didn't let him finish, cutting in and saying, "Cum in me", not thinking about the repercussions of your words, your mind high on desire.

He dropped to his elbows, crashing his lips against yours as his movements became slower but rougher. You moved your hips meeting every one of his thrusts. The feeling of your tongue against his, your hands on his back and your warmness tightening against his shaft all became too much, and he came with a moan of your name, spilling his seed inside of you. The feeling of him coating your walls drove you wild, and you came a moment later, your legs shaking.

The weight of Arthur over you felt like a warm blanket, keeping you safe and shielded from the world outside. You could feel his staggering breath on your neck as he tried to bring his breathing down. You held each other like that for a few minutes, not moving. Two sweaty bodies, entangled in each other.

At some point in the night, the two of you moved to the bedroom, soiling the bed that you and your husband shared with your combined moans and desires.

You spent the rest night in Arthur’s arms. He held you tight against him as he told you about his travels and the state of the gang. You told him about the ranch, and how fulfilled you felt by the work. Both of you tried to avoid the subject of marital status.

You fell asleep to the beat of Arthur’s heart, your head on his chest, his in your hair.

In the morning, the two of you had breakfast, and he stayed till the evening, helping you with some of the chores around the ranch, playing family that the two of you never had a chance to become.

You watched him drive away on his horse, following the speck of him with your eyes all the way over the plain till it completely disappeared. You stood by the entrance of your ranch for a few more minutes. Out in the distance the chickens chirped. You still had to milk the cows and go to the general store. Breathing out, you looked up into the sky before turning back towards your house and your life.

.

Few months later.

You stood at the top of a hill, overlooking your ranch with your husband next to you. Cold wind blew through your hair. Winter was coming. You had to start making preparation for the colder months; make sure the cattle were healthy, create a water plan, add feeders and forage among other things.

Another rush of cold air made you shiver and pull your shawl tightly over your shoulders. Your husband's hand found yours, interlocking your fingers and making you look at him. He smiled at you. his eyes full of love and excitement, before turning back towards the ranch. You held your gaze on him for a moment longer, studying his features, before too turning towards the pasture, one of your hands in his, the other on your growing belly.

[cheekygreenty]

I Know You part 2 - The Darkling x Reader

I knowwwww I took my time writing this but I think it deserves another part? Let me know 🥰

Read part 1 here.

You missed the warmth of the Little Palace and you hated that you missed Aleksander's warm embraces even more. As the tracker led you further up north, Alina and Mal reminisced on old memories and ultimately you stopped listening and kept to yourself, leaving you at the mercy of your own thoughts which were solely devoted to your intense betrayal. How could I of been so blind? You loved this man with your whole being and up until a week ago you would've gone to the ends of the earth for him and he had the audacity to lie to you. My Aleksander never existed, he was a figment of my imagination.

'Let's set up camp here.' Mal said putting his pack down with a wince. His shoulder was still badly wounded, your poor patching up did little to soften the pain. You pulled out your provisions and shared them with the others, thinking back as to whether selling the horse was a wise decision for mere hardtack.

'What do you think the General will do once he finds you with me?'' Alina never mentioned Aleksander's name and you guessed it was to avoid being questioned by Mal.

'Probably brand me a traitor and kill me.' You faced the truth head-on 'He was about to lock me away before I escaped and I'm guessing he's even angrier now.' You blurted as you chewed on the flavorless biscuit.

'Why are you here then? You can get away from Ravka, go to Ketterdam and never look back.'

'He'll find me, Alina. I might as well do something meaningful before I die.'

'What if he won't kill you?' Mal spoke up.

'I'd rather he did.' The thought of being Aleksander's prisoner struck a somber note in you and not for the reason they assumed. You didn't trust yourself enough to keep up your broken heart in Aleksander's presence for too long, that kind of love doesn't fade and around him, you were a slave to that emotion.

'We'll find the Stag and I can defeat him Y/N.' Alina sounded hopeful but at her words, you recoiled. Firstly, you knew she would fail, possibly killing Mal in the process but secondly, her statement ignited a brief spark of anger in you, a feeling of protectiveness for the man that was willing to take your life away from you. Stop being foolish. The man has killed countless times and will continue to commit atrocities in the name of power. You're better than that.

The rest of the night carried on as usual, Alina applying a salve to Mal's wound and you sitting against a tree, contemplating your life. Perhaps you should go to Ketterdam. You have connections there that would hopefully prevent you from becoming an indenture, but those connections could be used against you, a way for Aleksander to find you. Perhaps Novyi Zem would work for you. Alina and Mal had spoken about escaping there if she failed to defeat the Darkling, but you knew it was pointless. You had been by his side long enough to know there was truly no way you could hide and survive.

You know the parts of me that I showed you. His words echoed in your head as you tried to settle to sleep. Although you had uncovered his true face, you clung to his words like a lifeline. He showed you his loving side, he told you his name and his complicated relationship with Baghra, his mother. He trusted you with those things and he loved you, so he said. I do love you.

The tears came once again like they did every night. You had quickly come to understand that Alina and Mal were blind to your waterworks and were under the impression you hated Aleksander and wanted him dead as much as they did. If only they knew you fell asleep dreaming of his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings like he always did.

The snow was a thick blanket now as you approached the Fjerdan border. Mal was certain the Stag would be found any day now and with each passing moment spent dredging through the snow, you cursed your decision of coming with them. You haven't been of much use to the pair on the journey anyway, except letting the wind carry the smoke away when the fire was burning or blowing snow out from the trees when you settled for camp, but Alina insisted you were necessary. From Mal's behavior, you gathered he felt uneasy around two Grisha, so maybe Alina wanted you here to know she wasn't alone and her powers weren't strange.

You listening half-heartedly as she explained to Mal she was the one who needed to kill the animal but stopped when you heard a rustling in the distance.

'That way' Mal noticed too

'Hang on'

'What are you doing'

'I need to get closer to it' You blocked them out, your senses wholely devoted to watching the magnificent Stag. Saints, it's even more beautiful than I imagined it.

You saw her reach out and touch its snout, a light dome so bright erupting from their contact you shielded your eyes away. In doing so, you noticed the faint outline of a blue kefta in the trees, quickly heading for you.

'NO' you tried to block the shot but it was too late, the dome fell apart.

'The animal is not meant for you' Zoya bellowed as she fought to secure the stag.

You fought her in return, desperately attempting to knock her and the others off their feet but two strong hands caught you, restricting your movement.

'Take her' You heard his voice before you saw the contrast of his black attire against the snow. You fought against the soldier keeping you trapped, thrashing and kicking with all you could muster, completely ignoring the screams and shouts erupting from Mal and Alina.

He came to face you, eyeing you up and down, as if searching for any injuries. Even in the dark, you noticed the tiredness evident in his eyes with a hint of desperation. But no relief or love directed to you.

'Ivan, subdue her' was the last thing you registered before your eyes closed shut and deep sleep came over you.

***

You woke with a start, having felt no time pass in your dream-lacking slumber. The snow from earlier was replaced by lavish silks and drapes in a warm tent, his tent. You would recognize the eclipse sign from a mile away, especially on the embroidered cushion beneath your head or on the buttons of the coat you were donning. His kefta. He must’ve put it in you while you were passed out.

There were no cuffs around your wrists or restraints around your ankles as you lay in his comfortable cot surrounded by the sound of a crackling fire in the stove that always brought some level of comfort to you.

There was nobody in the tent with you, but you suspected a guard was posted by the entrance flap to ensure you didn't try anything stupid. You hesitated to get up. Will he be waiting for me? You didn't want to face him or fight him. The thoughts of a civil conversation with him withered away the more you reflected on your throbbing feeling of betrayal, but there was still that small voice in the back of your head, or rather your heart, that wanted to forget about everything and just lay with him like you did every night. The conflict caused you to cry yet again that night for exactly the same reasons as before.

You finally got up once the last tears dropped, your light footsteps carrying you over to the small fruit bowl sitting by the lamps. It was rewarding to taste the sweetness of a grape after so much time spent eating hardtack and hard cheese, all Saints willing, you'd never have to look at those things again. You heard the tent flap open and slowly, you turned to face Aleksander.

'You've been crying.' He observed and took off his heavy cape, laying it carelessly on the cot you had just slept in and standing away from you, keeping his distance although his own heart dropped to see you in such a state.

'Do you blame me?' Your voice was strong despite your appearance,

'I hope you are well-rested. The journey here mustn't've been very kind to you.'

'It was better than being your prisoner and rotting away in a cell in the Little Palace.'

'Do you really think so lowly of me Y/N?'

'I don't know what to think Aleksander.' You hugged his huge kefta closer to your body, enjoying being enveloped by his scent. Another thing that brought you comfort.

'I never lied when I said I love you.' His voice grew softer but you willed yourself to ignore it. The small voice told you to run up to him, kiss him, hold him and tell him you loved him too, but the logical part kept you firmly planted in your place.

'If I recall correctly, you said 'I love you but'...'

'You never stuck around to what I wanted to say next.'

'I doubt it would have fixed this.' You gestured to the lengthy space between your bodies and he took it as an opportunity to walk closer to you.

'Is there anything we can do to fix this?' He asked desperately and your heart leaped in your chest but it didn't last long as his hand caught your attention, The Stag.

The realization flooded over you with a jolt of pain for the second time in two weeks. Unable to hold it back, a bone-shattering sob erupted from you at the impending doom he was about to unleash on Ravka.

His eyes followed your own with anguish so obvious it hurt him, but he had to avert them fearing if he watched your pained expression any longer, he would rip out the amplifier himself without a second thought just to stop the heart-breaking sobs shaking your body. He reached out for you but stopped himself, the last thing she needed was his comfort of all people, he thought.

But you yearned for him despite the situation, so when he stepped closer once again, you rested your head on his chest still uncontrollably crying.

‘Why are you doing this’ your hands now held a deathly grip on his shirt, but all he could think about was the fact that you sought his touch out first, maybe there is some hope left.

‘For Ravka, for all Grisha.’ The answer felt automated and scripted but it was all that remained of his goal. There was nothing else, no one else, that would benefit from this except him and her.

He wrapped one arm around you and when you didn’t pull away, his other arm went to your waist, pulling you close and pressing his lips to the top of your head in an attempt to soothe you. Ironically, it had the exact opposite effect as you cried even harder because despite everything he’d done and everything he was about to do, you didn’t want to leave his side.

The conflict was rampant in your head and part of the shed tears were in an effort to calm your mind.

‘I’m going on a skiff journey across to Novokribirsk in a couple days. I wish for you to go back to the Little Palace.’ He spoke but didn’t loosen his comforting hold on you.

‘Why?’ You managed to croak out.

‘You want to come with me?’

‘I don’t know’

‘Let’s sleep. You’ve had a long day.’ He only briefly let you go to take off the kefta he placed on you earlier, but he was right back at your side as you settled against his chest on the cot. Although you had only just woken up from Ivan's induced sleep, your mind was tired from the self-hate your logical side spewed at you.

‘This is wrong. They’ll hate me for this.’ I hate myself for this.

‘If it is so wrong then tell me to go away. I’ll listen.’ You knew he would but you wanted him here with you.

‘Were you ever going to tell me?’

‘Yes. But I stopped myself after seeing how happy you were. I couldn’t bring myself to stop that.’

‘And look where it brought us. Look at me now.’ You raised your head from his chest and looked him in his onyx eyes. They radiated affection and forgiveness, both of which you were ready to give him. I’m a fool for this.

‘And I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy Y/N.’ The determination in his voice pulled at your heart, for the next thing you knew your lips were on his, kissing him as if there was no tomorrow.

-----

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added !!)

@aleksanderwh0r3 @theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx @pansysgirlfriend @pansysgirlfriend @justmesadgirl @theriveroftruth

[ackerlert]

The Restaurant

Jean x Reader (3 year time skip since end of Season 3, pretend Annie is not in a crystal LMAO)

NSFW WARNINGS: female pronouns reader, oral sex (m & f receiving), sex with jean’s horse cock, reader aroused by his blush LMFAO, slow build up

“Oi. Get back here brats,” Levi grunts, gesturing toward a door. “Time for dinner. I know the restaurant’s all you brats have been thinking of. Especially you, Sasha.”

“Yahoo!” Sasha squealed. “I wonder what Niccolo will make today…maybe even that pizza he was telling me about…” she mutters, smiling to herself and probably daydreaming about stretchy cheese and marinara sauce. 

Connie grinned, sharing a look with the other smirking cadets--no. Soldiers. All of the cadets had grown into soldiers now, ranging from 17 to early 20s, plus some new recruits who had joined, including you.

Everyone knew Sasha had a thing for Niccolo-- it was something you and all the other cadets teased her about almost every day. The atmosphere buzzed with a lighthearted feel as the group joked around. You had all just recently completed a successful mission clearing Ragako of some straggler titans left from 3 years ago, and it had gone extremely well: so well that the Corps were getting rewarded with a trip to Niccolo’s restaurant.

The Corps made their way to their destination, the train: a new machine designed by Hange and other engineers she had recruited, it would be their way to the restaurant. Everyone stared at it with slack jaws and wonder-filled eyes. It would be your first time on the locomotive.

The Corps rushed forward, all clambering to get on first and sit with their friends and significant others.

You, along with your group of Mikasa, Eren, Armin, Annie, Connie, Sasha, and Jean were the last to file into the last cart.

Pair by pair, your group began filing in. 

You and Jean Kirschtein were last in line to get on the train, and the uncomfortableness you felt surely was justified. After all, the others basically all knew who they would sit near and talk to--Sasha/Connie, Mikasa/Eren, Armin/Annie-- except you two. You couldn’t help but sneak a look at Jean, standing next to you in the line, tallest in your group. His dark eyes looked a bit tired but still had a hard glint of intensity -- probably just excitement to visit the restaurant. You also noted his broad shoulders and a bit of a scruff on his sharp jawline -- characteristics that had not been there before a few years ago, when you had first caught a glimpse when you joined the Corps.

He’d always been attractive. Whenever he smiled at you when you said something to your friend group, whenever he would grasp his hair when he seemed frustrated. And you couldn’t forget his blush and the way his dark eyes glanced away in embarrassment that day you complimented his hair. Although he had seemed intimidating, you had felt a spark of arousal at his blush.

“Y/n. Y/N.” Mikasa frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. C’mon, get on the train!” Connie pouted.

Your eyes snapped up in surprisement. You hadn’t noticed how your mind had drifted into that memory of Jean’s blush, and how everyone, including Jean, was already in the train cart.

“Sorry! I’m coming!” You blushed and clambered on the train.

There was a stretch of awkward silence for a few seconds as you realized the problem.

“Er...why isn’t there room for me?” You asked, frowning a bit.

“The only place you could sit is one of our laps, you could sit on my lap!” Sasha offered, smiling at you, a crumb on her lip. 

“Sasha, don’t forget you have all that food stuffed in your pockets. Y/n might smush it and you would cry later,” Connie said, rolling his eyes before looking up at you apologetically. “Sorry Y/n, but I honestly don’t know where you could sit.”

Silence filled the train car for another second, before you heard Jean’s husky voice. “There’s a small bit of room next to me.”

You gratefully accepted that as your best seat, and tried to squeeze in. One of your legs was against Jean’s and the other one was almost hanging out, but you tried to brush it aside.

As the train lurched forward, you heard Jean’s voice again, this time closer to your ear and a bit softer. “You can move in closer, you might fall off like that.”

“Thanks, Jean.” you reply, inching closer. You became aware of his leg’s warmth against yours. 

“Damn those thighs are strong...“ you thought to yourself.

You sat like this for a while, in discomfort, listening vaguely to Armin tell Annie about a book he had read.

All of a sudden, your shoulder was jerked to the side and your legs were thrown to the side.

The train had just bumped over a bridge, and you sighed in annoyance until you realized the position you were in: Jean’s steely thighs under your own, his warm chest on your back, and the tickle of his hair on the top of your left ear.

You immediately flushed red, and were about to scramble off his lap until his right hand gently patted your shoulder. You froze.

“Wait, uh. Y/n, I-I think you should wait a while. The road above is a bit bumpy, and the train might throw you off,” he muttered, his face turning that beautiful pink color again as he retracted his hand and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Okay. Thank you so much, Jean,” you said quietly, still aware that you were on his lap. You wondered if he could feel your legs tense up, or smell your hair that you had just washed this morning.

You could feel every breath he took against your back, and every breath you took in smelled like him.

And sure enough, the road ahead was bumpy.

You felt your arousal every time the cart hit a road bump and your sensitive parts rubbed against Jean’s. You hoped he wouldn’t notice, but he appeared to be even more awkwardly tensed up than you about it. His breathing had become a bit erratic in your ear and something under your ass was hardening.

When the train ran over a giant rock, you basically bounced up and back down on Jean’s lap.

When this happened, you couldn’t help but let out a small moan before horror filling your face.

Oh fuck.

Jean stiffened behind you, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment. Neither of you said anything else until you got to the restaurant.

You slowly left his lap, not daring to look back behind you, and entered the restaurant to sit with Sasha and try to erase the sensations of sitting on Jean’s lap.

---

---

---

“I’ll have the steak, medium-rare, please,” you heard Jean’s smooth voice say to Niccolo taking the orders.

He was sitting across from you, and neither of you had mentioned what happened on the train, but it was still fresh on your mind. You couldn’t help but wonder if the slight blush that had been present on his face all meal was from that incident.

As the food came, and you dug in, you couldn’t help but sneak another glance at Jean.

But he was already looking at you with an unfathomable look in his eyes as he took a bite out of his steak.

You quickly looked away.

---

---

---

After the dinner, the Corps were getting lodging in the town of the restaurant.

You had always roomed with Hitch, but today she seemed to have other plans in mind.

“Y/nnnnnn, I am so sorry.. But could we perhaps do a switch?” she asked, lips breaking into a devious smile.

You frowned at the short-haired girl suspiciously.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well...I really want to spend the night with Annie and Armin after that dinner, I want to see something. So maybe Armin’s roommate could stay here for the night instead?” she begged.

You frowned. You really didn’t want this, but you knew that Hitch would be really sad if she couldn’t see her friends, so you gave in.

“Fine. But PLEASE make sure his roommate doesn’t stink,” you joked.

“Thank you sooo much!” Hitch grinned, squealing.

---

---

---

The door lock clicked open as whoever outside twisted the key Hitch had given him, and stepped inside.

“Jean?!”

You heard the click of his shoes as the man stepped in, eyes falling on you. The room seemed a lot smaller all of a sudden. Although you normally felt pretty tall, you felt small next to Jean.

“Hey, Y/n..” he started. “Looks like i’ll be staying here tonight. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Your bed is the one on the left ” You forced a sweet smile on your face. In your mind, however, you were shocked that Jean was the one staying with you. Memories of his strong, warm chest against your back on the train, his dark eyes on you in the restaurant, and his hard bulge ran throughout your mind again, the way they had plagued your thoughts ever since you had left the restaurant.

You heard a warm and slightly tired-sounding chuckle from Jean, and you snapped your head to his direction, eyes narrowing at him.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he smirked as he glanced up from unpacking his clothes in your direction. ”It was just kinda... cute how you were just staring into space just now, I guess. Wonder what you were thinking about”

You rolled your eyes, a blush spreading across your face. I wonder what he’d think if he knew I was thinking of him, you thought to yourself. Hell, he probably knows. 

Another thought passed your mind as you watched him unpacking, the muscles around his neck and arms moving through his thin collared shirt: With the way he was looking at me earlier at that restaurant... I bet I’m not the only one with thoughts of continuing what happened on that damned train...

You smirked and walked up to him casually as a plan moved in your head. He moved his head and looked at you in confusion. 

He then ducked his head down again, focusing back on unpacking his clothes. You could’ve sworn there was a hint of that blush you love on his cheeks again.

“So...say, Jean. You look awfully tired today,” you murmured as you went on your tiptoes and flicked some of his soft hair.

He turned back to you. It was clear now that he was blushing and glancing down at your chest, nipples visible through your thin training shirt.

You thought of how his complexion looked so nice in the small bits of red sunlight filtering through the window and the glow of the lamp on the small bedside table in the room. It was a shame that his shirt covered up the rest of him right now.

“Yeah...it’s been busy recently I guess.” he muttered a bit tightly, his blush growing deeper as he rubbed the stubble on his chin.

“We should get more time to relax,” you sighed and flopped down on the bed right next to the pile of clothes he was unpacking.

Jean looked at you sprawled on the blankets. You gave him another smile and patted the area beside yourself on the bed. He rolled his eyes at you but gave you a small smile back as he sat down beside you a bit stiffly.

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes as you pulled him to lay down properly beside you, your thighs touching.

“I-uh-” he stammered, clearly not sure what to say now that you two were in such close proximity, and he could feel your warmth next to him.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything,” you explained to him. “I’ve just been so tired and stressed as well, I just wanted to relax tonight.”

You shifted a bit closer to him on the bed. He didn’t say anything or move in the next couple of seconds, the two of you just enjoying the moment in the bed before the stress of the next day’s training and planning would hit.

You sighed softly. How long had it been since you had felt this tired? Sure, the titans on Paradise were basically eliminated--but you were not naive enough to think that this would be the end of your journey as a soldier. Just the thought of encountering more titans across the sea that would threaten your friends and family made you almost sick.

Your pretty face crumpled into a bitter frown.

“Y/n…” he said slowly.

“What?” you replied, looking up at him through your eyelashes, eyes tired.

“I...I want you to be happier.” he muttered, turning to you and fixing his dark eyes on your face. “I know you’ve been stressed recently, pushing yourself during training and so have I, but...stay safe, okay? I’m worried about you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. Yeah, Hitch and Sasha and Mikasa teased you about training too hard a lot and always checked up on you, but this was the first time someone had noticed you weren’t happy doing this much training, and how you sometimes pushed yourself to limits that you knew you couldn’t keep up.

Overwhelmed with surprise and emotion, you threw your arms around Jean and put your chin on his shoulder. His muscles immediately tensed around you, and his warm hands wrapped around your waist, fitting perfectly in its dips.

You buried your face in his neck, breathing in his delicious smell of wood and wine.

Your thoughts were running at a million miles per hour, and you figured you could be more vulnerable with him now.

“Jean, I...I really liked sitting on you on the train today.” you blurted out, still hugging him.

He went stiff for a moment, and you feared you had ruined the moment between you two until he chuckled, the vibrations from his chest spreading to you.

“Yeah...I liked it too.”

You broke off the hug to look at him, only to find him already looking at you and smirking.

Before you know it, his lips were connecting to yours, and your hands were running through his soft hair and tugging the ends to get him closer to you somehow. He broke off the kiss, and you furrowed your brows, but then felt his lips on your neck, sucking it and definitely leaving marks that would last for the next couple of days.

You let out a soft moan that he responded with by marking your neck even harder. You felt his lips curl into a smirk on your neck.

“Jean...have you done this before?” you murmured.

“Uh…” he said.

Before he could finish his response, you pulled his hair and pulled him off of your neck.

“Relax…” you said, tilting your head to give him your own smirk as you trailed your hand down his chest, rapidly unbuttoning the buttons of his thin shirt and feeling the hard planes of his chest stiffen under your hand. “I want to make you feel less stressed too.”

He groaned. “Y/n...you really don’t have to do this,” he muttered, looking away from you as if embarrassed.

You smiled up at him from your position in between his thighs, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants off before running your hand over his muscular thighs.

“I want to, though. I want to taste you,” you said, keeping eye contact with him.

His dick was longer than you expected, flushed a warm color and with a slight curve at the tip that you knew would hit that spot in you later that brought you the most pleasure.

He let out a choked whimper at the first time your warm tongue touched his throbbing member, his thighs tensing and veined hands clenching the bedsheets.

You continued to pepper small licks around his dick, giving him comments that made him even harder, if that were even possible, like “You look so nice like this.” and “Stay still for me, okay?”

The way the 6”3 man was now completely at your mercy, his head tilted back and muscles tensed, made you get slicker down there.

“F-fuck, Y/n....” he groaned, peering down at you and your flushed face through the messed up strands of hair that your hands had been running through earlier.

You smirked as he continued to groan.

“But I’ve only been licking your tip? Why are you so sensitive?” you teased him, a string of saliva connecting your mouth and his tip. He only let out another moan in response, his tip twitching again.

You relaxed your throat and began to take him down completely, although his length barely fit in your mouth.

Jean let out even more moans, moaning your name and “fuck” repeatedly. A sheen of sweat covered his chest, glistening in the moonlight and lamp light, and you marveled at the sight.

After a few more times of deep-throating him, he suddenly reached his hands down and yanked your head roughly off of his dick. You looked at him, confused at the sudden demeanor change, still wanting to feel him pulse beneath your tongue and see him lose all his control.

“I was about to cum, but I want to wait until I’m inside of you”, he explained. “Now, it’s my turn to taste you.”

He pulled you up from your position between his legs, and roughly pulled off your shirt so that your breasts were out, and you pulled off your shorts and underwear yourself. The cold air hit your sensitive parts, making them even more sensitive.

When you were on his bed, exposed to his dark eyes trailing over your body that you were proud of from all your days of training, you felt heat rush between your legs.

You pushed your legs together, embarrassed all of a sudden, but Jean lowered his body and bent his head down so that he was hovering above your thighs, and spread your legs for you, his grip as tight as steel.

“Don’t hide from me,” he commanded.

You let out a moan in response, loving the feel of his hands pressing into your soft thighs. You knew where this was heading, and the anticipation made your head dizzy.

Jean lowered his face so that you could feel his breath on you, and you whimpered in anticipation. At the first contact of his tongue on you, you moaned, because no other guy had done this with you. You vaguely thought of how after tonight, no other guy would ever compare to how you felt with Jean.

“Jean…” you moaned.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I thought you would,” he responded, as he sucked your clit and ran his tongue through your folds.

As he continued eating you out, his grip still preventing your thighs from closing, he let out some of his own groans that made you even wetter, and combined with your moans to make the best sounds you had heard in your life.

“Jean…” you repeated, gripping his granite-colored hair in your hands. “I want you in me now.”

Jean gave your clit one last kiss before he got up, licking his lips.

He smiled at you, loving the sight of you as a panting mess on his sheets. His dick was rock hard already, wanting to be inside of you.

You blushed when you saw the wetness on his stubble, but he seemed to not mind at all. Jean began rubbing his tip on you, and thrust his hips forward all of a sudden, even though you were still recovering from your previous orgasms.

When he slid in easily, due to how wet you were, both of you moaned at the sensation.

“Oh fuck...you fit me perfectly.”

The sight of Jean, strands from his side parted hair falling into his forehead, darkened with sweat, made you moan even more. His eyes were fixated on you, begging for more of his dick and for him to go faster.

The intensity of his stare made you look away, blushing and moaning, but his large fingers grabbed your chin and made you look back at him.

“Don’t look away.” he scolded.

“A-alright.” you moaned, looking back into his eyes.

He began to pound into your faster, eyes never leaving yours, his hand making his way to grope your breasts before settling around your throat, not pushing very hard but probably leaving marks there.

You seemed to be sucking him into you every time he pulled out again, which made his rough thrusting irresistible and his moans louder.

The intensity of the pleasure you felt every time he fucked you this good made your eyes roll back and sweat to cover both you and Jean’s bodies. 

“Jean...I’m coming soon…” you moaned.

“Me too.” he gritted his teeth and slowing his thrusts so that they were precise and deep.

“Please…” you moaned, not sure what you were begging for: some sort of release, anything, as you clawed his back.

“Please what?” he groaned.

“Please...let me cum…” you whimpered.

Jean groaned at your pretty sounds, so desperate for release, and began thrusting harder.

It was as if he couldn’t control his deep thrusts. You had known that curve in his dick would hit you at the right spots, but now that you were actually experiencing it, you were sure you were in heaven.

With a cry, both of you came, Jean cumming into the condom. He gave you a few more lazy thrusts to milk out your broken cries before he pulled out and leaned down over your naked body to kiss you.

“Y/n… That was amazing.” he blushed again, seemingly shy all of a sudden after he had just fucked you into almost-a-coma.

“I could say the same to you, Jean…” you smiled.

He went into the bathroom and got something to clean you up with.

“We made a mess on the sheets,” you groaned into the pillow. “Hitch is gonna tease me so bad about this tomorrow.”

Jean laughed, his eyes crinkling at you. 

“Whatever. But you look so pretty right now Y/n. How could she tease you when you look so pretty?” he joked.

“You’re too sweet, Jean…” you smiled back at him as he clambered slightly awkwardly back into the small bed with you.

Damn, I am so lucky, you marveled to yourself as he put his arm around you and pulled you closer to his chest. You buried your face into his chest, breathing in his scent. His usually meticulous hair was now messy and tickling your ear again.

“You know … Ymir was right about you having a horse cock…” you giggled.

Jean frowned, pulling you off his chest to look you in the eyes. “What the fuck?!” he snorted, but his lips were pulling up into a smile.

The rest of the night was filled with you two laughing and joking about trivial matters, distracting you from the pain and loss that would happen the next year. But that night was one out of many special nights between you and Jean only.

Hitch took one glance at your messy hair, eye bags, and goofy smile the next morning and instantly began squealing.

“I TOLD YOU SO, SASHA!” she screamed.

Connie and Sasha smirked at you, whispering something about how they had known it since they had caught Jean staring at you during training when you first joined the Corps.

“Hitch...shut up please…” you groaned, exchanging a look with Jean, who was blushing again.

[nanagoswife]

Noticing You, Noticing Me

Chapter Eleven

Summary: Reader introduces Obi-Wan to a friend.

W/C: 3.2k

Warnings: None? Please feel free to correct me.

A/N: Yes I used Epona from The Legend of Zelda as the model of reader's horse. Like, look at her. Can you blame me?😂

- - -

On the carriage ride home, you had fallen asleep in Obi-Wan’s loving grasp. You were awoken by a gentle call of your name.

Padmé hadn’t joined you on the way back. She instead elected to stay the night with her family.

So, it was just you and Obi-Wan as the carriage stopped. You had been a bit hazy, but he helped you. Every step of the way he made sure you wouldn’t fall back to sleep as you still stood.

You clung to his arm as you made your way through the hallways. The feeling of his warmth made you feel safe. There was no doubt in your mind that he would make sure you got back safe and sound back in your room.

Once you had gotten there, he made sure you were comfortable in your bed.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead before turning towards the door.

“Obi, wait!” you quietly exclaimed, a slight sense of panic rising in you. You didn’t want to be alone, not after all that had happened. No, you wanted your future husband to stay with you. You wanted the man you loved to stay.

The call made him pause in front of your door, turning to face you. “Yes, darling?”

“Will you… stay? Please?”

You watched as his expression softened in the light of his lamp. Then, you watched as he looked conflicted. Like he was thinking that it may be something that he shouldn’t do, but that’s not what won over.

Obi-Wan walked back over to the other side of your bed. “Alright,” he whispered, leaning across the mattress to cup your cheek as he leaned over you. “I’ll stay.”

That’s how you got to this moment as you watched Obi-Wan sleep as the sun slowly rose, welcoming the morning.

When you had first awakened, his back was facing you. You had to keep yourself from tracing all of the freckles that were sprinkled over his shoulders. It was like his back was its own night sky full of constellations.

Your admiration was cut short when he had turned in his sleep to face you. So, you studied his facial expression like you had the morning before. Slowly, your eyes drew down to look at a specific scar that lined his collar bone, cutting across his sternum. A part of you wondered how he got it, if it was painful.

It had taken a great deal of self control to not kiss it the night you first saw it. Hell, it had taken you immense self control to not kiss every inch of his skin that had been exposed. That wasn’t the time, though.

Unlike the other morning, you did nothing to wake him. You had no desire to. Not with the way his hair seemed like it burned like fire as the sunlight touched the amazingly soft strands. It was too perfect to ruin the moment just for his attention.

As you watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, excitement grew at the thought of spending so many mornings with him just like this. Only, when that happens, you’ll be his, and he’ll be yours. Eventually, the two of you would have a family.

The thought made you smile, having kids with him. It just seemed so natural with Daisy and Christian. Obi-Wan had even almost slipped and said that you were their mother. You thought it was sweet. Not only that, but it told you that he was thinking the same things you were that day.

Your thoughts were broken as Obi-Wan slowly opened his eyes, smiling when he saw you were already awake.

“Good morning,” you said quietly, feeling your lips curl into a smile as well.

He mumbled the words back as he raised a hand to cup your cheek. His blue eyes gazed into yours, switching between the two for a couple seconds before settling on one. Then, slowly, he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours.

Both of you seemed to sigh in relief at the contact. The longer you moved your lips against his, the more Obi-Wan seemed to lean over top of you. You didn’t mind, though. The feeling of his weight gently pressing into you was amazing. It made you feel something that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before.

What you did know was that your arms were wrapping around his neck, your hands finding their place in his hair at the back of his head. It wasn’t long after that, that you felt his tongue press against your lower lip.

Without a single thought, you opened for him, feeling his tongue glide over yours. The hand he had on your cheek slowly guided its way into your hair. It was a feeling that sent chills down your spine as you gently tugged at Obi-Wan’s hair. The light scratching of his beard didn’t help quell that feeling.

He groaned at the sensation, the vibration from his chest transferring to yours.

A few more moments went by before Obi-Wan pulled his lips away, resting his forehead against yours. Both of you were breathing heavily, your breathing fanning over the other’s face as you looked into each other’s eyes.

“Was that better than the poems?” Obi-Wan suddenly said cheekily.

You chuckled as your hands slid to hold both sides of his face. “Better than any literature I can think of.”

“Are you sure?” He kissed you. “Not even,” he kissed you again, “Shakespeare?”

Laughter erupted from you as he dipped down and rubbed his bearded cheek against your neck. It tickled you so much that you even had your legs nearly kicking underneath the blankets.

Obi-Wan’s own laughter filled your room before he kissed you again.

“Now, what were you thinking of doing today?” he asked, resting his forehead against yours.

“How are you with horses?”

-

“This is Graham,” you said as the horse greeted you.

Graham was a beautiful light brown. His flowing mane was a beige, as was his tail. The long, slender legs faded into the same colour around the hooves. He looked like a powerful horse, one that you would most likely see in a race.

Despite his appearance of what could seem like an intimidating figure, he was nuzzling into your face, causing you to giggle at the playfulness.

“Oh, Graham, I know. I know,” you said in laughter. “It’s been too long.”

Watching as your horse continued to shower you in attention, Obi-Wan could feel his smile never left his lips. It was plastered on as he saw the clear connection between you and Graham. All of it made him think about his similar connection with his own horse, Boga.

“I’ve had him for years,” you started, now turning your gaze to Obi-Wan’s as you pet the side of the horse’s neck. “He’s a huge cuddlebug. That doesn’t mean he can’t get in a good run, though. Right Graham?”

Graham gave a small whinny in response, solidifying his response with a stomp of his hoof.

Obi-Wan admired the moment. Nothing could make him move from this spot as he wished to only look at you like this. That was short lived as you came over to him and pulled him over to Graham.

“Graham, meet Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, meet Graham.”

-

You watched as Obi-Wan put his hand into a loose fist, bringing it up to Graham’s nose. “Hello there, Graham,” he said softly.

If you were being honest, you were nervous for this interaction. Although the only negative interaction between your horse and another was Varlo, Graham had a habit of not acting… fairly.

With you, you never had a problem. But you had heard that there were odd times where Anakin would take him out and your trusty steed would be either stubborn or mischievous.

For a while, you never believed it until one day you witnessed it. At the time, it was kind of comical. Anakin had been riding Graham and you had been watching to see if your brother was telling the truth. He was. As soon as Graham had seen you, he almost seemed to snap back into the horse that you knew. You remember laughing for what felt like hours at Anakin’s defeated look.

Now, you were just hoping that reputation wouldn’t be passed on. A part of you was worried that Graham would possibly nip at Obi-Wan, like he had with Varlo.

That’s not what happened. Instead, you watched as Graham instead nuzzled his nose against Obi-Wan’s fist. With almost no hesitation, Obi-Wan switched laying his palm flat, running his hand up, across the white strip on Graham’s forehead, all the way to his ears. There, he ran his hand to the side of the horse’s neck.

You were amazed. Not once did you see Graham open up so quickly to anyone other than you.

“Do you have an apple?” Obi-Wan asked, breaking you from your stunned silence. You were glad that his attention was still on the horse in front of him. That meant he wouldn’t have seen how you almost panicked as you tried to register what he was asking.

“Um, yes, right here.”

From the bag that you had brought with you, you pulled one out and handed it to him.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan muttered as he let Graham eat the apple from his palm.

You smiled at the sight before joining the two. “Shall we go for a ride? Maybe find a place out by the lake once the sun goes down?”

Obi-Wan glanced at you with a smirk, nodding.

-

You could’ve sworn that the afternoon never even happened. All you knew that it was a time spent in laughter. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

As you rode Graham through the countryside, Obi-Wan sat behind you. His arms were wrapped around your middle, holding himself close to you as the wind flew by.

At one point, your concentration on the sensation of riding a horse again was broken due to the man behind you. He had leaned down, letting his beard lightly scratch at the exposed area of skin on your shoulder. After what felt like an eternity, his lips caressed the skin there. A shiver ran down your spine as he pressed one more to your skin before moving up, kissing the delicate skin of your neck.

You had been so distracted by the feeling that you hadn’t noticed Obi-Wan taking the reins.

“One should not get distracted when controlling a horse, my dear,” he whispered into your ear, pulling back with a cheeky grin.

You rolled your eyes with a chuckle. “You are impossible, Prince Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan gave you a crooked smirk. “I apologize, Princess,” he said, bringing Graham to a stop as he continued to lean closer. “Is there something I can do to make it up to you?”

“Perhaps,” you whispered back, turning your head so you were facing him. Your lips were so close to his and soon it was gone. The feeling of his lips on yours was like a breath of fresh air. Sure, it hadn’t been that long since the two of you had kissed. It didn’t stop you from enjoying the feeling as if it were.

This moment felt like it could last forever before Graham whined, shifting and stomping a hoof. He wanted to get moving, and you could tell.

The two of you laughed at the impatience.

“Alright, alright,” you said to Graham with a chuckle, rubbing the side of his neck. “Just a couple more minutes.”

Graham responded with a small snort before turning his attention to a patch of grass.

You turned back to Obi-Wan who had an amused look on his face.

“Did that work?” Obi-Wan asked quietly, leaning closer to you once again.

“Maybe,” you replied teasingly.

Just as Obi-Wan’s lips were about to reconnect to yours, you prodded Graham back into motion. This caused Obi-Wan to scramble to get his grip back so that he wouldn’t fall due to the sudden start.

You laughed when you caught a glimpse of him. His hair was a mess while his eyes had widened. The shocked expression changed to one with mock disapproval before letting out a small chuckle.

This all went on for hours until the two of you decided to stop at the lake. It was the lake that was visible from the balcony the two of you met on. Each and every sight was just as fantastic as seeing it from that vantage point.

You had tied Graham up to one of the trees before grabbing a few things you had packed. One of which was a blanket. As you had set it up, you caught glances of Obi-Wan sneaking apples to Graham as he petted the horse. He tried to hide the fact that he was doing it, but failed. You knew exactly what he was up to.

Silently, you came up next to him as he pet Graham lovingly while sneaking another apple. Placing a gentle hand on his arm, he jumped, pretending like he wasn’t feeding your horse the fifth apple of the past few minutes.

“At least we know he’s not being starved,” Obi-Wan had said in protest when you told him that he was feeding Graham too many apples.

All you did was chuckle, shaking your head as you turned away.

“Are you going to join me? Or is Graham now the one you love?” you said over your shoulder playfully.

And that’s how the majority of the evening went. The two of you ate some food that you had packed before reading. Obi-Wan insisted on bringing a book that he thought you would like.

This all went on as the sun went down. At one point, the two of you stopped to watch the sunset. Together, you talked as you watched the sun dip below the horizon. You both watched as the light of the moon and the stars replaced their burning counterpart.

During this, the two of you laid back on the blanket. Your head rested in an area between his shoulder and chest, his one arm around you as his other propped up his head. With his arm wrapped around you, he gently rubbed his thumb in circles.

For a while, the two of you were silent as you listened to the night waking up. The sounds of frogs by the lake, the crickets chirped their lullabies, owls made themselves heard, a warning of a hunt about to begin. Everything combined was hauntingly beautiful as the two of you could only spectate.

Quietly, Obi-Wan began to hum. It was a song that you had heard before, but you couldn’t quite place a finger on it. Not until the song reached a specific part did you realize it was the first song the two of you ever danced to. It was your favourite song throughout your whole life. Now, the meaning has changed. Before, it was the song you learned to dance to with your mother. Oftentimes your father would join in, goofing around with you.

Now, as you listened to him hum the tune, you could only think of him. Everytime you heard it after the ball, you only ever could see him in your mind. The way he smiled when he looked at you, his amazingly blue eyes, the golden auburn hair that glowed in the sunlight. You wondered if he thought something similar whenever he heard it.

“Obi,” you called out quietly, tilting your head so you could look at him. He raised his eyebrows, interested in what you wanted to say as he continued humming. “Would you like to dance?”

Obi-Wan smiled in the moonlight, pausing his humming. “Of course.”

He let you sit up before following you, then helping you to stand. Easily, he pulled you against his body. His hands were immediately placed at your waist before he brought one to hold your hand.

For a moment, he only stared into your eyes as you placed your one hand on his shoulder.

It wasn’t until he once again began to softly hum that he started to sway. Yet, it wasn’t a proper dance just yet. You were admiring the small sparkle in his eyes from the moon. Even though the darkness kept you from seeing the proper blue, you didn’t mind.

After a few more minutes, Obi-Wan began to lead you as he never took his eyes from yours. His humming never wavered. It only seemed to grow in steadiness.

As the song went on, you dreaded its end. This was a moment you wished you could stay in forever. The feeling of his chest pressed to yours, his eyes staring into yours, the feeling of his hand drifting to your back to hold you ever closer, it all added to the experience.

When the song did end, Obi-Wan didn’t stop your dance. Instead, he rested his head against yours.

“I love you,” he muttered, almost in a way where if he didn’t say it that he would cease to exist.

With your hand that was on his shoulder, you brought it up to cradle the back of his head. You splayed your fingers through the soft strands of his hair as you tilted your head just so, slotting your lips with his.

A sigh of relief left your lips as he audibly announced his own. The small, happy groan sent a shiver down your spine.

“Is it… too cold… darling?” Obi-Wan asked between kisses, still slightly swaying with you.

You pulled away, resting your head on his once again.

You shook your head, looking into his eyes in the moonlight. “It’s just right.”

-

The news had spread like wildfire through the castle. To Varlo’s knowledge, this was something that only happened the night before. Why had no one told him that this was going to happen? Did his parents know? Did Anakin or even you know?

All Varlo knew was that he was pacing his room in anger. It was bad enough that the world was made aware of the relationship you and Prince Kenobi had. It would only get even worse as everyone would learn of the engagement.

All of it put a sour taste in his mouth. Before this, everyone was happy. Varlo had the popularity he needed to get around when it came to inter-kingdom relations all while Anakin and his father only helped it along. Although he loved you, Varlo was happy that you had no sort of popularity. Well, none other than being a way for people to get to him and Anakin.

Now, you were the one with the popularity. Ever since the ball, things had never been the same. No longer could the two of you joke around about how ridiculously in love Anakin was with Padmé. There were no more jokes because now you knew the feeling.

Varlo desperately wanted this to end. He wanted to be back on top. Nothing has been going well. He’s now turned into what you were. How you dealt with it nearly your whole life, he didn’t know.

The longer he paced, the more his thoughts rolled through his mind. It wasn’t until he thought of a way to change it back around that he stopped pacing.

“Brilliant,” he muttered to himself. Now all he needed to do was find a way to make his plan work.

- - -

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut @imabeautifulbutterfly @animalgirl05 @blondekel77 @thereluctantherosrose @cosmicsierra @badbatch-simp24

[e-milieeee]

tongue-tied (hearts entwined)—Marichat

Summary: Chat Noir has the annoying habit of sticking his tongue out whenever he's concentrating. Marinette hates that she finds it (and him) ridiculously cute.

Now all she has to do is get through the denial.

Notes: For @emsylcatac! Happy birthday, even if I’m a bit late. I know you’re a Ladynoir stan but... it’s Marichat May+Chat blepping :D 

(The last scene is also inspired by this gorgeous piece of art by @australet789! I couldn’t resist sneaking it in lol) 

Or click here to read on AO3! 

tongue-tied (hearts entwined) 

The first time Marinette notices the habit, she brushes it off.

Chat Noir sits on the balcony with her as he attempts to disentangle a ball of yarn from his body. He had claimed that no, he hadn’t in fact been chasing it and it was most definitely not his fault (meaning that it most likely was).

Now, he is wrapped like a Christmas present in neon yellow string. Marinette refuses to help him, so Chat yanks and pulls and stretches the yarn with utmost focus—all with his tongue poking out of his mouth.

Marinette watches him. He doesn’t even seem to notice her presence and only continues in his concentration. His tongue does not return to its rightful place (out of sight, out of mind)—it continues to stick out in the most obnoxiously adorable way ever and Marinette is almost tempted to tell him to shove it back in so she can stop finding him cute.

Before she can do so, Chat Noir lets out a groan. His tongue swipes over his lips and disappears, to Marinette’s relief (and disappointment). “Cataclysm,” he grumbles under his breath.

With that, he cataclysms the yarn to free himself. It falls to black dust all around him like ashes.

“What?” Chat asks when he sees her staring. “It was efficient. Don’t look at me like that.”

Marinette blinks and shakes her head. Had she found him cute just a moment ago? No, she decides. Obnoxious, maybe, but definitely not cute.

(No way.)

***

It happens a couple more times before Marinette realizes that it’s become a problem.

They’re playing video games in her room, an odd little routine they’ve developed. Chat Noir is surprisingly enthusiastic about beating her in Ultimate Mecha Strike III, which, so far, he has not been able to do.

Marinette makes the mistake of sneaking a glance at him in the middle of a match. He’s holding the controller, staring at the screen with the same intensity he often directs at akumas, and, best—no, worst of all, his tongue is sticking out of his mouth again.

She stares at him for a little too long. A little too long turns to really, really too long, because Marinette is only snapped out of her thoughts when Chat Noir throws his hands up with a triumphant whoop. “I won!” he crows at her, and Marinette turns to look at the screen in dismay.

Sure enough, he had finally bested her. The stats flash across the screen—he’d only won by a margin, but he had won nonetheless, breaking her streak of eighteen wins and zero defeats. Now, a red 1 flashes across the screen under her losses, and Marinette groans.

“No fair,” she complains. “I was distracted for a second. You wouldn’t have won if I weren’t.”

“Distracted?” Chat frowns at her. “Distracted by what?”

Your tongue does not suffice as an answer. Not unless she wants to die of embarrassment and shame. As Marinette fumbles for an acceptable reply, Chat sets down his controller and leans forward. “Admit it,” he grins, infuriously smug. “I won fair and square.”

Marinette pushes his nose away from her. Her face is burning. “I’m going to kick your ass harder next time, and you’re going to regret this.”

His grin widens. “I’d like to see you try.”

(He’s not cute. Just annoying.)

***

Chat comes by to bake when Marinette’s parents are out of town one day. He asks her to teach him how to make macarons, but it’s a far too advanced skill for his limited scope. So instead, they come to an agreement to make Chinese pineapple buns. Now, standing shoulder to shoulder, Marinette teaches him to knead dough.

He’s all wide eyes and concentration, tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth as he follows her movements. Marinette forgets about rolling her own dough in favor of watching him. His ears are sticking up straight on top of his head.

He’s so annoyingly cute.

“Okay!” Chat suddenly announces. “Is this good enough—Marinette? Is there something on my face?”

“Huh?” she looks at him, looks at the dough, looks at her own unfinished one, and promptly feels her face flush. Then, against all better judgement, Marinette blurts, “Why do you always stick your tongue out like that?”

“Like what?” Chat tilts his head slightly then sticks his tongue straight out. “Likthe thith?”

“No!” Marinette practically yelps, then throws her hands up. “Your dough isn’t ready! Stop slacking!”

He purposefully keeps his tongue out the whole time until Marinette is shaking from laughter.

(Maybe he’s cute. Slightly.)

***

“It’s called blepping,” Chat Noir tells her.

“What?” Marinette looks up from her project. “What’s called what?”

“Apparently cats do it too,” he continues. “Stick their tongue out, that is.”

“Well,” Marinette tells him, nearly tripping over her words. “You’re not actually a cat.”

“I don’t appreciate you telling me what I can be and what I can’t be,” Chat sniffs back. “Besides, it’s not a problem for anyone, so I don’t see why I can’t embrace my cat instincts.”

“Cat instincts,” she parrots under her breath. “Yeah, right.”

“Wait. You’re not bothered by it, right, Mari?”

Marinette snorts. “Who, me? Why would I be bothered?”

Chat shrugs. “See? Then it’s whatever.”

It’s not whatever, but Marinette isn’t going to let him know that. A moment later, when he’s focusing again, she catches another glimpse of the pink tip of his tongue.

Why does he have to be so cute?

(She is in deep, deep trouble.)

***

Chat’s terrible at tying his laces.

It would’ve been funny—from the way his eyebrows are scrunched, ears twitching as he fumbles uselessly with the string—if it weren’t for the fact that all of that was accompanied by the tongue poking out over his top lip. Marinette knows she should stop staring, because then she can stop finding him cute. But she keeps staring, like a whole idiot.

To her mortification, Chat looks up at her and grins when she catches her turning away hurriedly. “Is my face that great to stare at?” he asks.

“What?” Marinette shrieks. “No! I’m looking at you tie your laces. Do you seriously not know how to do them up?”

Chat pouts. “It’s hard to do with claws,” he grumbles, wiggling his fingers. Then he sticks his leg out. “You can do it for me.”

Marinette does it, only to have an excuse to duck her face so he can’t see how red her cheeks are.

It’s one of their monthly outings that Chat Noir claims essential to their friendship. He had launched into an indignant tirade when Marinette suggested they could skate at a rink, insisting that they skate in nature.

Now, at the small pond with hints of snow beginning to fall, Marinette has to admit that he made the right call. The wind nips at her nose with the slightest hints of cold, but not too cold that it’s uncomfortably so. Bundled in her own handcrafted scarf, mittens and toque, the worst of the chill is kept out. Even Chat is wearing an overcoat over his suit.

They’re far from the city; in fact, they’re far from Paris itself. The horse Miraculous is tucked safely away in one of Chat’s pockets (which, ironically, he had borrowed from Ladybug). Here, away from the buzzing and business of the city, her thoughts feel clearer than they have been in a long, long time. The snow, fresh and still falling, offers a muted sort of quiet that leaves her room to think and ponder without interruptions.

(Too bad all her thoughts just linger on Chat.)

((Or maybe that’s a good thing.))

Marinette double knots Chat’s laces. “There,” she announces, then adds, “you big baby.”

“It’s the claws’ fault!” he exclaims again. “Race you to the pond?”

Before Marinette can react, Chat grabs the hem of her toque and pulls it down over her eyes. Then, with a boyish laugh, she hears him run off, crunch, crunch, crunching over fresh snow.

Marinette scrambles to her feet, cursing him under her breath as she snatches her mittens and brushes the wool out of her face. Chat is already halfway to the pond, and with one last desperate attempt to win, she chucks her mittens at him.

They miss by a margin, landing in the snow and inciting more laughter.

“You’re a cheat!” she shrieks when Chat reaches the ice. “I hope you know that!”

“Sore loser!” he yells from the ice, already twirling easily on his skates. “You don’t see me complaining every time you win in Ultimate Mecha Strike!”

Marinette retrieves her mittens from the ground and brushes the snow from them. “You complain every single time,” she grinds out, joining him on the ice. The moment her skates touch the pond, Chat’s already darting away from her with easy grace. He glides, spins, then starts skating backwards so the smug grin is fully displayed.

“Come get me!” Chat Noir calls, sticking his tongue out. His hands are tucked behind his back, and he loops each glide, one foot behind the other with ridiculous ease. Show off.

“If you’re going to keep sticking your tongue out, then I dare you to lick that,” Marinette yells at him, pointing at the lamp pole that stands a couple of paces from them. “Bet you won’t.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, he raises an eyebrow. “What do I get if I do?”

“I’ll bake you a batch of whatever you want.”

“Oh, you’re on. Also, if a batch of cookies is usually twelve cookies, do you think I could get a batch of twelve cakes—”

“I’m taking back the bet,” Marinette mock-threatens.

“Okay, okay! I want those mooncakes we had two weeks ago! Three of them.”

She skates up to Chat as he makes his way to the pole. He tromps off the ice, skates sinking into the fresh snow and leaving deep imprints, before sidling up to the pole.

Frost spirals in small flowery patterns over the metal. Marinette grins when she sees Chat hesitate.

“Well?” she asks. “Chickening out now?”

“Never,” he grins. Then, with one swift movement, he licks the metal pole and pulls back.

Or tries to.

Chat lets out a muffled cry of distress and pain when the tip of his tongue sticks to the metal. Immediately, his hands go to wrap around the pole, pulling himself close enough until the hurt smooths off his face, soon replaced by panic. “Marinethe!” he yelps.

Marinette stares at him, her body frozen in a mixture of shock and amusement. Then the shock gives way to pure delight, and she bursts out laughing.

Chat takes it in stride. “Ha, ha,” he grumbles as she doubles over. He looks so stupid, with his tongue sticking out, gloved hands gripping the pole as his eyebrows scrunch. “Vthery thunny, Marinethe. Can you helpth?”

“You should see yourself,” Marinette manages throughout her giggles. “Oh my God, Chat, you really deserve this for not having better judgement.”

He lets out a long suffering groan. “Geth thith offth!”

“This is what people sounded like in Shakespearan times,” she continues.

Chat side-eyes her, unable to move his head any more than a bare centimeter. “Justh helpth!”

“Ooh, I got a good one. Cat got your tongue?”

He groans. “Is thith whath ith thakes for you tho maketh a joke?”

Marinette snaps a quick picture before taking pity on him. “Wait here,” she tells him. “I packed us hot tea. A little bit will be enough to unstick your tongue, probably.”

She skates back to where their bags lay on the bench and retrieves the thermos. Half a minute late, Marinette is pouring the steaming liquid into the cap, cooling it just enough, before raising it over Chat’s tongue. “Okay,” she tells him. “Get ready.”

For all his superhero experience and near-death scrapes, he actually looks scared of the tea. “Ith won’th burn me?”

“No,” Marinette reassures and raises the cup to her lips to take a sip. “See? Warm, not hot.”

Chat closes his eyes. Very carefully, Marinette pours a small stream steadily onto where Chat’s tongue has stuck to the metal pull. “Try to move away?” she suggests.

He wiggles his shoulders.

“I mean your face,” Marinette tells him drily. “Don’t be a scaredy cat.”

He scrunches his nose, then very slowly, moves his head back.

The tea does its job, because Chat unsticks himself from the metal easily. His eyes widen as if he can’t believe his luck, then lifts a cautious hand to his mouth and touches the tip of his tongue. “Ow,” he hisses. “It feels like I’ve burned my taste buds off.”

“You froze your taste buds off, but yes.” Marinette screws the lid back onto the thermos. “Lesson learned?”

“You dared me. You wanted this to happen, huh?”

She shrugs. “Can’t say I wasn’t expecting it.”

A look of playful betrayal sweeps over Chat’s face, and he lunges for her. Marinette, expecting it, scrambles out of the way just in time for him to go barrelling into a pile of snow.

By the time Chat Noir has sat up, snow tucked between his ears and all over his hair like cotton, she is already darting across the ice far, far away from him. Chat shakes the flakes from his head and slips onto the ice in one fluent movement as well.

Marinette grins as he comes skating after her. She’s not quite as confident on her skates without her transformation, but lessons and practice have done it’s good because she’s nearly as good as Chat is on the ice. For a good fifteen seconds she evades his messy attempts to catch her, but her disadvantage without her suit comes creeping up little by little until Chat finally manages to wrap a hand around her wrist.

“Gotcha,” he grins.

Then, with a little shove, Marinette crashes into the bank.

It doesn’t hurt, per say, because it’s a snowdrift he’s sent her into, but the cold is still a shock. For a moment, she stares at Chat, who’s laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world, before Marinette comes back to her senses and kicks a her leg at the blade of his skates.

Even his enhanced senses don’t help him from tumbling right into the pile of snow next to her.

One look at each other later, they’re both laughing.

(It’s nice; the time together, the easiness and lack of…everything else. It’s nice, his smile. His eyes.)

((And it’s then that Marinette realizes that she’s in deep, deep waters with no sight of the shore.))

***

They sit together on the bench, steaming tea between them, as Marinette shakes the last of the snow from her scarf and toque.

The sun is beginning to set, and the coldness has begun to creep into her bones, leaking through her overcoat. Every exhale sends little ghosts into the air, and even with the warm tea, Marinette is beginning to shiver.

Still, they’d arranged to watch the sunset, which means that she’s going to stay even if it means freezing to death.

“Let’s skate more,” Chat says. “You’ll be less cold if you’re moving.”

“I’d be less cold if you didn’t throw me into a pile of snow,” Marinette says between chattering teeth.

He gives her a sheepish look. “You got payback, at least? Come on.”

She looks at the hand extended to her. For a moment, Marinette hesitates, even if the butterflies in her stomach are doing a whole gymnastics routine and her heart’s thump thump thump must’ve quickened to at least twice as fast.

Then she takes Chat’s hand and lets him pull her to her feet.

This time, when she steps onto the ice, he doesn’t let go. Chat Noir’s hands are comfortably warm, tight around hers, and Marinette lets him lead her around the lake in a simple but graceful glide.

They skate until the sky turns from blue to gold, until the clouds dye orange and the world changes color altogether. It’s only then that Chat stops, lifting his head to the sunset. Marinette follows his gaze.

“It’s still cold,” she tells him pointedly, after a minute.

Before she knows it, Marinette is standing against his back, Chat’s arms draped lazily over her shoulders and his chin resting on top of her head. She can’t see him from where she’s standing, but she wonders if he can see her; if he can hear how her heart has jumped right to her throat and notice how the redness in her cheeks can’t be fully credited to the cold.

“Better?” he asks.

Marinette turns back to the sky, where now a brushstroke of red smears across the horizon. “Only slightly,” she replies as nonchalantly as possible.

His body shakes in a silent laugh. And so they stand on the ice, against the cold, until it all melts away to warmth.

(And Marinette thinks that even if she’s in deep waters, this sort of drowning is the best way to go.)

Notes: Fics masterlist here!

[batgurl1989]

A Wolf In Toussaint Chapter One

Summary: You(nin) wakes up, finding that things at the Vegelbud wedding didn’t go according to plan, but questions quickly rise about what exactly happened.

Word Count: 2558

Warnings: Spoilers for Witcher 3 DLC

A/N: Sorry this is a little longer than normal. It hasn’t been beta-ed, so all the mistakes are my own. This is the new series in the Witcher series I am writing. It follows We Meet Again and Running With The Wolf. If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know :)

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five

Taglist: @rmtndew​ @henrynerdfan​ @cynic-spirit​ @princesssterek​ @djinny-djin-djin​ @seanh-boredom​

Chapter One

Pain. That’s the first thing you noticed when you started to come to. Pain in your wrists that were lashed together behind your back by rope that was much too tight. Pain throbbing in your head where the hilt of the dagger had hit you, knocking you out when you put up too much of a fight. The last thing you remember was trying to call on your magic to get away from the man with the dagger pressed to your throat as Geralt came back around the corner of the hedge, alerted by your struggles.

That’s when your captor had opened a portal. You remember feeling the power vacuum form behind you as it yawned wide open. Geralt didn’t reach you in time as the man with his arms around you stepped through, closing the portal quickly behind him. A deepening fury flared through Geralt’s golden eyes as the last shred of portal closed.

Slitting your eyes open, you didn’t dare lift your head in case you weren’t alone. Or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. The pounding headache was certainly making any movement harder. The room was dimly lit, and you realized that the rocking you felt wasn’t because of the swimming fog in your head. You were on a boat. Now that you knew, the creaking and groaning of the timber made more sense. A lamp swung on a post nearby, causing the fire inside to flicker intensely which didn’t work well with your headache.

The good news was you were alone. The bad news was that you seemed to be in the brig, tied to a post in the middle of the cell. The stench wafting from the corner caused your stomach to churn unfavourably, and you fought hard to keep the contents down. Breathing through your mouth, you lifted your head to look around as best you could from your vantage point.

“Ah, you awaken.” A voice to your left drew your attention. Fighting off another wave of nausea at the pain in your head, you turned to investigate the darkened cell next to yours. An Ofieri slave sat, tied similarly to you to the post in the middle of the cell, but unlike you, he seemed to be fairing better. “I was wondering how long it would be.”

“How long have I been out?” You didn’t want to think about how many days had passed. Based on how cramped your muscles felt, and how raw your wrists seemed to be, it had been at least a couple of days. You ached to rub your head, wanting to ease at least some of the pain bouncing around in your skull.

“It has been 5 days. I didn’t think you would ever wake up.” The man informed you, the last part of what he said concerning you the most. He must have seen the question form on your face, because he continued. “You were bleeding a lot from your head. Eventually the guard brought you the ship’s healer. It seems that they want to keep you alive.”

“Though not comfortable.” You quip, testing your bonds, wincing at the pain that shoots up your arms from your open wounds from the ropes.

“Where would the fun be in that?” The man laughed. You squinted into the darkness, trying to see him better. The lamp light didn’t seem to touch his cell as much as yours, and you could only see a vague outline of his face. If it wasn’t for his legs sticking out into the pool of light, you would have been convinced that you were talking to yourself.

“Why are they keeping you here?” You ask, groaning as you shift, stretching your stiff legs out to sit in a similar fashion to your new companion. You were careful not to move your arms too much, not wanting to cause further damage to your wrists.

“I stole from the King.” Your ears perked up at the mention of a king. He didn’t specify which one, but not many used that title lightly. And if he was Ofieri, perhaps it was a hint at what was in store for you.

“Which king would that be?” You hesitated before asking, not wanting to seem too eager. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t fight off the suspicion that this was a trap to get more information out of you.

“The King of Beggars.” The man offered as though it was obvious.

It was as though all the air was sucked from your lungs. A man you had trusted on more than a few occasions had effectively kidnapped you after screwing over a mission he had set you and Geralt on the path to. Something wasn’t adding up for you, but your head was still foggy with pain, and you felt like you couldn’t see all the pieces laid out in front of you. There was some else at work here, but it lay just outside of what you could see.

“Do you happen to know where we are heading?” Still trying to piece together what you knew already with all sorts of possibilities, you decided it was best to gather as much information as you could from someone who might be willing to provide answers. It was unlikely you would have another opportunity like this one.

“Until you were brought in, I assumed I was being taken back to Ofir to face the crimes I committed there.” The man shrugged as best he could. “Now it is anyone’s guess.”

Ofir. That was beyond the sea. Without the help from a Sorceress, Geralt would never find you. Unless he was willing to take down one of the crime bosses of Novigrad to get answers. And that was if that was where you were even heading. As your fellow captive pointed out, neither of you could really know where you were heading. You needed to convince a guard to give you the answers, but it wasn’t like you could enchant him to do it.

The fog in your head suddenly cleared. Magic. The fools had tied you up with rope. There wasn’t a single piece of Dimeritium on you. Nothing was binding your magic. They didn’t know who or what you were. They simply thought you were important to the Witcher and to the King of Beggars, but the latter hadn’t offered up any information about you to your captors before they got their hands on you. You held in the laughter that threatened to bubble up as relief flooded you.

“What did you steal?” You weren’t about to let a known criminal walk free. Not unless the punishment outweighed the crime. “What crimes are you facing back in Ofir?”

“Horse theft.” The man stated simply. You had to assume that he had committed that crime in both Velen and in Ofir. In Ofir, where they valued horses above most else, that was a serious crime. The punishment was death. In Velen, they punished it with death, but horses were viewed more as property than as a way of life. Velen had some harsh laws involving property.

“I’m going to get us out of here, but I suggest you find somewhere other than Novigrad and Velen to make a home for yourself. The King won’t let you live if he sees you again.” You smiled at him, already drawing on the wealth of power from the water surrounding the ship you were housed in. The look of awe that spread across the man’s face was worth the nosebleed this was probably going to cost you. “Unfortunately, I can’t promise where we will land, but it will be on land and out of captivity.”

Your portalling wasn’t as precise as Yennefer’s, and you were vastly out of practice. Just yet another thing that you needed to work on, stretch that metaphorical muscle. First things first though, you had to make your bonds disappear. Not the easiest task as there was always the risk of burning the person. At this point, you were fairly certain you wouldn’t feel it if you burned yourself, but you didn’t want to burn your companion.

“This may sting.” You offered a mild warning as you pulled the magic together to create your spell. You winced as your hands relaxed apart, the tension leaving your shoulders. You were pleased to see the man in the cell next to you not show any pain as the spell displaced the ropes binding his hands.

You jumped to your feet, adrenaline taking over as you felt the vacuum of a portal you weren’t creating. You watched warily as a hole was ripped, spinning, in the space in front of your cell. Then you felt it. The signature of the Sorceress creating the portal. Every spell left a signature, but not all signatures could be traced. Only the strongest among the Lodge could do that. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t recognize it.

You immediately set to work on melting down the hinges of your cell door. It would be one last thing you needed to worry about once the portal was fully formed. There was no way the crew on the ship didn’t feel the power amassing below deck in the brig. You split your power between your door and your neighbour’s, knowing that as soon as the iron doors fell, the crew would definitely know something was going on with the prisoners.

“Younin!” Geralt rushed through the portal just as the doors fell. He pulled you to him in a tight hug, relief flooding both of you now that you were in each other’s arms again.

“We have to move. Now.” Your voice dripped with urgency as you pulled out of the all too brief hug, wishing you could do more than that. There was no time though.

“Well, if you hadn’t created such a cacophony of noise, we could have just slipped you back out.” The voice of the signature floated through the portal. You stiffened, hoping you could have avoided this encounter a little longer.

“Thank you, Yenn.” Your voice was tight as you turn to your fellow Sorceress. A slither of jealousy snaked around your spine, settling in your gut. You hated that Geralt had to turn to his old lover, even though you knew she was basically the only one who could do what he needed.

Reaching for your cell mate, you pulled him through the portal as you heard shouting and boots on the stairs leading into the brig. Geralt drew his sword but followed behind you through the portal. Yennefer quickly slammed the portal shut before anyone could follow you. As much as you didn’t like it, you knew you could never have pulled off the portal as smoothly as Yennefer did.

The danger had passed for now. There was still the issue of the King of Beggars botching the mission on purpose, but you were safe. That seemed to be all that mattered to the otherwise stoic Witcher. Geralt pulled you in for a fierce kiss, not caring about the company you were in. You clung to his armour, wishing it wasn’t in your way. After the close call you just had, you needed to feel alive, and the only way that was going to happen was if you were alone and there was nothing between you. You needed to feel his body stretched out above yours, skin to skin.

“I am sorry to interrupt, but where are we?” The Ofieri interjected. Pulling away from Geralt, making sure to check your anger at having been interrupted, you turned to look at your surroundings.

“Good question. Yennefer?” You frowned when you didn’t recognize the room you were in. A quick glance out the window didn’t offer you an answer either. Turning to the other Sorceress, you caught the look of displeasure that flitted across her face at realizing how deeply Geralt felt for you.

“Geralt wanted me to bring you to his house in Toussaint in case you were injured.” Yennefer offered, her face becoming a perfected mask of indifference. She examined her nails as though trying to prove how little interest she had in your feelings for the Witcher who once warmed her bed.

“You have a house in Toussaint?” You ignored Yenn’s antics, looking up at Geralt. The land filled with Knights-errant seemed like the last place Geralt would want to settle down.

“It was a reward for helping the Duchess. And with Kaer Morhen in ruin, it seemed as good as any place to set some roots.” Geralt guided you closer to the window with a hand on your lower back. You smiled up at him, leaning into his hold as you took in the sun dappled scene beyond the glass.  

“Come, Ofieri, I think there is food in the kitchen for us.” Yennefer couldn’t stomach anymore of seeing you two together and fled the room. The man who you realized you still didn’t know his name followed quickly after her, leaving you and the Witcher alone.

“How are you really?” Geralt turned you with his hands on your shoulders. His gold eyes flicked over your body, assessing all your injuries.

He guided you to the bed, squatting in front of you when you sat down. He carefully lifted your hands up when he noticed how bad your wrists were. At the slight movement, however, the wounds opened again and began bleeding freely. You winced as sharp pain travelled up your arms again. Geralt caught the look on your face, cupping your cheek as he looked deep into your eyes. He didn’t have to say anything, you could see the concern and worry darkening his hypnotic cat eyes. His hand travelled to the back of your head, wanting to draw you to him for a kiss, but he felt the congealed blood in your hair.

“How is your head?” He asked quietly, sure your headache was pounding especially after using magic to free yourself. As uncomfortable as Yennefer’s presence was making you, you had to admit you didn’t think you could have pulled off the portal in your condition.

“It hurts.” You admitted unnecessarily. You knew he understood what a head injury felt like. One of the perks of his job. You leaned into his hand when he cupped your cheek again. “For now, I just think I need rest. I can work on healing later.”

Geralt nodded, helping you get into the decadently decorated bed. Even through your pain, you had to almost laugh at how out of place this bed seemed in Geralt’s life. The rich colours and immense comfort were a far cry from the places the Path normally took him. As your head hit the down filled pillow, all the questions you had been asking yourself came flooding back to you.

“Sleep.” Geralt gently said, his hand making the motion you had come to recognize as the Axii sign. Your questions were probably written all over your face, and he was compelling you to sleep instead of laying awake as your mind ran wild.

Your eyes slid closed shortly after. The last thing you remember is the feeling of Geralt’s warm callused hand on your forehead, followed by the soft press of his lips. And then sleep overtook you.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Trust

Square Filled: Riding

A/N: See now, I have zero experience writing about ‘horse riding’ if that was expected here, but the other riding however…I know a thing or two ;))

Thor Bingo Masterlist

Pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

Tags: @swaggysposts​ @bitchycherryblossomlove​  @another-stark-sub​

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only, SMUT, teasing, little angst but a happy ending.

Word count: 2100ish

Written for @thorbingo​

…

“Well maybe if you weren’t so damn controlling I wouldn’t have to lie about going out Thor!” you fumed, marching towards your shared bedroom.

“I don’t like it when you hang out with Barnes. He flirts with you all the time.” Thor bellowed from behind, following you.

“You know he’s like that with every girl. How many times do I have to repeat myself? And don’t you trust me?”

You turned to face him, tired of having to explain yourself yet again.

“Of course I trust you love, it is not about that.” Thor’s voice softened as he cautiously approached you, extending his arms to perhaps pull you closer but you pushed them away.

“We wouldn’t be having this argument for the tenth time if you did Thor.” You shook your head and turned, closing the bathroom door behind you.

The whole thing had started when Sam, Bucky, Wanda and you had found yourselves hanging out with each other more and more. The four of you just clicked, it was instant.

Tonight was no different, it was one of those parties Stark wanted to have just because, and your gang had drifted away from the crowd to have a good time, drink and laugh over the stupidest things.

Your boyfriend however, thought there was something cooking with you and Bucky. According to him, Bucky was always ‘around’ and made flirty comments whenever the team hung out. You tried your best to pacify his worries, even tried telling him that no person in this universe would think about laying eyes on the girlfriend of a literal God. But you would always end up fighting, followed by make-up sex after reconciliation.

You had plans to make this man let go of his ego…

You took your time showering and getting into your sleepwear, when you finally walked out Thor was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom, head hung and by the looks of it ready to make an apology.

Take no notice of him, you wandered out into the kitchen to grab some water before turning in for the night. Thor followed you out and back in wordlessly, trying to gauge your mood, unsure of what to say.

Pulling the sheets back, you got in sighing dramatically as your head touched the pillow.

“I trust you (Y/N) without a shadow of doubt, but I—I just don’t—” his voice had gotten significantly quieter, eyes searching yours as he walked closer to the bed still in his formal clothes.

“Just don’t want me having fun with my friends? Good night Thor.” Emphasizing the word friends, you gave him one final glance before turning off the bedside lamp.

Replying to Wanda’s concerned text, you placed your phone on the side table, facing the bedroom wall as you shut your eyes. You sensed the bed dip beside you, however you remained still.

“Good night love.” Thor whispered and placed a soft kiss to your shoulder, which almost made you feel bad for not kissing him before you slept, but you resisted the urge to turn around, pretended to be asleep.

After all a lesson was to be taught.

…

Next morning, waking up earlier than usual, you put on one of Thor’s large white T-shirts purposely removing all other pieces of clothing including your panties, and headed in the kitchen to make breakfast.

“What are you doing?”

Thor’s sleep-ridden voice reached your ears. You were standing on your toes to reach for the box of pancake premix, his shirt had effectively ridden up, revealing your bare ass for him to see. Smiling to yourself, you turned and blinked at him innocuously.

“Oh I need that box up there, could you help me please?”

He walked closer gradually, still studying you as you did him, shirtless, sweats hung low over his hips, morning tent clearly visible through them. Coming up next to you, he could see your pebbled nipples through his shirt, which he found himself staring at before you cleared your throat to get his attention.

Placing the box on the counter, Thor walked over to the breakfast stool and took a seat, watching you like a hawk. Every move you made, the deliberate twirls, dramatic stretching, and the way your hips swayed while you mixed the batter made his cock twitch. You weren’t one to tease, he knew that.

What game were you playing?

Perhaps you were still mad about last night. He wasn’t exactly forgiven. He wanted to confront you, but he was intrigued by this on-going show immensely.

“Thank you love.” He murmured, as you placed a plate loaded with pancakes, syrup and fruit in front of him. Thor went to grab your hand but you swiftly pulled away, placing pancakes and whipped cream on your own plate.

You ate in silence as you sat opposite him. When Thor pointed out you had cream on the corner of your mouth, you deliberately took your time, wiping it off with your tongue, making him squirm in his seat.

“I will take care of the dishes.” He insisted standing up with you, as you cleared the plates. Thor grabbed you by your waist, this time you couldn’t escape, and made you face him.

“Why are you teasing me, my love?” whispering, he pulled you closer to press his hard-on against your core, a gasp left your mouth without your permission. You still avoided his scrutiny, keeping your eyes on the firm plains of his broad chest instead.

Will power wavering, you pushed him away with all you had and turned to stroll towards the bedroom once more.

You could feel his burning gaze on your back as you pulled the tee over your head and threw it on the floor, heading to take a shower mumbling,

“I would never tease.”

…

As evening rolled by, Thor was miserable. All day, your torment made him more and more frustrated and turned on as the day progressed, and the fact that you refused to speak to him made him contemplate of things he could do to get you to talk.

He saw you stirring a pot of soup for dinner and all Thor could think about was the lacy lingerie you wore underneath your robe. He walked up behind you, waited silently till you turned the stove off and turned to find him staring at you, dejected.

Thor took hold of your hand and wordlessly walked you into the bedroom. He kneeled on the bed, facing you and dropped his head to his chest in a submissive stance.

You were stunned. The goal had been aimed towards a confrontation but this took you by surprise.

“What’re you doing Thor?” unlike your strong, unyielding façade all day, your voice came out quiet and reserved.

“Whatever you want me to do.”

His eyes never lifted their gaze from the mattress below him as he said those words. They sounded like something you’d never have imagined coming from a literal God, who at this moment was completely at your mercy.

This was dangerously powerful and all arousing at the same time. You had to take charge.

“Look at me.”

When he did, you saw silent pleads and desire in those forlorn beautiful blue eyes that you loved so much.

“Do you trust me?” you tested.

“Yes.”

Thor’s voice barely over a whisper. That was another first.

“Lie back.”

He did as he was told, like an obedient puppy eager to please. You undid the belts of your robe and let it fall over your shoulders, revealing your black lace bra that left little to the imagination and matching panties.

Strolling over to Thor’s side of the bed as if you had all the time in the world, you watched him. Chest rising and falling in anticipation, cock tenting against the restrictive sweats, eyes trained towards the ceiling.

“Look at me. Pull that shirt over your head, keep your arms up and hold onto it, you understand?”

He gulped, nodding his head as he did as told yet again. You didn’t think compliant, submissive Thor would be so exciting, you could already feel the wetness dampening your panties.

Thor felt the bed dip on his left, his body eager to be touched. You took your time grazing your fingers lightly over his happy trail, cock twitching in attention.

Hooking your fingers over the sweats and boxers, you gently peeled them down freeing his erection, chuckling when he readily lifted his hips to aid your actions.

A needy groan escaped his lips when you wrapped your hand over his throbbing cock, you could tell he was struggling to keep his hands above his head.

“You want me to take care of you baby?” you couldn’t recognize your own voice at this point. Thor nodded willingly.

“I need to hear you.”

“Yes please.” His deep voice thick with want and desperation spurred you on as your thumb swiped over the tip, collecting precum.

Licking agonizingly slowly along the length of his shaft, you felt him move his hips involuntarily. Taking him in your mouth, your tongue swirled around the tip, relishing the explicit noises coming from him.

You released him with a pop, his neck craning to see why you halted your actions, shirt visibly crumpled in his hands. Thor practically sighed in relief when you straddled his hips, your clothed core hanging just inches above his ready, aching cock.

“Do you trust me?” you whispered yet again.

“Yes.” Came a prompt reply as Thor watched your every move with lust-blown eyes.

“Do you really?” tilting your head to one side, you let your hands caress your breasts over the soft fabric of the bra, hips still hovering over his, not touching yet close enough.

“Yes I do, my love. I’m sorry for the way I behaved, I trust you. I trust you completely.”

Rough but truthful, his words tugged at your heartstrings making you lean forward to kiss him for the first time that day.

Tentative at first, Thor sighed into the kiss, tense shoulders relaxing under your touch as your fingers slid up to grab his face. Your tongue danced with his in a push and pull of ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I forgive you’. Somewhere around it, you unclasped your bra and threw it behind without bothering.

You parted from his lips long enough to murmur, “Touch me Thor.” When he seemed unsure of moving his arms from their place. Needy for his hands on your body, you gripped his wrists and placed them on your back.

He touched you everywhere leaving your skin burning for more, it was as if he were touching you for the very first time. When he reached the waistband of your panties, he ripped them in two, the sound of a fabric tearing had never sounded sexier.

Jerking his hips upwards, you moaned when his cock made contact with your dripping core. Sitting back, you wrapped a hand around him once again, this time positioning it over yourself and sinking down on it, toes curling as you did.

Breathing hitched, mind concentrating on nothing but the fullness you felt as your walls clenched around him possessively. After what seemed like an eternity staying still, you rolled your hips, eyes closed in pleasure as rode him, and his hands went to knead your breasts, pinching your nipples drawing series of profanities from your mouth.

You knew you wouldn’t last long as rolling turned to bouncing on his cock, chasing your release. Thor’s large hands gripped your back securely, as he sat up and replaced his hands with his mouth over your nipple. He thrust into you hard and fast, sending you closer and closer to the edge, as the room filled with grunts and moans.

Pulling the ends of his hair, you shuddered as your orgasm crashed over you with one final scream. Your climax pushed Thor towards his, as he came emptying himself into you, holding you as your bodies quivered and trembled. You felt him soften inside you, but you had no intentions of being away neither did he.

When the dizziness disappeared, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hiding your flushed face in it. Gently rocking on the bed, you sat there embracing one another close, not uttering a word for what felt like hours.

“I love you.”

Thor’s deep voice resonated from his chest, making warmth bloom in your belly, as he traced random patterns on your naked back.

“I love you too Thor.” You whispered, connected your lips yet again.

…

[mymoonagedaydream]

Domestic Bliss (Part 3)

Summary: No word from Stark, so you and Bucky are left to your own devices playing husband and wife for a while

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x y/n

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: I’m really enjoying writing this story :) hope it isn’t too slow burn

---

'What are you doing?'

You jumped out of your skin- for a metal unit of a man he somehow managed to move without making a sound. He was leaning against the kitchen door frame wearing a tattered t-shirt, with his hands in the pockets of his low-riding sweatpants.

'What does it look like? Making breakfast.' He furrowed his brows, seemingly astonished at the idea of you cooking. 'You want some bacon?'

'Hell yeah.’ He waltzed into the living room, adding sarcastically over his shoulder ‘you keep this up I might even marry you for real.' 

To be honest, breakfast was intended as a sort of peace offering. You'd thought about it some more and he was right, you were being an asshole yesterday. You even decided to give him more bacon than you. Now that’s an apology.

'Have you heard from Stark?' He shook his head, not looking up from the pile of meat he was shovelling into his mouth. 'Me neither. I just figured it would help if we actually knew which house we were monitoring.' 

'Must be one of the other three in this dead end bit, I'll head up and check out all the gear he's left us after breakfast.' 

Not a bad idea, but you'd had one of your own too. 

---

‘Cookies!’ You said excitedly, piling three Tupperware containers into your bag.

‘Yeah I’m not blind, just confused.’

‘This happy husband and wife are going to introduce themselves to the neighbours and these’ you shook the last box of cookies at him ‘will win us favour.’ You ignored his derisive nod.

The first house was next to yours on the left, similar looking on the outside but with two pretty expensive vintage cars parked outside. You pressed the bell and heard movement approaching. Just as the lock clicked on the other side of the door, Bucky quickly snaked his arm around your waist and pulled you into his side.

'Oh, hello.' Standing in front of you was an old lady with a British accent and warm smile.

'Hi- um...' Bucky had completely knocked you for six and, judging by the smug smirk on his face, he knew it.

'We've just moved in next door.' He piped in. 'Thought we'd come by to introduce ourselves. My wife made you some cookies too, you won’t believe how good she is at baking.' 

Well shit, you'd never heard him sound so much like a normal person. He even punctuated his sentence with a polite chuckle. 

'Well aren't you two just lovely.’

You smiled sweetly at her, finally back on your game, and handed over one of the Tupperware boxes. 'I'm Jo and this is Tom- it’s great to meet you.’

You made small talk with your neighbour for a couple minutes, ending with a promise to be back round for tea at your earliest convenience. As soon as the door closed, Bucky's hand dropped from your waist and he headed towards the next house.

'Maybe warn me next time Barnes? Freaked me right out.' You complained, as if that wasn't his intention. 'And if that hand goes any lower I'm taking it off.' 

He stopped and saluted at you sarcastically as you passed him to go towards the next door. 

The other two houses seemed completely inconspicuous too- a middle aged lady with fiery red hair who insisted the two of you join her and her husband (the lawyer) for drinks one night this week, and a couple not much older looking than you and Bucky with two young children and a new-born baby. 

'Well that got us a big fat nothing.' He complained, plonking himself down on the armchair in the living room. 

'You're joking, right?' He looked at you, one eyebrow raised. 'It's our first day here and we can already clearly identify the supposed residents of each house, we've convincingly consolidated our cover with each of them and two of them even invited us over.' 

'Huh, suppose when you put it like that… We can probably just take the rest of the day off then.' 

And he did. You spent hours in the surveillance room typing up a mission report, he watched TV for two hours then slinked off to the mini-gym for the rest of the day. 

Seems he was settling into married life quite well too.

---

The next night, you and Bucky were leaving for drinks with Kate the redhead and her lawyer husband. 

‘I don’t see why we’re doing this.’ He was fidgeting in the shirt that was far too tight over his shoulders. ‘That redhead hardly seems like the boss of an international crime gang.’

‘If criminals seemed like criminals they wouldn’t be very good fucking criminals would they, Barnes. And since Stark has been all-but-ignoring us since we arrived, we’ve got to explore all avenues.’

You were greeted by Kate at the door and she led you through to their house. It was decorated like a hunter’s log cabin, all brown leather and dark wood. In the living room, the lawyer was waiting with two expensive-looking bottles of scotch. Bucky was invited to join him for ‘man time’ while you and Kate were sequestered to the kitchen with a cheap bottle of wine. 

You wouldn’t be coming here again. 

Kate was nice enough but you had very little in common, and you could sense years of simmering resentment between her and her husband. She glared at the door after every obnoxiously loud chortle from the living room, even though you recognised some of them as Bucky, and she kept asking you whether your husband was starting to become emotionally distant yet. The evening didn’t pass nearly fast enough and you actually found yourself wishing that you had listened to your reluctant partner. 

Hours later, when you finally felt you’d got as much as you could out of Kate, you made your excuses and headed to grab Bucky. He was leaning back in the leather armchair, looking different somehow. He gazed at you with a carefree grin, no tension in his shoulders and a look in his eyes you didn’t recognise. 

Was he tipsy? One of the whiskey bottles was empty and they were making good progress on the second. 

‘You ready to go honey?’

‘We’ve got half a bottle of Macallan scotch to drink yet sweetheart, you’re welcome to run along home if you please’ the lawyer piped up. You never bothered asking his real name, didn’t seem worth your time. 

‘Nah, I’m good,' Bucky cut in, 'I think it’s time to take my beautiful wife to bed.’ 

He launched himself off the armchair with great effort and stumbled towards you. You were taken aback by his sudden familiarity but careful not to blow your cover, so you let him pull you in by the waist and plant a few soft kisses on the top of your head. You may even have enjoyed that part, just a bit. That was probably the wine talking though. 

You didn’t enjoy, however, having to all-but-carry him for the short walk back to your house. He weighed a fuck-tonne. 

The two of you spilled through the front door and into the living room, Bucky collapsing onto the armchair with all the grace of a newborn horse. 

'That guy was an asshole, man.' He had his head back and his eyes closed, so you had a bit of difficulty deciding whether he was speaking to you or himself. 

'Yeah? How so?'

'Just a stuck up rich guy y'know, plus the way he spoke to you was out of order. Give me the word next time and I'll bust his ass.'

'I appreciate the sentiment Barnes' you chuckled,  'but I can look after myself just fine.'

Content that he'd survive the night with nothing more than a throbbing headache, you started walking past him towards the stairs. As you got to his side he reached out, grabbing you by the wrist softly, but with enough force that you stopped dead and looked over at him. His eyes were open now, he was staring at you earnestly. 

'I'm serious y/n. No-one speaks to my wife like that.' 

---

‘What the HELL?’ 

You jolted awake. Turning your head, you looked at the time. 3am? What in Christ's name is he shouting for? 

Oh fuck, you’d forgotten. 

You were pissed off at Bucky earlier for leaving all his dirty plates in the sink, so you’d put them in his bed. Petty, yes. But your point was a fair one. 

You’d left him on the armchair, he must’ve slept there for a few hours then woken up and decided to go to bed. He stormed into your room. 

‘Why the FUCK are there plates in my bed?’

‘Oh gosh, I’m not sure. Maybe the dish fairy, you know the one who puts your dishes in the washer after you leave them all over the place, put them there?’

Swaying slightly and clenching his teeth, you guessed he was probably too drunk and sleepy for a proper argument. 

‘Right.’ He pulled his shirt off.

‘Whoa Barnes, the fuck are you playing at?’ Bucky was undoing his belt and in a matter of seconds was standing in your room in just his underwear. 

‘Move over.’

‘Instinct says... no.’

With a slightly jarring look of determination, Bucky clambered over you to the far side of the bed and pulled the covers over himself. For a second you were silent with shock. You and Bucky were in bed together, both just wearing underwear.

His thigh brushed against yours and sent an electric sensation up your side. 

Granted, it would be a hell of a lot easier to just accept this and go to sleep, but you had to be seen to make some kind of protest. You half-heartedly grabbed his arm, trying to yank him towards the edge of the bed- a pointless endeavour. 

‘This is not happening.’

‘Go sleep in the ketchup bed then.’

‘You’re an ass.’

He let out a deep chuckle before turning his back to you and getting comfortable. After firing an irritated groan at the back of his neck, you flicked the lamp off and turned your back in kind. 

Before falling asleep, you and Bucky shared a thought. You tried not to over-analyse it, but it made Bucky grin to himself.

You could easily have gone to sleep on the sofa. 

---

Part Four

---

@billy-jeans23

---

[sabraeal]

A Home Between Two Breaths

[He Who Fell in the Sea | Read on Ao3]

The snow starts just out of Luidas– big, thick flakes. A dusting, at first; they settle on Miss’s hair like fine lace, melting before she can brush them off. But now the horses wade through the drifts, nickering with displeasure when snow crumples beneath their hooves. His own coat sags, a thick, wet film against his skin, but Miss–

Well, Miss sits snugly beneath a bridled pelt, one hand absently brushing along the edge. His chest tingles with every sweep of her fingers, a shiver trembling down his spine that has nothing to do with the cold. Her heat’s been his constantly companion these past few hours, keeping him warm and wary long past when his own coat abandons him. But the colder he gets, well, the more he’s tempted to stop, to haul up to one of the inns they pass and see if they can’t generate their own heat between them.

His teeth grit down, jaw aching. If only he could bring himself to love a woman whose heart wasn’t already spoken for, given to a man who could keep her warm with far more than just the pelt off his back.

Still, taking shelter isn’t a bad idea, not when there’s no telling how long the storm will last. Lamps burns brightly in the distance, up the hill but not too far. He remembers the place; it’s not one of their usual stops– too close to the checkpoint to bother with, mostly made more for lords with carriages and delicate constitutions to care for. Pricey, and with the weather, the innkeep will be sure to wring them for more than two beds are worth, but, well–

He’s going to go crazy if she doesn’t stop petting him like this. Obi tugs at his reins, bringing himself up alongside Miss. Their knees don’t knock– he’s too careful a rider for that, even if she’s not– but he’s close enough to be heard over the howling winds. “We should stop.”

A contemplative pout settles on her cold-stung lips; she’s doing the complex calculations he’d mulled over moments ago. It’s not quite dusk– on a fairer day, they’d be on the road for another hour or two at least– but with the storm only growing stronger at their backs…

“It’ll get worse before it gets better.” The darkening sky hangs heavy overhead, only adding a more dire edge to his warning, but Miss’s jaw still sets stubbornly, the I can keep going loud in her silence. “We should think of the horses.”

“Oh!” She frowns down at her mare’s mane, snow tangling in the long, frozen ropes its settled into, and nods. “Of course. Is there some place near?”

His cowl is raised, covering his lips, but he smothers his smile, just in case. Miss might press on past wisdom if it were only herself she had to worry about, but bring the horses into it…

“Just there.” He points, voice struggling against the wind. “Up on the rise. Hopefully they’ll have two rooms ready to go.”

Miss coughs, ducking her head to cover it. Her next words are mumbled, lost in the wool of her scarf and the roar of the storm, but the winds twist and turn as they press on and he could swear–

Well, he could swear he hears, “We could do with less.”

“Two rooms,” Miss says, trying to raise her voice over the din. They’re far from the only weary travelers escaping the storm; the common room is packed wall-to-wall with boisterous custom, their coats damp but spirits as warm as the brew in their mugs. “If you please.”

“I do.” The innkeep’s round-faced, cheery, but with enough height to convey that she could, if pressed, handle rowdy customers right to the door. The kind of woman Obi would like, if her smile wasn’t already saying exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “But I’m afraid we’ve only got the one left. Busy night, you know.”

“Two beds?” he asks, already knowing the answer. If Master had been with them, three would have appeared from thin air with rooms to keep them. But with just a court herbalist and a knight, the only title between them a friendship to the wrong crown–

“One.” The innkeep’s kind enough to offer a sorrowful smile. “A nice one, though, if I do say so myself.”

A slender finger traces down his chest, as if there were not three layers of clothes and a safe distance between them, and he yelps out, “A cot?”

“‘Fraid not.” The innkeep brushes some flour off her apron, brusque yet strangely sympathetic at the same time. “All spoken for. You’re hardly the only ones who’ve had to make due with less than you came in wanting.”

Still that finger runs, collar to breast, following the length of his sternum. It should be lulling, comforting, but instead he just– “Maybe there’s space in the barn?”

Miss’s hand stills, eyes too wide, too green as she peers up at him. He can’t bear to look, not when he’s in danger of losing himself in them. The last time they’d been in the room with a bed–

Well, there’s a reminder twitching right against his thigh about that. “I’m not above a good night in the hay.”

The innkeep’s brows lift in amusement. “Full up to the manger.”

His sigh hollows him out, leaving him to slouch over the remains of his chest. “I could–”

“We’ll take it,” Miss says, stepping up in front of him. The dir glitter in her palm as she lays them on the counter. “The room, that is. And the bed.”

Obi lets out a plaintive whine, lost in the noise. “Extra blankets?”

The innkeep smiles at him, wide and wry. “Now that I can do.”

After all his years on the road, Obi considers himself a connoisseur of lodging. A adept of accommodations. A man who knows what a coin might bring him, greasing the right palm. Someone who speaks the lingo, one might say.

So when a proprietor of sleeping arrangements says one bed, he knows there’s a connotation to that. One bed, of course, but enough mattress to be shared between two. The sort of thing where one could divide between the pillows and trust that, without a very adventurous sleeper on the other side, he could expect to wake up undisturbed.

This is not that.

“Well,” Miss murmurs, taking a ponderous step into the room. “There certainly is…one.”

He’s seen bigger in the garrison. It’s only a little wider than a standard cot– meant to fit one and half maids, if only so the help might feel kingly for a night as well–

“Ah, isn’t that just our luck, Miss.” Obi lets out a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a swan song. “In an inn full of lordly accommodations, we get…the servant’s quarters.”

Another room might have a sofa, a chaise, or, failing that, a hard-backed chair that he could at least make a credible attempt at sleep in. But this– this is a room meant for sleeping, not entertaining. At least, not if he wasn’t planning on doing it horizontal.

Which he isn’t. Not at all. That’s not what’s happening here. Between them. Ever. No matter what happened before. Master may not be here now, but Obi won’t forget him.

Again.

“It’s fine,” Miss blusters, as if he can’t hear her voice squeak up at the top of her range. “We’ll make do.”

She draws herself up, utilizing every scant inch, and officiously scurries over to the edge of the mattress, giving it the sort of calculating stare generals leveled on fields of battle. With a steeling breath, her shoulders lift, and in a smooth motion, toss his pelt wholesale onto the covers.

The wind knocks out of him, for more than one reason. “I was going to use that.”

“You are going to be using it,” she agrees primly, letting her own cloak fall, sopping, in to her arms. “In the bed. Tonight.”

His mouth works as she crosses to the one ladder-backed chair that the room provides, spreading the wet wool across it. “I was going to sleep on the floor.”

The gaze she turns to him may be wide-eyed, but it’s knowing too, braced. This isn’t a misunderstanding, it’s a negotiation. “Why would you do that? It’s freezing, Obi.”

Again, his mouth can only open and close, words picked up and quickly abandoned in his search for something other than, don’t you remember? Or worse, how could you forget?

He couldn’t, not when he’d spent the night staring up at a ceiling he hardly remembered the pattern of, listening to the soft lull of Master’s breath and wondering why, why he has to ruin everything he touches. It would be better if he listened to the songs of his sisters, letting them guide him back to the sea, pelt wrapped around him and life brought back to the simple sensation of the water against his fur–

But he’d miss her. And he can control himself just fine, as long as there’s some space between them. Which there won’t be if they’re in that bed together, his skin covering them as one body.

“I just–” he flounders under her inquisitive confusion; it doesn’t help that she’s taken off her dress as well, left in only in her underthings, every shapely curve bared to him– “it would be best.”

Miss’s fingers still on her stays, head cocked, considering. Her gaze sweeps from the pelt on the bed to her own state of undress, hesitating a moment before she takes in his position against the door.

With a long, thoughtful breath, she exhales a very firm, “No.”

“No?” His mouth works, at a loss, and she takes the opportunity to place a single, bare leg on the mattress, right along his spine. Hell, that is making it a little hard to breathe, let alone think. “That is my skin, you know.”

“And you’re going to be using it,” she informs him, unimpressed, as she drags another tantalizing calf beneath her, warmth radiating along his back. It’s the last thing he needs when she’s got that stubborn pout on her lips. “You can’t sleep on the floor, Obi. Even with seal skin, you’ll freeze.”

He’s lived in water colder and darker than nights like these, dove into deeper currents than the Lilias’s winds could ever drop, but it’s impossible to explain to that to Miss, who has only this one, soft skin. The kind that is begging him to touch it with his own, to press her between his pelt and his body, and–

“I have extra blankets,” he mutters dumbly, thrusting them out in front of him like they might ward off her arguments. It’s a weak volley, a desperate measure to avoid the inevitable rout, and she deflects it with barely more than a dubious glance.

His shoulders slump, wet fur sopping around his neck. By the victorious glint in Miss’s eyes, she doesn’t miss the moment of his defeat.

“Your should take off your coat, at least,” she tells him, so innocent. “It’d be no good for you to come to bed wet.”

Obi can’t, unfortunately, argue with her logic. He lays his shield down, the thick quilts the innkeep pressed on him falling in a slumped pile against the footboard. And with a sweep of his arms, the first of his armor falls as well, arranged flat on hearth’s screen.

It’s a relief to be rid of its damp weight; warm as it is, another creature’s fur sits strangely on him, as if his body wants to take its shape as well. And when it’s almost clinging to him, dripping sweat and ice down his spine– well, it’s a new layer of discomfort.

His boots follow, stockings soon after, though their removal is another battle, the wool sticking to every inch. When his feet finally press bare to stone– ah, the cold seeped through him more than he’d thought. For all his talk, his soles stretch against its ambient warmth and, oh, how they burn. Maybe Miss was right about sleeping on the floor; as a seal, his blubber would protect him, but as a man–

Well, he certainly lacked a certain sleekness over these bones. It was easier to forget now that he was allowed both.

Obi hesitates, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants. They were wet too– damp at the knees and clinging to his thighs at parts– but still…

“Are you coming to bed?” Miss inquires, muffled. He glances back, and there she is, smothered in blankets, radiating warmth along his back. “It’s warm in here.”

The smart thing would be to take his blankets and suffer as best he could by the fire. Or take the invitation but keep the clothes, hoping they would dry in the warmth of the blankets. But Obi–

Well, Obi hadn’t ended up on shore by being more clever than bold. He strips down to his skivvies, laying his clothes beside Miss’s on the stone. It left him far from naked– his woolens might leave little to the imagination, but they were still as thick and warm as his pelt– but the way Miss watches him–

Maybe he should risk the floor.

He shakes himself. Too late to change his mind now.

Soft fur tickles his hands as he slips into bed beside her, Miss extending from a pleasant, abstract warmth along his back, to a present, insistent heat along his side. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

“Beneath?” he manages after a moment. “I thought you enjoyed it as a blanket.”

“We have plenty of those.” Her eyes glitter guilelessly in the dim, fingers stroking the pelt in mindless, soothing circles. “Having it under us will stop any heat from escaping through the mattress. Like a little oven!”

“Oh,” he murmurs, watching her fingers carve runnels through his fur. “Smart.”

“I thought so,” she says with no little pride. “Blow out the lamp?”

He nods, reaching over to turn the wick down, watching the flame gutter behind the glass. Even when it’s out, the fire keeps a low, merry glow, and beneath his shirt–

“Oh!” The cord lies tangled in his chain, tag and stone knotted together in a way that takes a good moment of patience and another of dexterity to sort out. Still, it’s easy work, and with a few quick loops he lifts it over his head, stone pulsing gently in the dark. “Here you go.”

He’s seen his miss in firelight, but the stone’s glow does something to the shape of her face, to the round of her eye. In her hushed awe, it’s as if he’s never seen her before. “This…?”

“Sorry I borrowed it for so long.” Her gaze darts to his, and he can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same. “Thanks for lending it to me.”

“Ah!” Her fingers reach, plucking the cord from his grasp, an infinite amount of stones glittering in her eyes. “The stone! Did you–?” She hesitates, mouth rounding around words she doesn’t say. “Did you use it for something?”

He’d hung it on a darker night than this, moon blotted out by thick, reaching branches, but as it swings in her grip, a slow, pendulous spin– well, it’s hard not to think of the shadow that approached. How confidently the assassin had slipped through the trees, fleet and sure-footed as any night creature. And then for him to pull up short, surprise writ large in those dark, fearful eyes–

“It would be a good reference point,” Miss presses, breathless. “For the future.”

He huffs out a laugh, head dropping onto the pillow. Ah, yes, he can see it now. Uses: luring assassins out of hiding. “I don’t think it’ll be much help to any of you scholars, but it worked perfectly when I used it.”

The crystal sets her face into harder angles; her cheeks sit sharp, carved from marble, and her jaw settles into a contemplative pout. It’s not answer enough, he knows, not for her, but she’s never been one to push, not even when she held a pelt in her hand.

“I’d say it was thanks to that thing that I made it to Master’s side in time.” Her eyes turn to him, wide, but it’s the least he can give her, when she’s put both his freedom and her trust into his bloodied hands. “And I was also able to pass on Mitsuhide’s message.”

“Because of this?” She cradles the stone in her hand, tender, but it’s him that she turns to, satisfaction curling her lips. “So it was helpful? I mean– it was worth having?”

“Of course.” If his grin is easy, it’s only because he’s so practiced at giving it. At least, instead of kissing her. “It would have been worth having just because it gave it to me. The rest was gravy, Miss.”

Her sigh is heavy, contented, the tension eking out of her shoulders with each second that passes until she’s settled fully into the pillow’s soft down.

“Obi?” He almost doesn’t catch her soft hum, muffled as it is. But one of her hands has dropped between them, fingers gently stroking in those small, soothing circles, and even part of him is attuned to every molecule of air in this room, if only because there doesn’t seem to be enough. “Come over here?”

He rolls up onto his elbow, so close a deep breath might make them touch if he weren’t careful. But he is. Always. “Hm?”

In a single, smooth swoop, she loops the cord right around his neck. “Eh–?”

Her smile is too much, mischief honing it sharper than any other knife he’s taken between his ribs. He hardly even feels the stab. “I bequeath this to you.”

“Eh?” he tries again, fingers plucking at the leather, since she clearly didn’t hear him the first time.

“I want you to have it.” Her gaze settles where it dangles between them, and he’s not ready for how his chest tightens with the softening of her smile. “If it was helpful to you at Sereg, I’d like you to keep it.”

He stares. But it’s precious, he nearly says, but it’s no use, not when he can’t survive her inevitable answer, the one clear in her eyes already–

So are you, Obi.

“Miss.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own, stilted and too low. “A while back, you asked about this scar.”

The neck of his woolens swoops low enough for a ragged edge to peep through, stark white against the shadow of his skin. He hooks a finger round it still, pulling it lower until he can feel the meat of that gnarled ruin against the tip of his fingers. In the pale light of the stone, he can see the way her eyes fix to it, body tense beside his.

“I never cared about getting injured.” The dark loosens his lips better than any bottle. “Or coming back. There wasn’t–” he licks his lips, only a wry smile left behind– “there wasn’t any point.”

Why worry about this strange skin when no matter how well he performed for them, his masters would never yield his reward. His pelt always laid under lock and key, a carrot and stick both: a well done job held the hope of seeing a glimpse of it, a chance to snatch it from their grasp; and a failed one–

Well, there were so many accidents that could happen to a beautiful pelt like this one. Fire. Scissors. A blade.

Obi might not have cared what happened to this body, but he could never return to his sisters with the proof of this life etched upon his skin,

His fingers clench in his fur. “Didn’t really see it as a drawback.”

The stone’s glow isn’t enough to illuminate the whole of Miss’s face, so he doesn’t so much see her jaw work as feel it, her restraint dragging her teeth down with a soft click. Her urge to speak is palpable, drawing the space between them to a taut thread but–

But Miss has always had that sense, the kind good healers always did, of when a wound needed salve or stitching, and when it just…needed to breathe. Which is what she does, muscles melting into the mattress beneath her, her fingers picking up those slow, soothing circles over his fur. If all this feeling is a festering poison, well– he needs to get it all out himself.

“I lived like that for a long time.” The words leave him on a sigh, back stretching into her touch, wrong skin as it is. “But then when I came back, and I saw your face…”

The memory burns brighter than the stone in his eyes; even now he can picture the way she stood, half turned toward him, fingers flexed in disbelief. The way steam had rose from her rounded mouth, clouding the air between them. How she had run, falling just short of being in his arms–

– and how she’d just narrowly missed the same later, her nails dragging through his pelt, jaw slack–

Ah, that’s really not what he should be thinking about now. Not when she’s pressed so tight against him.

“All I could think,” he rasps, meeting the dark evergreen of her eyes, “was how glad I was that I didn’t get seriously injured. So I could…”

Come back to you. He can’t make the words leave him; it’s too much, too far, but Miss–

She hears them anyway. Her breath catches, hand flexing flat on his pelt, a brand against his spine.

“So,” he breathes, heart pounding in his throat, “I guess I’m– haah.”

His hips jerk hard as his miss rakes runnels slowly down his spine. Every inch of his skin shivers, hair and teeth on edge, and it’s definitely…good. Too good for what he’s trying to say.

“You’re being distracting.” The warning rumbles out of him, and even to his own ears, it sounds more promising than scolding.

Miss hums, too innocent, too interested. “Should I stop?”

She does, as a demonstration.

“No!” He coughs, glad there’s no possible way she can see the heat slapped across his cheeks. “I’m just trying to–” have a serious conversation– “and you’re–” making it hard– “it’s hard enough, talking like this, when we’re on…”

Me. He can’t say that either, not when she’s looking up at him so guilelessly, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

“I think,” he grits out, finally, “that maybe I haven’t properly explained the, ah, connotations of touching…that.”

Her eyelashes flutter in the dark. “You like it, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It hisses out of him, not enough but also entirely too much. “A lot. More than I think you–”

“I almost made you…” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and oh, how he wishes that were him. “Ah…come?”

He jerks, hands clenching in his fur to keep him still, keep him grounded. More than ‘almost,’  he nearly says, but even he isn’t so foolish. “You did.”

“Obi.” She squirms dangerously close, near enough that his cock, already hard, twitches like a mutt on a leash. “I am laying on it.”

Obi blinks, confused, but it comes to him– either keep your hand on the pelt, or lay on it.

Now his face burns. He’d said that, control hanging by a thread. Broken so effortlessly by her fingers in his hair.

“I…” His mind is blank, every thought static, but he manages, “I just wanted…”

She really, really doesn’t need to look so invested in what he wants. Not when he’s already flirting so closely with the shore.

He clears his throat. “I just wanted to say, I’ve come back.” To you is too dangerous to say. “I’m…home.”

Her chest rises in a long, hopeful breath, gaze fixed to him.

“Obi,” she breathes, laying her hand on his cheek. “Welcome home.”

He watches as her eyes flutter, heavy-lidded to half-mast, as her lips just barely part, chin angling upward, and– and on any other woman he’d know what that means. On any other woman he’d close this space between them, show her just what this man’s body could do, if he asked it, but with her–

It’s impossible. How can he fill the place Master already occupies?

He should move; he should roll back onto his side and leave her to do the same; he should know better than to have let them get this close again. “Miss–”

Her fingers sliding from the angle of his cheek into the bristle of his hair, and static sparks over the surface of his skin, chasing through his veins, curling his toes, filling him up until there’s nothing left but to ground himself at the source. He’s never been able to resist her, anyway.

He reaches for her, palm gently cupping the back of her head, but she reaches for him too, pulling him to her, and when their lips meet it’s not gentle. It’s no princely kiss, oh no, but hungry mouths needing to devour, tearing a groan from him that belongs to neither of his bodies but a different animal entirely.

She’s not close enough, not even when she rises up on her own side, pushing their bodies flush together, only cloth keeping them from the delicious friction he craves. He wants her, the proof of it obvious and hard against her hip now, but she doesn’t shy, only bucks into it, making sparks trail up his spine, behind his eyelids–

“Miss,” he tries again, but there’s nothing more to say, not when she squirms up him, pressing her lips even more fully against his. Nothing more to think when she scrapes her nails so deliciously over his scalp, moaning into his mouth.

His palm grips her hip, hard enough for him to swallow a gasp as he rolls her under him, aligning them the way they both want– at least, Miss doesn’t seem to be complaining, not when her legs wrap around his his, dragging him to her. She doesn’t complain when his tongue tests the gap between her lips, when he slips it inside her mouth entirely, and–

It’s not close enough, not when it’s never felt so right, when her body molds to fit his to perfectly. When even now he can feel her both above and below, his own skin calling to him in a way that it never has before, like he might wrap him and her in it both–

“Miss,” he moans, twisting his head away. It’s the only thing that keeps her from following him. “We should–we should stop.”

She blinks up at him, and even in the glow of the stone between them, her eyes are dark. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No! No.” He can’t imagine how she could think that, with his cock twitching against the curve of her hip. “I…you’re perfect.”

He can feel her breath catch beneath his ribs, as if it were his own, and oh, they are too close to be having this conversation. Still, he can’t bear to pull himself away, not when she bites her lip so anxiously and asks, “If you tell me what to do, I could–”

“No, Miss, it’s not–” he coughs, glad she can’t see his face– “I’m very, very interested in continuing…this.”

Her head tilts, curious, as are the fingers creeping beneath the hem of his shirt. “Then why do we have to stop?”

That’s becoming a more pressing question with every stroke of her fingers. “I’m just…” He licks his lips, mouth dry as they drift closer to his spine. His actual spine, not just…by proxy. “Maybe this isn’t something we should jump into this with both feet.”

“Ah.” Her smile is soft in the stone’s light, playful. “Do selkies get cold feet?”

A laugh huffs out of him. “We get nothing but.”

Her palm presses like a brand against his spine, drawing a low groan from his lips. “But you’ve always been so warm, Obi.”

“You are making a good case, Miss,” he admits, his hips rolling without his permission. It takes a concerted effort not to try to get Miss to repeat the noise she makes. “But I– I don’t know how this works.”

She stares, incredulous.

“I mean, obviously I know how to light fires. And tend to them,” he rumbles, pressing a kiss to her neck. “But I mean, the rest. With my…” He lets out a huff, frustrated. “I wasn’t old enough when I was…”

When he was taken from his sisters. It seems like the wrong time to be bringing up family when Miss is rubbing her bare leg against his. “I don’t know what this means, when I feel like this.”

“Obi?” Miss blinks, still beneath him. Her fingers trace the scar across his chest. “What do you feel?”

“A lot.” The admission bothers him more than he would like. “More than with…anyone else.” His breath hisses between his teeth, and finally he manages, “It’s never felt good when someone touches my pelt before.”

“Oh.” Her mouth rounds, and oh, how he wishes that were more of an invitation than it was. “Only…?”

He nods, cheeks burning. “Only you.”

“Ah.” Her palm flexes against his back. “So maybe…slower?”

“Yes,” he sighs, relief making his body sag. “ I just don’t know–” what this means– “what I can give you.”

“Obi…” He fingers trace those smooth, soothing circles, only this time on his skin. “You’re more than enough for me.”

“But I…”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Obi.” Her steady hands guide him beside her, fingers fanning out over his expanding ribs. “We don’t need to worry about tomorrow until the dawn. As long as I have you, we’ll take the days as they come.”

Miss squirms close, head resting on his chest, arm thrown tightly over him. “Goodnight, Obi. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

A breath shudders out from him. “Goodnight, Miss.”

Her breath evens into sleep, so quickly he might laugh, it not for–

For the way his pelt tempts him, for the way the night wind calls. Even now, Miss in his arms, he hears the song of his sisters, smells the salt of the sea.  

As long as I have you.

That’s exactly what he’s afraid of.