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rippersz · 2 years ago

Note

Can you do a brienne of tarth x reader fluff where reader gets an injury while on patrol or smth and brienne takes care of them? Like, maybe a broken bone or gnarly cut?

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘭

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

(TW: Description of injury but it’s not excessive)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“It’s so fuckin’ cold,” you huffed, angrily pulling your furs further over your shoulders.

“Oh stop whining - you sound like a child.”

At the sound of Brienne’s voice, you glanced up to glare at her. God, she was infuriating. So noble and so tough and so strong and so stupidly idiotically beautiful you hated it. You hated her. Her and her dumb shining cropped hair and enragingly enchanting blue eyes and those hands that were dotted with little silvery scars- so slender and so se-

“Keep up.”

You had to force down a sudden growl. She had so much audacity packed into that tall muscular body - you wanted to knock it all out of her with your lips. Ugh. Stupid dumb silly tall woman with her stupid dumb silly sixth sense and her stupid dumb silly wit and intelligence. Gods, the less Ser Brienne of Tarth knew about your weird mix of infatuation and loathing, the better. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the look she’d give you if she found out. One of surprise and disgust, no doubt. A real ‘You have got to be joking’ kind of look. A real ‘Stop being daft’ kind of look. A real ‘We will never speak of this again’ kind of look. You thanked the gods you’d never have to be on the other end of it - because she’d never know of course. Never ever. Nope. She’d never ever ever ever ever kn-

“BWAH!!”

Your disgruntled musings were interrupted as you found your left foot, which was previously placed on solid not-slippery ground, suddenly sliding. And sliding. And sliding. And it got farther and farther away from your other foot, which was stuck in a bank of snow that you just so happened to miss when you were too busy admiring your superior. Quickly, all at once, those times where previous mentors mentioned stretching before doing anything physical with your body, came rushing back. Unfortunately for you, listening was not one of the things on your list of ‘successful things you could do’. And even worse, the splits weren’t at all close to being listed. So basically, honestly, you were pretty much fucked.

‘She is so going to laugh at this’ was the only thought in your head as your leg buckled and you fell to the ground, wincing and crying out in pain once your knee smacked against the ice.

Instantly, you were certain something was wrong.

The ankle that was stuck in the snow-bank was suddenly throbbing and a dull ache exploded in the knee you fell on, sending lightning bolts of pain up your leg. Your hands, which were glove-less because you were too lazy to put them on before leaving, were cold and bruised and dirty and really quite useless. And on top of all of that, you were irritated. Irritated and freezing. It was late and you were still drowsy from your earlier nap - the one that Ser Brienne oh so kindly ruined when she came to collect you for patrol. Yes, you had forgotten, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t have to bang on your bedroom door like that. And she didn’t have to look you over and just flounce away once you finally shoved yourself into your protective clothes and stumbled into the outside world. As it was, the furs were bombarding you and pissing you off - with fly-aways getting caught in your mouth and the bulk weighing on your shoulders and the way the lining sometimes made your skin itch; practicality was important but while you struggled in the snow there, you cursed it. Everything fucking hurt and you couldn’t get out of your goddamn predicament no matter how hard you twisted and grunted and growled within the moment. Your hands slipped against the ice and your knee was still in shock or something equally as dumb because it was too weak to push you up. Every time you managed, your balance would crumble and your leg would wobble and you’d let out a little huff before giving into gravity and becoming its bitch. And by the gods was it frigid. Your nose was running and your head was starting to hurt from the chill. Just thinking about getting up and continuing your duties made you groan - probably because some part of you feared you may just pass out in the snow.

Good thing you had a fellow patrol partner to help you out. The very same patrol partner who was absolutely nowhere to be found. With a grunt, you stretched your neck as far as it could go and tried to look behind you. Nothing.

“BRIENNE!” Your yell echoed in the chilled wilderness, smacking against trees and sending your own voice back to you.

Your breathing stopped as you waited. One… two…

“BRIE-”

“Stop yelling! I’m right here,” she spat, quickly coming into view on your left.

The relief that filled your body when you caught sight of that handsome face was nearly embarrassing. If it were anyone else, you’d just insist they stand by and watch you try a few more times before offering to help you. But it wasn’t anyone else. It was Brienne. And when Brienne got down on one knee and assessed the damage with quiet thought and intense eyes and a worried furrowed brow, you could do nothing but try to regulate your breathing.

A few moments passed.

The cold was wicked, quickly seeping into your clothing and then your skin.

“Would you just help me up?” You grumbled, feeling a cramp starting in your thigh.

You felt the burn of those blue eyes before you saw them. They stared into the side of your face, prompting you to turn to your patrol partner - only to find yourself on the other end of Ser Brienne’s icy gaze glaring up through her blonde lashes. Staring, you figured, was your only option. Staring back at her, into her eyes, then staring at the line of her nose and the curve of her brow and the lines in her cheeks that set her pale lips into a scowl… and then staring at the way she straightened her back and rested her elbow on her bent knee.

You blinked at the look she gave you then - like she was expecting something.

“What?”

You shivered when those blue eyes dragged over your body.

“Gods it’s cold, Ser - what the fuck is it?” You growled, passing off the action as a result of the chill.

“Try not to scream; this will hurt.” It was the only warning you got, spoken low and full of apathy, before Brienne crouched and slipped her hands underneath your arms and tugged you with her as she stood up.

Of course it wasn’t that simple, for as soon as your legs were shifted, your bones protested. A few of your teeth bit down hard on your bottom lip, successfully keeping your yelp swallowed and muffled. Nothing felt broken, but honestly you weren’t really paying attention to that. The pain was unpleasant, sure, but you were much too focused on the strength the knight used in nearly picking up all of your body weight and letting it press against her. She was… warm. Warm and sturdy and you found that once your feet grazed the ground, you didn’t want to let go. Though then again, it wasn’t like you could.

“Wait- I-” you grunted at the same time Brienne did, wincing at the throbbing in your ankle and knee. “Hurts.” You felt pathetic whimpering like that, but as soon as her hold seemed to loosen, you clung to her tighter.

“Stupid- idiot-,” she growled, adjusting her grip, tightening it, and keeping you steady as you hopped around on your left foot.

You did probably look quite stupid, she was right, but as you rested your forehead against a spot on her chest and breathed in the scents of leather, firewood, and forest air, you found you didn’t mind. It was just the two of you, and she already understood your clumsiness; so you didn’t feel the need to be anything but yourself as you cursed beneath your breath and held onto her biceps for dear life.

“Stupid fuckin- snow- ah!” A hiss escaped your gritted teeth as you tried setting down your right foot, hoping desperately to get out of the increasingly awkward situation; only to find that your ankle was too weak to meet any weight at all. You frowned, looking around hopelessly before tilting your head back to look at the knight holding you.

You’d think she’d be asking you if you’re okay, but no - Ser Brienne seemed far more concerned with how you two were going to return to camp as she observed the way the sky darkened above. It was going to be a light evening in the North, but that didn’t matter. It was still freezing - though interestingly enough, Brienne wasn’t shivering at all. Probably because her clothing was better/thicker than your own. You secretly wished you could steal it. Wrap yourself up in it and fall asleep in it and fall asleep next to her and smell her and nuzzle her and let her kiss you breathless but not in a way that was rough and hateful; in a way that was slow and sexy and loving.

“Can you be quiet as I see to the damage or do you plan on waking all of Winterfell?” Brienne’s tone, low and whispered, made you scoff as her warm breath ran past the chilled bit of your ear.

You kind of wanted to hit her shoulder and scold her for her sarcasm, but you two weren’t so close to the point where you could make as many jokes as you wanted - so you kept your hands to yourself (even though you needed her shoulders for support) and instead just shot her a heavy glare.

She seemed to get the point by that alone because in the next moment, Brienne was shuffling you both over to a patch of softer snow that wouldn’t result in you falling flat on your ass if you stepped in it. And trying hard not to overanalyze a gesture that focused on your comfort more than anything, you just allowed her to crouch and act as a beam of support as you winced through your pain. Eventually, you both managed to get you resting there with only a few grunts and growls along the way - and the very second you were out of her arms, you sort of regretted it.

‘No no,’ you wanted to say, ‘I think I felt much better there pressed against your chest - just place me there again and we can continue our patrol. Promise. I won’t even argue or complain. Please?’ But obviously you kept your mouth shut.

“Shit.”

The sudden hiss made you blink rapidly, trying hard to focus your eyes in the dark as Ser Brienne kneeled once more and looked at your injuries.

“What? What?” You jumped, very much aware that the damage could be worse than you think.

The knight didn’t give you a verbal response and instead chose to grasp your pant-leg, push it up, and take off your boot. The cold hit you instantly, sending shivers throughout your body, making you let out a little embarrassing shriek that had Brienne reaching forward and throwing her hand over her mouth. And her other hand, in the meanwhile, wrapped around your ankle with the lightest most ticklish touch. The leather of her gloves was cold and damp, only working to aid the chill that ran bone-deep from the moment you set foot outside. And yet… she was touching you. She was close and she was touching you and though her hand on your mouth was a little embarrassing and a little rough, the fingers that grazed your wounded ankle were gentle and kind. Like she was afraid she would hurt you.

No one knew, least of all Ser Brienne, but if there was one thing you feared - it was pain. The very thought of it kept you up sometimes, when you imagined all of the suffering you’d seen before… and how terrible certain wounds were. You weren’t squeamish, but you didn’t like to think of it - and you most definitely didn’t like to feel it. That is one thing Brienne knew. And when your gazes met, that became clear. Your eyes were wide with anticipated pain, and hers were intense with hidden understanding. And no words really needed to be shared then as she looked down, took her hand off of your mouth, and gently rolled down your sock. The action was so intimate that you had to hold your breath as you watched. And when the damage was revealed, your soul deflated.

“Oh come on…,” you sighed, throwing your head back in exasperation for a moment before looking down again.

There was a cut across your ankle, seeping scarlet into the snow in a steady stream. The bruising was becoming intense - purples and greens and blues all meshing together. You cringed at the sight, really quite unimpressed by the fact that you somehow managed to cut your ankle in the snow. Not to mention the fact that your other knee was still weak and throbbing.

“It’s not broken,” Ser Brienne spoke matter-of-factly, gently holding your bare foot in her gloved palm. Again- so fucking intimate- but you refused to let your mind wander when you were half tempted to be a smartass and say ‘Yeah no shit’. But she was being relatively nice, so you just nodded and let her do her thing. A moment passed before the knight took a deep breath, her attention glued to your ankle. “Are you hurting anywhere else?” Her voice was soft- softer than you expected- and it took you a moment to nod and catch up and gently massage your aching knee as you spoke.

“Yeah, hit my left knee pretty bad… and then my hands.” You tilted them up, palms facing the sky. The skin there was bruised and sensitive, but otherwise fine.

Ser Brienne glanced over you, taking an extra moment to watch the way you winced when you stretched out your other leg, then she hummed.

“Your hands would be fine if you wore gloves.” Of course that was her response. Always the practical, tough, ‘I told you so; you never listen’ Brienne of Tarth. Always so noble and so unwavering and so intelligent and aware and knowledgeable and experienced in ways you weren’t sure you ever would be. So fucking serious… so… so… safe. She made you feel… safe. Very very safe. Even when she was lecturing you; even when she was giving you deadpan looks and telling you to hurry up and saying you whined like a child; even when she called you a stupid idiot for fucking up your body on a patrol rotation. She was just so skilled with a sword - and so ready for combat - and you knew that if you were ever in trouble, she’d risk her life for you because that’s just the kind of person she was.

You wouldn’t let her, but she’d still try anyway.

A sigh caught your attention. “I have salve in my room. We’ll turn around.” She muttered before fixing your sock, gently slipping your boot back on, and putting her hands on her thighs to stand up.

You looked at her, shocked.

“Are you serious?”

She frowned, glancing over your body. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well it’s just-” you looked around a little helplessly, and then gestured to the woods with one hand. “Patrol and- and…”

“…And?” You watched her raise an eyebrow. It nearly made you melt.

“And you’re gonna risk getting reprimanded fo-”

“Not for you,” she cut you off, “because of you. And I can send Pod out with another trainee. There’s no need to twist your other ankle.” And then her hands were on her hips, which in ‘Brienne-speak’ meant the conversation was over.

You hesitated. Right - not for you. Because of you. Because she did not and would not do anything for you. Because you disliked each other and she didn’t want you in the way you (begrudgingly) wanted her. How many times would you have to come to terms with that until you finally accepted it?

Just so you didn’t look daft staring off into space, you conceded and straightened up in your spot. The trek back to camp wasn’t terribly far, but it would surely be a hassle with your injured body. Perhaps going back while you still had the energy was better than waiting - but you’d never say that aloud cuz that would mean admitting Ser Brienne of Tarth was right and you hated having to do that.

“So how are we-”

“I’m going to carry you.”

“What?”

She glared. “Would you prefer to hobble?”

You were going to give her a snarky reply but instead shook your head uselessly and watched as she took a deep breath and bent her knees. So just like that? Your eyes were wide. Her eyes were dim, focused on your body and how best to carry you. Right. So just like that. Goodness, you realized, her face was so close… and her breath- it was so warm… and her lips looked so soft… you could easily just lean over and kiss her senseless. You could press your mouths together and she could moan into you and thread a strong hand into your hair and pull you closer and you could kiss yourselves silly in the snow. You wouldn’t even care about your injuries. You wouldn’t even care about the chill. But Brienne… she would never. And with that thought, reality crashed back into you and you suddenly found yourself being shuffled into the knight’s arms.

“Oh sorry,” you murmured as you took control of your limbs and gently slipped your arms around her pale neck.

Silence fell over everything as Brienne worked to hold you as comfortably as possible. Your pant-leg had slipped down to soak up the blood from your cut, but the knight didn’t seem to mind. Well… why would she? Ser Brienne had seen things. She’d been through things. How else did she get that scarred slash on her neck? How else did she get the little scars on her hands? How else did she get that scar on her lip? And her cheek? And how did she get the other scars that probably littered other various parts of her body that you had yet to see? That you would never see…

“Are you alright?”

It was said so softly you briefly thought you were going mad. But then the fingers pressing into the underside of your thigh moved and adjusted and you realized she did actually care about how you were doing. Or she just wanted to make sure no one would question what actually happened. Save her own hide and all that. Well, whichever it was, you gave her a quick ‘Yes, thank you’ and held onto her a bit tighter. It was amazing how she didn’t seem to care about your weight - not even a grunt left her lips when she hauled you into her arms. The change of gravity was off-putting, but you trusted her. It was actually almost embarrassing how much you trusted her. The ache in your knee ebbed away into the back of your mind as she pushed your one leg to rest over the other - and although the feeling of blood seeping into your boot had you grimacing, you knew that you’d be able to wash it off soon. Brienne was fast, she’d get you to camp quickly. And you’d hold on for the ride because- well because you had no choice but also because… well… you didn’t really have to explain it to yourself. All you could say as she started on her walk was that she was warm.

—

The feeling of your body falling was the thing that had you jolting awake.

You hadn’t even realized you fell asleep - about halfway through, the ‘rocky’ journey became smooth and you ended up dozing off. Perhaps the nap you were woken from still lingered. But that didn’t really matter when you found yourself bracing for sudden impact, expecting to meet cold forest ground. ‘Why would she drop me?’ was the last thought in your head right before your body made a soft ‘oof’ sound when it greeted the unexpectedly comfortable surface of a… a bed? Your eyes popped open.

“Never fall asleep on me again. You drool.”

The sound of Ser Brienne’s velvet voice nearly smacked you in the face. What on Earth was- oh. Right. Her room. The salve. You wiggled your toes unconsciously, and instantly groaned at the feeling of the crusted blood that seeped through your sock. That’s when her words chose to register - and that’s when you pushed yourself up into a sitting position and found her taking off her furs near a side table. The glare you gave her burned into her back. You were tempted to respond with a rude quip, but stopped yourself. She’d trekked through the woods with you in her arms, managed to get back into camp without causing a scene, somehow opened her door with you still fast asleep in her arms, and made the entire journey peaceful enough for you to get rest - without even trying, you were sure. And she’d said before that she had something to help your cut, so she’d go through the trouble in helping you with that too.

…Perhaps the snarky attitude you wanted to have could wait until you were healed.

“Sorry.” It was the only thing you thought to say otherwise as you leaned over to your boot and began slipping it off.

The room was warm- lit by a fire that had been burning for some time. Once you shrugged off your boot, sock, and furred overcoat, you took the chance to observe Ser Brienne’s bedroom. It was sparsely decorated, with a long table pressed against the far wall, near the fireplace, that was covered with pieces of armor that looked half-polished. The cleaning supplies were scattered about, as if she lost track of time and had to rush out of the room before managing to make everything neat. The carpet was blue with little red and gold details, and the duvet you rested on was plush and dyed grey. It wasn’t a terribly remarkable room, but you supposed she didn’t seem like the type of woman who was interested in that anyway. After all, Ser Brienne of Tarth was no Cersei Lannister - she didn’t need riches to feel comfortable. And even so, you personally preferred a less established room as well. The air in the knight’s chambers smelled of burning firewood and vanilla; you glanced around as discreetly as possible to try and find the culprit of the sweet scent and spotted it in the form of a small half-full glass bottle that sat on her bedside table. There was a little green stopper for the top, which kept the clear liquid from spilling out. You found yourself staring at it, overcome with a violent curiosity to know if she bought it herself.

And as if she could read your mind (what a terrifying thought), Ser Brienne spoke while rifling through a chest of drawers in the corner.

“Podrick got it for me - from a market one summer. He doesn’t know I use it,” her voice was a little muffled as she looked for the salve, but you responded with a hum and a tilt of your head anyway.

“Why not?”

Wouldn’t she want her friend to know that she used the gift he got for her? Wouldn’t she want to show that appreciation?

“Because knights don’t wear perfume.” And the way she said it had you falling silent.

It made sense, unfortunately. Although Ser Brienne of Tarth broke the knight mold and rose through the ranks with her iron-clad loyalty and immense strength alone, she was still regarded as weak. Mostly by men; fellow knights, other warriors, sometimes just random villagers that enjoyed whispering for the sake of it. Womanhood was a direct correlation to all things soft and cushy and vulnerable - any ferocity they held was not often noticed. For not even Cersei Lannister, not even Daenerys Targaryen, could escape the ridicule of men. In the end, prices were paid, but that didn’t mean they were any less strong. Cruel, sure, but even in that, still strong. Just products of environments. Welded for a world they couldn’t survive otherwise. Pushed into certain decisions by no one but themselves because they couldn’t think of any other way to exist beside fight fight fight. And Ser Brienne… your eyes wandered over to her. She stood up with a rounded wooden container in one hand and a cloth in the other and turned to place them on the table near the armor. Her hands were loose of the leather gloves from before, and the woolen tunic beneath her protective clothing was a deep grey - it showed off the line of her shoulders, which you couldn’t help but admire. She was also in her socks, and when you stole a glance over to the fireplace you saw that her boots, muddy and wet from the little journey, were placed near it to dry. Well, Ser Brienne, you concluded, was obviously different from the royal tyrants. She was more sane. She was more kind. She was… better. And seeing the strange mundane everyday look of drying boots, lonely and discarded beside a humble fire, made you blink and take a step back into your mind.

The intimacy you felt from before, when she was gentle in slipping off your boot from your fucked up ankle, slipped back into the atmosphere. It filled every corner of the room while you sat there, basking in the silence while the knight went about her business. You didn’t want to let your thoughts wander, but once your hand mindlessly ran over the softness of the duvet, you couldn’t help but think about how different things would feel if you were in something less restricting. If you were, perhaps, in just a slip - lounging across her bed, watching her with pleasant eyes as she went through her nightly routine. And waiting there with bated breath for her to give you attention, desperately trying not to call out for your lover. You imagined the moment, too, in which she’d turn around and set that steely gaze on you and see everything she’s ever wanted in a person reflected there in your face. All melting heart and bedroom eyes and flushed cheeks and goosebumps and shivers as she slipped the clothing off of her body and walked closer. And she’d make some comment about not having bathed and your immediate response, bold and sassy, would be to sit up and grasp her shoulders and yank her toward you and lick a stripe up between the valley of her breasts - all while looking deeply into her eyes. ‘I don’t mind’ you’d say softly before coaxing her to slip in beside you and spend the evening in your arms.

It was a nice thought, really it was, but when you heard Ser Brienne clear her throat and saw her turn around with a few things in hand, you felt your heart sink. It was a nice thought, yes, but it was just a thought. And nothing more would happen - no matter how much you wished. No matter how much time you spent at night, in bed, thinking about it. No matter how many dreams you had about being hers. It would never happen. You weren’t even sure she was interested in women, and you were a knight in training anyway, and she would never ever be with a subordinate - no matter how good you were. No matter how much better you were than the others. You’d only been moved up the ranks a few weeks previous, it wasn’t like things would suddenly change. It wasn’t like Brienne would suddenly open her eyes and realize she wanted you. And since that was the case, since that would always be the case, you had to do as you always did and push your wishes and dreams deep deep down into the very pit of your soul. Where no one could find them.

“Here.” You looked down at the exact moment a stool was pushed over to you.

“Thanks,” you murmured softly as you used both of your hands to lift your leg and prop your bare foot up on the stool’s surface. “Gods. I’m such an idiot.” You shook your head at the sight of the damage. The swelling had increased, the pigment of the bruises was darker, and the skin around the cut was crusted with blood - which dried over in rivers going down between your toes and around your foot.

Ser Brienne let out a small quiet snort as she kneeled beside the stool.

“I won’t argue with you,” came her charming quip as she set down a bowl of water, two cloths, and the wooden container from earlier. The lid was off and when you leaned over the edge of the bed, you saw that the ‘stuff’ inside looked waxy and beige. The scent, which was very slight, smelled of mint and herbs and something medicinal that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. But you figured it wasn’t any of your business what the salve was made of - Ser Brienne would not lead you astray. She was a helper at heart, and you were utterly smitten.

So smitten, in fact, that you found her wit quite funny and ended up smiling at her swift response.

The knight took the lighter mood as a cue and went ahead with her process. You were almost certain it was one she completed for herself before as her movements, while you watched, seemed almost robotic. The dipping of the first cloth into the water, the gentleness of her warm touch (which made you blush and glance away), and the very soft but purposeful drags she made over the areas of dried blood. Your body twitched when she met a ticklish patch of skin- and you almost begged her to continue when she paused at that. In fact, you would’ve told her to just ignore it and go on if she hadn’t looked up at you and nearly knocked you dead with the way the flickering colors of the fire lit up the blue of her eyes.

“Move again and I’ll cut it off.”

You stared at her.

She stared at you.

You stared at her.

She stared at you.

The smile that tugged at your lips was very very hard to conceal, and you didn’t miss the way her gaze darted down to your mouth and lingered there before moving away and returning to your foot. It was an odd little moment, but you found you quite liked it. It wasn’t often that you two were together for a prolonged period of time when work wasn’t involved - in fact the only times were probably during meals. So that moment, in that room, with the Ser Brienne of Tarth kneeling beside your injured foot, working to help heal you, was one you were sure you’d cherish for years to come.

She most likely wouldn’t do the same, but that was fine. It was fine.

“Thank you again,” you chose to break the silence, watching with interest as she re-dipped the cloth into the water and cleaned between your toes.

Her response was delayed as she focused, and even when she replied, her eyes didn’t move. You appreciated the concentration, but secretly wished for one more glimpse into those intense oceans.

“Thank me by doing me a favor.” Her voice was devoid of feeling.

Instantly, you perked up. A favor? What favor? Did she want you to kiss her? No, no, she wouldn’t…. Did she want you to give her something? Polish her armor? Sharpen her sword? Bring meals straight to her room? Did she want more of that vanilla perfume? Did she want to kiss you? No no no, you already established that wasn’t the case. She wouldn’t ask that. She just wouldn’t.

“The next time you’re on patrol,” yeah no kiss - oh well, “be more careful. If I hear you broke something, I’ll personally demote you.”

When it came to Ser Brienne, it was hard to tell if her words were coming from a place of care. She was a good mentor and an even better soldier - a bit strict, but that was necessary - and her advice was usually spot on. But more often than not, she phrased things like threats and you suspected it was a protective mechanism of some sort. Perhaps a very thin bluff that covered up the fact that she did care and that she did want to see her trainees succeed. It was an honor for both parties, and you were sure it made her some sort of emotional. To know she was doing well in the community… to know she was honoring the Stark name… to know she was living up to her title… yes, you were certain it meant more to her than she ever let on. She wouldn’t share that, but still. Still.

So you nodded. You gave her a little smile that she didn’t see and you nodded and that was the end of that.

And soon enough, she was finished. Her movements around the cut were slower and softer, being careful not to hurt you as she scraped away as much of the blood as possible, and after she was done, she submerged the cloth in the water. You would’ve looked further into the oddness of the moment, that being the moment in which she cleaned the blood off of your foot as gently as she could while the fire crackled in the background and spoke into the silence, but you had a feeling that would only send you into an emotional tizzy - so you let it be and instead focused on Ser Brienne’s actions as she picked up the salve. She was slow, looking at the wound from a clinical perspective before peering back down at the mixture and dipping her fingertips into the jar. It gathered in a small clump and sat there as Brienne set the rest of it down and adjusted her position.

“There will be a cold sensation that feels like it’s burning. It’s not; that just means it’s working. You’ll have to keep it elevated for a bit afterward, but then it should be fine. Ready?” And those beloved blue eyes were clapped on you again.

“Yes.” Her gaze alone felt like it winded you - making you lose all of your breath as you stared back at her. Her gaze was intense, as per usual, but soft in a way that you didn’t see often. Like she had finally relaxed after a long day and realized that you were trusted company. Not trusted enough to completely unwind, but trusted enough to let some of her guard down. You felt sort of honored to see the warmth there before she stole it away from you to turn back to your foot.

It didn’t look as bad when it was clean of blood - just bruised and swollen and cut. The salve would help with that though, and you stayed quiet as you watched the knight press the salve to the wound and spread it around in slow measured circles. She didn’t use a heavy hand and went slowly - meticulous as the mixture spread from one end of the cut to the other. It left behind a light sheen, and was nearly opaque with the way it took to your skin. The aforementioned feeling, with the chilled burning, was delayed but strong. It didn’t feel as though you were on fire, but just like you’d been submerged in very cold water and your body was having trouble discerning the difference between the two sensations. Thank goodness it was only a cut on your foot, for if the salve were spread anywhere else it surely would have been uncomfortable. As it were, you closed your eyes against the underlying sting that came with putting anything on top of a fresh wound.

Ser Brienne made little noise as she picked up her things and went about washing the salve off of her hand. Camp had calmed down for the evening, so there was no need to make a ruckus - especially when your eyes had fluttered shut as she began cleaning up the area around the stool. Once she turned around from her tidying up, she was only slightly surprised to find that you had somehow managed to doze off to sleep. Again. Goodness, what were you? A fat lazy village cat that enjoyed basking in the sun? One that liked to purr when those bright rays warmed up the chill of your skin? And that didn’t mind the near blinding intensity of the snow, knowing it only accentuated the glorious color of your eyes? And who enjoyed slumbering in her arms, drooling only slightly and twitching the tiniest bit whenever she walked over a particularly large tree root? Or were you like a kitten? Clumsy and foolish with the sweetest little voice and the most embarrassingly adorable angry quips? Who liked to drink mead until it nearly stained half your face and left you in a sleepy little stupor that had you looking so soft and gentle? And who was just so warm and cuddly and small when you were pressed to her chest, lost in dreams and leaving your dead weight to push onto her eager arms? Or were you like- like- no. No. Like nothing. You weren’t like anything. You were just a stupid young woman who didn’t often watch where she was going or how she was looking because you ended up screwing up your ankle and knee and making Brienne feel flustered as she cared for you. Gods, honestly, who looked at a person like that?! Like they hung the bloody moon and stars and figured out the key to world peace?! She was no savior, and yet… there was always so much warm humor in your gaze. As if you wanted to get to know her… as if she was a woman worth knowing (well, beyond the sword and armor).

But she wasn’t.

She wasn’t worth knowing - at least not in the romantic sense. And she really wasn’t worth knowing in the platonic sense either. Ser Brienne of Tarth was a lone wolf in many ways; her relationships with those around her were born out of loyalty and begrudging respect. Her relationship with you was born out of… was born out of… well she wasn’t quite sure. It was born out of your respect for her and her responsibility as your superior, certainly, but there was also something else there. It was like a mutual hatred - but you both knew there was no ill-intent. You just liked to tease each other… and throw mean replies at each other… and share a look with each other when one of the trainees said something exceedingly stupid. And that happened quite often. And whenever it did, she had grown to realize that she sought your eyes out immediately. Your silly, lovely, shining eyes that overflowed with stubbornness and intelligence and also idiocy almost constantly. It was endearing and infuriating in equal measure, though she’d never admit that. Not even out loud, when you were asleep on her bed. With your bare foot elevated on her stool. With your one arm spread out on her pillow. With your sweet face lit up by her firelight. In her room. In her camp. In her presence.

No, even then, with everything she’s ever wanted laying just out of reach, she still wouldn’t admit how much she wanted you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you enjoyed! - Ripley x

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #rippersz #wlw fanfic #got brienne fanfiction #got #game of thrones #lady brienne #brienne of tarth x reader #ser brienne of tarth #ser brienne #brienne of tarth #got fanfic #got fanfiction #got brienne of tarth #got brienne #ripleysresponse #gwendoline christie

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kingexpl0sionmurder · 5 years ago

Text

Clouds - Shirakumo Oboro

Author: @kingexpl0sionmurder Rating: 16+ Words: 5,674 Pairing: Shirakumo Oboro/F!Reader Warnings: Nudity, sexual innuendo, kissing, Oboro has no shame honestly. No spoilers here, I just mention his friends and his quirk a little! AN: Here is my entry for this month’s BNHarem server collab! The theme was Fantasy, so have this Greek Mythology AU where I basically floundered through ancient Greek customs and got to think about EraserCloudMic being best friends and Demigods. I don’t promise that any of this is historically accurate but I did try to get some things right! It’s all in good fun anyway, I just needed some nice fluff and some time to play around with Oboro because I love him a lot. Listen to the song Clouds by Borns pls and thanks. As always, the masterlist to check out everyone else’s stuff is HERE. My masterlist is HERE.

Buy me a Ko-Fi HERE.

You’d never experienced a drought this severe before.

The weather had become so unbearably hot. Even your lightest tunic was too much, and you had resorted to wearing as little as possible when you were home, spending as much time as you could in the nearby river to keep cool.

However, the river seemed to be getting shallower, the lack of rain causing the water source to dry up.

The entirety of the small village that you resided on the outskirts of was in a panic. Crops were drying up, which was affecting people’s livelihood. The agora was nearly barren when you went in to sell the cloth you’d dyed and embroidered, the food stalls empty of the usual grain and barley you would typically find this time of year.

Most people had taken to making the trek past your house and down to the small temple there, praying to Zeus for rain, hoping that he would smile down upon you and bring good fortune, and maybe a storm cloud or two.

You knew that it was probably fruitless, but you decided that maybe you should leave an offering to appease him. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Wanting to wait until it was cooler so you didn’t die of heatstroke while you leaned over the boiling water, you waited until the sun went down before you dug out your best fabric and dyed it a pretty blue color. You pricked your fingers with a needle more than once while embroidering the edges with clouds and raindrops, using white thread so it stood out against the cerulean fabric. A few days later, you deemed it ready, attaching pins so the person wearing it could fasten it and folding it gently. You slipped on your sandals and headed out with the garment draped over your arm.

It was late, so no one was around, but you weren’t afraid. The breeze was cold now that it was dark out, making you sigh as you listened to the leaves rustling in the olive trees that lined the path. You hoped Zeus would be pleased with what you’d made. Garments that you’d crafted and sold in the agora were always highly sought after and praised. The attention to detail and the small embroidery work you did on the fabric caused you to get lots of commissions from high-class women who lived in the city. It was something you were good at and took a lot of pride in, so you hoped that he would be impressed by your hard work.

When you arrived, you noticed there were a lot of offerings waiting just inside the door. You bowed your head and dropped to your knees in front of the statue within, closing your eyes as you placed the folded tunic at Zeus’ stone feet. “Please help us and send some rain. I made this tunic by hand. I hope you like the color. I chose it because it reminds me of the sky.” Whispering, you spoke aloud, feeling kind of silly, but willing to try anything to gain some relief from the sweltering heat.

Finishing the rest of your prayers in silence, you stood up and bowed, hurrying out of the small shrine and back up the path toward your home. When you laid down to sleep that night, you sent up one final prayer, hoping that things would get better when the morning came.

You woke up hours later to the sound of thunder. Sitting up in your bed, you felt tears well in your eyes, relief flooding through you. The rain was finally coming!

Briefly, you wondered if your gift had been the one that Zeus had deemed worthy enough to grant your village’s prayers. Swinging your feet off the bed, you dashed from the room, wrenching the front door open and running out into the night, bare feet slapping against the dirt as you made your way down the path towards the temple.

You didn’t know what you expected to find when you arrived. Would all the offerings be gone? Or would it be just as you left it hours before?

Dark clouds were rolling in overhead, and you laughed when you felt the first few drops of rain pelting on the bare skin of your arms as the temple came into view. You slowed to a stop, breathing heavily; the smell of petrichor in the air as water finally touched the dry grass and soil around you.

Stepping forward, you entered the temple, lingering in the doorway. Zeus’s proud statue stood in the center just as before, offerings still sitting untouched at his feet. They all remained, except for one.

The sky blue tunic you had crafted was missing.

It rained for three days straight, the constant onslaught of water on the parched ground, causing puddles to appear in every dip of the landscape around your home. You stayed inside, leaving the windows open to let in the fresh air, breathing deeply as your worries melted away. You were excited to visit the river, hoping the water would be rushing and kissing the edges of the riverbank as it always had before.

When the fourth day came with clear blue skies and a gentle breeze, you gathered up your towel and set off to the river. You skirted around the slowly drying puddles on the path, your sandals sinking into the soft earth as you made your way to your destination.

You arrived to see the river looked as you had expected, the water back up to its normal height, the current gentle, leaves floating along its surface. You looked around, making sure you were alone before you removed your tunic and laid it across a rock on the riverbank, before slipping into the cold, clear water. Most people from the village didn’t bother to come out here, so you weren’t too worried about being seen skinny dipping, but you always kept your ears open, just in case.

Time passed as you relaxed against the river’s edge, head tipping back to bask in the gentle sunlight filtering through the trees surrounding you. The weather was beautiful and was a welcome change compared to the unbearable sweltering days you’d been living the past few weeks.

A gentle splashing caught your attention, and your head snapped up, eyes scanning the water’s surface, assuming it was a fish. What you weren’t expecting to see was a man a little ways up the river, crouching down with his hand in the water, a serene smile on his face. You didn’t know if he saw you, but you suddenly felt self-conscious, dipping lower and crossing your arms across your chest to hide yourself. The plan had been to keep quiet and wait until he left. But then you saw what he was wearing.

The sky blue tunic was unmistakable.

“Where did you find that tunic?” You called accusingly. You had assumed that the tunic was missing because Zeus enjoyed your gift, and had given yourself credit for pleasing him enough to send the rain. To know that you hadn’t done anything at all, and a thief was the reason that your hard work was missing from the temple, was disheartening.

The man stood, his eyes searching for the source of your voice. When they landed on you, huddled against the side of the river, your head barely visible on the water, he smiled at you brightly. “It was an offering from the temple! Honestly, this is the nicest tunic I’ve had the pleasure of wearing.” He pulled on the bottom of it, pointing to the embroidered clouds. “The detail here is exquisite.”

Huffing, you frowned. “I know. I’m the one who made it.” His eyes lit up, and he opened his mouth to reply, but you interrupted him. “I don’t know who you think you are, but that tunic was made for Zeus. It’s extremely disrespectful to steal something from the gods. You must be crazy if you don’t think he’s going to strike you down with a lightning bolt the moment he finds out what you did.”

The man chuckled, raising his arms and folding them behind his head. You tried not to stare at his tan and muscular legs, or his equally muscular biceps. “You think I’m a thief? I’m offended, sweetheart.”

Blushing at the term of endearment, you shook your head. “Well, that’s the only logical explanation-“

“That’s where you’re wrong.” The man walked closer, and you shrunk back, trying to preserve your modesty. “It was a gift from Zeus himself.”

Your jaw dropped open, eyes wide. You weren’t sure how that was possible, but looking at the man before you now, you realized there was no way that he was mortal. He was too perfect.

Not to mention, his hair was like nothing you’d ever seen before.

It was a beautiful light blue, similar to the fabric draped around his body, fluffy and soft looking even from a distance, and it floated back and up, away from his head on its own.

“You’re a…” Trailing off, you got lost in the blue of his eyes as he stepped closer.

“Demigod.” He dropped his arms and shrugged. “My name’s Oboro.”

You were suddenly reminded of how very naked you were. “Could you, uh, turn around? So I can get dressed?”

Wiggling his eyebrows, Oboro smirked. “You sure? I mean, it’s nothing I’ve never seen before.”

“Ugh, please.” Annoyed, you glared at him. Demigod or not, what a perv.

“Kidding! I’m kidding!” Holding up his hands in defeat, he turned around, chuckling.

You took the opportunity to lift yourself out of the river and hurry over to where you’d left your clothes. You dried off quickly with your towel and wrapped your dress back around your frame.

When you were decent, you cleared your throat. “Thank you, Oboro.” You tugged at the fabric that was clinging to your semi-wet skin uncomfortably, watching as he turned back around and shot you a grin.

“So, you made this thing, huh?” Stepping closer, the man was suddenly towering over you, his smile charming. He reached out and plucked the towel you were still holding from your hand, bringing it up and over your head, his fingers rubbing your scalp as he dried your hair for you.

Speechless, you stuttered. What was he doing?

The towel lifted, and you watched as Oboro gathered your hair and squeezed out the water that was sitting at the ends of it. “That’s better. So, you going to answer me?’

Blinking up at him again in shock, you watched the laughter dancing in his clear blue eyes, the way his nose crinkled when he smiled, the white bandage across the bridge of it making him look boyish and handsome. You were swooning. You needed to get a hold of yourself. “I...yes. I made it myself. I make clothing to sell in the agora all the time.”

Nodding, he handed your towel back to you. “Zeus is a pretty busy guy, you know? He asked for my help, told me to check into some of his temples to see if anyone needed help. He said if it was something we could do, I could take care of it and help myself to anything left for an offering as a reward.”

“And you picked my tunic?” You felt a weight lift from your chest at his story.

Grinning, he pushed a piece of your hair off of your forehead. “It matches my eyes; how could I not?” He let his arm fall to his side. “I’m an altruistic guy. I like to help people, so I always jump at the chance when my father asks for my assistance. As soon as I saw that blue fabric, I knew I had to do something. I always say that handmade gifts are much better than jewels or gold because they come from the heart. So I called upon the Nephelae to come and bring some rain.”

You hummed, your face turning pink as you blushed. His innocent touching and compliments had your skin feeling warm. “Thank you, Oboro. I’m glad that it was well-received.” Clearing your throat, you glanced up at him through your lashes. “If you like it, I could make you another.”

“You’d do that?” He always seemed to be smiling, and you briefly hoped you’d never have to see him frown, knowing it would look out of place on his face. “I couldn’t ask-“

“I’m offering! I want to, honestly. You did so much for us with just that little bit of rain. I feel like that one tunic isn’t enough to show my gratitude.”

It was his turn to blush, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “Okay. Only if you want to.”

“Great!” You clapped your hands together. “Do you have anything you want specifically? I have lots of different fabric to choose from, and I can dye it any color you’d like.”

“Surprise me.” He winked, lifting his hand to poke the end of your nose playfully. “You know, when I saw that thing, I figured an old lady must have made it. Didn’t think a beautiful woman like you would have done it.”

Scoffing, you folded your arms across your chest. “Do you have no shame? Flirting with me, and you don’t even know my name.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “I like you, you’ve got guts. What’s your name then, sweetheart?”

“It’s Y/N.”

—

After Oboro left you at the edge of the river, promising to come back and see you in a few days, you went home and sifted through the piles of fabric you had collected, trying to find something that you thought would be fitting for the handsome Demigod.

The original tunic you’d made was linen, and since it was still early in the summer, you surmised that it would be best to stick with that fabric. Your other choices were wool or silk, and neither would do well in the hot weather.

You worked on dying the fabric a dark grey, the color of the sky before a storm. This time you embroidered the edges with golden bolts of lightning and white stars. You were very proud of it when it was finished, thinking it looked as lovely, if not better, than the one you’d left in the temple.

A few days later, you were outside tending to your garden when you heard footsteps approaching behind you.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

The timbre of his voice made you shiver as you stood and turned to meet him. “Morning, Oboro! You’re here just in time!”

“Finished already?” His eyebrow raised. “Did you even sleep?”

Rolling your eyes, you smiled at him. “Of course! I slept some.”

Shaking his head, he stepped towards you, ruffling the hair on your head. “Don’t lose sleep on my account, okay? I can wait as long as I have to.”

You wished this man would stop making you blush so much. “Okay, fine. It won’t happen again. Would you like some wine?”

“Why would I say no to that?” He chuckled, following you into your small home, sitting at the table when you pointed to the chair, watching as you flitted around the kitchen preparing his drink.

“What have you been up to? Helping out your father?” You asked conversationally, setting the glass down in front of him.

Humming, he picked up the glass and took a sip. “A little. I spent some time with my friends mostly. I don’t get to see them too often since they’re always so busy.”

“Oh? Are your friends Demigods too?”

He hummed, sipping his wine again. “Shouta is the son of Hypnos, god of sleep. Hizashi is the son of Apollo, god of music.”

“Wow. I’ve never met anyone important like that. Well, besides you.”

He snorted. “We’re not important, our fathers are. We’re just regular people.”

“Except you’re half god and incredibly handsome.” Huffing, you blushed, realizing what you said.

“You think I’m handsome?” His cheeky grin was too much to look at, so you turned away.

Changing the subject seemed like the best option for your sanity. “Let me show you what I made for you.”

He didn’t push it, which surprised you, but also made you feel grateful. You didn’t want to think about the man any more than you already had been. He was funny and kind and gorgeous, but he was also a flirt and a Demigod, and you really didn’t know what to make of all of that. You realized that some people might think the way you acted with him was disrespectful, but he was just a person like he’d pointed out. Mostly.

You walked over to your work table and unfolded the tunic, turning around and holding it out towards him. “I was trying to keep with the sky theme. What do you think?”

Oboro stood up from the table, leaving his wine glass behind. He stared at the fabric, taking it into his hands, his fingers tracing the embroidery. When he looked up at you, his face was filled with wonder. “Are you sure you’re not magic?”

You blinked at him. “What? Why?”

“This is amazing, Y/N. Truly. Thank you.” Grinning, he handed it back to you, his hands moving to the pins keeping his tunic fastened around his body.

“Oboro, what are you doing?”

The pins opening let the fabric around him fall free. “Trying it on.”

You covered your eyes with your hand as he pulled the garment off his body, resisting the urge to peek through your fingers when you caught a glimpse of his chiseled abs and the swell of his pectorals as you heard his clothing fall to the floor. He took the tunic from your hand, taking his time pinning the fabric at his shoulders and under his arms.

“How do I look?”

Removing your hand away from your red face, you moved forward, redoing the pin at his shoulder to sit straight. Stepping back, you walked around him. “It’s missing something.”

He looked at you curiously, his brow furrowed. “What?”

You looked puzzled, finger tapping your chin before your face suddenly brightened in recognition. “I’ve got it!” You scurried away to your work area, coming back with a golden colored braided cord.

Oboro watched as you reached around him, passing the rope between your hands. He lifted his arms as you tied it around his waist, cinching the fabric a bit and moving back to look over him again. “Perfect.”

His arms dropped, his head tilted down as he looked over the fabric again. Teeth pressed against his bottom lip, he looked up at you. “Another masterpiece, Y/N. I’m going to look better than all the gods in Olympus when I visit my father later.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Oh please, I’m not that great, Oboro.”

He huffed, stepping forward and surprising you when he wrapped his arms around you in a hug. “Just accept the compliment, would you?”

Hesitantly, your arms moved around him to return the gesture, your voice horse as you replied. “Okay.”

—

Oboro became a permanent fixture in your life after that. He appeared nearly every day, treating you to picnics and taking you for walks through the forests and down to the river. You looked forward to seeing him, his face the last thing you thought of before you fell asleep, and the first thing you imagined when you woke up. You were in too deep.

It rained more often, but it was welcome after the hell of drought you’d been through earlier that month. The weather didn’t stop Oboro from visiting, his strong arms dragging you out into the storm so you could watch the dark clouds above roll past. He made you laugh, his bright smile infectious as he carved himself a place in your heart.

You didn’t know what this was. Did he like you more than just a friend? He was a flirt, but you assumed he was like that with everyone. You weren’t sure if you should read into it any deeper, but there was a big part of you that wanted him to want you just as much as you found yourself wanting him.

He was gentle and kind, going out of his way to help the people in the village when he visited, hefting large bags of grain in the agora. He never hesitated or asked for anything in return, and it made your heart flutter. The old ladies would stop you to tell you how wonderful he was, that he was a keeper, and whenever you tried to open your mouth and correct them, he would grin over at you and wink, and you’d lose the ability to speak.

When he showed you the power bestowed upon him by his father, you couldn’t help but giggle. He waved his hands around, creating a cloud out of the air’s moisture and pushed it towards you. “They can’t do much but float around, but if I make one big enough, I can sit on it and ride it where I need to go.”

“You aren’t able to make them do anything else?” You poked at the cloud, watching as it broke apart and drifted away.

“No, but they’re fun to look at.” He made another one shaped like a bird. “What do you think?”

“I think they look like your hair.” You teased, watching it float up above your heads.

He starting making another one, bigger than the ones before. “Come on.” He brought it down low, sitting on it and crossing his legs underneath him. “Want to go for a ride?”

You shook your head, frightened at the thought. “No way, that’s too scary.”

“Come on!” He held out his hand. “I can show you the world this way.”

His smile was disarming, and you felt yourself stepping forward before you knew it. “You better not let me fall.”

“I won’t, I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked, kicking his feet in the water.

You were sitting side by side on the riverbank, leaning back and basking in the afternoon sun. “Mm, probably this?” You opened one eye and looked over at him. “Why?”

He shrugged. “My father wants to meet you.”

You sat up so fast you almost flung yourself into the river, Oboro’s hand grabbing onto your arm the only reason you didn’t fall in. “Excuse me?”

Snorting, he let go of you and rested his palms on the grass beside him again. “He wants to meet the woman who made the outfit I wore to dinner a few weeks ago. Remember, I said I was going to show up everyone in Olympus?”

Nodding, you shut your jaw, which had been hanging open since he’d told you his father, also known as Zeus, the god of the sky and thunder, the king of the gods, wanted to meet /you/.

“Well, Aphrodite commented on it, and then father asked who made it, so I told him about you. Will you come?”

You swallowed thickly, trying to find your voice. How could you say no? Could you refuse to meet Zeus if he asked you to? “I…”

His arm moved around your shoulder, pulling your closer. “Don’t be nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous? Are you kidding me? I know he’s your father, but to me, he’s a god.” You sputtered, feeling yourself shake at the thought of being face to face with him.

“Well, I mean, I’m half-god, and you’re not nervous around me.”

You decided not to point out that he made you incredibly nervous. You were just good at hiding it. You pressed on instead. “What do I even say to him? What do I even wear?”

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back. “What do you wear? Clothes would be a start, Y/N.”

“I hate you, have I mentioned that before?”

You barely slept that night, your thoughts racing as you went over scenarios in your head, trying to imagine what it was going to be like when you were face to face with the king of the gods. For some reason, you were worried that he wouldn’t like you. You weren’t sure why it mattered so much to you. You tried to push the little voice in the back of your head away when it started pointing out how you were probably worried because of how you felt about Oboro.

It was ridiculous to fight it anymore. You knew you liked him. You weren’t sure what to do with that information, but there it was. And now you were going to meet his father.

Oboro came to get you after breakfast, his cheerful smile falling when he saw your face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you haven’t slept.”

You laughed. “I haven’t.” Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you sighed. “I’m just worried I’m going to make a fool of myself.”

Shaking his head, Oboro pulled you into a hug. “You’re not going to make a fool of yourself. You’re going to be fine. He’s not as scary as you seem to think. Plus, I’ll be right there with you. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Letting yourself melt into him, you buried your face into his chest. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m probably just making things worse.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s fine.” You felt his fingers tangle in your hair, his chin leaning on the top of your head before he pulled away. “Come on, let’s go. He’s going to meet us at the temple.”

“Do I look alright?” You stepped back from him and looked down at the dress you’d made; the fabric dyed a deep burgundy.

Oboro didn’t say anything at first, making you doubt yourself, your head falling forward to gaze at the sandals on your feet.

“No, you don’t look alright.” He said finally.

Eyebrows furrowed, your head snapped up to look at him. “What?”

He was grinning widely at you, holding out his hand to take yours. “You look beautiful.”

Your entire face felt like it was on fire when you realized what he said, your expression melting into a small smile. He wrapped his hand around yours and tugged you towards the door, his eyes crinkled merrily, trying not to laugh at his trick. He was such a lousy flirt, but his compliment made you feel better, even if you didn’t think he meant it.

Zeus was waiting inside the temple when you arrived, gazing up at the statue of himself with his hands folded behind him. “Sometimes, these things don’t look anything like me, but I’d say this is a pretty accurate one, don’t you think?”

When he turned around to face you, you had to agree. The statue looked just like him. “Y-yes, sir.” Bowing your head, you brought your hands in front of you and pressed them together. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Zeus laughed, stepping forward. “You don’t have to do that, though I appreciate it.” You looked up at him, meeting blue eyes the same color as his son’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’ve heard so many things about you. Oboro talks of you often.” He took one of your hands in his and kissed the back of it, his gaze moving to the man beside you. “You weren’t kidding when you told me she was beautiful, son.”

Your cheeks turned pink as you turned to look at Oboro, his face tinted red with embarrassment. “Father, please.”

“Please what? She’s beautiful and talented as well.” He turned back to you. “Oboro’s tunic was all anyone could talk about at dinner a few weeks ago. Aphrodite was impressed, and that’s not an easy feat to accomplish.”

“Thank you, Zeus. I’m humbled. I never thought what I did was anything extraordinary.”

“Nonsense! Quality work like that should be appreciated.” You heard Oboro telling you to accept a compliment in the back of your head, so you just smiled and nodded. ”Oboro showed me the blue tunic you made as well, and I would like to ask a favor of you.”

“Anything, sir.” You felt your heartbeat quicken in anticipation, relaxing minutely when you felt Oboro place his hand on your shoulder and squeeze.

“I would like for you to make something for me. I know that the first tunic was originally an offering for me, but I think it better suits Oboro. I can give you whatever materials you desire. Color and pattern don’t matter to me; I just want something like what you’ve done for my son. Do you think you could do that?”

Your mouth worked without a sound coming out, your brain trying to process what was happening. Zeus wanted you to make clothing for him. “Yes, of course! I would be happy to.”

“Wonderful.” Zeus clapped his hands together and smiled kindly at you. “You’ll be paid for your work, of course. Anything you need, you let my son know, and he’ll get it for you.” He turned to the man beside you, a severe look on his face. “Don’t be a fool, Oboro.”

“Father, what do you-”

“You know what I mean. Have some courage.” He put a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezed before turning and nodding back at you. “I hope we meet again soon, Y/N.”

Before you could say goodbye, a clap of thunder sounded in the temple, causing the ground to shake slightly, and he was gone.

You weren’t sure how you made it back to your house, your thoughts elsewhere as you tried to imagine what you could make for Zeus that would impress him.

Oboro was uncharacteristically quiet beside you on the entire walk, his mind obviously elsewhere as well.

“You okay?” You asked him, cocking your head to the side as he stood in the doorway to your home, his shoulder resting on the frame.

He nodded, smiling at you. “Never better.”

Not believing him for a second, you pressed on. “Did your father say something that’s bothering you?” He looked away, his eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t have to tell me, you know. I’m just worried about you.”

His eyes met yours again. “You’re worried about me?”

“You always have a smile on your face, no matter what, so seeing you without one is a little worrisome.” You stepped towards him, craning your head back to look up into his eyes. “You can talk to me if you want. I won’t judge you too hard, I promise.”

Oboro huffed a laugh through his nose. “You’re funny.” His fingers traced along your jaw as he stood up straight, gazing down at you. “You want to know what he was talking about?”

Nodding, you swallowed thickly, feeling the mood in the room shift, the tension between the two of you was palpable.

“He was telling me not to be a fool about you.”

Blinking, you tried to focus on the feeling on his fingers on your face, moving down to your neck. “About me?”

Humming, his thumb brushed across your chin, moving up to tug on your bottom lip. “He knows how much I like you. He just doesn’t want me to miss my opportunity.”

Eyes wide, you stared at him, not sure what to say, more content to watch him and see what he would do next.

“Ever since I saw you at the river that day, your face is all I can think about when I’m not with you. Spending time with you is all I want to do. I would be content to sit there and drink wine and watch you sew all day, just because I get to be with you.” He chuckled under his breath. “Shouta and Hizashi are tired of me going on about it. Well, Shouta is always tired, so that’s nothing new.” He pushed your hair behind your ear with his other hand. “They all just wanted me to tell you how I feel.”

You closed your eyes briefly, breathing in deeply. You let your hands rest on his chest, smoothing the fabric of his clothes beneath your fingers. “I like you too, Oboro. A lot.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping in pitch and volume when he spoke. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You felt his breath on your face, and you closed your eyes again when his lips met yours. Letting yourself melt against him, your hands slid up and over his shoulders. He kept his warm palm against your neck, his other hand moving to your waist to pull your body flush against him. He smelled like petrichor and sunshine, and though you were used to the smell because of all the time you spent with him, somehow it was different when he was kissing you, making your knees weak and your heart pound against your ribcage like it was trying to break free. You sighed when you felt his tongue press against your lips, your mouth opening to deepen the kiss, inhaling through your nose, not wanting to let the moment end.

When it did, your chest was heaving as you sucked in air, but you were still pressed against him, your fingers toying with the hair by the nape of his neck.

He looked down at you, his eyes bright and his lips twisted into a smile. “You okay?”

“Better than okay.” You were still out of breath, but you returned his bright smile.

“Good.” He leaned down to kiss you again, but this time the kiss was chaste and left you chasing his mouth for more. He chuckled. “Come on, let’s have some lunch, and then I think you should take a well-deserved nap. I know you’re exhausted.”

Humming in agreement, you took a step back, your hand moving to cup his cheek. “Alright. You’re going to stay, right?”

His smile got impossibly bigger. “Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.”

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