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obiyuki-beebs · 3 years

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the less we say: one

read here on ao3

Obiyuki Trope Madness 2021 @snowwhite-andtheknight

Almost Kiss

Words: 1238

part 1 / part 2

______________________________

They had been back in Lilias for half a day when the letters came in, confirming the Northern lords’ approval to plant Phostryias. The pharmacy bustled with commotion as the news spread. Year’s worth of work and research finally coming to fruition would undoubtedly lead to a celebration.

Obi, Shirayuki, and Ryuu watched the cacophony grow, sitting together in the central pharmacy with the others. Yuzuri had only narrowly been prevented from uncorking mead with the promise from Shidan that they could have a party that evening.

Obi turned to look at the two of them, eyes crinkling with his smile.

“Well, well. Mission accomplished, wouldn’t you say? You two have worked hard for this.”

“Not alone,” Shirayuki laughed, smiling back at him, “You included, Obi. None of this would have been possible without you.”

“Oh, stop, you’ll make me blush.”

“You? Blush?”

“It’s been known to happen,” Obi replied matter-of-factly, legs kicking out in glee before he hopped to his feet.

Ryuu, having watched the exchange in silence, spoke up. “Obi doesn’t really blush. He just makes a certain face in situations where other people blush.” He paused and nodded his head. “Yes, that face.”

Shirayuki laughed out loud at the wide-eyed expression that Obi tried to hide with his forearm.

“I’ve been found out,” Obi relented, smiling sideways at them as he recovered, quickly snatching up a cork that an unknown faction of early revelers had dislodged.

“I’m going to write a letter to the Chief. She may know already, but I want to tell her myself.”

“That’s a great idea, Ryuu. Send her my regards,” Shirayuki said.

Ryuu left the room, gangly limbs carrying him away as Yuzuri began handing out cups of mead.

“Speaking of letters,” Obi said upon finishing his drink, “We should write to the Master. He’ll be happy to hear about this. Maybe he’ll finally be able to ask you about a certain special something.” Obi winked. Shirayuki’s eyes followed the twitch of his lip as he said it.

She hummed, also setting down her cup and waving off Izuru before it could be filled again.

“Obi, I’ll catch up with you around dinner,” she muttered, looking distracted. “I’m going out for a walk.”

Obi blinked. “Care for some company?”

She looked up at him, lips parted slightly.

“Not today,” she smiled, “Don’t worry. I’m not going far.”

“As you say, Miss.”

____________________________________

On the bank of the overlook outside of Lilias, Shirayuki knelt and pressed the fresh dirt in front of her with soft hands. Thick mid-summer leaves rattled overhead as the wind passed through them.

She sat there, staring at the soil-stained whorls of her fingertips as the afternoon sped by; the mountains in the distance glowed, and the answers she searched for danced just out of reach.

____________________________________

The months passed quickly, and the researchers involved with the Phostryias plant were kept especially busy organizing oversight and propagation.

Obi grew accustomed to scraping dirt from underneath his fingernails after each long day of helping Shirayuki transplant seedlings. Ryuu spent his mornings with ink and parchment after spending half the night observing the vines that grew steadily on the road to Lilias.

The second group in Oriold reported similar progress and local interest, and the issue with the invasive green buprestid was resolved when Suzu suggested netting. Yuzuri watched Obi smile almost fondly at the iridescent beetle before trapping it in a jar with the countless others.

And so it went.

____________________________________

The invitation from Wilant came as the leaves turned, dry and vibrant against the evergreens scattered across the north. Shirayuki stared at the signature of the letter from Zen, noting the even handwriting of Mistuhide before setting it down with a sigh. Outside her window, the first snow began to fall.

____________________________________

The dinner at the castle was uneventful. They spoke to familiar nobles and knights, skirting around the parquet with crystal glasses of wine.

“I received a note from Mister,” Obi spoke from somewhere behind her elbow, “They won’t be able to join us this evening. But tomorrow, before we leave, there should be time.”

“Mmm,” Shirayuki hummed in reply, cheeks colored by drink.

____________________________________

“I’ve decided,” Zen said, facing the window and the early morning light, “I want to ask her before you leave today. Mind helping me out…Obi?”

“Anything for the Master,” Obi replied, eyes dim as they bored into the prince's back.

____________________________________

The courtyard was cold, and the ever-present northern wind cut through even the thick wool of her shawl. Shirayuki stood alone. To the unacquainted observer, she was merely taking in the morning light that filtered in through the clouds. Few would notice the tension in the set of her lips, strung out by the question she wanted to ask as it poised there for so many months. She had decided.

She started at the soft crunch of snow behind her, whirling to greet Obi with a gentle but eager smile on her face.

“Obi!” she called, starting forward before he could slip away.

“Ah, Miss,” he says, forcefully pressing into the center of his chest like he can force the tightness that lives there to evacuate, “I think Master will be looking out for you soon.”

She didn’t respond. Tucked into a small alcove, Obi wished to himself that he could look into her eyes like this for a little longer.

“I’ll go get him then-” he began, but she had already reached out and taken his hand, palms tight through their gloves, and all he could see was the wind-whipped skin of her face.

“Don’t,” she implored, eyes searching his.

She was close; the red of her hair so, so dark, wisps pulled by the wind, and the light from the snow around them reflected softly on her pale skin. Obi inhaled sharply, wondering.

“Miss?”

“Obi,” she breathes, and he can only just hear the tremor in her voice, “Would you call me by my name?”

Their breath misted, caught in the stillness that made up the few inches now between them.

His hand gripped hers tightly, the other moving on its own, and he swallowed when he realized he had already brushed the hair away from her temple, gloved fingers grazing the skin of her cheek.

When did she get so close?

He almost laughs, tilting his head nearer like he’s done this before.

“Shirayuki,” Obi whispers, lips parting softly around her name.

Somehow this is familiar; Obi’s amber and Shirayuki’s clear, seafoam green eyes locked in a shared silence that holds them hostage.

Eyelids fluttering, she inhaled slowly, the musk of his breath she had only caught hints of before, and without realizing, she leans into him and-

“Shirayuki!”

Zen rounded the corner with a skip in his step, eyes bright.

“Zen,” she stuttered out, “You’re coming to see us off?”

“Ah, actually, there was something I wanted to ask you while we’re alone.”

“Right now? Can’t it-”

She turned, but Obi was already gone.

“It’s-um... it’s something important.”

Their eyes met as a cold wind swelled past her.

“What is it, Zen?”

After a moment, he spoke. “I know we haven’t discussed this in a long time. My feelings haven’t changed. I wanted to know...if I asked you to marry me, to stand at my side as my wife,” he smiled, “What would you say?”

The snow started falling then. Shirayuki faced him with her back straight.

#obiyukimadness21 #obiyuki #obi x shirayuki #Akagami no Shirayukihime #submission #almost kiss #snow white with the red hair

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realtacuardach · 3 years

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Anger and Release

Here's my entry for Match 2 of Obiyuki Madness 2021 @snowwhite-andtheknight : Roaring Rampage of Rescue. Many thanks to @jhalya for her beta reading. I hope y'all enjoy!

...

Steam curled out from Shirayuki's mouth as she peered through the frigid dimness of the morning towards the fortress. In her current frame of mind, she could almost imagine that the steam was actually smoke pouring from the maw of an enraged dragon who had had treasure stolen from her.

She didn't like being angry. Anger clouded the mind, affected the senses, and she liked to be in control and sensible at all times, especially in times where a cool head was needed.

On the other hand, though, the anger that was not at all going away was fuelling the adrenaline coursing through her blood, and she would need that adrenaline for what she was about to do.

So, she let herself be angry.

Angry at the renegade soldiers for capturing her and Obi in the middle of the night without provocation. Angry at how they savagely beat Obi after they'd already mobbed him and restrained him when he tried to rescue her. Angry at how they had been thrown into the back of the wagon like sacks of potatoes, the pain of his fresh, brutal wounds showing through his bruised eyes and stabbing her in the heart. Angry at how he managed to undo only his hands before removing her bonds instead of untying himself totally. Angry that, instead of saving himself, he'd given her an apologetic look before pushing her out of the cart and then collapsing himself.

The apology frustrated her almost more than anything else, because she was certain he was not apologetic for the right reasons.

"When we get back," she muttered to herself in the lessening gloom, "we're going to have a long talk about not sacrificing yourself for me. Again."

Truthfully, she didn't have much faith that this talk would stick any better than any of their previous similar ones, but that wouldn't prevent her from trying.

You idiot, she choked back a sob, don't you know how much it hurts when you do this?

She forced the tears away. There would be time for tears later, when he was home and safe and so bound up by her healing that he would have to stop and listen to her.

And he'll smile up at me and shrug and say he couldn't make any promises...

She shook her head. Focus.

Squinting, Shirayuki looked around the fortress and saw only one sentinel standing guard at the entrance. That seemed a little lackluster as far as security went, but she wasn't complaining.

A murmur like Obi's echoed through her brain. Miss, you can never be too careful. The ground's not the only place the enemy can be.

As though on cue, she heard a slight crackling of tinder above her as though a squirrel was making its way through the limbs. She craned her head upwards to see a man in the tree besides the one where she was hiding, well camouflaged against the gnarled bark.

That wouldn't do.

Looking around surreptitiously, Shirayuki saw a jagged stone on the ground. She reached out and took it, its roughness grounding her and steeling her resolve. After a quick glance towards the sentinel at the door, Shirayuki crept a few trees away from her hiding place and looked up towards her target.

Practice with both Kiki and Obi had served her well; the rock slammed into the back of the tree dwelling soldier's knee as she'd planned, forcing his knee to bend and for him to lose his balance. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud amidst all the dead leaves.

Even in her haze of adrenaline, she could see his chest rise and fall, and felt a traitorous sense of relief.

The sentinel ran over to check his fallen comrade, his face showing first alarm, then irritation. He nudged the fallen man none too gently in the ribs and cursed. Shirayuki reached into her satchel, the glass jar solid in her hand.

"Fool," the guard grumbled, "falling asleep in a -"

The glass jar cracked across the back of his head, the potent herbs smearing across his skin and hair ensuring that the blow would knock him out. There were a few beads of blood where the glass scratched him, but she recognized him as one of Obi's attackers and couldn't bring herself to care much.

She stalked across the grass quietly and quickly, her ears attuned for any small sound, but heard and saw no one as she made her way to the door. Despite herself, her hand trembled a moment as she grabbed the door handle but she swallowed it down. She couldn't hesitate.

Obi needed her.

…

Years of having to deaden old soldier's wounds and to temporarily incapacitate stubborn, hardy patients who would not listen to her and stay in bed were serving her well. It meant that she knew just the right herbs to use, even if she had to grab them on the fly from the surrounding forest and unattended cupboards. It also meant she knew just where to dig and press her fingers to weaken muscles and render others unconscious.

She moved through the halls with almost clinical efficiency. Guard in west wing, herbs. Guard in east wing, pinch at the neck. Guard on the staircase, jar of herbs to the back of the head.

For once, she was grateful for her small size, it allowed her to creep and duck around the shadows. Because she had to take everyone out on the way to Obi, otherwise she knew their chances of escape were slim.

Especially with Obi as injured as he is.

Shirayuki gritted her teeth, forcing her feelings to fuel her rage. This was not the time to falter.

It was best to be quiet, the element of surprise was key. But she noted with alarm that her attacks were getting more reckless the deeper she went into the fortress, whether that was due to her desperation and anger, she didn't know.

She didn't care.

As she crept past the guard who had been watching the dungeon door, she heard voices and scowled.

A dull slap of something against flesh. "Where is the girl?"

A hollow chuckle. "What girl?"

Wind whistled as something was swung through the air, ending with a muffled thud and a deep groan. "You know what girl we're talking about!"

"Can't say I do," Obi groaned in response.

There was a sound that sounded sickeningly like a blade being drawn from a scabbard. "I won't ask again."

"Good, because I won't answer again." Obi clicked his tongue, the sound strangely garbled. "Not good at taking no for an answer, no wonder you can't get a girl-"

Don't provoke them, Obi!

Usually, if Obi was still being snarky and insolent, things were okay; it was only when he reverted to death glares that things were serious. However, that was when others, especially Shirayuku and Ryuu, were at stake. He was annoyingly flippant when it came to his well-being, so Shirayuki had no way of telling how bad it was without seeing him. She pushed up on her toes and stared through the bars.

Her blood ran cold, then hot, then boiling.

Her knight was shackled to the wall, looking even more bruised and battered then she had seen him before. Blood ran in a stream from the corner of his mouth, his limbs were contorted where they were shackled with blood plastering the material to his skin, and his glare was lessening to a slit of golden, blood-shot eyes as his face swelled from all the bruising.

And there was a blade held to his neck.

Rage filled Shirayuki like a beaker overflowing with viscous, corrosive liquid and she felt herself grabbing a rusty bar that had fallen in days past from the door. There were two people with him, the element of surprise would be almost useless here.

And it was overrated anyway.

She only made one sound before she dropped her cover entirely, just enough to surprise the brute holding the blade to Obi's neck and have him facing her.

With that, she cast aside all secrecy, let out an unholy shriek that she hadn't known herself capable of, and pounced.

…

"That," Obi huffed besides her as they struggled into the clearing, him leaning heavily on her shoulder, "was something, Miss."

Shirayuki gave something like a nod in response, but kept going. Her adrenaline was just about running out, and she could feel all the aches in her body starting to emerge. Just a little further.

"Miss?"

Along with the aches, the reality of what she had just done was beginning to sink into her thoughts as well. All those guards slumped unconscious, their wheezing both reassuring and terrifying. The bruises and scabs forming on the backs of heads and necks. The pained groans of Obi's tormentors as they faded into delirium, clutching most likely broken legs or arms. It looked terrible and daunting in her mind.

And she couldn't really bring herself to regret it.

"Miss, are you okay?"

It wasn't until she felt his fingers brush the dampness of her cheek that she realized she'd been crying. "I'll be fine."

"Miss."

He had no right to sound admonishing right now. None at all.

"Miss." He sounded gentler, although the admonishing tone still lingered in the back of his voice. "You're bleeding."

"Sure it's mine and not yours?" She shot back, and immediately regretted it at his wince.

"Miss, we're far enough. You need to rest a minute."

Acquiescing, Shirayuki maneuvered them to a small cave. She lay him down and sat beside him, hugging her knees to her chest, the fear and fatigue and anger and anxiety all curdling at once in her gut. She was doing a poor job of hiding it, given that Obi reached up to brush his fingers against her face again. "Miss, please…"

Something about the touch and tone undid her, and she began weeping. "Don't," she choked, "don't ever do that again."

Obi frowned. "You know I can't promise that."

"Why?" She demanded, "Why can't you? Don't you realize how much you matter? Don't you realize how much it would kill me if something happened to you?"

He swallowed hard. "Not as much as you-"

Shirayuki glared down at him. "Don't. Just, don't."

Obi sighed and forced himself into a seated position. With a slight noise of distaste at his bloodied clothes, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She hugged him back fiercely and cried into his shoulder. He rubbed her back soothingly. "Thank you, Miss. I'm so sorry."

"Not as half as you'll be if you scare me like that again," she sniffled.

"Yes, Miss," she could feel his smile in the breath against her neck, warm and close and reassuringly alive.

She would need to talk with him more about this later, they were both well aware. But for now, they were both alive and safe.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

#obiyukimadness21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #Roaring Rampage of Revenge #Spitfire!Shirayuki #Obi's self-sacrificial nature is still going strong #much to Shirayuki's frustration

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ruleofexception · 3 years

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It can’t last (Twitch Universe)

@snowwhite-andtheknight <3

_____

The moonlight that filters in through the fogged window bathes the crisp white sheets and palm-leaf bedspread in a soft and ethereal light that is - in his humble opinion - far too romantic for only having known her a handful of days. Add the faint glow of fairy lights she has ribboned about the room and not even the sounds of the city - usually a symphony of blaring car horns, wailing sirens, unintelligible shouts and questionable bangs in the distance - dare disturb this intimate little bubble that is her bedroom.

It’s like the room itself exists out of time and space. Like crossing through that doorway has not seen him into another part of the apartment, but another realm entirely. Palms sweaty and heart struggling to remember what it is it’s meant to be doing, Obi braves a glance over his shoulder and down the hallway, as though to confirm he’s not left the apartment entirely.

The edge of the couch glares at him from the shadows, and his attention snaps back to the cozy, inviting space he now stands in.

“Miss, I hope you know I don’t, ahh-” rough and with nerves pulled tight, Obi rubs at the back of his neck, stiff from days spent dying and cramped on the couch, “Really, the couch is, erm-” careful to keep his gaze fixed on the bed, with its moon-soaked sheets whispering sultry promises that he’ll not regret this. He swallows hard. Tries again, “I-I mean, are you sure? Because-”

“Relax, Obi, or you’ll rip your stitches. Again.” Beside him, Shirayuki breathes, not much easier than he; a delightful blush - pale pink splashed through freckles - bleeds along the tips of her ears and into her cheeks, “And, yes, I’m sure.” Fluttering hands smooth down the front of her dress, “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered.”

“R-Right.” It’s proving difficult not to let his emotions get the better of him. Already his throat is too tight. Chest too small to house his broken lungs and swollen heart. “Well, um, th-thank you.” A final squeeze at the back of his neck and he drops his hand, ramming it into the pocket of his sweatpants - the ones she chose and bought for him - with a weak grunt, “I appreciate it. More than you know.”

“You’re welcome.” Shirayuki smiles up at him, emerald eyes sleepy and kind, while red curls fall from a messy bun to form a sort of halo around her head. “And I appreciate that you didn’t die on me. That’d have been hard to explain to the landlord.”

At that, Obi snorts; and although he almost immediately regrets it for how the stitches along stomach and ribs pull a little tighter, ripping a pained groan from the back of his throat, it’s worth it if only to feel worried fingers mindlessly fan out across his abdomen as though she aims to hold him shut should his stitches give way.

While she’s stayed by his side for countless weeks, reading to him as machines beeped in a sterile room, she’s only really known him for a few days, and yet-

“Ahh, Obi are you okay-” blinking up at him a moment, only just now seeming to realize that she’s unwittingly closed the distance between them to press her fingers to his belly, the blush in her cheeks darkens. Breath catching in her chest, fingers flex and curl into him a moment, before slowly retreating to flutter over her heart, “S-Sorry, I just, uhm-”

“It’s okay.” Smile genuine, he aches - craves - to reach out just as she’d done; only, given the chance, he would choose to capture her hand in his, or brush his fingers along the heat of her blush. Feel her skin burning against his. “I don’t mind. Honest.”

“Mmmm… good.” Head tilting slightly and eyes glossing over, it’s only a heartbeat that she stares at him with lips slightly parted, clearly lost in thought, before she startles with a gasp, “I’m, uh, g-going to shower. But, please, m-make yourself at home. I’ve already put the rest of your clothes in the bottom drawer of the dresser and-” without meeting his gaze, she gestures blindly towards the bed that is still beckoning to him, “And I usually sleep on the left, ah, side, but if you prefer-”

“The right is fine with me.” Despite how his heart is little more than a weak and trembling puddle in his chest at having been so casually invited to share her home, the words are a low rumble in the back of his throat. A rumble that, he notes with an odd sense of delight, causes her eyes to flutter shut a moment and a shiver to work its way through her.

Uncertain, or like her tongue has suddenly grown thick in her mouth, Shirayuki nods and rasps, “O-Oh. Good. Okay. Well, then, I’ll-” clearing her throat with no luck, her movements are wobbly as she backs out of the bedroom, hands now hopelessly fisted in the skirts of her dress, “I’ll not be long.”

As she retreats down the hall, wearing a blush that rivals the colour of her hair and tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, Obi can do nothing more than watch with a melted heart and hands that wish to reach after her, and wonder how it’s possible for her to have known him only a few short days and already care for him more than anyone in Kira-kai had in his entire lifetime.

Perhaps more puzzling though, the fact that the same is true for him; he’s known her only a few short days and has already come to realize, deep in the scarred and torn remains of his chest, that he cares for her more than he’s ever cared for another.

And for her to so easily make him feel so much, with a single smile or touch, is far more frightening than the wrath of his ex-family. Especially when he’s not even able to find the strength or courage to taste her name upon lips and tongue-

Nor ask her if she might consider saying yes to a date with a man whose past is soaked in blood, as the sheets of her bed are soaked in moonlight.

Obi sighs inwardly and, with stiff, sore steps, wanders further into the warm glow of moon and fairy lights. Further into safety and warmth. As one finger trails along the light green fronds printed upon her bedspread - its material softer than any he’s ever known - his heart seeps into his lungs like water, making it difficult to breathe.

He’ll get no sleep tonight.

Not because he thinks anything will happen between them - though he would certainly not object or deny the chance to know what her lips feel like against his - but because the whole room smells of her. It’s intoxicating. And somewhat alarming, given how badly he wishes to bury his face in her pillow and just breathe.

But mostly, he thinks, sleep will avoid him, not because he’s afraid of having his throat slit while lost in slumber, but because he’s never actually shared a bed with someone before. Never done anything between a woman’s sheets that did not involve them crying out his old-name with fingers fisted in his hair and back arching.

He’s never allowed himself to sleep nor dream in the company of another.

And, soon, he’ll be beneath these moon soaked sheets, laying next to the only woman who’s ever seemed to give a shit about him. Not about his connections, status or how his body may service them, but him. That thought alone is-

It’s terrifying.

This life - this home - that Shirayuki has so effortlessly offered to share with him, is everything he’s ever wished for, while knowing it could never be his. And now that it’s here, within reach of his trembling fingertips, he can’t help but fear that this, just like everything else in his life, has an expiration date.

A date that looms on the horizon, as sure as the setting of the sun, that marks tonight as the beginning of the end.

Unceremoniously and non-too gently, Obi flops back on the bed with a groan stuck in his throat and emotion clawing at the backs of his eyes. Moonlight lays across him, a blanket not of this world, as his hands fist in the comforter, and the gentle, warm scent of her reaches up from the sheets to embrace him.

It’s not as though he’ll be injured forever. A few weeks at most, before the stitches come out and she looks at him with those wide green eyes of hers and a soft smile, and tells him he’s fixed.

And that, he knows, will be the end.

That will be the day he loses everything he always hoped to have, but knew he never could...

#obiyukimadness21 #ans #obiyuki #only one bed #twitch universe #I really wasn't going to continue with this universe #it was going to be done #and it probably still is #but like... maybe once in a while depending on the prompt you'll get a scene lol #anyways #*jazz hands*#day one is done.. let's see if I can't wrangle something up for day two #*sweats in procrastination*

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snowwhite-andtheknight · 3 years

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Obiyuki Trope Madness: Semi Finals

We have finally reached our Final Four! The match dates are:

March 27: Almost Kiss vs. There’s Only One Bed March 28: Roaring Rampage of Rescue vs. Anguished Declaration of Love

Whichever trope wins their day by having the most content will go on to the Championship Match!

Tag: #obiyukimadness21

Medias: Fic, art, edits or playlists

[PLEASE READ ALL GUIDELINES BEFORE POSTING YOUR WORKS]

Guidelines:

All work must be your own

The main pairing is Obi x Shirayuki

Fics, art, edits and playlists are all valid works for this challenge

Must contain one trope from the day’s match up

Must be tagged #obiyukimadness21 within the first five tags

With tumblr’s tagging system on the fritz, please also @ the obiyuki comm in your submission

You may submit more than one entry for each day!

You may submit entries for both teams (a single entry can ONLY be counted for a single prompt, not both)

Fics must be over 500 words to count as a fill

All NSFW content must be tagged and under a Read More!

Please label with your chosen trope! (It will probably be obvious, BUT just in case)

If, for some reason, you need to post your Match 2 prompt before your Match 1 prompt, you may post both on the first day

Works violating the guidelines will be disqualified from Trope Madness

Be nice

Play hard

Can I base my work off of other fanworks? (aka, make fanart of a fanfic, write fanfic based on fanart, make an edit of a fanfic or write a fanfic for a playlist, etc)

This is absolutely welcome! If your medium is the same (making a fanfic of a fanfic, or fanart inspired by fanart), please check with the creator of the original fanwork, but otherwise just credit the work that inspired you.

What works are considered valid entries?

Fic, art, edits & playlists, provided that they aren’t “ballot box stuffers” – no quick stick figure comics please, and we do not allow mangacap/gif + quote in caption edits. Fics must be 500 words+; art does not have to be a full colored finished piece, but at least a finished sketch; playlists between 8-12 songs.

#obiyuki #shiraobi #Obi x Shirayuki #Akagami no Shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #obiyukimadness21

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another-miracle · 3 years

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“Psst! Here, Obi! Do the thing!”

Obi glances behind him, eyes narrowing towards the voice. Suzu waves his clipboard frantically at him from behind the curtain, gesturing wildly. It’s dark backstage and the stage lights are way too bright for comfort to truly know what exactly Suzu wants.

Obi squints and sees Suzu positioning his two hands in front of him...and pulling them towards his face? Ah. Well. Obi roughly gets what the guy wants him to do, but- seriously? This is his best friend’s girlfriend- or soon-to-be girlfriend - right there. What the hell is he thinking?

Suddenly, a mop of pale azure hair pops out from behind him and Obi bears witness to one of Yuzuri’s infamous scheming grins. Ah- that would explain Suzu’s desperate pleas. Obi wouldn’t want to seed that ground either.

He turns back to Shirayuki, who at this point is probably a hundred shades of confused judging by the twitching of her brow and downturn of her mouth. Obi sighs. It’s not that he doesn’t want to- god knows how many times he’s imagined this moment- it’s... just not...ideal. Not that he has any room for complaints, the chances of this happening ever again are probably zilch.

Resisting the urge to scrub a hand down his face, Obi tugs at the cape around his neck threatening to put him in a chokehold. It’s just acting, he can do this, he can be professional- even if he finds the idea of kissing a girl while she’s asleep all kinds of wrong and creepy.

Taking a deep breath, he bites out his next lines, “O fair maiden! What ailment has been inflicted upon thee? Alas, it seems only a kiss would wake the fair lady! If not I, then no one else!”

Obi braces himself over Shirayuki’s “sleeping” face and slowly lowers himself toward her. Irritatingly, at the corner of his eye, he can see Yuzuri excitedly slapping Suzu’s arm repeatedly. Below him, Shirayuki takes in a quick intake of breath. In that instant, his heartbeat quickens and Obi is suddenly extremely aware of the flush that has overtaken Shirayuki’s face and down her neck. Slowly, he moves toward her, going closer and closer-

A hand is abruptly pushed up against his nose.

“Aw, Yuki! You ruined it!”

Shirayuki swiftly sits up, hair fluffed in different directions. Her eyes zero in on Yuzuri who has her hands outstretched in supposed-indignation. “This was just a rehearsal! And Obi’s just a stand-in for Zen! You shouldn’t force him to do anything he doesn’t want to!”

Loud jeers sound in response. Shirayuki’s frown only deepens.

“Aw Miss,” Obi tilts his head away from where her hand is still pushed against his face. “I wouldn’t say I didn’t want to.”

Shirayuki turns on him with the most deadpan expression he’s seen on her, and Obi can’t help but cower with a sheepish grin.

“And you,” she admonishes, fingers pinching his cheek. “Don’t just listen to what those two have to say. They’re the directors, but again- this is just a rehearsal.” She emphasizes the last word in the direction of backstage. Yuzuri sticks out her tongue in response and then proceeds to drag Suzu away to some other corner of the stage.

Shirayuki gives a huff of annoyance, fringe flying, and Obi laughs. He stands up then offers his hand to her. She looks up at him, irritation still high on her cheeks, but takes his hand anyway.

“Don’t be too hard on them,” Obi tells her, pulling her to standing. “They just want to have some fun before the real main star shows up.” And to take a jab - and a terrible one at that, if he’s honest- at being his wingmen apparently.

Shirayuki’s hands land on her hips, looking every semblance the mother to their friend-group she seems to be. “It’s all fun and games now until someone gets hurt.”

Obi laughs, a hand going up to his shoulder, heart giving a painful throb. “Yeah, well, that’s what we have you here for, no?”

Shirayuki glances at him from the side. “Someone has to hold the brain cell, I suppose.”

A burst of laughter explodes past his lips, and Obi takes in the way Shirayuki’s pleased smile only grows wider. God, it’s endearing how proud she is of a silly joke like that. Recovering from his laughing spiel, he nudges her side.

“C’mon,” Obi says, arms crossing at the back of his head. “Let’s go see what else they’re up to before they hurt themselves again.”

A loud crash sounds from downstage. Obi and Shirayuki look at each other.

She muffles a giggle behind her palm, and Obi coughs out a bark of laughter of his own.

“Too late.”

#obiyukimadness21 #obiyuki #almost kiss #akagami no shirayukihime #yixin’s fic #deadass wrote this in an hour cuz the idea popped up in my head #so this is ROUGH #but whatever *throws*

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

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.

#obiyukimadness21 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #only one bed #my fic #citrusy #selkie au #LISTEN i had some fun tags #but tumblr decided to spit this out a day ahead of time #but rest assured we are really earning the 'inappropriate use of pelts' tags

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