Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
CHAPTER 123 WHAT ARE THE KAMUNABI DOINGGGGG đđđ how u gonna put the fate of japan in the hands of an UNBORN BABY and give up chiaki to KING DIDDYBOSHI just like that đđđ kunishige iâm counting on you go save your girl
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
idk if iâd ever fully commit to writing a MHA reader insert BUT if i did itâd be a quirkless powerscaler reader x either deku or bakugouâŚand she gets his attention via viral youtube analysis video
Itâs the first thing that you blurt out to Simon when he takes his shirt off.
Youâre already in your bra, laid against the plush pillows of your bed. Your eyes are set on your boyfriendâs chest, taking in the ink that covers the fading scars littered across his torso and the size of his massive tits.
âWot?â He asks, hands reaching for his belt, fingers already working the buckle. He follows your eyes and notices you staring at his pecs.
âItâs just not fair,â you reach out and flick his right nipple with your finger. He yelps and covers it with his hand.
âOw! What was thaâ for?â He asks laughing at the clear mischief in your face when you reach for his chest once more.
âItâs not fair, Simon!â you hold one pec in each hand, pressing them together while squeezing your fingers around the plush surface. âWhy are your tits so big? What do you need them for?â
You let go of his chest and cup your own breasts. Looking down at them with a sad little pout.
He shakes his head, laughing at your comparison. Crawling into the bed before crowding himself over you, lowering himself to kiss you. âOh my sweet girlâ
He begins to kiss from your jaw to your neck, slowly making himself down from your collarbone to your cleavage, nipping softly at the supple skin.
He cups your left breast, kissing at the top of it before going to kiss the other. âThese are bloody perfect, no need to get any ideas in that little head of yours.â
âI know they are,â you replied, closing your eyes when he begins to travel down your chest, kissing at your sides, calloused hands still gently golding at your waist. âThatâs why youâre going to breastfeed our future children.â
He looks up, tip of his tongue still peeking out from between his scarred lips. Letting out a huff of air he shakes his head again, hooking two fingers at the lace of your panties. âAlright.â
â
Heâs sat on the couch with his usual lounge wear. An old stretched out shirt and his boxers.
You walk in, riding of your heels and putting down your work tote in the dining room table. Walking into the living room you find him watching some random documentary on the history channel while eating a bowl of cereal.
He can tell work has left you stressed, with the way you just stand in front of him. Tapping his feet at the ankle to have him spread his legs open for you to stand in between them.
âLoose the top,â you order him, tugging at the stretched out collar of his shirt. âNow.â
He shrugs, handing you the bowl of cereal before taking his shirt off and leaning back against the couch. You promptly straddle his lap, leaving the cereal in the coffee table.
He flinched the moment your hands reach his chest, palms cupping his pecs before your cold fingers squeeze them together. You let out a pleased sigh before resting your forehead against his collarbone. âIâve been dying to hold these all day.â
âShitty day?â He asks, unbothered by the touch. He simply pats the back of your head after you nod against his skin. âThought so.â
Summary: A masked knight stumbles into your village. You offer your help and a place to stay, which slowly blossoms into something more.
A/N: I caught a cold while writing this one, so please forgive me for any glaring mistakes! I'll come back and edit them later. Likes, reblogs, and comments are very appreciated :)
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | Also on AO3!
After a second round of ale, Ghost informed the men heâd walk you home. You found yourself bidding them an overly enthusiastic farewell, doling out every nicety you could muster because it seemed like the easiest path toward earning their approval. Even then, you could feel their eyes tracking the two of you as you left the tavern, as if there was something meaningful to be gleaned from the distance between your bodies or the length of your strides.Â
âThey arenât nearly as intimidating in the stories,â you said, once you were along the path back home. As lovely as Soapâs horse had been, you preferred walking to ridingâyou felt more comfortable when you had steady ground beneath your feet.Â
âTheyâre soldiers,â Ghost replied, which was more than fair.Â
In the stories, soldiers rarely seemed burdened by the uglier realities of their work. The violence existed only to heighten the romance of it allâa roughened man showing tenderness only for the girl he loved, the lucky girl blooming under his adoration like a flower in the sun. Sheâd become special, cherished, noteworthy, all the things her ordinary village life could never afford her.
You understood the appeal well enough, but you couldnât conjure up a way to explain that without speaking cruelly of the market girls. Despite their immaturity, you didnât actually harbor any judgement toward their fantasies. You mightâve turned out exactly like them, had you been born to a different woman. So you borrowed one of Ghostâs favorite conversation tactics and kept quiet instead.
You continued along the path together, sticking to the shaded side. This summer would be remembered for years to come, you thought, for how remarkably, excruciatingly hot it had been.
âWhyâd you play stupid in there?â Ghost suddenly asked.
You faltered. âWhen did I do that?â
âThe map,â he said impatiently.Â
âI wasnât playing stupid,â you protested, fighting the embarrassment twisting up in your stomach. âUs commonfolk arenât as well-educated in geography as you are.â
Ghost remained skeptical. âYouâre hiding something, girl.â
On the contrary, you werenât hiding enough. There was hardly an aspect of your life he hadnât already seen. Ghost knew what you looked like when you were happy or pensive or half-asleep; what your brother wrote to you about and where you stored his letters; how you sweated over the hearth while cooking and how you organized your shelves; the way you hunched over your worktable whenever you needed to concentrate.Â
âYouâre the secretive one,â you shot back, because it was easier to argue than process the fact that he currently knew you more intimately than your own living family did. âGhost isnât even your real name.â
âDid you think it was?â
Before you could respond, a rabbit darted across the path and disappeared into the underbrush. You listened to the rustle of leaves until the sound faded away, wishing you couldâve escaped with it.Â
âLetâs not talk about it,â you said weakly.
To your relief, he didnât push you any further. You completed the rest of your walk in silence, but as your cottage slowly came into view, you couldnât help but feel even more horribly out of your depth. This was all your existence amounted to: your home, your garden, your work. You didnât know enough to even recognize what you didnât know. How much of Ghostâs life remained hidden simply because you lacked the imagination to ask about it? And if you did know the right questions, would he actually be willing to answer them?Â
While Price mightâve considered your ignorance to be a favorable trait, you didnât share the sentiment in the slightest. What you liked was being knowledgeable, being aware. You liked learning from your motherâs words, from your brotherâs writings, from the women whose homes you visited for deliveries and illnesses. You liked knowing how people lived, how they differed from one another, how you could help ease their ailments. But your mother was gone, your brother was by the sea, and there were definite limits to what you could learn on your own.Â
Ghost slowed near the edge of the property, gazing out over your land that wasnât technically yours.
âI can stay with them at the tavern,â he said, shifting his weight onto his back foot. You doubted he possessed a single bone of uncertainty in his entire body, but this had to be the closest heâd ever come to it. âOrâŚâÂ
Your spiraling was halted by the abrupt realization that with the arrival of his Guard, Ghost would also be leaving soon. His impending departure shouldâve been a cause for celebrationâyouâd regain your privacy, the gossiping would cease, and you wouldnât be stuck quarreling with an infuriating man every other conversation. But in light of everything youâd seen and learned today, none of that seemed to matter.Â
Even if they were merely the men he worked alongside, Ghost still had people to return to, places to go beyond this village and its corresponding stretch of forest and river. Meanwhile, you would remain tethered to the same life as all the women before you. Were you really that different from all the wistful girls you knew, dreaming up stories to keep themselves distracted from their reality? Were they jealous of you, or were they jealous of the knight?
âI donât mind if you stay here.â You spoke tersely, fearful that if you ran your mouth for too long, you might accidentally spill every terrible thought rattling around inside your head.Â
Ghost nodded once, promptly settling the matter.
***
When you went to the market a few days later, you were accompanied by both Ghost and Gaz. When you asked about Soap and Price, neither of them said anything, but you were familiar enough with their endless song-and-dance of secrecy to not press the matter.Â
You hadnât been anticipating them joining you, but it wasnât all that terrible. Their company kept you from wallowing alone in your thoughts, and Gaz was friendly enough that speaking to him didnât require a thousand exhausting layers of formality. Still, walking around in public between him and Ghost still had you feeling like a sheep flanked by two wolves, but even that comparison didnât seem drastic enough. If they were creatures of the land, then you belonged to the river; if they belonged to the river, you were merely an insect skimming above the surface.
With the harvest festival approaching, the village was livelier than usual. New seasonal stalls crowded the market square, and unfamiliar faces milled around the locals. The market girls stood in their usual huddle, chatting amongst themselves. You noticed them noticing you, but you resolved only to approach if you actually had somethingâor someoneâto offer.Â
âDo you have any interest in marriage?â you asked Gaz, once the three of you were tucked away inside the bakerâs shop.
Gaz gave you an easy smile, entirely unphased by the question. âNot yet, Iâm afraid. Iâve got to earn more first.â
âDonât let her start,â Ghost warned him, as though you were moments away from launching into an elaborate spiel on the intricacies of courtship and wooing maidens. âThey wonât leave you alone if you do.â
You selected a loaf of bread and deposited it into your basket, which Ghost had insisted on carrying before youâd even left the cottage. âI never told anyone to approach you, Sir Ghost. The girls did that entirely on their own.â
Gazâs mouth fell open in disbelief. âGhost was getting approached?â
âBefore they became acquainted with his personality, yes.â
Both you and Gaz dissolved into laughter, loud enough to earn a wary glance from the shopkeeper. Ghost grumbled something under his breath about the pair of you being idiots, but you caught his eye for a brief moment, blinking just after he did. His eyelashes were nonsensically pale, you thought distractedly, far too delicate of a feature for someone built like him.
âTheyâre too young,â Ghost said, directed more toward Gaz than you. âBetter for you than me.â
That was new. You were still adjusting to the idea that Ghost had people in his life he could behave comfortably around, but this threw you off for an entirely different reason. Heâd never spoken about the girls like this before, had barely volunteered an opinion that revealed anything about how he viewed courtship or marriage or romance at all, assuming he even allowed himself to entertain such notions in the first place. It was a painfully basic standard of decency, really, but it was nice to know that he had a sense of morals regarding these matters.
âHow many were there?â Gaz asked, as uncautious as ever. He was squinting between you both, seemingly just as intrigued by the revelation. You looked down at yourself in case heâd spotted some glaring flaw in your appearance before you had, inspecting your skirt for any stray dirt or leaves caught in the fabric.
Ghost remained silent, apparently unwilling to reminisce.
âHe was quite popular,â you replied in his stead, to which Gaz snorted.
Upon finding nothing wrong with your clothes, you motioned for Ghost to hand over the basket so you could retrieve your coin purse. To your confusion, he ignored you completely. Gaz paid for the bread instead, and when you demanded to know whether theyâd arranged this beforehand, Ghost began squinting as well, almost as if he were smiling beneath the mask.Â
***
Ghostâs presence began to lessen in frequency as he spent more and more time occupied with the Guard. With or without company, you kept yourself as busy as possibleâyou delivered another baby two villages over, tended to a family stricken with fever, and cooked meals for two just in case he happened to return in time to join you. On the evenings you ate alone, you sat outside and distracted yourself with games you used to play with your brother: counting how many different wildflowers you could spot in the grass, how many different insects you could hear in the trees, how many different animal-shaped clouds you could spot in the sky.Â
It wasnât particularly enjoyable, but it was fine. Youâd lived like this for years. Once Ghost was permanently gone and enough time had passed, youâd settle back into routine.
Four solitary evenings came and went. On the fifth, you abandoned the games and wandered over to the garden after dinner. You laid down without much consideration for how you might look, near the bushes your mother had planted while she was still alive. The wildgrass itched against your skin, but the sensation felt more grounding than it did unpleasant. You closed your eyes and breathed in the scent of fresh dirt, lulling yourself into some semblance of calm.Â
You werenât sure how much time had passedâit couldâve been minutes or hoursâwhen a rough voice broke you from your reverie.
âWhat are you doing?â
âEnjoying the weather,â you replied, without bothering to open your eyes.
When you finally did, you predictably found Ghost looming above, staring down at you as if youâd lost your mind. Still, he extended a hand toward you, stooping over so itâd be within your reach. As he hauled you upright, an unsteady mix of nervousness and elation coursed through your veins, near-overwhelming in its headiness until you shoved the feeling aside and blamed it on the abrupt rush of blood to your head.
âThank you,â you said, brushing stray blades of grass from your clothes. âWhereâs the Guard?â
âOut.â He hesitated, a telltale sign that he was debating the merits of speaking further. âTheyâve gone drinking.â
âWhy didnât you go with them?â
âDidnât want to.â
Did that mean he wanted to be here instead? Even if you had the courage to ask, you didnât want to push your luck and spoil the moment. You set your hands on your hips, searching for a pastime that could prove more entertaining than sitting idle and watching three men drink away the evening. There were always chores to do, and Ghost was usually content to keep you company as you went about completing them. But with your time together becoming increasingly finite, you didnât want to waste it on something as boringly routine as housework.
âLetâs take a walk,â you suggested.
âItâll be dark soon,â Ghost said, dubiously glancing up at the sky.Â
You followed his gaze to find a large cloud hanging overhead, streaked orange with the beginnings of sunset. When you tilted your head just right, it vaguely resembled a hawk in flight. The hawk-cloud had to be a sign, you thought, so you waved Ghost off and set off toward the forest. After a moment, he followed.Â
You wound up by the river, near the same outcropping of rocks where you usually washed your laundry. In the fading light, the water looked more purple than blue, glittering with the shifting current. You walked along the bank until you found a cluster of smooth stones near the riverbed. Ghost lingered at your shoulder, watching as you picked one up and weighed it in your palm.
âDo you know how to skip stones?â
He shook his head.
âNeither do I,â you admitted, but you tossed the stone out anyway, curving your arm the way you imagined you were supposed to. It struck the surface once before sinking beneath the current. You watched the ripples fan out, ring after widening ring, until the water returned to its undisturbed state.
âGood one,â Ghost teased.Â
You wouldâve teased him back, thrown out some silly challenge for how he couldnât do much better, but today you were just pleased that he was still willing to indulge you. You picked up another stone and tried again, only for it to sink just like the first, swallowed up by the current. It was pathetically irrational, but the repeated failure suddenly made you feel sadâthose stones might've rested in that exact spot for centuries, but now that youâd gone and disturbed them, they were forever lost underwater.
Resisting the urge to keep fidgeting, you stepped away from the river and tucked your hands behind your back. When youâd first brought Ghost here, you hadnât cared whether the outing was novel or impressive; all that mattered was completing your work. But now that he had other places he could beânow that heâd deliberately chosen to spend this evening with youâyou felt compelled to prove the merits of your presence. How were you supposed to do that by taking him somewhere heâd already seen? Youâd run out of new things to offer him before heâd even left.
âYou never showed me the river crabs,â Ghost said, as if heâd plucked the thought straight from your mind.
Heâd remembered another inconsequential thing youâd said. That absurd flutter returned to your stomach, but you tamped it down before it could fester into something worse. Gathering your skirt high enough to keep the hems from soaking through, you waded into the shallows and crouched beside the rocks to peer underneath. The crabs usually hid in the shade, after all. Ghost followed behind you, barely disturbing the water with each step.
âWatch your toes,â he warned dryly. âDonât want them bitten off.â
You splashed water at him halfheartedly, but you were too late to realize how close heâd been standingâthe spray struck all the way up his shins. Ghost startled for half a second before retaliating with equal force. You gasped as cold water splashed across your skin, then dropped your skirt and splashed him harder in return.
And then you and him were play-fighting in the river like children, the crabs forgotten completely. This entire situation was so ridiculousâfacing off against a knight in the lowest-stakes battle of his lifeâthat you couldnât help the laughter bubbling out of you, loud and unbecoming. The sound echoed through the trees, startling a few birds from their branches and dissolving your earlier unease away with it. Ghost made a strange breathy sound in response, unfamiliar enough that it took you a moment to recognize it as a laugh.Â
âWe definitely scared them away,â you wheezed, struggling to catch your breath.
âNext time,â Ghost said, before splashing you once more. You let him get away with it, choosing not to question how confidently he assumed youâd be doing this again.
***
It was dusk by the time you returned to the cottage, still too early to sleep. You didnât want to sit around indoors in damp clothes, but Ghost beat you to the hearth, starting a fire without you having to ask. You picked raspberries from the garden and sat in your usual spot as he stoked the flames, depositing half the fruit in his outstretched palm once heâd settled beside you.
âYouâre very capable,â you told him, because he was.
Ghost fixed you with a hard look. âWas that a joke?â
âI was being serious,â you complained. You ate a raspberry and let him wait while you chewed. âBut now I take it back.â
He didnât respond, studying you instead. You drew your knees up to your chest and rested your chin against them, tilting your head sideways so you could study him back. You hadnât sat this close together since that afternoon in the tavern, but if Ghost was the one initiating it, then it had to be permissible. Besides, there was nobody else around to make you second-guess yourself, nobody to stare or whisper or speculate. You could be indecent in peace.
âYouâre capable, too,â he said, somewhat unevenly. He still hadnât rolled up his mask to eatâmaybe he wouldn't do it with you staring at him so intently, but you didnât want to look away.
âIâve had a lot of practice doing things on my own.âÂ
Then you fought the urge to smack yourselfâwhy did you have to say that so dramatically? Still, Ghost didnât react the way you feared he might; if anything, he seemed to be genuinely considering your words.
âDid your brother help you?â he asked.
âOnly when he wanted to,â you said. âHe was young, so I usually just let him play instead."
You thought of how you used to wade into the river with him perched on your back, pretending you were two explorers embarking on a grand, fantastical journey. Sometimes youâd fake a stumble just to make him squeal, threatening to drop him into the current, only to catch him again before he could fall in, every single time.
âYou mustâve raised him well.â
Ghostâs voice had gone so uncharacteristically soft that it made pinpricks of heat erupt across your skin, warmer than the hearth itself. You wanted more of it, wanted to coax out at least one more sentence of praise, but that desire came tangled with the understanding that it would be significantly easier if all of thisâhis presence, his attention, the intensity of his gazeâwere to cease at once, rather than slowly thinning out the way it had been since his Guard arrived. But that was beyond your control, and sulking would be of no use. You could savor his company while you still had it.
You fixed him with your best imitation of his glare. âWas that a joke?â
Without answering, he tossed a berry at you with perfect aim. It bounced harmlessly off your forehead; you caught it before it could tumble into the grass, wiped it against your sleeve, and popped it into your mouth. Ghost immediately averted his eyes to the fire. You continued watching him, hazy in the rising smoke.
***
The following week, you sat grinding herbs at the table with your back facing the door, but you could tell Soap had arrived without even having to see him. He didnât knock, for starters, and the way the hinges squeaked gave you the impression that he was making no effort whatsoever to be discreet.
âCome outside, lass,â he called. You glanced over your shoulder, and just as youâd suspected, there he wasâcheeks flushed pink, hair crookedly tousled by the wind. âGot somethinâ to show you.â
Dutifully, you rose and followed him outside, expecting a mildly amusing sight at best, perhaps a bird with unusual plumage or another unfortunate bounty of courting gifts abandoned at the edge of your land. Instead, you found Ghost with a horse.
Not merely a horse, but a stallionâthe most ferociously beautiful one youâd ever seen. With the limited equestrian knowledge youâd picked up from Ghost, you could tell the animal was exceptionally cared for, with hefty muscle and a lustrous mane. He stood noticeably larger than Soapâs horse, which made sense considering Ghost himself was built larger than most men. His coat was a deep mahogany that gleamed rosily beneath the sunlight, while his forehead was speckled white like scattered stars.
Ghost led the stallion toward you, keeping a gentle hold on the reins. âGot a horse.â
âI gathered as much,â you said, though without any malice; you were too fixated on the animal to bother with pestering him. âHeâs so handsome, isnât he?â
Soap snickered at something under his breath to Ghost, though you couldnât make out the words. While the two knights lapsed into yet another one of their silent, inscrutable conversations, you stepped closer and cautiously pet the stallionâs neck just as youâd indirectly been taught, recoiling only slightly when the animal huffed a burst of warm air against your shoulder.
The movement immediately caught Ghostâs attention. He turned back toward you, watching carefully while Soap trailed off to climb atop his own horse.
âHave you named him?â you asked.
Ghost rested a hand against the stallionâs neck, right alongside yours. âNot yet.â
Before you could ask anything else, Soap shouted your name brightly from atop his horse, guiding the animal in a giddy little circle. âFancy a ride?â
Naturally, you wound up seated behind Ghost again. You expected only a short round along the property, just to acquaint yourself with the stallion, who appeared docile and obedient to each of Ghostâs commands, but Soap took the lead and continued further down the path.Â
For the very first time in your life, you set off with no clear destination in mind. At first, you assumed he and Ghost might be scouting the area, but the ease with which they navigated each bend and fork in the path betrayed that theyâd already explored this stretch of village before. They talked as they rode, cryptically recounting some campaign theyâd fought in years past, trading unfamiliar names and places back and forth like pawns in a game only they knew the rules of. You remained quiet, blocking them out in favor of listening to the horses, to the steady clop of their hooves against packed earth.
The path wound past cottages and open farmland, through golden-green fields just about ready for harvest. A gaggle of children stopped to gawk at your small party, shrieking in amazement when Soap urged his stallion into a sprint before reining it back into an easy trot. Further ahead, a farmer paused his work and lifted a weathered hand in greeting, squinting against the afternoon sun. It was odd to pass them all by horseback, to sit elevated above the same people you usually stood among.Â
âAre you alright back there?â Soap eventually asked, slowing his horse to fall in line with you.
âOf course,â you chirped, forcing yourself to match his earlier levity. âIâve just never done this before.â
Ghost huffed. âBeen on a horse?â
âBeen on a horse forâfor leisure,â you corrected. Your gaze drifted over the passing fields before settling on the broad sweep of Ghostâs back.Â
âYouâve been missing out, then,â Soap crowed. You knew he wasnât trying to be rude on purpose, but his words didnât strike you as particularly pleasant, either. âCannae say youâve truly lived till youâveââ
âYou arenât missing out on anything,â Ghost interrupted, without looking back at you. âBarely have time for it ourselves.â
That managed to soothe you, just for the time being. You leaned forward to speak closer to Ghostâs ear, the same way you had the first time youâd ridden behind him. âNow that youâve got a horse, will you be leaving soon?â
âProbably.â
âBut the festivalââ
It was your turn to be sharply cut off, right as the path narrowed beneath a crooked-leaning tree.Â
âWatch your head,â he barked out.
Together, you ducked beneath a low branch, but your attempt was far clumsier than his. Your forehead bumped awkwardly against his backâinstinctively, you pressed a palm between his shoulder blades to steady yourself. Ghost immediately went rigid, his entire back tensing beneath your touch. He relaxed a half-second later, but by then youâd already snatched your hand away, settling it back against the stallion.Â
âSorry,â you whispered.Â
You werenât sure why you were attempting to be subtle when Soap was already unabashedly grinning at you both, but you kept up the act for Ghostâs sake, just in case.
âDonât apologize,â Ghost muttered, before flashing a warning look toward Soap, who was clearly on the verge of making another crude, speculative comment. âAnd donât you start.â
***
âI need you to read somethinâ for me.â
Ghost would be leaving tomorrow. Heâd told you as much earlier in the day, and now the day was nearly over and he was seated at the edge of your bed, clearly ready to retire for the night. Meanwhile, you were still puttering around the cottage, uselessly rearranging your shelves for the second time that evening. You couldnât bring yourself to lie down just yet; once you did, youâd have nothing left to do except stare at the ceiling and think.
âCanât you do it yourself?â you asked indignantly, adjusting a vial rack that had already been safely tucked away from the edge.
âIâm busy.â
You turned around to find him doing absolutely nothing. âClearly, you arenât.â
âYou owe me a favor,â he insisted.Â
Of course heâd choose to collect it nowâtoday was his final opportunity to do soâbut what you didnât understand was why he was making the same exact request you had. Perhaps, if you played along, heâd offer up another detail or two in explanation. You crossed the room and intentionally stopped a few paces in front of him, holding yourself back from standing directly between his legs.Â
Ghost handed you a scrap of parchment. It wasnât the fancy sort you associated with merchants or nobility, but the same inexpensive kind your brother used whenever he wrote to you, with a few lines sprawled across one side in plain black ink. As you looked it over, you attempted to take a deep breath, but your throat snagged mid-inhale. Ghost sat and watched you stupidly cough into the crook of your elbow, betraying no reaction when you thrust the parchment back into his grasp.Â
âI need to tell you something,â you said unsteadily, once youâd regained some semblance of composure.
âTell me, then.â
You desperately wished for Soap to burst through the door and drag you away on another pointless horse ride. You wished for Gaz to appear and launch into another informal conversation about money and marriage prospects and freshly baked bread. You wouldâve even accepted Price interrogating your mental aptitude if it meant escaping this situation. Was this really how Ghost wanted to spend your final evening together? Not bickering or reminiscing or even quietly basking in each otherâs company, but embarrassing you instead?
âSir Ghost,â you began slowly, hovering at the very precipice of humiliation. âIâm illiterate.â
Ghost silently considered the revelation. It shouldnât have been particularly shockingâthe vast majority of villagefolk couldnât read or writeâbut youâd built your entire life around your competence. People trusted you to help them because they believed you knew things. Admitting ignorance, especially the same sort of ignorance they carried themselves, felt like itâd threaten your very livelihood.
âI figured,â Ghost said. âYou were looking at that map upside down in the tavern.â
You wanted to snatch the parchment back from him, tear it apart into a million tiny pieces, and scatter them all throughout the forest. Or maybe itâd be a quicker alternative to shove the paper straight into your mouth instead, to eat it whole so that neither of you would have to see it ever again. Stubbornly, you forced yourself to study the inked lines, attempting to decipher meaning from their shape the same way youâd tried with the map. There werenât enough words for a proper message, unless it was some sort of military code. But if it were, Ghost wouldnât be showing it to you at all.Â
âIs it an address?â
âSâwhere weâre headed next.â His voice went gritty at the edges, even harsher than usual. âThought Iâd give it to you, in case you wanted to write.â
Write to him.
âIâm sorry,â you said helplessly.
What you couldnât bring yourself to say was that scribes were expensive, that you already rationed your money cautiously enough just to write to your brother a handful of times a year. You kept his letters tucked away in the chest partially so you wouldnât be tempted to burn through your savings replying to each and every one. But beyond that, you couldnât simply reject thisânot when it was such a momentous thing for him to offer, especially given his profession.
It was nearly impossible to imagine he hadnât discussed it with his Guard beforehand, or at the very least weighed the decision carefully on his own. Maybe you could send Ghost a letter in the wintertime, splurge on it if the rush of the cold months brought in enough money. You werenât sure what youâd even share with himâperhaps a few stories about the women you met, or bland descriptions of the thousand repetitive tasks you completed every day and week and month and year. Nothing exciting enough to stand level with the life he lived, but maybe he already knew to temper his expectations. Maybe he preferred it that way.Â
Before you could think better of it, you stepped directly into the slot between Ghostâs legs. His hands shifted slightly, pausing for a moment near your hips before settling atop his own knees.
âI like being alone,â you blurted out, swallowing hard before continuing. âI know itâs uncommon, but I really do prefer it. I like doing things how I want them, and I like taking care of myself. But Iâitâs been nice having you around.â
And then you waited for him to finally tell you everything. You wanted a confession in return for all the pieces of your life youâd already shown him, some grand unveiling of the mysteries youâd staunchly avoided pressing him about. Who had poisoned him all those weeks ago, what his real name was, why heâd remained with you even after his Guard arrived; where heâd come from, why heâd stayed in your village, what sort of upbringing had turned him into this odd, secretive man sitting at the edge of your bed.Â
Instead, Ghost just looked at you for a long moment and said, âYou should go to sleep, girl.â
The dismissal felt like heâd dumped a bucket of freezing water over your head. It wasnât fair of him to act as though what youâd just admitted could be blamed on nothing more than fatigue, as if one nightâs rest might dissolve your feelings entirely by morning. But if he did acknowledge this properly, with all the sword-sharp attention and precision you knew he was capable of, then what? You couldnât even write.Â
âI donât like it when you call me that,â you said, not only because it was true, but also because it was the only way you could protest against him.Â
âWhat should I call you instead?â
âMy name is fine.â
Ghost said it just once; you shivered despite yourself. In response, that unfamiliar, breathy sound escaped him againâhis laugh. It should've irritated you, but instead you merely felt relief that at least one of you could find a trace of amusement within this situation.Â
Then he set the parchment aside and reached for your hands. You let him take them exactly how he wanted, leaning into the rough scrape of his skin against your own, warm and calloused and real. He interlaced your fingers together and held them up as if on display for you both. Standing between his knees, you allowed yourself to fall pliant, wondering for one dizzy, dangerous moment if he might draw you even closer.Â
He didnât. That was probably a good thing, you thought, because then all of this would truly become too much to bear.
***
The next morning, Ghost left shortly after breakfastâyour last meal togetherâpromising you heâd come back to say goodbye before he left for good. You were in the garden when he finally came back, hands aching from pulling weedsâitâd been Ghostâs chore while heâd stayed with you, but now that he was leaving, youâd have to reacquaint yourself with the task.
An occasion like this shouldâve been accompanied with rain or fog or, at the very least, a dense overcast. Instead, the sky was mercilessly bright, warming you and the soil and the plants down to the very root. Ghost was dressed in full armor, just as heâd been the day you first met him. His sword rested properly at his hip, secured within a polished new scabbard. He sat astride his stallion, outfitted in fresh leather tack, and rode all the way up to the garden like heâd come to carry you away, but he simply dismounted and gave the horse a firm pat against his flank.Â
âFound a name for him,â he said by way of greeting.
You reached out, smoothing your hands over the stallionâs pinkish-mahogany coat. âWhat is it?â
Ghost looked at the garden, then back at you, then at the garden again. He seemed uncertain, shifting beneath your attention in a way that reminded you of when heâd asked whether he could continue staying with you even after his Guard arrived. You felt a twinge of sympathy at his discomfort, but you refused to relent, staring into his eyes so intently that you were certain theyâd haunt your dreams for weeks to come. Dreams youâd wake from alone, in the bed youâd have to relearn how to sleep in after all that time on the floor.
âRaspberry,â he said at last.
Your hands stilled against the horseâs neck. âWhy?â
âHeâs the same color.â
There werenât enough words in the world to contain what that did to you, so you threw your arms around him instead.
It was a stilted embrace, more like hugging a blank vessel than a real person. Ghostâs armor dug into your cheek and chest while his arms settled stiffly around your waist, so hesitant that it felt like he was barely holding you at all. You found yourself wishing youâd done this earlier, before heâd hidden his skin away beneath all of this metal, but you doubted he wouldâve accepted your touch so readily otherwise.
You didnât tell him it was the first proper hug youâd initiated in years. The women you helped usually embraced you in gratitude after successful deliveries, and their unruly young children sometimes clung your legs until you gently shook them off. But those moments had always been fleeting, inconsequential. This was different because of how badly you wanted it, because of how youâd consciously chosen it first.
âWill we meet again?â you asked, with your face still smushed against his breastplate.
His answer came out muffled through the armor. âI canât promise you anything.â
âYou donât have to.â You drew back just enough to look up at him, keeping your arms looped around his middle. âI justâif you were able to, would you?â
âI would.â
He uttered it so quietly that you nearly dismissed it as wishful thinking, a foolish invention of your own imagination. But then you remembered how intentionally heâd held your hands yesterday, how deliberate heâd been whenever he touched you the handful of times before. How readily he was accepting you now. This had to be real.
You stepped away and withdrew the small jar hidden in your dress pocket, accepting that you were no different from the market girls after all. You could be older than them, more independent, more capable of maintaining your own livelihood, but deep down, you still wanted the same impossible things they did. You stood exactly the way they had before him: a village girl presenting a silly, earnest gift to a mysterious knight in hopes of being chosen.
âThis is for your scars,â you said, your heart painfully lodged somewhere in your throat as you held out the salve. âI made it for the mother you took me to visit, but I had extra. It should help with irritation once the weather turns cold.â
Ghost accepted the jar warily, balancing it in the center of his gloved palm as if he was afraid he might accidentally crush it. For what would likely be the final time, you longed to see his face. You wanted to know whether he was surprised, whether he was pleased, whether he was feeling anything at all beneath that dreadful silver skull. More selfishly still, you wanted something tangible from him in return, beyond an address you could barely useâsome object to anchor your thoughts to once he was gone. Memories shifted with time, softened around the edges no matter how fiercely you tried to preserve them. But you knew itâd be unfair of you to ask, so you didnât.
âThank you,â he said roughly, with the same begrudging gentleness heâd shown you the night before. His armor shone so brightly beneath the sun that it almost hurt to look at him.
You hugged him again. It was unnecessary and overwrought, especially given the length of your first embrace, but he allowed it anyway.
***
Taglist (comment if you'd like to be added!): @xncasi @nbdblogger @alyenna @delta98-idk
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming