Qeya River [m] ghosts

the space between them thickens, her breath catching when he looms closer, pressing against her like a stormfront threatening to break. she stands there, unmoving at first, her dark eyes meeting his with a mixture of anticipation and something far deeper that she refuses to name.

the brush of his nose against hers is tentative, almost pleading. she doesn’t move, but she can feel her heartbeat shift, rapid and erratic beneath her ribs. the look in his eyes weakens her. he wants, he wants so badly it nearly hurts her, too. he had been good. behaved, just as she asked. served saatsine. for that, she would indulge him—he had earned it.

she watched him through dark lashes for a moment longer before she accepted it, accepted him. pressed her nose into his, exhaled slowly. "one day," she breathes, the words soft and unsteady on her tongue. it’s a strange, unfamiliar thought, one that doesn’t settle easily in her chest.

she hums as he moves, drags his snout from her face down the length of her neck, past her shoulder and to her ribs. “don’t make promises you can’t keep, blackfell.” she murmurs. she allows it, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the chill that always clings to her.

his tongue rasps against her back. it draws a sharp inhale from her, grounding her in a way she hasn’t experienced in so long. it’s foreign, but hardly unwelcome. when she speaks again, its whisper against the wind. “if i wanted you gone, you would have left a while ago.”