Random RO drabbles
It wasn't as if they wanted to get married in the first place. The quest just required a marriage certificate. It wasn't like it meant anything, at all.
But still, that night as they sat in the inn, they caught each other's eyes, before flicking away to the window or a particularly interesting point on the wall.
It was Tobais who said what they were both thinking first. "So, if we're married... shouldn't we get.. some of the benefits?"
Even the most stubborn girl would flush red at that, tossing her boot at him. "In your dreams. And then only if you're really lucky."
"You used to be cute." Tobais frowns, eyes narrowed. She was anything from it, with her tattered-looking clothes and harsh demeanor. Clearly they'd grown far different tastes in fashion, as he was dressed head to toe in durable but comfortable fabric. Perhaps it had been the church that had made him notice the way most of the women of the world dressed so.... scantily.
"Yeah, well, you used to not give a damn whether I was cute or not." Rylee can't help but lift a gloved hand to her messy hair. Maybe she'd been letting it get too out of control. She looks uncomfortable for a second too long, though.
"You never noticed anything." He scowls, turning his back on her and heading to the inn early.
She can't help but be speechless.
When the wolf bites down on his arm, he tries to swallow the pain--but he can't help it. He lets out a short, clipped cry. Blood starts to stain his sleeve, and he yanks back, but that only makes the tear in his arm worse.
And her stomach absolutely sinks when she sees this--the monster is dead in a second, and she's almost stumbling across the field to make sure he's okay.
But he's a priest and by the time she's there, he's already healed it back to perfect shape. He blinks up at her with a sincere smile on his face. "Worried?"
She stammers. "O-Of course. I just--if you die out here, who's going to heal me?"
Her fingers trace his face for a moment, leaning forward to press her forehead against his. He sits on the bed, blinking, somehow embarrassed, somehow burning on the inside, as she kneels before him, half-straddling his legs.
It had been months and he wanted this. He wasn't sure if he wanted it because they were married, or if it was because it was her, but he wanted this. So when she leans in, hand in his hair, and he can feel the leather of her glove on his neck, and the heat radiating from her face, all he can think is "I should want this."
But the should is prominent, just long enough for him to realize that should is a problem, and he pulls away.
"But--"
"Goodnight." He tucks his legs up, wondering if he was right--wondering if that "should" was because the "should" was in her mind, too.
But still, that night as they sat in the inn, they caught each other's eyes, before flicking away to the window or a particularly interesting point on the wall.
It was Tobais who said what they were both thinking first. "So, if we're married... shouldn't we get.. some of the benefits?"
Even the most stubborn girl would flush red at that, tossing her boot at him. "In your dreams. And then only if you're really lucky."
"You used to be cute." Tobais frowns, eyes narrowed. She was anything from it, with her tattered-looking clothes and harsh demeanor. Clearly they'd grown far different tastes in fashion, as he was dressed head to toe in durable but comfortable fabric. Perhaps it had been the church that had made him notice the way most of the women of the world dressed so.... scantily.
"Yeah, well, you used to not give a damn whether I was cute or not." Rylee can't help but lift a gloved hand to her messy hair. Maybe she'd been letting it get too out of control. She looks uncomfortable for a second too long, though.
"You never noticed anything." He scowls, turning his back on her and heading to the inn early.
She can't help but be speechless.
When the wolf bites down on his arm, he tries to swallow the pain--but he can't help it. He lets out a short, clipped cry. Blood starts to stain his sleeve, and he yanks back, but that only makes the tear in his arm worse.
And her stomach absolutely sinks when she sees this--the monster is dead in a second, and she's almost stumbling across the field to make sure he's okay.
But he's a priest and by the time she's there, he's already healed it back to perfect shape. He blinks up at her with a sincere smile on his face. "Worried?"
She stammers. "O-Of course. I just--if you die out here, who's going to heal me?"
Her fingers trace his face for a moment, leaning forward to press her forehead against his. He sits on the bed, blinking, somehow embarrassed, somehow burning on the inside, as she kneels before him, half-straddling his legs.
It had been months and he wanted this. He wasn't sure if he wanted it because they were married, or if it was because it was her, but he wanted this. So when she leans in, hand in his hair, and he can feel the leather of her glove on his neck, and the heat radiating from her face, all he can think is "I should want this."
But the should is prominent, just long enough for him to realize that should is a problem, and he pulls away.
"But--"
"Goodnight." He tucks his legs up, wondering if he was right--wondering if that "should" was because the "should" was in her mind, too.