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lovemouche · 3 months

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lovesick all over my bed ౨ৎ

satoru x fem reader

18+ / mdni

It was never meant to end up like this.

Satoru had stated the boundary of no strings attached prior to entangling himself with you — metaphorically and, quite literally too. The relationship was meant to start and end with physicality only. That was the one rule he made sure to implement for himself. That was where he drew the line.

"Y-yes. right there. Please."

And yet, these days, he's been finding himself caught in the cavern of a predicament, worn down to the point where he can't think of much, besides tangled limbs and open mouthed kisses, hot and wet as he'd breathe heavily against your form. Worn down to the point where he can't think of anything else besides you.

Even now, as you lay underneath him, needy and bare, shaped like a deity, challenging the outline of divinity, he's still thinking of you. Always.

And it's driving him crazy, consuming every waking thought of his. Because he just doesn't know how it all led up to this. Satoru can't fathom how an inkling of affection he dismissed as nothing more than a momentary impulse burgeoned into something more profound. Into something so alarming. Into—

No.

No. No. No.

No. He doesn't want to name the emotion just yet. He can't. Labelling it just solidifies his fear into truth, and the prospect that the feeling blossoming inside his chest aligns with what he’d dreaded feeling the most crosses every boundary he had set for himself.

Love, the most twisted curse of all.

"Ah, Satoru—"

The call of his name drags him out of his reverie. It's whispered softly against his skin, flushed as he clings to you desperately, secure enough to hold you in place, but never too much to hurt you.

"Yeah?" he asks tentatively, his movements being put to a pause. After loosening his grip around your body, he shifts the bend of legs on the mattress to keep his weight from overwhelming you. "You okay, princess?"

His hand travels from the curve of your waist to trace the outline of your jaw, carefully and, much too lovingly for someone who's only meant to use you for emotional release. "Does anything hurt?" he asks, thumbing the apple of your cheek with gentle strokes, noticing how you shiver under the touch.

You shake your head, but it's not enough to convince him otherwise; the lack of a verbal response only has his mind flooding with concern even more, especially because you've never stopped him mid-sex. Not once in the entire seven months of your arrangement.

"Talk to me," he encourages.

Instinctively, you lay your hand on top of the one toying with your cheek, your fingertips lightly rubbing at his knuckles in an attempt to calm him down. Satoru feels his chest constrict. It's not a big gesture, he knows. But it feels so intimate—so sweet.

Anyone would assume he would've gotten used to it by now, but even with familiarity and time, everything you do only seems to make his heart race even more.

He's grateful the dim lights don't manage to catch the flush beginning to spread throughout his features, but he's certain you can feel the way his cock hardens inside you, even if you don't comment on it—which he's also grateful for.

God, he's hopeless.

The control you have over him is dangerous, he realizes. Part of him wants to pull away before any damage can be done. But the other, bigger part welcomes the peril with open arms.

"It's just..." you trail off, letting out a sigh of frustration as you try to find the right words.

"Should I pull out?"

"No," you huff, tone authoritative. Out of reflex, your legs tighten around him, thighs caging his waist to keep him in place—because you definitely don't want him to pull out. Not with how good he's filling you up right now. "Just... shut up for now."

Satoru acquiesces to your request. Despite his reservations, he nods, albeit a bit reluctantly, and makes a testament to his obedience by pretending to zip his mouth up with pinched fingers.

"You just... seem a little out of it nowadays, like you're distracted. So I wanted to know if you were okay."

You take a brief pause. Satoru waits with bated breath.

"We're friends too, you know? You can talk to me about these things. It doesn't always have to be sex," you add softly, probing gently to gauge the situation while making sure to leave enough room for him to make the decision to open up. Because really, he doesn't owe you any explanation.

He doesn't owe you anything at all.

Satoru feels his heart swell, pressing up against his sternum, too big for his chest—everything he feels for you is too much for him to carry.

I know, he thinks bitterly to himself. That's the problem. I don't want to be your friend anymore.

But he doesn't want to lose you either, and he knows that if he let the dam break, if he let loose every emotion he's been struggling to keep at bay, he'd only ruin everything.

He'd lose you. And he'd lose himself in the process.

So Satoru parries your question with ease, because honesty isn't his forte—both towards you and himself.

"Nothing's wrong," he insists, raising an arm to pin your hand up against the bedsheet, intertwining your fingers with his. "Don't worry."

Resting his forehead on top of your sweat kissed one, he resumes his movements languidly. "Just...just focus on how good I'm making you feel, o—oh—okay?"

He trips on his words at the sensation of being sucked in and out of your sweet cunt, and he prays—god, he prays—that the feeling of being inside you is enough to compensate for not having you entirely, even if just for a moment.

But it's not enough, and Satoru can't help but feel that it never will be.

He slides in and out of you, his desire heavy. And you moan in response, chest rising from the laboured breaths that follow each sinful thrust, hips gyrating automatically to match his pace.

And it feels good. It feels so fucking good. But the pleasure isn't enough to cloud his senses and dispel his anxiety. Because he's looking at you and his heart is already tugging at its seams. And Satoru feels helpless.

And he's not sure what it is—if it's the high that ensues being wrapped around your tight walls, or the way you fit so perfectly against him, as if you were made to be held by him, as if he was made just to hold you—but something about tonight has him desperate for more than just late night messages that lead to loveless fucking.

Something about tonight has him desperate for all of you. Mind and body, heart and soul.

The notion is heady, and the revelation steals his breath. It roots itself inside his chest and demands his attention, aching to be acknowledged.

He's so caught up in his head, so lost in thought that he doesn't even register the fact that his movements have been put to a halt and his cock has stilled inside you. Not until you press a shaky palm to his chest in worry.

"Hey," you breathe out. "What's wrong?"

Satoru has to bite his tongue to refrain from telling you that: everything is. There are so many things he wants to tell you, but he's scared it'll poison every next moment. He's scared he'll lose you in the only way he knows he can have you.

Everything is wrong, he wants to say.

Instead, he stays quiet.

There an ugly feeling gathering in the pit of his stomach. He wants, so badly, to say something—anything. But he can't. The only reaction he can offer you is the widening of eyes, and his mouth parting in shock before his lips purse into a disappointed frown.

Being in... fuck he'll name it. Being in love shouldn't indemnify him from acting like an idiot, but love has a way of blurring all reason, all rationality.

He waits for you to speak again, unwilling to break the silence himself—too afraid of what might follow, too afraid that you've already seen right through him.

And he feels pathetic, of course, for being reduced to such a scattered mess, because he's supposed to be the strongest. And for the most part, he is. He really is. But when it comes to you, he can't seem to live up to that title. When it comes to you, he can't seem to be anything else but yours.

The yearning—to mean something more to you, to be everything to you—settles in his bones. It's draining his soul. He's standing on the edge of a cliff, left to teeter somewhere in between unbridled emotion and self restraint. It's a precarious position to be placed in, and he's hanging by a mere thread.

Seconds stretch into what feels like an eternity. The air feels like it's heavy with impending demise, and the silence engulfs him like black tar. It's suffocating, to say the least. Satoru isn't sure if he wants to prolong the moment or get it over with. He feels his heart pound against his chest—that treacherous thing.

So when you finally say something, he breaks.

"Satoru, what's wrong?"

He falls apart.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out, voice timid and exceptionally apologetic, head hanging low in refusal to meet your eyes. The sight of him is pitiful; you can't, for the life of you, understand why.

It's strange seeing Satoru in such a vulnerable state. Not because you don't assume he doesn't have his own baggage to carry, but because you never thought he'd be willing to expose this side of himself to you.

It's everything out of the ordinary, like witnessing god crumble at your feet, or having an executioner beg to be pardoned for all his killings.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. Only this time, it feels more resigned, like he's admitting defeat. It almost feels like he's apologising to you. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

But how could that be? and why would it ever be?

"What? Sat—ah."

Satoru falls slack on top of you, pressing the weight of his body against yours. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, chin moving to rest on your shoulder as he evades your gaze. You feel his hands travel south as he continues whispering a mantra of apologies into your skin.

It's a vain endeavour, trying to lift yourself up to get him to talk to you properly. The grip on your hip keeps you anchored, leaving you no room for anything other than compliance; it's as if he's scared you'll leave if he lets go even for a second.

And honestly, he is.

"Satoru. Don't be like this please."

"I'm sorry," is all he says.

"Satoru, look at—"

"No."

"Look at me."

"I'm an idiot."

"No," you interject. "You are not."

"But I am." It's muffled, his voice. A Little shaky too. "I know I'm an idiot, so don't," he pleads. "Don't look at me. I don't want you to see me right now. I can't."

"You need to tell me what's wrong."

"You're going to hate me. I'm going to ruin everything."

"How?"

"I'm sorry."

"Satoru."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, his grip on you tightening, fingernails digging soft crescents into your skin. "I'm sorry; I got too greedy."

Your eyebrows pinch.

Satoru can practically feel your confusion, and he wants to die, because you don't get it. You just don't get it. Not at all. Not one bit. Not until he whispers five words that knock all the air out of your lungs:

I love you. I'm sorry.

There's a pregnant pause, hesitant, unsure. And then:

"Wha—what? No. You—you're lying."

Satoru shakes his head in disagreement, vehemently refusing your claim.

Lying? How could he ever lie about such a thing? He could feign indifference at most, try to brush past it and let the feeling linger until it subsides. But he can't, and it hasn't, and he's tired of pretending that he doesn't love you anymore. Because he does. He loves you too much to push those feelings away.

"It's true," he admits. "I—I tried not to... you know? I tried not to—fuck, I'm sorry."

The confession should have lifted the burden, or at the very least, eased it. But his lips struggle to form words, and his heart ricochets against his ribcage.

"Look at me," you implore.

"No."

He's certain you must hate him now. That by tomorrow, or tonight even, he'll leave the place—the person—he's associated with home as nothing more than a stranger.

Even worse, a mistake.

"Please?"

But your arms crawl to wrap around his torso, and your legs squeeze around his own in silent reassurance, like you're trying to convey to him that you're not going anywhere. And if that isn't enough to convince him to listen, Satoru doesn't know what is.

When he finally raises his head, your eyes linger on the contours of his face, studying his crestfallen expression. He's anguished, that's for sure. You just can't wrap your head around the fact that it's probably you who's causing his misery.

Because Satoru is... well, Satoru—he's the strongest.

So who are you to be able to wreck him this much?

"Do you..." you swallow, still unconvinced, words quieting down to a whisper. "Do you really love me?"

Without looking at you, Satoru nods. it's not enough of an answer, though.

"Tell me, please."

He lets out a slow, shuddering exhale, chest stuttering on his next breath. He's silent for a few seconds, thinking. Until finally, with a slight crack to his voice, he says. "I do." very tremulously. "I love you."

Which is painful to admit, because he doesn't even know what to do now that it's been said. Satoru's not sure how he can give you something he's never been shown. He's not even sure if he deserves it, or if you'll even want his affection.

But there's so much of it, so much love growing in his chest that he fears it'll crack his ribs. So he's willing to try, even if it might ruin him in the process,

He's willing to do anything, so long as it's for you.

It's as simple as that, really.

"You're lying. I—you can't be serious."

Well, maybe not really.

"I am." Satoru nods pathetically, like a wounded puppy, like his heart is in tatters because you can't believe him even after he's laid himself so embarrassingly bare like this. "I love you."

"But you said—"

"I know," Satoru interrupts, and his lips are bowed. "I know. I'm a hypocrite. I got too selfish. But I can't help it anymore, I'm sorry. I love you too much to push these feelings away."

Satoru feels every muscle in your body go stiff at the admission. You're rendered speechless, once again; hesitant in your words, even more so in your actions. And he feels like he's made a grave mistake, that right then and there, he's ruined everything—he's lost you.

But then the right corner of your mouth quirks, hinting at the faintest of smiles, and an obtrusive feeling of hope sparks within him, fizzling out his nerves like cheap soda.

"Why would you be sorry?" you scold, flicking his forehead. "The only thing you should be sorry about is worrying me. Do you know how scared I was seeing you go MIA while you were still inside me?"

"I'm still inside," he reminds you.

You groan. "this is not the time."

"I know." He frowns, but the tension from earlier is nowhere to be found, and Satoru feels even more at ease now that you've begun playing with his hair, twirling the strands between your fingers. "I'm sorry. I don't really know what else to say."

"You don't need to say anything else."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"You aren't upset or anything?"

"Why would I be?"

"I don't know." He lowers his head to rest on top of your chest, all watery and emotional, pressing his cheek just above where your heart lies to find solace in the rhythmic pitter patter of beats. "I just expected you'd be mad or... disappointed, you know?"

"Well I'm not, so don't worry about anything, okay?"

"Okay," he hums.

You don't say anything after that. Neither does he. It's quiet for a while, and you take the time to think while basking in the afterglow of such a raw moment.

It's all still so surreal.

You feel like the universe is playing a prank on you, like Satoru's orchestrating a sick, cruel joke to mess with your system. But you're cradling his head in your hand, lovingly tracing arbitrary shapes on his scalp, and you swear you can hear how fast his heart is racing.

It's in tandem with yours.

And perhaps, that's all that matters.

Maybe you were an idiot not to have realised it sooner. Maybe you were just in denial too. But it's as clear as day now, and you really can't deny the fact that it has always felt like you and Satoru were made for each other. Because when you take his hand into yours, and it feels like the spaces between your fingers were shaped just to hold him like this, you're certain that it's always been more than just sex.

"Satoru?"

"Yeah?"

"Me too."

He gives you a quizzical look. You smile.

"I love you too."

#writing #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen #reader insert #gojo smut

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mmountseb · 9 days

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Your Shirt

Warnings: fluff, mentions of sex

Notes: haven’t wrote one in so long and decided to finally give it a go hope you like it

Your Shirt - Mason Mount fluff

As Mason lays beside Y/N in his bed, his heart swelled with a potent mixture of desire and pride as he gazed upon her wearing nothing but his England shirt, with his name proudly displayed on her back.

As much as she was from a different country she still felt the need to wear his country shirt with his name on her back

The fabric draped over her curves in a tantalizing display, accentuating her beauty and igniting a fierce sense of possessiveness within him.

He wanted her in a way they hadn’t been intimate yet

With each glance at her, Mason felt a surge of desire well up inside him, knowing that she had chosen to wear his shirt, a symbol of their connection and intimacy.

The sight of her wearing it filled him with a sense of validation and belonging, as if she had willingly wrapped herself in his identity, embracing all that he was.

It was the deeper, more profound sense of intimacy and trust that it represented.

In that moment, as they lay together in the quiet intimacy of their shared space, Mason felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the woman beside him, for her unwavering support and love.

As he reached out to trace the letters of his name on her back, Mason couldn't help but feel a surge of desire course through him, the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips sparking a fire within him that burned with a fierce intensity.

Their bodies pressed together in the quiet intimacy of their shared space, as much as he was supposed to be paying attention to the film she had picked he couldn’t help himself but letting his mind wander to how would it feel to have her ride him while wearing his name on her back

His mind was travelling to forbidden territory, fueled by the intoxicating sight of her wearing nothing but his England shirt.

With each gentle movement she made, the fabric of the shirt shifted against her skin, accentuating her curves and igniting a primal desire within him.

As he watched her, a vivid image began to form in his mind—a fantasy of Y/N pleasuring him while still wearing his shirt.

The thought alone sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine, his body responding instinctively to the imagined sensation of her hands roaming his skin beneath the fabric.

Lost in the intensity of his desire, Mason couldn't help but hug her from behind while hiding his face on the curve of her neck and pulling her even closer enough to let her know that he was turned on

Y/N's innocent apology cut through Mason’s reverie, snapping him back to the present moment with a jolt.

He blinked, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the realization of where his thoughts had taken him.

Y/N: "I'm sorry, Mase. I didn't mean to... you know, make you feel... turned on."

Her words were tentative, laced with a hint of uncertainty as she glanced at him, her cheeks tinged with a delicate blush.

Mason: "No babe it's not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for."

His voice came out a little too hastily, a touch of awkwardness coloring his tone as he tried to reassure her.

Mason: "I mean, it's just... you look really good in my shirt, and... well, I couldn't help but let my mind wander a bit."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise at his candid admission, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she processed his words.

Y/N: "Oh, um... thank you. I guess I didn't realize the effect it would have on you." She said turning around to face him on his embrace

Mason: "Yeah, well... you have that effect on me, Y/N. You always have."

His words came out softer than he had intended, tinged with a vulnerability he hadn't planned on revealing.

But as he looked into Y/N's eyes, he knew that he couldn't hide the truth from her—that she had always held a power over him, a power that transcended words and boundaries.

Y/N's smile widened at his admission, a warmth spreading through her at the depth of his feelings

She felt bravely enough to bite her lips and take her hands to his hair.

Not before taking his hands further down on her body earning a gently tugging on her soft but cheek

Y/N: "You have that effect on me too”

In that moment, as they shared a knowing glance, Mason felt a sense of connection and understanding wash over him

He felt the need to pull her even closer even if it wasn’t physically possible anymore

As their eyes locked in a shared moment of understanding and vulnerability, the air between them crackled with unspoken tension. In a surge of longing and desire, Mason leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from Y/N's.

With a whispered exhale, Y/N closed the remaining distance, her lips meeting his in a kiss that ignited a firestorm of passion between them.

Their mouths moved together with a fervent hunger, each touch sending sparks of electricity coursing through their veins.

His hands found their way to Y/N's waist, under the shirt, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss, their bodies melding together in a primal dance of desire.

Y/N responded eagerly, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him, her heart racing with the intensity of their connection.

Their kiss was filled with an urgency born of longing and need, each touch a silent plea for more.

They lost themselves in the heat of the moment, the world falling away as they surrendered to the raw, unbridled passion that consumed them.

In that fleeting moment, as their lips met in a fervent embrace. There was no turning back anymore now

Lost in the intensity of the moment, they surrendered to the fire that burned between them, their kisses growing more urgent and desperate with each passing second.

Time seemed to stand still as they melted into each other, consumed by the raw passion that ignited their souls

Mason reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from Y/N's face as he searched her eyes for any sign of regret or hesitation after pulling away from the kiss

Mason: "Are you okay? I didn't mean to... I mean, I hope I didn't..."

Y/N silenced him with a soft kiss, her lips meeting his in a tender embrace that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

Y/N: "I'm more than okay, Mase. I've never felt more alive than I do in this moment."

Mason felt a surge of relief wash over him at her words, his fears and doubts melting away in the warmth of her embrace.

Mason: "Good. Because I... I don't want to stop kissing you. Ever."

Their laughter mingled with the soft sounds of their shared breaths, filling the air with a sense of joy and contentment that seemed to transcend time and space.

Y/N: "Then don't. Kiss me again."

And with that simple invitation, Mason leaned in, capturing Y/N's lips in another electrifying kiss

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brokebonewritings · 3 months

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Moonlight Lovers

Gale Dekarios x Fem! Reader

Tags: 18+, Fluff, Smut, Domestic Bliss

Summary: You and Gale spend a lust filled evening together. One of the many shortly after returning to Waterdeep and getting married.

Word Count: 1.9K

Navigation || Masterlist

"The moon is a beautiful sight tonight, isn't it."

You jump as the husky voice appears to suddenly, but you turn around knowing that it's your husband. Gale leans in the doorway of the balcony as you stand at the rail looking up at the stars. You smile as you watch him walk to you, placing a kiss at the temple of your head.

As the cool breeze ruffled your hair, you closed your eyes and leaned into Gale's touch. His presence was a comforting anchor amidst the vastness of the night sky. Together, you both gazed at the luminous moon, its ethereal glow casting a soft radiance over the world below.

It seemed as if time stood still in that moment. The worries and troubles that had plagued you throughout the day melted away. You often sought solace in the late hours of the night, finding solace in the gentle dance between darkness and light.

Lost in your own thoughts, you whispered, "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to touch the moon."

Gale chuckled softly, his warm breath tickling your ear. "Oh darling, if only we could reach out and grasp it. But sometimes, it's the beauty of things just beyond our reach that enthralls us the most."

You turned to look at Gale, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of longing and wonder. There was a distant look in his gaze, as if he were envisioning making it a reality. It was one of the many reasons you fell in love with him - his ability to see the extraordinary in the ordinary.

Lost in the allure of the night, you both continued to stand there. One of his hands holding your waist, as the other grips the rail. The world around you fell away as you found yourselves drifting into a shared reverie.

Suddenly a shooting star streaked across the sky, drawing a gasp of wonder from you. It was as if the universe was responding to your unspoken desires, affirming that there was indeed still magic left in this world.

"You've bewitched me, truly, you are even more stunning than the moon." Gale whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle rustling of the wind. "I would give anything to make your dreams come true."

You turned to face him, your heart swelling with love for this man who cherished every ounce of your being. "And I, you," you replied, a tender smile gracing your lips.

He leans in and nuzzles your jawline with his nose. Peppering your skin with light kisses. As Goosebumps prickle your skin, you feel an electric current surge through your veins.

In that moment, you both knew that the moon was not the only thing that held irresistible allure in the night sky. The depth of your love for each other seemed to transcend the earthly realm, reaching heights that only the stars could fathom.

Gale's lips find yours, and the world around you dissolves into a sea of passion and desire. In each kiss, there is an unspoken promise of forever, a pledge to explore the wonders of life together.

"Do you ever regret what we have done?" You ask, the question comes suddenly and without warning. This causes him to stop his shower of his kisses.

Gale pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. His hand gently brushes against your cheek as he speaks, his voice filled with sincerity.

"Regret? Never," he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. "Every step we've taken, every choice we've made, has led us to this moment. And in this moment, I am the happiest man alive."

"I don't regret it either," you reply softly, your fingers intertwining with Gale's. "All those risks we took, all those obstacles we overcame, they were worth it to be here—to be with you."

His face softens, his eyes reflecting a profound sense of gratitude. "To be with you," he echoes, his voice filled with an overwhelming tenderness. "There is nothing in this world I would trade for the love we share."

You're quick to turn and jump in his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist as he holds you against the railing. Kissing him with full passion, you let your love and desire consume you both.

"You really are going to be the death of me, aren't you?"

"I might be but I think you've got me in a bind here, Mr. Dekarios."

"How so?"

Biting at his lower lip, and pulling ever so lightly. You hear him groan at the sensation. "Because my body, and soul are forever yours."

Gale's eyes darken with desire as he holds you tighter, his hands roaming over your body. "And mine, my love, belongs to you," he whispers huskily, his voice filled with an intoxicating mix of passion and adoration.

Without breaking eye contact, Gale carries you across the threshold into the bedroom. You had forgotten just how strong your husband was. When he approached the bed, he laid you down gently before climbing above you.

His eyes burn with a hunger that matches your own, igniting a fire within your veins. As he hovers above you, you feel the weight of his desire pressing against your body, a tantalizing promise of the passion to come.

With a feather-light touch, his fingertips trace the contours of your face, leaving a trail of fiery sensations in their wake. His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, an explosion of longing and need.

Clothing becomes an unnecessary barrier as he undresses you with gentle urgency. After freeing your breasts from the night shirt you were wearing, he gently kisses around your nipple before taking it into his mouth.

You arch your back, your chest rising and falling with each labored breath. The sensation is exquisite. Gale's hands continue to explore every inch of your body, leaving you panting with need.

"I need you," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gale's eyes lock onto yours, the desire within them burning hotter than any flame. He leans down, his lips finding yours once more. This kiss is more intense, more desperate than any you've shared before.

His hands continue to roam over your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your hips, the dip of your waist. You feel yourself melting into him, your body responding to his touch with a yearning that threatens to consume you both.

As he presses you into the mattress, he lowers his head, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck. You can't help but moan, your body trembling with pleasure.

His fingers trail along your inner thigh, the anticipation building with every stroke. You let out a soft whimper, your body begging for more.

Finally, he reaches the apex of your desire, his fingers lightly caressing your most sensitive spot. You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand in a desperate attempt to find release.

Gale smiles, his eyes filled with lust. "You're mine, always." he growls, his voice low.

And with that promise, he slides two fingers inside you. You gasp as your body adjusts to the overwhelming invasion. Your hand grips his forearm, nails digging into his flash as he begins to pump his digits into you.

Your body trembles, and your mind is hazy with desire. You can feel him watching you, his gaze makes your heart race even faster.

His fingers continue pushing deeper, stretching you wide as he adds a third.

"Please," you whimper. "Please, I need more."

Gale responds by replacing his fingers with his mouth, his tongue lapping at the delicate folds of your core. The need for release consumes you completely. He knows just what to do, just how to make you come undone.

His tongue keeps searching, delving deeper, threatening to pull you into the abyss of ecstasy. Your body is aflame, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"Gale, I swear to you, if you do not take me right this instant, you will become a widower." You pant through your moans.

At the sound of your plea, Gale removes his mouth from your core and positions himself between your legs. "Come now, we can't have that now can we?"

You feel the swollen head of his erection brush against your entrance. As he pushes in, you gasp, your body stretching to accommodate him. You feel his warmth enveloping you, and you can't help but whimper at the sensation.

He begins to move, his hips swaying in a rhythm that matches the pounding of your heart. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, and your nails digging into his back.

He pulls almost all the way out, leaving only the head of his erection inside you, and then thrusts in deep once more. Your eyes meet, and he leans down, his lips brushing against yours as he continues to move inside you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer and the sensation becomes exhilarating. You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure building with every thrust.

"I need you to tell me where to come." He says, his voice hoarse with desire.

Moaning loudly, you respond "Please, Inside me. Come inside me."

"You want me to fill you?" He grunts, as he thrusts in you. "Want to feel my seed spill inside of you."

"Yes! Gale, fuck yes!" You scream.

His eyes glint with hunger, and he obliges, increasing the pace and depth of his thrusts. You gasp, your head thrown back in pleasure as he continues to fuck you relentlessly.

"So fucking tight," he growls in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You're going to make me come"

You reach up, your nails raking across his back, and grimace as you feel his hand cup one of your breasts. His fingers toy with your sensitive nipple, his thumb brushing against it in circles that send shivers down your spine.

Body screaming for release, you know it's close. You arch your back and beg him to keep going. With each thrust you feel his hips hitting against your clit. Your walls begin to clench around him, and you feel yourself tightening, ready to release.

Just when you think you can't take any more, Gale groans and thrusts deeper, harder, driving you over the edge. With a loud cry, you explode around him. Body shaking with pleasure.

His own seed begins to spill into you, filling you completely. As you continue to pant, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Gale's thrusts slow and then stop.

He collapses onto you, his weight heavy but comforting, as his heart beats wildly against your chest in sync with yours.

You both lie there, spent and breathless, your bodies melded together as one. The sweat from the exertion mingles with the remnants of your passion, leaving your skin glistening in the dim light of the room.

Gently, Gale lifts himself off you, his gaze never leaving yours. He kisses you tenderly, his lips soft and warm against yours, and you can taste the remnants of your lovemaking on his tongue.

As he pulls away, he looks down at your now-swollen lips, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. "That was incredible," he whispers, "You are incredible."

"As are you." You say, gently caressing his face.

Gale pulls up the covers and wraps you in his arms, his body still warm from the passion that just ensued. As he holds you close, your bodies still panting heavily from the exertion, you can help but marvel at the connection you share.

You close your eyes, feeling Gale's heartbeat against your cheek. "I love you more than anything,"

Gale responds with a sigh, "And I, you."

The words linger in the air as you both drift off, your bodies still entwined, and the promise of more passion to come.

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fayes-fics · 3 months

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 8 - Je N'en Connais Pas La Fin

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: tiny dash of spice… making out, hands wandering. Light angst, emotions, late-night confessions.

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please don't be mad at me about this - I could not go with the cliche of wedding night. These idiots just need one more night to get their sh*t together. Sorry, and yes, as penance, Chapter 9 will be posted very soon. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Montivilliers (just outside Le Havre), September 1939

A nervous energy ripples through your limbs as the four others leave, traipsing across the garden to the neighbouring cottage, leaving you and your new husband alone. Still waving awkwardly from the patio as they all disappear from view. A chill passes through you, just noticing how cold the night air is, autumn drawing in and without the warmth of Benedict holding you in some way, as he has been the past few hours. You startle slightly as he interrupts your reverie by chivalrously wrapping the faux fur stole around your shoulders.

“It’s my something borrowed,” you blurt, unsure what else to say.

“Eloise?”

You just nod, too nervous all of a sudden to look up at him.

“Let’s get inside,” he suggests, observing even the extra layer does not halt your shiver, gesturing to the kitchen door.

You walk awkwardly past, catching a whiff of his delicious scent that you woke up to this morning, the involuntary urge to sway into him intense.

You drift to the living room, Benedict wandering to the gramophone, putting on a mellow jazz record before taking a seat; part of you sad he chooses the armchair, not the sofa beside you.

“Well… that was a day,” he understates in his usual affable manner.

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” you respond earnestly, looking down at the simple band on your finger by reflex. “It’s all thanks to you that I have a chance to escape while I still can.”

“You would have done the same for me,” he demures with a quiet certainty that makes you yearn to touch him.

Instead, you exchange slightly awkward smiles, the mantlepiece clock ticking sounding so loud, even with the music playing.

“And I'm sure you will get home one day,” he assures. “Your family, I'm certain, miss you… and... And your fiancee,” the reluctance in his words evident.

“I’m not sure a married woman can have a fiancé anymore,” you remark; the lash of guilt every time Stanley’s name is invoked lessening with every moment you spend alone with Benedict.

“You can once you are a single woman again, as soon as you are safe,” he counters softly, so altruistic in his manner your throat almost itching with unspent words—a want to yell. No! Fight for me! I want you more than I ever will want him!!

“You yourself said on the train that perhaps there is something better out there for me,” you respond cautiously. “The longer this adventure runs, the more certain I am of that.”

His mien is profound as you finally raise your eyes to his, wanting so much to say more but feeling too tongue-tied and cowardly to be that selfish, to declare he is what you want.

He shakes himself a little and leans back into the armchair as if resetting himself and the line of conversation. Like he senses the mutual danger lurking there.

“Tomorrow, when we sail… they will likely notice the date on our marriage certificate,” Benedict counsels gently. “That may raise flags about the authenticity of our union.”

“What can we do to assuage them?”

“Come up with a plausible story. Be physically affectionate. They may ask no questions, or they may ask as many as they wish,” he warns, “especially of you. They may ask you about…” Benedict pauses, his face flushing a little, “… intimate matters. They have every right to ask if the marriage has been consummated.”

You feel yourself flashing hot as he says it. “I should lie?” you whisper.

“You should say whatever you think will make them believe we are a real couple,” he obfuscates.

“I’m a terrible liar…” you confess, blushing when you realise your words could be interpreted as an invitation to be intimate. And on this, your wedding night.

His gaze is heavy. “You can do it y/n. Your freedom and safety may depend on your ability to convince them you love me... And I you.”

I think I might, your mind screams.

“I know… I… think I can do it,” you falter, replaying every kiss you have shared. “We seem to have done a great job convincing Jerome and Marie…”

“They are not looking to see artifice,” he counters. “British soldiers will be.”

“Sh… should we practice?” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it, champagne again taking your tongue, a deep flush spreading over your skin as you realise it.

“Y… yes, I think maybe we should,” he agrees very quickly.

He stands somewhat awkward, peeling off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves, leaving his waistcoat. You find yourself again mesmerised by him, as you were that night in Paris, wanting to run your hands over the flex in his arm muscles. In fact, you are so distracted you don’t even realise he is proffering you a hand out of the chair. You spring up to your feet without his help, the idea of touching him right now entirely too distracting, which seems to amuse him briefly before his expression turns sincere.

“We have kissed, but not as lovers, as married people would. We... we may need to do so, casually, of course, within sight of those allowing boarding,” he opines, even as your heart speeds up, realising what he is saying.

“You think we need to… practice more kissing? Now?” you are mildly annoyed by how stupefied you sound.

“Yes,” he confirms, drawing closer, “passionate, real kissing.”

You are looking up into blue eyes and a gorgeous face as fingertips loop around your wrist as if checking your pulse.

“Grab my wrist if you want me to stop,” he tutors softly, so gentlemanly in his approach, even as you fret that he can feel your heart rate hammering hard in your veins.

Once again, time is in slow motion as his lips descend. At first, the kiss is breathtaking but still chaste, like previously. But then there is a noise in the back of his throat that makes the hairs on the nape of your neck stand on end; his lips part yours, a wave of damp heat as the kiss deepens. His tongue swipes yours tentatively, a tease before you mirror his moves. He tastes of champagne and something else that is entirely him, an impulse to bite the inside of his cheek. And then it’s abruptly fervent, wanton - like a dam has broken - his hands gripping the crest of your hip bones, each finger an insistent dig into your flesh.

Finally, given the permission, you don't hold back. Pushing into him, one hand grasping the buckled loop at the back of his waistcoat that cinches it to his slim form, the other winding around his sturdy neck, encouraging him to lean down further, take from you. The kiss seems never-ending, a rolling wave of to and fro, a dance not unlike the one in the square just last night. Those fireworks still explode, but this time, it feels like those ones that are so powerful they knock a punch to your solar plexus, a ricochet you feel physically,

His hands slide up your back, a sensual drag that makes you moan into his mouth, a noise he greedily swallows. But he stops as they reach the faux fur wrapped around your shoulders and reluctantly breaks the kiss.

“Please, take this off,” he implores, “I cannot do this with you wearing my sister's clothing,” he points out with a cringe that creases his face charmingly.

Your responding giggle causes him to break into a lopsided grin, and wordlessly, you untie it as he watches, pupils blown. When you push it back off your shoulders, it hits the rug behind you with a soft whump, and your instinct takes over, rocking onto your tiptoes, one hand sliding into the lush hair at the back of his head and bringing his face back to yours.

The minute your mouth opens to his, you are heavy and weightless all at once, not unlike that wooden roller coaster on Coney Island that made you see stars. Your nails flex on his scalp as his hands slide over your dress, looping low around your hips, tugging you snugly into his body as your tongues tangle.

This.

This must be what the girls whisper about—a tart metallic boiling in your blood, a heavy tug deep inside your pelvis that needs relief. A wanting so physical it almost hurts, a hunger that makes you feel reckless, liable to behaviour you could never justify, a pure carnal caprice. But all too soon, he is pulling back, a need to breathe, even as he does so inches from your face, his eyes locked on yours as they flutter open.

“Again,” you murmur, uncaring how gossamer thin your excuse is, just wanting more.

His eyes are glittering as he complies. Kissing like a wild storm now, hands hot through the thin, cool silk fabric. And you cannot stop the noises you make, shameless and breathy, right into his open, wet, questing mouth. Pressing hard against his body, a solid warmth in his trousers promising things you need so badly you crave to curl around him, open yourself to him.

You have never felt this before. A tingle under your scalp that vibrates all the way down to your toes. A want to take and be taken. To bite and be bitten. To ride and be ridden. For him to rip your dress from your body and throw you onto the sofa—a yen that feels not entirely human and definitely not civilised.

It's like he senses your thoughts have slid somewhere wild, or perhaps his have too, as when he pulls back, he is panting, and there is a quaking in his entire being like he is crackling with energy.

“Please. Go.” His voice is ragged, deep, almost wrecked. “Please. I… I can’t do this anymore,” his voice cracks a look that is at once hungry, aching, and barely contained restraint.

Please don't be a gentleman now, Benedict. Please. No. God. Not now. Don’t.

“I’m s…sorry,” you stutter, feeling guilty you have pushed it too far but utterly unmoored by the searing passion and the sting of his rejection, albeit reluctant.

Even you can see the war in his being, physical desire being muzzled by the gentleman he was clearly raised to be. Knowing if you stand here much longer, something will happen that one or both of you will regret. Your wedding ring seems to burn your skin as you turn around and shrink away, leaving the room, not daring to look back, knowing he has also turned away with ragged breaths.

As you climb the stairs, feet feeling leaden, your body in utter turmoil, you hear the discordant scratch of the gramophone being halted. You undress in a daze, swearing you can still feel the heat of his handprints through the silk of your dress. Climbing into the bed approaching numb, champagne swirling unease in your gut with all the rich foods, an oily disquiet that means it takes ages to settle.

You lay there fitfully for what feels like hours, tossing and turning, picking over the minutiae of every moment with Benedict - tonight and all the nights and days before. Seeing possible signs that make your heart clench.

Could it be that he is not doing this all for show?

It's a seizing thought that catalyses your body: it has you up on your feet and rushing down the stairs in your nightgown, breathless and stumbling. But when you round the corner into the living room, all your courage to declare it is sapped by the sight of Benedict sleeping, curled slightly, looking smaller somehow, his back turned to you, face buried into the back cushion of the sofa.

Instead, you back away, padding to the kitchen to take a glass of water, hoping the hydration will stave off the worst of a hangover; the water is a relief to the tumultuous, racing feeling as you stand on the large slab of earthen tile gleaming in the moonlight, cold underfoot. You pour another glass for him without thought.

Tiptoeing back into the living room, careful not to wake him, you crouch beside him to leave the glass of water within easy sight and reach should he stir. But you find yourself unable to leave without saying something. The temptation to confess to his unconscious self is impossible to resist, the grip on your own glass so tight.

“I’ll never be able to repay you,” you murmur to his back, fingers itching to trace over the bare skin of his shoulder blades where they peak out of the blanket. “For this unbelievable act of kindness and generosity. And yet… god, this is so selfish,” you flick your eyes up to the ceiling to stem a tear you feel gathering, “… still I’m greedy. Always wanting more. Wanting…. Wanting to never return to my old life. Wanting to run away. Wanting this… Wanting this to be real.”

The last phrase is barely audible, but still, you are instantly horrified that you confessed it out loud, even to his unconscious, sleeping frame. And you know you must leave.

God, what is wrong with me? What is this? Temporary insanity? Too much alcohol, a fake wedding and an impending war are not a good recipe…

It’s a silent internal lament as you stand up and withdraw, self-chastisement echoing so loud in your head. And yet, you can't resist a parting sentence from the doorway.

“Goodnight, Benedict, you are truly the very best of men...”

—

What you don’t see as you slowly climb back up the creaking wooden stairs is Benedict’s eyes blazing open, a look of utter astonishment claiming his face as he twists around and stares at the doorway you left by, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He was never asleep.

And he heard every single word.

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archonsabyss · 4 months

Text

╰─..✶. [ Impetuous Bonds ]

❒ pairing: al haitham x fem!reader [ft platonic bff wriothesley]

❒ genre: fluff! action!

❒ warnings: minor violence!

❒ wc: 5.6k

─❒ authors note: did you know I've been working on this fic since october 4th. It's been rough but the year's over thank god. on the other note, let me officially introduce my wriothesley and al haitham as besties brain rot. and yes I have plans to expand on this brain rot. atlst 2 more ideas which I'll start on as soon as the spark hits again 💐

Amid your contrasting personalities was a semblance of shared interests woven together by a single thread. You, one and the same possessed a deep love for reading, discovering solace in the scripted ink, where letters blended to form words, weaving pathways to realms of boundless creativity. Whether it delved into knowledge, seeking escape, or simply enjoying the thrill of fiction, this mutual passion became a bridge of understanding between you despite your glaring differences.

A sense of harmony prevailed in your relationship which created a captivating paradox that intrigued those around you. People marvelled at the depth of your connection, questioning how two individuals so dissimilar could share such an intimate bond. Some attributed it to the age-old saying that opposites attract, believing it to be fate's handiwork—a calm presence to counterbalance chaos, a soothing embrace against restlessness, and a tender heart to temper the directness of the wordsmith.

Alternatively, it could be argued that the similarities, subtle yet profound, were the secret ingredients of your relationship. A quiet demeanour and reserved nature concealed a dream-like love that left onlookers in both awe and envy. Your love story, tender and understated, defied expectations, leaving a trail of wonder and admiration in its wake. A love, true as an existence of pure gold, if such ethereal beauty could be acknowledged.

To you, what others deemed ordinary, was a world of its own. Normal acts of affection and simple gestures of intimacy felt like your beloved had gifted you the heavens and earth. Perhaps, the extent to which you elaborated on your connection with the acting grand sage felt akin to a tale spun from fantasy, a reverie you indulged in.

You considered that the romanticized nature of your love might have been obscured by the mist of infatuation, that the love you had for Al Haitham may have cast an enchanting illusion upon your reality. But it was okay when no harm or toxicity came from being tucked away in your little head, daydreaming about the man who had long proclaimed himself yours until the day he died.

As the early days of parading around with an unacknowledged crush, and the fledgling phase of your romance grew further in distance, you settled into a life different, happier yet marked by its trials.

You fell in step with each other, occasionally finding them offbeat or at entirely different paces, yet such is the essence of any relationship. Despite this, everything harmonized.

While you weren't a morning person, on rare occasions when sleep evaded you, you'd rise earlier than usual, and frequently, Al Haitham would already be awake. During those moments you would sit together in bed for a few minutes longer or have an early breakfast before the sun had fully ascended, relishing in the silence and warmth of each other's company, and today was one of those days.

While Al Haitham took a shower, you began preparing breakfast, knowing that your errands could only be attended to a bit later on.

Upon entering the kitchen, an aromatic veil of freshly brewed coffee gracefully filled the air, its enticing fragrance embracing Al Haitham as he sat down and reached for the coffee, finding it already thoughtfully poured into two cups, one from which you'd intermittently sipped on while engrossed in preparing food to sustain you for the first half of the day. Despite knowing its warmth had faded as you got lost in preparations, you were certain, albeit acknowledging its unhealthiness, that you'd have another cup once breakfast started. Meanwhile, Al Haitham had long eased into his seat at the island table, his hands cradling a mug, savouring the invigorating bitter heat of his coffee. His concentration remained unbroken as his eyes meticulously skimmed through the arranged stack of documents before him.

It was a simple and ordinary scene, but it was these moments shared that held such immense value.

You felt completely at ease as you moved about the kitchen, exuding the comfort of a face free from makeup, clad solely in the shirt Al Haitham discarded before bed, with your hair casually bundled in a tousled bun.

The kitchen bustled with the promise of breakfast, ingredients for pancakes and eggs scattered like confetti on the tables. In contrast to your relaxed appearance, your lover was impeccably dressed, looking incredibly handsome and sharp. For most of the time you had your back turned to him, unaware that Al Haitham couldn't help but steal glances between you and his papers.

A smirk played at the corner of his lips. Though his face remained composed, it was clear from the emotions in his eyes that he was utterly captivated by you— the subtle relaxation and absence of tension in his gaze spoke volumes.

Whenever you turned to face him, his attention would seamlessly shift back to his work, not out of shame for openly admiring his beloved, but because he understood that if your eyes locked, the temptation to whisk you back to bed would be irresistible.

"When will you join me" He mused after some time, lips hiding behind his cup of coffee as you scowled when one of the pancakes painfully flopped.

"As soon as your food is done" You mutter, sighing in relief when you flip the last pancake, turn off the stove, and turn around to set the plate of food before him.

Al Haitham's eyes lit up with deep gratitude behind the gilded frames of his glasses, glimmering with subdued enthusiasm, his smile a testament to the warmth of his appreciation as his fingers entwined with yours, gently pulling you around the counter and towards him.

With a soft kiss on your hand, he tilted his head, silently pleading for a kiss, his whispered "Thank you" lingering in the air as you leaned in, wishing to seal his gratitude with another kiss when you were startled by a sudden resounding crash reverberating through the house, signalling the forceful swing of the front door opening and closing.

You both turned your heads in the direction of the hallway and in sauntered Wriothesley who had been a guest in Sumeru as well as your home for the past week. He wore a nonchalant smile each time he visited, his hair artfully tousled, and his heavy boots thudding on the wooden floor.

Al Haitham often remarked, like clockwork, that Wriothesley would invite himself inside as if he was welcomed, which he was not by his words, but by your prior blessing to enter whenever he pleased.

Al Haitham let out an audible grumble, his smile fading as Wriothesley's smile grew, begrudgingly turning his attention to his meal, expressing his discontent in silence. You planted a kiss on his cheek and gently pulled away, a move he anticipated, evident from the disapproving glare he directed at his plate while he continued eating.

"Good morning, Wriothesley." You cheerfully greeted, just as you have every time he's made his unannounced─ yet expected entrance.

"I've just brewed a fresh pot of tea for you," You stated proudly, already taking out a cup and pouring the piping hot amber liquid in.

In response, your distinguished guest's grin widens a touch as he offers his thanks and comfortably takes a seat beside Al Haitham.

"When do you plan on returning home? I reckon your presence there is considerably valued─ necessary if you prefer" Al Haitham inquired with a casual and composed demeanour, his tone direct and perhaps a bit blunt, though neither you nor Wriothesley takes offence as you've grown accustomed to his straightforwardness.

With a playful gleam in his eyes, he opted to provoke a reaction by disregarding Al Haitham and answering you instead, "Figured you'd feed me"

"Mind your manners," Al Haitham chimes in flatly, taking a sip of his coffee while casting a sidelong glance at Wriothesley. "My wife's not here to serve you."

"Fiancée," Wriothesley corrects teasingly, his smile appreciative towards you as you set the plate before him and move on to the dishes, disregarding their banter.

Al Haitham's jaw tightened in annoyance at the correction. To him, it was merely a title, a formality. In less than a month you were set to officially become his wife, yet the significance of a ring and title paled in comparison to the deep connection he felt in his mind, heart, and soul from the very beginning. He was undeniably yours, just as you were undeniably his, and nothing could change that.

"Regardless, she's mine and has no obligation to serve you let alone feed you"

"It's not an obligation if she wants to do it" Wriothesley takes a sip of his tea, humming in contentment as the warm liquid touches his tongue and envelopes his throat, satisfied with your skills as always.

Al Haitham reluctantly admits to himself that Wriothesley is right, simply because he knows you. Over the years he has observed, comprehended, and admired you from distances far and near, he's learned almost everything there is to know about you, and your passion for cooking was one of them seeing as you've taken up the role of preparing the meals on most days.

Al Haitham has seen the way you revelled in the process of preparing meals with the mindset that your actions would fill the stomachs of those you loved dearly, even if there was the less enjoyable task of washing dishes afterwards, if it was for him, anything. To his misfortune, that anything extended to the male seated beside him as well.

You snuck a few glances between the two, restraining your amusement by biting your lip as you leaned over the counter and picked at the fruit bowls, knowing you were rarely able to stomach food this early in the morning without feeling nauseated.

"It's been a while since I've gotten to savour a meal made with love, let me enjoy this" Wriothesley smiles, savouring the mix of sugary sweet syrup that he licks off his lips.

"If you must, shut up and drink your tea" Al Haitham mumbles under his breath with an ever so small smile hinting at the corner of his lips, prompting an amused raised eyebrow from the onlooker.

"Why don't you shut up and drink your coffee so I can enjoy my tea then"

"You are insufferable"

"Do you think I'm insufferable?" Wriothesley directs at you, pursing his lips into a full pout just to annoy Al Haitham even more.

"No, Wrio. I think you're rather quite loveable" You said smiling as you leaned your forearms on Al Haitham's shoulders and placed your chin atop his head.

"See," He says smugly, "Loveable"

Al Haitham releases a deep breath, exhaling built-up frustrations, and gradually letting worries and tension fade away, he eases his shoulders, leaning back more into your embrace, while Wriothesley attempts to hide his smile upon witnessing it.

"Do you boys have any plans for the day?" You asked eventually. One of them shook his head and the other simply shrugged. "I have a few errands to run and seeing as you're both available, would you mind accompanying me?"

"That would depend" The grin returns to Wriothesley's pondering face, "I'll take my payment in the form of your baking" He decided, unfolding his arms and placing them flat on the countertop, but in doing so he receives a sharp nudge to his ankles from the tip of Al Haitham's shoe.

Wriothesley winces but doesn't retreat, he shrugs lazily before stating lastly with narrowed eyes directed at his dearest friend in emphasis, "I work enough as it is, Al Haitham. Being an errand boy has become more your thing, and besides, there's no way I'm going to pass up the chance of having your Mrs, bake for me"

Al Haitham pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe the forming ache.

You smile sweetly at Wriothesley, thanking him for the compliment just as Al Haitham rises from his seat, dishes in hand and a perpetually sullen and irritated expression etched on his face, wishing for the silence that has been disturbed.

🜙˚─ [˚ ⁀🕯️⟡‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Strolling through the streets of Sumeru to reach your destination, you took the time to observe the peculiar camaraderie between Al Haitham and Wriothesley as they walked a few steps ahead of you, lost in a world of their own, one with a scowl while the other engaged in conversation, seemingly unaware that he wasn't being heard by the former.

Al Haitham's composed and disinterested expression might deceive anyone into believing he wasn't attentive, and there was a chance his noise-cancelling earpieces were intentionally activated to avoid hearing the conversation, but as you observe him closely, you discerned that Al Haitham was indeed attentive, if not wholly absorbed in the Duke's ceaseless chatter.

It was to no one's business but his own, Al Haitham once said to you, for your ears alone, while seated by your dresser, observing you through the mirror as you loosened your corset and unbuttoned your white blouse, revealing skin just above your belly button.

In unspoken words, it was a confession where he admitted he acknowledged his friends more than he expressed. He admired Kaveh's profound passion for the arts and his unwavering stubbornness when they bickered, he also acknowledged with a hint of irritation, the blonde's imperfections and his excessive eagerness to please others through tireless efforts.

What Al Haitham harbours within himself is quite bothersome to his conscious, it is the fact that Kaveh withholds emotional fragility, a presumption he believes you're already aware of, but it does not change how he engages with the latter.

Al Haitham with all his knowledge hardly wishes to entangle himself in the inner turmoil of others, hence, he chooses to refrain from crossing a particular boundary, with Wriothesley on the other hand, presented a slightly more distinct scenario where he found his company rather tolerable if not likable, though he would never dare to articulate it.

Al Haitham turned from the dresser's mirror to face you, drawing you between his parted legs and resting his hands beneath your shirt on your bare hips, he lifted his eyes to meet yours before uttering a sentence you least expected that night before bed. "Would you accompany me to Fontaine?" No further explanation was necessary; you understood the spontaneous mention of a trip to Fontaine. With a wistful smile and a tender kiss on his forehead, you agreed.

The following week, you left for Fontaine to personally wish Wriothesley a Happy Birthday, offering him companionship in his solitude for as long as you could.

What became apparent during that period, was that witnessing Al Haitham being his authentic self wasn't a rare occurrence in Wriothesleys presence.

Wriothesley had a knack for bringing vibrancy to your partner, whether through a spirited debate, an unfriendly competition, or the fact that Al Haitham's eyes had never been more devoid of his usual contentment with a mundane life. This was a side of Al Haitham you've only ever caught brief glimpses of beyond the walls of your home.

The bond threaded through the viscosity of blood coursing within their veins, knowing to most it was nothing more than a misinterpretation of their characters by the way they argued with their teeth bared and claws extended. They appeared mostly harmless. You prayed it would never escalate to physical tests of strength. A chuckle is prompted by the thought, returning you to the ongoing reality of Al Haitham and Wriothesley embroiled once more in their unending dispute.

"I don't see the need for you to be hovering," Al Haitham said. "If I wanted your company I would have asked, which in case you haven't gotten the jest by now, I don't really want"

"Al Haitham!"

Your partner's ears react to the cautionary tone in your voice, and swiftly, his head turns towards you. His eyes widen with innocence, and his demeanour dissolves, resembling a deer caught in headlights. The ongoing argument fades into oblivion, and even Wriothesley's presence is nearly erased as he shifts his focus entirely towards you.

"What?" He asked, oblivious to any issue with his earlier question.

"Could you go buy those spices you brought home last week? We've run out" It's not entirely untrue, but you simply crave a moment of peace from their conversation so you can hurry up the trip and return to the quiet solitude of your home and the warmth of your blankets, and considering Al Haitham is more responsive to your requests, you cleverly recall the need for spice and ask him to handle that quick errand while you wrap up the rest of your grocery shopping.

"Mhm," He murmured, exhaling deeply, placing a slow kiss on your cheek before moving on, going along with your tactic to separate him from Wriothesley who watches in amused bewilderment, hands placed at the top of his hips, "And here I thought I was a dog. You've got a good leash on him. Keep it that way"

"You should stop instigating him," You tell him, amusement glinting in your eyes and tugging on your lips, walking on. Leaving Wriothesley to follow along at his leisure.

"This is my sign to run along"

"Where are you going?" You tilt your head back to glance at him.

"I just remembered something, I'll be back in a bit, promise" In the blink of an eye, he vanishes, leaving you to continue on your way. When you finally reach the bustling Grand Bazaar, vibrant with crowds, you roam the markets and stalls, finding yourself engaged in conversation with Afshin, the travelling merchant, when your attention is abruptly diverted by a sudden commotion.

Across from you, a female merchant had fallen prey to a disgruntled customer, likely the source of the chaos unfolding. A table overturned, boxes strewn across the floor, their contents spilled and some irreparably damaged.

The young woman in her early twenties who stood ownership of the stall, gazed at her belongings before sinking to her knees, attempting to salvage the disarray.

Meanwhile, the customer and what you presumed to be his mercenary guards, hurled disparaging comments about the perceived inadequacy of her trade, their hands clasping the hilts of their swords as though perceiving the young woman as a clear threat.

A sigh escaped you, heart pounding with anxiety as you observed the unfolding scene.

"Give me a moment," You said, Afshin nodded in response, resuming the task of organizing the items on his table.

"Excuse me" Walking towards the occurring scene, you hesitantly intervened, drawing the glaring eyes of the customer towards you.

"This doesn't concern you. Take your nosiness elsewhere woman" He snarled in a manner that made you step back, nevertheless, you stood your ground and faced the Female merchant, offering her a reassuring smile.

"What's your name, dear?"

"Aniya"

"Aniya, what seems to be the problem?" You inquired, assessing the tables and the contents occupying them.

"This man claims my merchandise is not authentic after he has already inspected, bought, and paid for several pieces. Now he asks for a refund without returning the products"

"Look, I don't want no trouble lady" He exclaims, barely standing firm on his short stubby legs. "But if you just give me my money back I'll be on my way"

"What of my labour?! I've spent a good worth of time exploring and producing each of those carpets and materials by hand! You won't find such quality elsewhere for as cheap of a price as I've given!"

His face scrunched in anger, his guards stepping forward with a subtle signal. "If we can't reach an agreement you will pay the price"

"We won't come to an agreement if you refuse to settle your greed" You stated calmly.

The anger that exuded off him was not by any means intimidating, but the mercenaries that stepped forward at the ready, made you cautious.

The tension of the situation gradually grew and you were bordering on a violent reaction, that much you could easily tell given you've been a front-row witness to past events with both Al Haitham and Wriothesley.

As you feel yourself growing anxious, you positioned yourself protectively in front of Aniya, who, though a few years younger, was brimming with unrefined passion and working diligently. The youthful intensity in her gaze spelled trouble, yet it reflected such bravery and boldness altogether, truly embodying the spirit of a genuine merchant, and though it was admirable, it also meant there was no escaping the situation if the fiery spirit possessing her had any influence.

You breathed in steadily, gathering your hyperventilating thoughts and acknowledging your helplessness with Wriothesley and Al Haitham absent. Neither you nor Aniya were fully equipped for a direct physical confrontation, but perhaps, if you could stall them long enough, the result might not be excessively dire. The wisest choice now was to prevent provoking the man to the point that he sends those gruelling tattered mercenaries your way.

The argument─ though you wish not to call it that given you hoped to subdue the situation before it escalated, but with the feistiness of the young Merchant Aniya and the highly obnoxious and demanding customer by the distasteful name of Afif, nothing was going as planned.

Afif was a lord spoiled and rotten in both name and character. By nature, his manner of approach was enough to make your skin crawl and your throat tighten. You wonder who awaits him at home and how they endure such a man throughout their lives, considering you can hardly tolerate his attitude for even a few minutes.

They went back and forth without resolution, and each passing minute had regret swirling hefty within your conscience as neither of them backed down, the mercenaries themselves were growing antsy. With every breeze tousling your hair, it seemed like a word uttered by Afif left you feeling even more frustrated. He simply carried on spouting his nonsense of fair trade─ exposing himself as a hypocrite who disregarded the fundamental principles of fair trade.

In your mind, a silent prayer echoed, hoping for the return of either Al Haitham or Wriothesley.

These kinds of situations were precisely what you aimed to avoid, but your compassion couldn't tolerate witnessing Aniya's mistreatment, and unfortunately, because of it you landed yourself in such a predicament you could neither talk your way out nor pathetically apologize and walk away.

Meanwhile, Al Haitham was en route to the Bazaar when he coincidentally encountered Wriothesley who happened to be returning from his quick errand.

"Where'd you go" Al Haitham asked with a raised brow, causing the dark-haired Duke to pause and turn around, waiting for Al Haitham to catch up before continuing, now with him at his side.

"Look how you contradict yourself Haitham, went from claiming I was hovering to questioning my absence. Such a sweetheart─ truly" He flashed a lazy grin, revealing the pointed tips of his fangs that grazed his bottom lip.

"If you must know, Tea" He wiggled the bag mid-air for Al Haitham to see.

"I felt compelled to ask, not that I care much at all"

"You care enough"

"Unfortunately" Al Haitham muttered with a roll of his eyes, flexing the fingers of his free hand that wasn't holding the pack of spices you had asked him to fetch.

Upon entering the Bazaar, Al Haitham abruptly ceased his argument with Wriothesley. He lapsed into silence as he paused and scanned the area, allowing for his senses to come back to him.

He alongside Wriothesley took in the situation surrounding you and the menacing bodies enclosing your safe space. The ambience was palpable even from his current position.

Wriothesley glanced at Al Haitham who had already begun to pick up his pace and he followed suit.

If given the opportunity, Al Haitham would steer clear of any sort of situation that compelled him into social confrontations. He cherished solitude, finding no necessity for social interaction unless absolutely unavoidable.

He was a man of simplicity, content in silence until he met you, and suddenly, he found a liking for sharing that silence with you. In that regard, both of you shared a preference for confining yourselves within the familiar walls of home, avoiding expending energy on forced interactions.

Even when venturing outside, the dynamic persisted. Amidst a sea of people and bustling crowds, it was as if the world consisted solely of the two of you. Others might cast glances, but your attention remained fixed on the path ahead or each other.

Your ears seemed attuned exclusively to each other's voices, and your hands, not particularly fond of physical contact, found solace only in being held by one another.

But when Al Haitham caught sight of you standing there trying to convey strength through your expression, the subtle tremble in your fingers betrayed you and did not go unnoticed by him.

A cold chill ran down his spine and the sensation of blood draining from his body followed. With urgency, he briskly approached to be by your side, arriving just in time to see rough hands reaching out to seize you. Commotion and reactions stirred among the onlookers, who stood by passively, aggravating him further.

"There seems to be a problem here" Al Haitham intervened, his voice clear, monotone, and confident, arms hanging casually at his sides as he looms over the customer, whose posture shifts the moment he lays eyes on the unexpected presence of the Acting Sage.

Al Haitham's arrival brings instant relief to your anxiously furrowed forehead and your tensed shoulders.

"Acting Grand Sage" Afif mumbles with a touch of trepidation, his once gruesome expression fading entirely.

The tallest among the three mercenaries scowls in response to the sudden intrusion, displaying no fear or concern for Al Haitham in his demeanour.

It's evident that he harbours a strong desire to pummel the interrupter through those demonic eyes glaring at your lover's head. Had it not been for Wriothesley who announces his presence to you by offering a reassuring nudge to your shoulder, you'd have redirected your cowering gaze to the ground.

Wriothesley leans casually against the wooden beam of the market tent, arms folded with a smug air as he watches Afif and his Entourage of folks masquerading as combatants.

Afif squirms under the intimidating aura of both Al Haitham and Wriothesley and attempts to shift the blame, trying to implicate Aniya for supposedly intending to mislead him in the trade, alleging that she was dishonest about her products, as is often the case in trade within Sumeru lately. In this instance, it was not. Aniya's honesty mirrored her ambition to rise as a respected merchant, firm and true.

Afif's initial efforts were futile, and as he came to this realization, fear gradually morphed into anger.

"I don't owe any of you an explanation, this is between me and that deceitful merchant wench" He spat, instructing his mercenaries to seize Aniya. However, their unscrupulous nature led them to reach for you as well, a decision that likely proved to be their gravest mistake.

Standing beside you, Wriothesley, under the Scribe's approving gaze, shrugged and uncrossed his arms, rolling his shoulders back as the mercenaries lunged forward with snarls.

He was mindful of the limited space and wary of endangering you or Aniya and therefore employed small, sharp, and precise movements. He swiftly evaded a punch from the towering mercenary, causing him to stumble forward in the aftermath of his failed attack. In that fleeting moment, Wriothesley seized the flailing arm of his adversary and firmly clamped his other hand onto his shoulder, twisting it behind his back and rendering him effectively immobilized.

With a vigorous push, he forced the vanquished mercenary to his knees, a disgruntled groan of pain echoed. Simultaneously, the second mercenary, driven by rage and fiery eyes, charged forward, only to be skillfully tripped and sent tumbling to the ground, nursing a bruised ego.

Wriothesley applied the weight of his sturdy boot on the back of the second assailant, forcing his face into the ground. Meanwhile, the first attacker was restrained by his hair, ensuring both remained motionless and incapable of causing further trouble.

"Care to help?" He directed at Al Haitham, paying no mind to the third mercenary who tightly clenched his blade, casting nervous glances between Wriothesley, who effortlessly subdued his fellow mercenaries, his employer, and the aloof scribe who stood in front of you protectively.

The onlookers stared in astonishment at the unfolding scene. Aniya, her mouth agape in amazement, beheld the renowned Duke of Fontaine standing before her very eyes, and besides you, Al Haitham, the esteemed Acting Grand Sage of Sumeru, portrayed a grand demeanour, often misunderstood. She observed his protective stance in front of you and it brought a small smile to her face, recognizing the subtle expressions of love in those gestures. She watched them in awe despite feeling guilt for the entire situation being a result of her actions.

"You appear to be managing quite well without me" Al Haitham replied with a raised brow.

"Leaving me to do all the work, I see" Cracking his neck, Wriothesley awaited the concluding blow from the sole remaining mercenary.

"Classifying it as 'work' would be a stretch," Al Haitham emphasized, "Three mercenaries hardly pose a challenge for you, Your Grace."

Releasing the two mercenaries he held, both now unconscious, Wriothesley did so just as the final adversary staggered forward on unsteady legs. True to Al Haitham's assertion, Wriothesley effortlessly subdued the remaining threat by gripping the front of his shirt and hoisting him off the ground.

"I feel like I'm third wheeling," You remarked.

"Nonsense, Wriothesley just talks a lot" Al Haitham brushed aside, moving past you in the direction of Afif, narrowing the brief gap between them. With the situation now in check, the only task left was tending to Afif before you could all proceed on your way.

"I'm sensing a bit tension though" You teased, nonetheless.

"Really?" Pipes Wriothesley over his shoulder, "On a scale of 10, how good is our chemistry?"

"Can you not entertain this, Wriothesley" Al Haitham looks at you, "And no, there is nothing of the sort nor will there ever be"

"Why not?"

"I am perfectly content with the relationship I'm in," He says, and simultaneously, a metallic clinking sound captures your attention.

You glance towards the source of the sound and find yourself pleasantly surprised. Wriothesley notices the shift in your gaze and follows your line of sight. Al Haitham had grabbed the dangling pair of handcuffs on his hip, right under his nose, and placed them on Afif's hands, all while everyone's attention was absorbed in listening to your conversation rather than observing him.

"What the─" Wriothesley muttered, his eyes wandering to the metal restraints encircling the discourteous customer's wrists. A moment later, upon realization setting in, he checked his side, only to realize with surprise that it was indeed his handcuffs.

"Keep up" The smugness in Al Haithams voice could be heard even without looking at him.

"Well shit buddy, good luck trying to get those off" Wriothesley blinks, expression flat as he stares at his handcuffs knowing the only means of removing them lies in a key only accessible to him – a key that resided in the drawer of his cluttered desk all the way in Fontaine.

"So.." Wriothesley trails off looking around, "What do we do with them now?"

"Let's have them pay a visit to the General Mahamatra, I'm certain he'd know just what to do with you"

"This has no connection to the Akakemiya. I haven't breached any rules concerning it and therefore you have no right to detain me like this! It goes against my rights."

Wriothesley chuckled, bending eye level with Afif. "Your rights have just been revoked, Lord"

"I beg to differ. Would you like a detailed account of all your criminal activities?" Al Haitham undoubtedly possesses more knowledge than he let's on. He's not bluffing, and you wonder what kind of leverage your fiancé has on this insignificant Lord for him submit and cower so quickly.

Leaning in to whisper, he says, "Wouldn't want the Akademiya catching wind of your illicit knowledge exchanges, would we? Or perhaps General Mahamatra is already on the lookout for you, Khada'i. Your nose is in everyone's business, and because of that, I'll ensure you're buried. Now then," he pats his shoulder. Sweat accumulates on Afif's—rather, Khada'i's—face under the pressure of Al Haitham's words. "Sit quietly and await your end."

"You two are enjoying this" You shift your weight to your right leg, hand on your hip.

"Not in the slightest," Denies Al Haitham, while simultaneously, Wriothesley questions, "What gives you that impression?"

Shaking your head, you dismiss the two as the guards lead away the identity-deceiving lord into proper custody. You turn to Aniya once more, and she showers you with endless gratitude for your help and assistance. She expresses concern about what might have happened if you hadn't been there, especially with Afif sending his mercenaries after her, fearing what may have become of the situation then had you not stepped in. The recent situation had drained you entirely of your energy and though Aniya offered to repay you in any way she could, you politely declined, desiring only to be on your way and depart from the public eye, wanting nothing more than to be home with a cup of coffee and your bed.

☣ copyright @archonsabyss all rights reserved // do not copy; steal; plagiarize; reword or repost my works to any other platform! No translations!! All credits to original owners of characters/anime/pictures that are not my own!

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bitchiswild · 4 months

Text

Winter Ball

Kim Minjeong x F! Reader

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 3.5k

A/n: ❄️🎻🪩

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

The Winter Ball, an event steeped in opulence and prestige, stands as the pinnacle of the year's social calendar. Within its glittering halls, destinies intertwine, where chance encounters spark romances and hearts both unite and fracture. This illustrious affair owes its existence to the esteemed Kim Seok, a titan among elites, who christened the gala in honor of his beloved daughter, Kim Minjeong, affectionately known as Winter.

Beyond its facade of elegance and grandeur, the Winter Ball is a nexus of strategic alliances and lucrative sponsorships, where business dealings are as commonplace as swirling waltzes and whispered confessions. Yet, amid the clinking glasses and shimmering gowns, there exists an unwritten expectation, one fervently held by Kim Seok himself. With each meticulously planned Winter Ball, he harbors a silent hope—a hope that his daughter, Winter, might find love amidst the enchanting splendor.

Winter, however, is a vision of independence and conviction. Echoing her father's unyielding spirit, she rebuffs the allure of romantic entanglements with a steadfast declaration: "I have no need for such entrapments. Love is a fallacy." Yet, despite her protestations, Kim Seok discerns a familiar skepticism in her words, a reflection of his own past reservations before fate introduced him to the love of his life—Winter's mother.

In the depths of his heart, Kim Seok yearns for Winter to experience the transformative power of love, much as he did. With an ardent wish that transcends the gilded confines of the Winter Ball, he quietly prays for the serendipitous arrival of the one who will awaken his daughter's belief in love, just as it was once awakened within him.

As the anticipation mounts and the chandeliers cast their ethereal glow upon the revelers, Kim Seok watches over the festivities, his paternal gaze holding a silent plea to the stars: that Winter, his cherished daughter, may find within this glittering celebration the key to unlock the guarded chambers of her heart.

~~~

Winters POV

I let out a resigned sigh, my eyes scanning the elegantly adorned room filled with twirling couples lost in their own romantic reverie. Amidst the enchanting melodies and graceful waltzes, I stood on the periphery, a silent observer of a spectacle that failed to captivate my convictions. Love, in my view, was a frivolous pursuit—an enigmatic dance of emotions I had no desire to partake in. Love at first sight? Ridiculous.

"Minjeong!" Jimin's voice interrupted my musings, drawing my attention to my ever-optimistic best friend. She flashed a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with a certainty that often accompanied her unwavering faith in matters of the heart.

"You're always so dismissive about love, but mark my words, one day you'll see. It'll all make sense," she remarked, her tone laced with a playful certainty that mirrored her perpetual optimism.

I couldn't help but scoff. "You say that as if it's some inevitable epiphany waiting to happen."

Jimin chuckled, her laughter carrying a hint of affectionate exasperation. "Trust me, Minjeong. Once you experience it, your perspective will shift entirely. Love won't seem like a waste of time anymore."

Her words lingered in the air as she sauntered away, disappearing into the crowd with her partner, leaving me to ponder her unwavering belief in the inexplicable magic of love.

Despite my protestations, I couldn't shake off the echo of her words. Was there a kernel of truth in her confident assertions? Could love truly transform one's outlook, turning what I deemed as frivolous into something profound and meaningful?

As the music swelled and the enchantment of the Winter Ball continued to weave its spell around the room, I found myself caught in a fleeting moment of contemplation. Perhaps, just perhaps, amidst the sea of skeptics, cynics, and believers alike, there existed a truth waiting to reveal itself—a truth about love that I had yet to uncover.

As I made my way towards the refreshments, a subtle shift in the atmosphere caught my attention. A figure, graceful and poised, mirrored my steps toward the drink table. Her presence, almost magnetic, tugged at my senses, and for a fleeting moment, the room seemed to shrink, centering around this enigmatic stranger.

"Sorry, am I in your way?" Her gentle voice broke the spell, drawing me from my reverie. I shook my head, startled by the sudden rush of emotions that stirred within me. "N-No, you're not. It's okay," I managed to stutter out, my heart thundering in my chest.

She giggled, her laughter a melody that resonated through the air, and in that moment, it felt like I was enveloped in pure bliss. Was this the inexplicable sensation Jimin spoke of—the rush of emotions, the rapid heartbeat, all in the presence of a stranger? Could this be the much-dismissed notion of love at first sight?

Summoning an ounce of courage I hadn't known I possessed, I extended my hand towards her. "My name's Minjeong. What's yours?" The words stumbled out, coated in a mix of nerves and excitement.

The girl turned toward me, her eyes sparkling with an unspoken allure. "Y/n," she replied, taking my hand in hers. "Nice to meet you, Minjeong. But I've got to get going; my friends are waiting for me. I'll see you on the dance floor?" Her words lingered in the air, a question tinged with a hint of anticipation.

I could only nod dumbly, lost momentarily in the radiance of her smile. As she giggled and gracefully departed, I felt a rush of relief flood through me. It was as if the weight of the moment lifted as she left my vicinity. Gathering my composure, I hurriedly made my way through the crowd, seeking out Jimin amidst the throng of revelers.

"Jimin!" I called out, scanning the crowd for my ever-supportive best friend. Spotting her animatedly conversing with a group nearby, I navigated through the sea of dancers and socialites, eager to share the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me.

"Minjeong, there you are!" Jimin's eyes lit up as she noticed me approaching, her expression expectant. "Did you find yourself a drink?"

I chuckled, trying to compose myself after the unexpected encounter. "Yeah, but more importantly, Jimin, I just had the most...unexpected moment."

Jimin arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Oh? Do tell!"

I recounted the brief yet intense interaction with Y/n, the rush of emotions, and the lingering sensation of having stumbled upon something inexplicably enchanting.

Jimin's grin widened with each word, a silent acknowledgment dancing in her eyes. "Minjeong, could it be? Love at first sight?"

I hesitated, grappling with the idea I'd dismissed moments before. "I don't know, Jimin. It sounds so cliché, doesn't it? But there was something about her... It was different."

Jimin's laughter bubbled forth. "Welcome to the club, Minjeong! Looks like someone's heart might be softening after all."

I rolled my eyes playfully but couldn't deny the fluttering feeling in my chest, a strange mix of nervousness and excitement at the thought of seeing Y/n again.

"Will you go dance with her?" Jimin nudged, her gaze filled with encouragement.

"I-I think so," I stammered, surprised by my own resolve. "I hope I see her there."

With Jimin's teasing encouragement and the memory of Y/n's smile lingering in my mind, I found myself swaying to the music, unable to shake off the lingering anticipation of a potential reunion.

As the night progressed and the melodies intertwined with laughter and whispers, I couldn't help but steal glances around the room, hoping for another glimpse of Y/n amidst the swirling crowd.

Time had passed, and there was no sight of Y/n. Faint disappointment settled in as I made my way back to the bar, hoping to find solace in another drink. Yet, to my surprise, there she was, standing next to a guy who seemed to be making her visibly uncomfortable.

My steps faltered as I approached the bar, the familiar sight of Y/n amidst an uncomfortable interaction stopping me in my tracks. A knot formed in my stomach, an instinctive urge to intervene surging within me.

Y/n stood there, her expression strained, a polite yet uneasy smile plastered on her face. Beside her loomed a guy, his demeanor exuding an unsettling sense of entitlement. His persistent attempts at conversation were met with Y/n's subtle but visible discomfort.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" I questioned, my voice poised but carrying an underlying concern.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise, a hint of relief flickering across her face. "Minjeong! I'm so glad you're here," she responded, her voice tinged with gratitude.

I turned my attention to the guy beside her, offering a friendly yet assertive smile. "Hi there! I'm Minjeong. Sorry to interrupt, but Y/n and I have some catching up to do, right?"

The guy glanced between us, seemingly taken aback but sensing the shift in the atmosphere, he excused himself with a half-hearted smile and sauntered away.

Y/n exhaled a breath she seemed to have been holding, offering me a grateful smile. "Thank you, Minjeong. That was...unexpected."

I shrugged, trying to downplay the gravity of the situation. "No problem. Looked like you needed a rescue."

As the tension dissipated, Y/n's gaze met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. The brief yet charged moment solidified something unspoken, a connection forming in the wake of an unexpected rescue.

"Hey, let's grab that drink together," I suggested, hoping to offer some reprieve from the uncomfortable encounter.

Y/n's smile widened, a genuine spark returning to her eyes. "I'd like that."

As we moved towards the bar, the weight of the encounter fading into the background, a newfound sense of camaraderie and intrigue filled the space between us.

The ambient glow of the Winter Ball seemed to dim in the wake of the burgeoning connection between Y/n and me. We settled at a quieter corner of the bustling venue, cocooned in our own world, amid the gentle hum of conversations and the occasional tinkling of glasses.

"So, Minjeong," Y/n began, her voice a melodic invitation to unravel the layers of our mutual acquaintance. "What brings you to the Winter Ball?"

I shared anecdotes about attending with Karina, my father's insistence on finding love for me at these events, and my own skepticism about the enchantment of love.

"And what about you, Y/n?" I inquired, eager to reciprocate the sharing. "How did you end up here?"

She laughed softly, the sound like a symphony in the midst of the ball's elegance. "Honestly, I was dragged here by a friend. Not much of a fan of these extravagant affairs myself."

As we conversed, the conversation flowed effortlessly, each exchange peeling away the layers of initial awkwardness. We discovered shared interests, from music preferences to our views on the complexities of life. There was a comfortable rhythm to our interaction, a natural chemistry that seemed to bridge any gap between us.

Time ceased to exist as we exchanged stories, laughter, and thoughts. The once-imposing Winter Ball now felt like an intimate setting, our dialogue weaving an invisible thread between us, binding our newfound connection.

The night wore on, the music shifting from lively tunes to mellower melodies, yet our conversation continued, unhurried and unreserved. Amidst the glamour and opulence of the ball, a genuine connection had blossomed—a serendipitous encounter that defied the confines of the grand event.

As the evening drew to a close and the final strains of music echoed through the hall, I realized that amidst the sea of faces and fleeting encounters, I had found an unexpected and cherished connection in Y/n.

Our exchange continued, weaving a tapestry of shared experiences and aspirations. As the night unfolded its secrets, we found ourselves drawn to the idea that chance encounters often held the most unforeseen treasures.

Eventually, the allure of the wintry night beckoned, and Y/n suggested we step outside to catch a breath of fresh air. The grand doors opened, leading us to the quiet serenity of the winter landscape outside.

A hushed blanket of snow had begun to descend, painting the night in a soft, ethereal glow. The air was crisp, and the gentle flakes danced around us, adding a touch of enchantment to the already magical evening.

Y/n and I stood side by side, gazing at the mesmerizing sight before us. The snowflakes twirled in the air, creating a tranquil scene that felt straight out of a storybook.

"It's beautiful," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

Y/n nodded in agreement, her eyes reflecting the soft glimmer of the falling snow. "It really is. There's something so serene about snowfall, isn't there?"

We stood there, amidst the quiet elegance of the wintry night, sharing a moment that transcended the grandeur of the Winter Ball. The snowflakes continued their graceful descent, enveloping us in a cocoon of tranquility and wonder.

In that peaceful solitude, our conversation took on a more introspective tone. We spoke of dreams, aspirations, and the inexplicable beauty found in the simplest of moments—a shared understanding that seemed to deepen the connection between us.

As the snow continued to cascade from the heavens, we exchanged quiet smiles, a silent acknowledgment of the rare beauty of this shared moment. For in the delicate dance of snowflakes and the whispers of our conversation, something special had bloomed between us.

As the delicate snowflakes continued their graceful descent, an unspoken warmth enveloped us in a cocoon of shared moments and unspoken sentiments. I turned to Y/n, a genuine sincerity coloring my words.

"I really enjoy your company, Y/n," I expressed, my voice carrying the weight of truth and vulnerability.

Her eyes sparkled with a reflective radiance, mirroring the sentiment. "I enjoy your company too, Minjeong," she replied, her smile a testament to the comfort found in our connection.

We stood there, side by side, witnessing the tranquil spectacle of the first snowfall. The silence between us was filled with unspoken words, an uncharted territory of emotions and possibilities.

"You know what they say about the first snow," I remarked, breaking the tranquil silence between us.

Y/n turned to me, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "No, what is it?" she asked, her voice soft and attentive.

"It's where you make a wish, and they say it might just come true," I explained, a tinge of wistfulness in my tone.

"Make a wish, Minjeong," she encouraged gently, her eyes filled with a gentle encouragement that urged me to embrace the moment.

I let out a sigh, the weight of my wish settling in my chest. "I wish to take you out on a date," I confessed, the words slipping out, carrying the earnestness of my feelings.

In the tranquil serenity of the wintry night, with snowflakes twirling around us like silent witnesses, I dared to voice a longing that had quietly blossomed within me.

Y/n's gaze held mine, her eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions. Her soft smile echoed the silent understanding that had grown between us, a shared connection woven in the magical embrace of the first snow.

As the snowfall continued its gentle descent, a subtle chill began to permeate the air. I noticed Y/n subtly shivering, the cold seeping through the elegant attire she wore for the ball.

"You're getting cold, aren't you?" I asked, concern lacing my words as I observed her discomfort.

Y/n nodded, a faint blush gracing her cheeks. "A little, yes."

Without hesitation, I slipped off my own warm sweater, a comforting shield against the wintry chill, and offered it to her. "Here, take this. It's warmer," I insisted, my voice carrying both concern and a hint of bashfulness.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise at the gesture, her gaze meeting mine in a mix of gratitude and astonishment. "Minjeong, I couldn't—"

"Please," I urged gently, my smile attempting to ease any reservations she might have. "I want you to be warm."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Y/n accepted the sweater, wrapping it around herself with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Minjeong. You're too kind."

The exchange brought an unexpected warmth to the wintry night—not just from the shared gesture but from the growing connection and the unspoken promise that hung between us.

With Y/n now shielded from the biting cold, our shared moment continued, the snowflakes descending around us in a silent ballet. The act of offering my sweater felt like a bridge between us, forging an unspoken closeness that transcended the physical warmth it provided.

As we stood there, enveloped in the beauty of the snowfall and the quiet understanding that bound us, the promise of a forthcoming date lingered in the air, an anticipation that added an extra layer of magic to the Winter Ball's enchanting allure.

The clock struck midnight, signaling the end of the enchanting evening. Reluctantly, I walked Y/n to her car, the weight of impending separation casting a shadow over our otherwise uplifting interaction.

"Here's my number. Text me about the date plan; I'm looking forward to it," Y/n said, her smile radiant with anticipation, as she handed me a slip of paper bearing her contact information.

My bashfulness emerged, rendering me momentarily speechless. "I'm excited too. I'll be sure to text you. Just get home safe, alright?" I replied softly, hoping to mask the fluttering nerves within me.

Y/n's smile widened, and in that moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Her gentle kiss on my cheek felt like a jolt of electricity, sending my heart into a frenzy. For an instant, I felt as though I might lose my footing, caught in the unexpected rush of emotions.

"Good night, Minjeong," she whispered, her words carrying a softness that reverberated through me.

I stood there, watching her car depart, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. Placing a hand over my heart, I attempted to steady the rapid beating within my chest, the lingering sensation of her kiss lingering like an echo.

Before I could collect my thoughts, Karina came bounding towards me, brimming with excitement. "Oh my gosh, I saw everything! Minjeong is head over heels, everyone!" she exclaimed with uncontainable enthusiasm.

I stood there, Karina's excited proclamation ringing in my ears, a mix of bewilderment and anticipation coursing through me. Her words echoed a truth I had vehemently denied for so long—love had never held a place in my beliefs.

But as I stood there, my hand unconsciously lingering on the spot where Y/n's kiss had landed, a revelation dawned upon me. I had once deemed love a frivolous notion, dismissing it as a mere illusion. Yet, in this whirlwind encounter, I found myself yearning for something I never thought I'd desire.

The Winter Ball had unveiled a world of possibilities I had stubbornly ignored, and in the lingering warmth of Y/n's presence, my heart had stirred with unfamiliar emotions. What had begun as skepticism had morphed into an eager anticipation for what lay ahead—a date that held the promise of something genuine and heartfelt.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I found myself eagerly awaiting the prospect of love—a concept I once rejected but now, with each flutter of my heart, embraced with open arms.

Years cascaded by in a beautiful tapestry woven with shared moments, laughter, and a love that surpassed every doubt. Y/n and I stood side by side, a testament to the transformative power of love, as we returned to the Winter Ball each year.

My father's beaming smile was a reflection of his joy as he witnessed the love that had bloomed between Y/n and me. The Winter Ball, once a place of skepticism and uncertainty for me, now held a cherished significance—a testament to our enduring bond and the promise of a love that had weathered the test of time.

With each passing holiday season, Y/n and I found ourselves wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence. The Winter Ball had become more than just an extravagant event; it was a celebration of our love story—a reminder of the serendipity that had brought us together and the countless memories we continued to create.

The twinkling lights, the elegant dances, and the festive atmosphere held a deeper meaning now—a symbol of our shared journey, a testament to the enduring love that had blossomed amidst the enchantment of that first Winter Ball.

As we danced under the glittering lights, surrounded by the echoes of laughter and the whispers of timeless promises, I couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the unexpected turns that had led me to find the love of my life.

Every holiday season was now a cherished opportunity—a chance to revel in the love that had transformed my beliefs, turning skepticism into an unwavering certainty that love, indeed, was the most powerful magic of all.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

#bitchiswild #BIW.WRITES #aespa x reader #aespa #fluff #aespa x fem reader #aespa imagines #aespa minjeong #aespa winter #winter x reader #kim winter #minjeong x reader #kim minjeong #minjeong

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divno · 1 year

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Change is beautiful inside a kind of world made out of constant

-Laura Chouette

#aesthetic #dark academia #collage #books #learning #poetry #literature #art #change #quotes about change #laura chouette #profound reverie #The Painting of Mrs. Ravensbruck #When Dusk Falls #the green grove

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askfortheemoon · 2 years

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A reverie is one soul's river - a word is one heart's vein.

Laura Chouette, Profound Reverie

#Laura chouette #profound reverie #reverie #aesthetic #dark academic aesthetic #dark academia #book quotes #dark academia lovers #literary quotes #quotation #quotes #relatable quotes #chaotic academic aesthetic #light acadamia aesthetic #light academia #lovers #soul

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laluvlidovezgal · 5 days

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CHANCE.

TW! implications of death.

bittersweet! melancholic

t. muichiro x f. reader

graciously requested by @muuumuiiii ! thank you so much for requesting, you sweet lovely lad<3

who would have anticipated it? the mist hashira, of all individuals, displaying a concern that surpassed anyone else's for you—the spirit pillar; a warrior whose technique came at the steep cost of a gradual erosion of your life.

THE MOON; THE BRIGHTEST PEARL SUSPENDED IN OUR VELVET SKY THAT FLOODED THE INKY DARKNESS WITH ITS SILVER GLOW.

a radiant disc it was. casting its ethereal glow upon the shadows of the night, while also heralding the relentless onslaught of a few infamous entities—demons.

a symbol of hope, this pale sentinel embodied a goddess-like presence, standing as a timeless guardian, observing the earth with an unwavering gaze as warriors valiantly battled the monstrous creatures scattered throughout.

above, the luminous orb commanded the vast expanse of stars, illuminating them all. yet, even in this peaceful night, two particular slayers found themselves immersed in the serenity, although one seemed burdened by a more pressing concern, far beyond the tranquility itself.

in a world where such creatures roamed, the perfect harmony would remain elusive.

thus, what purpose did survival serve if death constantly loomed, a persistent visitor at one's very doorstep?

well, the purpose of life is to be happy. or at least, that's what this young man believed.

said boy possessed an acute understanding of this belief, as if it had become ingrained in the very fabric of his being—an awareness that, perhaps, bordered on the excessive.

the sheer ecstasy of savoring every moment of existence, embracing its essence in its entirety, was undeniably a remarkable achievement—a feat that deserved to be celebrated with fervor.

thus, he found himself utterly incapable of comprehending—indeed, he never had—how she could nonchalantly dismiss the imminent cessation of her own existence, as if it were a trifling matter. the weight of her disregard for her own life gnawed at him, like a persistent ache that defied understanding.

..then again, had he been any different?

"—and…now you’re spacing out, again.”

ah, the sound of that melodious voice; both longed for and dreaded, resonated within him and snapped him out of his reverie. even though he had incessantly poured out his thoughts to her since he awakened from his coma, with her faithfully by his side, deep in slumber—despite her own exhaustion—she had remained.

as your words echoed in his ears, he shifted his gaze to meet your own—and oh, those eyes.

he would give anything to forever witness his own reflection in the depths of your eyes.

in a mesmerizing dance, your gazes intertwined; an exquisite tapestry woven with delicate threads of connection.

he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnificence of your irises—their majesty akin to rare crystalline treasures, gleaming beneath the majestic canopy of the nocturnal sky.

as a gentle zephyr whispered sweet nothings, its delicate touch caressed their beings, a tender embrace from the invisible hands of nature. he watched, his eyelids descending to a half-closed state, surrendering to the enchanting symphony of the night.

the breeze, like a playful sprite, felt as if it alone, could carry away his worries and sorrows, dispersing them into the velvety darkness.

yet, amidst this reposeful tranquility, a question lingered in the depths of his soul, an enigma that remained elusive and enigmatic.

it was one of the few riddles that continued to elude his grasp, an enigmatic puzzle that defied comprehension, regardless of whether he had regained his former self or not.

why, he pondered ever so deeply, did your well-being hold such profound significance to him?

why did his heart ache with an inexplicable yearning to protect you, to ensure the radiance within you remained untouched by the shadows of the world? it was as if his very purpose revolved around safeguarding your light, shielding it from the encroaching darkness threatening to dim its brilliance.

no, he never intended to diminish your worth in any way.

on the contrary—he understood, with a profound certainty, that you’re fully capable of caring for yourself alone.

yet, despite his awareness, a veil of mystery draped over his consciousness—that of a delicate wisp of mist teasing the boundaries of his understanding. it remained tantalizingly close, yet perpetually out of his reach, an enigma that eluded his grasp.

similarly elusive was the faint, almost imperceptible yet weighty pang in his heart each time his gaze flickered to your bandages that dressed your wounds.

he struggled to fathom its origins, to decipher the emotions that coursed through him with every glance. was it concern, fear, or something different altogether?

of course, he chastised himself for overreacting. after all, you were healing, weren't you?

...right?

at least, that was the relentless mantra he repeated to himself, like a haunting melody, a lullaby of self-deception.

perhaps it was a lie he constructed, a defense mechanism to shield himself from the harsh reality. deep down, he knew all too well that you were pushing yourself to the brink, sacrificing fragments of your own well-being to save countless others from the clutches of death.

how he yearned to tell you—to implore you—to cease using the very essence that slowly, yet inexorably, eroded your own vitality. the desire to shield you from the self-inflicted harm, consumed him.

yet, who was he to stand in your way?

who was he to dictate how you should pursue your purpose—your solemn vow? who had the right to demand that you discard the only technique you knew, as if acquiring a new skill were a trivial matter?

perhaps, for you, it had maybe once been a tangible option—a plausible alternative.

however, it clashed with the very reason why you chose to persist in wielding the power of spirit breathing, despite its unfortunate and devastating toll on your own being.

it was a conundrum that weighed heavily upon his soul, yet another conflict that tugged at the frayed edges of his limited understanding.

then, abruptly—his consciousness snapped back to reality, like a fragile dream shattered by the gentle sweep of a waving hand.

in that instant, the symphony of your voice, a sweet and melodious tune, graced his senses once more, stirring his spirit from its slumber.

"hello? earth to tokito?"

your words danced in the air, adorned with a delicate blend of amusement and genuine concern—whilst he, silently observed your actions. his gaze lingering for a fleeting moment, as if capturing the essence of your graceful movements.

soon enough, his eyes blinked, like a dormant star awakening to illuminate the night sky, as he finally stirred from his reverie.

with a subtle tilt of his head, he emitted a soft hum—a melodic expression that intertwined intrigue and acknowledgment in response to your beckoning. the notes of his hum danced through the air, a secretive melody that conveyed both his curiosity and the recognition of your presence.

meanwhile, you watched him with an internal sigh of relief.

the young man, whom you had believed to be forever lost in the bewitching realm of his perpetual daydreams, had returned to the realm of the present. the transformation within him, from introspective to effervescent, had you spellbound, never failing to leave you even in but a speck of awe, of these rare moments of clarity that graced his being.

"seems like someone's finally awake."

a faint smile blossoming upon your lips, akin to the first delicate bloom of a spring flower. lowering your hand with graceful grace,

you adjusted yourself to a more comfortable position beside him on the edge of the engawa outside the butterfly manor—a perch where you and him had been leisurely spending time together, without a care in the world, rambling on about. relishing in the comfort in one another’s presence—like a normal pair of souls basking in the way of life.

"you’ve been staring at me for quite a while.”

pausing for a breath, you tilted your head—the radiance of your irises blooming with an enchanting glow, as if the secrets of the universe were hidden within their depths.

"what's wrong?"

in the midst of an enchanting moment, a subtle hint of wounded innocence played across your seductive countenance, evoking a mysterious allure.

"do i look that bad?"

your voice, though as mellow and gentle as always, carried an underlying touch of vulnerability.

in an instant, he reacted, tilting his head with a subtle mixture of surprise and denial.

"what? no."

aa he blinked, his words slipped out absent-mindedly, like a whisper from a dreamer's lips.

"far from it, actually."

he confessed, his sincerity palpable.

with a gaze that held a painter's eye for detail, he saw your flaws not as imperfections, but as intricate brush strokes that added depth to the masterpiece of your being. inexplicably, he adored you, to the point where it practically pained him.

and who could blame him? for you were way more than a mere beauty that could be captured in words. you were a tapestry of emotions, a symphony of sensations that defied description.

to him, you are everything.

your brows raised slightly, captivated by his ever-unpredictable nature. truly, like the wind, he embraced the freedom to wander in any direction he pleased.

reminiscent of an owl, you blinked a plenty amount of times, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity of his flattery. it seeped into the recesses of your heart, stirring a delicate blend of bashfulness and gratitude.

"then..."

unintentionally mimicking his gestures, as if dancing in synchrony with his spirit, you then asked, avidly yearning to explore the depths of his thoughts.

"mind sharing what's got you so..distant?"

although it was not deemed uncommon for him, of all individuals, to maintain a silent disposition, you possessed a deeper understanding—having witnessed something greater, something more.

despite the mere span of a few days, you stood as a crucial observer to the sudden shift in his demeanor. having been privy to a bewildering yet endearingly interactive side of the boy since his awakening, it became slightly disconcerting to witness him potentially regress into his characteristic, distant, and dazed state.

the memory of those extraordinary moments lingered, and it was disheartening to question whether they were mere illusions or if they held the promise of something genuine.

as of now, the male in question pressed his lips together, creating a slender line as his gaze wandered away from yours, as though searching for a brief respite from reality.

seeing this, you reassured him. carefully observing these subtle occurrences with your keen irises.

"you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

responding with a weary shake of his head and a sigh escaping his lips, his gaze flickered back to you, and as his eyes connected with yours once more, a subtle softness overcame them.

truly breathtaking were his eyes. they possessed a hue reminiscent of emerald, yet they gleamed like the replesdent glow of the moon above.

however, what truly captured your attention was the way his brows furrowed just as the corner of his lips downturned, for internally—a cascade of emotions crashed upon him all at once. moreover, a despairing layer seemed to coat his eyes, a poignant sorrow that caught you off guard.

"i don't like it."

he stated firmly, his words hanging in the air, leaving you perplexed.

your head tilted slightly further, eyes widening as you regarded him with curiosity and intrigue.

in response, he raised a hand to the area where his heart resided, his gaze lowering and narrowing towards the ground beneath you both.

"this feeling..."

his voice carried a weight of uncertainty, gaze delicately shifted back to meet yours—and in that moment, you could have sworn you saw his frown deepen as the hint of sorrow on his features became even more pronounced.

"and knowing you could..."

he trailed off, unable to bring himself to complete his sentence. yet, the unfinished words were enough for you to grasp the essence of his meaning.

your brows upturned, sensing the profound depth of emotions he struggled to express fully through words. you had a hunch that it might be something like this, but witnessing his reaction with such intensity was, without a doubt, enough to evoke a painful ache in anyone's heart.

the desire to comfort him welled up within you, an overwhelming longing to ease his burdens. yet, you couldn't help but question how you could possibly offer reassurance.

would it be by telling a blatant lie about something that was inevitable?

now, that would be nothing short of cruelty, no?

to suggest that you would overcome it would only exacerbate the pain. moreover, you were uncertain how to approach the situation without inadvertently triggering a devastating chain of events in the unavoidable future.

truth be told, if he were anyone else, you might have dismissed the matter with a casual remark, wouldn't you?

but with him, it was different.

you couldn't bring yourself to say so.

unable to find the right words in that moment, your gaze somberly shifted away from his, fixating on a distant point ahead. yet, in a sudden and unexpected instant, you were taken aback as you felt the weight of something new but vaguely familiar resting upon your shoulder—soft strands of supple hair gently brushing against you. along with it came a delicate warmth, enveloping you in an oddly soothing sensation.

"you don't have to say anything."

he quietly uttered, his honeyed voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and reassurance. he simply needed to release his thoughts into the open, to let them be heard, even if it was just a single sentence.

there had been no intention to pressurize or burden you, but rather a desire to be the one offering reassurance while subtly seeking comfort himself.

in a silent plea to convince himself that he wasn't caught in a dream, he gingerly leaned his head against your shoulder, and though was making sure not to add any more damage to your wounds, he did so without a hint of regret.

your heart skipped a beat, overwhelmed by the depth of his actions. turning your attention back to him, you found solace in this unspoken gesture of support. that tender gesture conveyed a profound understanding, a connection that surpassed the boundaries of words. it was a silent reassurance; of ones comforting presence for the other, especially in the face of uncertainty.

a sentimental smile graced your features as you felt immense gratitude for his selfless deeds. even in this moment, he made sure you were as comfortable as possible, going above and beyond to provide solace. the warmth of his actions filled you with a deep sense of appreciation and reinforced the unmatched bond between you.

"..thank you,"

you whispered in a hushed breath, your voice carrying the weight of profound appreciation.

though the words seemed simple, they held within them an entire universe of gratitude—a universe that bloomed with vivid colors, dreamlike aspirations, and meaningful connections.

with a delicate grace, you lifted your hand and allowed your fingertips to dance upon the canvas of his raven tresses. each strand, like a silken thread, wove a tapestry of sensations beneath your touch.

the texture was soft and supple, akin to the gentle caress of a summer breeze. as your fingers glided through the ebony strands, you embarked on a journey of intricate care, smoothing out the knots that dared to disrupt the harmony.

in this intimate act, time seemed to suspend, creating a space where the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in a transcendent moment. your touch, as mindful as the brushstrokes of an artist, traced a path of tenderness and care. each movement held intention, a pledge to protect and cherish him, ensuring no harm would befall his vulnerable spirit.

It was a silent symphony, where the language of trust and gratitude flowed effortlessly through the whispers of your fingertips.

as you continued this tender ministration, a vibrant tapestry of emotions unfurled within the depths of your heart. gratitude, like a delicate fragrance, mingled with a sense of wonder, weaving a spellbinding combination.

the tenderness you shared painted a tableau, akin to a cherished memory, where hues of warmth, understanding, and appreciation blended harmoniously.

pleased by your touch, a contented hum escaped your companion's lips, his eyes finding solace in the comfortable embrace of closed lids.

a smile, brimming with emotions, blossomed upon his visage, a testament to the profound impact of your presence.

his heart fluttered with a bittersweet ache, caught between the beauty of the present and the uncertainty of the future.

yet, even in the face of daunting odds, a glimmer of hope persisted within him. it discreetly clung to his being, refusing to be extinguished.

it was undeniably a childlike hope, both fragile and resilient; to yearn for the possibility of a miraculous turn of events.

still, muichiro wanted to embrace that chance, to patiently wait for the magic of a future with you.

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laurachouettepoetry · 14 days

Text

Love is a delicate suffering.

- Laura Chouette (Profound Reverie, 2023)

#aesthetics #dark academia #postmodernism #poetry #art #poem #literature #love #light academia #cottage core

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perseephoneee · 5 months

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have yourself a merry little christmas (jamie tartt x f! reader) ficmas 2023

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 1 of ficmas!

prompt: you and jamie are forced to participate in a holiday talent show

a/n: feeling very sad bc i'm not at i was feeling festive in mystic falls but this made me feel slightly okay. i wish this was better but i hope it's okay though *cries* also here are the videos i was referencing throughout this fic video 1 video 2.

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

You're still determining whose idea it was to have a holiday talent contest with the Richmond team, but whoever it was had your most profound hatred. Not because you wouldn't enjoy watching the team make fools of themselves, but because now you were pressured to participate.

It happened about a week ago when you stayed late at the facility. You stayed late to finish a project for Rebecca and noticed later how low the sun had gotten. Peering out your window, you swore over the passing sunset. Fatigue plagued you, and you knew you'd probably just pass out in bed when you got home. Deciding to freshen yourself up, you ventured downstairs to the kit room, where you knew Will kept extra towels. You just wanted to wash your face, waking up your bleary eyes for the road. As you entered the room to grab a towel, you could hear voices from the showers.

Should you have walked into the men's room? Probably not. But you were always curious, and you were already in the room by the time you felt any hesitancy. Peering around one of the corners, you could hear the soft sounds of singing coming from one of the stalls. The raining water dampened the sound slightly, but it didn't suppress the beauty of the voice you heard.

"Birds flying high, you know how I feel..."

Whoever was singing sounded like an angel. You didn't even know that any of the boys were singers, but now you were more than intrigued. You got lost in the singing, your back pressed against the tile wall, to the point that you were late to notice the sound of the shower turning off. Snapping out of your reverie, you waited until said player left to compliment their singing. Of course, said player ended up being Jamie Tartt.

"What the hell, Y/N!" Jamie swore, a hand held over his heart as he came around the corner and saw you.

"Why didn't you tell anyone you could sing?" You slouched off the wall, arms crossed, as you looked at Jamie with a sly smile.

"Why'd you got to hide in the men's bathroom like that?" He looked at you with furrowed brows, a slight blush coating his cheeks. You had never caught Jamie off guard before, and it made butterflies dance in your stomach. Having a crush on Jamie was a given; anyone with eyes could see how gorgeous he was. The difference is you've had the pleasure of seeing him grow.

"Does anyone else know you can sing?" You inquired.

"No, I keep that to me-self," Jamie mumbled, shoving his hands in his shirt and avoiding eye contact.

"You have a beautiful voice," you said smallly. "See you around, Tartt." You walked out of the bathroom, leaving him behind as you daydreamed about Jamie's voice all the way home.

The next day was when he got payback. Office days can be extremely long and tiring; sometimes you just like to hunker down with some tea and focus on finishing your work. You had your door closed, feet curled up under you as you worked on finishing your reports. You sang softly to yourself to pass the time.

"I've been meaning to tell you, I think your house is haunted; your dad is always mad, and that must be why."

Jamie burst in the door, finger pointing at you and expressing I-got-you-now.

"Bloody hell," you swore, jolting back and almost knocking over your tea.

"Well, well, look, whos been keeping a secret?" Jamie smiled, sauntering over to your desk. You gave him a pointed glare.

"Were you eavesdropping?"

"Maybe," He said, his accent making it sound like 'may-bay.'

"Have you heard of privacy?" You sighed.

"Have you?"

"Touche," you smiled. Jamie was still looking at you, as expected. You gestured for him to spit out whatever he wanted to say. "Spit it out."

"You'll see soon enough," Jamie cooed, walking backward from your office. You didn't trust whatever he had up his sleeve, which was proven later by Ted bounding in with his usual enthusiasm. You liked Ted; he was unbelievably kind and hilarious, but you were pretty suspicious when he came in with a shit-eating grin.

"Y/N! I'm so excited to hear the news," he smiled, hands in his pockets.

"Uh, what news?" you raised your brows, fingers stilling on your keyboard.

"That you'll be performing in our little holiday talent show that Higgins is putting on this year," Ted laughs. "When I saw your name, I have to admit I was surprised. I didn't expect you to sign up-- but I'm so glad you did."

Jamie fucking Tartt, that little shit. You knew this was his doing. By the heavens, you wanted to tell Ted right now that this was all a mistake, but seeing how excited he was made you pause. You had never performed in front of people before, not since you were 8 years old and forced to be in a school-wide production of Peter Pan. But you could work this to your advantage. If Jamie thought he could get away with this, then he was in for a treat.

"I'm also glad I signed up," you chuckled, clasping your hands on your desk.

"Be warned though-- Beard and I have a pretty nifty performance up our sleeves," Ted finger-gunned, skipping out of your office with a wave. Oh, you were in deep shit.

The holiday talent show was later that weekend. It was Higgin's idea to get everyone together, especially since many of the boys couldn't go home for the season. Keeley was the one who thought having a friendly competition would be exciting. The prize was, of course, a ridiculous crown someone bought and dinner on the team. It was being hosted at Higgin's place, a very comfy home near Nelson Road. You were dressed in a simple but classy maroon velvet dress that you paired with boots and a sparkly clip pulling back your hair. Christmas crackers were exploding from the tote bag you carried, the gifts for the team and your co-workers. Gift-giving was in your nature, and you couldn't come empty-handed.

Keeley was the one who answered the door, dressed in black with pearl accessories and looking every part a gorgeous holiday ornament.

"Oh my gosh, Y/N, you look amazing!" Keeley gushed, pulling you inside and suffocating you in a hug.

"I could say the same for you," you laughed, taking off your coat and shucking it in the closet.

"This old thing? Just something I found lying around," Keeley smoothed down her dress, sending you a sly smile as she wrapped her arm in yours. "Did you bring gifts?"

"Of course, that's my MO," you playfully smacked Keeley's arm as she took the bag out of your hands, putting it under the tree directly to the right of the foyer. Several people were already there, and you took time to say hello while graciously sipping the sparkling wine that was provided. When Jamie came in, you ended up in the corner with Sam discussing your favorite holiday movies (you were trying to convince him that Die Hard was a Christmas movie and that any other opinion is wrong). Your voice got stuck in your throat.

You had seen Jamie dressed up before, but somehow, in the warm light from the fire, it seemed so different. He was wearing a simple black blazer and button-up, but it's like he was stripped bare for you to see. He looked devilishly handsome, and you would be lying if you said you didn't have butterflies dancing through your chest and lungs.

Unfortunately for your sanity, Jamie noticed you and took a pause before sending you a small smile. You waved back, a flush crossing your cheeks as you turned away to continue your conversation with Sam. You were saved from any more awkward reactions by Beard announcing it was time for the talent show to commence. Everyone gathered in the living room, some boys sitting on the ground like kids listening to story time and others (like yourself) standing in the back, excited to watch the festivities commence.

"Thank you for coming to my home tonight," Higgins started, taking a slight bow when everyone whooped and hollered. "I'm excited to spend the season with my friends and family and even more excited to see what you guys have in store for us! Without further ado, I'm pleased to welcome our esteemed coaches to the stage."

More cheering commenced as Ted, Beard, and even Roy "ascended" to the stage (a carpet thrown on the ground). Roy looked exasperated to be there, but Beard and Ted were putting on their game faces as the music started, and they performed "Love Shack" by the B-52s. You couldn't stop the laugh from leaving your throat as you saw them honestly give their all.

"I am so glad I am here to see this," Jamie whispered, coming up on your right and sending you into a mini heart attack.

"Gees, you scared me," you sent him a glare, for which he only winked back.

"Roy looks so happy to be here," Jamie smiled, pointing to Roy, who was playing the tambourine with the same enthusiasm you had for paying your taxes.

"I'm sure it was all his ideas," you answered, bumping Jamie's shoulder with your own.

"Oi, when is Roy Kent going to sing!" Jamie yelled, proceeding to get flipped off by Roy right as Ted and Beard broke into choreographed dancing.

The night continued in much the same fashion, with you and Jamie giving your commentary the whole time. Sam did spoken word poetry, several of the boys did dances, and Rebecca, dropped the mic with a chilling performance of Holy Night. You were having so much fun with Jamie that you forgot he had signed you up to perform.

"Okay, okay, we got a treat tonight. Our very own Y/N is performing with a special guest-- Jamie Tartt!" Higgins announced, gesturing for you two to get on stage. Jamie looked at you with confusion, and you suppressed the laugh that wanted to escape.

"Oh, didn't I mention I signed you up to perform with me," you smiled cheekily, winking at him as he looked at you flabbergasted. You hopped on the stage, ignoring the nerves spreading throughout your body as Jamie reluctantly joined you. The rest of the team was having the time of their life watching Jamie be uncomfortable, and you were enjoying your revenge. He sent you a death glare right as the music started, and you kept your eyes on him to not die of stage fright.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas; let your heart be light."

"From now on, our troubles will be out of sight."

Your voice carried across the room, and you saw a few surprised looks as everyone registered that you could actually sing. Feeling more confident, you turned to your friends and sent a small smile.

"Oh, here we are, as in olden days, happy golden days of yours."

Jamie came in with that croon that you couldn't get out of your head, and the jaws that dropped in the room were astronomical. He started playing it up for your friends as you made up your own dance on the "stage," even figuring out a harmony at some point.

The energy was palpable, and, by its end, it received standing ovations. You took Jamie's hand in yours, taking a bow. Ted came onto the stage, holding paper crowns and silencing the audience.

"I think we have a unanimous winner, don't we?" Ted asked, earning applause and a 'hell yeah' from Rebecca somewhere in the room. Ted crowned Jamie a red crown that he situated perfectly lopsided. He gave you a smile as he took the blue crown from Ted. You bowed your head as he placed it on, ensuring it fit perfectly. The kindness in his eyes was suffocating, and without caring for everyone in the room, you grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him. You could vaguely hear everyone in the room cheering, but you didn't care as Jamie kissed you back, wrapping an arm around your back.

You both smiled at each other and laughed at your friends' faces. Dani even took photos, which he was already sending to the team. Wrapping your arms around Jamie's neck, you looked at him and buried your face in his jacket.

"We're never going to live this down."

"I'm still going to get you back for making me sing," Jamie whispered, earning a chuckle from you.

"I'll look forward to it."

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sprout-fics · 7 months

Text

Falling Down to Earth (Part Three)

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Medic "Fix" Reader)

Part Four of Snowblind (Formerly 'Of Shadows and Bones')

Rating: PG-13 Wordcount: 5.5k Tags: Slow Burn, Trauma, Found Family, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Self Esteem Issues, Referenced Familial abuse, Mom Laswell, Domesticity, Reunions, Therapeutic healing, Sparring, Fluff, Happy Ending Warnings: References of childhood verbal abuse A/N: (See Ao3 for full author's notes)

Just like that, the autumn wind washes gently across your being.

It’s been weeks since you cried into Laswell’s arms in the dim, midnight light of her kitchen. Time has shifted since then, and the pull of the earth rotating endlessly under you now casts you into a hazy, resplendent golden glow of fall. The northeastern breeze cradles you as you lift your face to the late October sunshine, eyes closed and basking in the glory of the waning sunlight before winter’s eve. The aging trees that line the lane of Kate’s neighborhood begin to transform into amber and cognac, shifting against the crisp air where summer falls away with a gentle sigh.

It transforms you too, you think. The world is ever changing, evolving, turning itself over with death and renewal in a ceaseless evolution that seems to mirror the interior of your soul. You allow it to carry you, cradle you, and in your reverie you think about how despite everything, some things seem to stay the same.

“Grief is a funny thing.” You write in the journal Laswell has given you, a shawl draped across your shoulders, the crickets outside speaking of a time well past sunset. “I didn’t know that’s what it was until now. I’m still not sure what I’m grieving for, exactly. Maybe it’s for the things I missed because I didn’t let myself have them. Maybe it’s for the way I was treated. Maybe...it’s for the way I treated myself.”

You wake there come dawn, head bent against your arms, fingers tucked against the pages as if you still have so much more to say.

It’s not been so long since that night that you can’t remember the chest cracking sensation of your sobs, the way your fingers had stretched her shirt as you clung to Laswell in the solitude of her embrace. You think if you let your memories shift ephemeral across your thoughts you can still taste the salt of your tears, not unlike the ocean you were once so afraid of. It still roils under your gaze, held high on a precipice far above the waters. There lies your darkest nightmares, the haunting words of your father with his devastating prophecies. Yet it feels distant now, something caught in your shadow, but only when you turn to look. You know it will follow you, and that alone is enough to frighten you. Yet it is chased away by the brightness of the changed world around you.

The things Laswell said to you, her hushed words as you emptied yourself of sorrow into her arms remain with you. How she was sorry, how she was proud, how you belonged exactly where you wanted to be. You hold the words fast to your heart like a small, glowing lantern that burns a gentle flame. The fear, the anticipation and the dark chlorosis stays there too, but it’s different now. Changed, just like you.

Like the inexorable change of seasons, there’s something inside you that’s shifted now. Your paralytic fear and self-loathing keeps its place inside you, but the heaviness is no longer unbearable. You feel it lifted by a new, whispering updraft that buoys your healing wings and holds you delicately aloft against the sun. Sunlight dapples through dissipating storm clouds, and it streams through your fingers onto your wide-eyed, captivated gaze.

There’s things about the world around you you’ve never noticed until now, and in this new, profound wonder of yours you take it in with fluttering fascination that feels like the wingbeats of hope.

You notice the laughter of children in the afternoons when the school bus whines to a halt at the top of the lane, of the games they play and the call of their parents when it comes time for dinner. You notice the way black-eyed susans grow against the aged fence of Kate’s back yard, see a chipmunk sit and eat the dried seed heads. In the hours past sunset there’s a call of a barred owl from the aged oak that shadows the front yard. In the morning the rising sun reveals hovering particles of dust that float against the gauzy white curtains in the front room. Small things you’ve taken for granted now seem to mesmerize you, offering a glimpse of a world so much more delicate and beautiful than the one you thought you knew.

You notice the sound of your own voice now, how you’ve gone from quiet and subdued to something gentle but firm. You surprise yourself by how much you seem to say now, allow your own thoughts to echo into words. More than once you provide a quick comment to Kate or Paula and they pause, laugh at your humor, delighted and astonished at the things you’ve kept quiet until now. They notice the shift in your demeanor, look upon you with tender gazes that say little and yet convey so much. They’re watching you find your path, watching you balance delicately atop this new summit, arms spread like extended wings to hold yourself aloft. They hold your hands as you do, and you trust them to catch you should you stumble.

They take you to a fall festival, where the scent of maple curls across your senses. Paula stands over the produce stand and considers ingredients philosophically, and you sheepishly tug Laswell to go look at the petting zoo, to which she gives you a bemused look at your childlike fascination. When Paula fetches you to examine Halloween decorations Kate wanders off in search of coffee, returns to confess her secret adoration for cider-spiced flavors. You linger by the pumpkin patch, watch children struggle to hoist pumpkins larger than themselves. Paula nudes you meaningfully, and you carefully choose one for yourself, where it later sits on the steps up to the front door with a misshapen, lopsided grin.

“I know the sound of my own laughter now.” You write, and again that ache of grief and hope sits heavy in your chest, expands exponentially outwards as if your bones are barely enough to contain it. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to feel so much joy.”

The golden hour of afternoon spills through the windows of the office you visit each week, where conversations come easier to you now between you and your therapist. He smiles fondly at you as you struggle to reveal the things you’ve kept so tightly wound to yourself, trying and earnest and still learning the words to name the things you feel caught inside your hollow, filling heart.

You tell him everything you told Laswell and more. It’s a slow, grueling process. There’s so many things you’ve repressed and forgotten, and you learn you can’t remember them because it’s too painful, and that it’s alright. You learn the names of the things you experienced and learn how to balance them carefully against the weight of your soul, decide what is and isn’t worth remembering. He’s patient in a way you aren’t familiar with, and you smile at him gratefully when he gently suggests that it’s enough, and sends you home with a reminder to be kind to yourself.

It’s hard on some days, and you come back weary and ragged, overworn and crumpling into Kate and Paula’s arms. They hold you, keep you safe from the spiral of your own mind, and you learn how to let yourself be taken care of despite the tears that well in your eyes.

You learn that too- how to cry and not punish yourself for it.

Kate is patient as she reminds you over and over again the things she thinks of you, the things that are, and they balance against the words of your father, tip the scales so his prophecies are carried by the wind off the distant edge of the earth. You learn and keep the knowledge that you are so much more than what he thought of you.

“I didn’t realize just how much I’ve done with myself.” You write in your journal in the gentle cradle of evening. “I always thought it wasn’t enough, and maybe it still isn’t in some ways- but the things I’ve done mean a lot to me. I graduated university by myself, joined the military, got my medic training, made sergeant rank, got recruited by the CIA, and now I work with an international anti-terrorism taskforce.”

You pause.

“I’m still so young.”

You sometimes wonder what your father would think of you now, with all the things you’ve done, what they’d all think of you. The last time you’d spoken to your family had been shortly after your college graduation, when your mother had asked if you had gotten over your fierce independence and were ready to come home. You told her instead you were following through on your commitment to join the army. She’d been frantic and had handed the phone to your father. He’d only gotten three seconds of yelling before you had hung up and blocked all of them, curled into yourself in your dorm bunk and cried yourself empty.

You know reaching out would be only an attempt to prove yourself to them still, and you know now you don’t need them.

Instead, you look across the Atlantic, past the unfathomable depth of the ocean to the place where you belong. You look to them.

The team still hasn’t reached out, and you know it’s through no fault of your own. They’ve been deployed out of cellphone range for weeks now. Even if you tried to contact them the call wouldn’t go through. So you wait anxiously for them to return, thinking about all the things you want to tell them once you hear their voices.

Kate must take note of your anxious pacing when the worry becomes too much, because one weekend she tosses you a gym bag and tells you to be ready in ten minutes. You follow orders and clamber into the car with her, curious when she drives you out of the city and towards a subdued suburb with an aging strip mall, wherein lies what seems like a martial arts ring.

“Don’t tell Paula.” Kate levels at you with a pointed finger when she escorts you inside, and you hide a cheeky smile but cross your heart to never tell.

“Didn’t figure you for the type.” You levy back and watch as Kate rolls her shoulders while she wraps her hands. She has a lean build, narrow shoulders with stringy muscle that flexes under your eyes. She’s not strong so much as she is dexterous, agile in a way where the boys are not. They’re larger, packed with muscle that slows them down. Not Kate. Kate is lean, efficient, and fast.

You learn this quickly, as your typical approach to sparring with the boys becomes null and void against Kate’s quick onslaught, precise and practiced. A foot hooked around your ankle sends you sprawling the first time, and the second Kate uses your momentum to send you tumbling once more.

“I thought you never joined the military?” You wheeze from the mat as Kate stands over you.

“I didn’t.” She smirks and offers you a hand to stand. “I’ve just lived around soldiers long enough to pick up a few things.”

“More than a few things.” You gasp, doubling over to catch your breath as you rise. “Christ, Kate, that knocked the wind out of me.”

Laswell grins smugly. “That’s why we get back up.” She supplies, and you blink at the barely hidden nature of her words before feigning a roll of your eyes with a begrudging smile.

Kate stretches as she wanders away from you, looking very much like a cat in the sunshine, even with the pleased curl of her lips. It’s unfamiliar to you, the way she easily folds herself into the ring, seems at home here. Kate is a woman of many mysteries, and this itself feels like one of hundreds you’ve yet to fully understand. Yet somehow the confident flex of her muscles and glint of her eyes as she takes in your stance makes complete sense with what you know of her.

“Foot forward.” She nods, and you blink, glance down as you adjust. “It’ll help you balance when you throw your punch.”

You must look a little nervous at that because Kate huffs an amused chortle.

“Don’t laugh.” You whine piteously. “What if I hit you and Paula finds out? I don’t want to sleep on the streets.”

“Better make it count then.” Laswell quips, and springs forward.

Hours later, you find out Kate has been doing this since before Ethiopia, maybe even before you joined. You get the upper hand on her a few times, and warm under the praise she gives you before standing at attention when her hands gently guide your arms at a different angle, widening your stance. The guidance she gives you is much more focused on speed rather than the precision and endurance Price’s training offers. It’s useful in its own right, perfect for when you find yourself without any weapon to spare, and are focused more on escape than fatality. The bounce of the mat under your back becomes familiar, and more than once Kate snips at you for holding back on your strength, afraid to grapple in earnest.

It’s only once you’re both braced against the wall, damp with sweat and trying to catch your breath that you both call it quits. You pass a water bottle back and forth between you and prod the forming bruise on your hip with a minor grunt.

“You did well.” Kate tells you, and you beam at her.

“You’re different from the boys.” You tell her again, and Kate smiles around the lip of the water bottle.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She returns.

“It is.” You assure her, take a long sip of water when she offers it. “Harder, in some ways.”

A comfortable silence falls between you at that, and as you pull your knees up to stretch you idly offer: “I managed to pin Ghost once.”

Kate freezes out of the corner of your eye, but the gesture is lost in a moment before she offers a mild ‘Oh?’

“It’s true.” You go on, shifting to continue stretching with a little grunt. “Took a couple tries. Can’t say he was nice about it. I ended up bruised to hell the day after.”

“Sounds like he didn’t go easy on you.” Kate replies a little absently in a way where you know she’s thinking about something.

You pause, consider her words, mind hazing over and returning to that September day.

You blink and the light changes. Your next breath, forced through parted lips, seems to ooze the toxicity from your veins, lifting the weight from your shoulders. The bones inside you are still cracked, fractured, and you know they probably will be forever. Now, however, you understand, and the knowledge seems to strengthen them, dull the bitter horrible pain of your own doubt long enough for you to see.

Not a shadow, a light in the darkness. Guiding you forwards even if it threatens to blind you, drawing you out of the confines of your own lack of confidence by force if he has to. He's not doing this to mock you at all. He's not looking down on you, he's not gloating or tossing you around for his own sadistic self-pleasure. He's trying, in his own way, to teach you, to show you that you do have what it takes. He's breaking you systematically, scooping you from the ashes and charred remains so the frayed and broken edges of you are polished into something new. Something stronger.

He's doing this because he sees you. Just you, and that's already good enough. You're good enough.

“No.” You offer quietly. “I think he did. I think he knew how much I needed it.”

You straighten to look at her then, and there’s silence that passes between you as you are both caught by the other’s stare. There’s meaning in the absence of words, one that you can see by the way Kate’s eyes glint with curiosity and a knowing sort of intrigue. You wonder if what little you’ve said is too much, if maybe she’s seen that part of you too, the part that always wonders why Ghost seems softer with you than the others, the part that longs for him to be. She seems surprised for a moment, eyebrows arching silently as realization flickers across her gray eyed gaze.

When she smiles, she says nothing. At a mere glance, however, you can tell she knows.

You clear your throat, feeling your face warm, make a point to stand quickly and feign a few more stretches before hastily providing that Paula will be missing you both soon. Kate acquiesces gracefully, to which you are grateful that she does not needle you for further details about your concealed feelings towards the lieutenant. You’re not sure you can stand it if she did.

It’s after dinner that Kate gets a ping on her cellphone, taking a glance and grabbing for her coat. She provides a quick excuse of ‘work calls’ before giving Paula a parting kiss and grabbing her bag to race off towards the Pentagon. You and Paula exchange a look, and you can hardly contain your smile because even though Laswell has said nothing, you know her sudden disappearance means they’re back.

It’s already the wee hours of the morning in the UK, as Soap would say. The team sets up to debrief in the morning, and you know you won’t be able to contact them until after. You know from experience that they’re more than exhausted, de-kitting and slinking with weary limbs to rinse the grime and blood in the showers. There’s no way to talk to them tonight, and even tomorrow you know will be spent as a much-needed day of rest. The excitement, the trepidation gnaws at you as you force yourself to bed, anxious to hear the voices of your team, to know they’re home safe and sound, to tell them all the things you wish you said sooner.

Laswell doesn’t appear at breakfast the next morning, and Paula tells you she’s still at her office vigilantly reviewing the intel the team has gathered. You take it from her lack of contact that there’s been no major incidents, that everyone is alive and safe and well. Still, you pace anxiously around the house for most of the day, counting the hours on your watch and tracking the differences in the time zone before you’ve vowed to call them. As you do, you try to plan the words you want to say, raking a hand across your face and distracting yourself with the news, with something. You’re stalling, you know, but your mind wanders back to the hospital, to the way you pushed Soap and Gaz away, and you can’t help but wonder if the things you want to confess are going to come too little too late.

The phone line rings for what seems like hours when you finally gather the courage to dial Gaz. You know he’s the one who’s most responsive to his cell, with Soap being easily distracted and Price and Ghost hardly ever looking at theirs. It’s only a few moments, but the wait feels like a lifetime before he finally picks up.

“Fix?”

“Gaz.” You exhale, face melting into a relieved smile. He sounds surprised, yes, but more than that he sounds pleased to hear from you. A positive sign.

You hear a whoosh of air on the other end, and Gaz leans away to the phone to talk to someone on his side.

“Hang on, mate. Gimme a sec-”

You wait, and then blink down at your phone for the incoming video call, hesitantly tapping at the screen to reveal Gaz’s warm, cheerful gaze.

“Fix!” He greets again, and now you can see the smile that lights up his face at the sight of you. “Bloody good to hear from you. How have you been?”

Something sharp clenches in your ribs for a moment, in the same place as your injury, the place where you’ve been holding so much heartache for so long. You nearly wince at it, feeling the muscles grow taut-

and then release, unfurl in blessed, emotional relief.

“I’m good, Kyle.” You tell him, trying hard to keep the swell of emotion out of your voice despite the way it clings in your throat. “Really good.”

Gaz smiles impossibly brighter, but before he can say anything else there’s motion, bickering, a protest, and then Johnny’s face replaces Gaz.

“Fix!” He grins, eyes sparkling. “God, hen. We’ve missed you so much. How are you? How’s your ribs? Are you taking it easy?”

Warmth threatens your eyes now as you feel the sweet release of reprieve flood through you. It takes effort to swallow it down, to not get emotional at the mere sight of your friends- but Johnny’s words “We’ve missed you.” threaten to undo you at the seams.

“I am now.” You reply, and internally wince at the way your voice trembles when you force the tears back. “Not at first, but Laswell helped whip me into shape.”

“Good woman, Kate.” Gaz comments and tilts the phone so you can see both him and Soap at once. “Jesus, it’s good to hear from you, Fix. We’ve all been thinking about you, wondering if you were alright.”

Ah, fuck it.

You let the tears come, scrub your face and try to not let them wet your cheeks, tilting the phone away a moment too late. A hiccup seizes your chest for a moment, and you allow yourself a few moments to let it free before looking back to Gaz and Soap’s concerned stares.

“I am.” You tell them, voice choked up. “I’m more than alright.”

You wish you were there, you wish you could be there beside them, but the embraces they’d offer you feel warm all the same, even from a thousand miles away.

“What’s all this?” A voice intones on the other side, and Soap turns towards the source, beaming brightly.

“We’ve got our bonnie medic on the line.” He says, and you’re quickly passed in a flurry of motion to reveal the face of your captain.

“Sir.” You greet, and Price blinks, then shakes his head with a small, fond smile.

“None of that.” He admonishes lightly. “You call me as friends do.”

“Of course.” You manage, throat constricting with a fresh wave of emotion. “Price.”

Price’s eyes are warm, affectionate, looking upon you not with the furious discipline from before, but that of the friend you know him as.

“You look good, Fix.” He offers softly, and you straighten under his gaze as the praise finds its mark. “Has Kate been treating you right?”

“More than right.” You return, feeling the anxiety shed itself with every word. “I’m getting spoiled here.”

“As ye should!” Soap comments from off-screen. “Our medic deserves the best.”

Price huffs a laugh then, and it makes your smile grow that much larger, almost enough to make your cheeks hurt.

“Seriously.” You add. “Have you ever met Paula? I know you have, Price, she’s told me the story about coming home to you and Kate alone in the kitchen.”

Price winces at that, at the awkward memory of Paula finding a strange man in her house in familiar discussion with her wife. “That wasn’t my best first impression.” He admits, and you hear Soap and Gaz whisper conspiratorially somewhere behind him, curious as to the details of the unsaid story.

“She’s an amazing cook.” You go on. “I’m going to have to work hard to get back into shape with everything she’s been feeding me.”

“What I would give for a home cooked meal right now.” Gaz laments woefully. “Think you can bring her back with you to the UK?”

You’re about to respond when Gaz’s words catch inside you. Your brow furrows for a moment, processing, before you look at Price, who looks to Gaz with a reprimanding frown.

“Wait-” You manage, hope rising sharply inside of you. “Does that mean-”

Price smiles, and it’s genuine, sincere, the kind of smile you only see after he’s immensely pleased with you. You feel your heart stammer and you suck in a gasp when he speaks.

“Laswell officially cleared you for duty.” He tells you, scarcely containing his own enthusiasm. “You’ll be coming back whenever she gives the order. But-”

Your excitement cuts short in your chest, but the hope there lingers as your breath catches.

“Only if you want to.”

It takes a moment for you to understand, and in the silence that follows Soap grapples for the phone with an almost manic desperation.

“We want you to come back.” He clarifies quickly. “The team hasn’t been the same without you. Of course we understand if you need more time, if you want to talk it over with Laswell, but-” He sucks in a breath, and you watch the way his blue eyes alight with anxious energy.

“We...we want you home, Fix.”

Home.

The place you’ve fought to be, to earn your place there. Home, with your brothers who have kept a seat warm for you despite all this time, have made a place for you in their hearts despite your failures. Home, to the place you are meant to be, to the place where you belong.

“Of course I’m coming back.” You sigh at last, your voice breaking with an overwhelmed happiness you can’t contain. It bleeds into Soap, his eyes melting with relief before Gaz once more seizes the phone.

“Not a moment too soon.” He announces, and his own expression scarcely contains the joy in his eyes. “We can’t wait to get you back.”

You laugh a strange, overwhelmed sound at that, once more wiping your eyes as they warm and obscure your gaze of the team’s smiling faces. As you do, there’s a quiet murmur on the other side, and by the time you focus back there’s a different face that looks back.

Ghost.

“Fix.” He greets, and despite the balaclava that hides all but his eyes, you see his expression soften. “It’s been a while.”

“It really has, hasn’t it?” You return, voice dipping low to match his own. “Are you well?”

Ghost shrugs, eyes darting away from the camera for a moment before they return. “Nothing major.” He offers. “A few bruises and scrapes, the usual.”

“You’re not allowed to get injured before I get back.” You tell him seriously, eyes narrowing. He only tilts his head in return.

“Thought I wasn’t allowed to get injured at all?” He drawls, and your smile returns at the way he easily falls into the banter.

“Well then you wouldn’t need me, would you?”

Ghost blinks, considers this, his eyes weighing on you even as you grin at him. You fail to contain the affection in your eyes as his gaze softens.

“I suppose that’s true.” He concedes at last, and your laughter releases like a soft autumn breeze.

The group crowds around the phone for what seems like hours, passing you back and forth before finally setting you up on a nearby table to observe them all at once. Soap disappears and returns with beers as you give them a tour of Laswell’s house. When you stop to pet Whiskey Gaz fails to resist the urge to make baby noises at the retired K9, who thumps his tail in amicable greeting. It precedes a conversation about the various working dogs the team has seen, which is then followed by a serious discussion about the differences between British and American suburbs as you give the team a view of the outside of the house.

Paula is introduced shortly afterwards, and as you pass the phone to her she happily greets the team, and then quickly follows it with a declaration of how they’re to treat you properly once you return. You think you see Price swallow thickly on the other side of the camera.

The team finally discusses their most recent mission in Kenya, tracking a weapon smuggling ring along the Somali Coast. You share stories of your deployment in Ethiopia, of the dry mountain wind and your bustling medical tent. You feel it curl around you from the source of your memories, winding back far before this story began. It lifts your face to the sky you thought you fell from, the golden clouds that once rushed past your form as you hurtled downwards. Now, you feel it catch under your wings and lift you higher, basking in the glory of the sun you have missed so much. it doesn’t burn as it did before, and instead the gentle warmth and laughter of your comrades fills the emptiness of your heart where you once held so much sorrow.

It’s not over yet, you know that. There’s still so much more to be done. The long ignored, festering thing inside of you remains, but the growth is stifled now, replaced by an ease you have never felt before. It will take time for it to mend, just as the wound that once lay in your side, but you know now that even though you’re still healing, it doesn’t mean you’re broken. There are those that love you, adore you, hold you close and safe to their hearts.

You’ll fall again, you know. The darkness of the ocean below, of the churning water of failure where your past haunts you, will remain. Yet present too is the arms of your family, your real family, ready to catch you as you fall back down to earth. You know now that you’re not alone, that as much as you fall there will be people to catch you, hold you fast within the safety and comfort of their embrace. You look to them like a headwind, feel the breeze of their smiles graze across your cheeks, breathe in the familiar scent brought to you by the wind. You lift your hand to it, discern it like the rotating axis of the earth, let it whisper across your memories and engrave their hearts there.

The hour grows late in the UK, and eventually the team is forced to end the call with promises of another one shortly to follow. You say farewell, and in the seconds that follow the screen going dark you buckle into yourself and let loose the full tide of emotion within you. Heartache, grief, joy, relief, and above all sincere gratitude that the ones you love accept you for who you are, will stand beside you despite everything. The tears run warmly down your cheeks, but beneath it is a smile, a thanks to the heavens for putting you in a place where you are loved.

You talk to them frequently in the days that follow, waiting for Laswell to clear the red tape to re-designate you to the taskforce once more. Price calms you as you await the news anxiously, assures you Kate will find a way to send you back to them one way or another. Soap and Gaz happily distract you as they find a way to include you in a drunken game night that has you clutching your stomach with laughter.

It’s on a quiet night that you talk to Ghost, who is the one to call you, strangely enough. It’s a short call compared to the others, and it’s endearing the way Ghost feigns an excuse to check in on you. You curl into the window seat in your bedroom, watching the sunset as you talk in low voices about everything and nothing at all. The comfortable silence lingers between you both and finds a place to perch inside you alongside the secret you hold just for him.

At last, the order comes through. You’re sent back as Laswell’s CIA liaison under her command, on loan to the taskforce indefinitely. You unfold your military greaves from the closet, smooth the fabric under your palms. The heavy fabric is a reminder as to who you are, the person you’re born to be. A soldier, a warrior, a protector.

You hesitate in the doorway of the bedroom, hoisting your duffle over your shoulder. The sunlight dapples through the sheer white curtains, washes the room in pale, ethereal light that sighs softly into your memories. You know you’ll be back again. Maybe not soon, but you know this place too is home, that in this city you grew up in, your real home is the place you choose to be, with the people who love you.

They’ll see you off as you make the long journey back to England, and will embrace you before you climb aboard the plane. They’ll await you for the long flight, counting down the hours until your return. When you arrive they’ll take you into their arms when you step off the plane, lift your face to see your teary, joyful smile and by the sound of their voices alone you know you’re home.

The hazy pink light of sunset illuminates your bedroom.

The journal left on your desk remains unfinished.

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